Open like the elevator doors in The Shining

[slayer_not_player]

CHARACTERS: John Tillman and YOU
LOCATION: Various
SUMMARY: A WILD TILLMAN APPEARS!
NOTES: Prose or action tags are cool by me
Backdated, presentdated, futuredated w/e w/e
Feel free to harass him in hallways, in the showers, while he's cooking food, or... pretty much anywhere you can think of.

I look forward to playing with you! I'm 'whatuhflamer' on aim and 'queefofchat' on plurk. Don't be shy if you want to plot something out! I'd be happy to start a thread.
herp derp that is all

Comments

[tumbleweeds]

[ Day drinking is typically frowned upon by most people, but is it really day drinking if you're in space? Jaye doesn't think so, and so she heads into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of space booze. She's in the jeans Crowley gave her and her bra, silver wolf-and-feather earrings hanging from her ears and her long blonde hair down, a curved scar over one hip and bruises still decorating her torso from Fight Club. It isn't until she's hopped up on the counter, bottle in hand, that she seems to notice Tillman cooking.

Huh. Man who can cook, and he's built, too. ] Damn. [ She takes a sip, one leg crossing over the other. ] Whatcha making?

[slayer_not_player]

[Tillman looks up when he hears someone enter the room. His eyebrows go up for a moment. She's an unfamiliar face with the careless confidence of a predator. His eyes flick over her bruises and linger over her scar a second more than would be strictly polite as he attempts to puzzle out its cause.

A threatening sizzle makes him turn back to the stove. Given her standoffish entry, he's somewhat surprised when she acknowledges him.]

Steak and potatoes. No idea what kind of steak, though. [Aliens.]

[tumbleweeds]

[ It's an old scar (at most eleven years) but it's the largest one she has. The teeth marks have long since faded but but it's faintly curved from where the dog's jaws sank in, jagged from where it shook its head and from where she pulled free. Still, without proper medical attention it had scarred, and now it's a reminder -- be fast, be strong, eat when you can so you don't have to steal from someone with a big dog.

Jaye tends to be the big dog now (or the bear or the tiger), but the lessons stuck. ]

Steak, huh? [ And potatoes -- cue even more interest. Jaye shifts a little closer, bottle still in hand while the other brushes some hair out of her face. How many are you making there, big guy? ] It's red at least, right?

[slayer_not_player]

Small miracles. [Tillman acknowledges with a quirk of his lips. There just so happen to be two steaks sizzling in the alien cooking oil, though one of them just so happens to be intended for a certain malnourished stringbean he knew. The potatoes, cubed and loaded with garlic, are browning in the skillet one burner over. He sets the spatula down and heads for the fridge.]

Same policy I had in the war: don't ask where it came from and eat peacefully.

[shoyu]

[ some peace and quiet. how nice. and sure, he's still kind of sore all over as his various fractures heal up, still pretty banged-up and bruised from his ugly run-in with that black hole, but soysauce is in a pretty chipper mood as he makes his way to the kitchen. not for food, he's not really hungry. but seeing if he can procure some water.

he's got his saxophone slung over his neck, fingers working to adjust the mouthpiece, reed clenched between his teeth. and he's so distracted trying to get the mouthpiece to sit just right that he doesn't even realize there's another person in the kitchen until he's reaching for one of the spare cups lying around, almost bumping straight into the other man. ]

Ah -- I'm sorry! [ an apologetic little nod as he backs off, taking the reed from his mouth to hold between his fingers. ] I was a little out of it for a moment, there. I hope I didn't make you spill anything?

[slayer_not_player]

[Tillman has a hand up to intercept the wayward shoulder headed his way, but the mousy little man caught himself before it became necessary.]

Not at all. [His gaze is obviously assessing, but not particularly threatening or obtrusive. His gaze falls on the saxophone and lingers there. It's the first honest to goodness instrument he's seen in... six years? Seven? Maximum security prisons were a dull place and music hadn't been a priority before he'd gone into one.]

Do you play? Here, I mean. For an audience.

[shoyu]

Here? In the kitchen?

[ a small laugh as soysauce rummages through a different cupboard to dig up an empty cup, returning the reed to his mouth and moving to the sink. it only takes him a few moments to get a half-full cup to dip the reed into. ] I can't say I've ever played in a kitchen before, sir. But if you'd like a song, I can certainly oblige!

