OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[avali]

OPEN RP POST

♔

-Deposit prompt and/ or character.         

-Receive some pretty bad RP in return??

-Threads leading to smut is fine, because hey, sometimes it happens. 




♔

Muselist

Open RP (smutty version)

 

Comments

stares at u

[pygalgia]

[febrile]

John!! [It's shouted over the comms, Aeryn's voice amplified well enough by Moya's winding corridors even without the additional technological assistance. They've been stranded, drifting, for weeks now, and she's going to frelling kill him whether he's suffering from space delirium or not.

He does not get to pull parts from her prowler to repair his module. And he absolutely does not get to leave his useless dren laying all over her perfectly maintained console.]

John where the frell are you? [It takes-- literally-- every last bit of effort to bring her tone down to something unconvincingly conversational. Tense throat muscles and a curled lip keep the words too harsh to be sincere.] ...I just want to talk.

About-- [Likely subject. Likely subject.] food.

[Nailed it.]

[pygalgia]

[You know where he's not? Definitely nowhere near her prowler or his module. Don't stick around the scene of the crime after you've committed it - that's just common sense. The fact that he'd very explicitly told Pilot at the time that he 'wasn't doing anything wrong' and that 'Aeryn won't even notice' didn't add up to chump change after the fact.

He knows what he did and the risks involved and John isn't stupid. He's gone to ground in a place he's pretty damn sure is untraceable -- unless Pilot opts to sell him out. Which, come to think of it, is completely possible (maybe even likely). So despite the initial instinct to keep his mouth shut and his head down, John finds himself leaping to his own defense before anyone else has the chance to open their big mouth:]

So I'm the resident culinary expert now? Did we vent Rygel into space when I wasn't looking?

[febrile]

[Hearing directly from him? Totally unexpected.] Considering we're low on food stores are you actually surprised?

[Response stuck somewhere between sharp intonation (because don't think for a second you're off the hook, Chrichton) and her typical brand of flatline humor. Not that it lasts:] You pulled parts from my prowler.

[pygalgia]

[What do you take him for, a complete coward? Partly one, maybe but--] I was really more kind of offended you might've done it without me.

[He's totally off the hook, she just doesn't know it yet. Talking quickly now so he can stuff all the relevant and totally understandable points in before she can interrupt him:] Okay yes, but it was for a good reason. You know I've needed a more permanent adaption for the fuel system. And those parts were mostly redundant in your prowler anyway.

[Mostly.]

[febrile]

'Mostly' redundant. [If she could sound any more offended by that suggestion...] No no no no no, you do not get to pick apart my baby for that barely functioning disaster.

[The one and only physical memento she's kept from what she's left behind. Completely and utterly a unique scenario that belongs only to her and you totally wouldn't get it ever.

Aeryn hasn't stopped moving to chat, however - she's still stalking through the halls listening in for a telltale echo just in case she happens to pass by his hiding spot.

[pygalgia]

[Never gonna happen, Aeryn. He's an expert at hide and seek, thank you very much.]

'Barely functioning?' I'm sorry, I totally forgot the time we had to take your prowler down to that commerce planet because the locals were all gun shy about a Human transport sailing down and throwing their weight around. --Oh wait. Wasn't that the other way around?

[febrile]

Yes, you're absolutely right. My mistake. They were definitely less bothered when it malfunctioned and almost landed on their high priest instead.

[The words 'high priest' are drawn out and sarcastic - as if she couldn't fathom why religion is such a big deal to some people (Zhaan as well at times).]

[pygalgia]

--Which was symptomatic of the fuel injection issues, Aeryn. [Hence the scavenging. Because okay, yes, almost running over the natives had been a slight issue.]

[febrile]

I'm still the better pilot. [Their flying lessons: still not going brilliantly. His fault.] -And I can't do that properly without my prowler!!

[If he's anywhere nearby, John can easily pick up the sound of her fist making solid contact with one of the cargo containers at her side as a sort of physical underline for the tail end of that sentence. Temper: still present and accounted for. ]

[pygalgia]

[Alright, so he doesn't really have a viable argument for that one--

Aaand that's the sound of a hard object against another equally hard object from somewhere near by. She's closing in on him. He pitches his voice lower involuntarily over the comm:]

Okay, so you don't like me pulling parts off your prowler. No big deal. We can just reroute the proweler's systems then we both get what we want. See, that's what we call compromise.

[febrile]

[At least she sounds noticably calmer when her voice comes in across the comms again. If not slightly petty.] Well I don't like compromise.

[pygalgia]

Yeah thanks, Commander Kruge, I got that.

[But he may be unfolding himself from his carefully chosen hiding spot, dragging his tools out with him. Technically he hadn't initially crawled up into one of Moya's auxiliary access channels for the sake of hiding from Aeryn, but it'd ended up being a nice secondary benefit--

It doesn't take too long to find her. He turns exactly one S-curve through Moya and there she is. He already has his hands up.]

Truce?

[febrile]

[She turns slowly on her heel to face him, arms lax, fingers not-- and says nothing aside from angling her chin towards him, brow cocked, stare level. Truce: you sure you want to chance that, John?]

[pygalgia]

[Well when you put it that way--

He gives her an open look and a cocked eyebrow right back. Ball's in your court, Aeryn.]

[febrile]

Next planet, you pay for the parts I need to fix this. [Not that it means much when they all share the same collective funds.

And provided they ever find another planet before starving to death. Or worse.]

[pygalgia]

Deal. [He drops the supplicating gesture, takes three steps in her direction, and offers his right handout to shake on it. Might as well make it official, right?

The satisfied grin probably isn't helping his case, but y'know. It's not every day he gets his way.]

[febrile]

[Two long beats with no move to accept his hand might make it seem like Aeryn's about to reject the offer and knock him upside the head, but the quizzical glance he gets after one thorough inspection of the offered hand ought to cue him in on the fact that she just doesn't get it.

Peacekeepers: make treaties with weapons, salute to say hello, what are you holding your hand out for, John, she has nothing to give you.]

What.

[pygalgia]

What 'what'? [He looks between their hands, back to her - shakes his hand slightly in a vaguely insistent gesture.]

Are you kidding me-- [Get outta here with your ridiculous space crap, Aeryn. He catches her wrist with his spare hand, bringing it up so he can take her right hand in his. Grasps it firmly.] There. Deal.

[febrile]

Okay. Sure. [You and your ridiculous Earth dren, John. Her face scrunches up when he presses his hands over hers, but the contact's nice enough on its own and she's not complaining.

Doesn't pull her hand away once it's done-- and not just because she has no idea how long is long enough.]

Just don't do it again. Ever.

Or I'll kill you.

[pygalgia]

[He knows how long handshakes usually last but he's not letting go either. Two idiots standing in the middle of a lower level corridor holding hands.

John flashes a grin. Pretty sure she said that the last time too.]

Sure.

[febrile]

I'm serious, John. [No, really, she isn't. But in the face of a bright-eyed grin like that it's the only shot at posturing she has left. Humans.]

[pygalgia]

No, I know. [He's schooling his grin - badly, but still making the attempt. His thumb slides absently across the back of her hand.] Me too. Deadly serious.

[febrile]

[There's a low little noise at the back of her throat when he scuffs the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. Soft. Mostly skeptical.

She leans in closer.] The only time you're deadly is when you're in that machine of yours.

keywords

[pygalgia]

[He mirrors her, shifting his weight gently to the balls of his feet. With his grip on her hand steady, John draws his elbow back slightly. Chokes up on the distance between them.]

Are you calling my module a death trap?