first {if the honey don't get me, i know the beehive will}

[brokencopy]

Who: B + U {open}
Broadcast: Fleetwide audio
Action: Marsiva
When: Nowish

[B wakes, and he isn't where he should be.

Caught, his first panicked thought, followed closely after by failed - but no. This is a cot, but it's not a prison cell. He's been detained, rerouted - that much is certain - but he hasn't failed. He hasn't finished. The landscape of the game has simply changed.

It's still an unnecessary detour; it still makes his blood boil. B allows himself a long, silent moment of pure fury over his current predicament - forcibly prevented from finishing his masterpiece, halted from placing the final piece of the puzzle into place, how dare, how dare - but only that, only a moment. He's still him, and he does next what comes naturally for his brilliant mind in any situation - always observe. Make an analysis; collect the clues; form a conclusion.

B sits up, swings his legs over the side of the cot, plants his feet on the floor. Picks up the device set next to him, slowly turns it over in his hand, examining it. Somehow, he already knows exactly how it works. Interesting.

A move has been made against him; the only viable response is to launch a counterattack, a test. He clicks on an audio broadcast, and for several seconds, there's only the almost-silence of dead air - quiet breathing, a faint hum of background noise, nothing more. Then, he speaks: calmly, evenly. Perhaps unnaturally so, give the circumstances.]

Misora ... please respond.

Comments

audio;

[maschinenpistole]

Imagination! Or education, depending on the child, I guess. Or, you know, other things, for not-so-children~

[ ... Kotoha what. But she plows right ahead like she hasn't just said something vaguely off-color at all~ ]

Ahh, anyway, I'm sorry to say I don't think Misora is here. But still, welcome to the fleet, yes?

audio;

[brokencopy]

Well, I'm certainly not a child, and I'm not here to be educated, but I suppose I have no choice but to thank you for the welcome. To which fleet am I being welcomed, exactly?

[maschinenpistole]

Then I suppose I have no choice but to answer! We're the Drift Fleet. We seem to go wherever the mother ship goes. [ Beat. ] I guess it's called the mother ship, I'm not from a time where space travel is a big thing.

[brokencopy]

[B does hear everything she says, but it's one thing in particular he chooses to respond to, something ridiculously pedantic, as is his favored method of verbally shaking his opponent (because they're all opponents, in his mind).]

I'm certainly not forcing you to answer.

[maschinenpistole]

[ Without missing a beat! ]

Imitation is a quick way to make someone feel more welcome.

[brokencopy]

Because it's flattering?

[maschinenpistole]

[ She makes one of those "eeennnhh..." noises - the kind you can imagine comes along with bobbing the head side to side in contemplation. ]

Or a pleasant surprise - personal norms, after all. But that's all in the best cases.

[brokencopy]

Well, I was more referring to the statement that imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but if you insist.

[It's not always flattering, of course. B didn't take up imitating L as a means of paying tribute to the other man; quite the opposite, in fact. It's a mockery, an elaborate parody born of contempt and anger, another way of saying you are beneath me.]

[maschinenpistole]

Mm, I thought you were. But it wasn't, so I didn't want to lead you on.

[ Now now, children... ]

Did you have any questions?

[brokencopy]

Questions about what?

[maschinenpistole]

[ Hoo boy. ]

The ships, the augments, where we are right now...

[brokencopy]

Well, since you've mentioned it, where are we right now?

[It's only polite to ask, since she brought it up. Clearly.]

[maschinenpistole]

Mm, we're drifting by a planet called Arslae. The climate is cold and harsh, but there's a lot of tourism going on. [ Beat. ] They also really like their salt. A lot. I think I saw a fight break out over whose salt was better.

[ She almost wishes she were kidding. ]

[brokencopy]

[He files away these details without commenting on most of them.]

That seems like an awfully petty thing to argue over.