Bloodsport Mingle

[namisan]

Who: SS Bloodsport and visitors!
Broadcast: Probably not
Action: Bloodsport
When: 26 May onwards!

[You know the last time we had one of these was three months ago?  Things have been that quiet.

Or, y'know, we've all been busy with espionage.  Such is life.]

Comments

Daryl!

[dirtyredneck]

Arrival
It was a 'blink and you miss it' moment. One second he was in the middle of shredding the sweatsuit he'd arrived in (by hand cause he hadn't sussed out a knife), and the next he was standing on the ...bridge? of some other ship with a cupcake in his hand and confetti exploding around him and was that a party noise blaster? He hadn't heard one of them in years... Shit.

He didn't move, save to glace around, mouth slightly open, looking just as confused as he felt.


Getting Comfortable?
One of the hatches in the long hallway had his name on it. Which, yeah, was weird, but not as weird as going down it and finding a half-way decent bedroom with three small fishbowls and glowing fish inside them to illuminate the space. Clothes in his size hid inside the closet and on the bed? The damn sweatsuit, still torn in the places he'd managed to get rips going.

Well, time to fix that.

Daryl moseyed his way into the kitchen, ugly sweatsuit balled up in one hand while the other searched through the cabinets and drawers for a proper knife. He made a lot of noise while he did it, banging everything that could be banged.


Exploring
Over the next few days, Daryl found his way into every part of the ship like he was searching it for a secret exit. He was light on his feet and didn't make a lot of noise so it was easy for him to come up on people unexpectedly, though it largely wasn't his intent. Sometimes he'd stop and watch someone at their workstation or while they were doing something he hadn't been given the knowledge and skills to use via his augment and after a while, he'd even ask in a gravelly voice, "What're ya doin'?"

[collegedropout]

Sam is one of those people at the work station — communications department, sitting with his hand to his chin, focused in his work. Since their time during the heist, he'd been more adamant about scanning the world beyond for any signs of life. Signals, secret feeds set up by the interceptor fleet, anything at all. So far he's gotten nothing much, little blips here and there that are likely more waystations in the distance delivering interference.

Sam stands and stretches all 6'4" of himself when Daryl arrives, and he turns to the voice with curiosity. Truth be told, Daryl looked like he'd been a bit on guard, ready to bite anything that tried to bite him first, so to speak. He knew the look, being around this place for well over a year now, so he'd been fine with giving the new recruit some space. He motions to the communications station.

"Looking for ships out there, I guess. Radio frequencies, messages, anything. I guess I'm just a little eager to figure out what might be out there next."

Depending on how good Daryl's eye is for the type, Sam's an odd creature — he clearly is a really hygienic guy, seems kind of soft around the edges, like he'd spent a lot of his life behind a computer screen. And his rather relaxed and lanky disposition leaves him seemingly social and open to conversation. But he's got faint scars, shiny in the light, tracing here and there; some along his arms, self-inflicted but not quite in the way people might assume. His hands are calloused, and there's a gun on a holster under all that plaid.

"Nothing worse than a surprise around here."

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl notices it all and says nothing. Doesn't let his eyes drift to any of it, either. He'd done all that before he spoke up. He only stands at 5'10, so Sam's got a good half foot on him, but he doesn't really look it. Something about the way he holds himself makes him feel like he's taking up more space than he really should. He definitely didn't look like he'd ever lived a 'soft' life. Though he was much cleaner than he was used to being simply because of the lack of dirt and forest to go tromping through.

"Find anything?" He asked, because while he definitely knew how to use the station - for some reason the ship apparently needed two people with those skills or something? hell if he knew - he hadn't actually gone out to touch it yet or test it out. He always felt like he was being watched and so far his curiosity hadn't won out over his stubbornness to not give in and do what someone he hated wanted him to. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

[collegedropout]

Definitely a different breed. Though Daryl does remind Sam of a hunter -- not quite the same kind of hunter he's familiar with, but certainly someone who might be in that sort of dangerous, winding life. Maybe he would fit in best with the Dean and Cas who had been here before; the alternate timeline, where everything was fucked. He smiles, a friendly sort of exasperated one, and shakes his head.

