Wilson P. Higgsbury (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
takethatnature) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-06-01 05:08 am
takethatnature) wrote in come_sailaway2023-06-01 05:08 am
These so-called vacations will soon be my death (OTA + 1 closed)
Who: Wilson, you, and specifically Victor in one prompt
What: Hashtag Boat Life. Not actually an above-average amount of drinking despite the flavour text.
When: June
Where: Cabin 124, the laundry room, the sports deck, the gym
Warnings: Well there's a lot of ants in the Victor one, as might be expected.
Don't Starve meets SimAnt (Cabin 124; closed to Victor)
Within a few days of his December arrival on the Serena Eterna, Wilson had noticed that the food didn't spoil; the Constant didn't have as many bugs as an ecosystem normally would, but it had microorganisms, and the ship appears to lack even those. And since the food was provided almost infinitely, the sensible thing was to hoard as many plates as he could reasonably store in his cabin, tucked away in the dresser drawers (minus one that actually is full of clothes, including his new I Survived The Labyrinth of Suffering T-shirt, which seems less than rigorously accurate but he's still here to nitpick so maybe it's close enough) and a cooler taken from the Tommy Bahama so that they wouldn't get stepped on. Waffles and muffins from the breakfast buffet, green salad and deviled eggs, several different sandwiches, skewers of meat and vegetables, cuts of meat stuffed with sliced fruit, baked potatoes, buttered bread rolls. And at least a hundred hotdogs. More food than one would think it was possible to fit inside the space available, honestly.
None of it secured by anything more than a zipper or a sliding rail and a handle! Hardly even a challenge to a determined, flexible, numerous collection of ants.
Demyx hadn't really messed with his stuff, and had always seemed a little suspicious of it - he'd barely been interested when Wilson directly offered to share food, though he'd eventually accepted a steak when Wilson gave up on stuffing it inside a meat effigy that refused to come together - and even if he had, there would be more at the restaurants so it wouldn't be a big deal unless his now-departed former cabinmate took a whole stack of something important like the waffles.
He's totally unprepared for the sheer quantity of bugs crawling around in his cabin when he opens the door. It's worse than that time in grad school when he tried to save money by not hiring anyone to do the cleaning.
Now hang me up to dry, you wrung me out too, too, too many times (Laundry + Deck 2/Cabin Hallway)
Prior to the Labyrinth Wilson had thought the invisible cleaning staff were overdoing it a tad and there was no need to neatly tuck the corners of his bedsheets back in every single time he kicked them out in his sleep. They no longer appear to be doing anything at all, and the sheets are acquiring a sweaty smell. Which is why he's pulled the whole thing off the bed and dragged it to the laundry room, barely able to see over the ball of wadded-up bedding in his arms. Into a currently unoccupied machine go the sheets, the duvet, the pillowcases, everything but the little decorative quasi-blanket that's still on the floor of cabin 124 where he left it.
He can be found frowning at the instructions on a bottle of detergent or the settings on the machines (what exactly does "Casual" or "Smart Care" do to fabric?), or sitting on top of a machine reading a novel, possibly while wearing Demyx's headphones and listening to his music player. The majority of Demyx's music collection has the weirdest guitar tracks Wilson's ever heard, and often other instruments he can't even identify, but it's certainly not boring. He has to take the headphones off a couple times to check whether it's the percussion section or the washing machine making those rhythmic crashing noises.
A tool of last resport (Sports deck, gym)
Wilson doesn't like sports. Or being out in the sun. Or sweating. However, for what must have been at least two years and likely more, he spent most hours of most days carrying supplies long distances, fighting monsters, and running for his life; at some point he adjusted to that level of exertion and even after nearly half a year on the ship he hasn't adjusted back, and if he goes more than a day or two without doing something physically demanding then sitting in the same spot for too long without something intensely absorbing in front of him makes him feel like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. So here he is on the sports deck running in circles, or attacking a punching bag with a hockey stick in the gym. His form isn't anything you'd learn from a professional teacher, but it's effective enough to show that he's got experience hitting things with sticks until they fall over.
