ataraxion | video.

[Marty has retrieved his things from the locker; themos-bong, I've missed you so much. So, so much. He has it in his lap and sets it aside, plenty done with it for a good while. It's given him clarity; time to reflect on his life, on his future, on an evil ship doomed to ruin him as much as everything else has.

Okay, so he actually just came into his room, curled up, and cried for a little bit. And then smoked more. It's his depression solution.

But he's good now. He's cross-legged on his bed, looking as though he's been pondering considerably on the state of the Marty. Only whatever redness to his eyes can be contributed to his bong, if anyone questions it--he's too busy focusing on the now, instead of the then. It'll do him no good to let it drag him down; he can keep having all this doubt and survivor's guilt, but he can't let it crush him--because it wouldn't be fair to the others, when they never got the chance to come back.

No, he can figure it all out. He can think long and hard and maybe he can help these people where he couldn't help his own.]

Have you ever wondered if this place is your world's future? I know that's really morbid thinking and all, but this has to be in somebody's future--doesn't it? Maybe something crazy happened, people had nowhere to go, so they ran off to space. It's not like it's the craziest idea out there; we had--whole movies dedicated to stuff like this. Syfy originals. Books. Hell, I think I heard a radio story from ye olden days about it.

[He waves a finger at the air, looking off distantly.]

... I just can't figure out where everything went crazy aboard the ship--maybe there's some... entity. Like a spirit, or a god. Maybe it's getting its sick thrills off making us dance around like little lab rats. Or maybe it's whatever those hypothetical entities created. Maybe--maybe we're just being watched by something that brought us here just to see what we'll do. People say there's no reason we're here, or we haven't found one. But if I had to bet my piggy-bank back home on something... it'd be that. I'd guess it's also why it won't let anyone go out too far from home plate. Or why there are people who aren't people anymore.

Whatever we do, we gotta stick together. Or else... things'll just go from worse to worser. We gotta hang in there. Fuck Smiley and the monsters and the lack of wonderful snack foods--we gotta... just stick together...

[He's rambling now, whoops. Sighing at the sir, he reaches over, grabs his bong and talks as he turns the top, condensing the whole thing down into a normal thermos mug. ILU, thermy.]

I'm gonna go try to invent new things in the kitchen. Anyone wanna go? This place needs way more comfort food, and I'm pretty competent at Macguyver-ing together something worthy of consumption. Might even be able to do it without setting the whole ship on fire, too.

[HA HA it was a joke

just a joke

and then he wanders off without shutting down the feed. Distantly, and growing fainter:]

Maybe I can manufacture some space strain of toaster strudels.

[And true to his word, he'll be in the kitchens to see what awful abominations he can make wunderbar. He'll answer anything there, too, while he's at it ~~and he remembers to retrieve his comm~~. Now... what does this place have in the way of sweet stuff? Surely lots of cans and cans and cans and oh look boxes. Feel free to actually find him there, casually drinking from said thermos.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Why does everyone think there's a spirit? So cliche...

... Sometimes clichéd things have a place.

Sometimes there's a reason we go back to them so often, don't you think? Sometimes we think 'oh no, that couldn't possibly be it, it's so overdone and unrealistic and what are the chances?', and then we're thrown flat on our asses when it's exactly that.

Look, sweetheart, I know you think you know what you're talking about, but I know malevolent spirits, and if there was one in control of this ship, then cliched is exactly what we'd get. Flashing lights and power cuts and surprise monsters of the week, and getting locked in while the theme of Psycho played through the speakers.

Have you ever seen Space Odyssey?

Look, honeypie, I'm just saying we should keep it in mind no matter how ridiculously obvious it gets. Considering this place has had problems like that in the past? We might just get Psycho redux. Blood splattering on shower curtains. Screechy violins with creepy guys who love their mommies too much.

Maybe not that last bit, but--...yeah, I saw Space Odyssey. I probably should have watched it when I wasn't floating through a magical odyssey of my own, but still. I've seen it.

Never again. Never sober.

No to the creepy guys who love their mommies too much? Have you met the men on this ship?

[ He's rolling his eyes every so dramatically, just watch him. ]

I'm just saying that if an evil spaceship wanted you dead, you'd probably be dead.

... Dude, I have enough to worry about without thinking of Norman Bates prowling the halls in a wig.

And hey--not everything wants you dead from the get-go. Sometimes they take their sweet time. Or hell, even give you the chance to make it on your own. Evil shit likes to take its time, watch things suffer.

That's where they make their biggest mistakes, because it can royally blow up in their faces.

I don't know about Norman Bates, but I think I've seen Patrick Bateman. That man has a killer body, if you know what I mean.

[ Chad doesn't watch superhero movies, but American Psycho is fine, so he has no idea that it's Bruce Wayne and not actually Patrick Bateman. Still, his VHS copy had to be thrown out because he broke it with all the pausing and rewinding he was doing. ]

That's assuming the good guys win, and we don't all just fall into a black hole or die horribly. Nothing would surprise me. There's no such thing as a happy ending, unless of course you happen to be employing a Russian masseur.

[God, don't go drooling over serial killer characters

that's just creepy]

Maybe not; I mean, everything dies eventually. But you should still at least try to be happy until that shit happens, right? Russian masseurs aside. Haven't you ever had the 'don't give up hope' and 'reach for the stars' pep talks from your superiors as a hapless tween?

[ Chad makes a choked sort of HA noise. Be happy until you die. That is a really ironic when you're talking to a ghost. What about after you die? ]

Don't give up hope and reach for the stars are rather irrelevant when you're a gay teen in a backwater state with no very little musical talent and a hatred of dance. When they put all the pieces together, they very quickly ran out of stereotypes to work with.

I did move to California, so I suppose I lived out at least one part of that particular fantasy, even if it wasn't exactly mine.

Oh.

Sounds rough.

[dude i barely know you, don't throw all these serious and sad topics about yourself on me already

at least let me rest my feet a little]

Dancing's overrated anyway. I'm too jive honky for that.

[ It's all fun and games until you get drowned and shot to death by a ghost with mommy issues. ]

See? We have something in common already.

That, and we're trapped on a spaceship with no reason as to why we're here given. And we've both been thrown into tubes of blue goo. But hokey-pokey dancing's a good club to start out in.

The blue goo is the worst.

[ Worse than ectoplasm. ]

But it does have some small advantages.

.... Small advantages.

[like what even]

[ A big cat's got the cream smile from Chad. ]

And some big ones, too. Positively enormous 'advantages'.

Awwww dude, don't make this weird! We're having a relatively decent conversation without smiling about the uses of space goop!!

[ Grimacing. ] I wouldn't go that far. I'm only saying that hot blooded young men like us can enjoy the advantages that group showers and mandatory nudity can bring.

Pretty sure the goo isn't meant to go there.

[oh that is a slightly better train of thought

But still ]

Still. Space goo. That can't be good for any situation. Do we have space STDs out here? I bet they're out there somewhere.

...

Space goop might be medicinal, though... We do float in that shit for an extended period of time.

We have space doctors, why not space gynecologists?

[ He doesn't need tests, he's dead. ]

It might be medicinal, but I wouldn't smoke it.

Hey, I never said I was gonna!

...

Well, I had the thought, but. No thanks.

[ Chad just grins. He likes you, Marty. ]

Let me know if you try it. That I'd have to see.

Oh, you'll know. I'll be bent over a toilet vomiting the words don't smoke the blue goo.

The things I do for the sake of smokers everywhere.

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