Who: PEOPLE (specific starters and OTA) When: Oct 15th-20th Where: The Patrick Moira What: A big bad catch-all for pre-event and beyond Warnings: Update if needed
Mostly, navigation is boring. Looking at the monitor, plotting courses, avoid this, avoid that - and it’s not like space had a scenic route. Especially a large commercial ship like this, (or he assumed it was commercial...in all honesty they didn’t really know much at all about the Moira) things were pretty straight forward. Slow and steady, they rarely even had to make alterations or take evasive maneuvers. It wasn’t the worst job on the ship by a long shot but it definitely made Ratchet miss real piloting. The last time he’d gotten to fly a ship - not course direct, or navigate, but actually fly - had been...well it had been right before he’d been picked up by the CDC. Seven months ago? Eight? He’d actually lost track of exactly how long it had been since-
A beeping on the monitor interrupts his thoughts, and Ratchet reluctantly turns his attention toward it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary except for something small on the radar. Very small. He rubs at the offending spot on the screen with a thumb, squinting at it just to be absolutely sure it was a real reading and not just a wayward dust particle. Even convinced it was real, it was almost so small that it wasn’t worth worrying about it but...well. What else did he have to do today?
Glancing down at his MID, Ratchet scrolls through the list of personnel, trying to remember who was on duty upstairs. 'Jacky Faber' rings a bell and he wastes no time punching in her contact number, crossing his fingers that she’s the type who doesn’t sleep on the job.
“Hey, uh, Jacky, right? There’s something weird on the monitor down here...do you have a visual on anything or are we thinking malfunction?”
Edited 2015-10-18 07:07 (UTC)
your father was a hamster and your mother stank of elderberries
[Jacky has spent many hours on watch in her life. Days worth, all told, both in Service and on her own ships, and she'd like to think that she's gotten a decent system worked out: keep your eyes focused on nothing and everything, and you can let your mind wander as long as you keep a fraction of it at attention, ready to react.
It was sort of the same in space. Somewhat. There was no horizon line to focus on, no weather or clouds to look out for, no sails to spot from leagues away, but there was a glass that showed what the naked eye could not, and sails of a sort too look up at, so all in all, not the worst watch she'd ever stood.
That said, she still jumped nearly a foot into the air when a voice emanated from nowhere--or, more precisely, the strange cuff around her wrist.]
Son of a goat f--
[Biting off one of the more colourful phrases she'd learned during her time in the Caribbean, Jacky clung to the wall behind her and held out her cuffed arm in front of her. Wide-eyed, she worked her mouth several times before managing to string something coherent together. She vaguely recalled them saying something about how the bands could allow one to communicate, but she wasn't expecting them to act like a portable speaking tube!]
Ah, where should I be looking, Mister-- [She checked the display as she moved over to the special glass.] --Ratchet? I've got to confess, it looks as strange as normal to me.
Uhhh, well, it should be on the radar. At least it is here. Somewhere dead ahead, but it's hard to tell how big it or what it is, or what it's made of so I'm not sure if you can get a visual.
[There's a pause.]
Do you...know how to use the radar?
[He didn't like to make assumptions, but her response hadn't exactly inspired him with confidence. She must have some sort of qualifications, or she wouldn't have been assigned what she'd been assigned (or so he likes to think) but there was a lot to be unfamiliar with on this ship, no matter where you were from.]
[Jacky did pay attention during her short training program. It just...didn't make much sense. But she was game and she can at least bring up the right lenses for the glass...after a few false starts.]
You look for shapes to appear in the reticle, aye?
[Watching the screen closely, she watched the line sweep around three full times before announcing with surety:] Looks like there's a spot at our one to starboard. Gotten a mite bigger, too. Any ideas what it could be? [She's started to take it for granted that nearly-if-not-EVERYONE on this ship knows more than her about EVERYTHING.]
[It takes Ratchet a moment to parse ‘one to starboard’ (and even then he’s not one hundred percent certain he's on the same page) and he furrows his brow. If it was getting bigger on the radar, it had to be close…very close. He taps the screen, transitioning to an outside view. Nothing but black space.] Well….my guess would be an asteroid. Maybe a comet? There’s not really a lot else it could be out here. Especially something that small.
[Which, by ‘small’ he means, not planet sized. It could still be miles across.]
