Red Fish assemble!

[mortalcoil]

Who: Crew and visitors of the SS Red Fish
Broadcast: Nah
Action: Aboard the good ship Red Fish
When: End of February--Beginning of March?

[why is it called the Red Fish when the place looks more like a spiky dungeon than anything having to do with aquatic wildlife? no one knows.

it might be an unconventional atmosphere for socializing, but the lovable crew of the Red Fish isn't going to let a little thing like that stop them from bonding, are they?]

Comments

Cargo bay

[tothefly]

You look like hell.

[The voice comes out of nowhere, from a few yards behind him. There were no footsteps leading up to it, thanks to the thud of fists against canvas and her own quiet steps, but at least the voice is familiar enough. Natasha stands her ground, stance ready in case he decides to take the comment as a challenge. Really, it's an observation, and maybe even (if you squint your eyes and listen hard) an expression of concern. She knows what pushing yourself too hard looks like.]

[mortalcoil]

[even if he hadn't been wailing on the punching bag with as much enthusiasm as he was, there's a good chance he would have missed her approach anyway. he's not exactly at the peak of alertness right now.

and along that same vein, he doesn't whirl toward her with the same sharp energy he would have normally had. he's beyond tired, and it sure is showing now. he has to turn all the way around to bring her into the view of his one bashed-up eye.

'thanks,' he signs, managing to make the gesture shine with sarcasm.]

[tothefly]

[Coil turns around, giving her a fantastic look at the shiner he's got under his one good eye. Her expression doesn't change all that much, just one tiny quirk of her eyebrow, but if he could clearly see that one small gesture, it'd speak volumes. The sarcasm of his signing isn't lost on her, either. It might not be her native tongue, but it's close. She doesn't bother signing back, he probably can't see more than a person-shaped blur at that distance anyway, the way that thing is swollen.]

Don't thank me, I'm pretty sure none of your visible bruises are mine. I keep away from the face. Mostly.

I'm going get lunch on the station. You're coming with me. Unless you've eaten in the last eight hours?

[She's pretty sure he hasn't.]

[mortalcoil]

[he... shakes his head. and she's welcome to interpret that as either an answer to her question, a refusal of the instruction, or both.

either way, he doesn't look like he's actually in the mood to argue much. maybe one good swollen eye was all it took to finally beat the fight out of him.]

[tothefly]

[It ought to be a no to the former, because she's certainly not accepting a no for the latter. Unless it's a no as in, 'no I haven't eaten in the last eight hours because I'm too busy hating myself and this place and missing my bff.' Approaching slowly, she comes around his side and leans against the bag, looking at him a little more critically.]

Food, and some ice, at least. Come on. You can't let me go on my own. What if I walk down a dark alley somewhere and run into someone unsavory?

[If the lure of food isn't enough, she's shameless enough to bribe with violence. It's not good for him, being cooped up in here alone. Not good for her, either, as she keeps trying to remind herself.]

[mortalcoil]

[he casually glances away as she circles around to look at him more directly, just happening to put her on his blind side as he does. it's a subtle habit of his, when he'd like to ignore someone.

however, the playful temptation of violence does the trick (perhaps unfortunately). he's not in a hurry to try and tackle a meal, but the fact that she even thinks to make an offer like that does mean a lot. it's thoughtful, really.

so, he eventually shrugs. lead the way.]