driftfleet | someone get a lady on this ship so I can't make that joke ever again

Arrival
George was barely on the Marsiva long enough to register what had happened to him before he found himself on the bridge of the Golden. He stands there, surrounded by the small sprinkling of confetti looking stunned, hands feeling at his wrists where his daggers aren't. He looks like the past, a tall man wearing a medieval-y shirt and vest over breeches and boots. He hasn't had the time to change into the jumpsuits provided by the program, after all.

"By the Crooked God..." he says finally, quietly, as if anyone is responsible for this...this setting he's been transported to, it's more likely to be a flight of whimsy from his patron than any other god. He brings a hand up, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and settles. There's a great deal he seems to suddenly know without any real basis for knowing it, the stars being more than just representative of the gods, the magic known as technology. Almost in a daze, he walks over to the screen of controls available to him, over to see what exactly he understands.

Around the Ship | This part is definitely broadcast everywhere because why not ruin his dignity
After feeling more settled with the place, George takes a tour around the ship, working out the rooms and area they have.

- He walks into the kitchen, dispenses a small amount of orange soda onto the floor, wipes that up, and heats a small piece of wheat-blob in the microwave. He isn't entirely sure what to do with it after that, forking off a small piece of it and making a face at the texture.

- In the bunking area, he unfolds one of the jumpers provided to him and eyes it up consideringly. It's not like any uniform he's seen before, and he's not certain how he feels about it. The pockets look useful enough but it looks difficult to hide knives on. He hasn't yet given up on finding new ones.

- He turns the shower on onto his arm. Well done, George Cooper. Your ma would be so proud.

- Every other place gets peered into and walked around. Drawers are opened in the sick bay. A sidearm is lifted, turned around, and placed back where it came from. He ends up, finally, sitting in one of the shuttles and considering taking it about, just to see if he can put the concept of it in his mind into practise.

"Do they have those? Crooked gods? You would think the whole godly thing would make them predisposed for, well, at least having good posture."

Anders has turned a corner, summoned (perhaps improbably) by the fanfare that comes alongside any new addition to their crew. For all that the situation itself is best summed up by the word kidnapping, Anders seems as friendly and as at ease as another guest at a hotel might be. His smile is as easy as anything, his body language relaxed.

"Hello there. Looks like I'm the welcoming committee." And he is the only one at this immediate moment. He rocks forward slightly on the balls of his feet. "Which isn't much of one, unfortunately. But there is pudding!"

George looks up from prodding at the screen immediately when Anders walks in, turning and looking him over. Alright, someone who properly lives here. That's what his demeanor seems to indicate, anyway.

"Crooked up here," George....sort of explains, tapping at his head with a finger. "I'll take a committee of one over an empty ship." He smiles, walks over, extends his hand. "George Cooper, and I've not seen any puddin'."

"Well that is what the welcoming committee is for." He shakes, firm for someone so flighty. "Anders. Some here might call me captain of our tin can of an abode, through no fault of my own."

He turns, scanning the interior of the bridge, and then steps away with a quick Aha! towards what is probably meant to be a table but looks more like a shelf. It's a small plate of chocolate dessert creams, which he extends towards George with all the aplomb of a waiter, one arm tucked behind his back.

"And I wouldn't be much of one if the pudding weren't delivered successfully. They're actually fairly good, all things considered."

"Captain." That's good, because his Sight's getting a good feeling off Anders. If he's the one in charge, that's a good sign. "An important one man committee, then. My luck is lookin' up." He reaches out and mock-gravely takes the chocolate cream. It's a pudding ceremony.

"It may as well be someone's job to find hidden desserts." This. It looks like....brown mess? He noticed it, but didn't think it was edible or for him, but a fingerful of it proves nice enough to keep eating. "Have you been on this ship long?"

"Two months. Three months? When everything is a black void outside your window, it can be so hard to keep track, sometimes."

If George doesn't eat them, Anders probably will. He ticks days off his fingers, or maybe weeks. Or maybe he's just counting his fingers for show.

"I would say things are comfortable, but that depends entirely on your frame of reference, doesn't it? If you like the sun, for instance." A vague hand gesture towards the nearest observation window. "Or pillows."

"Doubtless it would be. Do they do anythin' to be certain the fleet keeps a concept of day and night, or is a conventional way of livin' all thrown to the side, out here?" Sorry Anders. He is going to eat the cream. Chocolate is generally far too expensive for the likes of him.

"What, not even a pillow for the captain? That's a fine state of affairs for you."

"I know." He sets a hand against his chest. The sigh can only be called extravagant. "It's a fraught life I lead, but someone has to do it."

He knows the feeling; he can hardly blame George for wanting to take advantage. It's the same reason Anders would have taken advantage if he hadn't.