I’m just worried about wasting fuel on a course correction if we don’t have to. We need to get a better idea of how big this thing is...or what’s it made of, at least. What do they have for instruments up there? Holo-disdrometer? Remote spectrophotometer? I’m sure we can make do with a tacheometer if we have to...
...Being completely honest with you, mate, about the only thing I understood there was 'comet'.
[Tentatively, she cycled through the various lenses for the glass (and at some point, someone's really going to have to explain 'computers and programs' to the poor girl), trying to figure out if any of the lens labels matched that list of goobletygook that Ratchet rattled off.]
Orright, I've got something that looks like 'Tacheometer'. [Whatever that is.] What you want I should do?
[There’s an impossibly long silence as what she says sinks in. Really sinks in.]
...comet… [He repeats the word back in a disbelieving tone, rubbing a temple. ] You only know...ehah….okay. Okay okay.
[Ratchet was starting to get a bad feeling about just how much - or how little - Jacky knew. At least when it came to navigational equipment on a spaceship. Most of the humans he'd met had come from a pre-space-travel world but...well, this was different. He opens up a chart of their course, shaking his head as he maps out coordinates between them and the unknown object.]
Uhm, okay. Listen, I’m sending the coordinates to your station...you just need to input them into the tacheometer’s interfa- ah, you know. Type ‘em in? As long as you get that right, it’s should be pretty simple...
If there’s a job that’s more boring than navigation, it’s kitchen duty. Which is, of course, made worse by the fact that he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. Both duties were necessities, so he did them, and he did them largely without complaint, but the mundanity of both was far from reassuring. If anything, it only made Ratchet more distrustful and suspicious. Whether that was a product of the situation or just having too much time on his hands was anyone’s guess.
What really surprised him was how that suspicion wasn’t more widespread. Being in the mess hall was a good place to get a feel for what the crew was talking about, and it wasn’t really what Ratchet expected. People largely seemed okay with things. There were questions, sure, but not accusations. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe his last had made him a little more pessimistic than he’d like to admit.
Or maybe everyone was being too complacent.
But there is at least one person who’s doing her share of complaining. Even if it is mostly to herself. Ratchet can’t help but overhear Peridot (or at least her tone) as she works in the mess hall. He sits at a table near to her, having just finished his own shift, holding up one of the bizarre fruits they’d stocked an excess of on the last planet.
“So, I’m wondering, since you don’t drink, you don’t do much eating either?”
It wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about but it was, strangely, the less bizarre conversation starter.
The gem looks around at him with mild surprise, like she hadn't expected anyone to actually engage her in the middle of one of her little rants. How curious...
"Correct," says Peridot, straightening up and adjusting her visor; she'd been groping around on the floor for some garbage that had fallen down there. "I am an inorganic being; replenishing energy is not a concern for me." On this point, she scowls around at the detritus left over from the previous meal time, looking highly resentful. "Which is what makes it all the more ridiculous that I am required to take part in these 'mess hall duties'."
"Nothing at all? You don't even like...I dunno, need to sit out in the sun or anything?" Like a plant. "So uhm. Weird question, but....if you're an inorganic being...what are you made of?"
He squints at her, turning the fruit over in one hand absently.
She can't be offended by that question really, because at the time she was pulled onto the Moira from, she hadn't had the privilege of having Steven so eloquently explain exactly what a robot is.
So now the job falls to Ratchet. Congrats buddy.
Peridot stares. Blinks. Squints. "What's a robot?"
Well that pretty much answered his question...or at least he thought it did until he remembered the hand conversation. Ratchet makes a face at her response.
"Robots are like....you know," he hesitates, making a vague gesture, unsure what the exact definition would be. "Everything that not's an organic being, so uh...no, wait. That's not true. Uhm, I guess they're...people. People who are...usually made, of metal. Although...I mean, I guess a robot could be made of just about anything... But they don't need to eat or sleep, like you!"
He gives her an expectant look, waiting to see if his crystal clear definition was ringing a bell.
"Hmmm." She considers that description for a moment, not sure how to respond.
"To answer your initial question: No. I am not an organic being. And I'm made from this," she explains very matter-of-factly, pointing to the gem set in her forehead. There's a touch of impatience there too; it's obvious she's had to explain this many more times than she ever anticipated.
"This body is simply a construct of hard light that I project for the sake of interacting more efficiently with the physical world. I'm not sure if that matches your definition of these "robots"," air quotes, "or not."
