One fish, two fish...

[theboogieman]

Who: Crew of the S.S. Bad At Feelings S.S. Red Fish and visitors!
Broadcast: Optional!
Action: All sorts!
When: Around the Drifting Week.

---

[if the worlds really are watching, they must just be chomping at the bit to find out what's going on aboard this ship full of misfits and sad-sacks! with one crewmate reportedly dead, another recently missing, and now this thing about a hacking device planted in the communications system--what could possibly happen next?

stay tuned, audience!]

Comments

Arthur - open

[dontthinkaboutelephants]

a) outside his room

[So all that moping? DONE. Sort of. Well, now he's angry. And grumpy as hell. There is a new sign on Arthur's room, carefully penned in dark lettering: "KEEP OUT". If that's not crazy off-putting, feel free to knock or try to weasel in. Although he's coming out of his room right now, carrying a pile of dishes. Does he have stubble? He does. And he's wearing sweats and a t-shirt. He doesn't see your character though, as he's turning into them with his pile of dishes.]

b) cargo hold

[He's been working out for a couple hours now, not heeding his right arm very well. Punching a punching bag with your non-dominant hand? Weird. But he's doing it. Viciously. He's worked himself into a furious mood, and he's probably tearing up his knuckles. He stops to take a drink of water, and sits down on the weight bench, quieter now. What now?]

[ooc: Feel free to interrupt prompts at any point! I apologize in advance for his manpain.]

b) is for boys being dumb

[theboogieman]

[that poor punching bag. it's been sewn up a couple of times before the recent tragedy... we can only hope it survives the rest of the week, at this rate...

Zhas is in a bad mood before he gets there, but once he sees Arthur already punching the crap out of the bag he'd been looking forward to knocking around? kind of makes him think about using Arthur himself as a replacement.

instead, he glares, growls unfriendly-like, and walks along the wall to go set down his bag of stuff. he's dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, but still wearing that weird, scary skull face-paint.]

[dontthinkaboutelephants]

[Zhas is probably the only person that could actually pull off growling. Still, it ticks him off instead of scaring him. He wipes off his face on the inside of his t-shirt, watching Zhas as he walks along the wall. He lets out an angry gust of air then, turning so he can see him, his stare and voice cold.] Say it.

[Outloud.]

[theboogieman]

[and wouldn't you know it, the guy straight-up gives him an excuse.

he never says much, but this is a special occasion:] Get out.

[he drops his bag on the floor, watching Arthur back. he sounds cold and menacing by default, eyes glowing a dim orange in the low-light of the cargo hold.]

a) is for aaaaaaagh boys why

[mortalcoil]

[you know what Coil hates even worse than crossing another human being while he's quietly seething around with horrible feelings that he doesn't know how to deal with? being run into on his blind side by said human being. he hates that shit.

so, it's really an instant reaction when he shoves out hard with an elbow as something is suddenly intruding into his space, heading right for his face and his still-sore ribs.]

[dontthinkaboutelephants]

[Okay those plates are certainly flying everywhere and shattering on the floor. Arthur stumbles back, wide-eyed and shocked. He doesn't have the wherewithal to ask if Coil's okay. His heart is beating hard in his chest, so he smacks an upset hand against the wall next to himself.] Shit.

[mortalcoil]

[the jolt of the whole thing, along with the effort of slamming an elbow into something, is exactly the sort of thing that aggravates the hell out of his still-healing wounds.

while Arthur is recovering on his side of things, Coil is also reeling--hissing through his teeth with a grimace and taking a moment to ride out the painful spasm in his ribs. and once he does manage to catch his breath, there are a couple of angry, pointed signs being gestured in Arthur's direction.]

Zhas | Open

[theboogieman]

a) on the bridge

[so, the crew's recently discovered that the comms have been bugged with some kind of... scrambling device? Zhas understands basic wiring and knows his way around mechanics, but this thing way beyond his realm of knowledge.

while people are around, the enigmatic skull-faced man gives his opinion from the corner skulking place where he'd been quietly observing:]

We should smash it.

b) cargo bay

[he hasn't been taking the recent drama very well. the last time someone close to him was killed, he stopped talking for a decade and devoted his life to the destruction of all undead. it's kind of a wonder that he hasn't done something stupid in a fit of anger already.

because he is angry. disgusted. guilty. there's a horrible gnashing thing in his chest and all it wants is to sink its teeth in and tear something apart. and anger is a defense mechanism; it turns the hurt out on other people. it sends the wolf to gnaw on something else for a change.

he's trying to burn some of it off in the cargo bay, smashing that poor, beat-up punching bag with bare-knuckle fists. he fights like that all the time, and his hide is tough as nails, but he's still been at it long enough to start splitting his skin and bruising his poor, neglected joints.

he looks pissed. his orange eyes are especially bright in the dim light here, and he sure as hell hasn't taken his facepaint off. he doesn't stop until he manages to knock the back off its hook--and even then, his only rest comes as he trudges forward to drag the stand-in target back up for another beating.]

c) the lab

[he hangs out in the lab a lot because Coil works there... and this time he's sitting on the table, maybe waiting for said one-eyed friend to come back and take a look at his busted fingers. his focus isn't in the room, however. he looks distant, checked-out. someone could walk in quietly and he may not even notice.

he's holding his personal communicator in his lap. it's playing some audio recording, though the volume is pretty low. it sounds like a woman... humming, or maybe singing? her voice wanders through snippets of old songs and sounds that aren't quite words, like a lullaby heard through the filter of a dream.]

b

[interstices]

[Well, look who's here at the old stomping grounds. Asuka comes in unannounced, as usual, arms crossed, her usual bitter look practically engraved on her face, but she's not feeling any worse or better than usual as she stalks over.]