"They try to keep to days and nights. Turning lights off and on and such. The whole point is that we be entertaining— if we're all missing each other all hours of the day because our schedules have gone awry, that's hardly entertaining for anyone, is it?"

"It might be entertainin' for a little while," George grins, sets down the plate. He's finished it. "What captainin' are you truly called upon to do? Is it all in play?"

"I'm still figuring that part out, to be honest."

He shrugs, like it isn't important. It wasn't like he asked to be captain, after all.

"There was the part where some undisclosed assailants tried to blow us to smithereens a while back, and now there's the bit where the ship's a little more rickety in places than it strictly should be, but beyond that...." His mouth quirks in a grin. "Well, it isn't like they've given me a manual, or anything."

Well, at the very least, George won't have to suffer through the length of his kitchen adventures entirely by himself. The wheat-blob is out of the microwave and being prodded at by the time a boy in a helmet and an alarming amount of blue happens to absentmindedly wander into the kitchen himself, a toolbox in one hand at his side.

Evidently he wasn't expecting anyone to actually be in there, if the way he pauses in the doorway the moment he catches sight of George is anything to go by--but brief surprise switches over to a friendly smile easily enough.

"Oh, hello there!" Drifting further inside, he sets the toolbox onto the nearest table, and then pauses beside it, peering over with interest. "I don't think we've met before, are you a friend visiting? ...Ah--" and, finally, noticing the plate of mystery blob George is actually entertaining, "--wait, sorry, I hope I'm not uh...interrupting anything?"

Catching somebody in the middle of a meal could probably be considered as rude somewhere. ...Well, if wheat-blobs could be considered a meal in the first place, but--playing it safe here. Yes.

George looks up, smiling easily. "You're not interruptin' a thing, lad, save my wonderin' whether or not I've cooked food or somethin' merely left where food might be." He looks back down at the piece on his fork and, brows furrowing slightly, puts it into his mouth. It....is probably edible although it sets him no closer to really deciding. Setting the fork down beside the mostly intact blob, he looks up again.

"As for who I am, I'm to believe I'm your new Communications Officer, George Cooper. They sent me across today."

"Oh, okay. Good to know! Though--yeah, I think that is more or less what counts as food around here..." He eyes the plate a bit sympathetically, watching as George tentatively samples. Some days back home he almost envied Lan being able to eat some of Mom's cooking, but here? No, he can't say he really envies his crewmates with these kinds of meals. "I've heard it's not very great, sorry about that..."

But oh, now he's perking up a bit at the introduction for sure, friendly smile switching over to a surprised one instead.

"But--ah, so you've just arrived! A new crewmate then..." Right, manners, whoops--and he draws forward to offer a gloved hand for a handshake. "Communications, huh? It's nice to meet you, George! I'm Megaman. Engineering, for this ship--" He breaks off, gesturing over to the toolbox on the table with a slight laugh. "So uh, yeah, if you ever need anything fixed up I'm probably your guy! Though I'm still kind of getting used to it myself..."

[And here is River!

She's currently poking her way through the corridors.]

Cats remember who they are, in space. Can't fool them, they always find the feet.

[George is on alert for all of five seconds, encountering her in the hallway before he realises it's the youngling from the network he'd seen. She's obviously...teleported? Teleported over, as he hadn't had to do anything about ship docking permission, or accepting messages, or anything he's just found out how to do today. Thankfully.

He supposes she's here for a look around. Fair enough. If someone seems harmless, there's no reason for them not to show up places, wandering around. He'd have done the same if he was a young woman with innocent eyes.]

You've a talent for soundin' mysterious, lass. Has someone been tossin' you through low gravity? [Speaking of things he's just found out about today. His tone's light, anyway. Teasing.]

She doesn't have gravity. She is a moon.

[Stated very simply, she looks up at him.]

You're a moon, too. You like cats, big cats. They roar, no manes. They used to have those on Earth-that-Was now they keep them in a cage.

[George raises an eyebrow at that, and really focuses his Sight. He's not seeing any sort of magical core, no sense of what's in this girl. Perhaps she's a Seer. He's heard of them.]

Circlin' what's important, are you? ["Earth-that-Was" doesn't make sense to him, but he thinks he follows most of the rest.] My Lioness'd not abide by a cage herself. She never has. 'Tis a mercy she's not here. [He folds his arms across his chest.] D'you tell futures as well as presents?

[She smiles.]

She's your planet, it's nice.

[And then she makes a sound like she's thinking.]

Sometimes she knows things. Maybe it's connecting dots, maybe it's more. She can't always say, the words tangle on the tongue.

