ataraxionlogs | so let's raise the bar

Entry tags:

so let's raise the bar

CHARACTERS: Soysauce & open!
LOCATION: Kitchens, oxygen gardens and hallways.
SUMMARY: Trying to stay optimistic and light-hearted.
NOTES: Open for any time until next jump!

[ soysauce is a little thick sometimes; that's difficult to deny, and he's even willing to acknowledge it himself. but that doesn't mean he's ignorant to the constant danger present aboard the tranquility. he's definitely aware of how the ship can warp at any moment and throw everything into chaos; whatever atmosphere of peace that may rest over the ship at the moment is temporary at best.

but -- isn't that all the more reason to make the best of it while it lasts? he's never been good at remaining serious for too long, always searching for a silver lining to any exhausting situation, trying to keep spirits up no matter how difficult the situation. and so Soysauce spends his days cheerfully, offering the brightest smile he can manage to anyone who might meet his gaze. whenever he's not on security duty, he's out and around -- keeping himself occupied in the most high-spirited way he can. ]

kitchens ;

[ he spends a fair amount of time in the kitchens. it's peaceful there, and he likes to cook extra food whenever he can -- leaving it in the fridge in little containers, marked 'free for taking.' (he knows a few people here probably can't or won't cook -- no shame in that! -- so he'd like to make their lives just a bit easier.)

people walking by the kitchen might catch the savory scent of food cooking, the sound of pots and pans and utensils clanking. but they might also hear the lilting noise of cheerful whistling and humming, and maybe the sounds of shoes tapping lightly against the floor -- when he's waiting for things to simmer and cook, soy sometimes spends his time dancing. always keeping himself occupied somehow or the other. ]

hallways & gardens ;

[ he tends to be a bit less productive in the evenings, though. (words can't describe how much soysauce misses his home at times. the busy streets, the bright lights, the bustling nightlife of beacon -- things he holds dear to his heart and can't find anything even close to aboard the tranquility.) never content to just sit still anywhere, even while intoxicated, soy takes to wandering around the ship -- cheerfully waving and chirping at anyone he recognizes.

whiskey bottle in hand, cheeks slightly pink, pleasantly light-headed from the alcohol swimming in his veins, soysauce walks the hallways without any real destination, often ending up roaming the gardens in search of some poor person (victim?) to talk to. ]

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[Fresh air isn't something AM is entirely used to. And even in these oxygen gardens, it still feels artificial. It's not the real thing. He'll probably never get to experience the real thing, because fate has cursed him that way. It's partially due to this resentment that he doesn't spend too much time in the gardens, at least not more than he feels necessary. But he can't deny that this body needs to at least pretend to experience fresh air, greenery, something resembling Earth's natural state. What it once was. Fresh oxygen keeps the body and mind healthier, more active...

So sometimes he would go to the gardens and at least attempt to convince himself he was situated in one of Earth's greenhouses. At night he had gone, hoping there would be fewer people. Whether or not he's right, he at least stays away from them, seated by several leafy plants as he looks over his communication device.

Sad that he can hardly find enjoyment in the trivial things that humans like. Reading is the closest thing he can find pleasurable in terms of "trivial human entertainment," but only so he can scoff at the writings. Or simply laugh at their ridiculousness. Romance novels are something he enjoys so that he can utterly mock the human tendency to focus on sex - poorly-written sex at that. Or he'll read famous works of literature that he's already familiar with, simply to get ideas, particularly from religious works.

It's a sad way to pass the time, though, as he sits by the large leaves and scrolls through a digital copy of a poetry collection. Hardly anything artistic about it, really. Even with these human senses, art is something that is difficult for AM to relate to at all, especially this mishmash of words. Not too involved in his work, he at least is able to hear when someone is coming close.]

[Although LB does catch a whiff of whatever was cooking, at the time, she was actually more interested in trying to dig around for a pack of instant noodles. Not the most creative thing to cook, but it was easy to make and sustainable enough.

But when she comes across the kitchen area and sees Soy dancing, she pauses, giggling a little as she sets her elbows on a nearby counter, leaning forward to nest her chin between both hands.]