We already had to sew that thing back together once. [This close, her too-sharp nose can detect the smell of blood under the sweat. If he keeps this up, he's going to hurt himself. Her voice is marginally softer for her next words-- she's pretty ugly when crossed, herself, and though she's not looking for a fight, she thinks she might end up with one if she's not careful. The expression on his face would be scary without his makeup.] You could at least kick it sometimes.

[theboogieman]

[that sad punching bag doesn't deserve this mess of a crew, man.

while at first he doesn't seem to pay much attention to her arrival, throwing punch after punch even though it's starting to sting, her coming close triggers a little warning in his peripheral awareness. as much as he's zeroed on on his target, real or imagined, he's also hardwired not to hurt innocent humans.

or, at least, things that are... adjacent to an innocent human. his definitions have expanded, some, since he was brought here.

so he slowly winds down. she can watch it--a couple of punches that don't land on center, slower lead-up, his breathing suddenly noticeable as he and his body remember he has a finite lung capacity. his return to the real world brings with it the knowledge that his arms hurt and his hands are raw, and his facepaint must look a mess with how long he's been going at this.

he finally stops with one hand pressed against the bag, leaning on the backs of his fingers, the whole thing creaking on its chains as their weights balance out. he looks over at her--not glaring, at least, not angry in her direction--but he doesn't look like he's having a great time, either.]

[interstices]

What's the matter?

[Something is, that's patently obvious. Zhas wouldn't wear himself out for no reason at all. And the type of punching he's doing, the wild intensity-- it's like he's not just letting off steam, he's trying to attack something he can't really face. That's her takeaway, at least, if only because she'd used the bag that way when she'd first ended up aboard.]

[But he's not new here. Just a couple days ago, he was painting up a storm. It doesn't really make sense. Asuka takes another stiff step forward.]

Get something to drink, at least. You'll pass out.

Laura Kinney - Open

[girlverine]

A - Hallways

[Laura did not like being stuck on the ship again. The smog moon had been awful, but the hand holding planet, in spite of it's...shortcomings...had honestly been wonderful, and being trapped in the ship again felt too much like a cage. A small, restrictive cage.]

[So she was prowling around a lot. Not quite pacing really, but close, moving from room to room to room to room, unable to really sit still for more than a few minutes, especially in the mornings.]

[Man she missed climbing trees.]

B - Cargo Hold

[One of the few times she did sit still, or at least stay in one place, was down in the hold. There was enough room to go through her martial arts training, so often times she was doing that, just simple exercises.]

[Other times, and the only time she'd really be sitting down, she would be in the corner of the hold where her 'wish' had resulted in two large aquariums full of the little fuzz slugs from the planet. (One for aquatic ones, one for not). She usually had one out, sitting on her arm or her shoulder as she sat cross-legged on the floor and tried not to dwell on feeling so enclosed.]

A.

[theboogieman]

[unfortunately, Zhas is also in a less-than-ideal mood. the confinement never bothers him, but other problems have left him restless and irritable.

sleep is something that doesn't come to him easily. trying is kind of an ordeal. so when his attempted resting is interrupted over and over again by someone wandering through the hallway from room to room, he finally gets up, climbs the ladder out of his hatch, and slams the door open a little louder than entirely necessary.

so, hello. a menacing-looking guy with a skull painted on his face is glaring out into the hall, looking for the owner of the offending footsteps.]

[girlverine]

[Laura sensed him coming a moment before his door opened, but she made no attempt to stop, not until he was leaning out into the hallway enough to be in her way.]

[She stopped a foot or so away, and probably didn't look all that intimidating being a tiny teenage girl, if not for the way she held herself. And her green eyes meeting his as if to say 'well, move.']

[She didn't really know how to be intimidated.]

[theboogieman]

[and Zhas, in turn, finds himself face to face with a small person who doesn't look the slightest bit concerned, surprised, or unsettled by his presence.

which is... kind of astounding, to him. since he doesn't know how to back down from anything, he just tilts his head and looks at her, replying with his own wordless sort of, 'what do you mean, move?']

B.

[mortalcoil]

[now that Coil is healed enough to move around and exert himself again (and is now carrying a brand-new chip on his shoulder), he has quite a bit of frustration to work out on the Red Fish's battered punching bag. he's got his heart set on a good, liberating round of localized violence, opening up in the only way he ever really feels comfortable.

