driftfleet | i - action/video

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

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[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.]

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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

[The hall from the bridge to the kitchen is much, much longer than Eugene remembered it being. Mostly because, without a crutch or prosthetic leg to rely on, he's been performing a careful routine of holding on to the wall, hopping forward a foot, re-adjusting his grip, and repeating.

Thankfully, the layout turns out to be the same. He peeks around the doorway to confirm,, flushed from the trek, and blinks to find someone already in the galley.

Someone who's apparently not all up on his crewmates. Huh.

He hops one more time, enough to get in the doorway, fixing him with a wry look.]

Seriously? You don't remember your old buddy Eugene? I'm hurt.

[ Isaac makes a face, something caught between confusion and genuine 'do i know this guy'? He's not the brightest of crayons in the box, but he tries. ]

Uh, yeah, no, pretty sure I don't remember you. I mean unless the ship did some weird memory wipe or something, alien stuff, you're just a strange guy on the ship, so.

[ He eats a spoonful of whatever space mush he's made, disregarding the fact that he should be introducing himself to this guy. Priorities. ]

Whoops. Guess you caught me.

[No remorse in his tone - just a little bemusement, if anything.

Thank goodness for relatively cramped shipboard accommodations - it's only a few more hops until he's at the galley table, settling into his chair with a satisfied sigh. Time to cool his heel here for awhile.]

Eugene Woods. It looks like the powers that be wanted you guys to have a new cook.

Whoa, you're a cook?

[ Isaac really shouldn't sound so excited, but after months of eating over cooked alien meat and the occasional powder or gel concoction, he could practically weep. ]

Like, a cook cook? For our ship? [ He's not as quick on the uptake as he should be, but his attitude changes, at least. Isaac plops himself down in a chair in the galley. He'd been intent on leaving before but with this news? No way. ] I don't think anyone on this ship knows how to cook. At least not this stuff.

More of a self-taught food journalist, but yeah. I showed up with the usual weird understanding of how to make the protein stuff palatable. Even though a lot of it's imagination, like . . .

[He leans to one side to look around his new crewmate and get a good view of the kitchen setup, grinning.]

-yeah. Blender and coffee maker? Start freezing some coffee, and it's frappucinos for everyone.

That's better than most of us here. Pretty sure some of us barely survived high school. [ Well, and some, like him, didn't even finish it technically. ]

Frappucinos, for real? I mean we get some good stuff from the planets sometimes but it can be a long wait between. [ Isaac shrugs. ]

Yikes. Well, let me get started on some pantry staples for us. If we can pull together and stock up on dried goods planetside it helps, but even with what we have I can manage some basic stuff. Noodle dishes, soups, stews, casseroles . . . [He ticks them off on his fingers, trailing off to cant an eyebrow at him curiously.] What kind of stuff do you like?

Uh, I mean, all of that sounds pretty great.

[ Anything that's not like the alien off-brand of Earth food, really, would be enough to please Isaac. ]

I think the whole ship's gonna be pretty happy you're here, so.

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