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb (Wildcard)
If you've got ideas, come plot with me in the Discord or on Plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
cameoappearance
What: Hashtag Boat Life. Not actually an above-average amount of drinking despite the flavour text.
When: June
Where: Cabin 124, the laundry room, the sports deck, the gym
Warnings: Well there's a lot of ants in the Victor one, as might be expected.
Don't Starve meets SimAnt (Cabin 124; closed to Victor)
Within a few days of his December arrival on the Serena Eterna, Wilson had noticed that the food didn't spoil; the Constant didn't have as many bugs as an ecosystem normally would, but it had microorganisms, and the ship appears to lack even those. And since the food was provided almost infinitely, the sensible thing was to hoard as many plates as he could reasonably store in his cabin, tucked away in the dresser drawers (minus one that actually is full of clothes, including his new I Survived The Labyrinth of Suffering T-shirt, which seems less than rigorously accurate but he's still here to nitpick so maybe it's close enough) and a cooler taken from the Tommy Bahama so that they wouldn't get stepped on. Waffles and muffins from the breakfast buffet, green salad and deviled eggs, several different sandwiches, skewers of meat and vegetables, cuts of meat stuffed with sliced fruit, baked potatoes, buttered bread rolls. And at least a hundred hotdogs. More food than one would think it was possible to fit inside the space available, honestly.
None of it secured by anything more than a zipper or a sliding rail and a handle! Hardly even a challenge to a determined, flexible, numerous collection of ants.
Demyx hadn't really messed with his stuff, and had always seemed a little suspicious of it - he'd barely been interested when Wilson directly offered to share food, though he'd eventually accepted a steak when Wilson gave up on stuffing it inside a meat effigy that refused to come together - and even if he had, there would be more at the restaurants so it wouldn't be a big deal unless his now-departed former cabinmate took a whole stack of something important like the waffles.
He's totally unprepared for the sheer quantity of bugs crawling around in his cabin when he opens the door. It's worse than that time in grad school when he tried to save money by not hiring anyone to do the cleaning.
Now hang me up to dry, you wrung me out too, too, too many times (Laundry + Deck 2/Cabin Hallway)
Prior to the Labyrinth Wilson had thought the invisible cleaning staff were overdoing it a tad and there was no need to neatly tuck the corners of his bedsheets back in every single time he kicked them out in his sleep. They no longer appear to be doing anything at all, and the sheets are acquiring a sweaty smell. Which is why he's pulled the whole thing off the bed and dragged it to the laundry room, barely able to see over the ball of wadded-up bedding in his arms. Into a currently unoccupied machine go the sheets, the duvet, the pillowcases, everything but the little decorative quasi-blanket that's still on the floor of cabin 124 where he left it.
He can be found frowning at the instructions on a bottle of detergent or the settings on the machines (what exactly does "Casual" or "Smart Care" do to fabric?), or sitting on top of a machine reading a novel, possibly while wearing Demyx's headphones and listening to his music player. The majority of Demyx's music collection has the weirdest guitar tracks Wilson's ever heard, and often other instruments he can't even identify, but it's certainly not boring. He has to take the headphones off a couple times to check whether it's the percussion section or the washing machine making those rhythmic crashing noises.
A tool of last resport (Sports deck, gym)
Wilson doesn't like sports. Or being out in the sun. Or sweating. However, for what must have been at least two years and likely more, he spent most hours of most days carrying supplies long distances, fighting monsters, and running for his life; at some point he adjusted to that level of exertion and even after nearly half a year on the ship he hasn't adjusted back, and if he goes more than a day or two without doing something physically demanding then sitting in the same spot for too long without something intensely absorbing in front of him makes him feel like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. So here he is on the sports deck running in circles, or attacking a punching bag with a hockey stick in the gym. His form isn't anything you'd learn from a professional teacher, but it's effective enough to show that he's got experience hitting things with sticks until they fall over.
