001; the most optimistic newb you will ever meet. (video; open)

[assumedposition]

[ There's a boy on your video feed. Or more accurately: an intense close-up of his face, like he's inspecting it without realising it's turned on. But then before you know it, he leans back with an excited victory whoop. ]

Whoa! I got it working!

[ Now you can see more of him: he doesn't look to be any older than sixteen, but he's dressed in what are unmistakably fine clothes-- a collared shirt, a cravat, a jacket, etc. Even the patterned material is obviously opulent. ]

Man, these things are really ancient... --oh. Sorry. Talking to myself. Where are my manners? I'm Albert...

[ He trails off quite suddenly, as if he were about to say something else after his first name, but then thought the better of it. It's also noticeable that he pronounces it in the French way, "Al-bear", without the t. ]

Anyway! I'm making this video because I was hoping one of the kind citizens of this place could direct me in the way of food! French cuisine is preferred, but I'm not particularly picky. Hunger is the greatest sauce, or something like that.

Although-- now that I think about it, I don't... actually have any money? Oh, goodness. That was silly of me. I'm sorry, maybe just forget the whole thing.

[ He has the decency to look slightly sheepish. ]

In any case, since I'm under the impression that we're all sort of in this place together until we can manufacture an escape plan, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to meet everyone soon. I hope we'll be good friends!

Comments

[assumedposition]

[ His face turns slightly uneasy. ]

Since I've been alive, we've been a republic... but politicians are still corrupt. They hold so much money, they can cover up almost any scandal.

And to be honest... France still vacillitates between the monarchy and a republic, even today. Before I was born, it was a monarchy for a long time. But then the Prince and only heir to the throne was assassinated...

To this day, the public still think that the assassination was carried out by the Earth's enemies in the Imperium-- that's... another section of space. Twenty five years later, we're still at war with them. And nobody knows... nobody knows that it wasn't them at all. It was perpetrated by people on Earth-- people who were profiting from the war and wanted it to continue.

[ Behind him, the microwave dings in the background. ]

[vivelavenir]

[There was a lot to be said about all that. Perhaps... perhaps not every ideal could be met, even if he turned his nose at thinking so. Progress came in bursts and then slowed. Mankind was fed, was educated, was equal. The Republic had won out. Those were leaps.

That they still warred was the error of the human soul. That there was corruption, maybe, was only natural to some. Classism, then, could perhaps be the next great social battle for Albert's people. --The idea of money covering up justice turned Jehan's stomach. The idea of profiteering from war and suffering could make him ill with sadness, if he really pictured it.

That there were monarchies in the stars, men from space committing atrocities also... well.

At least he was adjusting to surprises fairly well.

But for all Jehan could have said on these matters, one thing struck him above all else.

'Nobody knows that it wasn't them at all'...]

...But you know.

[Softly, as if realizing that may be a confession, or at least something very difficult for him to speak about.

He'd like to think that knowing meant Albert was doing something about it, but it also sounded like a very dangerous situation. One that one so young shouldn't have to be involved in. Nonetheless...]

You knew the real assassin, Albert?

[He noticed the ding, but as it held no meaning for him, ignored it.]

[assumedposition]

I don't know the actual assassin's identity, but I can make a few educated guesses as to the identity of those who orchestrated it.

... Twenty five years ago, a simple sailor from Marseilles was entrusted with a letter from his captain as he lay on his deathbed, to be delivered to an address in Paris. Unbeknownst to him, the letter contained the names of those who had plotted the assassination.

[ At this point, Albert turns around and takes the two bowls out of the microwave, continuing to talk as he stirs them around to make sure they're properly heated through. Looking down at the bowls gives him an excuse to hide his emotions, too. ]

Unfortunately, luck was not in his favour. His best friend had long been in love with the sailor's fiancée and, based on nothing but petty jealousy, told the police to arrest him on suspicion of plotting to kill the prince. Under normal circumstances, he would have explained the situation to the authorities, handed over the letter, been released, and those responsible for the assassination would have been punished accordingly. Unfortunately for the sailor, he had kept his word and not opened the letter. Therefore: he wasn't to know that the judge whose chambers he had unwittingly fallen into was none other than one man whose name was on the list. When the sailor obediently handed the letter over to the judge as asked, the corrupt judge saw his name inside, and promptly had the innocent sailor thrown in prison for fear of the letter's contents coming to light.

