[ 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. ]
[ He's not troubled by the notion that he could be talking about his own brain, here, being destroyed. It's something he's mostly gotten used to. That unless he's very unlucky it's something someone will do for him, someday. Hopefully not soon, but you can't know. ]
We dunno, really. How it spreads.
[ And that..... is the problem. Not knowing if it's too late already. ]
[It takes Pavel a moment longer to decide that, as frightening as the thought that they're all infected with the thing that overtook the space station is, there's little sense in agonizing about it since they can't do much by way of testing or curing.]
...Thank you for telling me. I promise to do what I can if it becomes necessary.
[ That sounds deadpan as ever, but he means it very earnestly-- and not for his own sake, but because the last thing he wants is a repeat of the station, of what happened at home. However it's spread, he hopes wildfire hasn't spread to the people on the Fleet.
It wouldn't be their fault, exactly-- it's not like they asked to come here-- but it'd be a disaster. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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? ]
no subject
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.
no subject
Ain't your fault. I was just pissed.
no subject
[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.
no subject
Other shit could happen,
[ he ventures, though he's looking for confirmation. ]
no subject
[He's not going to lie to you, Daryl.]
But if it does happen, it will be different shit. New and exciting shit.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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! ]
no subject
[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?
no subject
Ain't gotta be bit or nothin'. If I die, I turn.
no subject
Okay. What is the best way to do it?
no subject
Gotta get the brain. Don't much matter how.
no subject
How much of the brain? And how is it spread to others?
no subject
[ He's not troubled by the notion that he could be talking about his own brain, here, being destroyed. It's something he's mostly gotten used to. That unless he's very unlucky it's something someone will do for him, someday. Hopefully not soon, but you can't know. ]
We dunno, really. How it spreads.
[ And that..... is the problem. Not knowing if it's too late already. ]
no subject
Ah. So there is a possibility that everyone in the Fleet is infected.
[That's not at all terrifying.]
no subject
I mean... if people got it you think we'd've heard about it. But I dunno.
no subject
...Thank you for telling me. I promise to do what I can if it becomes necessary.
no subject
[ That sounds deadpan as ever, but he means it very earnestly-- and not for his own sake, but because the last thing he wants is a repeat of the station, of what happened at home. However it's spread, he hopes wildfire hasn't spread to the people on the Fleet.
It wouldn't be their fault, exactly-- it's not like they asked to come here-- but it'd be a disaster. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)