ataraxionlogs | oo3. partially closed.

Agriculture's short staffed.

[ This Rick is telling Carl, and even with the bond they share, it might be hard for the boy to know if his dad is messing with them or very earnestly speculating on his bright future as a space farmer. Rick's tone is dry, humourless, but he's also very firmly set on his task. Repacking spent casings for his revolver's ammunition.

It's a very particular, detail oriented kind of task. Time consuming, to be done correctly. Being a firearms hobbyist, Rick had already been familiar, but between being a police officer, being a father, vaguely failing at being a husband, it's been some time since he committed himself towards getting good at it. Here, they don't carry his ammo, not for his gun, so he has to repack if he wants to fire it ever again. Back home, he'd imagined hitting a jackpot of finding the necessary equipment, a thought he'd toyed with during the prison days, to become even more self-sufficient, but that was also the period of time he'd spent imagining he had all the time in the world. Fooling himself.

So he's reloading his ammo, and not exactly showing Carl how, but letting him watch this time, mostly because Rick is still refining his own process. The neighbouring room to his claim on level four makes for a good enough work shop. It smells like one, too.

This also indicates that he has, in fact, shot his gun while on the Tranquility. ]

You could probably show 'em a thing or two.

Edited 2015-03-02 13:31 (UTC)

[Right here. With him being allowed to watch his dad work with the Colt Python, Carl's thinking it's a nice change for once and appreciating their time together on a silent level. Of course, it's not the first they spent time together since his arrival, but it's the first they done anything like this since everything went down back home three, maybe four weeks ago so he's taking what he can get. Especially if it keeps his mind off home.

Which is why the thick accent of his father draws him out of his absent minded, yet attentive watching, getting him to look up with surprise at the suggestion. It's sudden enough that there's an immediate "are you serious?" to his expression as well. So if it is to be humorous, clearly he's not recognizing it as much.]

Dad? [... That's the worst idea in the world. But he can't bring himself to say it that way, so he hesitates in thought. Because the last time he tried it, it hadn't worked out well for them, and actually he'd had another idea. In fact, the last couple of weeks he was letting himself get to know things, used to them, but really bidding his time to ask about the gunnery crew he heard about a while back.

Maybe now was the perfect time?]

Well, um, I was thinking of joining somewhere else.

[ There's a twitch at the corner of Rick's mouth, crooked humour, the prod doing what it intended from what he could see of Carl's expression out the corner of his eye. He remembers his son's cynicism, upon their shift towards a more peaceful, nurturing existence in the prison. The shift from hunter-gather to farmer was mankind's first step towards civilisation, after all.

It doesn't apply here, now.

He makes an inquiring sound, as opposed to words, focusing as he handles the press with care. ]

[Safe to say, he's not seeing the humor in this. Even with the twitch at the corner of Rick's mouth, it goes largely unrecognized due to him already thinking about what he's going to say before saying it. Whatever he needs to sound convincing because joining agriculture is the last thing he wants. In fact, it'd feel like a step backwards.

And so he waits for his dad to say something or give him some sort of cue, not hesitating very much to finally say what he's been meaning to for a while when given the inquiring hum.]

So I was thinking maybe joining the gunnery crew, like you. I would be more help there.

That right.

[ The lack of surprise Rick feels is profound.

And resigned, partially, which could possibly be read in his silence, but so too can concentration. He takes the repacked bullet into hand, running his thumb over it, before he tosses it to Carl to let him take a look. Good as new? asks an inquiring raise of his eyebrows.

Rick focuses on starting another. ]

Well, you know it's not up to me. They got people who make those kinds of decisions.

[He's not expecting his dad to be surprised, but the small reaction he gets feels somewhat like the early brush offs at the prison, which deep down is starting to make him concerned with asking at the wrong time. Because even after the whole "you're a man" speech back home, it's tricky to tell where his dad is at. The unknown timeline stuff to him doesn't help either.

Catching the bullet tossed to him though, he looks it over briefly. It's fine as far as he can tell so he gives a nod to the inquiring look on him before setting it down carefully on the make shift work area in the room. And. Moving straight back on point, he already knows there's other people or that Jax person that makes the decisions, but wants to make sure his dad is fine with it first. So, admitting as much here. In lesser detail.]

I know... But you'd okay with it if I did?

