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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

[redactions]

Yeah, New York. Nice to see someone from home.

Seven months. I realise that's not encouraging, but findin' a way out is taking a while.

[goodjob]

Huh. Last time it took about seven months to kill me. So sounds like you're doing pretty good. Metal arm helps, probably. [For a moment, she just looks tired.] You mind giving me the rundown here? If you're busy, I'll go back to research. [But Fiona always thinks it's best to get the layout of a place from an actual person.]

[redactions]

Not at all. Ask whatever you want to: I'll answer as best I can.

[goodjob]

Thanks. [A sigh.] Anybody ever gotten out of here? I can't find any info on that.

Also, you ever heard of people called the CDC? Cosmic Demolition Crew? They all got these cuffs on their wrists. [She links two fingers around hers-- the cuff is missing.]

[redactions]

[ He peers at the gesture, frowning. ]

Can't say that I have, but a lotta folks here were from somewhere else, before. People disappear, but no one leaves.

[goodjob]

How d'you know disappearing isn't the same as leaving?

[redactions]

Good point. They just disappear, then, but it doesn't make sense why there wouldn't be a way for more of us.

[goodjob]

So... it's a big mystery. Christ, I'm getting sick of those.

Do people come back when they leave?

[redactions]

Sometimes. Not often.

[goodjob]

Good for them.

[A pause, a sigh, and she leans back, collecting herself. The tired sadness on her face folds away into something more convivial and less real.] So what ship're you on, James? If you're not on this IKEA hunk of shit.

[redactions]

I'm on the Heron. If you look outside through one of the windows, it's among the smaller ships following.

[goodjob]

It a good ship? I dunno, any advice for when they release me back into the wild?

[redactions]

It's a quiet ship, if that's your speed. Not much excitement.

[goodjob]

Well, I'm getting the sense you're not the partying type.

[redactions]

[ He chuckles. ]

Depends on the party.

[goodjob]

I heard they have some pretty good ones in NY; don't let me down, here.

[redactions]

[ really Fiona. REALLY. ]

Sure. I'm from the forties. We invented havin' a good time.

[goodjob]

[Always.]

[This does get a reaction, though; something like a double take.] The forties? [Fiona knows exceedingly little about history, but for once she's wracking her brain trying to remember everything she knows about it. It's not much, and she scraps the idea pretty quickly.] That's before NASA, right? You seem to be doing pretty good with all this space shit.

[redactions]

[ He quirks a smile. ]

Seven months is a long time.

[ Also he's a Star Trek nerd. ]

[goodjob]

Yeah, but- shit. Seven months in, I was still getting my sea legs. Space legs. Whatever. [She rolls her eyes, mostly at herself.] But then, the CDC was doing pretty different crap from running a really high-budget reality TV show. I bet you know what those are by now.

[redactions]

Yeah. Ain't fond. To be honest, there's no cameras anywhere. I've got an augment that tells me how to maintain the ship, and there's nothing weird here, and it doesn't get fuzzy or nothin' if I'm close to someone they don't want someone to discover.

[goodjob]

No one deserves to be on reality TV. Well, not most people. Probably deserve it after my last job. [But not Jim Smooth over here, who is clearly just a nice grandpa man from the 40s. With a metal arm.]

[Don't question it.] Have you been close to what they don't want you to see?

[redactions]

[ Firmly, ]

Nobody deserves reality TV.

[ He will fight you on this, Fiona. ]

If I was, I wouldn't have noticed it. I wouldn't be surprised if the augments affect our perception.

[goodjob]

[She smiles very fondly to hear that, even if it doesn't quite reach her eyes.] You obviously don't.

Yeah, maybe we're all really in padded rooms. What kinda things d'you think they wouldn't want us to see, though? I got a few guesses, but you got the experience.

[redactions]

[ He huffs. Okay. Strategic retreat. There'll be round two. ]

Well, if this is the Matrix, probably wherever Agent Smith is. Otherwise — anything that might help us pinpoint where we are. The stars here are all unfamiliar, but none of the planets we land on are surprised to see humans or humanoids. There's always something that tastes like Swedish meatballs, for some reason.