Edwin Jarvis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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driftfleet2017-02-25 09:34 am
edwinjarvis) wrote in driftfleet2017-02-25 09:34 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] A Day in the Life of Edwin "Charm" Jarvis
Who: Edwin Jarvis and You!
Broadcast: N/A
Action: tourist, iskaulit, planetside, all over.
When: IDK sometime lately.
5:00 AM — Rise and Shine!
The Edwin Jarvis rises from its slumber. He makes a routine to check the devices to make sure nobody has exploded or broken their bones since he went to bed; most of the time, everything is quite alright. He makes himself a little tea and peruses. It's a shame these devices don't have those Emojis. They're very cute, really. He makes a mental note to ask someone more technologically advanced about this endeavor.
7:00 AM — Breakfast.
He moves to make breakfast for the crew, well-aware some of them will probably prefer sleeping more and having cold eggs later. Omelettes are on the menu today, thanks to the garden and the planet-side visit giving him a bit more to work with. There is also, while they're in the company of said planet, sausages to go with it, and a sweet syrup that isn't too unlike the kind from earth, albeit with a sort of lemony aftertaste.
What is more concerning is the fact that the plates and food all begin floating as he sets the table. Floating! He is trying his best to recollect everything. But, um. It's gone full-on space in here with our stuff. It seems Jarvis has been effected by a glitch temporarily; his good mood has gone and caused everything to defy gravity!
"Oh — get — back here — " he huffs, jumping for a pan and being, despite his great height of 6'3", unable to reach it at the moment.
... Well, still. Lets not let the food go to waste.
9:00 AM — Gym.
His important regiment of exercise and practicing hand-to-hand combat has not fallen by the wayside. Clad in a jumpsuit that has the sleeves tied around his waist (not nearly so great for imperative range of motion, but it will suffice), he practices general weights, boxing with an easy opponent (why, the punching bag, of course), and perhaps finds himself pining for fencing supplies here. He takes a mental note to ask someone of a blacksmith's background if they could make fencing supplies.
10:00 AM — Gardening.
Jarvis has made it his life's goal to begin a herbal garden.
And it must be so. He plucks weeds from the overall garden itself and then gets right to work; while he may not be able to plant all Earth-related forms of plantlife, he has found a decent few seeds that will at least help him to spice up his cooking more than usual.
11:00 AM — Planetary Visits.
Jarvis visits the Co'Kal. Lovely group of — birdhorsepeople!
"... They look suspiciously like the potoo bird. Is that just me?"
Later, one of those potoobirdhorsepeople hit on him.
He is mortified, but he does wrangle down the price on some promising dinner supplies.
1:00 PM — Work.
At The Space Bar, he works in the back — cleaning, mostly, and cooking light meals for lunchtime. Though he does do serving as well, and really, is this any different from home? It may be more people than a Howard Stark in his lonely little bubble of him and the Jarvises, but there are less... giggling... hardworking Hollywood production staff.
He's more than happy to visit here, though. And look at the new alien alcohol like it's the devil incarnate.
Not worse than a flamingo, but still.
6:00 PM — Dinnertime.
Tourist, he's returned! This time bearing gifts. Something delectable that smells like chicken, actually. The Co'Kal that hit on him sold him some wonderful sandbirds, which are actually very delicious. Everyone be on time if you want some; it will make the whole ship smell heavenly, regardless, and it's in moments like these he feels very blissful. Carrot-like vegetables are being steamed and peppered, and mashed potatoes, synthetic but not so terrible once they're whipped with some substitute supplies, are in a nice large pot.
And yes, Peggy, he will bring you a plate.
7:00 PM — Crafts.
He is damned determined to make these lovely scales into something, though. The sandbird is prized for these scales — and they would make wonderful jewelry. He sits at the kitchen table after dinner has ended, his spectacles on and his attention deeply focused in making a pair of earrings. Simply because... why not? Let us not be wasteful.
"Oh, blasted thing," he mumbles, though hardly stops as he punches a hole through the thick scaling with a steady hand.
8:00 PM — Reading time.
Another careful combing of the network, to make sure nobody has exploded or broken any bones.
Two ships have dramatically smashed into each other, but they're totally okay.
Jolly good.
9:00 PM — Sleep.
He slips out of his carefully kept suit, exchanges them for nightclothes, and slips into his bed.
With a kiss of his ring, he reaches out and turns off the light, ignoring the impulse to roll towards the left; it's not a queen bed, after all.
"Goodnight, dearest."
He will do his best tomorrow as well, just for you.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: tourist, iskaulit, planetside, all over.
When: IDK sometime lately.
5:00 AM — Rise and Shine!
The Edwin Jarvis rises from its slumber. He makes a routine to check the devices to make sure nobody has exploded or broken their bones since he went to bed; most of the time, everything is quite alright. He makes himself a little tea and peruses. It's a shame these devices don't have those Emojis. They're very cute, really. He makes a mental note to ask someone more technologically advanced about this endeavor.
7:00 AM — Breakfast.
He moves to make breakfast for the crew, well-aware some of them will probably prefer sleeping more and having cold eggs later. Omelettes are on the menu today, thanks to the garden and the planet-side visit giving him a bit more to work with. There is also, while they're in the company of said planet, sausages to go with it, and a sweet syrup that isn't too unlike the kind from earth, albeit with a sort of lemony aftertaste.
What is more concerning is the fact that the plates and food all begin floating as he sets the table. Floating! He is trying his best to recollect everything. But, um. It's gone full-on space in here with our stuff. It seems Jarvis has been effected by a glitch temporarily; his good mood has gone and caused everything to defy gravity!
