[ Generally he tries not to be rude to his shipmates, but he's not really in the habit of visiting. More, like, he will nod at them when they pass in the hallway. This is how socialization works for him.
He holds up the bottle of whiskey, which is a good bit emptier than when Pavel dropped it off, but still has a bit left. ]
Seemed kinda rude to kill it myself.
[ So he's bringing it back, or at least offering to share. Drinking together is the kind of socialization he does know how to do. ]
[Pavel certainly doesn't consider Daryl rude. Gruff, maybe. Private, absolutely. Intimidating, but relatively harmless if left unprovoked. Like a grizzly bear.
He's been friends with more frightening people.]
Then it would be rude of me to not ask if you would like to kill it with company. Would you?
[ It's pretty much what he's angling for, and his first impulse is still to say hell, no. But he doesn't. He's trying to do a little better, if they're here. Doesn't seem like they're going anywhere, so he nods, makes a low, agreeable grunt, about the closest to thanks as you customarily get from him. He doesn't move to step inside til invited, though, in case Chekov would rather go drink somewhere with potential witnesses. ]
Pavel steps out of his room and quickly shuts the door before Sasha can make an escape. The Atroma didn't equip their personal quarters with a lot of room for company.]
There are tumblers in the kitchen. [Of course there are, this is a civilized ship.] And places to sit. Also less cat hair.
Mmhm. Sasha stays in my room, usually, and I haven't had her for very long. Kitty gave her to me after inheriting too many animals from friends who had left.
[It's fine, Pavel's pretty good at talking about trivial things.]
[ where he's from, nothing's really trivial anymore. They don't notice it. They don't talk. He's trying to get used to the idea now, that there are things that aren't life and death that are worth noticing. ]
The girl who goes through things.
[ he's pretty sure, though maybe it's a common name. He doesn't socialize much off-ship either.
Once they reach the galley, he grabs them a couple of glasses. ]
[If there are other Kittys, Pavel doesn't know them. Contrary to what most people assume when they meet him, he isn't big on going out of his way to socialize either. Not anymore.
Once glasses are retrieved and drinks are poured, he raises his glass to Daryl.]
[ he huffs at that, a short laugh which covers a bit of grumpiness over even the thought of it. Floating is awful and Daryl would make a terrible astronaut without artificial gravity. He has no issues admitting that.
He lifts his glass too, then drinks it, as though a shot could actually ward off bad luck and augment glitches. Hell, if so they need another bottle. ]
You get by all right in that?
[ he never asked, because he's an asshole, but mostly because he was busy being pissed off and slightly queasy. But other people had things go wrong too, right? ]
[Pavel looks rather pleased with himself for getting something laugh-adjacent out of Daryl (after he downs his drink--that comes first because it is more important).]
I did, yes, thank you. With glitches, my luck has been good. [Presumably to offset the comically bad luck that he tends to have with most other things.] I am sorry that I wasn't able to think of a way to help.
[ Casually, he lifts a shoulder in a shrug, maybe to minimize the gravity of the statement. It's an admission he knows he should make-- what home is like and what that means for people sharing space with them now-- but lord, he really doesn't like to talk about it. ]
[What a stupid thing to say, Pavel! Many of the people that he has liked the most in the last few years were fortunate to have been spirited away to a different universe. What little he can guess about where Daryl's from would put him in the lucky-to-be-abducted category.
But it's all guesses. His crewmate hasn't been particularly forthcoming with details.]
That is true, I'm sorry. [Curiosity is compelling him to push a little, but caution warns against it.]
If you would ever like to talk about where you come from--or if you need to, you seem disinclined to want to--I can listen.
[ It'd be better if they had another bottle. He glances away a moment, a little unfocused. Really, it wouldn't be that much better.
He looks back at Chekov, nods slowly, slightly. It's the kind of thing you have to look someone in the eye to say. ]
That station, where the people got sick.
[ It's more an invocation than a question. Pavel will remember it, he doesn't have to ask. But it's the easiest way to set the scene for what Daryl left behind him. ]
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He holds up the bottle of whiskey, which is a good bit emptier than when Pavel dropped it off, but still has a bit left. ]
Seemed kinda rude to kill it myself.
