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

[juniberries]

[She takes a step back, more out of uncertainty than fear.]

No, ghosts do not exist.

[Well, she supposes they don't, but:] My people did use to store memories of the living and could use such memories to create sentient holograms upon their death.

My father--

[She stops, shaking her head. No need to tell a total stranger who's been nothing but rude to her about her father.]

So you are not a physical being?

[hellshot]

[That's more of a reaction that he's used to. The look of uncertainty, the step back away from the unknown. His shitty habits are poking up more now than his hunger is, so he can't help a small smirk underneath that mask of his.

He did love this part. When people tell him that ghosts aren't real.]

Not a hologram. You'd agree that I'm a bit too realistic for that sort of thing, don't you agree? [He tilts his head at her, a small glow of red showing in those eyeholes in his mask. A tap of his fingernails against the counter, and then his form disintegrates, all at once. The smell of ozone becomes sharper as a purple-black cloud swirls around Allura--and he appears once more, fully formed, just behind her.]

Ghosts are a little more real than you think. [An answer to her question--] I'm physical when I want to be.

[juniberries]

[He is creepy, she'll give him that much; and she was about to say how real Altean holograms could seem when suddenly, the man disintegrates, and despite herself she tenses, hairs pricking at the back of her neck, an acrid scent in the air, and a purple-black cloud--

--it's reminiscent of the Galra Druid she had encountered on board Zarkon's ship. Ghosts may not exist as far as she knows, but magic certainly does.

She remains tense, and despite herself she does jump a bit when his voice comes from behind (the mice are more obviously freaked out, the small blue one and large yellow one clinging to each and pulling a curtain of her long hair over them protectively, while the other two seem in the midst of fight or flight. there's a squeal from one of them.). She turns to face him, caution obvious in her gaze. She brings one hand up to comfort the more frightened mice.]

You do realize intimidating me will not get you your meal. I did not realize dead men needed to eat.

[hellshot]

[No, intimidating her won't help him out at all--but all the same, he doesn't feel any shame for his little trick in appearing behind her to prove a (shitty) point. A low laugh escapes him as he folds his arms behind his back, that odd, black fog still lifting up from his shoulders as he re-solidifies back into a more physical form.]

It's not the food I need. I can barely taste, let alone digest like humans or even aliens do.

It's the nutrients. My body needs to pull elements from something, and I feel as if pulling the souls out of the still-living on this ship might go frowned upon.

[He'll leave out the bit where he doesn't feel like killing innocent people--that makes him seem far too soft. So instead, he'll just go with that bit, instead.]

You'll forgive my need to prove myself, as well--I don't take kindly to people telling me I don't exist.

[juniberries]

[She continues to pet the fearful mice on her shoulder, frowning up at him. His creepiness only gets him so far with her, after all, and at the mention of sucking out souls-- her frown deepens.

It's clear to her that this man does pose as a threat, but she still thinks his abilities are related to magic. Ghosts, after all, do not exist. There are, however, scientific and magical explanations for this and the very abilities he just put on display for her. While she understands very little of it, it is far more logic than him simply being a ghost.]

While I am sympathetic to your plight, [after all, beyond her and Coran, her very species no longer exists, but regardless] I do not take kindly to needless intimidation.

[hellshot]

Oh, did I scare you? That's my mistake, miss. [He almost laughs, but he keeps the sound from bubbling out from between dry, cracked lips, his shoulders hitching up with an unsympathetic shrug.] I was only trying to give you an example, not intimidate you. You took it entirely the wrong way.

[Or so he says. Who knows if he's being sincere now or not--as he turns his head to stare down at the little rats on her shoulder with a light sneer.]

...You do realise those things can get into the circuitry and chew up the wiring, right. I hope you have them well trained.

[juniberries]

I believe I had told you in the past that it is Princess, not miss. [She's not one to pull rank like that but. She had been shaken up by his little trick, and is not about to admit to it.] I recognize you from the network.

[In case he needed a reminder that this is technically not their first chat, but their first one face-to-face, so to speak.]

You will have to forgive me. I have come across others with similar powers, and they were very much meant to intimidate and frighten.

[And the moment he turns his head to look at the mice on her shoulder, she turns slightly, protective of her little friends. Again, the big yellow one squeals out loud, while the pinkish one puts up its little fists, looking about ready to fight.]

These things are my friends. And they do not require any training. [She continues to cup her hand protectively over two of them.] You are, however, frightening them.

[hellshot]

['Princess.' Oh, yes. It comes back to him almost immediately. It was that pious woman who had belief in everyone from his network post last month. If she could see his expression immediately change from something annoyed, to something almost snide. That explained her attitude to him, almost immediately. Of course a princess wouldn't believe in ghosts.]

Oh, do you? How clever, you figured out that my icon matches my mask. [The little picture that showed up next to his username--it would be easy to put two and two together.]

...But others with similar powers. That can't be possible. There isn't a thing like me in the world. [But... perhaps from other worlds... he stares at her a little curiously, squinting under that mask.] Perhaps the animals are smart. A fear of death is a smart thing to have, Princess.

[juniberries]

There is no mistaking your voice, either.

[Because of that weird rasp, that still reminds her of something she can't quite put her finger on. But yes. The icon also helped. A lot, actually.

But she holds her tongue on saying anything about narcissism. Instead she remains protective of her mice friends, the smallest and largest one who are the two most frightened jump into her open palm, and she covers them gently, petting them soothingly as she continues to unflinchingly hold Reaper's gaze.

Or what she can make of it through that mask.]

If you believe that, it must truly be lonely for you. [Spoken like a true shounen Princess type or whatever.] Look, do you want your meal or not. Because if you are only content to frighten my friends, I will be getting my lunch elsewhere.

[hellshot]

I'll take that as a compliment.

[He's, of course, being sarcastic--that much is apparent. He does have a terribly unique voice, after all--he knows it as well as she does. Though he's yet unaware he's lighting up any reminders for her, though.]

It's not a matter of belief. It's a matter of truth. [And it's not lonely, he'd argue, if he were 12 years old. But he's not, and he is, in fact, a lonely guy. Not that he'd admit that to anyone in the next 50 years.

That aside, he makes an aimless gesture at the stupid machine that even now won't register his attempts at getting it to work.]

Of course I still want a meal. [Otherwise he would have left by now, god.] Whether or not her highness is up for helping such a distasteful man is entirely up to her. Royalty shouldn't do what they don't want to, after all. Isn't that how it works?

[juniberries]

[Too bad, to her you are a lonely mean man.]

In your universe, perhaps. But in mine...you would not be out of place.

[Not that she'll go into detail. She knows very little of the Druids beyond their mysterious aura and powerful magic.]

And no, it does not work that way. As royalty it is in fact my duty to help those in need. [However, her arms do remain crossed.] Regardless of how rude those in need of help may be.

What do you wish to eat?