video + conscription

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Passengers who've met Heather before might notice she's a bit paler and a bit darker around the eyes than usual. Passengers who haven't are about to get a charming introduction, if it's delivered in a slightly flatter, wearier tone than her usual.]

Been a while since I've done one of these, so I should probably introduce myself. Heather Mason. I'm a double-oh-two and I work in the gardens, which is why I'm speaking to you today.

The oxygen gardens are what keep us all breathing and eating stuff that doesn't come in a vacuum pack. They're not a petting zoo. There are four of us trying to keep that place running and it's hard enough without worrying about the crops getting eaten or kicked over or people's pets trying to kill each other. So here's the deal: You're keeping something in the gardens? Drugs, pets, livestock. Dinosaurs. Congratulations. Now you work there. I don't want to hear any bitching, either. We all depend on the oxygen gardens to keep us alive, so if you're taking more out of them than anybody else, you need to put more in.

Oh, and if what you've got in there might cause damage to what someone else has there? It's your job to make sure that doesn't happen, not anybody else's. Come on.

[She'd add that the people she's just conscripted should contact her for details but... well, they might take that as an invitation not to.]

Comments

[handelaar]

...

[He makes the effort to tilt the video up to his face, just to look down to give her the flattest look ever. None of that meant a damned thing to him, and while he likes that she's lured in someone... he swipes a hand over his face and shoves the feed straight into his bedcovers. For whatever reason he suddenly doesn't want her seeing him. Or doesn't want to look at her, one.]

You try t'train him.

[It'll come across muffled and he knows it.]

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Between the look and the sudden introduction of communicator to covers she's lost. Confused, and while it's clear he's upset and she knows it's got to be to do with what he's told her, she doesn't get why and can't help from sounding just a little hurt.]

Yeah. I signed him on, so I guess he's my responsibility.

I'll, uh... I'll let you know how it goes.

[handelaar]

[She comes across muffled, too. He flops back onto his too-small bed and turns the device up, to face the ceiling. Sighs.]

I can. [There's a slap of his wrist smacking across his eyelids, and the shadow of a few fingers in the way of the camera.] Or you can.

[One part implication that he thinks she's nearly just as good as he is, now, and one part done with this shit.]

[sweetmotherofgod]

No, I've got it. Are you --

[She can't quite bring herself to ask are you okay, sure it'd go down like a lead balloon.]

You should take a break.

[handelaar]

No. [And that's as stubborn and resolute as he ever is. Always is. There are no breaks. Taking a break is tantamount to giving up.

But it's an odd situation and for once he's more than willing to listen to the tone (concern) more than the words, to subsequently pawn a job (responsibility, trust that they won't fuck it up), off to someone else - that very same person - and in this case, after a few long breaths, he hands it over.
Trust, huh, trying that out again.]

Right. [Another sigh.] You do it, then.

[And he ends that, there.]