Already choking on my pride [OPEN]

[hellshot]

WHO: Reaper hellshot and OPEN
WHERE: Within the Fleet, some automated cafeteria
WHEN: Various times within the month, whenever he needs to eat.
WHAT: Reaper needs nutrients, touchscreens aren't his friend.
WARNINGS: Possible mention of how horridly deformed he is under his mask. It's bad.


[Dark fingernails tap against the metal counter he's currently standing in front of. If he wasn't wearing a mask, it would be easy to see the look of frustration on Reaper's face with his current predicament, so for now, the only way of knowing that the ghost of a man is pissed off is the wisps of black fog escaping from under aforementioned mask.

He hadn't gone on the previous mission with Sombra, and he had no interest in rescue missions, either. Which meant he hadn't seen the field of battle in little over a month--which meant he hadn't been taking in new nutrients from his surroundings to keep his body from decaying to a point of discomfort. Which meant he had to partake in his least favourite of activities: Eating.

Eating was difficult enough when your face was barely suited for it--but when the cafeteria closest to his living quarters was a fully automated one? It was like a really bad joke. Touchscreens worked when pressure was applied with an electrical charge--human skin was a great conductor for said electrical charge. Dead flesh didn't hold any sort of charge. So this was his predicament. He couldn't eat if he couldn't get the damn screen to work.

Frustrated, Reaper finally turns his head to glare at the individual waiting for their turn after him. He hated asking for help, so instead:]

Work this damn thing for me and I'll pay for your food, too.

[He's too tired for this bullshit today.]

Comments

[canadese]

[Stand back, Reaper, a weird alien's got this.

Sort of. Well, he will when he actually understand what the problem is. Right now he just thinks this guy is probably backwoods.]

The operation of it is simple. You use your finger to select the delicious food you wish to eat.

[Duh.]

[hellshot]

[Thanks, Ax. He appreciates it, really. Can you see the flat look behind that skull-like mask? Probably not, but you can feel it. Especially when the ghost of a man quite purposefully turns his head to stare right at the morphing alien, and without looking at the screen, he drags a cold, dead finger down the middle of it.

The screen absolutely does not react to Reaper's finger.]

Amazing. [His voice rasps, no small amount of sarcasm dripping from the echoing tone.]

Why didn't I think of that in the first place.

[canadese]

[Ax's eyes go wide as he leans in to observe the (lack of?) phenomenon, without stopping to be insulted. Sarcasm: it's not very effective.]

Fascinating. I apologize if this is rude, but is your skin perhaps insulated against electricity? [He's not sure how that would work, but he's seen weirder.] Many of the facilities on this ship are not designed to accommodate human-adjacent lifeforms. I would know.

[shabby]

[ People of questionable appearance have never been a problem for Vaas, mostly because he isn't well acquainted with fear and also because he looks like a crazy freak. There's no judgment. Not unless the person in question is a pussy. Vaas reserves a lot of scorn for pussies.

It's with an utter disregard for personal space that he glances over, recognizes Reaper from their previous conversation, ad slaps him companionably on the arm. ]

Guess bony fingers don't work so good on touchscreens. [ He grins as an idea strikes. ] You should get one of those little pens. You know, a... [ He snaps his fingers. ] A stylus. That would probably help you.

[ Attention shifting to the screen, Vaas scans the selections. His tone is both thoughtful and serious when he asks; ]

What does a reaper eat, hermano? Souls of your victims aren't listed on here.

[hellshot]

[At the very least, one of the more favourable people he's met on this damn ship happened to be the one he had to bite his pride around. Vaas was one of the few who would not ask the weird, awkward questions to why his hands wouldn't work on the screen. The lack of personal space isn't really that appreciated--and with the madman standing this close, the other would undoubtedly be able to pick up on the smell of burning carbon that Reaper gave off along with that fog--but he's not so bothered (yet) as to give him a slap back.

He lets out a low sound, almost like a growl, almost like a laugh.]

They don't. It's a damn irritant. This technology is backwater compared to what I'm used to. [But it's not a bad idea. He'll get Sombra to make him a pen in return for all the favours he's done for her in the past, perhaps.]

Damn inconvenient, isn't it. Not going on damn rescue missions to go drink souls either. [He appreciates that comment more than you'd know, Vaas.] Something high in calories. Proteins more important than other nutrients. [Cold fingers tap the screen uselessly again, pointing. Steak with vegetables, that was the easiest.]

[shabby]

[ Now see, here is a man—grim spectre of death that appreciates proper nutrition. He isn't a whiny pussy like Christopher was. He understands that protein is what makes someone a man. Or, well, in his case, a skeletal rictus of a man.

