driftfleet | this should've been posted on a windsday

THUNK.

Robert had managed to hit his head when he first boarded the ship and he had yet to succeed at stopping. For as large as the Marsiva was, Robert was certain this tiny ship might have been able to fit in one of the pavilions he would use when traveling the Seven Kingdoms. It was small and cramped and in no way meant to accommodate his formidable girth or his six and a half feet of height. With each bulkhead he was made to crouch under, he uttered a curse and continued to explore what little of the ship there was.

He was relieved when he finally found a door with his name on it. The contents of the room was a small writing desk, a couch, and a few chairs. Connected to it was a room with a bed for him as well, though even that seemed garishly small. Miserably, he set himself at the desk and stared blankly at the open door leading to the ship's inner corridor.

Gods, but he'd kill someone right now if it meant he'd have a sip of wine just now. It was bad enough to be sober, but it was so much worse to be idle as well.

The Vision had been tinkering down in Engineering when the unmistakable sound of cheering came from somewhere else. Atroma's habit of greeting new arrivals with confetti and sound at least had the benefit of warning the rest of the ship not to worry about an intruder. It takes him a little while to finish what he's doing, and by that time Robert's already found his room.

So he knocks on the door, hoping the new arrival won't be terribly put out by his maroon skin or the glowing yellow jewel set in his forehead. At least he remembers not to float off the ground?

Castle, too, heard the blare of horns announcing a new ship- and after Robert's settled, in comes a cleaning droid searching for any stray scraps of confetti, followed by a tall and cheerful man.

"Excuse the cleaning droid, she's very persistent. Welcome to the Windrose."

She hadn't been on the bridge when the time came for new arrivals. Probably should have been, only her own internal clock hadn't exactly been up to snuff since coming back from the Marsiva. Yet another thing to add to the list of things to thank Atroma for.

She does, however, hear the fanfare, and after a moment hears the heavy footsteps that pass the door labeled 'Captain.' They enter a bunk a few doors down, and after a moment, Natasha follows. The redhead leaning in his doorway is by no means large, but she's definitely imposing. "New arrival?"

Wrath will stop by just as soon as she can, 5'2", waist length pink hair, and grinning from ear to ear. "Hi fresh meat! How are you? My name's Wrath. I'm your security officer, so let me know what kind of guns you like! Do you like big ones that go BOOM or the little ones that go rat-tat-tat-tat or the tiny ones that go pew pew pew but really burn a hole through a motherfucker?"

As she makes the the sound effects, she is indeed acting out firing the various sorts of guns.

If truth was told, Robert had seen all manner of strange men with all manner of odd customs in King'd Landing. The Vision would not be the first man to paint his face all in red or to adorn himself in jewelry. Still, Robert made no effort to disguise his Westerosi disdain for the foreign and exotic - at least when it came to other men.

"You look like a bloody tart all done up like that."

Robert had a headache from the horns and the cheering, which is why he'd been grateful for a place to be alone. He was no stranger to festivities, but this had been particular tedious because it had hardly seemed worth celebrating. Besides, festivities without feasting and drinking were a dull affair.

Robert eyed the cleaning droid with disdain, recalling that he'd tripped over a few of these on the Marsiva already. "You're the one who controls these little bastards?"

Now there was a pretty one. Robert leaned back into his seat as he eyed the woman. If he was to share a ship with others, he would at least have someone pretty to look at. There was of course old superstition about a woman being bad luck on a ship, but that most likely only applied to the sea. Gods only knew what rules of luck governed the sea.

"Aye, though I had no say in the matter."

Pretty, yes. Bloody bonkers as well. Robert had no notion of what a gun was, so she might as well be talking about food for all he knew. Or fresh meat, since that's what she had began her greeting with. He did not know how 'security officer' translated to cook, but this entire mess was confusing.

"The last one, I think. Boiled with gravy thick enough to choke a man."

He wondered what a pew pew pew tasted like. He was eager to find out.

... Gravy? What? Did she not speak clearly? Or maybe it was slang from the big guy's world? Yeah, like pain gravy! She brings the pain train, and she's heard of the gravy train so. Okay. She can roll with it.

" Okay, I'll see if I can dig up a garrotte too. You got to have a back up plan. Or. What are your feelings on grenades? Not on the ship obviously, that would be a bad idea, but we get to go planet side pretty often."

Okay, that's...not quite the reaction he'd been expecting, so the Vision blinks twice. But it could have been worse, so instead he puts on what he hopes Robert will recognize as a friendly smile.

"I assure you I'm nothing of the sort. Welcome to the Windrose. You must be Robert Baratheon?"

