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

Calories, not protein?

( Higher calories? Victor quirks his eyebrows up, but taps and scrolls through until he finds about the highest caloric intake on menu. Not the steak, as it turns out; he hits on something deepfried over rice, with egg. Close to pork, but not quite the same; maybe he just wanted something filling.

Either way, this fits the bill; a double serving and the calories are well into being a full grown active adult's daily intake. Not that the protein is bad either. A double hitter. )

One something higher in calories coming up.

( No comment about being told what he orders for himself isn't the other guy's concern; Victor sort of assumed that from the start, though he does, for a moment, want to tell him anyway. Instead he retreats to the starting menu, switching over to order a turkey-like lettuce wrap of some kind. )

Dog tags?

Energy, right now, is what I need. [He doesn't feel like explaining it to a guy he's not yet met. He's gotten enough protein in the last few days thanks to a friend of his, but there were other elements his body needed. And what with how lethargic he felt lately, he's decided on giving the stupid excuse for a body he has to deal with something to give it a boost.

He watches Victor ring the order up, seemingly satisfied with the choices he made. At least it wasn't a struggle like the last few times he's had to show up here. When the other says dog tags, he has to think about it for a moment--he's carrying more than one set, after all.

But he pulls out the proper one, the strange chip that held all of their information while on the chip--handing it to the strangely (thankfully) helpful guy.]

Don't go running off with it. [Is this a joke?]

( Victor takes the tags, flashing them where he needs to before holding them back up, dangling from one finger. He snorts, shaking his head, while Makkachin tries to figure out the scent and Victor vaguely wonders why it's so strong — this guy?

Doesn't matter so much in the end. )

In a contained environment? Seems an unwise time to take up a life of picking pockets.

( Yet there's a black market; so go figure, always, in finding an underbelly that can choose to exist. The screen flashes, Victor stepping to the side and gesturing for Reaper to move on ahead of him. His order is going to come up first either way, after all; just a few steps beyond. )

[He gives a scoff of a laugh, waving a hand at Victor. Anything's possible, so far as he's concerned.] Have you looked at the size of this damn fleet, or even the ship we're in?

Highly possible to snatch things up and make yourself scarce. [He gives him a look, and you can almost feel how he's raising his eyebrows in a 'catch my drift'? Sort of expression.]

...Appreciate it. [He actually thanks Victor, moving ahead in line as he takes his dogtags back. Congratulations, you're the first person he's actually straight-forwardly thanked on the whole damn ship.]

( Victor pauses to think about this, considering the relative sizes. it's an ongoing actual point of discomfort, since he's noticed new anomaly people going missing. where are they going? are they being taken? if so, to where? for all the fleet consists of multiple ships, it doesn't make a habit of having them all be open.

still.

he chuckles, reaching down to stroke the fur of Makkachin's head. )

You're welcome, ( he says, accepting the thanks offhand; ) Even if I'm not sure I'm saying thank you in return for thinking about the potential for people to disappear here.

( it's too on the nose for what he already thinks might be happening. )

[He pauses, giving Victor a strange look that the man won't quite see under the cover of his mask. That comment ... actually gets his attention more than anything else.

Not really a surprise.]

...Questionable reason to thank someone. But you've piqued my curiosity a little.

Have noticed people have come and gone. Just thought they were leaving from wherever they came from.

You suggesting they're just disappearing for other reasons?

( he frowns for a beat, looking more than faintly troubled. he hasn't enjoyed feeling like he needs to understand what it means to be paranoid; but he is not holding himself back from acknowledging what people accept too easily. it's impossible to end up here. or improbable, he supposes, as they're all here.

the one thing so far he's heard be reiterated so often is no one goes home. so what gives people such confidence to say the ones who left were going home? there's no evidence they do. hope says yes. but if he'd believed that hope, he'd have spent each day here waiting to go home. for random chance to send him back.

that hadn't felt likely. not after story following story of being here for an interrupted lifetime, of those who leave choosing another fleet or home, or dying. death is a great equalizer. it's the one he hopes to find least true, for everyone. )

Wow, that sounds like such a heavy question...

( he smiles, but it's more an expression meant to make it seem like he's not bothered than actually not being bothered. )

Let me just say I find it difficult to believe people are returned as easily as they're brought here, when it comes to these anomalies. It's a little too neat! So easy to say, so difficult to prove.

( he spreads his hands, palms up, as if that forgives his lack of answers. )

Though any other answer is less satisfying, isn't it?

[Maybe it was a heavy question, but it wasn't like Victor was dealing with someone who felt adversely to saying candid, rude, or even hash things. He wasn't ignorant to the distaste being in a place so far from home sat with some people, and he certainly wasn't keen on living the rest of his un-life here, so far from home.

But the more he poked and prodded around, the more he was starting to learn that he was likely going to never see home again. And that's what sat with him heavier than anything else. It was amazing he hadn't started causing scenes with those who ran the damn ship, honestly.

To the coach's answer, he responds with a scoff.]

You hit the nail on the head with that last bit. [He raises his own hand to wave at the other and his open-handed gesture.] Find it difficult too. But that being said...

[You can almost hear him smile behind that mask.]

With enough people being pulled here, who knows. Maybe we'll see for ourselves how things go.

( Victor is a quiet sort of companionable as he absently pets Makkachin's head, other hand at his chin, finger tapping. The problem is he agrees, and he also doesn't agree. Doesn't agree because he can't expect they're the only anomaly arrivals treated this way. Some good number of the ship all claimed to have arrived here in the past as they did.

So why are things as they are? )

It may come to that. I'm not sure how it hasn't before, or if it has, and this is just the aftermath.

( From surviving any other attempts at changing how things were. He knew the job system had been adapted and adjusted over time; who's to say the structure itself as a whole hasn't shifted over decades? Generations? )

At what point do you believe a person becomes resigned?

Already choking on my pride [OPEN]

no subject

hahah HELLO FRIEND im sorry you didnt get notified

NO I FEEL BAD i'm like i promise i wasn't ignoring tags... what else did i lose...

I BELIEVE YOU ITS OK HHHSHSHHS <3

then i just keep dying there's no excuse

i forgive you dying and being dead is usually my state too

are we both then part of the zombie contingency

idk about you but zombies > humans imo

gotta be careful they don't just come apart on you though --