come_sailaway | New ship, who dis? [Open]

Entry tags:

New ship, who dis? [Open]

Who: John Crichton + YOU
What: Getting introduced to the ship
Where: Various places all over
When: Sept 10 and the week following
Warnings: None currently, will warn as necessary

For reference, John Crichton arrives wearing a full leather getup. Ref 1 Ref 2. Leather trench coat layered over a leather vest with buckles and a black t-shirt. His pants are leather and he is wearing a thigh holster with a pulse pistol in it. His shoes are black leather combat boots.

welcome Aboard

You know, he's getting really tired of waking up in exotic new places. This one is nicer than the usual, he'll give it that. But starched sheets and a general clean hotel room atmosphere that looks alarmingly like an Earth setting is not doing a whole lot to put him at ease. This ain't Earth.

"Oh God, who is it this time?" he moans to himself. Is he in another dream? Did Einstein go back on his word and decide to trap him in some kind of pocket reality?

The welcome card instructed him to go to drills. It's written in what looks like English, on paper. Stationary, in fact. It's been a long-ass time since he saw stationery. If it's a dream, it's a damned weird one.

He's discovered, now, how mandatory those drills actually are. "Okay, okay, I get the picture," he tells his own uncooperative legs. No use fighting the inevitable. He goes where he's supposed to like a good little boy, eyebrows launching into the lower atmosphere when he beholds--a lady with no face.

"Thanks?" he tells Friday, fingering that lei suspiciously. Uh, what is that white bit made of?

"So..." he says, turning conversationally to the closest person, "What the hell is going on here?" No one's tried to kill him yet, and he's starting to get extra suspicious about that.

The Bahamanal - Because I had to

Most would say this is a tacky store full of things no one in their right mind should wear. To be fair, no one ever accused John Crichton of being in his right mind. He is in love with this place. Look at all the Hawaiian shirts! He can have one for every day of the month!

But wait, what was that? Did something move? He thought he might have heard a faint rustling coming from the general direction of that pile of clothes to his left.

"Is anyone else in here?" he calls out. "Hello? If you're trying to prank me think again. I'm armed."

There's the rustle again. He whips around only to find that pile of clothing isn't there anymore.

"What the frell?"

The rustling is coming from behind him now. He turns to look and--lets out a terrified shriek. He's being attacked by a pile of tacky island-wear!

When in doubt, drink

He found the bar. One of them, anyway. With a name like "HURIKANE" he wasn't sure what he should be expecting. Okay, he'll admit it, the drinks here are pretty damn good. They've got everything and more. He didn't know how much he missed something as simple as sweet and sour mix while desperately lost on the other side of the galaxy. He's currently double-fisting two frozen margaritas, one strawberry pink and one lime green. There's already an empty glass in front of him too, so this is presumably number three? Clearly, it's already done a number on him because he's swaying in his seat rosy-cheeked and grinning like a fool.

"Damn, the only thing missing here is a karaoke machine." Apparently, he hasn't found that place yet.

Or EAT!

"Holy smokes!" he exclaims when he gets a look at the buffet at the Windjammer. Look at all that food! Familiar food.

He doesn't know what to have first. He's been subsisting on a pitiful mixture of food cubes, stale food cubes, the occasional actual hot meal of dubious origins, and whatever he and his crew could catch in the wild on various planets they visited. But, oh momma, look at this! Mashed potatoes! Roast beef! Is that...chocolate cake?

The moan that passes his lips just looking at it all is damn near orgasmic.

"I don't know where to start." He's going to eat himself into a food coma and he's not about to let anyone stop him.

Wildcard!
Come at me with whatever! I'm up for plotting on plurk

KansaiBanzai or on discord Cmdr.Crackers#5481

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Pratt is, of course, in the Buffet. Does he live there? Almost. He has an entire bowl of mashed potatoes, with various toppings from the salad bar like green onions, bacon bits, and cheese. And is eating that like a bowl of cereal because apparently that's a normal thing to do.

"It's great right?"

Fucking finally someone as excited as he is about infinite food. And considering how much he eats he shouldn't be as emaciated as he is, visible in his arms under the green button up shirt he's wearing.

"The breaded eggplant things are pretty good."

