[open] august starstruck mingle

[wingedman]

Who: Everyone!
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Starstruck
When: August 1-31

Everyone on the Starstruck is regretting their life and their choices. Why does anyone want to visit this ship again?

Comments

sam | open

[wingedman]

[Sam can be found in the lounge, a small drone purchased from the planet on the table in front of him. He's got some bits of scrap metal (painted red and silver), and it looks like he's trying to attach a small camera that transmits back to a tablet (also bought on the planet) onto the drone. What use is a drone made for remote spying in outer space? Hell if he knows.

He's also in the kitchen, experimenting with something he's pretty sure is pasta. Apparently he picked up some food supplies, and he's trying to make spaghetti, just for a change in the menu. He tastes the sauce with a spoon, makes a bit of a face, and adds some spices in.

(There's also a box of bakies on the table. You're welcome to have one.)]

[edwinjarvis]

Oh!

[—is the fond noise behind Sam, as Jarvis looks at this box of baked goodies.]

These are quite lovely; are you a chef of sorts, Mr. Wilson?

[When can I hire you to work at The Melting Pot?

Despite the dark cloud around the Starstruck recently, Jarvis is dead determined to be more cheerful than he's been the past few weeks; it'll do no good, to give in to the darkness of the calibrations - and of everything in between. It's just terribly hard, and most definitely draining. He'll do it anyway.]

[wingedman]

Hey, Jarvis. [Sam turns away from the stove to give him a wave and a friendly smile. Unlike everyone else on the ship, he doesn't seem to be under a bleak cloud of depression or...anything else.] Those aren't mine, I got 'em from the planet. I can cook, though. Making some spaghetti tonight - I'm pretty sure this is tomato sauce. Tomato-ish sauce, anyway. Space tomatoes.

[edwinjarvis]

[He appreciates your lack of depressive clouds. Jarvis has had his own, though he's well versed in masking them with work and henning over others; it's a trade secret. He wanders over and observes the spaghetti-in-progress, eyebrows raised. He looks to Sam.]

Exploration is vital to cooking, at least.

Hopefully it's tomato-ish enough; it may very well not, but you may be onto a special new dish if it isn't.

kitchen

[reconstitution]

[ It's been a little too long since he's visited the Starstruck, especially with the negative impact of calibrations and wanting to avoid pretty much everyone. Now, he has a few people to check on. Bucky's not really looking for anyone in particular at first, but he smells something cooking and wanders toward the kitchen. At the very least, he can ask whoever's in there where everyone is. When he sees Sam, he can't not mess with him, right? So he'll stand silently in the doorway for a few minutes. ]

Hey, traitor.

[wingedman]

[Luckily, Sam's been carefully avoiding talking about calibrations with everyone whose head he was in - not that Bucky's among that number, and he should probably be glad for that, because Natasha's was bad enough. He doesn't want to think about what Bucky's might have been like.

But unfortunately for Bucky, he has been talking to Steve, and Steve revealed one key fact about his best friend. A fact that Sam would never, ever exploit for evil.

Except for the part where he totally would and is.]

Nice to meet you, where you been?

[reconstitution]

[ Good, another person who will completely ignore calibrations. He is all for ignoring what happened. And completely willing to bother Sam. It's been a while.

And he's being weird already. ]

Been around.

Visiting as always.

[edwinjarvis]

[Look. Look. He knows things have been even more strained than usual in their circles... but this is pretty severe lately, huh? Even Jarvis can feel it, like hairs on his arm standing on end. It stands to reason, he should come visit and make sure everything's in tip top shape. And everyone is alright. There's a distinct... absence of a particular brute and his shuttle, which isn't entirely strange.

But still. The fog around Miss Carter has scarcely dissipated since the calibrations. Not that he's much better, but he's learned to simply bury it under work. What sort of agent work can Miss Carter do here? She's likely letting it all fester and build up, and that won't do!

