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
no subject
Let's sorbet!! Not nearly as kinky as it sounds.
[He totally forgets he was grumpy at Edgeworth five seconds ago because there is a sparkle in his hooded eye and a jangle to his footstep.]
Anything delicious fixes anything not delicious. Not metaphorically delicious, I mean. If that makes sense. [leave me alone i'm trying; he motions for her to come along as he starts pulling pots and pans and all kinds of great stuff for kitchen damage.]
no subject
Sounds like a solid philosophy to me. Okay, maestro, guide me. Whadda we need?
[Mixing bowls? Blender? Chef's hats? She's going for the sugar in the meantime in any case.]
no subject
no subject
and she's thinking of the way they served it at the thai place near where she lived, with phrik nam pla and ginger and lemongrass, or the way her dad used to cook it in little parcel of baking parchment stuffed with lemon and scallions and a splash of white wine.
Not fair. She shakes her head.]
Okay, newbie, there aren't a lot of rules around here, but one of the unspoken ones is you don't talk about food we don't get here unless it's a designated, mutually consensual Reminiscing About Food conversation. You can't just spring that on a girl, it's not fair.
[It's too late
she's thinking about food god help you Marty]
no subject
My sincerest apologies, freckled friend; I get really super into my food talk.
At least we'll be able to enjoy something for once today! If I don't completely fuck it up.
[I GOT THE MEASURING CUP, AWESOME]
Should I start talking about nasty food? Some places enjoy jellied moose nose.
no subject
Hey, I don't mind. As long as I get time to prepare myself. And jellied moose nose sounds kinda interesting compared to some of the stuff here. I mean, at least you can trace it back to the damn moose. What's [and she pulls a tin from a shelf for purposes of illustration] "preserved meat product" meant to be anyway? I don't wanna put anything in my mouth that isn't straight-up about what it's from.
[Heather Mason is not one of nature's vegetarians, but sometimes you have to take a stand. After all, we are meat. We are meat.]
no subject
Maybe the people who canned it don't even know, themselves...
It's Mystery Meat. Like--surprise! It's platypus. Next week's pikachu.