Jan. 2nd, 2016

ragazzina: (BLUSH ✿ backstreet boys intensifies)
[personal profile] ragazzina
Who: Suzie and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: For the Bloodsport, if you're around!
When: The wee hours of morning on Saturday, January 2

[You know what is the absolute worst? Going to bed feeling reasonably fine and waking up in the middle of the night with a stuffed-up nose, a mild headache, and the beginnings of a raised temperature. It makes it all but impossible to sleep, despite being tired and feeling generally run-down, and in Suzie's experience, the worst part about feeling sick is when you're just lying in bed with nothing to think about but being sick, and no distraction to help take some of the melancholy edge off of the malaise.

So instead, she gets up and wanders down to some empty workspace down in the ship's docking bay, and sets up shop near the shuttles with some tools and a pair of rolled-up sleeves on her utility jumper.

For a little while, she just putters around, testing the knowledge her augment has imparted to her against the tangible workings of the shuttle in front of her, and later when she's had her fill of that she plunks down and starts playing with odds and ends of the spare parts they have lying around, cobbling for the sake of cobbling rather than with any particular goal in mind.

Eventually, though, she reaches for her communicator, and it's shortly thereafter that a broadcast ends up hitting the network.]


I don't remember what day I got here. ε-(≖.≖﹆✿)

I think it was November here, when I came? It was before we got to the planet, so I think it's been about a month. Or so? I don't know. Do you think it's important to remember the day you arrived? Maybe I should get a calendar, when I remember the day, and keep it in my bunk so I can mark off each day when it's done and keep count. Or would that be too discouraging? Maybe if it were a pretty calendar, like the lithographed ones with the little scenes of people and birds and flowers. That's the problem with space, everything's metal and machines and not enough warm sun and shade and green things growing.

I like the planet, though. I miss Venezia more but the fresh air is nice even if it's cold. Everything is salt, though, isn't that funny? I hope someday we find a planet where everything is flowers. Except maybe that would be sad, too, because then someday we'd have to leave it, and I bet I wouldn't want to.

I wonder what other kinds of planets there are. What's the best one you could possibly imagine? I like the flower one...and I'd like one with canals and gondolas too. And someplace with real food instead of the ship mush. If we could go to someplace like that...

Haha, I'm being so silly. I should be asleep but I'm just sitting here talking about nothing at all! Maybe in a little while I'll go try again. (-﹏-。✿)


[But, for those on the Bloodsport, you can still find her tinkering down there for a little while afterward, before she eventually rambles back down to her bunk in a halfhearted attempt to fall asleep again.]
theroadwarrior: (pic#9855944)
[personal profile] theroadwarrior
Who: Max Rockatansky & Whoever is willing to bump into him.
Broadcast: N/A.
Action: The planet Arslae.
When: January 1st — January 8th.

ACTION A.

[Max gets off the SS Starstruck very quickly — he thrives on open space, needs the natural world around him, even if it's a frozen land that he's unfamiliar with. Snow and ice is bizarre; thanks to the landscape he was from — the radioactivity, the climate issues, all of it, he's never witnessed it at all firsthand. Doesn't even know where to really begin. Armed with a rather intimidating kitchen knife wrapped up and carefully hidden on his person, he bundles up and treks into the thick of it. Admittedly — and a rare occurrence — he finds his curiosity curves his caution just enough for the task.

It's like a dog or a cat being thrown into the middle of a snowy backyard. He tests the earth, quirks his brows when his legs sink deeper and deeper into the flurry. Almost reminds him of quicksand, only there's still the solid sensation of earth underfoot.

Careful Max, wouldn't wanna get slurped in, a young voice chimes in. He can't place it exactly, but it's not Glory. He's seen and heard so many children die in his life out there in the Wastelands, he couldn't begin to guess who it could be. He grumbles under breath and slips his fingers into the snow, forming a snowball in hand. Strangely, it feels like the natural reaction to snow. Heavy when compacted, holds shape unlike sand. The voice keeps knocking on the inside of his skull, slipping through the folds of his brain, tickling his eardrum.

Max. Max... Come find me, Max. Help me, Max—

He sees the shadow of a ghost in his peripheral and throws the snowball in its direction.

Mostly out of relaxed irritation. He's used to the sounds of the dead.

But sorry if you're actually standing there.]


ACTION B.

[Max lingers around a bit closer than he'd usually stay, near the bonfires. He's nowhere near close enough to be brightly lit or partake in any of the good will or hospitality, but he's at least close enough in the background to leech a small amount of the warmth while he sits and starts slowly packing up a pack made of hide that he'd bought with the limited money he had. He supposes that's one small upside to being on a 'show'.

But he's also unfamiliar with using a real form of currency nowadays. So that's strange.

The biggest foe he's faced so far here, however, is his knee. He sits away from the others and suffers in silence, unbuckling part of his brace and moving it so that he can knead the aching scarred, stiff joint with his hand. He's not unused to it hurting sometimes, considering the inside of his knee is a mess of tissue and rough bone. But that's in the desert, where the sun rose — inevitably as it did — on the coldest of nights, and the aching would stop while he could bask in harsh sun like a lizard on a rock.

