Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
collegedropout) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
collegedropout) wrote in driftfleet2015-12-02 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
entry 001 | arrival
Who: Sam and [OPEN] to all!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd
[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.
He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]
Well. Shit.
[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]
So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.
... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.
And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: December 2nd
[When Sam wakes up, he expects to be laying in his bedroom in the bunker, tired from a particularly long case (clown, there was a clown, he's getting too old for this shit—) but nope. He opens his eyes to stare at a completely foreign ceiling, in a completely foreign bunk. He's of course in his nighttime clothes, to boot. No weapons, no phone, no nothing. Okay. He considers all kinds of possibilities, first. Djinn? Some sort of curse? Witchcraft? Maybe even some sort of dream-root-related snafu, or angels being dicks (somehow). There's also that little elephant in the room, in the back of his head: dude, you know exactly how this kind of thing plays out.
He rises up, easy to spot among a milling, small group with his six feet and four inches of [giraffe-necked] height. When he finally sees the high-tech machinery, the casual and potentially oh-so-different newbies wandering, the absurd amount of space out there — he says but one thing in front of the people around him, first and foremost, to break the ice:]
Well. Shit.
[Well shit indeed. He doesn't panic, but he does suddenly crave another vacation, somewhere without rips in space and time (if that's even the case here; maybe he's a captive to some higher power, because that wouldn't surprise him at all). When he's got the broadcasting thing down — thanks Adstringendum for the life lessons on what to do first — he begrudgingly addresses yet another audience, slipping on that polite and professional (and, okay, exasperated) aura that he's good at.]
So, show of hands. How many of you out there have fallen into other universes before? Because this sort of thing's getting kind of old.
... Did anyone from Adstringendum show up? Guys? Don't tell me the PCD's teleporting feature is going on the fritz or something. I know it was kind of too good to be true, but it was going well for a few months there. [Silly Sam, nothing stays good forever. But he hopes, y'know?] Let me know if I'm riding solo here, fellas.
And, uh. This isn't exactly my first rodeo, sure, but it's the first time I've ever... um... been in space. So I gotta ask, for my sanity: where exactly do us new spacemen go from here? Other than shooting jokes about Roswell, New Mexico.
no subject
It's a good thing, too. That we have these. Imagine being stuck on a ship with a handful of people for such an extended time without being able to talk to others.
[... Actually it's super easy for Sam to do. He only interacts with one to two people continually, really, if he's not on a case. Since all the horrible things that have happened to him back home, he's become a skilled hermit. Mostly.]
no subject
I think it would get pretty lonely, otherwise.
no subject
In space, by yourself? I'd go nuts.
I've heard that there are planets, occasionally. That true?
no subject
[Someone always did his homework. :')]
no subject
[Good lad, good lad, homework's super important okay.]
So you must be relatively new, too, then? Or has it really just been a while since the last one?
no subject
I'm pretty new here ... I think it's just been a couple of months. It's hard to say for sure, with how time moves.
[Easier than it was in Liminal Space, though.]
no subject
[Out of curiosity. Adstringendum worked on similar enough Earth times, but...
Space, you know.]
Or is a lot happening at once and it's hard to keep track, most of the time?
no subject