[ a rather rough-looking man, this person, but perhaps fond of music? soysauce beams at tillman as he leans back against the counter. ] Do you like jazz?

BACKDATED to just after everyone gets cured

[sweetmotherofgod]

[ Post-jump, Heather's time has been taken up by the gardens and... well, being disgustingly sick. The first part was busy-work, keeping her hands occupied so she could keep her mind off her grief. The second, on the other hand, had left her nothing to do but think. To mourn - for Hotspur, who was undeniably gone, and for Tillman, from whom she hadn't heard a peep. Maybe it was wrong to be so upset - there was no body, so far as anyone could tell, so maybe he'd gone home. Back to his family, his wife and his little girl. It had felt so selfish to be upset over what was the best possible outcome for him, but she couldn't deny it.

Then, of course, she'd heard that he wasn't actually gone. Lost, initially, and then too stupidly macho to get himself to medbay. If she could do it - Murphy's "help" (or bodily hauling her there, same diff) notwithstanding - then he had no goddamn excuse. Which is why she's outside his door, banging hard on it with a fist until it finally opens.]

I try not to listen to gossip, but I heard this nasty rumor you weren't actually dead. Thought I should check it out.

[slayer_not_player]

Only mostly. [Tillman agrees, as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. The only reason he had answered the door was because the urgency of the knocking made it sound like they were under some kind of alien attack or other apocalyptic event.

Then again... maybe an angry Heather wasn't too far off.]

[sweetmotherofgod]

You asshole!

[Fuming, she reaches up and shoves, right in the middle of his chest. Not that it'll make much of a dent, but it's the thought that counts.]

Do you have any idea how - [how worried I was? How scared I was you were gone too? How much it hurt?] -annoying Simon is when he's worried about you?

BACKDATED TO when Kable is recovering from spacevirus

[player_not_slayer]

Look at you. Just fucking look at you. Is any part of you blue?

[Not that he's really looking as he comes into Kable's room, dropping with a huff into his desk chair before swiveling around to face him.]

You cannot believe the shit I just went through for you, man. Can't have you dying to any goddamn space virus you know, so of course I had to go get you a fucking cure.

[slayer_not_player]

[A better use of Tillman's time would probably be sleeping but he's been doing an awful lot of that lately. His over-rested mind and his exhausted body aren't seeing eye to eye on the matter.]

Oh, yeah? [The accompanying yawn is purely coincidental. Visitors beat out sitting alone in bed all day. Right? Hopefully?]

[player_not_slayer]

[Kable doesn't need sleep what are you talking about, what he needs is some quality time with Simon. Who's been worried about him okay, even though he isn't going to say that kind of shit because that'd be a little gay.

Except its Kable so it might just be okay, in this case.]

Yeah, dude. You got the cure, right? Like, they came and gave it to you? Because if they didn't I will seriously flip some bitches until they get over here and do it.

002 showers

[handelaar]

[So far, Netherlands had done a pretty decent job with avoiding the angry motherfucker who lived a few doors down. And after not seeing him anywhere - network or otherwise - for a while, he'd assumed that the guy was gone.

Stepping out of the shower while clawing his stupid hair out of his eyes, he glanced over to see that he was dead wrong. Angry guy was alive, well, and present.

Shit.]

[slayer_not_player]

[Tillman definitely wasn't gone. He was also definitely naked and headed Ned's way. He's had more experience with communal showers that most people on the ship combined, so he was damn casual about it, but when Ned hesitated, Tillman gave him a cursory glance. Prison showers were a dangerous place and that instinct was hard to stifle.

And wouldn't it just be his luck that his companion was... that one guy he punched in the face that one time. The one he'd accused of rape.

A.W.K.W.A.R.D.]

[handelaar]

[When Tillman paused he stopped, full-out, like he was afraid a sudden movement might startle and he'd end up with his face getting shoved into the floor again. But, hey, this time he wasn't trying to poke his nose into anyone's business. Maybe it was different.]

Uh. [He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, antsy.] You're not gonna knock me on my ass if I turn my back on ya, right.

backdated to your mom i mean after the jump

[dirtyword]

He wasn't sure what time it was--spacetime is an odd thing--but he was pretty sure it was an odd hour. No one was roaming the halls, and Brendan could never sleep, anyway.

Heading into the kitchen, he found it was a different story. The nonverbal guy was there.