Crichton takes one look at that bowl and decides immediately he's going to make the exact same thing. He's never seen something more beautiful. Only slightly worrying how the guy enjoying that mashed masterpiece seems a little too gaunt for all the food he has access to...

"It's almost enough to make me forgive being kidnapped." Almost.

"Hell, I'd eat a breaded cockroach at this point just to taste something fried again. My cardiologist would have a heart attack if he saw what I'm about to do."

He manages to take his eyes off the buffet long enough to make eye contact with Pratt for real while offering his hand, "Commander John Crichton. How's it hangin'?"

A man after his own heart.

"For reals. And it just keeps replenishing, you can take the whole tray if you want, they'll just bring out another one." Something he's done many times, the sight of this man heading somewhere with an entire tray of food is a pretty regular occurrence.

"Deputy Pratt." He impales his mashed potato soup with his fork so he can shake this newcomers hand. He has a firm grip, befitting the cop he once was.

"Been a while since you had decent food?"

"Hot damn! All you can eat." It's like his prayers have been answered. Crichton's not about to judge a man for taking all he can get on a tray if it's never going to run out.

His handshake is firm and warm, and it's clear he's well-practiced at it. Had to be, once upon a time, when getting to space meant kissing up to the right people at fundraisers. The title Deputy brings a wave of nostalgia. Someone from Earth!

"Pleasure to meet you, Deputy. And, yeah, you can say that again. Out in the far reaches of space, the choices were rehydrated food cubes or... meat and plants I didn't have a prayer of identifying. We ran low more than a few times between stops. It's a comfort to hear that won't happen on this pleasure cruise."

"Only been here a few months but food has never been a problem." A pause and he looks down at himself, "Ignore that I look like a skinny-ass trash fire. I think I'm stuck like this cuz I died before coming here."

He doesn't actually understand how the boat works, he just figures he's kind of in stasis because he thinks he's a corpse.

"Rehydrated food cubes sure make space travel sound like shit. And here as a kid everyone was so excited for the dehydrated astronaut ice cream. You gonna tell me that was all a lie?"

"You what?" The new guy does not know this is a thing that can happen yet. He is horrified.

"Uh, I'll be honest. I would have loved to have the Earth space food back. Space ice cream would have been worlds above the alien stuff."

"Which part? Oh! The dead thing. Yeah. Back home, I kinda died? Well not kinda, I hella died. I got crushed by a tree during a car crash, in a forest that was on fire, after a nuclear explosion went off. So my corpse is in so many pieces I bet."

At least he sounds okay with it now?

"Why don't aliens have awesome food? Like things with flavors we haven't even come up with yet."

Sir. SIR. You can't just drop a revelation like that on a man and keep going. Crichton can feel an ugly smile creeping onto his face. It's the one that always makes him look a little crazy in the eyes as he tries to rationalize whatever new and insane thing he's encountering next.

"You're looking pretty together for a guy that should be be in a million itty-bitty charred pieces, I gotta say." Ah yes, the best way to deal with trauma: tasteless jokes. "Do I even wanna ask how that happened?" He does. But does Pratt want to tell him?

"They do. Don't get me wrong, I've had some interesting new experiences. But the good food is usually reserved for guys who aren't living on a stolen ship of escaped convicts. The kinds of places where people like us could buy food supplies weren't exactly five star if you know what I mean?"

Pratt pauses, noting that slightly deranged smile, realizing he's the cause of it and trying to figure out a way to explain literally anything without coming off like a complete psychopath. Which he isn't, he'd like to think of himself as maybe 40% psychotic.

"I can explain but it's all going to sound fucking insane so maybe I shouldn't? Literally cults and cannibals and brainwashing and torture and a prophecy from God himself." He sets his food to the side to sip at his soda, "But the not being in pieces thing is cuz I got brought here and reassembled, pretty sure. I didn't ask that specifically, I think I didn't want to know."

At least he has enough of his sanity right now to not drop something like: it's fine bro, we're not real, we're just copies; on a guy who just got here.

"Space convicts sounds so much cooler than it has any right to. Why were you a space criminal? "

Crichton gestures around theatrically at the ship they are on. "Insane? More insane than where we are right now?"

He may have spoken too soon.

