driftfleet | [open] august starstruck mingle

[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.)]

[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~~]

[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.]

Edited 2017-08-03 22:36 (UTC)

[...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.]

[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.

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.

[ 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. ]

[ （ｐｒｉｖａｔｅｔｅｘｔ｜ｓａｍ） ]

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

hey, got a minute? ]

[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?

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. ]

[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.

[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.

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.]

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. ]

[He GULPS quite loudly, which is practically "you two are terrifying" in his own language.]

I would be careful; she might hang you up as a punching bag if you did ruin her favorite.

[No she wouldn't, they both know it. But it's a silly image to conjure.

He hands over the drink.]

It's no trouble, captain. The aura of the Starstruck as been rather dreary, so I've elected to try and at least keep everyone hydrated while they... drear.

A temporary change in the ship's name might be in order.

... Gloomstruck, perhaps...

Edited 2017-08-04 19:50 (UTC)

Or worse.

[ but it's said with a shadow of something, a smile. it seems that no matter how dire the situation is, talking about peggy carter still brings a smile to steve rogers' lips. ]

The happenings on the Marsiva - atroma got what they wanted. morale has never been lower. Not that I can remember.

[ and he hates this. how they keep succeeding in controlling their moods and their reactions. ]

I like to think we've hit a low. the only thing left to do now is climb.

[ press onward, no matter what. ]

It certainly has never been, I do agree.

While the Atroma is to blame... we do have to pull ourselves out of it. I just have no clue how long it will take. There are — there were terrible things in those 'calibrations'. I suppose I can't blame anyone for feeling their lingering veil of moroseness.

[Like him. He's been battling those demons since they left the damn ship.]

Everything that happened before it, too. Diamond and Beau - did you catch that?

[ it chilled him to the bone, honestly. when he thinks about it, it still does. their deaths. ]

They've never done that in the same cycle, that's what they said before they died. Almost as if they thought Atroma shouldn't be doing this.

[He nods, frowning.]

... Terrible thing, what happened. I fear they could have been as unwilling as us. Or at the very least, forced to follow at least a semblance of a criteria. [And then replaced so quickly. He imagines it, being a butler and not living up to snuff - getting tossed aside while someone else takes his place. Mr. Stark would never do such a thing, but the imagination paints him sympathetic to Diamond and Beau. Perhaps they were villainous, perhaps simply trying to survive.]

It seems either way... the Atroma do not take well to any level of disapproval from its workers.

[Considering the time period they're from... that sort of thing is quite terrifying, on the cusp of WWII.]

He said, we only tried to make you happy and 'till now I'm not sure if it was meant for Atroma or for us.

[ he looks at the sandbag, almost tempted to throw another punch for good measure but it wouldn't change the fact that atroma have gotten what they wanted. they did away with diamond and beau and after the marsiva, they did away with people's morale, too. ]

That's damn good.

[ he looks at the iced tea, drains the glass. ]

You know if you want some berries, I have a whole patch.

Thank you. And berries would be excellent, thank you. I had no clue before the fleet you would be so prone to gardening. And good for keeping your hands busy, I suppose.

[He smiles a little, glancing to the punching bag.]

They're extraordinarily terrible at making us happy, if that's the case.

[His expression smooths into a frown.]

The things people had to see... it's all quite unfair.

Edited 2017-08-04 22:05 (UTC)

Nothing that Atroma have done was ever fair.

[ the concept of it doesn't seem to exist in their moral world at all. steve doesn't know if they really care about the reality show or if their agenda is entirely different but either way, fairness doesn't play a part in it. ]

Still. This isn't so bad. there are good things, that's what we need to focus on. they may have planned to keep us miserable throughout our stay but - some things are good.

Indeed, there are good things. Not all of it has damaged morale; some of us are stronger for it.

[Despite what he saw for Natasha, he feels more endeared.

The nightmares are... well worth understanding her as a human being.

... Some, though...]

I'm sure Miss Carter is very much happy to have you awake, at any rate. She had already taken a bit of a blow from the calibrations; your waking has been a bright mark on an otherwise fractured month, if I may be bold.

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.]

She thought I was something from a horror book and knocked a gun to my face when I went in to wake her up.

[ but lord help them all, he's smiling about it. ]

Which is her version of a warm welcome, really.

[ but you know what, that reminds him. ]

I gotta ask. I know I wasn't there for it but, you guys are friends. You - work together but it's more than that. She cares a lot, it's obvious you do too.

[ a frown, a tilt of his head. ]

Why aren't you on a first name basis?

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

[ the shared room, erm. ]

[open] august starstruck mingle

sam | open

Visiting as always.

Rip Hunter | OTA

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steve rogers ✮ open.

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