ataraxion | video.

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[When the camera turns on, Marty's adjusting it before plopping down in a seat clumsily (grumbling 'fuckin' jelly legs' or something to that effect); he's got dust and oil on him, a little toil and trouble with the clean-up assistance he's been performing on the Tranquility (after pilfering a gun from the Scylla, of course). He's bone-tired and there's a bit of sweat on his brow, but in that weariness he finds temporary redirection from the shitty stuff. He's noticed, of course, people fighting plenty. People looking very tense and unhappy. The halls are even quieter, somehow. And he doesn't fuckin' like it, not one bit. Now, he's not particularly attached to this ship--duh, he's only been here a month and it's a horrible place on top of it--but like hell does he enjoy misery as company. That saying can just go shove it.

I mean, he's barely even smoking it up, lately. In fact, he's stone cold normal right now and empty-handed. They're just clasped in front of him as he leans into his knees.]

You know what I need? A break. A cigarette break, but with more words 'n shit. We've been working our asses off. Keep up the fantastic work, and all that jazz, but how about something else for a second? Juuust a second. I know we've all been stressed out, what with the pirates and the freaky-ass murdering specter captains and the--uh--ship clamped on us like a tumor. So just... Hey, I haven't--really indulged in the fact that we're all from every corner of time and space and universes and all that cool sci-fi stuff.

[He licks his lips as he considers what to say, hands motioning in front of him like he's trying to catch his own thoughts.]

You guys, we have all kinds of worlds on board! Tell me some cool shit about your world. Or about you. Whatever. Can I get some cool facts? Some jokes? Stories? Hell, it doesn't even have to be anything outside of good ol' planet Earth. Or even directed at me. No serious or traumatic stuff needed, just... stuff. Hell, if you're a connoisseur of movies or you have a thing for panda facts or you wanna tell a story about your crazy family reunions.

[He suddenly seems a little more excited, a little less tired, shifting in his seat.]

This entry is now Marty's Share Fair. I'm stuck on a funky space ship and all, so I might as well know more than the bleak stuff.

....

Just don't pull a TMI, okay? I'm sure everyone sees enough floppy nethers after each jump. We don't need to know anything about them other that the promise that you'll find a towel posthaste. Thank you in advance.

(ooc: threadjacking heavily encouraged! it'd be fun to have people find common interests or things to relate to, and I just wanted a kinda free-for-all for the S.S. Solemn Worrywarts)

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Oh, right--super Gen Y for the college guy.

For me maybe, but for you, consider it time in the day teaching Chess 101.

[sniff.]

Chess enlightenment, even.

Better. Acceptable.

Good!

[smiiiile]

See you in two? First floor kitchens?

Erm - Yes. That will suit.

Great! I'll be here.

[While super-cleaning.

These boxes and messes and broken glasses ain't gonna clean themselves. He even rolls his gritty sleeves up--poor, poor sleeves, all stained to hell thanks to Jack's blood getting all over them. No amount of scrubbing has fixed them entirely. Not that they weren't already fucked up to begin with, but still.

cleaning time

Man, he feels like he should be in one of those ships from the Matrix, this place looks so shitty.]

[Edgeworth shows up a while later, a chessboard tucked under his arm. He looks supremely awkward - more so, even, than usual - dressed to impress in his best suit and cravat tied all the way to his chin.

He's loath to interrupt someone who's being productive and responsible, and so when he sees Marty working hard he just sort of stands there, uncertain, waiting.]

[In person, Marty probably looks a lot scrawnier. Way less impressive than soldiers around here like Reaper or York or that cool sergeant guy. But he likes to try anyway, if he can't do any cool army shit. So he's dragging boxes up from the floor, moving things here and there the effort damn near shaking his arms and legs by the time he finally gets everything back in the pantries and drawers. Crouches low, starts placing things one-by-one into the doors beneath the counters. Heaves a sigh. Only stops when something appears to prick him sharply in the back--some imaginary force that makes him hiss a 'fuck!' under his breath and reach lamely to touch the tender spot.

Rises up, leaned one hand on the counter, sighing. Trapped in his own little world, stopping to regain some pep to keep going; he's not so good at keeping track of time, and since Edgeworth is gonna meet him, he didn't bother tracking it now.]

[--Soooo when he turns at last with a less-than-enthused expression, it turns into a startled one and he leans back, bumping his head on the open cabinet door.]

OH--

[A BREATH and he holds his head, eyes fluttering with relief]

Shit, [phew] Man, don't go playing quiet time around the super thought-provoked; this place isn't good for it.

[But he sounds glad because at least you're not a rogue space pirate

y'know

out for revenge or something]

[During that time he'd been standing there, he'd seen how the fellow was working with, well - with real diligence. That hadn't been what he'd expected in the least, and he wonders why Marty is indeed being so productive.

So Edgeworth's expression doesn't look particularly repentant or guilty. If he thought about it, he'd feel bad about startling Marty, and he'd ask after his head, but he's too distracted by his curiosity to remind himself to be empathetic. So instead, he just looks curious, frowning slightly, examining him and thinking deeply.

After a moment, he says:]

Indeed. Ah - [And then he lowers his head in a half-bow of greeting.] Miles Edgeworth. You are Mr. McFly, correct?

[.............. Haha.