Having fun? Heeheehee~? I don't think I typically see people get this excited over cooking.

[Netherlands has spent the days since the jump just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Part of it is due to all of the shit that already has a good chunk of the ship collectively holding its breath. Skipping a jump, Hotspur's year-late post, the lone new guy. Add onto that the fact that Jaye has gone crazy and gone from the Gardens both, his space kid's head is apparently in danger of exploding, and Heather has (in his opinion) painted a bright red target on her back - well, he's a lot more high strung than normal, lately.

Probably why Josias isn't the only staff member who's been steering clear of him.

It's getting late - nearing 23:00 and he's finished enough today for him to be considering heading up to the passenger decks, play football by himself or maybe train with Russia for long enough to wind down. Maybe end up in Heather's bed or vice versa. Hm. He lights a cigarette and wheels his bike to an open-ish area on the main floor, pulls out his communicator, and. Frowns as he hears someone shuffling along. Glances up, sees who it is, and immediately becomes 1000% absorbed with the business of texting Heather because he doesn't like Soy and I like irony okay.]

Daylen is tired, slightly ruffled as he wanders the hallways back from the security office. The world is a vague blur of activity around him, something he's rather numbing himself to. People come and go, and yet for some reason he is damned to stay in this place forever. It feels as if perhaps he has committed some great wrong and this is his punishment -- to constantly be forced to reunite with people then lose them again.

At least, he supposes, he has found something to occupy himself with now. Security might mean he has the power to prevent more of his friends, new and old, being hurt. It also might mean he has the power to make his voice be heard better, which Daylen is very much aware of -- although he isn't about to say that directly to anyone. That is a thought to be stored until he has time to understand it, to understand the order of things and what he would have to do to use it.

He's distracted, fiddling with his network device as he walks, when he catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to see the person moving towards him. Soysauce, his mind reminds him, some kind of marksman. Good cooking skills. Also a musician. In security too.

Ah, someone he'll be working with then. He makes an effort to smile despite the tiredness pulling at him, nods a slightly formal greeting.

"Ah, good evening. It seems like we may be seeing more of each other in the future, I have just been approved into the security contingent."

[The day after the solstice is always a bit of a lazy day, spent taking naps or loitering around between his room and the halls. But most importantly, there's barely a day in the year on which Asato feels more hungry, and sooner or later his ventures out of his room take him towards the kitchens in search of a snack or two to scavenge, though what he really hopes for is to find someone cooking--Bardo, perhaps, or--

There's food. Tentatively he sticks his nose in the air and sniffs a time or two, and once he's sure this scent is coming from the kitchen on their floor and not from a passenger room (he's starving but not raring to start kicking doors in and stealing dinners from unsuspecting passengers), he quickens his pace to a trot as he heads down the hallway. While it's harder to spot than on some of the more outspoken inhabitants of the ship, Asato's in a good mood, mellow and still almost dreamy in the aftermath of one hell of a day yesterday... A drowsy, hazy look still dwells in his eyes, and he reaches the kitchen before he's fully aware of having done so.

But. Food. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the whistling and humming as Soy before he actually sees the guy, but though he'd prepared himself to see Soysauce in the kitchen, he hadn't expected the dancing. For now, he keeps his distance, coming to a halt right outside the doorway and glancing in, his ears perked in curiosity--half about the dancing and half about the food.

Food wins out.]

What are you making?

[Dancing in the kitchen? Actually not that much of an abnormality to Heather. She's always been the type to want to help (or... interfere, depends on your perspective), and due to her tendency to be a near total flop in the culinary arts, her father had found a range of ways to make tiny Heather - still Cheryl, really - feel like she was helping without actually doing anything. Like handing her a jar of salad dressing, cranking the radio and instructing her to shake it up. Anyway, it's always good to see Soy and especially good to see him in the kitchen, so she might just groove on over. Yes sir, I can boogie.]

Whatcha makin'?

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Gardens ARE YOU SICK OF ME YET~~~~~

KITCHENS, LET'S DO THIS.

gardens; this will go very very well

HALLWAYS This'll do, prose because I'm obnoxious

kitchens

backdated to just after Ned being a wad haha