[1] text | OTA

[dogbane]

[William had been a terrible liar years ago, when he had needed very badly to be a good one. He had answered honestly and as completely as he had known how, stated his intentions like parrots state about crackers. Eventually, it had put him in jail.

He thinks about this, pretty carefully, somewhat inescapably, as he travels through Tranquility to learn the terrain, review her records, and watch those who people her. There is such thing as overshare, and the worse the politics are, the more fatal that seems likely to be.

The fact that the Tranquility seems crewed by just a handful of abductees with therefore ostensibly similar interests is not tremendously reassuring in this way, when one reads the backlog of screaming on the network. What to say? He thinks about this cautiously as he takes himself through the flying buttresses as a wind-up bird, sleeps concealed under the bed as a spare pillow, discovers in the process of near-dehydration that the temperature fluctuations hit him approximately seven times harder when he shrinks, smokes cigarettes and burglarizes booze in a lounge decorated by a conspicuous series of smashed mirrors?? Even before he reads about the pirates, he gathers this place fucks people up. He was uninspired by murder and insanity on his homeworld, and it is no more attractive here.

It takes him approximately seventy-two hours to decide what to say, and even then it turns out just his thumbs, a text string flowering across the screen.] Hello. 你好.

This is Private William Tsang, Blackstone unit. I've got medical training and relevant psionics-- enhanced physiological recuperation, contact required for other. Also a carton of cigarettes which I cannot condone the use of. If somebody could point me at medical staff, I'd love to help out on this lovely haul to fuck knows where. Thanks.

Comments

[trouvaille]

If you have cigarettes, do you have a lighter?

[dogbane]

I havent, fuck. that's another reason to bother with people, isnt it?

Have you?

[trouvaille]

Sod. No.

does ur charisma work over text

[dogbane]

Doesnt anything catch fire in here isnt a fatal fucking engineer room?

naw. most effects have to be in person. (music crazy beautiful but won't make u crazy, in recording)

[trouvaille]

We could improvise with the kitchens.

[dogbane]

That brings me back to eighteen. Let's fucking do it.

[trouvaille]

I don't think anyone wants to know what that takes me back to, it's obnoxious. Let's, though, I'm dying here.

[dogbane]

[Despite that he's new to the local geography, William figures it out pretty fast. In a few minutes, he's sitting by one of the interchangeable yet wholly ominous hydraulic doors, resting his elbows on his knees and head tipped back on the wall to regard the ceiling with some suspicion. He is wearing a uniform that looks military, sharp-edged shoulders and high collar, dark green, gold thread shot through an unfamiliar emblem on his lapel.

Its stiff, clean formality is distinctly at odds with the casual posture he's adopted. As well as the funny Nikes laced up on his feet. Were the clothing not so well-made, it'd look like he took a tumble through a costume closet.

Yet all the most mismatched clothing in the world may not be so jarring compared to the Other that clings to him like a patina of grimy rust. The faerie woman's senses imply confirmation to the claim that he made to the network, at the very least. Whether or not he has the power to heal wounds and abate pain, he certainly isn't only human. He looks up when she comes on, lifts his hand into a half-assed salute, unsure yet that she's the one.]

[trouvaille]

( it doesn't mean anything to her; she can feel it, but she doesn't understand it well enough to know that she does, to know that it's anything that anybody else can't or even, frankly, that it's actually emanating from william and not just some sort of strange, atmospheric discomfort lingering in this part of the ship. 'psionics' is a weird, science fiction term that's equally outside of her scope of knowledge - or interest, though she got a crash course in the genre just before skindeep premiered - and she doesn't really know what it means enough to have associated it with anything in particular.

she figured it was some medical thing, and in any case less important than whether or not he could hook her up with a lighter, since she needs that and not medical attention. although maybe she does, because a part of her hasn't quite let go of the idea of some kind of catatonia, and wouldn't it be better, maybe? if she's really in a hospital somewhere being cared for, if her father feels in control of something he can spend money on to try and fix, if there isn't an ilde-shaped hole in his world made by her absence.

she really needs a smoke, fuck. she lifts the packet she's carrying - gitanes brunes, unfiltered and unopened, brand new - in easy mimicry of his salute, casual in contrast in scant silk-satin and lace pajamas. )

Hi. Ilde.

[dogbane]

[She's the one then. William's features brighten. He digs an elbow into the wall to push himself up onto his feet, and then his eyes go to the pack in her hand. They haven't got those anymore in the world where he comes from.] William, [he says, offering a hand to shake the one of hers that remains unoccupied.] I think I made myself some shitty beans down here the other day, but I wasn't paying attention to anything didn't look like a microwave.

[He steps aside to let her in the door first, reaching into the collar of his uniform jacket to pull out his own pack. They look different to anything the likes of which she's seen herself, read COPPERHEAD with the requisite serpent icon winding across the high gloss surface in bold color. His other hand goes into his pocket and, abruptly, his mouth bends into a grin.] Reckon worst comes to worse, we could put a wee bit of something flammable in one of those.

[trouvaille]

You're like a child-- ( reflexively, sighing, giving him a little, forceful push in the vague direction of 'not near microwaves'. ) We're not going to do that.