Who was he to break an unspoken rule? He just wanted juice, or whatever the equivalent was. Slipping past the other cooking with relative ease, he merely nodded and gave a half-smile from underneath his hair, hands still in his jacket pockets until absolutely necessary.

He didn't recognize a single thing in the damn fridge--cooling system--whatever it was. The sigh was small but audible, and he shut it.

Water, it looked like. Even if that meant he had to squeeze past the larger man once more.

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman recognized the newcomer, gave an acknowledging nod when their eyes met, but didn't say anything. He resumed mixing the bowl of pancake batter.

The kid was quiet, unobtrusive, but didn't strike him as particularly shy. When he turned to leave empty-handed, Tillman looked up curiously.

"Hungry?" he questioned, offer implied.

[dirtyword]

Brendan weighs the question. It's such a simple statement, 'are you hungry', but he still comes from a world where people his own age are far more of a threat to him than adults. Adults were just stupid. Easy to pull the wool over their eyes, anyway.

The amount of times Brendan had lied to the VP, or the principal himself; his mom or the police...It was a piece of cake.

Not a threat, his mind tells him, and he leans against the counter, shrugging. Universal teenager code for 'yes, yes I am.'

backdated to a few hours before the latest jump | SORRY I'M THE LATEST PERSON EVER

[gothchicklit]

[ By this point, October's lost track of how long she's been wandering the ship. Her comm only helps so much, especially when she somehow finds herself out of service (should that even be possible?) and if she's being honest? She's starting to panic. Maybe that guy was right; maybe they do need to paint lines on the floors so people can find their way back when this sort of shit happens.

She's not injured, thankfully, but she is starving. Considering she hasn't had food since before she wandered the wrong direction and found herself all alone, it's not real surprise that she's stumbling as she makes her way through the halls of the ship. She just hopes she's close enough to a populated area that if she passes out, someone will find her sooner rather than later. ]

Late? More like dessert.

[slayer_not_player]

[Tillman's experience with getting lost hasn't dissuaded him from venturing out and away when he wants to be alone. He's spent too much time in solitary confinement to relish sitting around in his room. With the jump just around the corner, he wants to exercise his freedom to move about.

No talking, no one watching him. His jog is relaxing.

...until he turns a corner and clips someone. Even though he isn't expecting it, he still manages to reach out to keep her on her feet. ]

<333

[gothchicklit]

[ October's not exactly expecting someone to appear, let alone run into her, so it's a good thing he grabs hold of her. Her own hands reach out to grab whatever they can get to keep her from falling, the intensity of her glare lessened to a really sad degree considering the way her head's pounding.

She's about to just start yelling at the person when his face registers. It doesn't make her any happier, though, even if she should be thrilled that she finally found someone. ] Seriously? Do you ever watch where you're going?

7/11 doopdoop

[tumbleweeds]

((ooc: after this))

[ In all honesty, Jaye still doesn't get why people are worried or even upset. The most she can think for Sulu is that he might be jealous -- which is a bad sign, she needs to nip that in the butt -- but it just doesn't make sense for any of the others. She's back in her jeans for dinner, even pulled on a t-shirt for Tillman's sake (black and a walking advertisement for Jack Daniels, but it's a shirt), though she's still wearing her earrings from earlier. Two more rings have found their ways onto her fingers now, along with three leather wrist bands; two on the left, one on the right.

For once in her life, Jaye is feeling slightly awkward. She doesn't like being confused, so this time she doesn't go and hop onto the counter, just leans in the doorway. ] Hey. What's for dinner?

[slayer_not_player]

Tillman is methodical as a rule. This trait is compounded when he's stressed or worried, if only because focusing on tasks is better than pulling his hair out while waiting.

By the time Jaye joins him, he's already chopped most of the vegetables in the fridge and assembled them into a salad that would take about a dozen people to finish. He sets his knife aside when she speaks, but doesn't move toward her. "Spamwiches," he responds, with a gesture to the canned pork on the counter.

[tumbleweeds]

[ Jaye paces, sometimes; other times she throws herself into things, whether it's fighting or sex or shopping for earrings. It's usually the pacing, though; agitaged, back-and-forth in circles that get smaller and smaller. She's still now though, watching, because Tillman's been nice but he's huge and there have been people who've gotten physical out of worry before. ]

Actual spam or space spam? [ Space steak, space spam, space salad. Jaye's not too picky about what she eats; she's just asking because she doesn't want to bring up anything else. ]