starlogs | ( creative title goes here )

WHO: maine (

rumbling ) + you
WHERE: random places on the ship
WHEN: throughout the day on dec 11
WHAT: idek
WARNINGS: nothing at this time, will update if necessary!

( ATRIUM )

[ He can't say he ever expected to be in space again. Not after everything that's happened. Hell, he wasn't even expecting to see land again. But, shit changes and life is often unpredictable. And now here he is. Apparently living aboard another ship, traveling through space like he has some sort of purpose. Maine doesn't know what that purpose even is. And after dealing with Project Freelancer and all the bullshit the Director did, he's not really inclined to believe he has some purpose with some faceless crew in the middle of outerspace.

Trust issues? You bet.

After orientation and locating his bunk ( it's all so goddamn familiar but so different ), he sets out to get the lay of the ship. Though Maine did give a few moments of hesitation in whether he should wear his armor or not on the friendly walk-about, he decides against it. Instead he swings by the first store he sees and purchases a few different clothing items; the charcoal grey hoodie is put on before he even pays for it, hoodie up and not suspicious at all.

After exploring certain areas, he winds up in the atrium. It's... nice, in certain ways. Something that probably would've been nice to have on the Mother of Invention. Eventually he settles on a bench by one of the ponds and—are those ducks? Weird that this place has animals just wandering around. They waddle and quack their way over and Maine gives a threatening rumbling noise in return. It doesn't deter them, however, and the next thing he knows, he has a bag of breadcrumbs and ducks all over, eating and quacking happily, even going so far as to join him on the bench in their quest for more.

This is not going as planned. And who the hell gave him this bag of bread, anyway?! ]

( TRAINING ROOM )

[ Later on towards whatever counts as evening in this ship, Maine hits the gym. At this point it's completely necessary to work off some pent up aggression. It's not that he's mad or anything, but there's just some shit he needs to work through and being trapped around all these people isn't doing much to stave off the aggression levels.

So, he's going to take it out on some punching bags. And the weight machines. Probably the pool, too. Want to race? Let's go, buddy. Eventually, though, if anyone is milling around the boxing ring, he's going to gesture to himself, to them and then to the ring. Wanna go a few rounds? ]

( ETC. )

( feel free to throw anything my way or get me on plurk (

honnleath ) if you want to discuss sth specific!! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(there are just so many sights you don't see everyday and they should all be appreciated. like a very large, critically serious man feeding tiny ducks. it's not her fault it's a photo-op, big boy, and she has to collect anything and everything if she's going to make a name for herself on this god forsaken ship. there might be only one way home: money. the universal constant. she's going to cover all of her bases.

a pause beside a lush, twisting tree, before sombra makes her descent down a grassy knoll to chatter at him. the ducks don't disperse, but waddle closer to maine. looks like the body mods are too flashy for a garden.)

Never expected anyone's first play to be feeding the local fauna. (dropping into a crouch nearby, muttering hushed spanish at a few ducks who stray too close... the auto-translators only come up with snippets of something fucking rude, but it's all with a smile, super harmless...) But if butterflies come land on you? I'm turning my uniform in.

(well, time to show him his tourist photo. not that she's seeking permission or anything. it's a great photo, maine!!

nails lit up with a trail of pink pixels, thumbs meeting index fingers in mockery of a picture frame, a neon holo-screen crops up with a quaint little snapshot of maine surrounded by a hoard of bread-hungry ducks. animals really don't have many qualms when it comes to free meals.)

Cute, huh?

[ This is his penance, apparently. Cute animals and people gawking. Maybe he should care, but in the end he just winds up looking completely and totally unimpressed. Usually people leave him alone just based on how he looks. And that's fine. Honestly, he tends to prefer that. That way he doesn't have to deal with stupid questions or mundane nattering that he literally doesn't give one shit about.

Because of his training, he's pretty good at reading people. Not the best, but enough to get him by. And this one? Looks like trouble. Not that it's a big deal, because Maine likes trouble. Though he can't say he cares for the sneaking photos sort of trouble. That's a little annoying. His gaze shifts from her to the projection and back again. A low, almost exasperated sounding rumble rolls in the back of his throat. Clearly, someone is unimpressed.

