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002 you're running around living a life that's empty in the end my friend
[PRIVATE to Chromie and Crichton, separately; text]
1. What do you mean, disappearances. Are you telling me I got brought here to do my time but there's a possibility I'll just get rejected anyway?
2. Who decides who gets assigned to my case. I heard the announcement, thought it was every fifteen days.
3. If I'm already dead, how can I die again.
4. How do I get ahold of the Admiral.
5. What kind of prison is this if we're allowed furlough.
[OPEN SPAM; all over]
[Throughout the course of the day, Sarge can be found trying to stay busy, trying to figure out some kind of schedule to keep to that he's been working on falling into since his arrival. He likes schedules. Likes order, and the Barge certainly seems to be nothing but disorder. After a trip to the deck one of his first days he's pretty firmly established he's not going anywhere, and it's definitely not the kind of prison he'd anticipated, even if everything else hadn't already proven that pretty well.
He goes for runs around the levels. Eats in the mess hall. Spends hours in the gym. Tries to get access to the levels above the deck, but short of asking there's no way past the doors and he's got too much pride for that still. It doesn't stop him from pacing in front of the door, as if quietly hoping one day it will just open for him, but he doesn't ask.
His fingers itch for his guns, for the routine of disassembling and reassembling, the almost zenlike state of the cleaning process. It's a good distraction, from a lot of things besides the irritations of teammates, but without it he's left to find other things. He was never as compulsive about that particular routine as John, but then again he'd had his own alternatives.
So he tries to stay busy. Because it's that or go insane, and that's not an option in his book.]
1. What do you mean, disappearances. Are you telling me I got brought here to do my time but there's a possibility I'll just get rejected anyway?
2. Who decides who gets assigned to my case. I heard the announcement, thought it was every fifteen days.
3. If I'm already dead, how can I die again.
4. How do I get ahold of the Admiral.
5. What kind of prison is this if we're allowed furlough.
[OPEN SPAM; all over]
[Throughout the course of the day, Sarge can be found trying to stay busy, trying to figure out some kind of schedule to keep to that he's been working on falling into since his arrival. He likes schedules. Likes order, and the Barge certainly seems to be nothing but disorder. After a trip to the deck one of his first days he's pretty firmly established he's not going anywhere, and it's definitely not the kind of prison he'd anticipated, even if everything else hadn't already proven that pretty well.
He goes for runs around the levels. Eats in the mess hall. Spends hours in the gym. Tries to get access to the levels above the deck, but short of asking there's no way past the doors and he's got too much pride for that still. It doesn't stop him from pacing in front of the door, as if quietly hoping one day it will just open for him, but he doesn't ask.
His fingers itch for his guns, for the routine of disassembling and reassembling, the almost zenlike state of the cleaning process. It's a good distraction, from a lot of things besides the irritations of teammates, but without it he's left to find other things. He was never as compulsive about that particular routine as John, but then again he'd had his own alternatives.
So he tries to stay busy. Because it's that or go insane, and that's not an option in his book.]
[Text] That somehow still manages to be sassy.
2. Admiral's in charge. He does what he pleases.
3. One of death's great mysteries.
4. You don't. Wardens do.
5. Of all the weird things about this place, that's your biggest question?
You wanna talk over some drinks, you let me know.
[Text] still a jerkkkkk
2. Bullshit. You're an admiral, you have protocol. Rules.
3. If you don't know, the answer "I don't know" works just as well
4. Figures.
5. One of. It's a valid question.
[And one he doesn't mind actually asking other people.]
Wouldn't say no.
Re: [Text] It'll grow on him. Or not. Y'know...
If you're in, meet me at the pub. I'll open the door for you.
[Text] probably not :| or at least it will without his permission
[It's not like he has much else to do right now anyway.]
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...is there somewhere you would like to go?
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What's up there.
[He gestures past the doors.]
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A room with nature. A room with unreal people to kill.
[Marsh: informative.]
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[He can pretty much guess, but he'd like the confirmation.]
