driftfleet | i - action/video

Who: Eugene Woods, back again!
Broadcast: yes
Action: SS Wonderduck
When: August 5th, evening

action

[It's like that moment when you walk through a door and forget what you were about to do. Except replace walk with 'teleport', and replace what you were about to do with

'what possible course of events could move you instantly from your bunk to the bridge of a completely unfamiliar ship'. Surrounded by confetti. Back in the standard jumper.

Oh, and minus both crutches and leg.

One undignified topple to the confetti-strewn ground later - one made infinitely more comical for the festive music playing, probably - Eugene has the opportunity to take stock of his situation. Definitely not the Vanquish. Or any other ship he's been on. Too lost and put-out to be afraid, he sits up, finds his communicator, and stares at it flatly.]

What the hell, guys.

[No response. He's not sure why he expected one. Stare still vaguely accusatory, he opens up the network, grabs a cup of pudding, and settles in to dig for some information himself.]

video

So . . . epic mystery nap, huh.

[Eugene's managed to get to the kitchen, but he hasn't moved much since then, scanning his communicator and continuing his long, slow descent down the rabbit hole of what the hell happened. It's been months since he had to play the new-kid-in-town role, and he can't say he's feeling any more fondly toward it now than he did the last time, although for completely different reasons. Last time it was loss, outrage, disbelief. This time, it's just untethered, pure disorientation.

At least with anger, it has a direction. This is just nothing, icy-black as the vacuum of space on the other side of the hull. Dozens on dozens of voices on the communicator, and still, in every second they're quiet he doesn't think he's ever felt more profoundly alone.

He's made himself marginally presentable, finger-combed back the curly chaos of his hair and straightened his shirt. Probably should get up and make something to eat, but the gnawing unease won't let him stand just yet. Standing means looking away from his communicator, and he's still holding out hope that if he studies it long enough, it'll spit up some answer, something to make him feel even a little less lost.]

Shame on Atroma for not even giving a guy a recap episode. Can anyone tell me if I missed anything big?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He does try.]

Overall, fairly well. I do still have your sourdough starter in the freezer of the Windrose, if the original has been lost. And the planet we were most recently at had an excellent supply of fresh foods as well. I presume you've retained the cooking augment?

[Oh, no, his starter. A pang of guilt hits Eugene at the reminder that he'd abandoned what was basically the closest thing he had to a pet, though it's mixed with the relief that it's all right, and he smirks crookedly at that question and taps his temple.]

All volumes of The Joy of Flavored Protein Manipulation, present and accounted for. Even with the insight, I think I'm going to prefer the bread. Thanks for taking care of the starter for me.

[It's not like the abandonment was by choice - and besides, perhaps someone on his crew would like to make sourdough some time.]

You're welcome, of course.

May I ask if you spent time at home?

-no? Just a whole lot of lost time. Why, is that what usually happens?

It has for some. [And Zhas had asked the Vision specifically if he'd heard about anything like that, so it had aroused his curiosity.]

Do you recall anything at all?

{Eugene sighs, resting his chin on his palm.]

Wish I did. One minute I'm reading in my bunk, the next I'm on the bridge of a completely different ship and faceplanting into confetti because someone thinks it's cute to beam people up when they're not wearing all their limbs.

[He doesn't hide the look of surprise on his face.]

Your prosthetic is gone?

[Oh, gone is a prospect he's not quite ready to entertain yet, and he hems and haws a moment.]

Well. . . . it wasn't on the bridge, and it's not here in the kitchen. So I'm kind of regrouping before I go on a big scavenger hunt of the rest of this ship and the Vanquish.

[He nods.]

Then I would suggest checking the Vanquish first, if it wasn't with you when you arrived.

Yeah . . . yeah. I'll give them a ring once I get settled in here. [HE gives a slightly preoccupied nod.] I wonder if they still have the moonshine still too . . .

As for that, I couldn't say. It does tend to get consumed, but we've been near an abundant planet for some time. You may be lucky.

Let's hope. I don't know what I'm supposed to do out here without some hobbies to keep me busy.

Oh, I quite agree. I've picked up several other herbs and spices, speaking of hobbies. And you ought to ask if anyone on your ship has a "fluff slug" you might meet.

. . . fluff slug.

[He parrots the words as slow as he reasonably can. Just in case his expression didn't make clear just how little those two words make sense when put next to each other.]

[Just a moment, he's going down to the kelp tank where he finds his new friend floating along, looking exactly as the name would suggest.]

Native fauna of the last planet we visited. They're very popular as pets.

. . . you're keeping a baby seal with the bacon kelp.

[Eugene squints, leaning closer to his communicator to make sure he's seeing it right and - yep. That sure is the juvenile harp seal. Darling of animal rights advocates everywhere.]

Is that what I'm seeing here?

It's a bit smaller, in fact, and doesn't have a tail so much as pseudopods, but the resemblance is unmistakable. And its diet is a lichen rather than meat, or I wouldn't keep it somewhere the glowfish live. There's a terrestrial variety as well as the aquatic one, which I believe were more common to be taken.

[In fact he's sure of it, because if any of the other ships has an aquarium, he doesn't know about it.]

First the foxes, now this. [He gives a little snort, but relents with a smile, too. Good on Vision, getting a sickeningly cute little buddy. Hopefully it's bumping his ratings even more.] Does yours have a name?

[No doubt there are already cute knockoffs sold by the merchandising division.]

It doesn't. I'm not much for names, I'm afraid.

So what do you call it? To tell it apart from all the other . . . fluff slugs.

[He says the name with the same vaguely offput deliberateness of a cat picking its way out of a puddle.]

[He tilts his head to one side.] Mine.

Though it helps to distinguish them that I've not seen any other of the aquatic variety since leaving the planet. We may be the only ship with an aquarium.

[He gives a huff of a laugh, nodding more to himself than anything.]

Right, of course.

Well, I'm sure I'll come around and say hi when I come over to pick up some of the starter. Apparently I'm on the hook to make pizzas for the crew now.

I'll look forward to it, then. I trust they've kept some cheese for you?

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