"I guess not," Ratchet replies, with a heavy dose of uncertainty. He might not be able to quite define a robot in a satisfactory and politically correct way, but she definitely wasn't one. He stares at the gemstone in her forehead that she'd pointed at, silent for a long moment.
[Power restored, everything back to normal, like nothing ever happened. Except it did, and now there’s these weird masks in their post boxes, and little to no explanation other than “have fun”. In so many words. The mask itself is interesting, but otherwise unremarkable; for all intents and purposes, just an ordinary mask. Ratchet even puts it on for all of two seconds, but...no. Just a mask. He replaces it carefully in the box, figuring he would worry about it later.
A. NAVIGATION Eventually Ratchet does make his way to navigation, albeit somewhat later than he was due to show up. That in an of itself wasn’t extremely unusual, although the unconcerned manner than accompanies it is. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered that his lateness might affect anyone else, and as the day progresses it seems like navigation is really beneath Ratchet.
It doesn’t really help that after the power outage, one of the radar monitors seems to be having a problem, it’s reading not showing up correctly. A really minor problem, and an easy fix. He stands in front of it, arms crossed, an increasingly displeased look on his face.
How are we supposed to do our jobs if the equipment breaks every time there’s a solar breeze outside the ship?
He’s almost surprised by how needlessly entitled the comment sounds, but it’s quickly forgotten.
B. OBSERVATION DECK At some point Ratchet will be found on the observation deck, a decent place to get some space to yourself if you’re tired of explaining the basic function of regular everyday objects to people who have spent the duration of their lives living on technologically backwards planets in star systems no one’s ever heard of or cares about. Ratchet’s way far beyond even noticing his own condescending arrogance at this point. He’s not actually looking out the window of the observation deck though - it’s not like he hasn’t seen space before but flipping through one of the books from the library. He hadn’t really minded it a few days prior, but today everything it it was just…embarrassingly wrong. How was anyone even allowed to write a book with so many incorrect assumptions about space travel...even if it was fiction.
He’ll only give the briefest look in the direction of anyone else on the observation deck, almost pointedly ignoring anyone who might interrupt his scathing internal criticism of a Jules Verne novel.
C. WILDCARD Whatever goes! Ratchet will be AROUND. Probably shirking actual duties on the ship now that he increasingly feels like he doesn’t have to do them, and definitely judging your character for their primitive planet and lack of commonsense about common shit.
Starflight had gotten up early, with more than enough time to investigate the strange mask that had arrived in his mailbox. before reporting to Navigation. He was grateful Manasseh was willing to give him this job assignment as the assistant supervisor rather than having to stay in the kitchens all day. He was going to do his absolute best, so the captains wouldn't change their minds.
He was glad he'd given himself extra time to familiarize himself with the room, because the it was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Starflight was already a bundle of nerves before Ratchet showed up, and his fellow crewmember's tardiness didn't go unnoticed. He finished typing on his MID before confronting him about it, just in time to catch Ratchet's comment.
"If something isn't working shouldn't you report it to the engineers?" he asked. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.
Ratchet doesn't answer Starflight right away; doesn't so much as look in his direction for a long moment. He continues to study the malfunctioning display, arms crossed, following the trail of exposed wires to their source with his eyes. It’s funny, he hadn’t thought he’d said anything out loud. In fact he was sure he hadn’t...but...he shrugs it off. There was no way he was mistaken, but he had more pressing matters on his mind.
"Have you met the engineers on this ship?” Ratchet only then gives Starflight a brief glance, and not a warm one at that. “I’d rather do it myself. At least that way it’ll get done right.”
He runs a hand along one of the smooth consoles near the monitor, looking the catch for the panel before pulling it open. He wished Starflight wasn’t standing there, watching him while he was trying to work, and inevitably getting in the way soon. Eager to send him on his way, Ratchet's answer to Starflight’s second question finally comes, clipped and very casual.
"I'm not going to get in the way," Starflight said with a huff, unknowingly picking up on Ratchet's train of thought. He knew he wouldn't understand most of what Ratchet was doing, but he wanted to follow anyway. Besides, it was easy for him to crane his neck over Ratchet to watch without getting near his work.