So with that in mind, he takes over the kitchen and starts baking enough miniature pies to kill a man. It keeps him busy, but it also allows ample time to spy on everyone and see how they're fairing, you see. Brilliant.

... And maybe... he'll tidy up, if needed.

Find him during the cooking, or, you know. Pouring himself a cuppa while the table is completely masked in miniature pies.

and yes, so far this mingle has been people, like, stress cooking]

[directed]

[...Yeah, remember that good mood Rip had been in earlier, Jarvis? That's gone now. Please welcome back the sully ex-Captain of days gone by, who frowns when he walks into the kitchen to discover the mess in progress.]

Run out of room in your own kitchens, have you? [He pauses in the doorway; he just wants a cup of tea, honestly.]

[edwinjarvis]

[He glances over, eyebrow quirked.]

Hardly. Sometimes I get a bit tired of staring at the same kitchen.

... Most importantly, though, I wanted to check on you and the rest of the crew.

[directed]

I somehow doubt ours is that much different.

[But as Rip makes his way over to the fetch the kettle and fill it with water, Jarvis sees fit to let onto the real reason. Perhaps Rip's demeanor has already given him a hint as to that answer.]

I haven't much been keeping up with the rest of the crew. [Enough to know Max is gone, stress cooking seems to be in vogue, and Peggy's been less irritable but not entirely happy since Steve's awakening.] But I wouldn't bet on receiving a great number of cheerful receptions.

Rip Hunter | OTA

[directed]

[To be fair, Rip's constant state of being is regretting his life and his choices. What's got him more sullen than normal now are the choices of the Atroma, whom seemingly brought Gideon into the Fleet just long enough to make Rip wonder about the future and about her, an AI suddenly turned human, before seeing fit to shuffle her off again, back to their own universe.

And it should be all well and good. She's not there suffering, and besides: Rip's last action before being drawn into this nightmare himself had been to leave the very ship that housed her. Yet somehow it was easier before she'd been brought back into his life for that too brief a time; missing her and the Legends and home hadn't been so potent a thing.

Now it eats at him, right along with everything else they've seen and experienced these last months. The failed raid, the calibrations, executions and now the rather disturbing "retirement" of a ship from the fleet. It's all a mess of mysteries without answers, and Rip absolutely hates it.

Being at a system offers some means of distraction, at least. The kitchen certainly seems to have benefited it from it; Rip's goal seems to be to have the thing fully stocked before they set off again, and to that end he's been purchasing what reasonably unsuspicious meats there are to be found, along with what seems to pass for real dairy: butter, eggs, cream. The latter is bought in smaller amounts, however; the icebox remains iffy at best, and those remain perishable. For so much the same reason, there's more canned and jarred produce than fresh on the shelves; stuff that will last longer once they've set out, but that isn't powered, dried, and likely synthetic. Bread is another thing now found aboard the Starstruck as well; catch him at the right time, and a person might find him spreading a touch of something brown and potent on a bit of toast to have with his tea.

All in all, it seems when Rip sets out to do something, he means to do it thoroughly.

And to top it all off, he's set up a request board—although the scrawled warning of "no promises" isn't the cheeriest footnote to have added, he's at least willing to try? At least when he has the chance to actually use the kitchen. It seems to have become a popular place as of late.

But all of this aside, Rip's by and large kept to himself. He goes about his self-imposed chores--cooking, learning the ship's systems, stocking the kitchen—but they're all potentially private activities, in the end. Sometimes he can be found in the lounge, but usually only when Max has deigned to share the record player. Amazing how long a man can sit around listening to a record, absently squeezing the life out of some deformed stress ball (courtesy of some random shop, advertised by the logo emblazoned on the side). The rest of his time seems to be spent either on the planet or in the privacy of his room. Perhaps for the better; Rip doesn't really seem to be in a good mood when he interacts with anyone.

Although equally, he won't outright be hostile. Probably.]

steve rogers ✮ open.

