[open log] the saddest little stoner that couldn't

[foolproofed]

CHARACTERS: Marty Mikalski and you!
LOCATION: Hallways + Holodecks + Kitchens (a few days after the jump)
WARNINGS: Sad stoner kid. Probably talk of the world ending or something idk. Also weed. Lots of weed.
SUMMARY: Dana's gone, and Marty's taking it badly for a number of reasons.


He really thought he'd be doing better at this.

Like, she was already dead the moment he heard her over the comms. They were both already dead; died with their hands locked together, so close to each other's faces that he could feel her iron-tinted breath against his nose. They were dead together. And then they were alive together. And for a little while, everything was good.

Until this jump, when he'd gone to get Dana and found her pod empty, her locker abandoned.

She was gone, just like that.

He doesn't expect the cold, numb sensation to wash over him, not like this. He figured he could just pour one out for his homey, appreciate that she was resting in some way (it brought him comfort, okay?), and then maybe go to his room and sleep it off. None of these things happened. Instead he just drifted the hallways with a sag to his shoulders and a slow drag to his step.

Dammit, Dana.

He's alone again, and they're all gone. Once again, he's reminded how much it's not fair to be alive, and how ready he was to be dead. He doubted there'd be pearly gates for him, but at least he would have that much. As it is, he just feels tired. Now if only he could bring himself to sleep. There are so many thoughts rushing around in his head, he feels like his brain'll burst if his heart doesn't first. He passes the kitchens and lounging rooms up, but when he finally comes to the holodecks, he can't help but go there.

Poor foxy minx. Poor redheaded heroine. She was so good; such a good ray of sunshine. Everybody he met here would have loved to be her friend. Is it possible to mourn someone a second time? Possible to mourn them even worse than the first time? He scoffs and shuts off the gravity in the room, and then just lets himself hover quietly through the space with his knobby knees drawn up close to his chest.

He's a floating ball emanating heartache. It's not him at all.

Jesus. Jesus, I'm a fuck-up. He couldn't even properly respond to this shit. Just... hover like they did, and as much as he wants to appreciate that memory, he keeps getting caught in a mental feedback loop of: blood, blood, monsters, Dana, fucking godhand of death. No, when Dana disappeared on him this time, he had to restart the grieving process all over again. For all of them.

Maybe what makes him choke on something empty and lost is the fact that Dana wasn't dying outright. No.

She was going back to being half-drowned in a lake, being manhandled by a zombie fuck, and then watching as the entire world shattered around her.

Hand in his.

He chokes again and his eyes burn, but he fights it away.

Fuckers.

Motherfucking fuckers.


Of course, about a day later, Marty's taken residence in one of the kitchens with his trusty bong Nancy and a good dozen rolled joints expertly lined up on the counter (he was just counting them out while figuring out how his hands made edible shit from the fridge). Beware, this kitchen smells like weed, and the smoke fogging the doorway doesn't help the scene. Marty's in a sharing and caring mood today, at the very least; maybe it'll lift his spirits. Hell, he's already sitting on a bar stool chair, laughing into his hands about something or another.

It's probably not all that funny, and he's not about to say what it is.

Comments

[coffeeking]

[Ianto walks in quietly, bringing gifts. He sits next to Marty and places a full canister of his special brew in front of him before snagging a joint.]

Thank you. I don't think I said it properly - or coherently before.

[foolproofed]

Oh —

[Oh, Ianto, today is just not the best day for thanking him. He blinks up at him, looking like maybe he's wondering why Ianto has a balloon for a head — and then he grins a bit, something sort of hollowed out in the way he does it. Wide pupils track the other man's hand as he takes a joint; Marty doesn't seem to remotely mind.]

Don't sweat it, man... We all gotta — y'know.

...

Y'know.

[Did he forget what he was gonna say, or does he think he already said it?

He just shakes his head and brings the dwindling joint to his lips again.]

Dude, you were pretty bad off.

[coffeeking]

[Ianto lights up and takes a drag, holding it a little before letting it out slowly.]

Yeah, I was. All patched up now though, thanks to you and Martha and that woman.

[He never got Nomi's name, but one of these days soon he'll track her down and thank her. For now, he gestures at the spread of paraphernalia.]

So, are we celebrating, mourning, or trying to forget?

[foolproofed]

[He freezes, but eventually inhales another breath. He's quiet for a moment; he seems not so stoned, when it's brought up, like it washed some of the drug right out of his head. His eyes go half-lidded.]

Friend. From home -- she, uh... went home.

[Y'know. To the world that doesn't exist anymore.]

[coffeeking]

[Ianto leans sideways to bump his shoulder lightly into Marty's.]

Sorry. [He lets the solemn silence linger a moment, knowing there isn't much else to be said in these situations.]

Is the pot helping?

