THE DRIFT FLEET

Who: Everyone planetside
There's a fine art to laying a curse. Whether it's a person or a place, the curse comes down to wishing. The sincere and honest hope for misery and pain is as natural as living and learning to deal with all manner of unpleasant happenstance. What displeases is often looked at as worthy of destruction.

Mantis, therefore, has much to wish for. While his initial agreement to find their medic was made in necessity, he also realized he needs some time alone with his thoughts. More importantly, he needs time to get used to the thoughts of the local wildlife and the people of the planet. Being set upon by hostiles is far from new to him, but it has been a long time since he's felt it so strongly. So deep in the bones of his surroundings.

He mutters under his breath as he walks, alert for any sign of brain activity, both primitive and advanced. His breath is filled with curses for the planet: for it to be starved of sunlight. For it to shrivel and die like fruit left out in the sun. For it's people to come at him to face a swift demise. At least others can be taken up with the comms tower, but he trusts the truly wise to know how to repair something so complicated. They have their specialty and he has his.

Furious as he is, there is a different noise cutting through his words as he walks out carefully in his leather uniform.

There is a hissing, almost gleeful laughter.

Who: Mantis and You
Broadcast: YesSapce Station - Action

He's wandering around looking like a specter of days long past with a bag on his back filled with liquid forget-me-nots fit for anyone willing to try hard enough. Mantis isn't one to wallow very often, but some things are just too much all at once. His tall figure cuts through crowds quietly as he stretches his legs, pausing here and there to have a seat and sigh heavily to himself. Once in a while he starts to hum a little snippet of song, a mournful little melody that resounds through the confines of the mask.

Eventually, he makes his way to head back to his own ship, but he'll pause here and there just to wander among the many distractions available to him.

Bishop (Dining Area) - Broadcast

There are five candles set up. They're the short votive sort made of a milky white wax and he's arranged them in a kind of loose circle on a simple plate. There's a cup in the center of the circle, and he's pouring out a drink into it from what he was promised would be a slightly higher shelf brand of alcohol. You have to do some things right, or else not bother.

With the cup nearly full, he caps the bottle loosely and pinches the wicks of each candle between his fingertips. There's no immediate source of the fire, but he manages to light them all very carefully before sitting back in his chair. It's he spreads his arms out, turning his head to look at the other empty seats at the table before him.

The bottle doesn't stay closed for long and he takes it up to have a long sip at the drink before closing it properly. At last, he looks directly at the feed.

"I'm a monster by many measures, not heartless. The best way to fight the feelings of misery is in the company of others or a bottle of something strong."