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ataraxionlogs2014-04-09 11:43 pm
handelaar) wrote in ataraxionlogs2014-04-09 11:43 pm
Entry tags:
o p e n
CHARACTERS: Netherlands and YOU!
LOCATION: oxygen gardens, all the kitchens every single kitchen
WARNINGS: mopey sadsacking, mild drug use, the usuals
SUMMARY: catchall for general interactions and/or job training
NOTES: it’s starter options a-go-go in here. despite that if there’s something else you want just throw it down and let’s go or poke me to hash out the details
GARDENS
[If you’re looking for him, he’s not too hard to find. Relative to the size of the Gardens, that is - they’re massive, but so is he, and he frequently can be found between rows of hydroponics on the first level with a bright orange bicycle by his side, sometimes with a hoverdolly full of produce or supplies hooked to the back.
Other times he’s speeding from one end to the other; easy to find, much harder to flag down.
In the event that he isn’t attached to his bike, rest assured that it’s locked up in one of the sheds while he’s finishing up the current bikeless activity. Dragging it to the upper levels is a pain in the ass and impractical besides, so anyone encountering him there will only find him outfitted with jumpsuit, combat boots, a ship-issued phaser - and his trusty toolbelt thing slung around his waist for the extra pocket space. He needs those pockets, okay, he’s got a lot of shit to carry around.]
---
[Hatter’s old tea shop no longer has tea on offer, certainly doesn't keep the company it used to, nor do a small assortment of musty couches make for a decent lounge area. But it’s still where Netherlands chooses to take his breaks. Sometimes it’s a break for lunch, or dinner, but the first couple of weeks after the jump it’s mostly a place to go so that he won’t break down in the middle of a row.
If he spends a little too long staring at nothing with a cigarette in-hand, well, whatever. And if he occasionally smokes something a little stronger than a cigarette, well, that does more to get him back to work than staring off into space does.]
KITCHENS
[Delivering produce to the kitchens isn’t his job, but lately the department’s strapped enough that he finds himself face-first in every deck’s pantry once a week or so.
Unfortunately, there are a few very, very good reasons that he’s not the delivery guy. One, his driving skills leave something to be desired and they’re even worse when said vehicle is a hovercart, two, he prefers to stay in the Gardens when he’s on the clock. But the biggest reason of all is because - ]
No one knows how to clean a goddamn kitchen, [he gripes to himself, whether the kitchen’s occupied or not. The words are always a harbinger of an onslaught of wrathful kitchen purification to come.
Maybe it’s rotting lettuce pulled from the back of a refrigeration unit, or a spill on the counter, or smudges on the stove - doesn't matter, every floor but his own will have something for him to find fault with. And gripe about. Colorfully. But he can’t fucking leave a mess like that without it bothering him for the rest of the day, so cleaning and bitching it is.
- delivering produce is a day-long endeavor, when he does it.]
LOCATION: oxygen gardens, all the kitchens every single kitchen
WARNINGS: mopey sadsacking, mild drug use, the usuals
SUMMARY: catchall for general interactions and/or job training
NOTES: it’s starter options a-go-go in here. despite that if there’s something else you want just throw it down and let’s go or poke me to hash out the details
GARDENS
[If you’re looking for him, he’s not too hard to find. Relative to the size of the Gardens, that is - they’re massive, but so is he, and he frequently can be found between rows of hydroponics on the first level with a bright orange bicycle by his side, sometimes with a hoverdolly full of produce or supplies hooked to the back.
Other times he’s speeding from one end to the other; easy to find, much harder to flag down.
In the event that he isn’t attached to his bike, rest assured that it’s locked up in one of the sheds while he’s finishing up the current bikeless activity. Dragging it to the upper levels is a pain in the ass and impractical besides, so anyone encountering him there will only find him outfitted with jumpsuit, combat boots, a ship-issued phaser - and his trusty toolbelt thing slung around his waist for the extra pocket space. He needs those pockets, okay, he’s got a lot of shit to carry around.]
---
[Hatter’s old tea shop no longer has tea on offer, certainly doesn't keep the company it used to, nor do a small assortment of musty couches make for a decent lounge area. But it’s still where Netherlands chooses to take his breaks. Sometimes it’s a break for lunch, or dinner, but the first couple of weeks after the jump it’s mostly a place to go so that he won’t break down in the middle of a row.
If he spends a little too long staring at nothing with a cigarette in-hand, well, whatever. And if he occasionally smokes something a little stronger than a cigarette, well, that does more to get him back to work than staring off into space does.]