[andblockbuster]

[Topher's not much better. It finally occurred to him that the reason he hasn't seen Bennett around is because she simply isn't around- not that she's avoiding him. Not that she's been hiding. She's just gone.

It's enough to remind him of how utterly freakin' lonely his corner of the medbay is. And like a champ, he's sucking it up and not dealing with it. He'll talk to the network about it eventually. Maybe. Right now, he's just ignoring the inevitable.

...and there's smoke coming from the kitchen.

He chokes on the fumes the minute he enters, recognizing the laughter- he ought to, higher-pitched or not, it's still sort of his own voice.] Y'know, Ned's got a place in the Gardens for this kinda thing. I'm just saying.

[foolproofed]

[Wow, that's a painful parallel, man. Both faces losing the most important chicks in their lives around here. Marty's laughter dies down suddenly, as he turns (so very delayed, his reaction) to the man who looks suspiciously like him. Whatever was funny doesn't seem so funny anymore, and he blinks.]

Can't make a sandwich there, man. Every joint needs a good sandwich.

[... Heh. Something about that is great. A crooked little smile tugs at his lips.]

Wassup, man?

[He forgot why he was sad. He'll remember in no time.]

[andblockbuster]

That's why you picnic or... is that just against stoner code- you have to light up where the munchies are. I'm not hip to the jive. I'm fascinated by drugs, I don't actually partake. [He waves a hand to try and disperse some of the smoke around him, but it doesn't really help.]

I thought I'd see if somewhere along the line we got the space brand Hostess snacks. We skipped an entire jump- weirder things have happened.

[foolproofed]

Don't partake? In a place like this?

[... What?

That's clearly the most important part of that reply.]

[andblockbuster]

[Topher moves over to the counters and gesticulates wildly after finding the first one to be disappointingly devoid of decent foodstuffs.] I need my senses sharp. You don't want a guy tripping out while he futzes around with your head.

[godofthemachine]

There had only been one time in this human form when AM had tried marijuana. It was from a curious exercise, something to do in this form, and perhaps it had loosened him up a bit. It had been what, a year ago? Ah, it was hard. He had lived for centuries, but only just over a year as a human. Just a small fragment of his overall life. And yet, it seemed so very grant, so vast, as if his sense of time had started all over again from birth.

Still, he could recognize the odors, at least somewhat. It was a strong odor, but it took him a moment to make the connection. Of course. Cannabis. A drug. Some happy person probably getting completely stoned.

And here all AM had wanted to do was to eat lunch.

He walked in amongst rising odorous smoke, trying not to cough. A pointed glare at the young man who was sitting there with a bong before he simply growled, "There are other places than the kitchen."

[foolproofed]

"... There are other kitchens...." he draws it a bit, clearly confused by the statement. And then realizes maybe that was too rude? Or something -- oh wait, he's not in the mood to care right now. Damn. He shrugs, looking at AM without a hint of bitterness in the way he offers him a joint. "Free marijuana? On the house?"

He doesn't seem near that happy for how foggy the room is; even marijuana can't totally lift his spirits.

[godofthemachine]

Really, all he wanted to do was make a sandwich, and this was the closest kitchen to where AM was working. The marijuana fog was so thick that it was almost disgusting, irritating on the lungs. It was a drug, something to alleviate pain, something to calm down. Something that caused an increase in appetite. And through this thick haze, this boy was offering AM a joint. He could only stare for a moment, wanting to slap the thing out of his hand right then and there.

But why not. He was breathing in enough smoke already. This boy seemed like he clearly did this quite often, and besides, the last conversation AM had while smoking pot had turned out to be quite valuable. As long as it didn't become a habit.

So he relaxed his stiff shoulders a bit as he said, "Fine," and took the joint, taking a seat next to the young man. Grabbing a lighter, he lit the end of it and inhaled, feeling a rush of burning into his throat, into his lungs. He still wasn't used to this at all, so it was no surprise when he started coughing.

[foolproofed]

"Oh, heeeeey." Immediately the taking of the joint elicits a big ol' grin from the stoner kid. He couldn't help it, because damn, people needed to accept his love here! Free marijuana is not always the easiest to come by in space! True facts! "It's good to know somebody'll smoke. Lately it feels like everyone's all stress, no pot."

[godofthemachine]

Amazing how quickly the boy seems to perk up. Now there's more of a motivation for AM to sit down and smoke with the young man - conversation. Even if a stoner speaking could make little sense, it could act as a truth serum to a degree. More apt to speak when loosened up with a drug.

"It's not something I'm used to," he admits, turning his head away with slight embarrassment. His throat still feels aflame, but the feeling dies down fairly quickly. Enough to coat his throat with somewhat of a numbness as he takes another puff.

"But really, what brings you to set up camp in the middle of the kitchen?"

