ataraxioff | Test Drive Meme

[ He's getting a little annoyed himself now. ]

Look, kid. I don't know what the hell you're talking about.

[ Well gosh, Jake, way to take the wind out of his sails. He stares in disbelief for a few seconds, then there's a loud bang as he collapses back against the neighboring lockers, looking... mostly melodramatically upset over the non-reaction to his ribbing, but there might be something genuine in there. ]

This is shit. [ Cowboys not having a sense of humor - actual hell. There's also the space thing, apparently, which doesn't quite make sense with the cowboy bit, but- ] There isn't even any fun probing going on. I don't know about you, but I want my money back. This abduction isn't half as exciting as all the brochures made out.

[ Then another thoughtful? pause before he leans forward again off the locker, one hand raised to point an accusatory finger at Jake. ]

Hang on, are you a real cowboy? Is this some genuine time-traveling shit?

[ Fun... probing... ]

You're lucky you're not dead.

[ Seeing as that happened to most everyone who got taken by the aliens back where he's from. ]

Told you. Cowboys need cows.

[ Hey, it could be if you get a nice alien. He seems offended at the 'dead' comment, and he's not done with the pointing. ] Yeah? I'd like to see them try. And if you're not a cowboy, what do you call yourself, then?

Don't call myself much of anything.

[ Because most everything he knows about himself is something other people have told him, or something he's only barely remembered -- glimpses of a life that could be his, or could be made up entirely. ]

Other folk call me Jake, though.

So say you're not a cowboy, then - you're clearly both American and just a bit on the old-fashioned side. Shouldn't your limited and God-fearing brain be melting out your ears by now?

[ Then, as an afterthought- ] And so help me, if this is an elaborate prank and you're making me look like a royal twat for even entertaining the idea that I'm on a real spaceship with a real cowboy, I'm going to beat you to death with your own pistol.

[ Never going to stop calling you a cowboy, sorry man. ]

You always talk this much?

[ Seriously Nathan, someone would have shot you by now back where he's from. ]

Seen aliens before, [ he adds, as if he just remembered that Nathan asked a question -- more like just decided whether or not he wanted to answer it. ] Don't know about the rest of all this. Either way, panicking isn't going to help.

I do sometimes, yeah. You know, I've heard that talking is good for communicating ideas. Ideas such as how I woke up naked and covered in an unknown substance on what appears to be a spaceship. [ Speaking of, yes, he's clothed now; skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket. He didn't want anything to do with a new jumpsuit.

The aliens comment stops him up, though, causes his brow to crease in thought and concern. ] So you're saying it's not aliens? [ Another beat, and defensively- ] And who's panicking? I'm not panicking. I'm just showing the appropriate levels of concern for such a phenomenally fucked up situation.

There's asking questions and there's talking.

[ Yes Nathan, there is a difference. ]

Don't know. But if we're captives, they're being pretty lenient.

[ Jake just raises an eyebrow at the bit about not panicking. ]

[ Wow screw you buddy, he got the subtle critique in that reply, and he doesn't appreciate it. Which he expresses by making a face and as if to mock someone nagging at him. ]

If they're being so lenient, how come we're still here? Because no offense, but stuck on some cheap knock-off film set with an emotionally constipated gay cowboy wasn't so much on the to-do list this morning. If we're not captives, where's the exit signs? Answer me that.

[ Not... noticing the actual exit doors...... ]

Didn't say we weren't captives.

[ Don't mind him while he tries to find something he can roll into a cigarette. ]

But there are doors.

[ And he takes a moment from his annoyed not-panic to glance around, spot the doors. He just continues to look annoyed by their presence, though. ]

Yeah, so of course there are doors, but unless they lead to our home planets it doesn't count as a proper exit. [ Maybe slightly accidentally deep, but not remotely what he meant. He's just covering his ass for not noticing the doors.... and now he's judgmentally eyeing Jake as he looks for something to roll. ]

What? Have you lost something? [ Hm. ] Other than your sense of humor, obviously.

Only if that's where you're going.

[ He is, because he has to help Ella -- but after that, what then? What's left for Jake Lonergan other than a noose?

Frown growing deeper as he realizes that no tobacco made its way with him, he glances up. ]

Tobacco. Cigarette paper.

[ And Nathan's already checked out of what may or may not have been Important Commentary on Their Situation, because his irritation's been replaced by a sudden grin as he starts rifling through his pockets.

After a few seconds of that, he pulls a pack of rolling paper out of his jacket and holds it up like a prize. ]

Well, aren't you lucky, because I happen to have cleverly brought some with me. Rizlas, anyway, I have no idea what you're meant to smoke in them. I'm sure there's all kinds of weird plants in space. [ On a spaceship?? ]

But the real question is, what have you got to trade for them? [ Because space is clearly like prison rules; barter systems, etc. He's got this. ]

[ There's a pause as he studies Nathan a little more closely. ]

Could just take them, [ is drawled out after a moment, mostly just to see how Nathan reacts. ]

[ And he reacts like any young adult who is actually indestructible would, of course. He pulls the rizlas up and back, out of Jake's easy reach, and the grin's replaced by a sharp look of challenge. ]

I'd like to see you try. I've heard gay cowboys are shit in a fight. [ He hasn't actually heard that. And also, speaking of actuallies- ] Well, no, even a gay cowboy could probably beat me up, but trust me when I say you don't want me as an enemy. What I lack in sheer physical power I make up for with a truly fucked up imagination, and I will have my revenge one way or another. [ Translation: he'll shit in your bed, Jake. ]

[ There's a pause and then Jake just chuckles. ]

I was joking, kid. I've got a bottle of whiskey in my locker. Shot of that should do.

[ He looks surprised for maybe half a second, but then he just looks impressed - with himself, primarily, but also with the offer of whiskey. ]

Yeah? Yeah, that should do. [ It wouldn't be accurate to say he's relaxed now, because frankly he was also relaxed while he was making 'threats', but he's a bit more smug as he shifts a few papers out of the pack. He's only got 20-something, and he intends to find a substance to smoke in as many of them as possible. He offers them to up with that large, cocky grin back in place. ]

Pleasure doing business with you.

You too. [ Or something. Either way, Jake takes the papers, tucking them away before turning to grab the bottle of whiskey and the shot glass. ]

Hold this. [ Offering that shot glass, Nathan. Once the kid has it, he'll open the bottle and pour that shot. ]

[ Hell yes doing shots in space with a cowboy, this is actually not a terrible party. As soon as the glass is full he offers Jake a nod. ] Cheers.

[ And then downs it, mostly keeps a straight face as he hands the glass back. Old school whiskey is slightly less smooth than what he's used to. ] Jesus, no wonder you people died young. [ But it's said off-hand, and he quickly gestures to wherever Jake stashed the papers. ] Have you got anything to smoke in those?

Ain't the whiskey that kills you, kid.

[ But Jake takes the glass back, pours himself his own shot and then puts both glass and bottle away. ]

No. Should be something around here, though. [ ... Right? ]

Well they've got to be making food somewhere on this thing. [ But a thoughtful pause, because- ] Unless it's like in Star Trek, with those computers that just make the food out of thin air. Which I would not say no to. Actually, I'll be disappointed if they haven't got those.

Either way there's got to be some futuristic glue or something, I imagine that'd have all sorts of terrible chemicals in it. [ And now he's scanning the crowd again, looking for... well, an info desk, basically. ] Shouldn't they have some poor asshole handing out maps, or something?

The hell are you talking about?

[ Nathan please at least pretend to try to remember that he is from the 1800s. ]

Not if everyone here showed up like we did.

Test Drive Meme

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