[ It's true -- Rick had called Carl a man, he remembers that recently, and being here doesn't negate it, nor does all that happened after take away from it. But it, this place, does change it. The terrain is different, the threats are different, and he's not necessarily looking at his son and speculating if he's going to get through the apocalypse if Rick slips away. But maybe he should, anyway, even here. He remembers Daryl slipping away, ghosting off before one jump and into the next.

Still. There's a lot of learning to get done. ]

Yeah.

[ Which is why he says yeah, making eye contact for a moment. ]

It's not busy, 'cept for this kind of thing. But it's access. It's somewhere to be. And they're not interested in running this place.

[Carl sort of figured the gunnery crew was mostly mundane (or something like what they were doing now) anyway, but so was the rest of the ship. Why he really cared about joining them though was to have something to do that didn't make him forget what he knew about surviving, even if it meant all he had to do all day was tuning or fixing up weapons.

And given the apparent choices, honestly, it was definitely better than farming. So there's already a small smile growing on his face for when he hears it. The one simple word of approval, followed by what he already figured before. And he's happy he can go ahead with what he wants now, but also wants to be as reassuring as he can be about knowing what he's getting into first...]

Yeah, I know. But somewhere to be is better than sitting around all day. [He doesn't mean here, right now necessarily because this is quality bonding time, but he does mean in general when its less bonding and more boring sitting around.]

And... besides I don't wanna wait for something bad to happen. With the monsters in the halls and all. [The ones he hasn't seen yet, but is pretty convinced he heard with all that groaning and noise in the halls before.] So I figured I should join 'em anyways. Help out.

[ Hmmn sounds roughly agreeable, Rick pulling out a chair to sit as he works, flicking a glance upwards and across.

The silence that passes isn't awkward, on Rick's part, just thoughtful.

Then; ]

You met 'em? Teller, Anderson.

[And following the example before him, he pulls out a chair and sits down after a second's hesitation. He got the approval he wanted, so he spends the next seconds or moments of silence between them with a light smile and his eyes continuing to watch the process-

Only to look up again with the question tossed over his way.]

Huh, no. [An instinctive reply for being either caught of guard by the question or unable recognize one of those name at first, before pausing and thinking about it. Either way, lying is still something he doesn't like to do, and he guesses admitting he did a little poking around ain't going to hurt any, so he follows up with:]

Not in person. But I talked to the Teller guy before.

Cassandra Anderson can read minds.

[ He puts it other there with a frank tone, rather than a particularly impressed one. Not even very scared. Rick doesn't have a lot to hide, even here, even knowing the things he's done.

But it's one of those things that's good to know. Especially seeing as she doesn't volunteer the information right away. ]

She seems to help run it under Teller. They seem alright.

[ Besides one of them being, you know, a psychic. ]

Huh. For real?

[His surprise is drawn out with the slight turn of subject, even if he's seen and learned of other things around the ship that he would never in his lifetime have believed. It's just that psychics sounded more intrusive and he knew what they could do from comic books so for him there's immediate worry for what she could see in his mind.

Which was. Everything, most likely. His deepest and recent sense of loss, the mistakes he's made that he sometimes still thought about, and everything really that he only ever wanted share with those he was closest to. And some of it he wasn't ready to share, least of all with his dad. He didn't want to be a disappointment by telling him some of his realer thoughts yet.

So if it was true, and he didn't hold back on believing it for even a second, then she was actually one such person he thought he was fine not meeting anytime soon. Even if she was "alright." And his body language tenses, not exactly hiding that's maybe something along the lines of what he's thinking either.]

I bet she's seen stranger. Up here.

[ Not that the particulars of their world is what Carl wants to keep a secret, Rick knows, even if he doesn't know for sure what it is Carl might guard. He can imagine. He can guess.

It occurs to him then that there's stuff they should talk about, not just the day to day, not just how to repack a casing, not just the rules and regulations of this place. But the things they've left behind. The things that have happened.

But Judith is a name that sits like a rock on his words. Heavy, cold, pinning down his tongue.

Not yet. ]

Yeah, [ he says, instead. ] I'm not wild about it either. But she keeps to herself.

[Even so, it's not much reassurance, now that is mind is thinking about all this.

After all, he still remembers his dad saying "don't look back" that day not so long ago, and ever since has been taking it all in a sense of deeper ways and meanings. For the most part attempting to keep his grief bottled up or finding somewhere to be by himself for a while when he can't.

The point is they haven't talk about it. Not the prison, Judith, or the rest of their people, dead or possibly alive. So nothing about sharing with a psychic first was his idea of good.

