Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kickingand) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-04-01 06:06 pm
kickingand) wrote in driftfleet2016-04-01 06:06 pm
into the distance a ribbon of black
Who: Dean Winchester (AU) & anyone willing to put up with him
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: the marsiva if anyone wants!
When: RIGHT NOW
[ There is something to be said for the few seconds before truly waking up, when everything is fuzzy and safe and nothing matters as much as it did the night before. But that moment tends to get shot in the foot pretty damn fast, especially when Dean is prone to waking up with a rush of adrenaline. Made infinitely worse by the realization that a) he does not know where he is and b) the automatic grab for the weaponry usually confined to his body results in nothing. Nada. His pistol is nowhere to be found, the blade in his jacket is missing, and no amount of grappling about solves that problem. And while he finds the comm device it only annoys him further because it's not his damn gun.
Which is right around the instant Dean shoves himself off the bed and shouts near as loud as he can manage- ] The hell is this! [ Followed with some more grumbling. ] Be better if I asked which Hell is this.. swear to God, this shit never gets any better.
[ It’s too echoey, too sterile, and the immediate need for answers is almost overpowering. He doesn’t give two shits about looking himself over, pushes aside thoughts of the last image that flashes across his mind, and instead gives one more look around the bed he woke in to try and find his weaponry because fuck this shit. Why he’s unarmed is of particular concern and a vast amount of silent panic, but he doesn’t want to stand here and leave himself open to anything either. Which implies moving, something that takes only another second to decide upon.
Not that he’s going to be going far…
No, after a brief stint of stealthy meandering, Dean manages to find himself striding down towards the medical wing because why the hell not. Where it’s near impossible to resist the urge to start rifling through just about everything he can get his hands on. Because Dean Winchester is a Class Act. And because living through the apocalypse tends to make one appreciate medical supplies, especially when you're inclined to... start shit. ]
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: the marsiva if anyone wants!
When: RIGHT NOW
[ There is something to be said for the few seconds before truly waking up, when everything is fuzzy and safe and nothing matters as much as it did the night before. But that moment tends to get shot in the foot pretty damn fast, especially when Dean is prone to waking up with a rush of adrenaline. Made infinitely worse by the realization that a) he does not know where he is and b) the automatic grab for the weaponry usually confined to his body results in nothing. Nada. His pistol is nowhere to be found, the blade in his jacket is missing, and no amount of grappling about solves that problem. And while he finds the comm device it only annoys him further because it's not his damn gun.
Which is right around the instant Dean shoves himself off the bed and shouts near as loud as he can manage- ] The hell is this! [ Followed with some more grumbling. ] Be better if I asked which Hell is this.. swear to God, this shit never gets any better.
[ It’s too echoey, too sterile, and the immediate need for answers is almost overpowering. He doesn’t give two shits about looking himself over, pushes aside thoughts of the last image that flashes across his mind, and instead gives one more look around the bed he woke in to try and find his weaponry because fuck this shit. Why he’s unarmed is of particular concern and a vast amount of silent panic, but he doesn’t want to stand here and leave himself open to anything either. Which implies moving, something that takes only another second to decide upon.
Not that he’s going to be going far…
No, after a brief stint of stealthy meandering, Dean manages to find himself striding down towards the medical wing because why the hell not. Where it’s near impossible to resist the urge to start rifling through just about everything he can get his hands on. Because Dean Winchester is a Class Act. And because living through the apocalypse tends to make one appreciate medical supplies, especially when you're inclined to... start shit. ]
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Only in a very distant sense. I saw you... the other you, once. Coming to visit Sam on the Red Fish, when he was asleep.
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Asleep? [ Uhh, that sure makes him sound like a massive creeper. ]
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Does it happen out of the blue?
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Seems to. Maybe it's some stupid plan to drum up entertainment if a ship isn't being entertaining enough. Might be a...glitch? That's the word that means something technological messing up, right?
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Right. Could be a glitch. But i'm not sure why sleeping would be any more fun to watch, but hey- people get their rocks off all kinds of ways.
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[She is unable to make any kind of soap opera reference as those don't exist where she's from.]
But no, I can't claim any insight on why Atroma does what it does to any of us.
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Well, some people do bad things for reasons they can justify. It doesn't excuse it. Nothing excuses slavery.
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[ Which is the crux of it isn't it. The fact that whatever reason they've got, means they all have to stay here. Not that Dean has anywhere better to be.. ]
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[She shrugs one shoulder.]
I could sit here, speculating and complaining all day, but that's hardly a proper way to greet a person, even under shared circumstances.
[A small smile.]
That's really a topic for when you can get to the alcohol.
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I'd take a glass or two right around now. [ Or, y'know, twenty. ]
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Glad to know there's still more than one bar in space.
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Be glad that if you had to get dragged here, it's when we do have them. A few months ago, we didn't have any. It was horrible.
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Where'd you get it from, then? [ PRIORITIES! ]
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Before we salvaged the Iskaulit, we had to just buy what we could find on the stations. I'm fairly sure that's what the taverns themselves are doing, but on a larger scale.
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sorry hover menu strikes again
LOL NO IT'S FINE i thought i had done it jaklf
And so we raid their pantries while we're there. But i'm guessing that's not where we get the food for the rest of the fleet. [ Which is to say, where does that food come from and does he need to worry about it. ]
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Okay her concern is weirder but it's along the same lines.]
I have no idea where it comes from. You never see anyone refilling anything, or doing maintenance other than the crews of the ships. Yet, somehow the kitchens are always stocked with the goo they prefer to feed us.
[Look at her face. It is not a face of someone who wants to eat goo.]
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And we're not just supposed to find that, y'know, freaky?
[ Fucked up is much more of the phrase he'd prefer, but he's trying to be a tolerable human being. ]
omg your Dean is so good
Oh I find it highly dubious, and I avoid eating it if I can help it. But sometimes there is no helping it. There is apparently a middle of nowhere out in the middle of nowhere, and Atroma often likes to take us directly to it.
Or to planets made of poison.
dfjklsa AHHH THANK YOU i try!!
Not exactly looking to starve to death or watch anyone else do it, but- not banking on the reliability of toxic waste dumps, either.
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[She doesn't actually know a lot about where he comes from, but like usually recognizes like.]
I'm always happy to share resources though, so wherever you end up, just keep it in mind, if you ever find yourself having to choose between goo or poison.
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