starlogs | Already choking on my pride [OPEN]

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

[Unfortunately, Reaper is right on the money with that guess. It doesn't help that the stare of absolution comes from dark voids where eyes should be. It's making his pits sweat, that's for sure.]

Uh, okay. So you're just a goth then. [That makes him decidedly less menacing. Wait, did he say dead flesh? Ew. Fuck.]

If you're dead, why do you need to eat? Don't you feast on brains or whatever. Don't even make the joke that you won't find any here, that's the easy way out. [He furrows his brow, prepared to stand his ground in the name of greasy food.]

I didn't come here to be insulted about my taste in holidays, Jigsaw. I came here to eat. [Which is to say: no, he wasn't listening.]

[I'm not a GOTH either!--A thought he almost spits out in irritation, as Dave is the second irritating teenager to come to this conclusion. But last time it just invited more jeering, so he bites it down, this time. Rounding on the teen with a hiss of smoke from under that stylized skull mask(that certainly didn't look like a barn owl).]

The reason I need nutrients would be too complicated for you to understand. And with being out in space, food is the only damn source of energy what's left of my body needs to keep from rotting.

[He doubts the other would understand ramble on nanomachines, so he decides to keep from it, for now.]

I said I would pay for your damn food if you worked this thing for me, but now I'm thinking you might be incapable of even simple instructions. [He's not totally a bad guy under all his posturing. He's just hungry, okay.]

[Well, that certainly has Dave stepping down from whatever battle platform he stepped up to. He can't help physically shrinking back, just slightly, when Reaper hisses at him. He may have poked the wrong bear at the ballet, here.

Of course, suddenly being concerned about becoming Marilyn Manson's appetizer is second to sassing back. Being rounded into an imaginary corner will never stop him from mouthing off.]

Well, if that doesn't make me hungry, nothing will. [He rolls his eyes behind his shades, but now he has a point to prove. He considers pushing past, but he doesn't. He slinks past instead, like a guilty dog.]

Now we're talking. [He makes a point of pushing the buttons with ease.] What kind of nutrients do you want?

[It's a nice image, isn't it. It's not like he's taken his mask off or anything, but With Dave moves in to actually do what he was so nicely asked, he'll note that the smoke lifting off of the hissing wraith's mask smells a little like burning carbon.

Like something that was burnt in an oven and never taken out despite it.]

You don't need an appetite to eat the food here. If this isn't your first time, then you'll already know the crap they serve looks like the real deal but doesn't taste right.

[He only knows this because he's been told. He can't taste himself, but the look on Sombra's face when she ordered beef chili only for it to have a flavour similar to chicken noodle soup...

It was pretty entertaining a day for him.]

Meat. Steak, a side of vegetables. [Vague of course--he doesn't care what kind it is.]

[Dave does note that it smells, and it's not pleasant either. He flitters around the idea of telling the guy he has bad breath before he decides not to push his luck any further.]

Better than the garbage I've been sustaining myself with for the past year. Besides, I wouldn't be a true American if I didn't take processed rubber and raccoon and call it a damn good hot dog.

[Your palette is not very discerning when you grow up on frozen pizza and ramen, anyway.]

Cupcakes and icecream? Coming right up. [To his credit, he's ordering him his steak and his vegetables, but he stops there without placing an order for himself.] There you go, chucklefuck. Go feast on your nutrients.

[If Dave HAD gone ahead and ordered him icecream and cupcakes, the brat would be enjoying a rather intimate moment with the wall opposite right now. He was told he wasn't allowed to kill people, sure. There was no such rule against assault, though. And he's kept that in mind.

That aside.]

...Hah. American. ['Chucklefuck', since when did kids get that creative with their goddamn insults.] Guess you and I are two different breeds of the same kind. Wouldn't eat a goddamn hotdog if you paid me good money.

[A pause.]

You didn't put in anything else. [You sure you don't want free food, brat? Last chance.]

I'm a teenager. I'll eat anything in excess. It's pretty much my primary function. [At least he's self aware about that much.]

I'm a strong, independent woman. I don't need to rely on hand outs from cripples who can't push buttons, I'm not that desperate for a burger. [Well, having a free meal WOULD be helpful, but taking this guy's money because he can't work the machine doesn't sit well with him. He just doesn't want to say that. Ew.]

And when you turn 25, you'll realise what kind of shit that can do to your body. [Helpfully.]

...And I'm not a cripple, I'm dead. [How dare you, he's perfectly capable when touchscreens aren't involved!!!!

Either way, he moves away after paying for his food, letting Dave have full reign of the machine.]

But suit yourself. I'm not going to push charity on someone who's so clearly capable. [Thanks for not being nice about it, feelings are gross man.]

It's not really a problem for me. Not back home, anyway. It's complicated. we're complicated. You probably don't care, you don't look like you need my life story.

[Reaper can tell Dave he's dead all he likes, Dave isn't particularly interested in telling people that he died and rose again into some sort of immortality. Like Jesus. The jesus of time travel and shitty raps.]

Dead. Crippled. You're a burden on society either way. [He waves him off, because he sure as hell is not eating across from a guy who actively terrifies him.] Go eat your beef.

Already choking on my pride [OPEN]

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