can of worms (open)

[rickitikitarr]

» WHO? Ricki Tarr
» WHEN? Today
» WHERE? The hall, the bar, the fitness area.
» WHAT? A new arrival, poking his nose into things and making himself a menace.
» WARNINGS? Potentially a little light violence.



1. Ricki handles the kidnapping with a particular lack of grace. He comes to in a bedroom, slips out into the hallway, and makes his way along with a nearly silent step.

At the next blind corner he hears the sound of approaching footsteps, and makes an entirely unconscious decision. He steps aside, puts his back to the wall, and waits until the person has stepped past him.

It's only the fact that the person who goes by is wearing a jumpsuit like his that keeps the encounter from becoming immediately violent. Instead, he settles for slipping forwards, and asking, deliberately just a little too close for comfort;

"Baby, if this is a work event, then I want it on record that I think the bosses have really lost the plot this time."



2. Ricki slips into the bar his first night on board, and helps himself to a seat with the kind of view professionals like- all exits, all corners of the room, left side of his body against the wall so his dominant arm is in play if he needs it. Back to the corner is more conspicuous, but this is telling too if you know what you're looking for.

He goes to his seat with a drink in hand, a couple of thumbs of something translucent, and settles in to watch the crowd go by. To watch for the other people who are also watching.



3. The exercise is in the same kind of disrepair as the rest of the place, but when Ricki steps into it, it feels familiar. He's exercised in dirtier, stranger places than this with much more makeshift equipment. So it needs a coat of paint- so what?

He's heard the rumours about what happens to your muscles in this kind of not-gravity. He's lived in places more cramped than this. It isn't just the desire to fiddle while Rome burns that has him attacking one of the more familiar pieces of equipment with a rag and soapy water. With the grunge soaked away, a chain reattached, and a few makeshift adjustments, in a few hours he ends up with a mostly serviceable erg machine.

Ricki opens the coveralls to the waist, and knots the sleeves there with familiar practice, cleans the grease off his hands one last time, then climbs gingerly on the equipment to see if he's succeeded in repairing himself an outlet.

He rows until he's dripping with sweat, and he feels less pent up, less brittle. He rows until he has sweat in his eyes, until he has to sit foward and put both feet on the ground, and shove the damp hair back out of his face.

Ricki has one or two tattoos, which are old-timey by most standards but were modern in his day. He has two or three scars, which are a little more contemporary: knife, bullet, knife.

His expression is flat, somehow, still deeply introspective, totally focused. It only regains animation when he realizes he's no longer alone. He affects a charming little half smile, and offers, breathlessly;

"I'll be right off it, if you're after a turn."

Comments

3

[resleeves]

Sometimes, Kovacs just wanders. It's not easy being stuck in one place without the ability to just fucking leave. He's pretty sure he's prowled all available areas of this tin can several times now and he's found nothing new and nothing all that interesting. It reminds him of the Aerium but with less shine.

That's probably down to the lack of servants. What a pity. No one to spit shine the walls to cover up the blood and piss that Kovacs is sure have painted it at one point.

When he steps into the fitness areas, he makes a face. He's not against people keeping their bodies finely tuned but he's never seen the point either. Everyone's gonna die so might as well do what you want and hope you get a better sleeve when they wake you up.

"Not after anything," Kovacs says in response to the other man. His eyes scan over him, a cursory glance to see who he's dealing with before he finds an empty bench and sits down on it. "I'll just watch. And supervise."

[rickitikitarr]

"All the terrible trouble a fellow can get himself into while rowing."

Ricki agrees, innocently, swinging his feet off the machine and moving to sit up, then get to his feet, before cleaning his brow with the back of one arm.

"Very noble of you, I'm sure."

He's certainly not laughing, not even hinting at it. Of course, the honest truth is he shouldn't be touchy, and he absolutely shouldn't make fun of a stranger. Ricki holds it for a moment, and then softens it with a wink.

"Of course now that I've said that, I'm going to break my neck, aren't I?"

[resleeves]

"If you do, don't expect me to run for help."

Kovacs shrugs lazily and scoots back on the bench, resting his back against one of the bars that juts up. It digs into his back, nestles against his spine but Kovacs doesn't move away. It's uncomfortable but he's had worse.

