YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT

[sictransitgloriamundi]

WHO: the Captain + You
WHAT: contractually obligated price is right game
WHEN: 11/18, like nightish?
WHERE: Bellona Theater
WARNINGS: N/A, currently

[you've heard the announcement, the sound of Friday's cautious optimism as she spoke it. you've waited all day. now, it's time for the game.

the amount of effort that has gone into this production at Bellona can be safely defined as “minimal.” there are three podiums, with three slate boards and three pieces of chalk. there is another podium, currently empty, next to a plain folding table. there is a tablecloth draped over the table, covering a lumpy, inscrutable shape.

the most remarkable thing is the giant wheel set up on the other side of the empty podium. the slices of the giant circle are colorful, but also completely blank. the Captain actually spends 30 minutes prior to the start of the event simply sitting in front of it, back to the audience, and spinning it, listening to the loud clacking noise pick up and then die down again, before spinning it once more.

clackclackclack clack clack. clack. clackclackclackclackclack.

it's gonna be a long night.]

Comments

[goodweather]

Oh, come on, Erin, even Phil knows that you can't constantly lecture a teenager. Most people don't appreciate that, let alone the demographic that's struggling to not be talked down to, given lectures, and taught life lessons all the time. That's why Phil and Darcy dunk on each other instead.

It... he's sure he doesn't have the full picture even now, but it does sound a little bit like she's overcompensating, isn't she? Not that... not that she's necessarily out of line for it, all considered. But.

(Phil inhales again, casting glances around the room as he fidgets and picks at his seat, talons digging into the fabric. Fuck, can Erin, like, turn that thing off?)

"Ugh. I can imagine. Had an older sister once who tried that with me. Mostly it just made her a nag." He appreciates the effort in hindsight, though. "That's... yeah, fuck. I'm sorry."

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

"Mm. Sucks."

She surreptitiously adjusts herself in her seat so her elbow leans against him, trying to offer some sort of comfort for whatever's making him nervous.

[goodweather]

His posture softens, tension unwinding as he feels her elbow against him. If someone sees him lean back a little just so they're pressing against each other, no they don't.

It's clearly a big deal, however much Darcy wants to keep the tone down by pretending it isn't, and in a better state he might like to follow up on it a little. But there's a lot going on right now between the game show and the "slaver" comment and the fucking gunshots happening across the auditorium.

"... Ugh, shit, do you... do you know what that thing is around her? I mean the sounds and all of that?"

Look at him go, keeping it together. If this were five years ago he'd probably be on the floor or something. He's getting such a good grade in coping.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Magic bullshit. I don't think she can turn it off."

Darcy reaches into her pocket to withdraw her ipod and headphones, offering it over without looking in his direction.

[goodweather]

"Yeah, yeah, of course it is," Phil grumbles as he takes the offering. He wipes the headphones on his shirt and plugs them in, scrolling through to find the most ear-blasty song. Fuck his eardrums. He doesn't need to hear all the way across the ship anyway.

He slumps a bit in his seat, ignoring the way it musses with his feathers. "I hate magic."

[saltwaterlungs]

Lucky for Phil, Darcy is a teenage goth. If he can't find something to permanently damage his hearing between the metal and the electronica and various niche subgenres therein of both, he's not looking hard enough. The most recent ly played playlists are 'workout vibes' 'the best of Daft Punk' and one mysteriously entitled 'us'.

"I know," leans her elbow a little more firmly into him, "fuck magic ehn?"

[goodweather]

"Yeah. Fuck magic."

He hits something random on the workout playlist because he figures they'll have the most emphasis on rhythm, and stops for a second when he sees the playlist labeled "us." He assumes that this is either leftovers from Darcy's breakup or one made in the aftermath, some typical teenage drama stuff. He'll ignore it either way.

(He ponders briefly about the kinds of playlists couples put together, dramatic and cheesy and the titles they give them; he's seen a couple that were just a mess of heart emojis, others that sounded like sappy lines from amateur poetry. The one Rita put together consisted mostly of ABBA and was called "two groundhogs sitting in a tree.")

...

He kicks the volume a couple notches higher.

[saltwaterlungs]

It's Death Grips. So, y'know. It'll definitely cover the noise.

Darcy gestures in a way to indicate that she'll get his attention when the final round happens.

[goodweather]

It's not too far off from some of the stuff he listens to on his rock playlists. Not to mention that it's Darcy music, and he appreciates the generosity with which it was given; as it is, it's actually doing pretty well to keep his head screwed on straight.

So he just nods and crosses his arms, burrowing into his seat, watching the show happen on mute.