with_my_teacup

( Private messages-- evening, June 4 )

[Morning, June 5 - Public]

No speeches. I'm heading out in 24. Until then, you know where to find me.

[He's been a ghost the past month, packing, planning, easing himself out of his role in the kitchen; it won't be a shock. He goes without malice, but it's time.

He can be found in his room, open to anyone who wants a last word.]

[Locked to Arthas, Anya, Ben]
Look, can I get you all for about an hour on the night of the twenty-fifth? You don't have to make conversation, be social, look anyone in the eye or be pleasant. I just want you to sit down and eat.


( Gift list follows )

[Public]
[The feed opens on a simple poster with the hand-blocked words WE NEED HELP IN THE KITCHEN.]

Testing out a new option to save time. Specifically right now we need a warden supe for lunch shift, until Ben comes home. If you're not used to working on a line or feeding a lot of people, we won't drop you into combat with no training. Marsh and I will help you out.

Oh. Not related to the kitchen-- I smelled a still running last month. Whoever it is, I want to pick your brain about fermentation.


[Filtered to Iris]
Iris. You got some time this afternoon to talk weasel shit and entropy? I'm willing to barter for your know-how. [He lifts a bottle of oil into the feed; last christmas, he gave her a massage, because sometimes it seems like she metabolizes stress the same way Arthas eats death. And the feeding's been good on that score lately.]

[Public audio]
A couple orders of business.

First: we do have food, like Hart asked. We don't have enough capacity on fired or gas burning equipment to do our usual amount of hot food.

Second, and I know you're all tired of hearing this, but we're understaffed. However since this is a crisis I'm not looking for full time inmates-- I don't give a fuck, in fact. Inmate, warden, whatever, I'll take the help. If you've got cooking facilities in your room and you want to cook for friends, we'll give out the materials you run short on by a limited basis. I'd also appreciate help with securing kitchen equipment. Again, warden or inmate, as long as you prioritize food over fighting--and I ask because as a new inmate I definitely didn't and I absolutely would have used a crisis like this as cover to pocket a knife.

And last on the kitchen subject -- anyone with nonstandard abilities to put off a lot of heat. Don't kill yourself or anything, but if you can heat a percolator full of coffee with minimal effort I'd appreciate you putting in an hour or two around mealtime.

Third: on a personal note. I'm looking for any information on the following people--last scene, circumstances around their disappearance, were they in distress, anything about the following:
Anya Lensherr
Arthas Menethil
Ben
Megamind

This is Richard B Riddick calling out from the barge. Anyone interesting out there?

[He's feigning casual, but last year he was able to talk to Fry and Kyra and that wasn't a small deal for him.]

Is it 'share my rap sheet' week again? Gracious.

Since I've been kind of a home body and a lot of you are new; name's Richard Riddick. Breakfast shift warden, you've probably seen me behind the waffles.

Also a felon. Also sort of accidentally the head of a death cult. My rap sheet... you'd get bored if I went on all day; just sprinkle the words 'murder' and 'manslaughter' and 'aggravated assault' around liberally, chuck in some 'flight from justice' and a handful of counts of 'grand theft spacefaring vehicle' and you've got the picture. I've got a bodycount of my own.

And yes, to those who asked? I'm a warden. Mister Graham. [Prissyface at you, sir.]

This seems like a good segue into a point that keeps getting forgotten when new inmates roll in and old ones go out; there's barely, barely a behavioral code for wardens. You shouldn't ever trust someone just because they have the keys to the bar. We've had, and we'll have again, wardens who were outright amoral assholes openly looking for their paycheck. Ask your favourite lifer about the Terminator sometime. The qualifications for warden have nothing to do with virtue and everything to do with the ability to help someone else in a very specific way.

So stop thinking this is really about justice, about good people fixing bad people. Bullshit; whatever the admiral's reasons, all this place is for us is a long breather where we get our lives patched back up. It doesn't mean we're forgiven, it doesn't mean the slate's wiped clean, it means when we do get out it's because we learned how to live in a way that doesn't harm so many other people. Including ourselves. Don't think of this as a prison, because I know none of us were formally charged when we got dumped here. This is an unfriendly space phenomenon, a bad dream, the hostile planet we wrecked ourselves on. You don't escape it by fighting. You can't fight gravity with a shiv. You escape it by repairing your shit.

Redraw the lines in your mind, who's good, who's bad. If you question your own judgement, question it on what you observe for yourself, not what you've been told. Forget what you think about becoming a model citizen or making things right, and concentrate on the quality of your own life.

[Private to Arthas]

I was going to ask if it was a'ight to take a month off and try to find a safe place for the dog, after he got chewed up this last takeover... but it seems like a bad time now.

Very specific question today, Barge.

It's a big multiverse out there. Some of you gotta be from universes with extremely dangerous and difficult to manage animals. Anybody know a kennel that takes the undead?

So far Partner hasn't gotten beat up in any of the floods or breaches, and I appreciate that, but a guy gets paranoid. Next time we start getting warning signals, I'd like to take him somewhere I know's safe.

[Private to Alec]

So. Temporary pairings. That's a thing.

You need anything that takes a key?

[Public]

['Melkor the witch hunter' wears a black cloak and a foam greatsword at his waist-- along with a few beanbag pouches he found labeled 'lightning bolt' and 'snare'. Otherwise, the outfit isn't changed much from Riddick's standard wear. Ask him, and he's a renegade half-drow.]

So this is your kingdom? I've seen worse. The name is Melkor and by trade I'm a witch hunter. Find me in the great dining hall if you have business for me. Rogue sorcerors-- the undead-- I can deal with what troubles you. For a price.

If you don't have the coin for it, leave me be.



[Open Spam]

[And when he is not doing his morning ritual at the dining hall-- where his work is for no god but for the souls of those he has lost, he can be found stalking the halls with his mighty witch-hound, rolling dice to detect traps and foes.

Partner has foam dog armor. He's patiently trying to eat it.]

I go down for a nap and someone jacks the barge. Really.

Really.

Cannot leave you fuckers unattended for a moment.

[Riddick's voice is hoarse with sleep, but backreading the network sure was a wake-up call.]

( Valentines for Megamind, Arthas )


[There's a certain patter in Riddick's voice, a certain... almost nervousness but not quite. His lazy drawl is gone. There's also a pale gray cast to his skin, a certain lifelessness, a certain blue light that almost looks like is reflecting off of his goggles but is actually coming from inside them.] And so we flood just in time for the Earth holidays again; have we accepted it as a given that the admiral does this deliberately now-? But it's only only certain Earth holidays, and usually the same, frequently Judeo Christian, always English-speaking. Some day we'll put in port on Helion Prime in time for Ramadan, and the rest of you will get used to eating at night. As long as we're in port and the kitchen staff doesn't have to deal with it, what is it about the kitchens that seems to be a trap for incapacitation and drama I can't say-

Sorry. Train of thought ran away with me there.

Any-hoo. Carry on, barge.

[Filtered to breakfast kitchen staff + on call wardens]
I'm not in or on form today, mentally or physiologically, by which I mean I can't taste anything and my sense of smell is completely gone. I'm going to require help with the menu and with tasting. Mister Wuornos, if you have your sense of taste and are currently also mostly yourself I could use your help.