"Oh — get — back here — " he huffs, jumping for a pan and being, despite his great height of 6'3", unable to reach it at the moment.
... Well, still. Lets not let the food go to waste.
9:00 AM — Gym.
His important regiment of exercise and practicing hand-to-hand combat has not fallen by the wayside. Clad in a jumpsuit that has the sleeves tied around his waist (not nearly so great for imperative range of motion, but it will suffice), he practices general weights, boxing with an easy opponent (why, the punching bag, of course), and perhaps finds himself pining for fencing supplies here. He takes a mental note to ask someone of a blacksmith's background if they could make fencing supplies.
10:00 AM — Gardening.
Jarvis has made it his life's goal to begin a herbal garden.
And it must be so. He plucks weeds from the overall garden itself and then gets right to work; while he may not be able to plant all Earth-related forms of plantlife, he has found a decent few seeds that will at least help him to spice up his cooking more than usual.
11:00 AM — Planetary Visits.
Jarvis visits the Co'Kal. Lovely group of — birdhorsepeople!
"... They look suspiciously like the potoo bird. Is that just me?"
Later, one of those potoobirdhorsepeople hit on him.
He is mortified, but he does wrangle down the price on some promising dinner supplies.
1:00 PM — Work.
At The Space Bar, he works in the back — cleaning, mostly, and cooking light meals for lunchtime. Though he does do serving as well, and really, is this any different from home? It may be more people than a Howard Stark in his lonely little bubble of him and the Jarvises, but there are less... giggling... hardworking Hollywood production staff.
He's more than happy to visit here, though. And look at the new alien alcohol like it's the devil incarnate.
Not worse than a flamingo, but still.
6:00 PM — Dinnertime.
Tourist, he's returned! This time bearing gifts. Something delectable that smells like chicken, actually. The Co'Kal that hit on him sold him some wonderful sandbirds, which are actually very delicious. Everyone be on time if you want some; it will make the whole ship smell heavenly, regardless, and it's in moments like these he feels very blissful. Carrot-like vegetables are being steamed and peppered, and mashed potatoes, synthetic but not so terrible once they're whipped with some substitute supplies, are in a nice large pot.
And yes, Peggy, he will bring you a plate.
7:00 PM — Crafts.
He is damned determined to make these lovely scales into something, though. The sandbird is prized for these scales — and they would make wonderful jewelry. He sits at the kitchen table after dinner has ended, his spectacles on and his attention deeply focused in making a pair of earrings. Simply because... why not? Let us not be wasteful.
"Oh, blasted thing," he mumbles, though hardly stops as he punches a hole through the thick scaling with a steady hand.
8:00 PM — Reading time.
Another careful combing of the network, to make sure nobody has exploded or broken any bones.
Two ships have dramatically smashed into each other, but they're totally okay.
Jolly good.
9:00 PM — Sleep.
He slips out of his carefully kept suit, exchanges them for nightclothes, and slips into his bed.
With a kiss of his ring, he reaches out and turns off the light, ignoring the impulse to roll towards the left; it's not a queen bed, after all.
"Goodnight, dearest."
He will do his best tomorrow as well, just for you.
no subject
no subject
Oh, that's wonderful! I've been showing him a few things with regards to cooking — I do worry about him often, the poor boy. It's good to know he's adjusting, though. Very good indeed.
no subject
no subject
[He says it with a sigh, sad.]
It makes me count my blessings, to know my family is at least in one relative piece, albeit across an ocean.
no subject
This place has a funny way of making one feel homesick for things you never thought you'd pine for.
no subject
[Nod, nod. And yet, so easily, he slithers past her curiosity, like a snake that's hard to catch. As if he had been the one who couldn't help himself, who had been doing the prodding.]
You must be homesick from time to time, then?
no subject
That depends entirely on which home you're referring to.
no subject
I imagine the one that is across the ocean, again.
You did your fair share of defending it, after all.
no subject
Yes, well. It would seem recognition and glory in one's own country is not nearly satisfying enough; I've had to look for more elsewhere.
[ yeah right she ain't fooling him. ]
no subject
You've no qualms being separated from your family for too long? Do you at least write them?
no subject
[ sooo no. ]
no subject
If you'd like, I can send them under a PO Box. Mr. Stark loves having covert addresses for... particular... situations.
no subject
I'd rather not soil my correspondence with the mere association with whatever filth Howard conducts via the postal service.
no subject
no subject
[ a little too sharp. a little too biting. ]
no subject
He's gotten good at that.]
I am simply saying that if you have the opportunity, you should.
It's important to keep them close in any way you can.
no subject
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They love you and care about you, don't they? They should know how you are. That you're keeping your head above water.
no subject
no subject
[He huffs, slipping a bit with his mild-mannered butler routine.]
You can't rely on your job to get out of everything normal that petrifies you!
no subject
no subject
... Quite right.
[Flustered, he nods his head once, straightening up considerably. How horrifically unprofessional of him. He's Stark's butler, not some cheap counselor, certainly not close enough to prod.]
It's not -- a part of my usual routine. I apologize.
If I hear anymore on confounding new crew, I will let you know. If you'll excuse me. Enjoy the meal.
[He is dipping on this conversation with surprisingly smooth strides.]
no subject
she sighs -- heavy, heartfelt. ] I always do. [ because he's him, her response is just a little bit yielding. but only, it seems, on subjects safe to broach. ]
no subject
After all, he's gotten too far into his own troubles to be excused this terrible misstep, regardless of any sense of truth behind it.
She should try. But what business is it of his? Just because the door was shut on him?
Poor show, Edwin, poor show.]