Vaas approves.

What he doesn't approve of is the selection offered by this vending console thing. He taps a finger against the screen. ]

This stuff is shit. Worse than all that junk Americans eat. [ Fast food. Doritos. Cola. It's terrible. Why eat that when there's fresh kills, coconuts, and mangoes aplenty? ] It's fake. You want real food, we should go hunting.

[ Looking up at him, Vaas smiles sharply, all teeth and violence. He's been here more than a month and hasn't killed or tortured anything. He's bored. ]

The crew people brought all those dinosaur things onto the ship. We could kill one of those. Lots of protein there.

[slackbeard]

Deal.

[He replies, with no hesitation whatsoever. The guy in front of him looks kinda creepy, sure, but after the month Jughead’s had he’s not going to judge anyone for how they look. It’s called being sensitive! And doing literally anything for anyone for the chance for a free lunch.

He also can’t really throw stones for people’s choices in accessories. ]

Are you a dessert for dinner kind of guy? This thing makes a killer cheesecake. Not exactly New York style, but you can’t be too picky out in the wilds of the universe.

[hellshot]

[Just his luck. He'd found someone not only willing to use the damnable archaic machines to help him get some fucking lunch, but someone who's excited about the prospect of talking about it, too.

He lets out a low grumble, nearly like irritation, before fixing a hidden glare down at Jughead.]

Dinner. Anything with protein. [Please god if you order him a hamburger, though--] ...Haven't had a proper cheesecake since I was a kid. [A scoff.] Wouldn't be able to taste it now anyway. So don't think I'm going to waste my money.

[slackbeard]

[His finger hovers over the burger option (double meat patty! that's so much protein! but he stops short. Wouldn't be able to taste it?!?! There's genuine concern on his face. Concern, and horror.]

Seriously?! Geez. [He taps the pork chops instead. Might as well go for the lesser meat.] Can you taste anything, under any circumstances?

[juniberries]

[Allura's here on her lunch break, smelling heavily of flowers and...plants having come directly from the flower shop, mice sitting on their usual perch, two on each shoulder.

She's ignored the strange masked man up until this point, watching him struggle with the touch screen, and she was about to move to another available kiosk when he suddenly turns to her, feeling his glare and sensing his frustration, and the tone of his voice--

gets him a deadpan look. Honestly, Reaper, that's no way to ask a Princess.]

Do you not know how to work the touchscreen?

[hellshot]

[Even if he knew she was a Princess, he probably wouldn't change the way he talks to her. Sorry, Allura, you really do deserve better but. You're in the presence of a ghost with absolutely no manners at all, even when it comes to asking a favour.

Her comment is even more irritating, as he half-wonders if she had even been watching him fumble for the last three minutes. A sneer echoes out from behind his mask, and he tips his head back to fix her with a hidden glare from behind that skull-like mask.]

Hard to work it when the damn thing doesn't respond to the hands of a dead man. [Manners. None at all.]

[rockthemonkey]

Huh?

[Goku's been waiting impatiently in line behind Reaper this whole time, bouncing on his heels and pouting- he's hungry! Hurry up! He's going to starve to death! He starting to get annoyed when Reaper finally turns to him.]

Really? [Instantly brightens up and elbows his way in front of Reaper to get at the screen.] All right! Don't worry, I know how to do it! It's easy! I'll get us both a ton of food!

[Reaper may not realise this yet but he has made A Mistake.]

[hellshot]

[He has made a mistake. And here he is, ignorant to it. It's that little monkey-kid who had irritated him during his last network-wide broadcast, and while he hadn't come out of that conversation hating the brat, he's not too sure how he feels when the boy announces that he'll get them a ton of food.]

--Watch your elbows. [He growls out when he's nudged out of the way, taking a moment to put his gloves back on. A huff of a growl escaping as he hovers over Goku's shoulder--

What are you doing--]

What are you ordering? [It's too late, isn't it. It's far too late.]

[genice]

( The man and dog standing behind him both seem to have actually been watching him play at the screen, Victor glancing up at his mask and nodding, patting his thigh to ask Makkachin to move forward when he does. He's about to head off to practice again, knowing he needed to pick up something as quick energy before he burned it all off again.

Who's he to turn down a free meal? (Actually...) )

If that's what you want to do, then why not? What were you wanting off menu?

