Greet the (New) Meat! (no, don't eat them!)

[cityship]

By hook or by crook or by avoiding hook and crook, the crew assembled from the previous podpops eventually made it up to the Living Area to greet their new crew mates. The creepy sculpture was also there, though less to greet them than it was always there.

The strange, fleshy seating had multiplied. You really, really don't want to know how.

Comments

[prettycoolguy]

"I'm trying," the Chief replies, though the presence of another human is somewhat reassuring. He accepts the handshake. There's something about this guy, he's clearly older than John but there's a... sense to him. Like he's more than he seems, but it's just a flicker of a gut feeling and it's quickly gone. Easily attributed to general stress.

"Do you know what this place is? The disembodied voice is decidedly unhelpful."

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

Wednesday lets out a hiss through his breath as their hands touch. His grip is firm - firmer than it seems like a man of his age and slight paunch should have. "It's a starship. Might as well be a British merchantman for as much as I actually know about it past that, but..." He shrugs lightly.

[prettycoolguy]

"So it is a ship." Hooray for confirmed suspicions. This also makes the AI... slightly more sense-making? Though it's unusual for an AI to be given this much run of a ship, he supposes that the creepy podroom might well be an automated process by this thing's weird standards.

"Does this ship have a captain, or is it run by the AI?"

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

"Well, there's a... 'captain'," and he makes vague air-quotes, "but I doubt that really means anything, seeing as how the ship hasn't bothered to tell her anything more than the rest of us."

"You're a soldier," he adds absently. Well, he could have figured that out from John's stance and bearing, right? "A very good one, am I right?"

[prettycoolguy]

"So the ship runs itself?" This is getting better and better. He's on a weird organic ship apparently run by an AI, possibly rampant, with a bunch of kidnapped people.

"Yes." He nods once. It's not so much a lack of humility as it is just fact. John is a good soldier. That's most of his identity right there.

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

Wednesday nods. "It's brought us here for some kind of mission, but can't be bothered to say quite what..." He shrugs. "I used to be a soldier myself - quite a long time ago." That would probably explain his glass right eye, at least.

[prettycoolguy]

"Are many of the, er, other crew members soldiers or ex-soldiers?" And indeed, that does explain the eye. "If so, I have a hunch that whatever we're being asked to do isn't going to be easy."

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

"Not particularly, but many have their own—special talents. I do believe that that's likely to be the case."

[prettycoolguy]

"Nothing ever is, anyway. Who are you, if you don't mind...?"

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

"Wednesday," he says broadly, and there's a sense of ownership in his tone. "It's always been a good day for me. Mr. Wednesday, and you are—?"

[prettycoolguy]

"Spartan-117. Master Chief or just Chief, informally," he replies. He's gotten especially used to "Chief". As far as Wednesday goes, it seems like an odd name to John. But he really, really has no room to talk.

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

"Well, good to meet you, m'boy," Wednesday says. "Might I ask your specialty? I suppose it would be too much to hope that anyone on this ship besides me knows how to properly throw a spear..."

[prettycoolguy]

"Likewise. I've carried everything from small arms to rocket launchers, though I'm most used to automatic rifles." A spear? Wow. Weren't those made out of wood and stuff?

"I've never seen a real spear."

[anoldtrickster.livejournal.com]

"Are you going to say you've never seen a real sword too, then?" Wednesday's hand taps lightly, in an absent gesture, at the hilt of the scimitar in the scabbard at his waist. "It seems like they're not even bothering with the fundamentals these days..."