"Nothing yet. But then, they know I'm looking."

He waves a finger at the ceiling.

"Cameras and microphones, somehow always on the watch. At least that's the idea."

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl's eyes moved toward the ceiling and the corners. If there were cameras around, he couldn't see them. He did so slowly, as if he didn't really care, but they returned to Sam soon enough.

"No way around it, then? No other ships you can take from anywhere else that ain't linked up to this stupid convoy into nothin'? Just stuck with them watchin' ev'rytime ya take a piss?"

wildcarding this

[recipio]

[ Sure, he and Maggie had had a thorough conversation about leaving Daryl alone for a while so he can settle into the fleet-- but Carl has other ideas. Isn't it better to see someone familiar ( even if that someone threatened very believably to kill him) than being surrounded with unfamiliar faces like they had been for days? It was easy because they had each other. Daryl not so much. Not that he can't take care of his own.

Seeking him out probably isn't the best course of action given recent events, but he's tired of waiting and that wrong feeling in the pit of his stomach has only been growing. Seeing that weird girl hadn't really helped, either..

Which is how he finds himself on the Bloodsport a few days later with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Nothing for him, really, but maybe things that might help Daryl. There's a medkit he swiped from the medical bay, an extra blanket, about a dozen of those weirdly-flavored cups of pudding he'd gotten last month (seriously, black licorice?), and some homemade bread he brought from the Iskaulit.

He's never been on the Bloodsport before, but the layout is pretty similar to his own ship. He'll wander around until he spots who he's looking for. ]

[dirtyredneck]

[There's a door in the hallway where the crew quarters are with Daryl's name on it. After some wandering and not finding Daryl anywhere else, it was as good a place as any to check, right?

Right.

So after pushing the door open, does Carl climb down or call out for his Apocalypse Uncle?]

[recipio]

[ Of course he's going to go in, but before he does, Carl drops the backpack to the bottom of the ladder. Not a big enough drop that anything will crush or break. ]

Daryl? I'm coming down. [ Even if he's not in there, he can leave the backpack with a note and leave, right? ]

[dirtyredneck]

[The door opening had Daryl suspicious and he had his hand on the small knife he'd been working on making. Ok, so it was a shank made of cloth and a piece of metal he'd managed to twist off from one of the walls. Only half done, but it'd get the job done if he had to shove it into someone's neck.

The voice that came next had him freezing in place, eyes narrowing, getting ready to jump. The only light in the room at the moment came from the three fishbowls and the fish inside. Enough to see by, but not so bright it'd be easy to see him right away.

He'd been hoping to get a chance to take out the fucker pretending to be Carl. And now here he was coming right down the ladder to meet him. Throwing that fake voice around. Turning to show that fake face with two goddamned eyes...

Daryl had the kid pressed back against the ladder as soon as his feet hit the floor and he'd turned around. One arm up against his neck, the other holding the shank at eye level.]

Who the fuck are you?

kitchen (moseyed, you say)

[moseyin]

Literally everything about this situation Sucks, capital S, but the loud clattering in the kitchen is doing literally nothing to help so Cloud sticks his head in the door, expression irritable as he scowls at whoever this dirty hobo is riffling through the cabinets. "Hey do you think you could loot this place more quietly? The hell are you looking for?"

[dirtyredneck]

"No," Daryl answered, only bothering to glance behind him long enough to give the kid a once over, then snort and go back to what he was doing. "Need a knife. You know where one is?"

[moseyin]

The fuck was that snort for

"Drawer under the blender. But they're dull as shit." Considering he woke up with no weapons Cloud didn't expect to find any weapon-like things on the ship but he'd rattled around just as hopefully when he first showed up. "Why d'you need it?"

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl moved to the blender and checked the drawer. They were dull as shit. Maybe he could sharpen one. Or use it to pry something sharper off part of the ship.

"Need to cut something," he replied, as he shifted through them and tried to find one that was decent enough for prying things. "What'd'ya think I need it for?"