"Never had first aide training," he says by way of explanation, stretching his legs out and keeping his eyes on the other man. He's gauging him, sizing him up and judging him, a gesture he's sure is being aimed right back at him.

"But, if the worst happens and your neck does snap, I'll be sure to tell everyone that you died honorably," he drawls sarcastically. "I'll tell them that the machine started it and you were only defending your honor."

[rickitikitarr]

Ricki shrugs his jumpsuit back up, hiding those scars, covering the ink back up. No point in making Kovacs' work any easier, after all.

"I don't think there's a bandage you can slap on something like that. I think there's value in quitting while you're ahead."

So, he steps away from the machine, and begins to stretch out, cool himself down.

"So you're really here just to watch?"

[resleeves]

"Thought it might be interesting."

And there he went, covering up some of the interesting parts. He'd just been settling into try and figure out what weapon those sorts of scars might have come from and if those tattoos were professionally done or if he'd been a jailhouse boy, getting them to show how tough he was.

"I like to watch."

Kovacs absolutely knows the double meaning behind the words and that's the biggest reason he'd used that specific phrase. He doesn't think this guy's going to fluster but it's always fun to try.

"You mind? Or are you shy?"

[rickitikitarr]

"Oh, boyo, an explanation like that in my end of town will get your nose broken for you."

But it only makes Ricki chuckle, grabbing one elbow and tugging it up and over his head, a slow, steady cool-down stretch. It exposes the corner of one tattoo, on the forearm, a sailor jerry-ish design of extremely dubious quality.

"You're lucky it's me you found, I'll tell you that for free."

And, since he's here and reasonably friendly.

"You haven't found any cigarettes kicking their way around, have you?"

[resleeves]

It wouldn't be the first time someone had broken his nose. It wouldn't be the last either. His face was very recognizable back on Earth and those that wanted to kill tended to go directly for his face, which was just rude. He had other spots on his body that were much more well padded and didn't protect his fucking stack.

Break his fucking ribs instead, why don't you.

"It'd just make me prettier."

His ego was healthy if it was nothing else. He smirked, eyes scanning over that tattoo and filing it away for later consideration. Had to learn what he was up against if he was going to keep himself occupied on this tin can.

"No, and it's fucking killing me," Kovacs says melodramatically. This place looks like it's been wiped clean. Kovacs knows there's gotta be something lurking below all that shine that gives a clue on who's come before them but he hasn't gotten around to looking.

Hasn't gotten around to finding a fucking cigarette either.

"Been substituting alcohol whenever I get a craving."

[rickitikitarr]

"I already have more than enough of a reason to want to pickle myself." Complains Ricki, dourly. "You can't replace smoking with drinking when what you want is to smoke and drink."

Instead, you over-exercise. Other arm, up and over for stretching, while he considers Kovacs right back. Same uniform jumpsuit, and difficult to say whether he got that stubble here, or what he'd look like back home. Mostly, though Ricki notices the way that he watches. He isn't just meeting his eyes, or even searching his expression, he's looking at details.

"When did you get here, then?"

[resleeves]

"I can do anything I set my mind to," Kovacs says, smiling thinly. But, all the alcohol in the world won't replace the feeling of nicotine flowing into your veins so they're in agreement there even if Kovacs hasn't said that out loud. Why the fuck stock booze and not cigarettes?

It's just another thing to add to the list of why this place doesn't make sense. If they're here for a reason, Kovacs would really like to know that fucking reason. If this is some long term set up for some VR torture, he'd rather just have his eyes pulled out now because he has no patience for this kind of waiting.

"Been here..." He trails off and pretends to count off on his fingers before coming to his answer. "Not even a week. Feels like it's been longer since I can't fucking leave."

[rickitikitarr]

"That's what I hear. That there is legitimately no exit."

Moving from his arms, to his spine now, executing a gentle back bend. He keeps his voice casual, but the truth of it is that Ricki is terribly, coldly furious. Start to finish.

"I've been here a day and a half and I'm ready to climb the fucking walls."

[resleeves]

"Hence the working out," Kovacs says, gesturing in his direction. Everyone had their outlets. Kovacs tended to go for things like drugs and alcohol but working out, that worked too.

Just not for him. All that movement and you didn't even get paid? That would be a hard pass from Kovacs.