"And I'm supposed to be watching. I'm the Assistant Supervisor, so I'm supervising. Which is why you should try not to be late, in the future. I'm sure that's something I will need to report to Manasseh." He finished, matter-of-factly. Starflight couldn't help sounding a little pleased about his new position. Navigation Assistant Supervisor was infinitely better than Assistant Chef.
This time Ratchet does cast a suspicious glance up at Starflight. There was no doubt that he hadn't said anything of the sort out loud. He wondered if it was a trait of whatever species his large crewmate was.
The immense ass kissing implied in the next sentence is something that wouldn't endear Ratchet on the best of days, but in his current state makes him downright bristle. It takes a great force of will to not roll his eyes in the middle of Starflight's lecture. He pulls apart two of the wires, examining the frayed ends more studiously than is likely necessary.
The thought more than the insult silenced Starflight, and he sat back sullenly, tail lashing back and forth. It was so much like something Morrowseer would say when he was talking about how useless Starflight was that it caught him off guard. He'd gotten used to everyone around here being nicer than that.
"If I can't be home helping my friends, I'm at least going to do my job here," he finally muttered, looking down at Ratchet.
"For the record, the closest thing I had to a mother tried to set me on fire daily."
[Jacky’s been having one helluva day, what with spending most of her morning turning into a dog and back. She’d come up to the observation deck intending on playing some tunes on Lady Gay to unwind when she spotted what looked like a sullen cat-man reading a book on one of the couches. Which, weird, but seeing as she’s been turning into a dog she’s really no room to judge.]
Oh, hallo! Would you mind if I played a few songs? I can do requests, if you like.
[Despite the familiarity of the voice - Ratchet would put bolts on it being Jacky Faber from up the 'crow's nest' - he barely acknowledges the girl's presence. In fact he would probably have done his best to not engage her at all if she hadn't asked him a question directly. He's still going to try.]
Don't let me stop you.
[His tone is scathingly sarcastic and he pulls the book closer to his face, trying to focus on it...or at least pretending to.]
I hope you're ready to reap what you sow with that command, dear
[Normally, upon coming across someone this sullen (and she's not too sure about it, having only heard him over the horn, but she's fair sure that this cat-man's Ratchet from Navigation, and thus someone she can almost count a friend) and intent on being on their lonesome, she's inclined to just leave them to it (especially considering the ruin he'd made of her morning), but there must be some devilry in her because as the last words left his...lips? muzzle? she found herself bringing The Lady Gay up under her chin and sawing off a few bars and then, as loud as she would in a crowded pub, belted out:]
'In the merry month of June, from my home I started Left the girls of Tuam, nearly broken hearted! Saluted me father dear, and kissed me darling mother! Drank a pint of beer my grief and tears to smother, Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born. Cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin. In a brand new pair of brogues go rattling o'er the bogs, frightening all the dogs, On the rocky road to Dublin!'
[Whipping up her fiddle, she sawed away as she danced, clattering her bare hooves as loudly as she could on the ground, working her way closer to Ratchet with each step.]
[The girl had asked if she could play a song, and boy was she ever playing a song. Under normal circumstances, Ratchet might have been impressed by her enthusiasm alone (the song itself was definitely not to his taste but...well, let’s call that a cultural gap) but these were not normal circumstances. Despite her volume, he does his best to ignore her, bringing his shoulders up as he does his best to seem engrossed.
Unfortunately the material at hand was making that hard to do. Ratchet wasn’t normally much for reading, and this one was pushing the limits of his patience with its dry language and pedantic descriptions. After a moment, unable to focus on the book over the racket of Jacky’s playing...all while she gets closer and louder, he snaps the book shut, exhaling dramatically.]
Could you at least do that a little more quietly?
[There’s nothing polite about his tone and he gives her a scathing look.]
I mean, it could be worse, Ratchet! It could be 'The Good Ship Venus'.
[Jacky felt her lips pull back in a snarl when Ratchet expressed his displeasure with her song and had to suppress the urge to bark. Normally, she'd've bowed out gracefully, or at least tried to find something else more agreeable to her audience, but the devilry is still going strong in her.
So, following the letter of his request (if not the spirit), Jacky lowered her voice a hair as she rolled right into the second verse.]
One, two, three, four, five!
In Mullingar last night, I rested limbs so weary Started by daylight, next morning bright and early Took a drop of the pure, to keep my heart from sinking That's the Paddy's cure when he's on the drinking See the lassies smile, laughing all the while, at me darling style 'Twould set your heart a-bubbling Asked me was I hired the wages I required 'til I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin!