Cults and cannibals, brainwashing and torture, and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Just when Crichton thought he couldn't meet someone with a more frelled-up life story to tell. Never say never.

"Can't say I blame you. Someone puts your Humpty Dumpty back together and you don't wanna seem ungrateful about it. Makes sense." What a normal conversation they are having. It's about to get even better.

"For the record, it started as an accident." Oh boy, here we go.

"I was flying a solo mission in my experimental ship, Farscape One. In the middle of her maiden voyage, a wormhole opened up and swallowed me down. I got shot out galaxies away from Earth right into the middle of Star Wars worthy space battle. My ship collided with another ship and sent it spinning into an asteroid. I couldn't avoid it.

"Before I was able to get my bearings, one of the ships pulled me in. Turns out, she was a prison ship and the convicts onboard were in the middle of staging an escape. They thought I could help them somehow. I um. I did, actually. We were being fired upon and I had no clue what the hell was going on so I helped them run. I mean, between that and the fact that the guy who's ship I clipped happened to be the beloved brother of the Captain of the vessel that was trying to recapture us, let's just say my chances were looking a lot better with the convicts than the Peacekeepers."

Pratt's eyes widen, because he loves hearing stories about crazy shit other people have done, and even more so when it's in motherfucking space.

"Okay that is rad as shit? Obviously, that sucks for you since you got sucked away from Earth to the other side of the galaxy, but that's a hell of a story. What happened with the dude who's brother you accidentally launched into an asteroid? He trying to hunt you down?"

"I'm flattered, I guess." It's the beginning of one hell of a story, really.

"You got it in one. He did hunt me down. Went damn near crazy with his lust for revenge. I had him dogging my tail for months. But then, uh. Some things changed." Where to even start with that? "Long story short, we ended up sharing a mutual enemy so he kinda teamed up with us. I wouldn't say we became friends but he..."

Crichton clears his throat, a sudden lump rising up in it. "He turned out to be more than I took him for. He sacrificed himself for me and my crew. Went out with a bang."

"Oh hell." Every sentence is a journey there, with an ending he did not predict.

"Well, I guess good you guys buried the hatchet in a way, better than him killing you for something that wasn't even intentional. Sucks it had to end that way - could have had a sweet buddy team up through space." He sighs, "Sorry man, all of that sounds fucking rough. And then to end up here... "

Crichton just sort of scrubs a hand over his face. Did they bury the hatchet? It sounded like his other self and Crais did. That... that would be too much to even try and explain.

"We came to an understanding. He eventually forgave me for the accident. And I... mostly forgave him for the shit he put me and my crew through. I don't know if we ever quite made it to buddy status." He was always too afraid to ask about the details between the other Crichton and Crais. He always thought there'd be more time for that later...

"Yeah. Still not sure what to make of this. On the one hand, it feels nice to return to something halfway familiar. But this little vacation is happening at a pretty inopportune time. I need to get back to my ship. Everyone on Moya must be freaking out by now."

"It's something anyway. Sorry about all the rest of it though, sounds like shit."

And then he looks away because Pratt is many things, but one thing he's not is a good liar. He's always been terrible at flat out lying. Pre-cult his cocksure attitude was great for exaggerating to epic proportions, but actual lies? Anyone for miles around could see through them.

"Yeaaaaah. Probably." He's sure they're freaking out about something but it's not that Crichton is here, because for them - he's not. He's totally still back home having space adventures while this version of him is stuck on a boat. "Moya is the ..planet? Or is that the ship? And it's not super bad here or hasn't been for me anyway. Don't let people try and scare you with the Battle Royale shit cuz that was months ago and nothing like that has happened since."

He would like to talk about anything other than being the guy to break it to newcomers that they're copies. He's not ready to have the 'would you fuck your clone' conversation with people who are going to freak out about it. Though for the record: He absolutely would.

"Eh," he waves the thought off, "Don't worry. I've made bigger and badder enemies since him." Crichton, why would that not be a thing to worry about??

Hm, but it really doesn't take a genius to realize something's off. That shift in posture ain't subtle, dude. Was it something Crichton said? Lucky for Pratt, that change of topic has Crichton's attention again already.

"Moya's the ship. She, and I do mean that literally because she's a living sentient being, is where I'm calling home right now. But, just hold on a second. What's this about a Battle Royale?"

