[ when the feed begins, luke is seated somewhere looking a little on the worse-for-wear side. dressed in the same all black he'd worn on the death star, his expression is pleasant enough, if exhausted. but he can't quite rest yet-- not until he has a few things sorted out.

he offers a smile that he hopes seems less sheepish than dignified, bobbing his head in a polite nod. ]

Hello. I'm Commander Luke Skywalker of the, ah, Alliance of Free Worlds-- but as our ranks mean very little in the grand scheme of things here, please feel free to call me Luke. I apologize, since I know we're all still settling in after the jump, but I had a request and an offer.

[ he lifts his right hand with a wince, pulling the glove back slightly to reveal the blaster damage to his prosthetic. he pulls it back down over the hole, then, fingers clicking as he curls them and lowers that hand. ]

As you can see, I have a prosthetic, and it's seen quite a bit of damage in the last few-- well, weeks, really, but it's at the point now where I can't ignore it. I was hoping someone on the ship had access to tools for delicate work that I could borrow. The sooner the better, in all honesty.

[ a brief pause, straightening slightly. ]

The offer is in regards to my place on this ship. I'm told that there are gaps in the manning in several departments, and I'm happy to offer my services. Skillset-wise, I'm most suited to security or engineering, I think, but I'm a quick study if I'm needed elsewhere.

[ he seems to consider that for a moment and, satisfied, offers a quick salute. ]

Skywalker out.

[ the feed ends. ]

[Text]

Is there somewhere I can find a notebook and pen?


[Action]

[Because she's not going to get stuck in an ambush again without knowing where the hell she is. Chell is now exploring the ship more thoroughly, making mental notes where everything is.]

[Especially where the conversion gel is located. Wow, it looks like Wheatley is good for something after all. You can stumble across her looking at a patch of it.]

[Or find her exploring somewhere else on the ship]

[That's a really nice view of a kitchen ceiling popping up on your comms. Forgive the 90's kid for his lack of experience in smart phones - or maybe don't, because it might just be he's too lazy to hold the thing up while he's talking. Or it might be where he's busy rifling through every food cupboard he can find, his talking punctuated here and there by the sound of food packets being investigated, shaken around, crinkled.]

Not that I want to disrupt all the great work you people've been doing here, but those two assholes you think are in charge - you checked they're human? Might wanna label it some post-traumatic shit, but recent experience has given me a healthy distrust of taking anyone as they appear. And it'd explain this situation better than any of the vague mysterious bullshit you've been going with so far.

[There's a pause, then the sound of a box of something or other getting torn open, and yeah, when he talks again he's obviously doing it around a mouthful of food. It's been a rough couple of days, and he's hungry. It's also good for covering up any glimmers of actual concern in his voice as he carries on.]

I'm missing some people. Yeah, you heard it all before. But you see a short bug-eyed freak called Casey running around, do me a solid and point him my way.

[[ooc: backdated to early on the day after the jump!]]