Logs:Thing Two
| Thing Two | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-10 "{I think when we need it we'll find a miracle somewhere.}" |
| Location
<MOJ> Brotherhood House - Mojoverse | |
This is a largish house that has been very unevenly appointed, its decorator gone somewhat heavy-handed with red and purple color theming in all the decor. The ground floor has a spacious kitchen that is nearly empty of any equipment or food. The adjacent sitting room has a very comfortable eclectic range of seating, though no tables; there is a truly enormous television setup taking up the entirety of one wall that plays nothing but Mojo's own baffling network all day. There is an extremely well furnished gym on the basement level, as well as a small library that is entirely stocked with hundreds of copies of "The Pop-Up Book of Phobias", except for one singular copy of the NFT Guide to Manhattan. There's a small yard tucked out behind the basement door. There are enough bedrooms split across the top two levels for everyone to pair up, though they haven't been "furnished" so much as someone has hastily chucked mattresses and bedding into them. The sheets and blankets are extremely soft and comfortable, at least. Though there are two bathrooms on each level with excessively luxurious soaking tubs and capacious showers, there do not seem to be toilets in any of them. With the Games in progress the house is more or less quiet. B is just emerging into the tiny backyard, nose reflexively wrinkling in what's ingrained habit by now in close quarters to the line of latrines, though this eases soon enough when it is not as rank as it could be out here. There's a pair of very disparate looking robots trailing her, and as her finger swipes at the screen of a phone that definitely belonged to someone else when they first arrived here, she's frowning at one of them in pensive study. The second blue shark trudging back into this yard doesn't really belong here, but at this point in game miscegenation who's counting, really. Shane is toting a large bucket and some kitty litter into one of the last latrines, returning empty-handed. He disappears into the basement, returning some minutes later with arms freshly scrubbed. "Are the robots sassing you again." "It's fine, I sass them right back." B hasn't paid Shane much attention until he returns. One of the robots veers over, circling as if it is inspecting Shane thoroughly. "Are your toilets just not crappy enough?" "Oh, they're all plenty crappy, that's the problem. People just keep eating food for some damn reason, it's like every fucking person on both our teams is addicted to the stuff." Shane tips slightly forward on his toes, peering right back at the robot that has come to snoop on him. "These things going to save us?" "{You could talk to Joshua about it,} he's been enabling. I don't think it's everyone, though, I'm pretty sure Ion's been running on nothing but rum and high voltage for a couple weeks now. {Sorry you drew the short straw with shit-cleaning duty, though.}" The robot circles back to B, floating beside the larger one. "Only if you can magically turn one of them into a spaceship. They're just going to make it easier for us to talk to Mr. Stark and them. And each other. It's not --" Her gills flutter and then press down in a faint exhaustion. "Not much but hopefully it'll help. Something. Some day." "I feel like the 'let's stop having food' suggestion might have other repercussions. {Probably for us quicker than anyone else.}" Shane exhales a short breath, sharp and dismissive. "I didn't -- there was no straws. Shit needs cleaning, and the rest of you --" He lifts a shoulder. "Definitely never finding home if you all die of dysentery along the way." His brows lift high, eyes gone wide with incredulity, and he's moving to sling one still damp and soap-fresh arm around B's shoulders to jostle her none too gently. "You're fucking kidding, right. Throwing together goddamn miracles with alien scraps and you're really gonna be saying not much." "Eh. I think we could lose easily half of us to dysentery and still have about the same chance of getting home. Like, do we really need..." B trails off, wobbling with Shane's jostling and then just slouching against him. She bops her forehead lightly against the side of his head and decides against finishing this. "{Sorry. It's just -- not nearly as much miracle as we actually need.}" Shane laughs, a small quiet huff, but the sudden flat press of his gills and quick shuttering of his eyelids is a sharp stinging hurt all the same. It doesn't carry through to his voice, determined in its amusement. "Our family's pulled off more with less. {I think when we need it we'll find a miracle somewhere.}" | |
