Yeah, I know, I haven't posted for months.
I gave up on the theatrical_muse prompts as a way of thinking up stuff to post a while back because they were either not exactly relevant to my life as a space-going thief of unusual talent, or just plain boring. (And don't say that matches me well, Avon, because I'm not doing anything boring, no matter how much I am.) Besides, they throw you out if you don't post for a month and it's been a lot of those.
Maybe I should do some more memes? Anyone still reading this journal thingy, let me know about the sort of thing you'd like to see.
From theatrical_muse: Do you have any pets? Would you like some (more)? Why/why not?
I don't, and no. Not that I don't like animals and go as soft as the next person (unless it's Avon) over a furry little kitten or puppy, but I worry enough about myself in space battles without having a trusting little animal around who'd expect me to keep it safe.
I've had pets though. I had a rat when I was a nipper. I found him as a baby (not sure what you call young rats--pups?). I named him Ratty. Yes, not very original, but I'd just read Wind in the Willows. I had him for a couple of years too, even though he gave my mum the creeps. Intelligent creatures, rats, and quite affectionate too. I've kept others since then, mostly in prison. Much prefer them to the two-legged sort you get in places like that.
I wouldn't be surprised if there're rats on the ship, and frankly I don't want to know. You get fond of them, see, and that's not a good thing for a rebel wanted in all the wrong ways.
I see it's Tarrant's birthday. Any excuse for a celebration is what I say, so I've opened one of Avon's bottles of Lindor brandy in honour of the occasion. There's also ice cream with chocolate sauce, nuts (apart from the crew), and various other nibbles and snacky-dos.
See you on the flight deck, mate!
From theatrical_muse: Thirteen
Some people think thirteen's an unlucky number, not sure why. Because it's one more than a nice round dozen? Not that I know why a dozen should be round, but for some reason buns and muffins seem to come in dozens. Or sixes. Easier to pack, I suppose. Or maybe it's because it's a prime number? But then, so's seven, and lot's of people seem to think that one's lucky.
Anyway I've never been superstitious. I don't see how putting on a pair of lucky socks or carrying a die (yes, Avon, I do know the singular for dice) around in your pocket should change anything. Maybe having a gun or wearing an armoured vest would, but I'd hardly say that was lucky. Just being careful.
That said, I do think I've had more than my share of bad luck, but that's just the way things go in a random universe full of bastards and the Federation (with a fair lot of overlap there).
From theatrical_muse: Start something
Start something? Look, I'd prefer not to. I like a peaceful life, thank you very much. I've always left that sort of thing up to others, like Blake.
So, what sort of something do you suggest? A conversation? I do that fairly often, but people around here tend not to take me up on it. Pity, that. I like a good chat with a friend, but then again I'm usually with crew mates and that's often not the same thing at all.
A business? Well, I thought of going into security (the legal side of it for once) but the thought of taxes and paying employees and all the boring stuff that goes with it put me right off.
Tell you what, I'll start the cryptic crossword. That'll make Avon come over and try to finish it before I can, and I bet I can get a bit of a conversation out of him. Even if it largely consists of "fool" and "idiot". Still, I can't be that much of one or he wouldn't bother.
From theatrical_muse: Lines
They talk about us holding the line, you know, back when the Andromedans invaded. Odd expression, that. I mean, it should really be "holding the plane" in space, but I suppose it dates back to before people left Earth, when soldiers used to line up and throw things at each other. Course, we couldn't have held a big plane, not with just one ship. but it was a pretty small gap old Travis opened in the minefield for them. Me, I always wondered why the jellies never gave up and just went round the whole shebang, but I suppose they thought one ship should be easy to get past.
Tell you what, by the time the Federation showed up, my firing finger had gone numb. It was me who was on weapons, you see, which you might think makes me a hero. I didn't have any choice though. I mean, if it'd been up to me, I'd've run, but the others stayed for the sake of the galaxy and all that, and it was the right decision. Just wasn't mine.
So that's why I didn't want a medal when President Avalon handed them out last year. It wasn't modesty, just knowing who I really am.
From theatrical_muse: Which words would you like to see added to/removed from common use?
Not that I have any say (as usual), but here's a list of words and phrases I'd like to see go.
- grade, delta, bond slave, and anything to do with ranking people
- readjustment, brain-washing, and reprogramming unless you're doing it to a computer
- human resources - we're not resources, we're people if you haven't noticed. And that means you too, Blake
- with all due respect - this is always a lie
- folk - not the music (werl, not really) but using it for people. It sounds, I dunno, folksy and that's almost never right. Not in my galaxy anyway.