... In any case. To cut what was only the beginning of a much longer story short--that sailor's old fiancée is my mother. All of this-- I only just found out recently.

[vivelavenir]

[The rest really didn't have to be said. It was clear who the father was, in that case, and for Albert these secrets made it very probable that either his father had confessed to his crime, or the accused had confessed his innocence. Either way, a difficult thing to hear. More than difficult... a terrible weight, that someone guiltless did not deserve.

Jehan wanted to comfort him, but he wasn't sure it would be appreciated. He knew that a press of hands and soft words worked among his old friends, but did not want to overstep or chafe at the new one.

But he had to do something.

So, getting up, he he moved beside Albert and took the second bowl; again, he mimicked him, copying his stirring. Maybe the proximity would be helpful-- it must have been worse, to be here with such a burden, and no one from his own home to lean on.]

...I'm sorry, Albert. A remarkable story, but one that must weigh on you heavily.

[He hoped that speaking of it maybe eased the burden on his heart, if only a little.]

If it's of any consolation... regardless of the past, you've turned out to be a very fine young man. You're gentle and kind. Sometimes terrible situations beget wonderful things.

[A pause before he took a little breath and asked what he really meant to;]

Are you all right?

[assumedposition]

[ Albert looks up at that; seeing Jehan's face full of worry makes him feel a pang of guilt. He shouldn't be burdening someone he's only just met a few days ago with something so heavy. He'd let the baggage of the last few months get to him. But seeing such concern there on a new friend's face, he couldn't help but smile. Perhaps it wasn't a large smile, but it was no less genuine. ]

... I'm fine. I'm sorry, that was a little bit much, wasn't it? There's very few people I can talk about this with back home, I suppose I just got a little carried away. ... Thank you.

[ For listening, for not judging, for kind words, for worrying... he can't possibly convey all that, so he just hopes that the weight behind those two simple words carries through his meaning. ]

[vivelavenir]

No, it isn't too much. [And there's a sort of snappishness to his voice for just a moment that's rare to hear, but no less a part of him. He doesn't mean it directed fully at Albert. However, so far his entire stay here had consisted of friends avoiding discussing what they deemed to be 'too much', and Jehan himself was no less guilty of that.

But things needed to be said, burdens needed to be shared, troubles entrusted to companions. Enough of pretending it did not.]

It is never too much. Say whatever you like. [He corrects his tone, letting out a breath and lowering his voice, a little embarrassed by the slight seriousness of it before.]

You can speak to me about anything that is on your mind, and there is no need to apologize. It's no more than you should expect of your friends.

Now... [Wanting to turn the mood for the better,] is your appetite still in tact?

[assumedposition]

Thank you. [ Albert's smile widens. He's truly grateful to have found a friend in Jehan. He felt that more and more keenly each passing hour. ]

My friend, there is nothing that could stay my appetite. Let us eat.

[vivelavenir]

[He returned the smile, giving him a nod before glancing down at the bowl.]

...Would it be rude to say it doesn't look very appealing? [Sheepishly, before lifting it to take it back to the table.] But it smells very good.

[Having a seat now.]

[assumedposition]

Not at all. You can always speak your mind to me!

[ Sitting down as well. ]

Come, let's put this canned food to the test.

[vivelavenir]

All right. Thank you for preparing it.

[A cautious pause before, trusting in Albert's judgement, he lifts his fork and takes an experimental bite.

...Well. It was... it was really something! Not bad at all.]

It's good! Strong, though. I wouldn't describe it as bland at all.

1/2

[assumedposition]

[ After Jehan has helped himself, he raises his own fork to take a bite. He chews, he... swallows... ]

[assumedposition]

[ And then starts laughing ]

Oh-- god. That is-- absolutely without a doubt, the worst spaghetti I've ever tasted. I'm so sorry.

