with_my_teacup

[A public service announcement]

Hi, kids. It's Richard B. Riddick; you may recognize me as that guy from the kitchen at breakfast.

Friendly reminder that there's nearly a hundred of us, and the functional kitchen staff currently stands at seven plus one on inventory. David Cain was a kitchen worker, Lua Klein was the dinner manager, and our only inmate left on lunch duty is currently about this big. [He holds his hands apart to indicate the Creed-terrier.] And one of the seven? Probation for a week because kitchen tools are not a weapon unless the alternative is death.

We need more hands. We always need more hands, we really need more hands. We always do. One warden, at least one more inmate.

Which brings me to another thing.

Due to the unstable tendencies of the barge and the real stable tendency of most of us to have to eat, I'm requesting anyone with cooking prep experience think about putting themselves on call in case of flood, death toll, or dog. A few more short term hands means a few less posts like this.

Thanks.

( Spam for Sylvanas )

Look, I don't wanna alarm anyone, but we got some real unsavory characters on the network all of a sudden.

[Riddick toggles over to another feed, where someone is calling in from outside. A middle aged man, with gray threading through his hair, yellow eyes, and a face like he makes a professional career out of dismantling brick walls with it.]

Hello, all you mothers' sons! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

[The stranger grins, which is even uglier than him not grinning, but it's a friendly kind of ugly-- some barge veterans will recognize Brachi Stildyne, though a few years older than last seen.]

[Back to Riddick]
...so yeah, I'ma just go to work.

[Spam, Kitchen and surrounding areas]
[And he does go to work, not expecting any voices on the network he much wants to hear-- he's been away for days, still feeling that unnatural fatigue but not so much it's keeping him in bed anymore. He just drifts in as if he wasn't gone, an hour early, looks at what's on the menu and starts work.]

[OOC: Specify spam, vidya, or Stildyne- responses from Stildyne will come from

umgekehrt. Warning, character in icons is uglier than he appears.]

[Shortly after this thread, Riddick walks out of his breakfast shift and back to his room. He will not be answering network communication. His door is locked but his friends' access is still active.]

[OOC: drop me a line before coming in if we haven't discussed this on plurk or IM]

( Just the christmas list, no messages )

[Public & Kitchen Spam]
Noch breffast, chicos.

[Anyone who comes into the kitchen will notice that Riddick is all but non-verbal. He doesn't really understand English or any of the other major languages, and anyone who doesn't have a grounding in several common Earth languages won't understand the language he speaks-- the child of accented English and space-travel Spanish and technical Chinese with loanwords peppered in like... well, pepper, subject to extreme grammatic drift, with even the familiar verbs conjugated in unfamiliar ways and prepositions hiding where they're least expected

So he's not talking much. Instead, much pantomime, much grunt and shrug. ...And much picture. Enjoy your breakfast menu, barge.]

( Large image )

placeholder

I should not have to say this. But I will. Just. In. Case.

Do not bring me any dead bodies. We have plenty of food.

What we're short on is cooks, because Ben's tolling and that leaves us down a warden and a worker. It's not like there were a lot of us to begin with. If you're an inmate, your ass is cordially invited to work in the kitchen.

On a completely unrelated note, anyone seen Megamind? Short guy, big head, invents shit?

[Private to Ellie]
So, kid, you know your way around a kitchen when you ain't blowing one up?

[Private to Chris, Nygma]
...seriously, either of you seen him?

So in a less dramatic memo, children, we're running low on food still. And with power the way it is some of our stores are gonna go bad sooner, not later. If you ain't already in survival mode? Get there.

( cw: cannibalism because This Asshole. )

General announcement.

[Riddick pans the camera down to where the jackal-dog he's named Partner is flopped on the floor, mauling a deer's legbone with complete contentment, making happy jackal-dog sounds. In the dim light, one eye glows faintly blue, one faintly red.]

I may have come back from my little... sabbatical with an animal. He's a canid, sorta like an Earth jackal, if a little bigger. But not an actual dog, whatever you want to call him. Which means he ain't domesticated, which means I've got him trained but he's still a wild animal and he ain't gonna behave like a tame dog all the time.

I'm gonna be socializing him slowly in the CES with other animals so he can learn to behave, but I'd appreciate it if people could meet me half way and be careful with him. Don't approach him from behind, don't try to touch him if I'm not right there and I say you can. And don't let any off-leash pets run up on him.

...also he's undead, but it's not a thing. I don't think he's even noticed.

[Filter: Infirmary Wardens, Selina Kyle]
My inmate, Selina Kyle, expressed a little interest in learning veterinary skills. I don't think we have any qualified vet-techs on board she can learn from, but job-shadowing in the infirmary can at least get her some essentials of medicine-standard, and she and I can work on the animal side of it on her down time.

She's informed me there's a history with the infirmary. I'm willing to take reasonable steps for security.