"Can't imagine that working out's going to hold your attention forever," he says idly, rubbing a thumb along his lip. "You're not gonna start ripping heads off necks if you're still here next week, right?"

[rickitikitarr]

"My goodness."

Answers Ricki, eyebrows lifting up a tad, as he straightens.

"Bit of a violent group, is it?" He can see it. The people look suspicious of one another. There are too many people on board obviously caught up in some kind of rich, inner life; there's just a lack of stockbrokers, primary school teachers, ordinary people, over all. "I'll keep my temper, until the moment I'm not taking my feelings out on another victim of the kidnapping. Once someone who's in charge turns up, at that point I'll reevaluate."

"What about you? Being good so far?"

[resleeves]

"Tends to happen if you shove a bunch of people into a small space and tell them they can't do something," Kovacs remarks, shrugging. He's found no need to be violent as of yet but he knows the ability is there. Two centuries on ice and a new sleeve can't take the aggressive streak out of him.

Thank goodness for Quell and her lessons or he'd probably be trying to kill every single person on board simply for the fact that his sister had been taken away from him again.

"As for me, haven't snapped yet," Kovacs says, shrugging. There's a thin smile on his face, one that says that snapping could be a possibility. "But tomorrow's another day. Maybe that'll be the magic one."

1

[charlieoscar]

If even half of what Mike has heard about the station in his relatively short time on board proved true, then he knew poking around in its maze of dark corridors and rooms was essentially asking for trouble. He kept this in the back of his mind as he explored, searching for-- he wasn't even really sure, he was hoping he'd know when he found it.

It was this mental preparation coupled with training and instinct, that had him moving at the first 'ba' of 'baby.' He spun on his heels, weight shifting back as one hand dropped low and the other lifted - a mix of defense and offense, uncertain what he immediately needed.

...If he needed them. He stared at the man, brow veeing into the expression of the deeply unimpressed.

"Not if the plan is getting your nose broken."

[rickitikitarr]

Ricki gives him his best, most innocent expression. A broken nose? Who, him? Completely innocent misunderstanding, he'll swear it on whatever Mike likes.

There are no context cues to take from the Reverie uniform, but the stance is a source of illumination, at least.

"Is this some sort of military base?"

It's not a complete explanation, but it might be part of one.

[charlieoscar]

There was a beat where Mike remained wary, waiting, but at the question, the hand he's thinking about turning into a fist finally relaxes and lowers.

"You too, huh?" He shakes his head. "It might have been, but currently? Best guess is as good as any."

[rickitikitarr]

"You don't sound like you're from my end of the world."

Observes Ricki, whose accent is currently a nice medium British.

"Where were you taken from?"

This is a more complicated operation, if they've been dragged here from opposite ends of the planet. Little does he know, of course.

[charlieoscar]

"Good call. Mike Slattery, U.S. Navy."

Mike looks at the stranger speculatively, head tilting toward the man as he played his words over in his head again.

"You're - what? A Brit? Australian?"

[rickitikitarr]

"Good ear." Says Ricki, mildly, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Moved between both, I've maintained dual citizenship."

Because he's technically two different men in each country.

"James Poole. Imports and exports."

A fairly virtuous smile.

[charlieoscar]

"I've worked with both," Mike admits.

It's such a normal conversation to that point that he almost hesitates to move it along.

"I'd welcome you aboard, but--" he grimaces and tips his hands in a helpless gesture. "How much have you figured out?"

[rickitikitarr]

"Enough to be getting angry."

He admits, looking past him, breathing out his nose, deeply fucking frustrated at the hall ahead of them.

"Has anyone worked out what to do."

[charlieoscar]

"Join the club. None of us got asked on this date."

He folds his arms over his chest.

"Heard some ideas. Also heard it's slow going. Somebody, something, didn't want people digging around here."

[rickitikitarr]

"Why bring us here and expect us not to fucking dig?"

He asks, refusing to believe anyone would not credibly foresee this reaction.

"That's point a to point b."

[charlieoscar]

"Two sides? Somebody wants it to stay buried, the other wants it found."

His mouth thins, eyes darkening.

"And we're in the middle."

[rickitikitarr]

"In a military staff this size, you would see competing agendas."

He agrees, though he's going mostly by the size of the habitat rings they've been moved into so far.

"But then, where are they? Why do this to us without a word of explanation?"