Powers you're still workin' through. [He nods, unfolds his arms.] I expect it's noisy, up in your head. Was there no one with the same powers where you were to be helpin' you learn the way of them?

There we more, little lab rats in the squeaky wheels. She got the jailbreak, her Simon rescued her, she's safe now.

[George frowns. Lab rat doesn't make sense, squeaky wheels doesn't mean anything, but he follows the rest.]

They had you caged? You and t'other seers? Usin' you? [He shakes his head, eyes full of sympathy.] I'm sorry, lass.

She asked for it, but they never told her.

[She looks at him, a little sadness on her face.]

She is safe now. Take the notes.

If it's what they wanted of you, lass, they'd've found a way to take it whether you asked or no, you can be sure of that. Never think you'd a thing to do with it.

[Did someone mention cats? Under any other circumstances, that alone would be enough to catch Anders' attention— for right now, there's a girl on his ship who he's fairly certain isn't ordinarily on the ship.

Appropriately, there is a kitten peering up from under the fold of his collar when he approaches her.]

True enough. I've always figured that cats were loads smarter than any of us, anyhow. [He pats Captain Whitefluff the Terrible's head, deferentially.] Are you lost?

[River looks him over. She looks for a second like she's looking at the cat, and then she blinks a bit.]

So many aches. You burn so brightly.

[She peers at him, and then settles down on the floor.]

You're one of the moons. You have a red thread, don't you, tied back to the planet.

You're free now, that's good.

Edited 2015-04-13 04:02 (UTC)

Thank you. [He bows slightly, exaggerated, careful to keep one palm against his kitten to be sure she doesn't fall out.] I'm not sure being kidnapped and stuffed into an aimlessly floating cylinder really counts, precisely, but it's better than before. It's the little things in life.

[Truth be told, that's the only part of that he understood completely. Talking to Cole has helped him navigate some of the speaking-like-a-literature-book sensibilities, but only enough to recognize that maybe River is seeing more than he's strictly comfortable with.

The rest he can only just tapdance his way through.]

I'd like it much better if we were back on the planet, yes. A planet. Anything that isn't here. [a beat] Does this mean you aren't lost?

[She smiles a little bit.]

They kept her, too. Said to teach.

[And then she shakes her head.]

No, she is here. Why aren't you with your planet? She couldn't be too far from hers.

[And she smiles gently.]

It's happy. You make him like cats. He makes you forget the hurt for a few minutes. She understands. Planets take so much looking after, or else they get into trouble.

[They kept her, too. That, if nothing else, is the surest way to win empathy from him. Some of the pomp of his demeanor filters out; he's still smiling, but it's a little less of a show.]

—Ah.

[He understands. Planets and moons are new concepts, but the augment and the general theme of the fleet have made them easier to swallow. It makes him uncomfortable, having it pointed out so plainly that he has hurt at all to forget, much less that Hawke helps him manage it. He glances back over his shoulder, old habit from the Circle, to check for anyone who may be eavesdropping.]

So they do, I suppose. Though I can't say I'm any better. [Perhaps that's why it works, he doesn't say.] We can't be together all hours of the day, in any case. Might drive us both up the wall and back again.

[This is probably completely false. They could tail each other all around creation and he's not sure he'd get sick of it. But they don't need to be attached at the hip; they exist in their own spheres and enjoy the overlap when it happens.

He rocks slightly forward on his feet, watching her. His smile takes on an edge of something mischievous.]

Did he tell you about me?

He likes the cats. They make messes, sink their claws in where they weren't expected to but it's not unwelcome, it's just different.

[She peeks over at the white kitten.]

It's not bad. He didn't like them. Cats were new. You kissed him, he liked that. There was a tavern. The cat was in the bag.

Well. [Well!] That's very specific. You're a bit nosy, aren't you.

[He touches the side of his head to indicate. He doesn't say it with any sort of heat, it's just an easier topic to latch onto than the actual meaning of what she's saying. It isn't a secret so much as he's been conditioned his whole life to keep private details of personal relationships quiet, lest they draw too much attention from the wrong places.]

Though I have to say it's good to have it confirmed he likes them. The cats, I mean. [Not the kisses. He had a pretty good idea of that already.] That's a tidbit I can torment him with endlessly, thank you for that.

You're very loud about it, it's important.

[Because Clearly This Is On You, Anders.]

Its okay, he's not one of the round people. You kissed them too but it was hot and furtive and afraid, it was desperate. You were living as much as you could, and she understands. But this is easier because there's no irons to lock you down and take that from you.

[She nods softly.]

[She isn't wrong. She is, in fact, very correct, which might be expected at this point.

He doesn't like to think about the Circle— or, specifically, the potential there was with people like Karl in the Circle, potential that was strangled by his own fear and desperation. By templars with watching glares like blades already set at the back of his neck. By wanting so much and hating so much at the same time.