[Still staying close, she danced a narrow circle around Ratchet, making sure to keep her fiddle close to Ratchet's rather-large ears.]
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CLOSED TO JACKY FABER
A beeping on the monitor interrupts his thoughts, and Ratchet reluctantly turns his attention toward it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary except for something small on the radar. Very small. He rubs at the offending spot on the screen with a thumb, squinting at it just to be absolutely sure it was a real reading and not just a wayward dust particle. Even convinced it was real, it was almost so small that it wasn’t worth worrying about it but...well. What else did he have to do today?
Glancing down at his MID, Ratchet scrolls through the list of personnel, trying to remember who was on duty upstairs. 'Jacky Faber' rings a bell and he wastes no time punching in her contact number, crossing his fingers that she’s the type who doesn’t sleep on the job.
“Hey, uh, Jacky, right? There’s something weird on the monitor down here...do you have a visual on anything or are we thinking malfunction?”
your father was a hamster and your mother stank of elderberries
It was sort of the same in space. Somewhat. There was no horizon line to focus on, no weather or clouds to look out for, no sails to spot from leagues away, but there was a glass that showed what the naked eye could not, and sails of a sort too look up at, so all in all, not the worst watch she'd ever stood.
That said, she still jumped nearly a foot into the air when a voice emanated from nowhere--or, more precisely, the strange cuff around her wrist.]
Son of a goat f--
[Biting off one of the more colourful phrases she'd learned during her time in the Caribbean, Jacky clung to the wall behind her and held out her cuffed arm in front of her. Wide-eyed, she worked her mouth several times before managing to string something coherent together. She vaguely recalled them saying something about how the bands could allow one to communicate, but she wasn't expecting them to act like a portable speaking tube!]
Ah, where should I be looking, Mister-- [She checked the display as she moved over to the special glass.] --Ratchet? I've got to confess, it looks as strange as normal to me.
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Uhhh, well, it should be on the radar. At least it is here. Somewhere dead ahead, but it's hard to tell how big it or what it is, or what it's made of so I'm not sure if you can get a visual.
[There's a pause.]
Do you...know how to use the radar?
[He didn't like to make assumptions, but her response hadn't exactly inspired him with confidence. She must have some sort of qualifications, or she wouldn't have been assigned what she'd been assigned (or so he likes to think) but there was a lot to be unfamiliar with on this ship, no matter where you were from.]
enjoy the new icon
You look for shapes to appear in the reticle, aye?
[Watching the screen closely, she watched the line sweep around three full times before announcing with surety:] Looks like there's a spot at our one to starboard. Gotten a mite bigger, too. Any ideas what it could be? [She's started to take it for granted that nearly-if-not-EVERYONE on this ship knows more than her about EVERYTHING.]
these are all real things, i will have you know.
[It takes Ratchet a moment to parse ‘one to starboard’ (and even then he’s not one hundred percent certain he's on the same page) and he furrows his brow. If it was getting bigger on the radar, it had to be close…very close. He taps the screen, transitioning to an outside view. Nothing but black space.] Well….my guess would be an asteroid. Maybe a comet? There’s not really a lot else it could be out here. Especially something that small.
[Which, by ‘small’ he means, not planet sized. It could still be miles across.]
I’m just worried about wasting fuel on a course correction if we don’t have to. We need to get a better idea of how big this thing is...or what’s it made of, at least. What do they have for instruments up there? Holo-disdrometer? Remote spectrophotometer? I’m sure we can make do with a tacheometer if we have to...
i am sceptically side-eyeing you rn
[Tentatively, she cycled through the various lenses for the glass (and at some point, someone's really going to have to explain 'computers and programs' to the poor girl), trying to figure out if any of the lens labels matched that list of goobletygook that Ratchet rattled off.]
Orright, I've got something that looks like 'Tacheometer'. [Whatever that is.] What you want I should do?
ye of little faith
...comet… [He repeats the word back in a disbelieving tone, rubbing a temple. ] You only know...ehah….okay. Okay okay.
[Ratchet was starting to get a bad feeling about just how much - or how little - Jacky knew. At least when it came to navigational equipment on a spaceship. Most of the humans he'd met had come from a pre-space-travel world but...well, this was different. He opens up a chart of their course, shaking his head as he maps out coordinates between them and the unknown object.]