[organfarm]

Quick lunch break before he has to resume his shift sitting around the medbay. Jion jogs down the hallway, hiking his sleeves up to his elbow, turns a corner into a kitchen -- and promptly stumbles over his feet in an attempt to screech to a halt, coughing and wheezing a bit as a miniature cloud of smoke envelops right past his face.

"Oh god -- what --"

To be fair, he's never smoked anything before, and the smell of the smoke's something completely unfamiliar to him. Blinking from the slight sting in his eyes, Jion coughs once more before looking over at where Marty's laughing to himself at a counter.

"-- oh, uh. Hey."

[foolproofed]

"Heyo, amigo." Spoken in-between dying giggles, because clearly something funny was just very well-thought. Heh, he's so slick; daaamn man. He doesn't make much effort to move in the presence of this new guy, instead waving him over, looking a little more chipper (way more than he was a few hours ago, crying in a holodeck room; whatever, whatever). "Come ooon, take a seat; how're you?"

[organfarm]

"Uhhhhh. I'm good. -- ish? I'm good-ish." Man, this guy seems really happy. Maybe he's celebrating something?

He always sort of reflexively abides by any commands or suggestions thrown his way, so Jion trots over to the table and takes a seat near Marty. He automatically starts fidgeting with one of the joints laid on the counter, peering over curiously at Marty. "Um, and how're you? Did something good happen? You look happy."

[foolproofed]

Wow, man, if there's anything to make the smile turn into something horribly forced and sad, it's that reply right there. He looks down at the table, sighing, itching his scalp with the joint expertly shoved between the two fingers.

"Honestly, man? Something bad happened. But I figure happy's better than the alternative; don't you think? Right?"

Except this is his way of trying to avoid feeling sad, which by all means he needs to damn well embrace. Holding back emotions like that? It's not exactly productive.

[organfarm]

Oh shit, maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Marty's expression goes from happy to forced-happy, and Jion visibly cringes, pushing away the joint he'd been fidgeting with into the rest of the pile that Marty's amassed.

"Um. Sorry to hear that. Didn't mean to, uh, remind you of it. But yeah, that sounds smart. Taking your mind off things."

Quick, better find a change of subject uhhhh. "So, um. Did you get all of these from home? I mean -- I guess if you want a bit of a pick-me-up these things'll do the job pretty good so that's pretty lucky! If your locker dumped all this on you."

[ex_question191]

Stiles planned to use a kitchen to make a sandwich. That was the goal, when he set out from his room. Sandwich with stuff on it — leftovers, maybe, if there were any. That salty soy paste if there wasn't, it went surprisingly well with hard bread and the fake margarine. These days he was the master of the delicious space sandwich.

Finding a dude smoking up is, of course, way better.

"Yo, McFly," he says with a grin, the left curl of it only the slightest bit judgmental because this is the second time they've met and the dude has been getting stoned both times. But then, Stiles can't really begrudge him that. Even better, he's doing it somewhere that won't get back to the bunch of pseudo-parental figures he's adopted. His experience with pot is still limited to the few draws last time: even breathing in the hothoused kitchen makes him a tough dizzy, though that could just be the lack of oxygen. Still, he can't let this opportunity pass him by.

"Got enough to share if I make you a sandwich?" he asks, going to one of the big industrial fridges.

[foolproofed]

"Yes." He says it, sure and sound, relieved. "Dude, this place -- it's severely, severely lacking in proper sandwich-building materials. Like, how's Shaggy here s'pposed to get proper munchies if we have such bad space gunk?"

He rubs his arm, leaning back, and his brow creases with a fuzzy thought.

"I could make more sorbet. If I bribe for fruit again."

[ex_question191]

"Sorbet? That's kind of..." Stiles' brow wrinkles, trying to think of a word that isn't pretentious and failing. "Cold."

Yes. Nailed it.

He rummages around in the fridge and starts pulling things out, setting them on the counter. "I know there's no bread, but that shouldn't get in the way of a good sandwich. I mean, not when there's that gelatinous grey fungal stuff, and refried soy squares."

Possibly he's spent too long in space. He's pulling out the latter, some greenhouse-fresh vegetables, condiments, a couple of other things. Space is weirdly vegetarian, but he's learned that with enough mayonnaise and leftovers it can still be delicious. "I do kinda miss doritos, though."

[foolproofed]

"Super cold. And muy bueno, you follow me?" God, he's growing an unnatural love for sorbet around here. Probably because it's one of the things he knows how to make. Yep. He leans in and watches the kid work, blinking (may or may not be getting some funky colors in there, man). "Doritos — that's where it's at. But grey... fungal shit? Probably... not so much."

[ex_question191]

"The grey fungal shit's not so bad. It kinda feels like marshmallow," Stiles tells him, though he's not using it right now. He slices a tomato carefully under Marty's intense gaze, squishing it a little — it's obvious he's no master chef. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"