[uprightness]

[ we took a hit, steve would say if someone had asked how they were all doing. there's a strained, pained atmosphere on the ship that doesn't seem to go away. it's a bit more confusing to him, owing to the three weeks he had lost in the duration.

one would think that after missing seventy years, a three-wee coma would be nothing, surely. however, there's still an odd sense of lost time, of nothing between now and the marsiva. when he wakes, that's when he's only starting to process the events, what he saw, what people had seen in his mind.

that in mind and quite like many others, steve's natural reaction is to withdraw a bit. he spends most of the time on the ship, surely. but so many of those hours are spent at the weaponry behind closed doors or at cargo bay on the treadmill. the first mate seems to be sporting a beard that he hasn't bothered to shave yet.

when he's not there, one could surely bet he's at the gym on the iskaulit, taking out his anger and frustrations and sadness on the sandbags. you might spot him when he leaves, wrapping tape around his palms or on his way back, removing it and flexing and unflexing his fingers.

he's very rarely seen anywhere else. almost as if, even after he had awaken, he sticks to staying clear of everyone's way.

and then there's the odd day or two he spends behind locked doors at the weaponry, coming and going from the room with a pile of odd equipment, scissors, needles, thread and a bottle of fabric dye, of all things. nothing about his posture says ask me what i'm doing but you can try your luck anyway. ]


[ （  ｐｒｉｖａｔｅ  ｔｅｘｔ  ｜  ｓａｍ  ） ]

[ it's one late evening when the message comes, as polite as always:

hey, got a minute? ]

[outstandingbalance]

[It isn't the first time Natasha has seen Steve since he woke up. He'd done his duty by her and checked in—checked up on her. But then it's radio silence a few days. That's on Natasha too. She's not entirely sure how to help Steve with what he's dealing with, and it's awkward when she's had more time to process (or dwell on) injuries that are still fresh for her.

But she figures this time it's her turn to reach out. So she does, as she usually does, without much warning. Instead of loitering in the kitchen this time, she seeks him out.

And when she finds him, it's trying his hand at arts and crafts, apparently. Which is to say nothing of the beard.

Except she'll absolutely say something about the beard:]

Getting a little farmers market there, aren't you?

[uprightness]

Very funny.

[ oh so dry. he gives her a look, however and shifts on the floor. she can sit next to him, if she'd like, while he alters his uniform. he's removing a star at the moment, another symbol of something steve is sure he's not. ]

Are you sure you don't want to go with lumberjack? Sam said lumberjack.

[ look he'd rather discuss the beard than anything else. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[Don't think she won't sit down next to him, either. She settles herself easily on the floor, knees tucked up near her chest.]

I don't think you've hit full lumberjack yet. This is still looking pretty good. Lumberjacks aren't looking good.

[This is the important distinction, clearly. Her eyes settle on his project there, but she doesn't ask about it yet.]

Farmers market beards don't scare people off.

[edwinjarvis]

[Jarvis hadn't found Mr. Rogers during his visit to the Starstruck; really now, everyone is just terribly dark in spirits right now, aren't they? He couldn't blame them. He's never been quite this low in his own, not since he was jailed for treason. That's a fairly high bar to hit, isn't it? But he does magically appear, like some grand mirage or ninja, holding a glass of iced tea. However did he know? Well.]

You and Miss Carter both have a fondness for terrifying a local punching bag.

[uprightness]

She won't let me touch hers, says I'll ruin it.

[ he says, mid-punch, mid several punches. it's not a bad way to work through issues and blow some steam, surely. ]

She's probably right, these ones are more durable.

[ he spins at place, delivers a kick to the sandbag's side. oddly enough, if jarvis watches him long enough, he might notice that their style is quite similar, more worthy of a brawl, really. vicious-looking and effective. ]

Thanks.

[ he says after a few minutes have passed and he can let his routine go and reach for that glass. ]

[wingedman]

got nothing else out here.