Brushing his hands off on the hoodie before he digs around in the pocket for the comms; he punches in a reply, the text itself hailing the callsign of maine; ]

photographer or just a stalker?

(the message gets sent to her directly, small hard-light notification popping out of thin air. a tap, receiving it—

a stalker? please.)

As if you could impress anyone enough to warrant one. I'm just doing my job. (sounds like the words of a STALKER, making the picture on screen spin with an eccentric wave of her hand.) "Human Immigrant Embraces New Life on Eluvio: Ducks First, Missions Later." You're so family-friendly!

(fortunately for maine, the displays disappear. unfortunately for maine, she is left with more questions.)

Gonna freeze me out, amigo, or is this your only means of communication?

[ Right. Like he's going to buy that. The look he gives her speaks exactly of his True Believer status. Wherein even his expression is so flat and dry it could spark the biggest flame for kindling. How she's going to wander around in that loud get-up and stalk people ( Maine doesn't believe he's The Only One™ on her radar. He can't be. ) is anyone's guess. Good luck to her, really.

He frowns just so at the "family-friendly" remark. Nothing about his life has been family-friendly. In fact it's been the exact opposite. He knows she's just purposely goading him, but still.

With a raspy sort of sigh he tips his head enough and points to his throat. There's a mess of scars creating a strange web of marks on his skin. Just in case she doesn't get it, though; ]

can't.

[ Also; ]

and don't want to.

(oh, maine will be very surprised (and likely super unimpressed) with how sneaky she can be when given incentive.

the scars are noted well, taking in the sight with only a purse of painted lips.)

Hah, so it's not just you being too shy to talk to a pretty woman? What's the other guy look like?

[ Well, she's definitely right. He would be unimpressed!!! Much like he's feeling right now. Which, case in point, he actually rolls his eyes and makes a grumbly sort of sound that doesn't really translate into anything other than annoyance. He knows he's being goaded, but he's never been good at ignoring that.

So. Moving on. After a moment to keep his temper in check he looks at her and gives a slight snort of a laugh through his nose. After a moment's pause, he sends; ]

what do you think?

Like he's got one foot in the grave, if he isn't there already.

(the low rumble of a scarred throat are something she's rather used to, those irritable sounds of someone intolerant — or, in gabe's case, someone in a great deal of incessant pain. they remind her of this, leaving her with a knowing smirk, shoulders shaking in a short chuckle.

a sudden crouch, scaring some ducks. a few braver ones, however, waddle skeptically nearby as she plucks up a small corner of thrown bread.)

Am I right? I mean, unless you lost.

[ It's not that he's not proud of his accomplishments or anything, because he is. Back then, they'd thought those people were on the wrong side. Back then, he'd been driven by something else. Back then... well, back then things were different. But now, things are different, too. He doesn't know if the things he's done are accomplishments or not. They're just things he's done. Things he's done that he has no reason to hide. Because there is no more directive from someone else. There's no guiding hand lingering in the back of his head. There's just nothing but Maine.

Or whatever the fuck is left. ]

misplaced his head. guess it got a little lost.

[ He shouldn't make jokes. Especially about the mental stability of others considering his own. But. Here we are. ]

(oh, but he should make jokes. sombra loves jokes. in fact, she laughs heartily at it, a bright thing that shouldn't be the laugh of a woman who's seen the worst of the world — but there it is.)

Ouch. I was gonna ask if you had to be so barbaric about it, but that just means you've got a lot of pent up passion in there, amigo.

(flipping her hand, tossing the bread aside, narrow eyes watching the birds peck at the dirt.)

Somebody's mind, in exchange for a voice that can't speak its own? Sounds like a good trade.

[ Well, seems like they have something in common in that regard. Maine's seen the worst of the galaxy. Became one of them, even. Life is difficult. And weird.

He snorts a laugh that doesn't sound anything remotely like it has any humor in it at all. ]

passion isn't exactly the word i'd use.

Barely controllable emotion?

(a tilt of her head, a corner of her mouth curving.)

If I got shot in the throat, I'd be pre-tty pissed off.

( creative title goes here )

atrium

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject