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

[collegedropout]

Sam smiles, empathetic. Because god, he understands that. He understands that more than most people know at first glance at him — though he supposes more and more people have been learning about his, uh... uncomfortable past. He offers a hand; there's a thick, keloid scar on his palm, a wound that had been picked apart many times before it had a chance to heal.

"... Likewise. I'm Sam."

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl stared at the extended hand for a bit. Long enough to make it seem like he wasn't going to reach out and take it. But just when it got to be a little too much, he did. His own hand had small circular scars on it. Both of them did. The kind that came from cigarettes being put out on skin. Tiny and just white enough to be scene. Probably hadn't had it happen any time in the last few months, but speculation beyond that would be difficult to tell just from looking.

"Daryl," he answered, giving a firm, but brief shake. "How long you supposed ta have been here?"

Supposed to have because he still wasn't sure he wasn't making it all up in his head.

[collegedropout]

Sam mentally ticks things off, puts them away.

It reminds him of a kid with powers he'd met years and years ago. A kid who shared a terrible thing with him, who had wanted to kill his family. He'd shown him cigarette burns, had pointed a gun at his 'mother's head before giving up on anything and turning it on himself. He tries not to dwell too long on Max, but it's a passing thought, something unburied from what felt like hundreds of years ago.

He releases the man's hand.

"You won't like it. Or maybe you will, depending on how crappy home is."

He smiles a little, just a little, sitting in one of the chairs.

"I've been here for about a year and a half. Before this, I was stuck in another world like it for another one and a half, two years. I'd managed to leave the other one and world-hopped a little, but, you know. I guess I'm popular, so they pulled me here."

That all sounds crazy, but you're here, so it puts a less insane spin on it all.

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl's eyes narrowed at the implication that home was crappy. Yeah, it was, but the guy didn't know him. Didn't know nothing about him. Had no reason to say it as far as Daryl was concerned. He pulled his hand back to himself and let it fall to his side. Both hands balling up into fists as he his body language shifted from 'wary' to full on 'defensive'.

"Yeah. Sure ya are," he answered, sounding less than convinced while he let his eyes drift to the side, taking in the rest of the bridge. He wasn't letting Sam out of his sight, though, even if it looked like he was. He was good at watching everything at once.

"How many ships are there? The ones we're all supposed to be on?"

[collegedropout]

No problem, man, narrow those eyes. Sam's gotten used to defensive people aboard the fleet. You should've met the captain and first mate from the Red Fish, back when he was a new crewmate. Instead of drawing attention to the shift in Daryl's posture, he gives a nod, patient.

"About sixteen ships. The number of crew varies from month to month, but I'd estimate about a hundred or so people on board manning them all. I have different notes on planets we've visited if you want to take a look at them, but usually we visit different waystations and worlds from month to month when we're not drifting."

He shrugs.

"We haven't had any luck figuring out where we're heading as a whole. The hidden people in charge decide where we head, and we're currently stuck just dancing along to it."

[dirtyredneck]

"Yeah, sure," he agreed to the suggestion he look at the notes. Better way of learning about shit that had supposedly happened. Even if he wasn't comfortable with the man in front of him right at the moment, the pessimistic way of speaking of their situation sat well with Daryl.

After a second he started to pace in the small space between the door and the communications station. Back and forth like a caged animal waiting for an opportunity to bolt when it's door was opened.

"How many stops have there been?"

[collegedropout]

Sam passively watches him pace, not commenting on it. It's only a problem if it gets hostile; having an alternate dimension Dean here really helped Sam learn how to approach the whole 'caged animal' vibe, anyway. "A lot. If you include waystations, dozens and dozens. But if you're expecting to jump ship when it parks, you might have a problem there -- they can teleport anyone who makes a run for it right back here."

A sigh.

"Figuring out their tech has been a little tricky, since they keep us put."

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl frowned at that and waved toward the console, "Can't just strip it down and figure out how it works that way? Parts are there."

And 'take it apart, then put it back together' was a time honored classic of figuring out how things ticked.

[collegedropout]

"You can try," Sam says, thoughtful. "But... The Atroma have a knack for safeguarding everything and fixing it all right back to what it was, though. Their reaches across the ships are pretty impressive. The moment they sense you're up to something, they cut you off at the pass. Hell, one time they even glitched me into promoting their nasty sponsored cereal brand for snooping around too much."