( BECAUSE THAT'S INSANE, WILLIAM, WHAT IF THEY BURN THE SHIP DOWN. ilde is almost too busy apparently adopting him like a particularly destructive duckling to notice the uniform, except-- well, it's jarring, a moment later, with that context. maybe it's a costume, except he did say...good lord, some places don't have standards any more. what is the world coming to, etc. )

An oven or a grill ought to do.

[dogbane]

[William manages to steer away from the microwaves without looking too tragic about it, acknowledging her decision with a vague grunt.] I'm sure this thing's seen its share of open flames, [he notes, dryly as he casts around in search of such a device.] It's built up a long and bloody history, since the jumps started to go on-record.

[He lapses into silence then. Ostensibly, it's because he's looking for a toaster or a grill or something else which would have exposed parts that might give off proper heat short of destroying the ship. Internally, there is a demon making lambent whispers in his head, turning around to stare at Ilde out of the periphery of William's vision. William raps his knuckles on the kitchen counter as he walks, grounds himself that way.]

voice;

[afraidofthe]

[He almost has no shame jumping in on this:]

Was that sarcasm or do you actually not want the cigarettes?

[dogbane]

[There's a snort of laughter, but not to say that William doesn't take this seriously.] Neither.

You can have a whole pack, if you've got a fuckin' clue how to light them on this ship. My locker wasn't very thorough.

[afraidofthe]

[A pause of consideration.]

I've got a working lighter that you can use for a smoke or two, but you can't keep it; it's the only one I've got.

You could... always ask, though. That's what I did when I first arrived.

[Yep he made a point of doing so.]

[dogbane]

Simple, effective. Thanks for the suggestion, [the other man replies, merrily, no injured pride in evidence.] Might just give it welly.

The fags I've got are a bit minty, though. Do you still want? I've known a few blokes think they can't maintain chest hair and a voice like a chainsaw smoking menthols.

[afraidofthe]

[Bigby prefers something with as much tar as humanly possible, but considering his current situation... well, beggars can't always be choosers.]

I'd take what I can get. I'm not exactly in a position to be picky.

[dogbane]

[William acknowledges that lightly, benignly, possibly thinking about chest hair--] Way to give a lad a chance, [--before he snaps out of it. Sort of. There is a faintly audible cough.

And then he's chipper again.] Awright. There's loads of bars have got smashed mirrors and half-finished vodka, seems like the right and skeezy place for trade, yeh?

[afraidofthe]

Sure, real right and... skeezy. [Or, yeah.] Some more occupied than others. Just let me know when and where, and I'll meet you.

[dogbane]

[Knowing the map and layout of the Tranquility by heart and in totality is pretty hard to do, never mind in thirty-six hours.

Somehow, bar locations are exempt from confusion. Liam figures one out, not too far from the elevator on level 267. Evidently, the establishment was intended to evoke marine themes. It's ambience swells full of that blue light frequency that they say will make you crazy if you try and sleep there, lots of glass in the decor, aquamarine veins flowing through the marble and wavy flourishes to the door handles and beer taps.

William has gotten bolder since he started out. Fewer disguises, a little less frenetic scampering, hiding. He is sitting on the bar top, heels swinging and posture atrocious, at odds with the military style of his uniform. He is holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand, comm device in the other, jabbing at the latter with his thumb. Maybe no Angry Birds.]

[afraidofthe]

[He doesn't have to wait long before Bigby himself arrives and, undoubtedly, the man looks the way he sounded. His mouth etched into a thin frown, scuffy, a bit gruff, hands in his pockets as he walks in with an observant eye.

He catches glance of the man he was supposed to meet (or at least can safely assume that much), and gives a little half-hearted wave before he approaches.]

Didn't keep you waiting, did I?

[dogbane]

Nah, mate. I only been here a few minutes. [BUT CIGARETTE WITHDRAWAL is a bitch so William looks reasonably pleased to see the man, insofar as that further space horrors don't seem immediately imminent with Bigby's arrival.

William smiles at him, shows teeth.

Which don't look like the teeth of an avid smoker, but there are any number of reasons for that. He conjures the pack of cigarettes-- without any actual magical conjury, holds them up, brows lifted, an invitation.]

[afraidofthe]

[The faintest hint of a grin may or may not be playing on Bigby's face. It depends on the lighting, really. Either way, he gives a small "heh" and begins to dig in his pockets.]

Glad to hear it.

[And-- pulling out a lighter, he tosses it over to William.]

Here, catch.

[dogbane]

[Ah thank God. William extricates a cigarette with his teeth and then passes off the pack to Bigby, emptying his hand so that he can cup the flame that he tricks out of the lighter with his other one. Because, you know, it's very windy aboard a massive ship, in dead space, inside a club.

Or merely instinct, in anticipation of little breezes, flaws in ventilation. William sucks in a deep breath and then exhales again. The jitter dissipates out of his frame. Magical healing powers don't, apparently, entail immunity to nicotine addiction.]

Thanks. Nice to know quid pro quo's still alive and well, up the arsehole of space. [And another deep lungful, exhale.] What was your name, mate?