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

[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?

[edwinjarvis]

Absolutely. It would be misleading to call them planet tacos.

I suppose they're a bit of a Frankenstein's monster, concocted from supplements from the kitchens, but they are close enough to be infinitely more enjoyable than strange jelly, I can assure you.

[wingedman]

[Well, if he's nitpicky enough to call it Frankenstein's monster, then the terminology space tacos makes perfect sense.]

I gotta say, making anything remotely like tacos out of this mess is pretty damn impressive.

[edwinjarvis]

Oh, well, I appreciate the kind words.

Perhaps someday they'll be satisfactory regular tacos. Ah -- but my manners. I apologize! My name is Edwin Jarvis; it's lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr...

[You didn't give your last name! Very unhelpful for a proper gentleman like Jarvis.]

[wingedman]

Wilson. Just Sam is fine, though.

Don't get me wrong; if you're willing to teach people how to do anything with the food here to make it edible, I'd like to learn. I cook a bit back home, and I like to think I'm not too bad at it. Maybe I can make myself handy wherever I wind up assigned.

[edwinjarvis]

I would be more than happy to show you how to cook what is aboard the ships.

[-- Mr. Wilson. He was gonna say. But he'll wait until you forget you offered the first name basis.

He's terrible at being informal.]

... And see you're a friend of quite a few from my universe aboard the fleet! Are you an Avenger?

[wingedman]

Yeah, I am- or was. Whatever's left of the team, anyway.

[Not that he can do much in the way of avenging right now; he's a little handicapped without the wings.]

Really, I mostly just follow Steve around.

[edwinjarvis]

[He perks a little — well, the... first part is a touch concerning.

But he will try not to pry too much. There's plenty of time for that after the first meeting.]

Oh...! Then we have plenty in common already.

I work for Mr. Stark, but you'll find I follow Miss Carter around extensively out of habit.

[wingedman]

[There's a slight frown for a moment.]

-Not Tony.

[Although...didn't his computer have some name like that? Jeeves? Sam can't remember, and he's never really pressed Vision for details. The guy's kinda unsettling.]

[edwinjarvis]

Oh, no, not quite. The womanizing genius before that one.

[Jarvis is very good at insulting and complimenting his boss at the same time. Howard is used to it, okay. He might even give him a aww, Jarv, how nice.]

I'm Howard Stark's butler, circa 1947, co-worker to Miss Carter on some weekends, keeper of the Stark estate whilst he's in the jungles of Peru or some-such. Though I say with some... awkward uncertainty that I am allegedly the namesake of an AI in your time, at some point.

Courtesy of Mr. Stark... Jr.