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trans_92011-11-11 02:14 pm
hates-deadites.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-11-11 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
Shop smart: shop S-Mart! [open]
Click click click click.
"There." Ash was rather proud of his menial little accomplishment as he stood with one metal hand on his hip and the other clutching a price labler gun, surveying his store.
"That's the whole aisle." His imaginary, sensorium created store, but his store none-the-less.
Last shore-leave he participated in did him a lot of good; he unarguably wore the whole cowboy get-up very well and if he had half a mind about it, he would have just stayed on that dirtball. Living inside Stacy was just... bizarre. He had explored on his on own time, deciding that spending a night in those claustrophobic sleeping pods was nothing like sleeping on a real bed in the crew quarters. He admittedly found a great attraction to the Media Library but could only handle so many hours of mindless TV (which is a lot of hours in Ash's case, mind you) before he felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. The Art Hall was just downright creepy. The City offered a lot but he felt like he had barely mapped any of it out. It was surprisingly expansive and daunting for being inside a space ship... though he had become rather intimately acquainted the Drunken Dragon through Nima. In fact, somewhere between the mishmash of ancient buildings and temples, alien construction, and random crumbling structures the idea of finding a place to call his own (for more intimate encounters) seemed pretty plausible with how damn huge the City was.
However, with talks of dragons roaming around there lately, Ash, frankly, wanted nothing to do with it and could deal with sleeping on bunk beds if it meant keeping his business out of the City until someone called the super-sized space exterminators. Deadites? Sure, he could take 'em out. Hell, he even battled the undead in a medieval setting where he would have expected to find some scaly winged beast (and just as well would have expected it to also be undead) trying to make a meal out of him. But Here? Now? Space Dragons? The Chosen One didn't want to deal with it. Not. His. Problem.
You know what The Chosen One wanted? He wanted normal. He wanted Earth, he wanted home, he wanted mundane, he wanted S-Mart. Ash could imagine the rows of aisles filled with shelves of food, toys, appliances, racks of clothes, the ever looming banners reminding you where you were, his own blue uniform complete with tie and name tag, the employee lounge (even the broken handle on men's bathroom door), blue light specials and senior citizen discount days now...
The deadite with the lazy eye standing in line for the register holding a pack of diapers...
NO. No. Ash squeezed his eyes shut and willed the persistent image away. He had boxes to put away and long stories to bore his artificial co-workers and customers with and NOTHING was going to ruin that. Nothing. Not even his own stupid mind.
His first tentative tests with the sensoriums when he discovered them were totally mind blowing. Once he got the hang of it, he could have happily stayed here forever. It was the next best thing to normalcy and all he had to do was think about it.
...He just had to try really hard to not think about any deadites coming along to ruin that, as that tended to happen...
HELLO,
MY NAME IS ASH.
HOUSEWARES
"There." Ash was rather proud of his menial little accomplishment as he stood with one metal hand on his hip and the other clutching a price labler gun, surveying his store.
"That's the whole aisle." His imaginary, sensorium created store, but his store none-the-less.
Last shore-leave he participated in did him a lot of good; he unarguably wore the whole cowboy get-up very well and if he had half a mind about it, he would have just stayed on that dirtball. Living inside Stacy was just... bizarre. He had explored on his on own time, deciding that spending a night in those claustrophobic sleeping pods was nothing like sleeping on a real bed in the crew quarters. He admittedly found a great attraction to the Media Library but could only handle so many hours of mindless TV (which is a lot of hours in Ash's case, mind you) before he felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. The Art Hall was just downright creepy. The City offered a lot but he felt like he had barely mapped any of it out. It was surprisingly expansive and daunting for being inside a space ship... though he had become rather intimately acquainted the Drunken Dragon through Nima. In fact, somewhere between the mishmash of ancient buildings and temples, alien construction, and random crumbling structures the idea of finding a place to call his own (for more intimate encounters) seemed pretty plausible with how damn huge the City was.
However, with talks of dragons roaming around there lately, Ash, frankly, wanted nothing to do with it and could deal with sleeping on bunk beds if it meant keeping his business out of the City until someone called the super-sized space exterminators. Deadites? Sure, he could take 'em out. Hell, he even battled the undead in a medieval setting where he would have expected to find some scaly winged beast (and just as well would have expected it to also be undead) trying to make a meal out of him. But Here? Now? Space Dragons? The Chosen One didn't want to deal with it. Not. His. Problem.
You know what The Chosen One wanted? He wanted normal. He wanted Earth, he wanted home, he wanted mundane, he wanted S-Mart. Ash could imagine the rows of aisles filled with shelves of food, toys, appliances, racks of clothes, the ever looming banners reminding you where you were, his own blue uniform complete with tie and name tag, the employee lounge (even the broken handle on men's bathroom door), blue light specials and senior citizen discount days now...
The deadite with the lazy eye standing in line for the register holding a pack of diapers...
NO. No. Ash squeezed his eyes shut and willed the persistent image away. He had boxes to put away and long stories to bore his artificial co-workers and customers with and NOTHING was going to ruin that. Nothing. Not even his own stupid mind.
His first tentative tests with the sensoriums when he discovered them were totally mind blowing. Once he got the hang of it, he could have happily stayed here forever. It was the next best thing to normalcy and all he had to do was think about it.
...He just had to try really hard to not think about any deadites coming along to ruin that, as that tended to happen...
MY NAME IS ASH.
HOUSEWARES
no subject
Her squealing grew louder and more high-pitched as she neared Ash, who, as far as she could tell, was the only worker in the store at the moment. "Excuse me! Can you tell me where I can find party poppers?"
Before giving him a chance to answer, she turned to a nearby deadite. "Ooh! I LOVE your hat!"
no subject
He stared. "Down the..." He was about to point her to the party aisle, but seeing as how they were all the party aisle, he stopped himself. Especially now noticing the party-prepped deadite.
"Hey! Get away from that thing!" Ash less-than-gently shoved Pinkie away. The deadite looked sad and felt a deep sadness inside his dead little heart.
Then Ash punched it in the face. It hit the floor and the party hat went flying. "I don't care how crazy you are, you stay away from those deadites. You got that?!"
no subject
"Hey, mister! What do you think you're doing, boxing without boxing gloves on? That's against the rules! Don't you know somepony might get hurt?"
Meanwhile, the deadite sprawled out on the floor was wearing bright red boxing gloves all of a sudden.