maced_eggs | Post-It: ETD 00:01am

[Spam for the Dining Room, Morning]

[Last night, Mason, Grim Reaper, age 27 and dead for the last forty years, shucked off his muddy, blood-stained clothes and fell asleep on a couch in his Union Jack underwear.

This morning, Mason, still dead, wakes up on the Barge.

Mason's never been much of what anyone might call "consciously aware", or "observant." For example; he fails to observe he is not in his home when he wakes up. He fails to observe that all of his clothes have gone missing.

What he does observe is that he is bloody starving, and needs a very, very large breakfast to erase the nightmare of the day before. So after failing to observe that he is completely pantsless, Mason shuffles out of his room and off to find food.

Which is why, still half asleep and very nearly naked, is a man barging through the breakfast bar gathering up as many miniature cereal boxes in his arms as he possibly can. He doesn't merely stop when they're all gone: systematically, he goes around to every table he nears and plucks them from unsuspecting eaters when he guesses they're not looking.

Arms loaded with cereal, the mysterious, nearly naked man attempts to make a retreat.

He doesn't yet have the capacity to guess where he is at the moment, aside from the completely unhelpful "Not at home." But at least there will always be Fruit Loops.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

maced_eggs

Uhm. Not you, for one.

Rube. Rube gives me orders. An' I don't see a fuckin' nametag on you callin' yourself that.

You're not a reaper.

From:

neverfeltbetter

My name is John Crichton. I don't know anyone on here who goes by Rube.

And what do you mean, reaper?

From:

maced_eggs

Mine is Mason. I don't answer to any fuckin' "John Crichton."

I don't mean anything by 'reaper'. You're high, man. You don't know what you're saying.

From:

neverfeltbetter

Fine, don't answer to me.

[He closes his eyes, counting to five in his head while his hand not supporting the tray flexes at his side.]

Just listen to me. You are not home anymore, and unless you start listening, you aren't going to get home for a long ass time. Does that compute?

From:

maced_eggs

[mercifully, Mason shuts up for all of two seconds. He's never been good arguing with people in charge, and he squints a little at Crichton, resentful and sullen]

What if I don't have a home? What if I am homeless?

I'm not saying I am. Or that this is loitering.

But I am. I am homeless and this is the first place I've seen with free food and I would like to stay where the food is, please and thank you.

From:

neverfeltbetter

[Crichton wishes he could be more surprised to hear that, but it sort of fits.]

I'm sorry about that, but, we'll see how you feel when things start getting interesting around here. Rumor has it, it won't be long...

[He considers just leaving it at that, but he's feeling a pang of sympathy for the guy. For Christ's sake he doesn't even have any pants.]

Mason, you don't have to leave. You can't now, you're stuck, but one day you're going to graduate, well I hope so, and when that happens you'll be a warden like me. When you're a warden you can go home any time, but it doesn't mean you have to. You can stay here as long as you want to.

From:

maced_eggs

Johnny, I've no idea what the fuck you're talking about.

I know what I am and I know what I am not and I don't want to be no fucking warden, yes? Bein' stuck on a boat, there isn't a lot of difference between being that and being stuck in Seattle. At least the boat goes places.

From:

neverfeltbetter

I swear to god Mason, can you just listen?!

Look, I don't think you got to worry too much about it; I have a feeling it'll be a while. And, oh yeah, we go places. We go to hell and back sometimes.

Do yourself a favor and get some friends that are good fighters. Things are gonna get ugly again sooner or later, and running isn't always and option on here.

From:

maced_eggs

Right.

Right.

How do I do that, again?

Also, why do you assume that I cannot fight? I can be a bloody good fighter. I've got the technique.

From:

neverfeltbetter

How do you do what? Make friends? Getting some pants on might be a start.

[In theory anyway.]

You don't look like a fighter. A scrapper maybe...but, unless you've got some super powers hidden somewhere in those underpants, I'm guessing you're outclassed by about half this boat. I'm being generous.

From:

maced_eggs

Right. I'll get some. You just watch. I'll find the best fuckin' trousers on this ship.

[And he will. Too bad they're yours, Crichton]

What if I did have superpowers?

From:

neverfeltbetter

Good. Make it soon, huh?

[Well, he's right. They are the best.]

If you had superpowers, I wouldn't still be holding this tray would I?

From:

maced_eggs

I will. I will make it soon.

I'm only allowed to use them under special circumstances. You...are alive. You are not dead.

Ergo.

Cannot use.

From:

neverfeltbetter

Whatever that 'power' is supposed to be, it's not going to do you any good here. 'specially not in a fight. That's assuming you can still use it at all.

From:

maced_eggs

I can still use it. Why the fuck would I not be able to use it? S'the easiest thing in the world.

From:

neverfeltbetter

I keep trying to tell ya, the rules are different here. Inmates come in with a lot less power than they normally have. The Admiral makes it so.

From:

maced_eggs

[Cautiously, Mason reaches out and puts his hand on Crichton. He's feeling for a soul, looking for something he can clutch onto, grab, ease out. He'd put it back right away, of course.

But there's nothing. No handle he can grasp. And the shock on his face is enough to let John know that his powers are failing to register]

From:

neverfeltbetter

Should I ask what you just tried to do to me, or should I just be grateful it didn't work?

From:

maced_eggs

It didn't work. Why didn't it work?

[Now both hands come out, patting Crichton gently all up and down his arms. Mason is tres confused. Pat. Pat pat. Pat pat pat.]

Fuck me...