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

[spam]

[routemistress]

Our Riddick does bloody good bread. I think 'e got into pummeling dough when 'e 'as to stop 'imself pummelling everyone around 'im. Both them mates of yours looked all set to come 'ere and get you. I'd've come and said 'ello, but, well.

[She eyes him with the slightly detached affection of someone who can't entirely see what's bothering Stephen, but hates that he's being bothered.]

There's worse places to be while you're dead and alive. There's time, 'ere outside space and time, if you see what I mean.

[spam]

[dinosize]

[ She saw.

He winces, settling down on one of the chairs. He should have been more careful to lock it. ]

Yeah.

[ Better here than ceasing to exist entirely, he supposes. He doesn't say any more. ]

[spam]

[routemistress]

[If Iris knew him just a little better, this is where she would hug him. She doesn't, but she does lay an affectionate hand on his arm.]

I'm sorry, sweetheart, I am. And I don't want to be all annoyingly cheerful and optimist at you - I mean, that's what I am, I can't 'elp that, I'm afraid, I just don't want to be obnoxious with it, if you get me.

But 'ey. You're in a place where you're breathing and walking and 'ave a chance of changing things.

[spam]

[dinosize]

[ He understand what she means in the abstract, as far as 'annoyingly cheerful' goes. But in practice, he doesn't really get it. Why would he want to police whatever she feels? It's tiring. ]

You can be cheerful if you like. Your life's not about me.

[spam]

[routemistress]

No, petal, but you're my friend and I don't like you being miserable.

Tell me about your mates. The rather attractive Scotsman and the little one with the 'at. You've got the knack of inspiring devotion, 'aven't you, lovey?

[spam]

[dinosize]

Nick. The Scotsman is Nick Cutter. He was a professor of mine, and then my friend.

Connor is the other one. Expert on ancient creatures. Bit of a geek, really, but loyal. He has a lot of growing to do.

Had, I suppose.