005 | video

[chromosomes]

[ John's dressed down for once, shirt missing and all. The Grim Reaper tattoo on his inner arm is visible, scythe and all, where most people's nanites are -- his are visible on the other arm. One hand is beneath his head and the other is holding the camera at a bit of an odd angle; he's laying down, apparently in bed. Despite that, he doesn't look like he's gotten a lot of sleep. ]

So. [ He starts, stops; clears his throat to make himself sound a little more awake. ] This place is hell, but we manage to relax sometimes. How do you all do it? [ There's a pause, considering, and he adds: ] Other than getting drunk.

[ That's not going to help him, considering he can't anymore. At the end of the day, what John needs is for nightmares of dead teammates and monsters in the dark to stop haunting him, of the dead on the ship that he could have (should have) been able to help. But for now... he'll take what he can get. Not that he necessarily wants everyone knowing he can't relax. ]

Call me curious, I guess. I would've bet on more nervous breakdowns.

Comments

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[chromosomes]

[ ... just staring for a moment ]

Not really. Unless getting tattoos counts.

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[foolproofed]

Ever try it out? Never know until you try.

Or you can like. Try some meditation shit, y'know? Yoga? Swimming?

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[chromosomes]

Believe it or not, I've tried meditation. Swimming's a popular suggestion, too.

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[foolproofed]

Yeah? How'd those work out for ya'?

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[chromosomes]

Haven't done the swimming yet. Meditation... guess I'm not good at it yet.

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[foolproofed]

Got a short temper, or a short attention span?

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[chromosomes]

[ The first one. ]

I guess a bit of both.

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[foolproofed]

Alright, alright. How about cooking? Man, nothing makes me feel better after a tough day than tinkering away in a kitchen, experimenting with new crap.

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[chromosomes]

I don't mind cooking. Not a master chef or anything; guess I could work on that.

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[foolproofed]

There we go, man. A little something to do -- and you can make your friends taste-test everything. Or I will. Whatever. I don't pass up any kind of food.

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[chromosomes]

Any kind, huh?

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[foolproofed]

... Might politely declined poisoned food.

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[chromosomes]

[ Snort. ] I'm not going to poison you.

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[foolproofed]

See, then you already definitely fit my requirements for chef!

Don't kill me somehow with it, and you're set.

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[chromosomes]

I'll ping you if I make something that looks edible, then.

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[foolproofed]

Sweet, my hero! I believe in you.

You'll be a pro chef in no time.