[Public]

[The camera cuts on and reveals Riddick's room. And Riddick. He's a few sunburnt shades darker than he was when he left; visibly older, too, wearing his bulk a little differently, faint creases around his mouth that didn't used to be there. And he's staring silent, dubious, at his communicator.]

So. You fuckers are still a thing.

Funny how it all starts to fade around year three.

[Filter--exactly the same as his last friends filter, after reviewing his logs and refreshing his old memories]

It was a little longer on my end.

It was kinda uneventful. I got betrayed by my army. Fucked up my leg. Fixed my leg. Got my head together. Had some peace and quiet.

It all went to shit in the last seventy-two hours but ain't that life?

[The calm's a front. He's been jarred hard by the sudden switch from one environment to another.]

[Public - directly post-breach, before Chris's re-arrival]
[Riddick's comm feed shows his door]
NOPE. Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck everyone.

[His hand comes into frame and slams a sign with some kind of adhesive onto the metal surface: It says FUCK OFF: WILL RETURN 9-27 1800. Then the feed cuts, except for people on-]

[Friends and family filter]
I had my brain rewritten and then I had it on the outside of my body and I can't do this right now. A'ight? I can't.

I've got it worked out with the admiral. However long I'm back there, I'll show back here in three days, a'ight? But I need to go someplace I understand and I gotta do it now.

Ned, Bea, need you to check on Selina while I'm gone.

Arthas, I'm opening the security on my room for you so you can check on my shit if you want. Or steal my things, fine, but I'm leaving the gravity traps up on the knives.

[OOC: And Riddick is off for a canon update. He will be back when it says on the tin. Or, you know, five years later by his frame of reference.]

[Filtered away from Alpha and Rogue]

Food metaphor time, since that's how we're doing this.

Have you had salt substitute? Usually potassium chloride. Which is still a salt, but it ain't table salt. You know how it tastes, at first, kinda like sodium chloride, close enough to pass, but then there's that aftertaste, that little wrong edge.

My brain is full of potassium chloride memories. This is some bullshit.

I'ma sit in the infirmary and heal up and not go take it out on the asshole who went at my gray matter with an editor's eye. All wardenly like.

( Private messages to family, friends, Zane )

[Riddick's tolerance for Other People has been strained for a while; his general fatigue and irritation show in his calm, affectless address. He can be real reasonable, if nobody makes him unreasonable.]

Selina Kyle's in a coma. Anyone thinking of indulging their artistic sensibilities... Don't.

[Open Spam through flood]

[Riddick's more a projector than a receiver this flood, doesn't notice it at first, so he's his usual tactile self-- he'll shoulder past you in a crowded hall, doesn't care about a handbrush when he's handing out breakfast, puts a hand on the shoulder of anyone he even remotely tolerates to get their attention. Come get some.

Memories.]

[Friends and Family filter]
Is everyone all right? Med emergencies, anyone lost or stuck outside? Need an answer or I'ma assume you want me looking for you.

[Selina]
Been quiet, inmate a'mine-- you okay?

[Public]
We got water in the caves, so we won't dehydrate during the storms, but we're gonna have to work out food. Me and Kiddo are already hunting; anyone else who can hunt or forage, try not to be an asshole. If you have more than you need, don't fucking hoard it, it ain't gonna keep.

[The breakfast menu just got kid friendly-- and the kitchen just got a lot better secured. No little hands in sharp places, or high places, or hot places; Riddick has it locked down. He's also keeping a serious eye on the mess hall, dividing his attention between waffles and doing walkarounds.

Unfortunately, he's not quite himself. He found this pair of smoked eyeglasses... and he's been trying not to talk ever since he put them on. Fucking floods, am I right.]

[The feed shows Riddick, tired but smirking just barely visibly. He's in the darkness of his room, a big wall of shadow with still squinting silver eyes. The only thing in focus is the pair of rubber-strapped welding goggles dangling close to the screen.]

I like'm and all, but they aren't real... casual. Anyone got some 21st-century style sunglasses I could borrow for a few days?

[Private to Selina]
I don't know how much you like water, but I could do with some solar heat and a little hydrotherapy-- I'm looking to hit the beach and then shop like I'm civilized and rich. You down for that?

Anything you wanna hit while we're back in all the brightness? It ain't Gotham, but somehow I see you fitting in fine anyway. I'll be a little slow, but I'm with you.

[After the rash of violence, the Infirmary got one corpse that seemed to go peacefully. Riddick's body was unscathed, just showed the signs of a quick, inexplicable ... Heart attack? Aneurysm? A strange, peaceful death.

Now that he's awake, he's finding the toll plenty more painful than the actual death: his left arm has this shooting pain and he's so fucking tired. He has a makeshift blindfold around his eyes because fluorescent lights give him headaches as it is-- right now, any light is unbearable.]

( Privates to Selina, Arthas, Ned )

...so how long was I down?

Is Arthas still here? I'm a lot less... decorative than I was last time this happened. [Riddick stretches to display a lot of un-markered skin.]

( Locked to Selina )

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with_my_teacup

November 2018

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