Here, it's a constant nagging. A little chiming bell of nerves that fight their own body. He doesn't like it. He chews the inside of his cheek, expressive only in the lines of pain forming at the edges of his eyes, near the creases of his mouth, beneath his slight beard. Maybe he'll look into medications, since this world may have them. His, not so much. It is a rarity, medical care. He's learned plenty in looking after himself.]


ACTION C.

[One may find him hunting, but he's surprisingly with a group of natives. It's not that he wants the company — he just wants to barter, to get things in return for staying in motion. It's really quite simple: you live, you move, you keep your supplies well-maintained. In exchange for using their weapons and going on the hunt with them, he'll earn salted meats from their supply. It's interesting for him to see such simple measures taken on a planet with some surprising technology. Then again, home had some interesting machinery of its own, for how broken the system was.

Maybe you're out there with this group. They're going after mostly easy game, but they're bound to run into the less pleasant sort of monster out here. Until then, Max plays it simple, opting to stay in the back of the group and reply only when he's needed. He's a man of few words, always has been, always will be.

But... this sort of thing keeps his wandering and fractured mind on track.

He sneezes into his sleeve, tightens up the jacket and scarf he has tucked into his collar, and pushes forward.

His mind is blissfully silent.]


ACTION D. (STARSTRUCK)

[Max hauls what he's given back to the ship in one of the small shuttles. He supposes this is where it's a good thing he's a pilot — it's not completely effortless, but it's like working an old atrophied limb, and he comes to find that he actually enjoys the trips back and forth more than he'd admit to anyone. Just having something to drive... wheels or not... it's good.

He brings back both raw and dried meats, most of which he tries to discreetly stock the kitchen of the Starstruck with. He's not one to share his things — anyone can tell that by how he carries everything he owns on him, in his pack — but he's also aware that the struggle for food here is not-so-woefully absent in comparison to the planet he had just been on, before joining the fleet.

It's not an easy thing to shake. Sharing. It's not in his nature anymore. But you know, going against your nature is okay, from time to time. After all, he's usually a scavenging buzzard himself. A vulture picking off the old world. For now, he'll try to play along.

He tries to leave the place as fast as he'd arrived, of course.

He hasn't picked a bunk, a place to sleep; he hasn't made a place for himself here yet.]
bb_wolf: (Wolf)
[personal profile] bb_wolf
Who: Bigby and any poor soul around
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Bloodsport
When: As the Fleet leaves the last planet.


[Some special souls decide they don't give a fuck about staying with the Fleet.

While it might be the only way home, to Big, it has always been just a pain. He would rather stay on world and work on getting home form there than get back on that ship with no space and mechanical smells.

So when the ships leave, he doesn't. He stays on world, loping through the forests, chasing and hunting and glutted like he hasn't been in centuries.

Which is all well and good until the Fleet passes a threshold he didn't even know about, and he feels a frozen chill in his bones and then there's a giant wolf jammed into the Bloodsport's bridge, banging his head, then tripping over consoles.]


Goddamn mother fucker!

[A giant wolf with Bigby's voice and a potty mouth.

He starts trying to untangle himself enough that he can shape shift back.

And at least his clothes, neatly bundled and piled up, are on the floor somewhere under his giant feet.]

003

Jan. 2nd, 2016 03:55 pm
openhands: (and i always say)
[personal profile] openhands
Who: Cassandra + You
Broadcast: Nah
Action: On Arslae
When: Jan. 1 - 11th

[Cassandra is not overly enthused about the bitter cold on this planet, but It's certainly not about to deter her from spending time outside her ship and on the planet's surface. Those looking for Cassandra might find her shopping, though she's more on the look-out for useful items for the most part. Not that she won't sometimes look at a few of the trinkets and pieces of jewelry. She also looks at the foxes, though she's not interested in buying any of them. She crouches down, letting them sniff her hand before giving them pets.]

[(She is staying right the hell away from the elk though. They're basically horses and fuck that noise.)]

[Cassandra is especially interested in hunting though. Find her mixing with a few of the locals to learns of good places to hunt and then find her out there bringing back plenty of wares for trade and also for her own uses. She's not afraid to set out on her own, but if you want to tag along, she won't deny the company most likely. You know, provided you know what you're doing and aren't likely going to be a liability. Then maybe she's going to have to have a conversation for you to sit down and stay where it's safer. She'll bring you back a trophy in that case.]
takeabow: (That scared me to death)
[personal profile] takeabow
Who: Nova & u
Broadcast: Yep!
Action: First Breath
When: Early January

[ Nova pops up on your various devices. She's in the galley in the First Breath and she has a lot of paper-wrapped meat on camera. ]

I've been doing some hunting and I have various cuts if someone wants to trade for them. I don't think we have quite enough room to make a meat locker out of the First Breath. First come, first serve. I'll probably go out and try for more when some of this gets cleared out. This place has enough salt to preserve a planet.

[ for anyone looking to see her in person, she can be found in the kitchen, though probably in the midst of dealing with meat cuts ]

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