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Text, Private
1. It is not so much a rejection as that I believe the Admiral can only hold souls here for a finite amount of time. You do indeed have a limited stay here, but no one can tell you how long that is exactly.
2. Pairings are announced on the fifteenth and thirtieth of the month, but not everyone unpaired is matched up immediately. I went a very long time with no inmate.
3. You are effectively alive here, but you can still be killed if another inmate attacks you, for example. You will not remain dead, but you will expire briefly before waking back up.
4. The Admiral sometimes answers queries directed to him from these communicators.
5. I'm afraid I don't understand this question.
Text, Private
2. How long is a long time.
3. Interesting catch.
4. What determines what gets his attention?
5. Leave. Vacation. Half the population here is supposed to be locked up, but you still let them out once a month or so. Seems counterintuitive.
Text, Private
4. I couldn't tell you. I don't think he's a very rational person.
5. It isn't a prison! It is for rehabilitation. We don't want you be be unhappy necessarily.
Text, Private
3. Perfect person to be running a prison then. [So much sarcasm. So much.]
4. I'm already unhappy because I'm here to begin with. Don't think there's much you can do about that.
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[Spam]
This is why when Sarge sits down in the mess hall, a plate of blueberry pie is set in front of him. The Piemaker drops into the seat opposite, dropping his head on his fists and propping his chin up]
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Which would be why the pie gets an unimpressed look, and the man who provided it gets a similar one a moment later when he looks up to identify who put it there. He already had a plate of food. With all kinds of things that aren't pie.]
Can I help you?
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[The Piemaker continues to look up at Sarge, smelling of fruit and flour and all other manner of harmless things]
It's sort of a tradition.
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[A beat.]
I don't really eat pie.
[Of course he doesn't. Because he's Sarge, and therefore against 98% of things that are fun or enjoyable. ...which isn't entirely true or accurate, but he won't change the impression.
He scrutinizes it, but pulls his fork over to poke at it anyway. Just because he doesn't really eat it doesn't mean he won't.]
You have a tradition of giving everyone pie.
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really rather strikingly attractivenew face in the dining room.Since taking up kitchen work, she eats there more often than she used to, but in fact today she's here because she and Victor
spent half his shift arguing aboutcollaborated on the chicken chasseur, and she's been informally polling people who ate it.She isn't dressed as a waitress, but she appears at the stranger's elbow with a drink refill and such deliberately perfect waitperson body language that one might easily take her for one.]
Chicken all right, lovey? Not too 'eavy on the tarragon, I 'ope?
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Which then makes the refill more suspicious than it might otherwise be. He eyes the glass critically for a moment before returning his attention to her, gaze intense and hard, expression largely unreadable. The demeanor of a man far more used to war than peace.]
It's fine, ma'am. You work in the kitchen?
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[Iris is never offput by a lack of friendliness, especially from a new inmate; she's just going to pour herself another drink and sit down across from him. Not too close, because she does know hypervigilance when it's glaring her in the face.]
'Ow you settling in so far, then?
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Asher Mahonin.
[See? He's adjusting; he actually dropped the rank this time, not that everything else about him, from the stiff posture to the off-duty dress, doesn't scream military of some kind anyway. He figures if she didn't weigh in his first day she probably missed the broadcast, which is just fine as far as he's concerned.]
You don't seem to have much organization around here.
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On his way down from the upper levels--where he mostly goes to familiarize himself with every available nook and cranny of the ship--it takes him a little under a second to read the stranger's frustration and, well, let's call it 'itchy disorientation'; Cain gets that way when he doesn't have weapons on hand.
So he stops, and folds his arms, and smirks because that's his version of a smile.]
Waiting for someone?
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Just familiarizing myself with the layout. Keeping busy, or trying to anyway.
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Where you from?
[He pushes off the wall, and his posture is near identical to Sarge's, if a little weathered by age.]
You've probably run into a hell of a lot of locked doors already. How bout a tour?
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Tour sounds good; found a few places already, but not everything.
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