( Makkachin slowly extends his head toward Reaper, sniffing; Victor keeps an eye on him in his peripheral vision in case he needs to pull his dog back from trying to make friends yet again. A tap on the screen brings up the main menu; he looks fully to the masked person and lets his hand hover over the screen, waiting for direction. )

[hellshot]

[He gives the dog a wary look as it sniffs at him. The dog might find itself curious, if only because Reaper just doesn't smell right. Even to Victor as he gets closer, the scent of Ozone and burning carbon (nearly like the smell that comes off an air conditioner) would become apparent as he shifts to the side.

He points to the screen as the silver-haired individual (thankfully) accepts his offer, gesturing to the 'protein' section.]

Steak, or something higher in calories. [He's not looking for taste--but for nutrients. Not that the coach would know, but it's not like he can taste whatever he's going to eat.] Whatever you get for yourself isn't my concern.

[angele]

[ For a second, when the man turns around she's almost certain she's going to be called out for staring.

She tried really hard not to. She's aware she's doing it. She's aware it's rude, too. But in all honesty, when you fight demons you don't stop to look at them too hard. And here there are more than just demons. There are aliens and just... people who look different even.

She was trying to piece together if Reaper was an alien or a human with something else going on or if he was even a real person and not a ghost when he turned on her. His question eases her worry, though, and she laughs a little nervously as she steps around him to approach the screen. ]

Sure! You don't have to pay for my food. [ She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ]

What were you trying to order?

[hellshot]

[He's strangely used to being stared at, honestly. People who look into the eyes of his mask, searching for something living or hoping it's not the last thing they see--he wouldn't call the girl out for it.

It's the comments on his appearance (or the strange smell of burning carbon that becomes apparent when you get too close) that he doesn't enjoy comments on. She keeps from it, for now, so when she moves forward to aid him, he lets out a low sound. Like a sigh of relief. Finally, someone who isn't an irritant about it.]

Something with protein in it. ...No empty calorie crap, like Americans eat. [I.E, order him a hamburger and he might have a problem.] The choices here are crap, but it's not like there's much option for anything else. [Space Cafeterias suck almost as much as the mess hall in SEP did.]

[dudebro]

[ Jason is wandering. Mostly because he's bored and he's feeling that itch underneath his skin that has nothing to do with STDs and everything to do with the tatau on his arm. He feels like a caged tiger; aggression building until he can't take it anymore. So, he's prowling through the ship looking for something to do. He's chatted with people, eaten, had some weird shit to drink, smoked a little something back in his room. But he's still just searching.

What he doesn't expect to find is some Ghostface knock-off looming ( do u see what he did there, Billy Loomis? ) around a fucking vending machine, exhaling smoke. We get it, dude, you vape. It's like this is some call of the wild that Jason is too weak to resist even though logic tells him to back the fuck away. ]

Dude. [ lmao ] Maybe stop cosplaying for like three seconds and go to the food court instead.

[hellshot]

['Backing the fuck away' would probably be the smarter of the two actions Jason could have taken, but clearly whatever he smoked back in his room had taken away any sense of self-preservation or logic dictation. Which means when he's jeered at by this little white brat, he turns on him like the six-foot-two Grim Reaper he makes himself out to be.]

And mingle with more idiots like yourself? I'll take a pass on that, cabrón. [He growls out under his breath. 'It's not cosplay' is a pointless argument to make with words, honestly.] I'd watch that mouth of yours if I were you. [Idle, as he drags a pale, nearly bony finger down the touchscreen again, attempting to get it to respond more than just a flicker.]

[glitterpants]

<sub>[ For awhile, Karamatsu had been standing behind Reaper, knowing damn well this was the same guy that promised him a training session to make him into Zangief or something like that, but also the same guy that promised to take his soul if he didn't take care of himself.
He was not only intimidating, but he was very tall in comparison to Karamatsu.

The second born had been watching this spectacle, reaching out a few times when he could sense Reaper's frustration, but recoiling his hand back to his own scalp, raking his hand nervously through his hair.
Finally, Reaper turns to him and Karamatsu jolts, feeling his spine align nicely as his posture straightens. He pushes a confident smile on his face (it's hard, but he does it) and slides... one leg right up next to Reaper before sliding the other. ]</sub>

Fret not, Death-san. I will give you my most valiant effort to supply you with the nutrients your body needs. Nourishment, companionship, and rest are the things that once they are satisfied— will make a person feel happiness.

_{[ A pause as his eyes flick over the screen, and he finally looks up at Reaper. ]}

I am here to assist you with two of these things, though I do not know how well rested you are to feel happiness.
_{[ god. ]}

[hellshot]

[And he still planned on giving Karamatsu that work-over whenever he felt it was the appropriate time. But after Sombra's return from the planet below, he's decided to put a cap on it until she... recovered. He watches Karamatsu uncertainly move next to him, every muscle in his small body tense--it was more of a reaction he was used to back in Talon. The way the new recruits danced around him uncertainly.

