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

[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]

idk about you but zombies > humans imo

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