[ as their new cross-species friends parade into carcass-town with their prize monster-clam, Luke’s refraining from aggression, as requested. Even if barely, fidgeting with the clasp on his gun holster, rolling too-tense shoulders, and eying strangers too closely. Actively welcoming is too big of an ask, but he can keep his mouth shut, so long as he can also keep his gun - one thing a cautious guard takes issue with as Luke’s hand doesn’t seem eager to drift more than a couple inches from his sidearm while the procession drifts by. Security Bro's anxiety is doing absolutely nothing to ease Luke's chill right now, so let's just address that head-on. ]
Last aliens I met - we didn’t get along.
[ they killed his grandma and, like, half of human life as he knew it. Luke took it kind of personal, and hasn’t felt the motivation to get over it as of yet. He leans to the side, whispering like it’s some giddy secret he’s sharing. ] So unless you want a quick and messy new hole in your rad Batman belt there, get your beady creeper stare off my firearm, friend.
[ the guard glares (thumbs hooking self-consciously into the utility belt in question), little appreciation for the tone, but understands the tenants of deescalation. He’s allowed to keep the gun, though the guard’s settling himself here to supervise. Fine enough - Luke turns his attention back to the aliens gliding about in front of him, flashing a weakly-forced, insincere smirk. ]
Sup, Nemo.
[ does ‘no fish jokes’ count if the fish people won’t get it? ]
the quago; cw: mention of drugs
Why’d you wake me?
[ luke grumbles, lifting his head from the desk in the agriculture lab, a sheet of paper stuck to his cheek. Gardening isn’t his chief skill, but after seeing the weed selection, luke’s devoted himself to building a more efficient hydroponics rig for the modest growers. That’d be the schematics he’s working on currently adhered to his cheek with a bit of drool. Nice nap, bud? ]
Haven’t slept that good since before the space dicks touched down. You remember Churros? [ the doughy, cinnamon-sugar sticks, you know the ones. ] That kinda good.
[ some of the few things that make luke miss society - churros vendors. Alas. blinking away the sleep, he snatches the sheet from his face, and glances around the lab, noticing something missing - his latest conversation partner. ]
Where’s Tentacle Baby? [ the little potted thing Tentacle Mama just stealthed away with, using that lullaby Luke woke from a second ago. Missing small and seemingly defenseless things is the one of the prime sources of Luke's typical alarm and anxiety, and he half lifts, half falls from his desk to sleepily stumble around, searching for his little alien plant bro. ]
Octoplant? Audrey III?
the network; un: yeahsciencebitch
> If you won the lottery*, what would you do with the money?
fill a kiddie pool with cash and roll around naked in it use $100 bills for rolling paper capitalism is dead and currency is meaningless all hail our new god, PVC
luke saenz | original
[ as their new cross-species friends parade into carcass-town with their prize monster-clam, Luke’s refraining from aggression, as requested. Even if barely, fidgeting with the clasp on his gun holster, rolling too-tense shoulders, and eying strangers too closely. Actively welcoming is too big of an ask, but he can keep his mouth shut, so long as he can also keep his gun - one thing a cautious guard takes issue with as Luke’s hand doesn’t seem eager to drift more than a couple inches from his sidearm while the procession drifts by. Security Bro's anxiety is doing absolutely nothing to ease Luke's chill right now, so let's just address that head-on. ]
Last aliens I met - we didn’t get along.
[ they killed his grandma and, like, half of human life as he knew it. Luke took it kind of personal, and hasn’t felt the motivation to get over it as of yet. He leans to the side, whispering like it’s some giddy secret he’s sharing. ] So unless you want a quick and messy new hole in your rad Batman belt there, get your beady creeper stare off my firearm, friend.
[ the guard glares (thumbs hooking self-consciously into the utility belt in question), little appreciation for the tone, but understands the tenants of deescalation. He’s allowed to keep the gun, though the guard’s settling himself here to supervise. Fine enough - Luke turns his attention back to the aliens gliding about in front of him, flashing a weakly-forced, insincere smirk. ]
Sup, Nemo.
[ does ‘no fish jokes’ count if the fish people won’t get it? ]
the quago; cw: mention of drugs
Why’d you wake me?
[ luke grumbles, lifting his head from the desk in the agriculture lab, a sheet of paper stuck to his cheek. Gardening isn’t his chief skill, but after seeing the weed selection, luke’s devoted himself to building a more efficient hydroponics rig for the modest growers. That’d be the schematics he’s working on currently adhered to his cheek with a bit of drool. Nice nap, bud? ]
Haven’t slept that good since before the space dicks touched down. You remember Churros? [ the doughy, cinnamon-sugar sticks, you know the ones. ] That kinda good.
[ some of the few things that make luke miss society - churros vendors. Alas. blinking away the sleep, he snatches the sheet from his face, and glances around the lab, noticing something missing - his latest conversation partner. ]
Where’s Tentacle Baby? [ the little potted thing Tentacle Mama just stealthed away with, using that lullaby Luke woke from a second ago. Missing small and seemingly defenseless things is the one of the prime sources of Luke's typical alarm and anxiety, and he half lifts, half falls from his desk to sleepily stumble around, searching for his little alien plant bro. ]
Octoplant? Audrey III?
the network; un: yeahsciencebitch
> If you won the lottery*, what would you do with the money?
fill a kiddie pool with cash and roll around naked in it
use $100 bills for rolling paper
capitalism is dead and currency is meaningless
all hail our new god, PVC
wildcard;
[[ hit me!! ]]