And he's not sure of how to share with his dad yet, so for now, he bottles it in some more, lowering his head to hide the distraught thoughts that may have played on his features a second ago, and using the brim of his hat for cover, momentarily.]

I'm not worried about that... [ which is more something he tells himself to pull himself together, obviously lying more to himself, and looking back up again. ] I was just surprised. There's just a lot of strange things here. I don't know if I can get used to it.

[ It's a scant day before the forty-first jump, and the medical bay is set to be a lot more crowded than it is now. Dr Gallo will be expecting them, after a quick bout of texting, and she in turn shouldn't be hard to find. Reflexively, as they enter, Rick rests a hand on Carl's shoulder, light but present. Looking at them, you might imagine Carl must take after his mother. Except when it comes to eye colour, both of them with wolfish bright blue.

Rick himself looks a lot better than the first time he walked this path. From a more casual stance to the naked planes of his face scraped down with a razor, and he looks like someone who eats more than once a day, that might not be sleeping on the floor anymore, that can find a balance between short starts of two hour long naps and lengthy ten hour long comas. Basically, like he can function. No small part due to the fact Carl's here and he has to, now. He has reason and cause.

Onwards to her office, Rick looks down at Carl before he raps his knuckles against her door, which slides open. ]

[His dad asked him about getting a routine check up and given him the cue to follow along, so here he is to at least meet the doctor and see. And make his dad happy, too.

But he also has reservations because while he may look plenty healthy considering the circumstances from home, he knows better to think that's how it is on the inside of him. His blood levels or whatever. And the thought of finding out how bad they are makes him nervous. Honestly, he'd still like to think as before where everything was fine as long as you could keep going. But he's not fooling himself by not seeing how the normalcy he's found here changes that.

So, as they enter the medical bay and approach the one office, the hand ever present on his shoulder helps him remain cool even though he's still entirely uncertain with what all this entails or if he wants to go through with regular check ups at all.

Catching the look down at him though, he tries to hide his thoughts by giving a slight, somewhat weak assuring smile, before turning his head to the door to see who would come out and what they looked like.]

( the woman behind the door is striking, as a general rule, standing six foot in barefeet and currently about five or six inches taller than that in her heels, sleek and slim in black with a shock of curls pulled severely back from her face. 'approachable' is not a word that's been often used to describe dr mila gallo, but bland disinterest shifts to something approximating tolerant when she sees the cause of interruption, setting down her device and turning properly to examine them, all crisp british diction when she speaks-- )

Rick. And this is your son.

( whose name she neglected to get, she's belatedly realizing. well, he looks old enough to introduce himself; she helpfully provides an opportunity: )

Dr Gallo.

[ He is that, and Rick seems inclined to let him do the honours, with another glance down aside as prompt and reassurance. It might only occur to him then that Gallo is particularly strange, looming tall and clean and sharp and worlds apart from their own, but, you know. Context. They're all on the same spaceship.

He barely remembers how it was when he first met her. He's sure he made a fantastic impression. ]

If you want him to like you, you should show 'im your death ray.

[ Rick slides in past both Carl and Milagros, a lazy pace of a dog let in and oblivious as to how welcome it is. He is certain Milagros isn't invested in anyone liking her, but he wouldn't mind it. ]

[Her height isn't cause for alarm per se, but if it looks like he gives her an astonished look for the briefest of moments then it's probably because he was. But he's not trying to be impolite so he moves his gaze down just as soon he catches himself staring.

And he might have just gone quiet and stood there awkwardly because Dr. Gallo, as she so introduced herself, seemed the professional rather than friendly sort. But thankfully there's the helpful nudges of both of them pushing him introduce himself and, well, the mention of death rays he knew to only exist in comics to bring his attention back and help him gather himself again.

When looking up at her this time, he tries focusing less on her height, and speaks when he catches sight of her eyes. (Maybe also looking to try making his own judgement call about her, even though he's trusting his dad's for the moment.)]

Carl. [And that's it, as far as introductions go. 'Course he doesn't want to be left standing there so he'll move past Dr. Gallo following his dad in a moment, but not before a pausing another second and semi-curiously, semi-doubtfully asking about the other thing that caught his attention.]

You really have a death ray?

( the look rick receives for his troubles is more droll than anything else. he correctly assesses her total indifference to being liked, but in spite of rarely knowing exactly what the fuck you're supposed to do with them, she is inclined to tolerate children a bit more than their taller, mouthier counterparts. and her death ray is the bomb, thanks. at carl's inquiry, she produces a pearl-inlaid wooden box from somewhere behind her desk and sets it down, presses her thumb into the mechanism to unlock.

when she takes her hand away to open it, there are tiny pinpricks of blood where she'd pressed in. )

It's multipurpose.

