Marty Mikalski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foolproofed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxion2013-04-11 02:14 pm
foolproofed) wrote in ataraxion2013-04-11 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
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 itand 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.]
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
[voice]
Christ, Edgeworth. He's condoning recreational use of a relatively harmless drug, not murder.
[voice]
[voice]
But not here, he's not. We don't have that law here, and in my personal opinion, we don't need it.
[voice]
[voice]
[voice]
[voice]
You really need to work on this tendency to take things to extremes.
[voice]