everybody's starstruck in june.

[mucked]

Who: starstruck crew & visitors
Broadcast: n/a
Action: aboard the ship
When: june

[ another month; another mingle. but there are changes in the air! the starstruck has some fresh crew to boast of, as well as a spiffing new lounge. things have been difficult, lately -- the common area might make for a great place to decompress and socialize with your fellow starstruckers.

after all, it seems the captain's gone and requisitioned max's record player. for the first week in june, it'll be returned again and again to the new lounge. good luck hiding it from her, rockatanksy.

ready steady go! ]

Comments

[directed]

[The interaction starts of--well, not innocently, perhaps. Rip is the subject of a rather hard stare for several steady beats, likely due to something unrelated to his attempt at breakfast making. Not unless the sight of a person making eggs is truly that much of a rarity on this ship, in which case, heaven help them all.

Back to the present matter, however. Rip waits for the man to announce whatever it is he's going to say--and it proves to be quite charming indeed.

Somehow, Rip manages to contain his enthusiasm.]

You mean outside of the general answer of "any number of multiverses across the entirety of time?" I couldn't say; not for "you all."

[Hello friend! Rip is also a friend.]

Let me hazard a guess. Max?

[theroadwarrior]

... Mm.

[A mild confirmation, lacking in effort. Yeah, he's Max.]

Why'd she drag you to this ship? For the food?

... Sounds like her.

[directed]

Rip; Hunter. [He adds the last name after a beat. While it does feel odd not to address the man by his last name, Mister tacked on, even Rip wonders if it might fit in this instance.

Just something about the man's manner, in the end.]

Ah, something like that, yes. [And also to be this man's back-up, though Peggy had gone about that part rather delicately when describing it to Rip. Perhaps it's thus better left unsaid.

Which puts Rip in the awkward position of filling the silence that would them come next.]

She is rather industrious, it would seem. [Yes, Max, this is how he normally talks.] Breakfast? There are eggs, or--what passes for them, rather.

[theroadwarrior]

[He looks toward the supposed eggs, unsure.]

... Never killed anyone with your cooking, have you?

[directed]

No, never.

[And it's true! Largely because Rip has pretty much never cooked before.

But he won't point out that technicality; best not ruin any chance of this going non-disastrously before it starts..]

[theroadwarrior]

[You shouldn't have bracketed so soon — ]

... and how much do you cook?

[directed]

[Blast!]

A great deal more now than I used to, admittedly.

[...]

I've gotten lessons.

[theroadwarrior]

... Hnn.




Guess it can't be worse than eating mutated lizards.

[directed]

[ . . . ]

Hopefully not. [That sounds utterly terrible and wow Max, what kind of effed up place do you come from?

Except Rip is British, so what he actually says is:]

Was that something you found on one of the prior systems, or, ah, indigenous to the world you come from?

[Please say that nothing in that freezer falls under the category of "mutated."]

[theroadwarrior]

Back home. Place was radioactive; all bad soil.

[He rattles off the facts, same as always.

The wastelands tend to be a topic from time to time he has to address.]

You eat what you can there.

Ahmm. They're not too bad, though.

[directed]

...Ah.

[Well, that rather nicely wraps up any sense of judgment Rip might have been about to show. Whatever world Max comes from, whatever circumstances made all of the soil radioactive--no doubt terrible themselves--Rip understands one thing all too well.

The pain of starvation. The willingness to eat whatever scraps he might find, just to take the edge off of his hunger. The need to do whatever it took simply to survive.]

It shouldn't take me too long to make another batch, if you want to sit down. [A larger batch than some prior, and Rip sets to work regardless of whether or not Max chooses to take a seat.] Regardless of any mistakes I may or may not make, these things are best eaten hot.

[theroadwarrior]

[He blinks, looking as confused as ever when anyone offers to make him food.

Look, he's gone 20 years without someone offering these things. He's adjusting.

After a moment of consideration, he slowly sits down; he supposes he won't turn down food at this point, though he'll be as hesitant to eat it as always. He doesn't know Rip, after all. He doesn't know if he's poisoning it as he makes it. Max's well of trust is a difficult one to throw pennies into, you know?

But he still sits down and patiently listens to the sound of cooking.]

Guess so.

Don't mind cold stuff. S'long as it isn't moldy, usually is pretty good.

[ffs max]

[directed]

[Hesitation or not, Max does eventually sit down. Given what he's been told, Rip supposes that is something—although at the moment he's unaware that the man remains suspicious about being poisoned or something else equally nefarious.

And perhaps it’s not an unfair concern; lord knows what the substitute is actually comprised of.

Yet for all his judgement, Rip can relate far too well with the notion Max puts forth. It's been years in his case, but he hasn't forgotten digging through trash, finding bits and scraps tossed away that hadn't rotted too far to be consumed, desperately eating around the spots that would make him sick.