She's used to that kind of look. Hopefully he'll leave it at just that, and she won't have to prove how bad an idea it was to try and take it further. Personally, she doesn't look very impressed or intimidated at all.

"No one here had much of a say in it, from what I hear. You have a name?"

" 'Control' is a strong word," Castle replied, frowning a little. "They came with my augment, actually, and they're programmed to clean. Trying to control them is a bit like trying to herd cats."

"Aye. So it says on the door. What of you?"

Robert expected a name that would be foreign and difficult to remember. No doubt it was something ridiculous like Zhantazoo Rhux. He seemed the type to be a Rhux.

For as much as he had heard 'augment', he couldn't really claim to understand the concept just yet. In his own capacity as the ship counselor, his own augment wasn't doing all that much for him. At least there was a couch.

"Bloody cats. Never did like them. At least these have the good sense to keep to the floor."

"I do. It's on the door." He gestured vaguely to the one she had walked through. By all accounts, this was his room. It was as comfortable as was likely to be found on the ship as well. The couch looked exactly like the sort of place one could sit and talk all about their problems, presuming there was anyone around to actually listen and care.

Garrottes and grenades sounded particularly appetizing. He had a sort of idea what they might be like and didn't particular care about the setting in which he might have them.

"Why wait for a planet? I'll take them now. Throw the lot of it in a trencher and you'll have no complaints from me."

One eyebrow lofts, lips slightly pursed. "Generally, it's considered polite to introduce yourself to your captain when coming aboard." Yes, a woman captain. Then again, it could take him a while to actually catch her meaning. Judging by the clothing plus what she sees of the room--and the omnipresent accent--she's pegging him for another one like Vanyel. One of your default fantasy trope world characters. Most of those stories don't exactly offer much in the way of independent female leaders. "Captain Natasha Romanoff. I assume you're meant to be our new ship counselor?"

"I am the Vision, and I'm glad to meet you." He inclines his head politely. "I'm the ship's engineer, responsible for keeping things running smoothly. Ah, and the large fish tank in the cargo bay belongs to me as well."

Hm. Is he the type to appreciate the science explanation or the magic explanation, when the inevitable why are you red question comes up? Well, he can always try science first. One never knows.

Robert had a good look at her at the prompting of this title of hers. Then he had a good guffaw at it and leaned back further into his seat.

"Captain is it? Of this pitiful trawler?" Robert may not have been much of a sailor, but he knew what a ship looked like. King Robert's Hammer was a war galley that boasted four hundred oars and was the largest ship to have ever set sail from King's Landing. It may not have sailed the stars, but it made this vessel look like a floating bucket. Her title meant nothing to him and the fact she was a woman made it all the more laughable. "Polite, aye. Well, I am Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms. It's polite to kneel to a king, but I'll spare you that. What's this about ship councillor?"

He could only suppose it related to the matters of state as in his own small council. Given how little he ever attended those, he could scarcely imagine what he was expected to do in this role.

The Vision. For a moment, he only stared blankly at the peculiar looking man. Then he decided it was no stranger than some of the names that many knights would take for themselves. If the man wished to withhold his name, it was not Robert. "You'll forgive me if I forgo using the. Are the fish for eating?"

After the food cubes on the Marsiva, he was eager for some real meat.

Laughter, okay. Sure, let's go with that. She doesn't seem at all embarrassed or bothered, just patiently waits for him to get it out of the way. At his own introduction, she mentally checks a few more boxes, and while her tone and words both are polite, there's definitely an edge of steel to them. "A king needs a kingdom just as much as a captain needs a ship. Way I see it, one of us has what she needs to keep her title here, one of us doesn't. No monarchy in the fleet, Robert. Just a bunch of people trying to survive."

If it helps any, she can't particularly imagine him as a counselor, either.

"Until I get them cleaning the windows," Castle said excitedly. "Vision and I have been talking about upgrading them. I'll see what I can do about keeping them away from your office if they bother you, though."

Robert's snort is a choked chuckle, but he accomplished it with a dismissive wave. "Aye, captain. I'll not rob you of your title, if it matters so greatly to you." Not that it meant he intended to confer any more respect than the usage of it. He thought it petty of her to cling to such a distinction, but Robert's wroth had dulled on the Marsiva. He had come to accept this situation with a dulled apathy that he had mastered in those long years ruling Westeros. "Tell me, what makes you a captain. Was it those Trogans that conferred it to you?"

"Is that what they do? Clean?" Robert stared down at the metallic beast with curiosity. He'd never lacked for servants until now, but it seemed they might just be useful to him here. He had never been known for cleanliness.

this should've been posted on a windsday

Robert, open for business

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