- fool - that'd improve Avon's repertoire of insults
Added? That's a lot harder.
- vilafication for unwarranted attacks on my intelligence
- blaked for when something's been blown up or sabotaged or just generally stuffed
- acquisition engineer - my preferred professional designation
So, vila_restal, your LiveJournal reveals...
You are... 2% unique (blame, for example, your interest in necklaces not of teeth) and 16% herdlike (partly because you, like everyone else, enjoy writing). When it comes to friends you are popular. In terms of the way you relate to people, you are wary of trusting strangers. Your writing style (based on a recent public entry) is intellectual.
Your overall weirdness is: 41
(The average level of weirdness is: 29.
You are weirder than 80% of other LJers.)
Find out what your weirdness level is!
From theatrical_muse: How would you go about scaring someone?
Depends on who it is, doesn't it?
With Avon, I'd break into his room and move things about subtly, leave his probes on the flight deck or in his sock drawer, and talk about things he hadn't done as if he had, and he'd forgotten. Losing his mind would probably frighten him the most.
I wouldn't do that to Blake though, because he has, and I know what that's like too, not that it ever took with me. Course, Avon'd say I didn't have a brain to wash. Nah, with Blake, I'd teleport a dog onto the ship. He doesn't like 'em. Animals make him nervous because he can't control them; at least that's my guess. Or he got bitten when he was little (hard to imagine as that is).
Tarrant would be easy: I'd blacken a couple of teeth and leave a fake one or two in his bed so he'd think they'd come loose in the night. He's the sort who'd be terrified of losing his teeth (and I think people have nightmares about that cos of it being all metaphorical and all, teeth standing for weapons and power and that) and besides, he's got such a dazzling set.
I'm not sure how I'd scare the girls. I doubt it's possible.
From theatrical_muse: What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done while sober?
That lets me out of a lot! In fact, that's a hard one to answer.
I think I'll go for the stupid clowning around I did with Dayna and Soolin during that Malodar mess. I was technically sober since I hadn't been drinking, but like Avon, I was pretty high on the whole idea of getting an unbeatable super weapon from that creep Egrorian, and I let it go to my head. I mean, it was bad enough that I went on to Avon, of all people, about having a palace with a diamond floor (bloody hard on the feet, and not that flattering lighting either, a reflective floor) and my Royal Mountie guard in red fur, but then I had to try and make Dayna and Soolin laugh. Well, they did, but they were laughing at me, and it still makes me cringe to remember it. Thing is, they actually believed I thought I was an expert on theoretical physics and was helping poor old Avon into the shallow water from out of his depth. I did realise pretty quickly that they were taking the whole act at face value, but my stupid pride kicked in, and I just kept laying it on even thicker in the hopes they'd get it was a joke.
And what that said about what they though of me hurt almost as much as Avon trying to space me.
From theatrical_muse: Would you make a good spy?
I don't think so. Thing is, I'm a bit too honest. You might think that's an odd thing for a thief to say, but I've always been hopeless at telling lies, mainly because everything I think and feel shows on my face, so I gave up as a bad job early on. I could do you a few security breaches and safe-crackings though, usual rates.
I know a bloke once who said he'd applied for the Secret Intelligence Service (and no, it's not for those who keep their intelligence well hidden, thank you Avon) also known as Grassers Anonymous. They told him he'd spend most of his time checking and filing data and would have to call himself a government clerk (no impressing people at school reunions or wearing long black coats and a mysterious expression, then). Besides, he said, they only offered retirement or death, deciding you'd like a change of career not being an option. So he said no. Last I heard, he was flying a pursuit ship for Space Fleet which was giving him the adrenaline fix he liked.
Me, I prefer my adrenaline with some soma in a glass, thanks. So I think your answer's no.
From theatrical_muse: What's the first thing you remember?
My mum making toast.
She was standing at the bench, humming to herself, long gold-blonde hair falling forward to hide her face. I sat there in the warm kitchen, swinging my little legs happily as I savoured the wonderful smell.
"Toast," Mum, said to me, smiling. "Hot toast for me and my little man." She picked me up, swung me towards the ceiling, then hugged me tightly before putting me on her hip. She picked up the slice of thick brown toast. "One bite for me," she took a little nibble, "and one for you."
I grinned at her and bit into it. "Mmm, yum."
She kissed me, tasting all warm and nutty and buttery like the toast.
It makes me smile to remember it, and it hurts too because I wish I could go back to that time and recapture that whole feeling of being safe and loved and happy. My mum died when I was on CF1 (that's Correction Facility 1) when I was 15. I got back to Earth too late. I never said goodbye, but she knew I loved her as much as she did me.
