ataraxion | 006 | text | fire is bad: a psa

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006 | text | fire is bad: a psa

This is just a reminder that fire in an enclosed area like a spaceship is bad and eats up all the oxygen. Luckily the past two were put out quickly. Use caution and don't set any yourself on purpose. If there are any more large ones or anything you can't put out quickly by yourself, let Security know.

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[ damn straight ]

Yeah.

[ reaper is, if nothing else, now an excellent spotter ]

[ well at least he is putting all those genetic enhancements to good use by making sure brad doesn't accidentally squishes himself with the weights. not that that's going to happen thank you very much.

for a while he just lifts in silence but for the occasional grunt. ]

So. Still not sleeping, sir?

[ if you thought you were getting out of this... brad takes care of his people, even if they're genetically enhanced and a rank above him and from another universe. ]

I've been sleeping.

[ just you wait brad he will add like thirty pounds to each side ]

I'd even say I've been sleeping better.

[ Sort of. ]

[ go ahead if the weight squashes him it'll be on you ]

Sleeping well?

[ because there's a distinction between better and well. those things can be world's apart. ]

[ no not yet because this is before the sweet dreams jump!!! ]

I'm not sure I'd know if I was.

How would you not?

[ brad'll give you a hint: feels pretty good to actually get some sleep. ]

It's been a while.

Pretty sure you'd know. [ especially if it's been a while. ]

Does sleeping the night but having fucked up dreams the whole time count? [ :| ]

No.

[ sorry. ]

Then I guess I'm not much better.

[ that fucking sucks. for a good minute at least, brad just lifts weights without saying anything. ]

What've you tried?

[ blessed silen- oh nevermind. ]

Meditation. Swimming. Counting sheep. Can't get drunk so I doubt sleeping pills would work. [ p a u s e ] A few good jerk-off sessions.

[ yeah sorry 'bout that ]

Genetic enhancements fucking you over? [ re the sleeping pills and drink. that fucking sucks, man. also that jerking off doesn't help. cruel cruel fate.

a long pause again.

he hates to suggest this

he really does

he really really really does, but — ] You try talking to anyone?

Yeah, basically. Some more, anyway.

[ He did break his door once, after all. ]

Talking to you, aren't I?

[ ugh brad why. ]

Did I tell you what the military's treatment for PTSD is in the future, Sergeant?

[ You know shit is serious when he pulls out the rank. ]

[ not good. speaks of a lack of control, that. ]

Yeah, guess you are.

[ so are we admitting it's ptsd then? because brad doesn't want to say it's ptsd, but it's totally ptsd. ]

No, sir. [ standing to attention while lying down in a bank lifting weights is impossible, but brad gives it his best shot ]

[ To be fair, he was sleepwalking.

Yeah, it's totally PTSD. ]

They so much as think you have it and they put you in a room. They pull the memory out of your head, use virtual reality to make you relive it.

And they do it over and over and over again until they think you've made enough progress -- but they don't keep you off the job.

[ that does not make it better. makes it worse, actually.

it's ptsd. and wow.

uhm. so it's only years of training that keep brad from making a pretty damn horrified face right about now. ]

Sir.

[ shit. ] No one here is retarded enough to pull shit like that.

[ and if they tried brad would get reaper out. he promises. ]

That's what they tell me.

[ If he were sitting, he'd be leaning forward. Instead he just keeps an eye on the weights. ]

I've come across my best friend missing half his head in the jungle more times than I can count, now. I watch the rest of my unit either get slaughtered or get turned into creatures on Mars every fucking night. I keep hearing my CO tell us to kill everyone, even the fucking kids who couldn't get infected, before he got taken and turned himself.

[ There's a long, shuddering exhale. ]

I don't need to relive it by telling everyone who wants to know how I'm feeling about it all, too.

[ well, fuck.

what do you even say to that? i'm sorry isn't worth shit and brad isn't a shrink. he's not even a fan of shrinks and the whole talking about it thing.

(he's also not a fan of seeing one of the few guys he really respects here suffer. brad takes care of his own, but fuck if he knows how to fix this. a skin mag and some food aren't going to cut it here.)

after a beat. ]

Not suggesting you tell everyone.

[ Well. He might not turn down the food. ]

You know. Tyke knows, or knows enough. As far as I'm concerned, you're the ones that need to.

[ this is why he hangs out with tyke's dogs. they don't ask questions. they just let you exist. ]

Besides. My other options seem to be a perky vampire and a guy who can't talk because he downloaded a virus into his brain.

[ food it is. reaper's already got the cardboard lady, anyway. ]

Fair enough.

[ but hanging out with brad is way manlier than hanging out with a chihuahua. ]

I don't know what you mean, sir. [ drawling, drolly. ] Those sound like excellent options.

[ they've talked about it now, haven't they? are you feeling any better? ]

[ Brad you just made him talk about his feelings. You leave the chihuahua alone. ]

I'll drop the bar on you.

[ lol no he won't ]

[ fine, fine, but if your sister ever gets here he's so showing her the pictures of tough reaper with a tiny chihuahua ]

Promises, promises, sir.

[ Sam calls him sensitive. She probably wouldn't be too surprised. ]

Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and lift, I want to go for a jog.

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makedo - 2013-09-14 08:56 (UTC) - Expand

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