[vivelavenir]

[Waitwhat.

A long, long pause, fork still slightly poised.... before he had to bow his head and laugh at that, reddening.]

Madame Mérigot was bested by a can then, and not the food itself!

Is it really so awful-? It's... well. If you like tomatoes...

...Actually, if you like tomatoes, maybe you are better off with the reg ular kind. Still, this isn't as bad as all that.

[Poor pasta.]

[assumedposition]

[ Albert continues to eat the spaghetti without complaint though, remembering to chew before he speaks again. ]

It's perfectly edible, of course. I'm just sorry it has to be your first exposure to spaghetti. I promise, while I'm here, I'm going to learn how to cook this dish properly! Pizza, too. Then you'll see!

[vivelavenir]

I have nothing to judge it on, so now, it can only get better.

[Another smile, before he resumed eating also. It was warm and filling, so that was good enough.]

I'm looking forward to trying your take on the dish, though. And-- pizza?

[assumedposition]

Pizza's great! It's like-- you have a flat, round, baked bread as the base, then on top of it you put tomato sauce, and then on top of that you put all kinds of toppings-- anything you want! Onions and olives and capsicum and pepperoni, ham, salami, mushrooms...! I'm not really selling it, but trust me, it tastes better than it sounds.

[vivelavenir]

It sounds... complicated.

[He decided. The combination was exciting, but the visual of all of those foods mounted onto a single piece of bread currently lodged into his imagination was a bit ridiculous.

Still, another thing to look forward to. Those were growing in number on this ship.]

But interesting. Is it your favourite dish?

[assumedposition]

Ah... close to it, but not quite.

I hope you don't laugh, it's actually bouillabaisse. It's just... the dish my mother would always cook whenever anyone was upset. [ He smiles at the memory. ] Even in first class restaurants, you know, I never found one that made it as well as she did.

[vivelavenir]

Well, of course. Because they couldn't make it with the care she-- did. [Not does.

Still, he says this completely without irony. Sentiment is absolutely an ingredient in cooking, as much as in anything else.]

That's a nice choice.

[assumedposition]

That's true enough, isn't it?

What about you, then? Come on, tell me of your favourite food.

[vivelavenir]

Hmm... if I had to pick.

[Though he'd asked, he hadn't much thought about it.]

Maybe, though it's boring, fresh bread. The way it is when it's warm and you break it apart, the crisp of the crust and the softness in the center, the art that goes into making it. It's the food of every-man, but it can be... well. [Going a little pink here,] Elegant in a way, can't it?

[Yes, he's choosing his favourite food based on aesthetic and not taste.]

[assumedposition]

I agree-- a good choice! There's nothing that beats the smell and taste of warm, fresh bread in the morning. Though truly, I hadn't thought that deeply about it in that way before. Do you often put things so poetically?

[vivelavenir]

[Oop, well, that was only going to serve to embarrass him further and make him redder still. He hadn't meant to ramble on about bread, but Albert was on the mark; maybe that was an unavoidable trait of his.]

I'm not certain the poetry is any good, but I do tend towards it, yes. It is... you could say, my favourite type of verse. Beyond critical works, novels, or lyrical mythologies, poetry is the great art. Maybe it's gone to my head a bit. [His friends teased him often enough for it. He'd been called poète almost more than by his name here so far.]

I'm very fond of poems.

[assumedposition]

Really? That's amazing. I don't think I've ever met anyone who was any good at poetry before.

But I'm afraid you might find me rather disappointing, then. I'm quite horrible at them. Franz once-- [ there's a pause here and he stops, as if frozen by something, but then it's gone in the blink of an eye and he continues on as normal] Franz once said I should try my hand at composing a poem for Eugénie, but it was so awful that it ended up never seeing the light of day, haha.

[vivelavenir]

Not at all. [Chuckling, softly.] My friends are not usually in the habit of poetry and some even find it grudging.

[Franz, he assumed by that faraway look, was a companion or brother from home.] I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you should think... the writer is always the most critical on himself.

Still, if you have an interest, a book of my favourite verses arrived with me. I'd lend it to you.