[sam can be found in the kitchen, enjoying a late supper. with the bounty of the planet below temporarily available, it looks like he's made a hearty vegetable beef (or beef-ish) soup.]

[uprightness]

think you can drop by? I've got something for you. you could see the new room.

[ the shared room, erm. ]

[mucked]

[ you know, the lounge isn't such an awful spot. it's comfortable -- more comfortable, too, now that max has done a few repairs on wobbly furniture legs. the best of bowie plays on the record player; peggy likes the saxophone.

she's pouring over something on her communications device when, looking up, she catches sight of steve passing through the hall. he's got his wrapping tape half-undone, so he must be on his way back from the cargo bay. ]

Oi, [ she signals him from within the room -- and when his steps slow she adds, ] don't you think it's time to give up the scruff?

[ really, she's been so patient. ]

[uprightness]

[ it's a rather ‫ordinary day really, Steve is indeed returning from the cargo bay ( and the gym before that ) when she calls him back.

He retreats a few steps, flashing her the usual smile she draws from him whenever he sees her. ]

Hello to you too.

[ her way of greeting, honestly. ]

Why? What's wrong with it?

Max | OTA! | Sometime around the 3rd

[theroadwarrior]

[Score one for Peggy, she's managed to drag this one back from the planet. With promises of tea. Or mostly because she really seemed like she wanted him to return -- damn her and her iron grip. Max eventually comes back, unshaven and scraggly from his days of utterly abandoning self-care so that he could wander aimlessly aboard the planet. First thing, shower. Because he doesn't want complaints from the captain that he really shouldn't leave shuttle oil on his skin.

Second, replacing the wheel on the shuttle. He's not going to say he's back, but usually they somehow have a knack for telling anyway.

One thing: his limp is far more pronounced than usual.

And there is an obviously new pair of injuries. One is a cut across his hairline, and one is the smallest of discolored bruising on his cheekbone. There's even still a little blood on the corner of his shirt, but it's hard to say if it's his (it isn't).

... What? You should see the other guys. Most important thing is, he's brought back some fun stuff after a bit of dangerous and illegal shit for credits; he knows most people on the ship would lecture him on it since they're usually keen on following moral law, so he's not gonna even mention what the jobs were.

But anyway. Cool stuff. Probably his best 'pointless objects' haul, if he did say so himself. Sitting on his desk, there's a really nice 'oldschool' earthian steering wheel (that he totally stole from illegal happenings), a couple of vinyl records (nothing recognizable, but there's some soothing melodies in there), a 'vintage' replica train set, just a few funny road signs, and a little something for the oldtimers on the ship:



Obviously not an original either, just a gimmicky sort of thing people're selling. The numbers on it aren't even in normal numbers, but some kind of alien sort. But, you know. To him it reminds him of his youth. It's funny.

Maybe someone can make it work, somehow.]

[Common Area]

[kill_switch]

[It's later in the month, and she's not sticking around for long, but she does stop by to leave a manila envelope on the table in the common area. It just said 'I had extras'. Not necessarily for Max exclusively, but it's something as a gift extended to his crewmates as well.]

[Inside the envelope are some packets of seeds, with little notes stapled to each explaining what they are and how best to cultivate them in careful, neat writing. There are some assorted herbs, ground vegetables, a tuber, and one fruit tree with the added note 'good luck'.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max does eventually stumble upon it, likely as expected; when he picks it up and opens it, a confused and furrowed brow smooths out. Furiosa, huh? He thinks of their work unpacking the crates back on the planet - the talk of her green place, however short and meager the conversation. It was a lot for her, you know. Reminds him of their trip across the fury road, even if that time had been darker in the moment. Now it's a bit fonder. The start of things... changing. Haa.

He seriously thinks she puts too much faith in what his hands can do, though.

Still... Max smiles a bit, reading the instructions.]