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb (Wildcard)
If you've got ideas, come plot with me in the Discord or on Plurk at
Laundry
"Sup." Bro nod for Wilson up on his laundry machine. "No more housekeeping for you either huh? Glad it's not just that I'm a slob and they abandoned me and my roommate."
no subject
"I didn't think my room was bad enough to make them quit." As long as the food isn't in danger of getting knocked over or leaned on it's fine, right? (It is not fine. It will be covered in ants later.)
no subject
"Might have been all of us together. Or they finally found a way to tell us to go fuck ourselves and clean our own toilets."
no subject
Wilson doesn't know enough about laundry to notice anything wrong with Pratt's technique. He takes one of the space-age plastic bottles of liquid detergent out of the cabinet, reads the instructions on the back, and carefully measures out a capful. In it goes.
"Could be." Honestly he wants to think about the so-called ship ghosts as little as possible. "I think I'll go with... Smart Care. That sounds scientific."
no subject
An eyebrow raise, "If it was scientific it would be called something like: the care of intelligence lorem ipsom et al with a preponderance of hypothesis."
no subject
"That's just random science words jumbled together. It's not the same thing!" Pause. "And it wouldn't fit on the dial."
no subject
"That's what science is tho. Random words jumbled together and locked behind a paywall."
1/2
Not that there are many other reasons to set up a blood dispenser at the buffet instead of, say, the infirmary.
2/2
no subject
"If you gotta describe it with a word that's more than five syllables it probably wasn't worth knowing in the first place."
no subject
He doesn't know when Pratt's time is, only that he's probably from the future like seemingly everyone else on the boat.
"No that means it's specialised information!" He grabs the detergent jug again, scanning the list of ingredients.
"Most of this stuff doesn't even break four syllables, but I bet the people who make it need to know about..." He squints. "Benzisothiazolinone. Whatever that is, I'm sure it's essential to the process."
no subject
"Yeah but I don't. I can just call it detergent and never have to worry about how it makes cleaning suds."
Last Resort
"Hey." He greets Wilson, wandering over to find a suitably empty spot to just crouch in. Siffler strips off the shirt he's wearing and drops it beside him, soaking up the sun in a pair of small shorts. "Nice stick."
no subject
no subject
Siffleur goes back to watching Wilson go through his moves. He ends up nodding after a bit. "Got used to improvising out in the wilderness, huh?"
no subject
He stops again to nod at Siffleur, gesturing with the stick to punctuate his descriptions. "Precisely. I didn't always have a proper weapon at hand when I needed to fight off some creature, but I found that the same bladed implements I'd use to harvest resources worked much better than my bare fists. I shouldn't use them for practice here, though; sooner or later the heads would snap, and I don't have any reliable way to get more minerals."
He looks at the punching bag. "And it'd be awfully hard on the facilities, if I were to take an axe to them."
no subject
Everything Wilson says makes sense and Siffleur nods. Yeah, no point in chewing up things now that they don't get replaced often, and all they have are the things they've got on the ship - or things taken from expeditions. "Yeah. Limited in what we have here. Especially now that Sparkles isn't being used to power things. Not sure how that's going to change things in the long term."
no subject
"I was just starting to get used to stuff being fixed while I wasn't looking and then it stopped doing that. At least we had plenty of warning, I guess." Wilson glances at the mildly scuffed punching bag. "I don't like the thought of some little kid being used to power stuff we don't even really need."
no subject
"It was stupid using him for power." Siffleur says, a thought he's expressed before to Ava - though he used somewhat different phrasing then, since he didn't know the full story (none of them did exactly). "Same with the ghosts. Nothing enslaved stays enslaved. Kill them or free them, because the longer you keep something trapped, the closer it comes to getting out and killing you."
no subject
"I can't blame him that much for wanting to blow us all up when he escaped. I'm glad he didn't, but..." Wilson shrugs. "Being trapped sucks. Especially for a kid."
no subject
"It's stupid to blame him. We'd do the same in his spot." He knows a few who are doing the same, in their own way - trying to escape this place, trying to find a way out. He doesn't see the point in doing it himself when he's happy here, but he doesn't blame people for wanting out of a prison. No one likes to be confined and used to feed another. "It's how it is. No one to blame there, except the Captain for saying yes to something he shouldn't have. Even then, we all say yes to things we don't fully understand."