trans_9 | Supply Run [Open to Brainy and others in location]

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Supply Run [Open to Brainy and others in location]

It had been nice of the ship to leave him with at least a few of his boomerangs, but Owen felt almost naked with his arsenal depleted so much. Not to mention the fact that this place allegedly got intermittent lethal bug problems. To that end, he needed tools, he needed supplies, and he needed a place to work. Asking around with both the ship and it's inhabitants had pointed him towards the Special Weapons division.

He poked his head in once he got there, looking around. "Yo? Anyone here?"

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Click.

Owen looked down, surprised that he was done already. "Ah... slick." He looked over the boomerang with a frown. It wasn't as smooth as he'd like. Enough force in the throw and practiced skill could compensate, but it was ugly. He briefly flicked the switch for it on and off, the crackling of electricity appearing and vanishing. He nodded his head to the side as he figured it would do for now.

He let himself get used to the heft and balance of it, shifting it from finger to finger. "So how old are you? If you mature anything like humans, by the look of you I'd guess you're at the age to be discovering girls and all their wonderful traits..." He grinned lightly.

"Mentally, Coluans mature much faster than most other species. Colu adheres to the galactic age of consent, 14, wherein most species in the UP are considered legal adults, and that's being generous. There is often talk of lowering the age for Colu, but there is contention from other planets due to Coluans physically maturing more slowly."

Basically, it would kinda freak people out if little midget Coluans ran around acting like adults when they looked like twelve-year-olds.

"I'm twenty years-old, myself."

I.E. long past the age of noticing girls.

He looks a tetch younger, closer to sixteen or seventeen, possibly, but Coluans in general have an ageless kinda quality. Two-hundred-year-olds look like they're in their twenties. It's all just...stttreeeeetched out.

Edited 2009-08-10 05:40 (UTC)

Owen started tossing the boomerang from hand to hand, moving to set the lab door open to give himself some throwing room. "Freaky... for me anyway. Not trying to harsh on other-culture standards. Scuze me for a sec."

He flings the boomerang out the door, flipping the switch as it leaves his hand. It crackles to life, electricity spraying off of it in wild tendrils even as it begins to arc back. The current seems to fade as it draws closer, being only extended slightly by the time Owen reaches out at super-speed to pluck it from the air and switch it off in the same motion.

"Awesome." He kisses it, then slips it into one of his jacket's holsters. "One down.... a lot to go."

"Is there a reason you favor such a primitive delivery system for the payloads of your weapons or are you simply maintain tradition for the sake of sentimentality?" Brainy asks, with some disgust in his words at the second option.

Owen gave him a flat look, then lightened up. He wasn't very good at grudges anymore.

"It's what I'm good at." He started getting more scraps so he could work on the flamethrower one. "And besides that, I..." He scratches his head. "It's weird, I know inherited abilities don't work like this at all, so maybe it's just some mental block from PTSD, but... I only figure this stuff out when it applies to boomerangs." He shrugs.

"I can pack a boomerang with as much horsepower as a '67 Chevy, but I can't fix a shorted out microwave oven."

"The same principles apply. Both rely on the same primitive technology," Brainy says somewhat snidely.

"Boy you're picky, ain't'cha?" Owen shakes his head, raising an eyebrow. "You going through Pon-Farr or something?"

He squints one eye shut as he starts work on a miniaturized high-yield heating coil. Liquid accelerants are easier, but probably harder to replace in this locale. This'll have to do. Note to self, only catch this one at superspeed, usual friction-shield should compensate.

"And what, precisely, is pon farr?"

Despite acting like one, and having ~~hit on~~ met one, he doesn't know a ton about Vulcans, though he does know about their biology.

... Because he scanned it. Yes.

"This hormone thing these really smart race of people go through where they really need to get laid, or they wind up killing someone." Owen quips as he starts reworking the casing.

There is the crash as Brainy slams a piece of equipment into the worktable.

"I am not sexually repressed!"

Koko jumps behind Owen, latching onto his back.

Owen just blinks, closing up the casing on the boomerang.

