driftfleet | .04 Scars are just places where I used to bleed

Who: Rogue
Broadcast: Text
Action: A corner table in Varrick’s bar on the Iskaulit
When: January 17th

[Around 10 this morning as time is measured, this text goes live across the network, the numbers set to anonymous:]

**Wanted** Pilot with a pilot augment willing to risk a little trouble. If interested, interviews will be held at the Space Bar from approximately 3-6 today. Compensation for time and trouble to be negotiated.

Action
[Rogue sits with her back to the wall with a decent view of the door. She’d asked the bartender to inform anyone who came in and inquired about interviews to point them in her direction, and Nami had graciously agreed. This had been in her mind to determine for a while, but Loki's disappearance had just given her the proper motivation to try it. There is a determined set to her shoulders even as she tries to relax and nurse her drink. This would be what her friends would call reckless if they were feeling kind about things, which would be why she didn't plan on telling them.

...Ugh, waiting for interviews was not the best. Maybe she should have brought a book. She pages absently through her communicator instead.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A small, tight smile that is almost nothing like a smile at all.]

I'm pretty sure they have my boyfriend.

[And just like that, every ounce of wry, carefully-relaxed ease evaporates off of him, like fog off a mirror, and all that's left is the ready tension that always flashes through him when the lights go out, when someone rolls into the kitchen from his peripheral vision too quickly.

He doesn't want the dull weight of empathy that crushes the air out of his lungs. It's there anyway.]

How do you figure that?

I woke up an' he was gone. But his room's a mess of illusions, so his powers are still workin'. An' [She takes out the green pendent Eugene's seen before and suspends it by its chain. The 'point' of the arrow begins to tug toward a specific direction, the exact direction of the Marsiva.

She lets that make its silent case for a moment.]

The folks runnin' Luceti used ta do this, every now an' again. I don't know what's goin' on, but I do know I'm gonna try my best ta find out.

[And if her best involves a little recklessness, at least it endangers nobody but her.]

[Powers. Eugene's mind flits back to spare observations, a moment here and there from the solstice, and it just confirms what he suspected.

Under better circumstances, congratulations would be in order, for hooking up with an apparent god. But these are a lot closer to the worse circumstances Eugene's been privy to, and when the corner of his mouth tugs back toward a smirk, it's mirthless and set.]

I'm a pretty awful pilot, but let me know if there's anything else I can do to help, okay?

[Rogue softens by increments, something about the corner of her eyes, then her lips.

This was not just about her, she had to remember, it was about all of them, and what could happen to them, and what their captors were truly like. She belatedly registers Eugene's tension and regrets being its cause as much as she knows that tension of their existence is nothing more than the truth.]

That's right kind of ya. [She ran her gloved hands through her hair, rumpling the cut in an aggravated fashion.] Just - put up with me if it doesn't work an' I start slammin' pots, I guess. Never could get through the barrier at Luceti.

[But that didn't mean she wasn't going to give it her best shot.]

Who knows. Maybe they kind of want you to get to him. Audiences love a dramatic reunion, right?

[It's the best comfort he can give, the knowledge that at least there's some kind of overarching purpose to their presence here, and he manages a wan smile as he gives it, bumping her shoe with his.]

It's enough that the ship has three cooks. I don't think they're going to commit to two of them being all sulky.

Yeah? Who's the other sulky one? [She gives him a small smile.]

Oh, come on. [He gestures at himself, giving a betrayed look.] One-legged moonshiner with a tragic apocalypse backstory? I have the sulky loner role locked in, my friend.

[...tragic apocalypse backstory?]

Ya need ta work on your sulk, then. Right now you're all -- grinny.

Yeah. I guess I got too proud of my genre-savviness for a minute there. [For all the good it does him. This show doesn't seem to be nearly as highly-managed as he'd expect a project like this to be.] I probably need to get back to the kitchen and hum a few of The Cure's greatest hits if I'm gonna keep my title, huh?

Maybe cry a little. [A gloved finger traces a path down her own cheek.] Ya know, just the one tear.

.04 Scars are just places where I used to bleed

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