001; video

[wingedman]

Who: Sam Wilson
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: Today!

Well, now, this is real nice, isn't it? [Judging by the dry tone of Sam's voice, it isn't.] Not that I was doing anything important back home, but it sure as hell beats being scooped up and used to boost ratings on some sort of intergalactic Big Brother. [And, muttered to himself:] I don't even wanna know what happens if you get voted off.

[Back in a normal voice:] So, I'm Sam. Earth, twenty-first century. Guess I'm stuck here for a few days, huh? On the totally not creepy uninhabited giant spaceship. Yeah, I can see the ratings skyrocketing already. This sure better not be some kinda horror show, 'cause I know the black guy's always the first person to get killed by the out of control robots.

-nah, just kidding, they never even have black guys in space to begin with, I'm safe.

[sam what r u even on about]

Also, this food sucks big-time. Come on, can't they feed TV stars better than this? Why couldn't I get trapped on Food Network?

Comments

video

[unbridles]

It does suck. In a different way than horsemeat does, but it still sucks, definitely.

[John gives a little wave. He's wearing clothes that -- well, would make what else he's about to say rather surprising. Also rather familiar-looking, if Sam cares to think about it for a moment or two.] 'Sup, welcome to the madness.

[wingedman]

...horsemeat.

[There's a moment of blank staring there. Not just because the guy has just admitted to eating horse, but also because his clothes definitely don't match the way he talks.]

Seriously, horse? I thought MREs were bad, but horse is a whole goddamn other level.

video

[outstandingbalance]

Depends on your definition of a horror.

[Drift Fleet certainly has its moments. There will be plenty of time to deal with that later, though. Right now, Natasha has other priorities.

Like finding out just when Sam came here from, and what the fallout might be.]

Hey. Been a while.

[wingedman]

Not so long, for me. I'm guessing longer for you, though.

[Sam has a hard enough time wrapping his mind around the rest of this shit without throwing time travel into the mix, but okay, sure, there's some serious sci-fi going on here.]

Should I ask how much longer?

video »

[mucked]

[ well. curiouser and curiouser. peggy knows greeting him like a familiar face will only lead to confusion, so she puts that idea aside. after all, she'd barely met the man during his last (brief) stay.

but she can't not reply. her nosy nature will always get the better of her. ]

Good Lord, the twenty-first remains a popular century for our 'hosts' to farm and mine for fresh talent. [ droll, so droll. ] Welcome to the Fleet.

[wingedman]

[...well. That's...definitely a face that he knows from pictures and the odd video. And if there's one thing that's goddamn weird, it's seeing someone whose funeral you just attended.

(Probably best not to mention that, though.)]

And the twentieth, too? Look like they've got their hands full with all the talent they'd ever need.

[An arched eyebrow hints at recognition, but he's not going to come straight out and say it just yet.]

video

[passingthrough]

[Sam. She met him in the fleet. It was fleeting if you will, but she'd liked him. Seems worth a shout out.]

Sure. Just a few days. Like I've only been here 477 days. [It's totally normal to be able to spit out the exact number of days, okay? Plus, the place she lived before this didn't have a calendar system so it was all about counting the days.]

But I have bad news. [No, the length of stay wasn't the bad news.] The food on the ship you're on now is actually better than the food on the other ships you'll get transferred to.

[wingedman]

[Sam just stares down at the tray of goop in front of him for a moment. He likes food, and being stuck eating whatever the hell this is? Definitely not idea.]

It gets worse? Christ, I woulda thrown myself into space after the first four hundred days of surviving on this crap.

Video;

[alwayscomeback]

That's the big question. What happens when you get voted off. People just vanish.

[A fact he's not happy with. Vanish WHERE.]

The food is the worst when you get out, hit me up and I'll get you some actual food. We've been hunting and growing our own stuff for a while on my ship. It's not perfect, but it's not gel-goop, either. Name's Sokka, I'm on the Blue Fish.

[wingedman]

...vanish.

[Yeah, that doesn't sound too appealing.]

Oh, man, actual food. I get the feeling I'll be about ready to kill for a carrot after about a week of this junk. Something to actually chew on, anyway.

Action

[dirtyredneck]

[Sam's not as alone on the ship as he feels. Daryl had arrived to a truly empty ship the day before and had one hell of an introduction to it all. Though, Sam was definitely taking it better than he had.

