Feb. 29th, 2016

throwsdown: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#5570582)
[personal profile] throwsdown
Who: Takeshi
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: Marsiva!
When: NOW!!!

[Takeshi wakes up with bad cotton mouth and a moment where forgets things -- forgets he was in a jungle last he saw, forgets the Tranquility had crashed, forgets that the people he saw as parents were long-since gone. He rolls tiredly, his baggy (now perfectly mended) sweater dragging on one hand, the sleeve still a bit too long. First thing he does is try to grab a glass of water that would have been on the desk in his room. Aboard an entirely different ship. A ship that no longer exists in space.

He blinks wide awake, sitting up straight.

The first thing he notices is that he's barefoot.

The second thing he notices is that his powersuit is gone. He pulls his sweater practically over his head in his haste, gasping aloud at the pale belly and its pal, the belly button, that greets him -- it' gone! It's gone, it's gone, it's gone! Where? When? Who, how? He looks around wildly, anxious. Was he... kidnapped? All over again? No... it couldn't be.

It's like when they kidnapped humans, on earth. But hopefully less blood.

There were people trying to kidnap them off the Tranquility, too. He remembers that.

Summoning his courage, he does what he learned from his adoptive mother. He bullshits, live on camera, at the screen. He's familiar with how network devices work enough, after all. He knows everyone should be able to see this. He puts on his most serious expression, which is admittedly pretty good for someone who is the size of a five-year-old.]


The person who kidnapped me.... they'd better show their face!

I-if you try to mess with me... I'll... I'll...

I'll kick your fucking ass!!

[Thank his adoptive parents and weird uncle for the choice of words. He puffs out his chest, making a fist. But really, he's kind of scared. Like, a lot scared. He only went without his special superhero powersuit when he broked his leg fighting in the ship before. He couldn't wear it over the cast, then. But now... now he's just... he's normal. He's not a good teammate. He's not good at fighting like this. And it's...

Terrifying.

But he'll keep a straight, determined face. He won't let them know he's scared.

He used to always show how scared he was, when he was living with his real mom. But not no more.

Even if he doesn't have his strength and speed... He's a fighter. He'll... He'll figure out something!]


If you're aliens... then... then my dad'll come find you, too!

And then we'll both kick your ass!

[... Anyone on the Marsiva, feel free to see him peeking around the corner to suspiciously watch you just about anywhere on the ship. That, or find him making himself a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich in the kitchens. All that threatening made his nerves convert to hunger.]
survivalistcookbook: (Default)
[personal profile] survivalistcookbook
Who: Eugene Woods
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: Vanquish
When: Now


Hello and good evening, everyone. This is Eugene Woods, coming to you with a few good old-fashioned barter requests.

[It's show and tell time - which means that, along with talking to the fleet, Eugene's sat on his bunk for this transmission, trousers rolled up to above the knee and nothing but his undershirt on top. It shows off not only his thigh-down prosthetic metal leg, but a decent collection of tattoos down both arms and up his right leg.]

After bringing old lefty here in for a tune-up, it occurred to me that, for the last several months, I've actually had a limb that wasn't festively decorated in some way. Of course, it's not exactly as easy as finding a tattoo shop when your leg is some kind of high-tech future alloy, so I'm looking for one of two things. Number one: a two-person team, one artist and one engineer who has bright ideas about how to put designs on this thing without damaging it. Number two: one graphic artist who has some serious chops in working with metal. Bonus points, of course, for anyone who actually has experience making anything like a replacement leg.

Repayment, as always, comes in the form of bread products, moonshine, or loan of myself to cook for your ship for an agreed-upon term. Just let me know who's up for a cyborg body mod project, and we'll get right to that.

[He reaches to turn his communicator off, then pauses, still leaned-in close.]

Oh yeah, and, uh. Any doctors or physical therapists-? Apparently I should be reaching out to you guys too. Same barter terms and all that, and, um. Thanks guys.

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