[namisan]

Nami misses Daryl's arrival on account of her hours at the Space Bar, but she knows he's arrived; she checks the rosters like clockwork every Saturday, looking for new people, looking for friends leaving. So she goes straight back to the Bloodsport after her shift, stows her gear in her quarters, and tracks him down. More often than not, people are embarrassed by arriving in a shower of confetti anyway, so the fact she missed that part isn't going to bother her too much.

She follows the sound of clatter to the kitchen-- Sam's too quiet in his movements, and nobody else much goes in there, so. Fair bet, really.

"Is there something specific you're looking for?"

It's said from the doorway, smile friendly, but-- well, the last time Nami surprised a new crew member in here, he was going for a knife for entirely creepy purposes, so her eyes are watchful.

[dirtyredneck]

"Knife," Daryl answered tersely. He glanced behind him to see who was talking, but that was all the attention he paid her while he sorted through the drawers and cabinets with one hand. The other was still at his side with bunched up cloth something of some sort balled into it.

[namisan]

Oh, good. Another one going for a knife. Atroma keeps sending her these types. But after a measuring glance at the cloth he's holding so tightly balled up, Nami straightens.

"Drawer under the blender." Mildly. "Might not be sharp enough for what you're intending, but when it comes to offensive material, you could always just set it on fire in the airlock."

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl stilled, glanced her way, then went for the drawer. His grip on the cloth tightened and he grunted back, "Usin' it for somethin'."

Cloud

[moseyin]

[Don't mind this short, J-pop haired nerdlord with dayglo eyeballs creeping around the ship and looking like he hates every utilitarian inch of it (because he does, it looks like the inside of a reactor). There isn't much exploring to do, considering there's basically just the one hallway and then all the rooms connected to it, and he keeps picking at the augment site with his fingernails like he's considering ripping it out.

He's also fiddling with the shit in the kitchen, trying to find something edible, but feel free to stop him since he's just kind of pushing buttons and stuff.

Once he reaches the pilot's chair he sits down, spins a little bit in the chair, glances up at the windows and turns quickly away, a hand over his mouth. Oh god, that's even worse than the Highwind. He'd thought it would be better but it's worse with no horizon.

If he happens to come across a crewmate, he'll be giving them the first degree, Strife-style.] Hey- excuse me. What the hell is going on?

Cloud

[dirtyredneck]

[One of those times Cloud found his way to the pilot seat, Daryl was curled up into the communications chair. Legs drawn up to his chest, studying the panel he already knew everything about. His eyes darted over at the kid and watched him spin a bit before stopping and looking like he was about to be sick all over the pilot's console.]

If yer gonna be sick, turn off the gravity.

[moseyin]

[Glances up at need-a-knife-what's-his-face in the comm chair before bowing forward to rest his head on the console instead. Steady breaths...]

Right. Why get puke on the floor when you can get...can get it all over the ceiling?

[dirtyredneck]

It'll float in the air, gel up into a ball, and you can put a container around it to hold it. Long as it's closed when ya turn the gravity back on, ya got no mess ta clean up.

[And Daryl didn't know about the kid or nothing, but he'd prefer not be scrubbing someone's up-chuck off of anything. Not that he'd learned that from the augment or anything. He'd seen a lot of space shuttle footage of liquids in zero gravity from Before to know what it did.]

arrives late with starbucks soup

[collegedropout]

[Sam is currently in the middle of making himself some soup.

When the J-pop haired nerdlord comes in with that question. He sort of. Stares. For a moment.

Looks around the room.]

... Dinner?

[You can't seriously have not been filled in by now, right.]

[moseyin]

Dinner? [affronted. nay, INSULTED. clings to doorjamb and glares at this moose man at his fuckin' table with his fuckin' dinner, looking like it's a monday night and he just got home from work and just heated up his hungry man in the microwave because what is this bullshit]

You're just gonna sit there and have dinner? [FUCK your dinner!!! i'm upset!!!!!!!!!]

1/2

[collegedropout]

......

[collegedropout]

Is dinner a banned offense, where you're from?

Because I'm really excited about the fact I have something similar to carrots to eat this week.