KITCHENS
[Delivering produce to the kitchens isn’t his job, but lately the department’s strapped enough that he finds himself face-first in every deck’s pantry once a week or so.
Unfortunately, there are a few very, very good reasons that he’s not the delivery guy. One, his driving skills leave something to be desired and they’re even worse when said vehicle is a hovercart, two, he prefers to stay in the Gardens when he’s on the clock. But the biggest reason of all is because - ]
No one knows how to clean a goddamn kitchen, [he gripes to himself, whether the kitchen’s occupied or not. The words are always a harbinger of an onslaught of wrathful kitchen purification to come.
Maybe it’s rotting lettuce pulled from the back of a refrigeration unit, or a spill on the counter, or smudges on the stove - doesn't matter, every floor but his own will have something for him to find fault with. And gripe about. Colorfully. But he can’t fucking leave a mess like that without it bothering him for the rest of the day, so cleaning and bitching it is.
- delivering produce is a day-long endeavor, when he does it.]
no subject
[Elizabeth reassured him with a smile as she helped him clean up, following his lead on where to place things. She made sure things were straightened before dusting her hands off to let him finish placing the rest of the object, watching.]
no subject
Cue a few seconds of him frowning at her hands before he yanked open a drawer or two, found was he was looking for on Attempt Three. He offered up the gloves (ship-issue, black, generic women's size) with pursed lips and knit brows. And yeah, maybe a bit of curiosity over how she would take them.]
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Thank you. [She said with a smile as she pulled the gloves on carefully, making sure they fit with a stretch of her fingers once they were on.]
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So. Ah. Where're you from.
[... Christ he sucked at this.]
Or - when.
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[Elizabeth had to give him credit for trying though, giving him an encouraging smile and of course she's more than happy to help him along.]
And what of yourself?
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As for himself... ]
From - [ah, hell] - guess you'd call it Holland. Your time.
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[Elizabeth commented as she watched him setting things up.] I take it you are from a future time as well then?
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he shook himself out of it when she spoke again.]
Ah - 'bout. Five and a quarter centuries. Yeah. 2011.
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If I may ask...what is 2011 like? For England? For all of Europe? [Because she only knows a little of the New World, the known world of her time is still so narrow.]
btw if you don't want her to know anything just pm me, I'll fix it
[This would and will probably be the most Elizabeth ever heard him speak at one time. He took in a breath, turned to lean with his backside against the bench and, as he spoke, lit up a cigarette. He'd been on the ship long enough to assume that telling the future will do nothing to disrupt the actual future of those told, and had no qualms over that.]
England - [Christ, but thinking back to the 15th century was hard] - got powerful, didn't... keep most of it. Seems happy enough, now. An' Europe is - good. Peaceful, for the most part. Got bad for a while, between your time and, uh, mine. Lot of wars in the - lot of countries torn apart. Men killed. Holy Roman Empire doesn't exist. Hasn't in a long time. France is still around. The, ah -
[He huffed out a breath and just laid everything out on the line:]
Nations are more accountable, to those who call them home.
it's fine!
I am pleased England prospered as a nation but to hear that the wars never stopped, that we couldn't bring an end to it troubles me greatly. [There is a pained look on her face, she had hoped this last war had been enough.
She was tired of the fighting, of the death around them.]
I am pleased to hear that, though I had hoped for a peaceful future for my people, for England.
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[Not really agreement so much as sympathetic bitching through his smoking before he turned his head away. As much as he hated seeing people in distress, if he didn't know them well he wasn't willing to do much more than he already had.]
Peaceful, when I'm from. Mostly.
[#he tried]
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I'm pleased to hear that. [A pause as she gives him a grateful smile, his efforts haven't gone unnoticed.] Shall we get back to work then?
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Right.
[Muttered, a bit, and he looked slightly sheepish. It wasn't often that he was the one called out for not working. He picked up a rockwool cube, tiny in his large hands, and twisted it so that she could see the indention in the top.]
This - [jfc netherlands don't say this shit] - these. Are what we plant the seeds in.
[He gave her the tiniest wry smile, and a look that meant "I know, weird as hell, right".]
ooc: I'm back from my trip, but since it's been 5ever and a day, if you want to drop or handwave that's super a-okay! c:
no subject
[She returns the small smile, as if agreeing as she turned her gaze back to watching what she was doing intently. She leaned forward a little more fascinated.]
Ah, yes, I see, and once the seeds are in, what do you do then?