But it was Karamatsu's words that were, of course, unlike anything he's ever had to deal with. Overly flowery, almost like the guy was reading from a script instead of whatever popped into his head. He wants to scrub a hand down over his face in near second-hand embarrassment.]

...If you're trying to ask me 'Does Death Sleep', you can be more direct about it. [What was this about assisting him with... companionship? He already regrets his decision in asking Karamatsu a favour.]

And happiness depends on a lot more than those three factors, but if you're trying to be poetic, you've already lost me. [Irritably.]

[ichimyatsu]

[Behind Reaper in line is a man he could have easily overlooked for how short he is-- on top of being barely over five feet, he's slouched with his hands in his pockets. He's not watching Reaper or his struggle, probably disliking having to be in a cafeteria almost as much as Reaper himself, so the demand catches him off-guard and he jolts, taking half a step backward.]

[And then he lets the demand sink in-- work this, and I'll pay for your food.]

[He looks up, and then to the screen, shuffling to it and extracting his hand from his pocket. If this guy paid for his food, he could buy more cat food instead. Excellent. In this, he has paid absolutely no attention to Reaper, his appearance, the reason he can't seem to use the screen, or the weird fog escaping his mask.]

Sure, what do you want.

[hellshot]

[He takes a moment to actually look at the individual waiting in line. He hadn't cared much to who the hell it could have been, but when his eyes fixate on the NEET, he almost immediately regrets his decision. Maybe he should have just gone to a different food court.

What he expects from 'Karamatsu' is another fruity, flowy, overdone response, but instead, he gets a rather plain one. 'Sure'. And the kid wasn't even looking at him. Last he remembered, Karamatsu wasn't the type to take his eyes off him--probably in fear of being killed by 'Death-san' or something--and yet...]

...Steak and eggs. [A simple response, as he leans down, just an inch, to stare at the guy. ...He hadn't even brushed his hair, what...]

Did you actually take my advice and drop the appearances to concentrate on more important things? [Hah. Maybe something happened to startle the guy. (Little does he know.)]

[shenunigans]

[Dave hasn't been here long. Just a few days, really. He hasn't settled into any sort of routine yet, but he's getting there. He's figuring out his way around the ship, the technology and matching some names to some faces. It's just one big thing that eludes him right now. Lunch.

He's pretty consumed by the massive array of choices almost in front of him. It's been years since he's had palatable food readily available for the taking. Meteors aren't exactly ripe with fresh produce and ramen. He could have a burger, he could have a steak, he could have apple pie and whipped cream. He could have a pizza with all of those things on it.

He doesn't notice Reaper is struggling. Hell, he's barely noticed he's in front of him. Dave's eyes are vacant behind his sunglasses, staring off into advertisements for things he's not remotely interested in.

When he realises he's being spoken to, he snaps back to reality. When he realises he's being spoken to by the guy from Scream, he jolts backward. Only a little bit, but just enough to be fucking embarrassing.]

Uh.. [Yeah, he doesn't remember what Reaper said.] Little early for Halloween, isn't it? [Wait.] Actually, I have no idea. Is it October? Does space even celebrate Americanised holidays? Like, somewhere in the vast span of space is there a planet that still acknowledges President's Day? [Now he's just rambling because he's nervous.]

It's not broken is it? I'm hungry as hell.

[hellshot]

[If Dave were to be voicing all of his palatable choices to the air, Reaper would probably be the first to speak up that the youth should probably avoid anything that might cause him to die out in space. Being thrown out of an airlock was usually the easiest for corpse disposal, after all. Did you want that sort of fate for your frozen-ass corpse? No. Noone does.

That aside, the skull-mask wearing mercenary takes a minute to absolutely stare at this rambling youth--(the way he'd jumped a bit upon looking up at him had been nice)--trying to figure out if the guy was trying to fuck with him... Or, if his holiday-themed rambling was out of trying to cover up his aforementioned spook.

Crossing his arms, Reaper decides on the latter.]

It's not a Halloween costume. [He was the King of Halloween, thank you--when the Holiday did come around, he'd be dressed far more appropriately for it, thank you!!!] It's not broken. It's just archaic and doesn't respond to dead flesh, apparently. [Because that's not a confusing thing to say.]

Did you even hear what I said, or were you too busy being... excited about President's Day to process what I said properly?