Toast is still my favourite comfort food.
From theatrical_muse: What principles are sacrosanct in your opinion?
Never steal anything from anyone who can't afford to lose it. Banks, corporations, rich bastards though? It's open season on that lot.
Don't piss in your own tent. In other words, don't nick stuff from people you know. Well, unless it's Avon and you're teasing him.
Never take anything personal. Even if it's a rich bastard. You never know, they might have feelings.
Never grass on your mates. Exception granted for torture or mind draining and wiping.
Never leave your mates in the lurch. Even if you think they'd do the same to you. Many's the time I thought about it, but I knew I'd feel bad about myself if I did. Sometimes I wish I had though.
Assume everyone's out to get you. Because they are.
And my old favourite: live forever--or die trying. :-)
From theatrical_muse: If anything were possible, what would be your perfect way to celebrate your birthday?
At 110 with wine and my woman, of course!
Oh, all right. I suppose must of all I'd like to be alive. Oh, and free too. Anything else is a bonus, but since you're asking, I'll go for a slap-up dinner with my friends accompanied by some decent plonk. Wine, mates, food, a good party, and someone who loves me to spend the night with--and the rest of my life for that matter. My very long life, that is. Look, you did say "perfect".
And since I'd have all that, gifts would be an extra. I'd be happy with anything because I haven't had enough presents in my life for it not to be a novelty that someone would want to give me any. Mind you, I'd be careful opening Avon's.
From theatrical_muse: utopia
You what? No such place, mate. Me. I'd settle for somewhere quiet with good pubs and friendly people in them. And you know what? That means the closest I've come to it is the Delta levels on Earth. Sad indictment on the universe, that is.
Besides, shouldn't that be spelled 'eutopia'? I mean, words that mean something good start like that, like euphony and euphoria and euphemism and eunuch (no, not that one!) and eulogy (means good words itself, and me, I'd rather live a very long time and have bad ones at my send-off). Wait, I'll look it up. Nah, it’s spelled right, and I was right too, first time. It means 'no such place', not 'good place'.
From theatrical_muse: black and white.
Ha! I bet you're think I'm going to write about morality or skin colour, though people are usually brown and beige come to that. Actually the first image that springs to mind is Avon's clothes. Always fancied the old black and white, he has (or black and silver) and if I remember right, he even started out in shades of grey. I still have a bit of a snigger when I remember that sailor suit. Actually the grey wasn't bad, but I think all that black leather got to him in the end. I mean, some clothes wear you, don't they? Especially with all those studs and thigh boots. Had to live up to them, didn't he? I'm just surprised he never got one of those spiked dog collars; he needed one to worn people off, especially after we lost Cally and the Liberator.
I suppose it's a sign of hope that there's always a bit of white or silver in all that black though. You know what though? Never thought I'd say it, but I miss the old red lobster suit.
From theatrical_muse: Name three things that you're looking forward to in the near future and why.
Well, first up is my dinner, and why? Because I'm getting a bit peckish of course, and because my watch on the flight deck'll be over, and because the others will be there and I can have a nice chat. I like a bit of conversation with my food. And vice versa for that matter.
A game of chess with Avon. It's accompanied by insults, but funny thing--they're never about my game and I win often enough to make us fairly evenly matched. I'm not bad at chess either.
Avon's face when he finds out that some of his proddy tools are actually made of rubber painted to look like metal. Ah, Avon's a great source of amusement. He reacts so well.
From theatrical_muse: Sleeping on the couch
Let me tell you, the worst thing about shipboard life is night watch, especially for a sociable fellow like me.. Eight hours that stretch into the far distance like a dry and wide desert (just like most of the planets we visit in fact), and about as hard to cross.
I've tried talking to myself (a bit predictable really); pacing the deck as Rebel Captain Restal, hero of the space ways; getting Zen to display viscasts from local systems; playing chess against myself (too evenly matched), but nothing quite fills the silence and emptiness. The hours crawl. Funny, really, when they rush by if you're on a bank job or one of Blake's lunatic missions.
So I feel justified in resorting to naps. They're like teleports through time: make yourself comfortable on the flight-deck couch and close your eyes, and suddenly you're a couple of hours in the future. It's not that risky either: I've had plenty of practice sleeping lightly in prison, and besides, I ask Zen to warn me of any danger, no matter how small, after all, I have a healthy sense of self-preservation. And you know, I think he likes being in charge for a while.
And now it's time for a snooze on the old white leather. Tired me out, writing all that.