Uhm, okay. Listen, I’m sending the coordinates to your station...you just need to input them into the tacheometer’s interfa- ah, you know. Type ‘em in? As long as you get that right, it’s should be pretty simple...
I just looked up watch the pieces of moveable type were called ugh
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the number of times i spelled it 'leftenant', you don't even know
i can imagine, though
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CLOSED TO PERIDOT
What really surprised him was how that suspicion wasn’t more widespread. Being in the mess hall was a good place to get a feel for what the crew was talking about, and it wasn’t really what Ratchet expected. People largely seemed okay with things. There were questions, sure, but not accusations. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe his last had made him a little more pessimistic than he’d like to admit.
Or maybe everyone was being too complacent.
But there is at least one person who’s doing her share of complaining. Even if it is mostly to herself. Ratchet can’t help but overhear Peridot (or at least her tone) as she works in the mess hall. He sits at a table near to her, having just finished his own shift, holding up one of the bizarre fruits they’d stocked an excess of on the last planet.
“So, I’m wondering, since you don’t drink, you don’t do much eating either?”
It wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about but it was, strangely, the less bizarre conversation starter.
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"Correct," says Peridot, straightening up and adjusting her visor; she'd been groping around on the floor for some garbage that had fallen down there. "I am an inorganic being; replenishing energy is not a concern for me." On this point, she scowls around at the detritus left over from the previous meal time, looking highly resentful. "Which is what makes it all the more ridiculous that I am required to take part in these 'mess hall duties'."
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He squints at her, turning the fruit over in one hand absently.
"Are you a robot...."
boomerangs you like an asshole
So now the job falls to Ratchet. Congrats buddy.
Peridot stares. Blinks. Squints. "What's a robot?"
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"Robots are like....you know," he hesitates, making a vague gesture, unsure what the exact definition would be. "Everything that not's an organic being, so uh...no, wait. That's not true. Uhm, I guess they're...people. People who are...usually made, of metal. Although...I mean, I guess a robot could be made of just about anything... But they don't need to eat or sleep, like you!"
He gives her an expectant look, waiting to see if his crystal clear definition was ringing a bell.
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"To answer your initial question: No. I am not an organic being. And I'm made from this," she explains very matter-of-factly, pointing to the gem set in her forehead. There's a touch of impatience there too; it's obvious she's had to explain this many more times than she ever anticipated.
"This body is simply a construct of hard light that I project for the sake of interacting more efficiently with the physical world. I'm not sure if that matches your definition of these "robots"," air quotes, "or not."
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"So you're....a rock."
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OTA; Oct 17th and 18th
A. NAVIGATION
Eventually Ratchet does make his way to navigation, albeit somewhat later than he was due to show up. That in an of itself wasn’t extremely unusual, although the unconcerned manner than accompanies it is. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered that his lateness might affect anyone else, and as the day progresses it seems like navigation is really beneath Ratchet.
It doesn’t really help that after the power outage, one of the radar monitors seems to be having a problem, it’s reading not showing up correctly. A really minor problem, and an easy fix. He stands in front of it, arms crossed, an increasingly displeased look on his face.
How are we supposed to do our jobs if the equipment breaks every time there’s a solar breeze outside the ship?
He’s almost surprised by how needlessly entitled the comment sounds, but it’s quickly forgotten.
B. OBSERVATION DECK
At some point Ratchet will be found on the observation deck, a decent place to get some space to yourself if you’re tired of explaining the basic function of regular everyday objects to people who have spent the duration of their lives living on technologically backwards planets in star systems no one’s ever heard of or cares about. Ratchet’s way far beyond even noticing his own condescending arrogance at this point. He’s not actually looking out the window of the observation deck though - it’s not like he hasn’t seen space before but flipping through one of the books from the library. He hadn’t really minded it a few days prior, but today everything it it was just…embarrassingly wrong. How was anyone even allowed to write a book with so many incorrect assumptions about space travel...even if it was fiction.
He’ll only give the briefest look in the direction of anyone else on the observation deck, almost pointedly ignoring anyone who might interrupt his scathing internal criticism of a Jules Verne novel.
C. WILDCARD
Whatever goes! Ratchet will be AROUND. Probably shirking actual duties on the ship now that he increasingly feels like he doesn’t have to do them, and definitely judging your character for their primitive planet and lack of commonsense about common shit.