He smiles a little, the kind you try not to smile--which he promptly covers with a bashful rub of the back of his head. Should he tell him the painful truth? His name is just not as cool as McFly.]

Aaaa... Just call me Marty. Definitely prefer it to Martin, too.

[He rolls his shoulders, tense, before stepping away from his work.]

Miles or Edgeworth?

[Very, very firmly, without hesitation:] Edgeworth. [And then, a bit more softly, he says:] And if you do not mind, I would sooner call you by your surname. It's a touch informal to use one's given name.

[And then he pauses, and asks:]

Would you like assistance in cleaning up? I can - make it go a bit faster.

Whaaat. Come on, I hate my last name. Isn't it kinda impolite to call someone by something they hate?

[Which isn't untrue. Mikalski reminds him of his dad, and while he was on okay terms with him, he does not want to be likened to his father. Doesn't help that his father was never called by anything but his last name to the whole goddamn town. So then it's just--Mikalski's kid. He absolutely hated it.

He sighs, though, looking around. Sits on a heavy box of stuff he hasn't slid elsewhere yet.]

Nah, I think--a break would be good. Might end up passing out or going for that Karōshi shit we talked about, if I keep this up.

[He wipes his face with a clean towelette; there's a distinct layer of wet dust coming off onto the white fabric, and he sneezes. Guess who's been crawling around through the bottom rows? This kid. He remembers why he hates spring cleaning now.]

They took out some shit we haven't even messed with yet, I think. Had to cram a lot of stuff back under, after the trash was picked up. Do we airlock our trash, or something?

I believe it's compacted. I'm not sure of the precise mechanisms.

[He leans back against the kitchen table, his brow furrowing slightly. The fellow has been working hard indeed, and Edgeworth feels a wave of faint guilt. How rude he had been before. How mindlessly condemnatory of him.]

Would you like a moment to shower? I can wait.

[... Oh...

Maybe he's been getting way too used to being covered in grime or dust or sweat. This is slowly becoming a problem he gives less and less shits about. Not that he was Super Ultra Hygienic before or anything, but shit man, he knows when to take a shower. He barely even has a pot scent, it's all muted by sobriety and cleaning dust.]

I should... prooobably go for a dunk under the shower.

[Because Edgeworth seems like the kinda guy to say please you are filthy.]

You don't mind waiting a sec here, do ya'? It'll be like--10 minutes.

Then Chess Battles.

I just said I can wait.

[His frown isn't particularly mean; it's just disapproving. He sets down the chess set and crosses his arms and gives a small nod - a clear signal of go.]

You said can. Didn't say if you minded it.

[But he's already on his way out when he throws that quip over his shoulder, walking with a bit of renewed energy despite his more mentally soggy appearance just a moment prior. Sue him, the company revitalizes some of that pep in his step.

And as promised, he's back in 10--in one of those damn jumpsuits, but at least it's not horribly stained clothing now; there's really no saving them, but hey, The Matrix Survivor look is kinda spiffy.

DID YOU MISS HIM, EDGEWORTH]

Alright!

[Hands clapped together, wrings them like he's about to work on a truck or something big.]

Time for you to bully the hell out of my chess pieces, I'm assuming.

[not that he seems like he's worried

or gives a shit

about anything right now, really]

[He's sat down by now, and set up the chess board in front of him. He's returned to seeming stressed - because he's nervous, honestly, about interacting with another person, afraid it will go badly - but even so, he nods cordially enough to the board.]

Please, sit.

[And that's Marty's cue to flop down in his seat, a polar opposite of Edgeworth in every sense of the word--one carefully dressed, the other in unappealing jump clothing; one cleaned up, one sporting stubble and unruly hair; one very well-postured and mannered, the other slouched with his arm splayed over the edge of his chair.

Yeah. It's a weird picture, to be sure.

He smiles, bright, like he shoved all those tired, achy feelings under the cabinet with all the other junk.]

Alright, fancy pants. Show me how it's done.

[He has literally

no idea how to play.]

[Edgeworth reaches down self-consciously to adjust his pants - what is wrong with them, that Marty draws particular attention to them? - but then simply settles down in his seat and nods once.]

Indeed. Well. First, you of course know how all the pieces move.

.......

Suuure; they move when my hand grabs them and places them somewhere else on this checkered board, here.

[does that

answer your question]

Er -

[Edgeworth clears his throat. That was a joke...Right?]

I mean - you know the rules.

[He motions to the board, one arm tucked beneath the other.]

Pieces move in certain ways to steal the other's spot. Checkmate the king, you win. Little guys can only move one spot, and one of 'em moves in a big L.

That's about as far as I've ever learned.

...

I worked with electronic games, mostly.

But not electronic chess.

All right. Quite. The big L is the knight, represented by the horse.

[He points to the right piece.]

Either two horizontally and one vertically or one horizontally and two vertically.

Nope, mostly solitaire and minesweeper. A lot of minesweeper.

[And a lot of games on consoles, but whatever, that's not as funny to mention. He leans in, nodding, nodding. Mentally scribbling all this down.]

So what would be the smart way of goin' about this?

Of...

[He looks up, clearing his throat.]

Of learning how they move? Or of playing intelligently?

video.

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TO ACTION I IMAGINE

you imagine correctly

1/2 i can type all i want leave me alone

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