Crash Test Dummy (Literally) >> Audio ;

[justamobster]

[ The post goes up on the network a few minutes after touchdown planetside. The speaker is quite obviously trying to catch his breath, and there’s an undercurrent of laughter in his voice— sharp with both disbelieving amusement and a bit of panic. ]

The er, emergency landin’ system on the ships, yeah? That?

S’workin’. Just thought folks’d wanna know.

[ GUESS WHO ALMOST JUST DIED? This guy!

For context and any in-person concerns, see Prompt #1 here! ]

Comments

[mikoshi]

[ Has no idea what the fuck that means, but he can sorta guess the gist of it. ] Do you need driving lessons? [ Looks like some sort of panel, a cover. To what, who knows. ]

[justamobster]

Yeah, maybe. Practice, at least. Never gone so---

[ What was he talking about again? The adrenaline's starting to wear off. ]

... Later. When it ain't feelin' like my stomach's where my lungs should be.

[mikoshi]

Sit down. Breathe. First Gs are the worst.

[justamobster]

Ain't G, s'nothin' Garevian about...

[ Aaaand whump. That'll be the sound of him going over. ]

Text > Action?

[mikoshi]

Fuck.

[ Where the hell could this guy be? "Hey, I got a greenhorn who experienced his first landing," won't mean shit to the people here.

Luckily the camp isn't too big. But Vincent doesn't know what this guy looks like, only what he sounds like — like an old timey detective in those noir books Johnny loves so much. ] Swear to God you better not be chokin' in your own vomit...

Action!

[justamobster]

[ Fortunately, there is one decent-sized landmark indicating his whereabouts: an Iron Horizon ass-up in a dune. And as predicted, a panel has fallen off one side, sitting in the sand and looking dented. That's probably not the extent of its damages, but at least it's not on fire.

There is an overdressed mobster lying on the sand nearby, sprawled out like a passed-out drunkard, his device playing any text-based messages out loud in its robotic voice. ]

[mikoshi]

[ Yeah, there's no way in hell Vincent can right that ship with his chrome soft-locked. Couldn't move it even if it wasn't — fucker's too heavy and sand has an insane weight and grip of its own.

Not like it matters. Ships can be rebuilt. People? Not so much.

(Well, unless...) ] Can't let you cook out here. [ Luckily, Vincent can still pick people up, and Ladon isn't too heavy. Being carried like a bride might look silly to others, but fuck it, better to look the fool and avoid heat stroke. Solving that will be worse for their supplies than digging a ship out of the sand.

Better take him into the shade. Might be five minutes, might be five hours before he wakes up. G-force is no joke. ]

[justamobster]

[ It takes him about 20 minutes. Mostly because his frigging furnace decides to wake him by kicking on, and he comes to coughing up smoke and not knowing where the hell he is.

His hat has fallen in his lap, and his first instinct is to reach up to his head-- Oh thank God, he filed the damn horns down soon as they had a date to head planet-side. He's glad the multitool had a nail file built in.

But, well, the plume of smoke coming out of his mouth is a little more concerning, and he has no idea where that stupid vapor cigarette got to and he has none of his normal smokes on him so he just does his best to wave it away and hope no one noticed.

He stuffs his hat back on his head and rubs at his face. ]

Great way to fuckin' kick things off, Ceto.

[mikoshi]

[ Vincent isn't puffing away just yet, because it'll be a cold day in hell before he picks up those disgusting e-cigarettes — strawberry-flavored nicotine? Fuck outta here. Instead, he worries a toothpick, keeping an eye on an analog clock. ] Good mornin', Sleeping Beauty. [ Light tease, no malice behind it. There's a sense in the air that this is old hat to him. ] Anyways, as I was sayin', g-LOC ain't no joke. 4 to 6 g is 'round the ballpark where the untrained go lights out. You're lucky half your ship in the sand and an impromptu nap is all you're dealing with.

[justamobster]

Ishkabibble t'you too.

[ He looks up, searching the other man's face for any sign that he noticed the cough full of smoke. Who knows, maybe that's normal where he's from. Like a damn cartoon character from the shorts they show before the flickers. ]

Not sure what "g" is, but if it ain't in miles-per-hour or comparable t'horses, it don't mean nothin' to this noggin. [ He points to his forehead. ] Whole "space travelin'" particulars're new t'me.

[mikoshi]

[ He's seen much more outlandish — people with multiple, piercing optics where eyes should be, walking and speaking around without throats, with the skin of crocodiles and made out of gold — that the smoke doesn't even register. ] Gravitational force equivalent. Earth is equivalent to 1 g. 4 to 6 g is 4 to 6 Earth's worth of gravity suddenly weighing on ya. Forces all the blood down your body, dryin' up your brain. So you faint — G-force induced loss of consciousness, or g-LOC.

Don't need space travel, just acceleration. [ Winks. ] I race cars.

[justamobster]

You got luggers that go that fast? [ That gets a low whistle. ] Don't think all the cops in Nieve'd catch that. Lemme know if you're up for a heist.

[ He shakes his head, gesturing toward the mess that he made out of his ship. ] M'obviously more of a stick-up or yegg, dependin'. Driver's not my forte.

[mikoshi]

Always up for a heist — long as what we're stealin' is worth it. [ He winks. ] My services ain't cheap.

Can get one of those robots to be your pilot, if you don't care to learn. But, just in case things go tits up — and chances are they will — you probably should learn. [ Isn't going to offer lessons, however. Presumptuous. ]

[justamobster]

If I find somethin' worth takin', I'll give you a call, yeah? [ Even when recovering from a crash landing, he's scheming and planning. Some habits die hard.

He sits up a little straighter now, finally getting more of his faculties back. It feels a bit like a hangover, minus the ridiculous amount of (literal) heartburn. His furnace is even starting to calm down, and he's able to cough without bringing up too much smoke. The eyeroll he gives the mention of those stupid little robots involves most of his wiry frame. ]

Yeah, right. Don't trust those fuckers far as I could chuck 'em. They ain't touchin' any more of what l'il I got here any more than abso-fuckin'-lutely necessary. No way, no how.

[ So basically, a substitute pilot is right out. Ladon's either going to have to tag along or learn. And considering he's done it once and didn't die... ]

Think I got a few more rough landings in me, yeah?

[mikoshi]

Sure thing. Lookin' forward to it.

[ That's fair. Vincent doesn't trust anyone but Delamain to drive him around. The AI earned it though. Jury's out on these little shits. Doesn't like how hard they try at being cute, unassuming. It might work with teenaged girls, but it won't work on him.

Unless one took up the form of Nibbles, his Sphynx cat. Then maybe... ]

Yeah, if you want to give yourself brain damage. [ Hypoxia's a bitch — he'd know, thanks to Johnny. ] Not good for your body to keep takin' that kind of shock either. [ Eyebrows raised. Take the hint — ask for help. From someone. Anyone. ]

[justamobster]

M'tougher than I look. [ Yeah, he's got some brass for saying that after being carried to the shade by a stranger, but it's honest. He's used to being underestimated thanks to this scrawny, soft human body. Sometimes it works to his advantage. But in all honesty, he's already starting to go over what happened, and what he can do better next time.

It's going to actively take willpower he might not have to keep from hopping back in the pilot seat and making another go of it as soon as his ship's dug out. But he's keeping that much to himself. ] But, yeah, sure. I'll find someone to gimme the what's what.

[ Maybe. ]

[mikoshi]

And I'm a brain and spinal cord inside a metal frame, wrapped in synthetic fibers. [ Said matter-of-factly, because it is. ] Means dick. Ain't 'bout endurance, just physics.

'Least go through some sims or somethin'.