A.
He was glad he'd given himself extra time to familiarize himself with the room, because the it was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Starflight was already a bundle of nerves before Ratchet showed up, and his fellow crewmember's tardiness didn't go unnoticed. He finished typing on his MID before confronting him about it, just in time to catch Ratchet's comment.
"If something isn't working shouldn't you report it to the engineers?" he asked. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.
"You're aware you were late this morning, right?"
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"Have you met the engineers on this ship?” Ratchet only then gives Starflight a brief glance, and not a warm one at that. “I’d rather do it myself. At least that way it’ll get done right.”
He runs a hand along one of the smooth consoles near the monitor, looking the catch for the panel before pulling it open. He wished Starflight wasn’t standing there, watching him while he was trying to work, and inevitably getting in the way soon. Eager to send him on his way, Ratchet's answer to Starflight’s second question finally comes, clipped and very casual.
“And, yeah. I know I was late.”
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"And I'm supposed to be watching. I'm the Assistant Supervisor, so I'm supervising. Which is why you should try not to be late, in the future. I'm sure that's something I will need to report to Manasseh." He finished, matter-of-factly. Starflight couldn't help sounding a little pleased about his new position. Navigation Assistant Supervisor was infinitely better than Assistant Chef.
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The immense ass kissing implied in the next sentence is something that wouldn't endear Ratchet on the best of days, but in his current state makes him downright bristle. It takes a great force of will to not roll his eyes in the middle of Starflight's lecture. He pulls apart two of the wires, examining the frayed ends more studiously than is likely necessary.
"Okay, mom. I'll be more careful next time."
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"If I can't be home helping my friends, I'm at least going to do my job here," he finally muttered, looking down at Ratchet.
"For the record, the closest thing I had to a mother tried to set me on fire daily."
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B!
Oh, hallo! Would you mind if I played a few songs? I can do requests, if you like.
SORRY ABOUT THIS HORRIBLE DOUCHE
Don't let me stop you.
[His tone is scathingly sarcastic and he pulls the book closer to his face, trying to focus on it...or at least pretending to.]
I hope you're ready to reap what you sow with that command, dear
'In the merry month of June,
from my home I started
Left the girls of Tuam,
nearly broken hearted!
Saluted me father dear,
and kissed me darling mother!
Drank a pint of beer
my grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn
and leave where I was born.
Cut a stout blackthorn
to banish ghost and goblin.
In a brand new pair of brogues
go rattling o'er the bogs,
frightening all the dogs,
On the rocky road to Dublin!'
[Whipping up her fiddle, she sawed away as she danced, clattering her bare hooves as loudly as she could on the ground, working her way closer to Ratchet with each step.]
SO READY
Unfortunately the material at hand was making that hard to do. Ratchet wasn’t normally much for reading, and this one was pushing the limits of his patience with its dry language and pedantic descriptions. After a moment, unable to focus on the book over the racket of Jacky’s playing...all while she gets closer and louder, he snaps the book shut, exhaling dramatically.]
Could you at least do that a little more quietly?
[There’s nothing polite about his tone and he gives her a scathing look.]
I mean, it could be worse, Ratchet! It could be 'The Good Ship Venus'.
So, following the letter of his request (if not the spirit), Jacky lowered her voice a hair as she rolled right into the second verse.]
One, two, three, four, five!
In Mullingar last night,
I rested limbs so weary
Started by daylight,
next morning bright and early
Took a drop of the pure,
to keep my heart from sinking
That's the Paddy's cure
when he's on the drinking
See the lassies smile,
laughing all the while,
at me darling style
'Twould set your heart a-bubbling
Asked me was I hired
the wages I required
'til I was almost tired
of the rocky road to Dublin!
[Still staying close, she danced a narrow circle around Ratchet, making sure to keep her fiddle close to Ratchet's rather-large ears.]
stares into the sun
ooooo you did it now, son
we're getting into the GROWN UP insults now
*GASP* you scurrilous cur!!!!
UHM FIRST OF ALL, HOW DARE YOU
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she is not going to let that go any time soon
maybe someday she'll get to go on a zero gee space walk!
god, you'd never get her back in the ship
well. i mean, she would run out of AIR
Oh really? Ratchet never seems to
10,000 years later, a super late tag!
Eh s'all right there chief!