anomaly 007 . post-fourth wall . spam, video

[dinosize]

[ He's been worrying himself sick since the day came and went. Nick could be gone forever. He probably is gone forever. Stephen has been certain for weeks now that he never truly wants to go back to the ARC, but hearing that he will never see Nick again has gutted him.

He occupies himself cleaning and scouring his cabin. It doesn't even matter, does it? This is all illusion. But he does it anyway, scrubbing up every stain and erasing every bit of dust. ]

[ spam ]

[ Bags of trash gather out in the hallway on level 8, outside cabin 11, things from the closets and basement that he'll probably never use again. Old blankets, ripped clothes, broken equipment. Dusty novels. Eventually a nice smell spreads, like slow-cooking beef or venison, and a large pot of stew shows up on a potholder in the 8th level common room. ]

[ video ]

[ Just a brief post - ] Bit of stew out in the common room on the 8th level. I made too much for just me.

It's from those things like deer, last port.

[ private to friends. acquaintances? people he's starting to know. Later. ]

Are a lot of you dead?

[ He's a few pints down. Wishing he couldn't still think. ]

Comments

[dinosize]

Stop calling me that.

[warisart]

[To which Ben doesn't say anything, merely looks on expectantly.]

[dinosize]

Do I look like a 'sir'?

[warisart]

You are a male representative of a sentient species.

[dinosize]

Last time I checked.

[warisart]

My point is that you technically qualify and it is, on my part, habit.

What did you mean, Stephen?

[dinosize]

That it hardly matters.

[ It keeps feeling, to him, like nothing really matters. ]

[warisart]

Of course it matters.

[dinosize]

Then doesn't it matter that we trust them?

[warisart]

Don't attempt to falsely justify a lack of forethought with a cursory moral obligation inherent to our positions.

[dinosize]

God. What is this about? Is it Anya?

[warisart]

Is what Anya?

[dinosize]

Who cares this much about a pot of stew?

[warisart]

Nine months and two weeks ago, an inmate named Hannibal Lecter lured and killed three other inmates, removed one organ or body part each, and later attempted to feed those body parts back to their originators. The entire affair deeply affected my inmate.

In addition, there are several inmates on board that would likely not turn down a chance to create an entertaining debacle, ranging in severity from mild to fatal.

I do not underst-...


[Ben stops, swallows, and looks away. He's not lying, those are all concerns, but abruptly he's not so sure it isn't Anya.]

[dinosize]

[ Stephen's hit a nerve, that much he can tell, but it was probably just because he pushed somewhere he knew was raw. It wasn't called for. ]

Sorry.

I didn't know any of that.

[warisart]

I know.

[Ben's voice is even, toneless when he replies, and if it weren't for the way he swipes quickly at his eyes it would be very easy to mistake him for calm.

The X5 breathes out, and tries again. Always, always tries again.]

Please be wary.

[dinosize]

I will.

[ He means it, this time. ]

[warisart]

Thank you.

[There isn't much more Ben has to say; he hesitates a moment, but then cuts the line.]