"Moving on up in the world of people trying to kill you." Pratt nods approvingly like that's just the normal way of the world or something.

"Uh, yeah Battle Royale and everyone killing each other and your ship is alive?" Oh no, they're not talking about anything on this boar when there is a living ship somewhere?

"What do you mean she's alive? Are you in her stomach like a whale? Is it cool AI robotics shit?"

It is taking everything in him to not ask if this guy lives inside SHODAN. Literally every ounce of willpower he has.

"You have no idea." Both of them are insane. They should not be proud of this like it's an achievement. And yet.

"So, assuming that the killing wasn't permanent or else this ship would have a lot more ghosts?" Just so he's clear.

"Yes, alive. She's part organic, part machine. But, she was designed specifically with carrying passengers in mind so, no, we aren't all riding around in her belly like a whale. She has all the normal things you'd find on a ship."

It's even cooler than that, Pratt! Just wait until you find out more.

"Nah you come back if you get killed. Just wake up the next day good as new. Or well, I guess good as you were before you got killed anyway." He's not gonna get carried away there, because for example: he woke up after being killed with a knife in him.

"Having trouble picturing that, so she's an organic machine that's meant to be a ship but... do you pilot it? Or does she go where she wants? And if you do pilot it does she get to do uh.. ship... things? You know like a horse or something where you gotta give it field time and enrichment and stuff."

"I guess that's handy? Do people drop dead here often?" He asks, while terrified of the answer. He got punched by a guy his first hour here, so he might already know.

"I'd draw you a picture if I could. Basically, Leviathans were designed and bred to carry people. They have a symbiotic relationship with a different species called Pilots who, you guessed it, are the ones in charge of flying them. We ask Pilot to take us where we want, and he does. Usually. Their entire purpose is to serve passengers. Obviously, we do our best to be good passengers. They're part of the family, both of them."

A horse might be the closest approximate, but Moya is so much more. She's home, but she's also their friend and defender. She's nearly given her life for them countless times, and they've done the same for her.

"She was being held prisoner too, the same as the rest of the crew. The Peacekeepers had a control collar on her that would shock her if she didn't do what they said. We freed her from it, and she escaped with us. So, that's part of why she's been so loyal to us all this time."

"I don't think so? I got killed, but that was my fault and I started that shit so... I dunno if anyone else has died recently but they'd have to tell me. And then I'd have to remember. So we're working with some real incomplete info here." His memory is so bad he may not remember this conversation. Time will tell!

"Man, I never thought I'd hear that someone had imprisoned a whole ass ship. Space is fucking crazy." And he has no idea how little he even knows about it. "Aww that's kinda sweet, like a big family and their ship. I bet they're fine man, you guys sound like you've got that kinda.. you know scrappy sort of charisma to get through ordeals. You know?"

"Okay. Fair enough." He laughs. He just has to. Or the insanity of a man telling him he's died multiple times might break what's left of his psyche.

"That's just the tip of the iceberg man. I wish I could say space made everyone nicer people." But it sure did not.

"You know. You're right. We've been through some tough scrapes. Made it through things we had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving. Either by dumb luck or playing some long odds. I gotta keep the faith."

"I don't think anything makes people nicer. They're people. There'll be like two nice people, three people faking it, and then twenty complete shitbags. That's kinda the ratio we're working with literally everywhere. And usually the shitbags stomp all over the nice people so you don't even get the nice." He clearly has some high opinions of his fellow man.

"When you find people who aren't douches, gotta keep 'em. They're rare."

"Yeah, I hear that. When even those nice ones are conscripted into a subjugating military regime, it takes a while to coax the niceness back out of them." Ah, space Fascism, everyone's favorite.

"I'll say this much about my little ragtag crew, we are a rare bunch. Mostly not douches, 'cept for Rygel."

"Dude the military fuuuuuucks people up. And I say that as a Deputy which is sorta.. military adjacent. Shit messes with you."

He nods tho, "Mostly not douches is kinda the best you can hope for. Is Rygel the Supreme douchebag?"

New ship, who dis? [Open]

Eating!

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cw: child soldiers

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okay with wrapping this one here?

Sounds good!