004 ↯ audio

[feathery]

Who: Davesprite and whoever.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Indoors, moonside.
When: Now sounds good.

[Someone is done to death with masks and getting accosted by randos on the street. Thus, Davesprite has taken refuge indoors, since that's as good as it gets short of returning to the ships. He'd normally opt for text, but he honestly just wants to talk for a while. Even if his voice is equal parts bored and sullen.]

Sportball ambushes on the street are great and all, [it probably isn't possible for him to sound more sarcastic] but I got to ponder the selection happening in this contaminated stain on the face of space. Like, sure, there are "strategy games" [yes, those are actual, audible air quotes], but where my real battles at. You know, the wordplay variety, where you drop a witticism to a sick beat and slant it to rhyme. Twist that shit into ill verse and cause some deadly delirium not even the most decorated doctor could cure. Dude could be veteran to World War Disease and still find himself stymied by this nasty flow that makes even the gutsiest guerilla fold. Ain't a medic around who can mend my rap battle burns.

[A beat.]

So, yeah, maybe I'm only pissed about moon pollution central 'cause all these hostile idiots keep hailing me out of the blue and yet: not a single fuckin' rap battle. [This is definitely not the only reason he's pissed about moon pollution central, but priorities.] What's a guy got to do, besides deck himself out in a shitty respirator and biohazard costume. A live performance? God, this is stupid.

Comments

[feathery]

That's the fucking problem, dude. There's never anything we can do.

[It's harsher than he'd like and he stops, drumming his fingers against one of the hanger rails. The shuttles are right there, but suddenly he doesn't want to get on board anymore.

He glances at Isaac, sidelong and so sharp that it probably isn't familiar. And then he looks away and leans against the rail, hands going into his pockets.]

Beats me. [He has plenty of speculation, but that's all it is in the end. Speculation.] Why do you think they wasted the time to treat us like fucking wetware?

[It isn't a rhetorical question.]

[frigidaire]

I don't know.

[ He doesn't have an answer, because he's not sure even he knows. He leans against the rail, looking away from Davesprite. The look was strange -- the tone of their conversation strained. Isaac goes quiet, looking out around them at the weird moon and it's city. ]

I don't know why we're here or what we're supposed to do about it. We can try to get their attention, kick things around but I doubt it will do anything. But I'm also not sure too many people have tried to get answers out of them, either. People seem pretty happy here, sometimes.

[feathery]

People've tried, but it never goes anywhere. Sometimes I dunno if the assholes that talk to us know anything to start. Can't rat out your higher-ups if you're in the dark.

[But it's true. A lot of people are content here and Davesprite doesn't know how to deal with that. He doesn't care if other crew (and what a fucking joke that word is, like contestants, like they're willing participants when they're really just well-treated prisoners) enjoy being part of the Fleet—their choice—but it means he has no fucking outlet. He's seen enough bullshit about how maybe people don't like the Fleet, but at least no one's getting tortured, that it's better than wherever they were last. He's seen people get defensive about it.

Who knows, maybe Atroma banks on their bullshit being normalized. Why should their abductees give a shit if they can't escape, if they're subject to the whims of some faceless motherfuckers, as long as those motherfuckers do the bare minimum to keep them all content?

It just makes Davesprite fucking angry, in the end. But he's figured out by now that it's easier not to think about it. He's just over doing what's easy and it makes him feel totally fucking helpless instead. How do you escape from someone who always knows exactly where you fucking are? When you can't get rid of or disable the very thing they use to track you? (And that's what Davesprite thinks the augments are really for. To control them.)]

...I'd go back if I could. [He doesn't elaborate on what that means.]

[frigidaire]

Yeah, I think a lot of us would.

[ Isaac isn't sure what to say. He can't help his friend in any way and there is nothing he can do to change that. He runs a hand through his hair, something to do with his hands. ]

But until then we've got shitty space food and a lot of B movies. At least there's that. [ Isaac isn't trying to ignore the seriousness of the situation, but it's difficult to help someone when things are so tense. ]

[feathery]

[He scoffs. It isn't mean, but it is a little bitter for reasons that have nothing to do with Isaac. Davesprite is fine with Isaac not knowing how to help or what to say; he doesn't expect other people to fix his problems.]

Yeah, I guess so.

[He pushes away from the rail.]

Come on, let's get out of here.