[ So he's bringing it back, or at least offering to share. Drinking together is the kind of socialization he does know how to do. ]
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He's been friends with more frightening people.]
Then it would be rude of me to not ask if you would like to kill it with company. Would you?
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Pavel steps out of his room and quickly shuts the door before Sasha can make an escape. The Atroma didn't equip their personal quarters with a lot of room for company.]
There are tumblers in the kitchen. [Of course there are, this is a civilized ship.] And places to sit. Also less cat hair.
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He nods, though, and without further prompting heads for the kitchen. ]
Didn't know you had a cat.
[ small talk is not his strong suit. It's a little surprising, people keeping pets. ]
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Mmhm. Sasha stays in my room, usually, and I haven't had her for very long. Kitty gave her to me after inheriting too many animals from friends who had left.
[It's fine, Pavel's pretty good at talking about trivial things.]
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The girl who goes through things.
[ he's pretty sure, though maybe it's a common name. He doesn't socialize much off-ship either.
Once they reach the galley, he grabs them a couple of glasses. ]
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[If there are other Kittys, Pavel doesn't know them. Contrary to what most people assume when they meet him, he isn't big on going out of his way to socialize either. Not anymore.
Once glasses are retrieved and drinks are poured, he raises his glass to Daryl.]
To gravity working as it should for everyone.
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He lifts his glass too, then drinks it, as though a shot could actually ward off bad luck and augment glitches. Hell, if so they need another bottle. ]
You get by all right in that?
[ he never asked, because he's an asshole, but mostly because he was busy being pissed off and slightly queasy. But other people had things go wrong too, right? ]
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I did, yes, thank you. With glitches, my luck has been good. [Presumably to offset the comically bad luck that he tends to have with most other things.] I am sorry that I wasn't able to think of a way to help.
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Ain't your fault. I was just pissed.
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[He splits what's left of the whiskey between them.]
I doubt that you will experience it again. Glitches, from what I've seen, seldom repeat themselves.
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Other shit could happen,
[ he ventures, though he's looking for confirmation. ]
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[He's not going to lie to you, Daryl.]
But if it does happen, it will be different shit. New and exciting shit.
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[ he grunts, actually somewhat amused, and drowns the rest of his drink.
Thank God there's some real booze in this galaxy and it's not all weird alien slime or something. He's not sure he could stand that. ]
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[He smiles down at his now-empty glass.]
Although I suppose that being abducted into a different universe by mysterious, powerful entities makes us all remarkably unfortunate.
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[ Casually, he lifts a shoulder in a shrug, maybe to minimize the gravity of the statement. It's an admission he knows he should make-- what home is like and what that means for people sharing space with them now-- but lord, he really doesn't like to talk about it. ]
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But it's all guesses. His crewmate hasn't been particularly forthcoming with details.]
That is true, I'm sorry. [Curiosity is compelling him to push a little, but caution warns against it.]
If you would ever like to talk about where you come from--or if you need to, you seem disinclined to want to--I can listen.
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He looks back at Chekov, nods slowly, slightly. It's the kind of thing you have to look someone in the eye to say. ]
That station, where the people got sick.
[ It's more an invocation than a question. Pavel will remember it, he doesn't have to ask. But it's the easiest way to set the scene for what Daryl left behind him. ]
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Well. He'd figured as much.]
The infection is from your home. That is why you were familiar with it.
[He kind of wishes he'd had the foresight to bring more booze.]
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Spread too fast to stop. Tried to evacuate but... [ he shrugs ] nowhere to go. Ended up fire bombing most've the cities. Atlanta for sure.
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I'm glad that you are here instead of there.
[Same goes for the other folks from Daryl's world. The Fleet isn't great, but it beats the zombie apocalypse.]
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[ Better for them, anyway. ]
Thing is... anything happens to me, gotta take me out. Y'all oughta know that.
[ Your security officer is a walker waiting to happen, hooray! ]
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[He frowns in a way that doesn't promise much in the way of taking-out.]
Why would something happen to you? Do the people from your world carry the infection?
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Ain't gotta be bit or nothin'. If I die, I turn.
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