For the most part he stayed out of sight and away from where Sam was while the guy got up and walked around and got used to the place. Long after Sam had settled in and sent out his message, Daryl finally made himself known.

He wandered over with a plate of what passed for food and a glass of water and sat himself down nearby. Set it out. Started eating. And made a show of watching the other man.

After about ten minutes of this, he pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.]

So who're you supposed to be?

[wingedman]

[Oh, okay. So he's not alone; having one other human being on the ship makes him feel a little less like he's about to get murdered by robots and turned into protein gel.]

Sam Wilson. I'm assuming you're another one of the new contestants in this little reality show shindig.

video

[takingkarabusiness]

[ a smily blonde pops up on the screen ]

I don't know, would you want to be stuck between Giada and Bobby Flay for Rao-knows-how-long?

[wingedman]

Oh, god, not Bobby. [Sam groans and shakes his head.] He'd probably try to barbecue everything and fail miserably.

[Plus Bobby Flay's just an asshole. Though not as bad as Guy Fieri.]

text;;

[reconstitution]

If you think that food sucks, wait until you get assigned.

[wingedman]

That's what everyone's telling me. I'm a hell of a cook, but I can't do anything with this. And what's it made from, anyway, people?

video;

[universal_charm]

_{[ What are you even about sir? ]}

Cheer up - some of our most highly decorated captains and officers in Star Fleet in 2263 have been black, among other races and species, so you're breaking ground here.

_{[ We're going to pretend they did a more diverse casting call in Kirk's universe, okay? Okay. Also, yes, that is the part he chose to focus on first. Sue him. ]}

I wish I could say the food gets better, but unless your ship stocked up at the last planet it's back to the Marsiva style rations.

[wingedman]

[Look, Nichelle Nichols is probably one of Sam's childhood idols and early crushes, but that's neither here nor there.]

Oh, just what I wanted in my life, more filling the diversity quota.

[Although now there are three!!! black superheroes.]

Yeah, that's what everyone's telling me. The future looks pretty damn bleak - and 2263? Is this what the food's like where you're from?

video.

[edwinjarvis]

[Hello, I'm the person from the 1940's who probably has little in the way of pictures or videos. Butlers aren't particularly history book worthy, you know.]

If you would like, I would be more than happy to cook you something less disgusting; I hate to sound too big-headed, but I think I've gotten rather talented at turning this terrible excuse for food into something more homely.

[Ehem.]

I've even managed tacos.

[In a more conspiring, hushed tone:]

Space tacos.

[wingedman]

[Sorry, Jarvis. If he knew anything about your exploits, he would be impressed, though.]

Space tacos? [Sam looks a little amused by the nomenclature.] Is it because they're made in space?

video;

[maledictus_semper]

I think you'll find you're stuck here for far longer than a few days I'm afraid. The Atroma don't like their guests leaving when they want, since it'll bring down the shows ratings.

[Welcome to the Jetsons, dude.]

The food is rather disgusting, I do agree with you there. It seems this space gel is all we have to eat.

[wingedman]

Reminds me more of toothpaste than anything actually edible. Except I think toothpaste might taste better.

Video.

[uprightness]

It's not all bad.

[ hi, sam. ]

You should come for dinner once you're off the Marsiva.

[ after everything they've seen, though - ]

Be careful there.

[wingedman]

Are you cooking?

[Look, Steve, Sam knows.]

Not that you can really call squeezing stuff out of tubes cooking.

video

[directed]

You've likely gotten several warnings about the food being worse outside of the ship you're currently trapped on.

They're all entirely true. [And he's British, so according to every cliche, Rip should be an expert on bad food.] It would be to your benefit to stow as much as you can on your person now, so you'll have it with you when you're transported to whichever ship you've been assigned to.

Because unfortunately, your stay will last rather more than a few days, I'm afraid.

[wingedman]

So what's the best way to smuggle this stuff out? Shampoo bottles, toothpaste tubes, just straight up stealing it?

[You know. Just for reference.]

video.

[collegedropout]

Hi Sam, I'm Sam.

Welcome to intergalactic Big Brother.

[wingedman]

I'll try to avoid ruining any good name you've made for yourself here. No promises, though.

video

[tempredmental]

At least the gel isn't goo. Let's just put it that way.

[Keith made a face. This place had nothing on Altean space food goo. Here, they had solids.]