"Okay, dude. Here's my rule of thumb." He cleared his throat, drawing himself up, and pointing one finger upwards in a 'matter of fact' gesture.

"If you have to think for more than a second, or I guess in your brain's case, a nanosecond, to remember the last time you got laid, it's been too long."

"Why are so many humans absolutely insistent that not obsessing over reproduction is unusual? You're not the first one on the ship that's said it, and I sincerely doubt you'll be the last," Brainy tirades. "You're all fixated. When will you all understand that many other species lack the same reproductive instincts and don't mate nearly as often as humans do?"

Edited 2009-08-13 09:10 (UTC)

Owen grins, maintaining his scholarly pose. "First off, if you're doing it right, you want to do it a lot. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with celibacy if that's what makes you happy, but... if you're gonna react like that." He points at the table. "Then something's up."

He leans back against the table he'd been working at. "Anyone could tell within two minutes around you that you're mind-bashingly smart, but that doesn't mean you can't let yourself be a person too." He smirks. "You're a lot more like humans than some humans I know. Mostly ones with pointy ears from Gotham, mind ya."

"There's nothing 'up.' I'm merely...irritated that so many here are insisting I should be something," he says, sitting back down again and frowning as he goes about fixing what he just broke.

"In my time, there's considerable contact between different planets and cultural and individual differences aren't often treated as...aberrant by others. Although there is some culture clash, it's often socially unacceptable to insist someone else is somehow defective because of cultural differences."

Owen practically sputters. "I didn't say you were defective! I said you're kinda like humans."

"That's not what I'm referring to. I'm referring to the fact that several individuals on this ship have spoken to me as I'm somehow mentally defective because I'm not as obsessed with procreation as humans are," Brainy counters, "It's as if they've somehow, against all reason, been unable to discern that I'm not human. The Doctors in Medical clearly need to force the entire crew to endure eye examinations, to check their visual acuity."

Metron's chair, people, he's green. How have you missed this?

"Well... yeah, you're green. Coluan, you said, right? Just..." He shrugs. "I dunno. You talk like someone I could've been hanging out in college. Similar culture, so.. I made a guess." Owen really wasn't trying to upset anyone. He likes people, even alien-people.

Even potentially arrogant full of themselves computer-descended alien people.

With helper monkeys.

Actually, they aren't computer-descended--they were nearly taken over by computers, however. Those darned computer tyrants.

"Yes, I am Coluan. Not the average, stereotypical human--what are they called? One of the words you have for you subcultures of intellectuals? We don't have a word for it in Interlac and I never bothered to learn English--it's a crude and inefficient language that will eventually die out. The closest word is 'foob.'"

He snaps his fingers.

"Nerd."

He'd nearly shoved the word right out of his Lexicon, with all the other useless garbage he shoved out rather than waste the brainspace on.

"I am not a human 'nerd.' My behavior is...largely--" Not entirely, but mostly. "--within the cultural norms for my own species."

At least on the sexual end. On the blowing-stuff-up-in-the-name-of-science- end, being-nice-to-AIs end, and socializing-with-other-people end, they're all arrogant fucksticks, but he's a bit of an odd duck in comparison. But on the sexual end, he's normal.

~~They're ALL repressed. >.>~~

Edited 2009-08-13 09:41 (UTC)

"I never called you a nerd. and you seem to speak English just fine."

He shrugs and sits down again, clearing a space to work on some standard boomerangs and a couple razors.

"So... they still have beer in the future?" He was perfectly content to reduce things to small-talk now, devoting himself to mindless off-hand work, and much less tension.

"The ship's translation unit is only maintaining the illusion that I'm speaking English. I'm actually speaking Interlac at the moment," Brainy says. "To my ears, you're also speaking Interlac, but I assumed if you're from 20th or 21st century Earth and associate with heroes in the North American continent that you would be speaking English."

To answer his question, "Yes, people still imbibe the foul concoction in a multitude of varieties and variations from planet to planet."

Owen chuckles to himself, sharpening an edge. "Sounds like the future's in good shape then. Have to go visit Mom sometime."

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Supply Run [Open to Brainy and others in location]

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