...which is why finding someone else already taking up space in the cargo hold is a bit vexing.

pausing a few steps into descending the staircase, the line of his mouth flattens in silent disapproval. and he just stands there, debating on what to do about it.]

[girlverine]

[Laura heard him coming a few seconds before he stepped into the room, but she didn't look over until he had stopped to watch her. She was just going through some stretches, really, and she finished the last one before she straightened up and peered over at him.]

Yes?

[He was interrupting, after all.]

[mortalcoil]

[Coil doesn't say anything--just looks at her with one vaguely-disguntled eye from his place on the stairs. out of all of his crewmates, she's the one that he knows almost nothing about... and he doesn't seem overly eager to make a new friend. his mood isn't exactly inspiring him to be very friendly, at the moment.

so, he continues his way down the stairs without a word, obviously seeming dissatisfied with her presence in some way, but not really offering much else beyond that.]

Asuka Shikinami Langley | OTA

[interstices]

i. hallway

[Asuka's not in a foul mood, exactly, but she's also not pleased. Years on board the Wunder and years spent grudgingly at NERV mean she's used to enclosed spaces, but the handholding planet's spoiled her. It's like the day after a feast, except all the leftovers have been thrown out. She's anxious, too, which is even worse, uncertain about everything, herself included.]

[She's on her way to her room, something tight and mostly-hidden in her arm, with only a bit of red cloth sticking out. At least, that's how it starts out, until, on her blind side, she walks straight into someone, promptly dropping the totem that's more puppet than doll, really-- her gift from the tree.]

[Scrambling to pick it up, she hisses without apology--]

Hey!

ii. kitchen

[She's really no cook, but she had spent a fair amount of time on the planet waitressing at one of the restaurants. A day or so before they'd left, she'd spent the last of her acorns on a gallon or so of some sort of chowder, and brought it with her back to the ship. Now that they're most definitely not getting anything fresh for awhile, she's assessing her stock and pouring out a portion in a plastic bowl. Not having to eat doesn't keep her from sometimes wanting to eat.]

[Unsurprisingly, the chowder's not quite as good heated up in the microwave as it had been fresh, but it's still a dire improvement from the cubed crap that's usually in the kitchen. She stops, mouth and spoon about a half-inch from each other, and says, slightly grudgingly--]

You want any?

[OOC: If you'd rather have a custom starter, PM me! Asuka, like Visa, is everywhere you want to be.]

Hallway!

[theboogieman]

[the Red Fish's resident Halloween decoration isn't exactly in the best state of mind either. at the moment, his enemy is sleep deprivation, and turning a corner only to have someone bump into him is enough to startle him out of his stupor.

maybe that's why he suddenly tries to snatch up that thing on the ground at the same time she does--without even really knowing what it is.]

[interstices]

[He reaches the doll before she does, her hand closing on nothing but air. No. He can't get her. He doesn't deserve to touch her. Nobody does.]

Give her back!

[The doll's age is obvious, despite Asuka's attempts over the years to preserve it-- at least, those times when she wasn't throwing it angrily to the side, or yanking out the seams only to resew them later. The red dress and hood are faded, and there are pulled stitches and ratty seamstressing around the arms especially. The doll doesn't have a torso or legs beneath the dress-- really, it's closest to a puppet, but semantics don't matter when she's fighting over what's hers. Reaching up, she grabs Zhas by the shoulders, hold way too tight for someone so small and gangly.]

She's mine! Drop her right now!

[theboogieman]

[he barely gets a chance to examine the toy (??) in his hand before the screeching thing (therefor recognizable as Asuka) gets a grip on his shoulders with the same monster strength he felt all the way back when she'd clung onto his arm at the pier.

whether from lack of self-preservation or simply because he's a dumb boy, his first instinct is to raise the doll higher over his head to where she can't reach it.]

kitchen

[mortalcoil]

[despite the way he hovers in the doorway, he shakes his head at the offer. don't worry--whatever she's eating, it's safe.

but, unlike the purposeful way he usually lurks around, he continues to just kind of loiter at the threshold of the room, looking aimless. like he's not entirely sure why he's there.

maybe he's there because he's hungry, or maybe he's just tired. he doesn't know.]

[interstices]

Come in.

[A frown flits absently on her face as she waves him in with her spoon, the thick soup dribbling back into the bowl. From there, she remembers herself and takes a bite. Fish... God, before getting to that planet, she hadn't had real fish since maybe being commissioned... and potatoes, and something fatty-- bacon, maybe? She's not sure.]

[Coil looks like his usual glum self, only worse. He tends to look sneaky, underhanded, as if he's trying to do or find something under everyone's nose. Like the most morose magician's assistant. Right now, though, he's just there. Blank.]

What is it?

[mortalcoil]

[he can't even sit at a table like a normal person--instead, just sort of slouching down into the chair and pulling one foot up onto the seat. that vulturine look he's mastered is in prime form right now.

and despite all that, he still seems a little surprised by the question, raising his brow in confusion. what is what?]