Anger simmers, deep beneath everything else, but that's hardly anything new.

This is different. It's easier. Easy like slipping on a patch of black ice is easy, he wants to think, but also just... easy. It isn't something he'd thought he'd have before.

He doesn't know what to say. So he says instead:]

Do you actually need to be on the floor? Seems like it might be cold down there.

She likes the solids under her, it feels real. So much is drifting is floating, fleeting and she smiles softly. It's easier this way.

[She looks over at him. Maybe it's him?]

The Captain is very fierce. Very terrible, he thinks. There's so many claws in him.

[It's a fair enough explanation. He's never really been one for sea travel, either; not that you can call this sea travel, but it's the closest equivalent he has.

He likes the topic better, too.]

You're going to have to be more specific around here. We have a few Captains running about. Though I can only assume you're talking about this one. [He tugs his collar down, where his kitten blinks in the sudden extra light.] She's got the claws and the epithet to go along with them.

[Oh, hello there, fellow corridor-poking person. Incidentally this guy also happens to be poking his way through the corridors as well, albeit probably for entirely different reasons--still a bit antsy after the collective attack from earlier, and periodically inspecting the ship for signs of further damage already seems to be a habit developing, all the more helped by the prodding of the engineering augment and all that.

He doesn't find any damage yet, though. And finds a stranger instead, already speaking up, and that has him stopping short, a bit bemused.]

Oh, do they? I didn't know that. [It's the first remark to pop out, automatically--after a pause, though, with greater consideration as he blinks at her:] Um, are you--looking for one? A cat...?

She found the captain. He had white fur.

[WHO REALLY RUNS THIS SHIP????]

You have so many bits that bite.

[Or was it "byte"?]

White fur? Oh--you mean Anders? I...ah, I didn't know he had that either...

[WHO INDEED the real mysteries.....he's pretty sure Anders didn't really have anything along the lines of fur last he'd seen the guy, but--well, they are in space. Maybe Anders is some kind of alien after all. Yes.

More importantly, though--byte it probably is, but bite's what he hears, set up as a verb like it is and all. Increasingly bemused, now:]

Wait, me? But I don't--no, I don't bite. Or have...bits that bite, I don't think? [nO HE DIDN'T JUST GLANCE DOWN AT HIS OWN ARMS TO DOUBLE-CHECK THIS OR ANYTHING look you can never be too safe ok...but no.....] I'm sorry, actually, I must not be following you right. Was that what you meant, or did I get something mixed up? I think I did...

[For his part he's been trying his best to settle, really! Megaman's first week aboard the Golden was a bit...tumultuous to say the least, sure. But things are a lot calmer now that they're docked at the waystation like this, and that gives Megaman plenty of time to start building a tentative sort of routine to this new residency here. Because routines are very important. Yes.

Oftentimes he's popping in and out of the ship fairly frequently, carrying out tools or bringing in new ones, some of said tools looking rather too large and heavy for somebody of his slight stature to even be carrying--though he seems to manage them strangely well, and hardly ever seems too breathless about the load. There's nothing to be done about not being able to see over his own armful of stuff sometimes, though, and he might accidentally walk right into you at some point whoops.

When he's not roving in and out, though, he's wandering the halls, tweaking things in the engine room or checking over various bits of machinery. The remarkably good condition that the Golden had emerged in post-fight still feels almost too good to be true, honestly, and he'd be lying to say he wasn't a bit antsy to be helpful somehow...trying to live up to this engineering augment seems like a small way to start, if nothing else. Some spots in need of slight repair or checking are just--a bit too high for him to actually reach, though, and you just might catch Megaman very very furtively trying to steal a chair from the kitchen area at some point. Absolutely feel free to call him out on this extremely stealthy thievery.

Even aggressively productive robot children eventually need some time to wind down, though--but Megaman never uses the room with the bunk beds readily available, oddly enough. Instead, in the later hours when it's dark both outside and in, he can be found holed up in his Personnel office instead, sometimes with the door absentmindedly left often, always with the light left on all night. One might find him tucked in his chair prodding at the comm device into the early hours; one might find him standing beside the desk with his back to the doorway, too. ...And never moving...all night....because he's actually asleep on his feet and somebody really needs to talk to him about this creepy habit probably. Late night wanderers are very free to pop in and mistake him for awake, or at least wonder why he never turns the light off.]

someone get a lady on this ship so I can't make that joke ever again

GEORGE ARRIVES | and make the joke forever, do it

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I AM REALLY SORRY HOW LONG THIS TOOK

NP MAN NP

VISITING

:>

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

MEGAMAN around and about | no this is the best joke, our legacy