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[goodjob]

Who: Fiona Gallagher and you.
Broadcast: fleetwide
Action: the Marsiva
When: 1/20

[The camera manages to catch Fiona waking up with an angry yelp before she stumbles furiously out of bed, and off screen. Something like a muffled scream can be heard, but not seen. She's gone for a fair amount of time before she returns to addresse the camera directly.]

[She looks tired, a breath away from haggard. Her voice is harsh.] I feel like my room's been downgraded. What are our coordinates? [She frowns, scratches the back of her neck.] Where are we? And... how long's it been since the fire?

[That out of the way, she relaxes and asks in a more conversational tone:] And has anybody got a smoke? I'm definitely not quitting now. [She rolls her eyes.]

Oh, and Adrien, you owe me a drink. [Muttered:] At least.

[Anyone who wants to find Fiona on the bridge of the Marsiva is welcome to do so! They can find her when she just woke up, when she went off screen to scream into a pillow, or after the message when she'll be spending her time inspecting everything, and trying to find some cigarettes.]

Comments

[feathery]

What was going on before you got here. Like where were you.

[goodjob]

[She hesitates, sighs, kind of mentally preparing herself before she says it.] Macha. Remember the big planet with all the fucking trees?

[feathery]

[There's a long pause.]

I think you got the wrong Dave.

[But at least he feels obligated to elaborate a little.]

I've never been anywhere called Macha, unless Psychotics "R" Us underwent a rename. But at the very least I'd remember you being there and I don't, so. Must've been another guy.

[Fuck this, this isn't fair.]

[goodjob]

... What do you remember about me? ['The wrong Dave' means he has the wrong Fiona.]

[feathery]

[...] Do I just start listing facts.

[goodjob]

What's the last time we talked?

[feathery]

[Apparently when she forgot him, but LET'S JUST HANDWAVE IN SOMETHING ELSE AFTER THAT...]

Man, I don't know. When there was a mini invasion of flesh-eating scarabs maybe. Or when we got a second influx of alt dimension visitors. It's been a while.

[goodjob]

[They probably walked to work pretty often, don't question it bruh.] Yeah, but where were we?

[feathery]

Oh. Asgard.

[There's almost an audible eyeroll.]

Yeah, like the Nordic pantheon crap.

[goodjob]

Asgard. [She narrows her eyes, trying to think of why that sounds familiar.] Oh, Jesus! That was where I was before... and you had wings. And I worked with... fucking Harry Potter people. Right?

[feathery]

[Well, this is unexpected.]

Shit, yeah. With all the bullshit gods and powers and giants. Jesus, how long ago was that for you.

[goodjob]

A few months? Shit, at least half a year. I was there, and then... Those planets and shit I talked about. But you were there too, I remember. You had a cape.

[feathery]

[Oh god she's talking about real Dave, why this.]

Oh.

[A beat.]

So how huge of an asshole was I. [Because he was, inevitably, an asshole. He searched his feelings, he knows it to be true.]

[goodjob]

The normal amount. [Shrug. Everyone's an asshole at that age.] You don't remember it?

[feathery]

I wouldn't. Different Dave. We've got a surplus where I'm from.

[goodjob]

Oh, yeah. I remember you saying... something about that. But I remember you were pretty similar. I mean, besides the wings thing. You still got those?

[feathery]

[He sighs, though it's less at the wing question and more at the comment about him being similar to Dave.]

Yeah, I'm still a feathery douchebag. Legs, limbs, wings all still attached where Asgard left them. For some reason. [Pause.] Not that I'm complaining, but it's a little weird.

[goodjob]

So... it's been a year for you and half one for me. Less time travel than you thought. [A shrug, not bad.]

So you've been stuck here a year? Seen anything good?

[feathery]

[Let's not talk about time travel.]

Less than. And not really. I guess I'm getting jaded in my old age.

[The sarcasm is palpable.]

It's pretty much just been the planets I listed, plus some waystations. Oh, and some movies.

[goodjob]

You've always been jaded. C'mon, you've gotta have some stories for me. I got stories for you. [Before, she remembers, she treated this kid with ridiculous caution, like he'd bolt at any moment. She also remembers a feeling of regret.]

[Second chances are a sick joke she intends to take advantage of.]

[feathery]

Ok, then you go first. What kind of stories am I competing with. I need a frame of reference, so I can hang mine in style.

[goodjob]

Uh, okay. This one time, I shot the head off a landshark.

[feathery]

...Yeah, I don't have anything that can compete with that.

[goodjob]

It's not a competition. But I'll tell you the landshark story if you want. It's less thrilling when you know it was a training exercize.

[feathery]

Ok. Let's hear those deets, 'cause I'm half wondering what kind of training exercise requires you to guillotine a landshark by shotgun.