( but even if it's been designed to look like an antique, pearl-inlaid to match the box and beautifully crafted to mimic firearms of an earlier generation, you can't really get away from the fact that yes, dr gallo has a purpose-built custom ray gun. )

[ Droll look is met with bland innocence, and a sneakier smile hidden just at the corner of his mouth -- gone again soon enough, his listing towards his old, dry sense of humour being a wildly inconsistent habit to get back into, almost unwillingly except where his son is concerned.

He finds a place to lean, arms folding, watching Milagros unveil the ridiculous weapon, Carl's inevitable approach of it. ]

I was saying to Carl that you took care of my quarantine when I first came here, but we won't need to do anything like that again.

[It's true that he approaches with some level of inevitable curiosity to see the death ray, but he maintains a short distance of space between them in doing so, perfectly fine with looking at it from the same amount distance he feels with how he's just getting to know her. That's to say he keeps himself at least a foot or so away.

But even so, there's a silent intrigue that lights up in his eyes when his gaze falls on the old fashioned, yet super awesome design. And it's then she says it's multipurpose and he wonders what she means by that since he's never seen anything like it in real life before. Honestly, though, he sort of wants to ask if he can touch it or hold it in his hands, but doesn't know how to quite ask so for now decidedly won't interrupt the line of conversation that comes next.

Instead, he looks up to eye them - his dad to begin with, then her, and dad again - before moving his blue orbs back on the death ray again. He has nothing he wants to add anyway.]

No, ( she agrees, closing the box - the locking mechanism whirs and clicks into place - as an automatic afterthought. safety first. especially given the first time she had rick in her office, she gave him a brief lecture on open carrying in the medical bay and is damned if she's going to undermine herself with a game of hey look at my cool lasers.

more. much. whatever. )

No, I don't think a second quarantine is required. I'd like to take a few samples from you, Carl, and run the full battery of tests that I performed during that quarantine, ( and saying so directly to him, involving him and his own ability to consent (or not) to that process in the conversation, is a deliberate choice from a doctor not known for her sensitivity, ) to do a comparison and confirm the details, but I don't see any reason why it should be any more intrusive on your end than an average blood test.

[ Good.

Rick hadn't actually discussed this beforehand with Dr Gallo to any particular extent, but he had a feeling she wouldn't force the issue. He had had every power to leave quarantine when he first got here, before they even knew better, and half of him is conscious that that had been as much to give him something to do and rest his mind as it had been for her own prudence.

He makes an agreeing huff of a noise that communicates more approval than consent on Carl's behalf, dropping a look back down to his son. ]

[ ooc ; sorry guys, thought i'd hit this one. ]

[Carl watches her close the box and returns his attention back between the both of them with the distraction removed. It's somewhat disappointing that he hadn't been able to ask, sure, but he wouldn't have anyway because it doesn't seem like the time to.

Anyway, the doctor's request comes as a small surprise, yet a quick blood sample or two seems small in comparison to quarantine. He should know because of those brief few days locked away with all those younger kids at the prison during the flu outbreak at home. But point is, he hadn't wanted to do anything this time around so he glances back at his dad with pause in the mix of thought for the approving noise he receives.

But after a hesitant second, he thinks maybe he can reconsider and decides to be grown up about it.]

Well, if it's just some blood, I could. [So that's a yes for for all intents and purposes. However, there's one thing he has to ask first too.] But how many is a few samples?

Two small vials. Less than you'd give were you donating blood.

( it isn't so much that mila views carl's consent or full understanding as a priority - he's young enough she'd feel comfortable deferring to rick's opinion on what should be done with his son - but that she recognizes ~the youth of today~ are more cooperative if they feel respected, and unlike the (frequent) occasions when dealing with adult patients where their health is their own damn problem and she's not going to bother pushing if they're going to be idiots--

under the circumstances, she does view it as a high priority that carl participate in at least some monitoring. she neither can nor would attempt to force him to do so, but she can present it in such a way as to make him more comfortable with the prospect. )

Edited (rick's not a woman) 2015-03-22 01:19 (UTC)

oo3. partially closed.

carl grimes. level four, room one hundred and thirty-two.

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milagros gallo, carl grimes. medical bay.

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