The joys of childhood.]

Usually—but it's also good when you can get something warm. [And the situation they're in now grants them that opportunity. Rip glances back at Max, then focuses his attention to the mix he stirs together, powers and water and seasoning. By now it's something he can do by memory, without having to reference notes.] You're on your own for coffee, however.

[If he drinks it.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He studies Rip pretty much the whole time. Hope you don't mind being surveillance'd. It's not that Max means to make anyone self-conscious, but he's just used to keeping his eye on anything that has the potential to kill him. Which is. Everything.

... Snrk.]

Don't drink coffee. Makes me weirder than usual.

[So blunt about it, this one.]

[directed]

Well we certainly can't have that, now can we?

[Especially not with all the staring. Rip really can't help but look back a few times, even as he tries not to say anything. Still, it's impossible not to feel the man's eyes on his back the entire time.]

So Miss Carter informs me you're the pilot on board. [Better to keep the conversation going then. While Rip won't broach the secondary reason why he's on the ship—that's Peggy's to discuss with the man—he can at least find out some information under the veil of chitchat.] Although I've also been told that we're on a rather set course. Seems a bit of a contradiction, that.

[theroadwarrior]

[Max gives pause.

He'd spoken to Peggy a bit on the subject — and ah. Dryly:]

Hnn. Are you the one that's supposed to cover if I lose my marbles?

[Yeah, Peggy didn't exactly put it that way.

But Max is great at translating.]

[directed]

[Well. Good to know that Peggy had covered her end of the conversation, at least.]

She didn't put it quite like that. [At least not with Rip; who knows what brand of rapport she may have with the man now seated in the galley.] But in essence.

[He glances back at Max.] I've got to learn the station first though. [Raising a hand, he motions vaguely towards the left side of his head.] Wrong augment.

[theroadwarrior]

Ahh. You're from space, then.

[Peggy wouldn't have had such faith in a new guy unless he was familiar with this sort of technology, anyway. He motions at the direction of the shuttle bay lazily.] Mm, can — show you the controls and where everything is on 'em. Guessing you'll figure it out easy.

[directed]

Basically.

[Technically Rip is from Earth, but it seems only to serve semantics to make the correction. Especially when Max makes what is a rather unexpected offer, given all the warning Rip has gotten.]

--I don't know about easy. The technology I'm use to has a similar purpose, but apparently works in an entirely different way. [Or he's being limited by the augment, but Rip doesn't want to give voice to those thoughts.] Regardless, I won't say no to the help.

[theroadwarrior]

[He shrugs.]

Hnn. Usually, I'd tell you to get bent.

Mostly doing it on captain's orders.

[directed]

You wouldn't be the first.

[Right now, the fact that he isn't getting punched in the face is enough for Rip to consider the situation a win.

Of course, it might help that Rip is also cooking--assuming Max is willing to let go of his suspicions long enough to actually eat. Regardless, it's been long enough and I remembered what Rip was meant to be doing this whole time that he can bring a plate of eggs over to the galley, setting it on the table close enough for Max to pull over.]

Then I'll be thankful that you're electing to follow orders. [Since Rip might have a fair bit of experience with people doing the exact opposite of that. Maybe.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He considers the work, thoughtful, and turns the plate absently as he goes.]

Wouldn't want to get airlocked.

[So dryly. After a pause, he pushes the plate toward Rip.]

Test it first.

[directed]

...You know I'm not sure whether it says more about you or Miss Carter that I'm not sure if you're joking.

[About the airlock, he means. About the test? Rip can see Max is perfectly serious, and although he's highly tempted to roll his eyes? He walks the brief distance to get a second fork before returning and spearing a bit of the egg.

Then taking a bite.

Then chewing. While looking Max dead in the eye.]

...Huh. [No, he's not dying of poison.] Those actually turned out rather well.

[theroadwarrior]

Mmm. I don't joke.

[Oh...! Well. If they turned out rather well, he's quick to snatch back the plate... After waiting a moment, to make sure Rip swallows the food and doesn't die. Max is hardly discreet about his paranoia about the guy poisoning him. After a moment he takes a bite.

... He doesn't comment on it. But.

He does take another bite.]

[directed]

[We both know I don't have a sense of humor at times, he can hear himself saying on an entirely different ship—one he had been about to leave, in fact. But not through the airlock; hopefully they can avoid that in general, particularly now that Max has made his lack of humor equally clear.

What's also evident enough, at least in Rip's eyes, is the man's willingness to eat the breakfast Rip's made. There's no note of thanks of confirmation of satisfaction—and no, Rip hasn't forgotten that Max has openly admitted to eating dog food. Still, he's content enough to leave the other man to it, stepping away from the table to address the dishes left behind from his efforts.]