Ricki Tarr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-03-08 10:47 am
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-03-08 10:47 am
1. video
[Ricki Tarr, latest inmate arrival, is still getting his feet under him. He's been on board for a little while now, but let's face it, he's a field agent from the 1970s, getting used to graphical user interfaces of his messenger has put up a bit of a roadblock in terms of his making contact.
By the time he's confident enough with the flimsy, cheeping little device to make a video post, his stomach is growling, so the very first message is a simple video shot.
It's poorly framed, he has no real idea of how to centre himself in the lens, and the light in his room is dark and low and terrible for any sort of filming. But from the dark, what's visible of his half-in-the-frame expression is still and steady;]
The first living creature to orbit the earth was a little Russian mongrel named Laika. She was a pretty thing, with a clever cast to her eyes and pricked up, pointed ears. On the fourtieth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution they flung the little thing into the sky.
In fact, the Russians had been launching dogs into suborbital flights for a few years before, but none attained the notoriety or captured the imaginations of the world like little Laika. I was rather young when she was sent to space, but recall thinking the entire proceedings terribly inhumane.
The Soviets say that she was euthanized before her oxygen ran out. The British and Americans question whether that is true. The Russians question whether that questioning is deliberately spread propaganda meant to make them seem monstrous. In the time since, I think both sides have lost track of the original truth of the matter. But the question of her ultimate cause of death aside, I wondered whether she might be hungry, thirsty or afraid, uncomprehending of how it was possible to see stars all around her... I actually can't recall reading whether Sputnik 2 was like this ship, with windows or not. Laika may not have seen stars spinning in the sky, but I'm sure the sounds and sudden lack of gravity must have been rather frightening for such a little dog.
[His voice is low and steady, the pictures his paints are matter-of-fact and vivid. He accent is an odd, old one, London tempered by a childhood racing through Penang streets and other colonial holds. He takes his time with the story before concluding;]
Which is all to say, given the apparent flexibility of space and time on this vessel, if we see her while we're out here, I must simply insist that we make a stop.
By the time he's confident enough with the flimsy, cheeping little device to make a video post, his stomach is growling, so the very first message is a simple video shot.
It's poorly framed, he has no real idea of how to centre himself in the lens, and the light in his room is dark and low and terrible for any sort of filming. But from the dark, what's visible of his half-in-the-frame expression is still and steady;]
The first living creature to orbit the earth was a little Russian mongrel named Laika. She was a pretty thing, with a clever cast to her eyes and pricked up, pointed ears. On the fourtieth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution they flung the little thing into the sky.
In fact, the Russians had been launching dogs into suborbital flights for a few years before, but none attained the notoriety or captured the imaginations of the world like little Laika. I was rather young when she was sent to space, but recall thinking the entire proceedings terribly inhumane.
The Soviets say that she was euthanized before her oxygen ran out. The British and Americans question whether that is true. The Russians question whether that questioning is deliberately spread propaganda meant to make them seem monstrous. In the time since, I think both sides have lost track of the original truth of the matter. But the question of her ultimate cause of death aside, I wondered whether she might be hungry, thirsty or afraid, uncomprehending of how it was possible to see stars all around her... I actually can't recall reading whether Sputnik 2 was like this ship, with windows or not. Laika may not have seen stars spinning in the sky, but I'm sure the sounds and sudden lack of gravity must have been rather frightening for such a little dog.
[His voice is low and steady, the pictures his paints are matter-of-fact and vivid. He accent is an odd, old one, London tempered by a childhood racing through Penang streets and other colonial holds. He takes his time with the story before concluding;]
Which is all to say, given the apparent flexibility of space and time on this vessel, if we see her while we're out here, I must simply insist that we make a stop.
no subject
You aren't going to get my in trouble my first twenty four hours here, are you?
[Searching him right back.]
no subject
Nothing that you can't handle.
[And if that's not reassuring, he hands him another cigarette]
Besides, you don't have a warden yet, which means I'm in a better position to advocate for you if I do talk you into doing something scandalous.
no subject
[As much as the space out here is sickening, if there is a tropical oasis in there he isn't going to fuck it up.]
Come on, troublemaker, I hope you've got a light.
[He'll surrender the second cigarette back, a bribe not taken, fair and square.]
no subject
[He shakes his head, turns to keep their tour going]
You need it more than I do.
[He holds the door open for him]
Do you know sign language?
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[It's near incomprehensible, a horrible mash of British sign and what isn't yet called Auslan in his time, plus a little Circus terminology that he's forgotten isn't specific to home. He tries a few words, and unless the Barge translation is very good it'll probably read as dated, garbled nonsense.]
no subject
[He laughs, shakes his head, it's all good fun]
I just wondered. My last inmate started teaching me. And there's a girl somewhere on board who knows it. Where I'm from, if you were deaf you were probably confined to a home.
[He glances at him, a little distant, still amused] It's amazing, isn't it? All these alien languages, foreign countries, and the worst trouble most people have is just learning new social norms. 'Ask a scientist, they'll tell you language doesn't exist'.
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What's the reasoning behind that one? That it's all just math?
no subject
I think it's more that language is unpredictable, illogical. It changes every few years. You can identify generations by their slang but it varies place to place for no reason at all.
[The signs will be there: a few pauses where he just 'forgets' Ricki altogether, which always coincide with an abrupt change of topic when he can hear again. He doesn't do much asking after sentences he's missed.]
What was going on in your world when you left?
no subject
[He abandons his slurry mumble as much as he can, not all at once, but just says the words crisp and clear as he keeps going.]
no subject
You're more observant than most import-exporters.
no subject
[He'll leave it at that if Piper will.]
Where're you from?
no subject
[He doesn't believe him and doesn't bother to pretend he does, but he also knows to wait to pry.]
Tulsa. That's Oklahoma--United States. [But if Ricki knows what Oklahoma is he probably is more interested in the when:] When I left home to come here it was 1974.
no subject
[Nice to have something in common.]
You know, I've been all over the world, but never to America?
no subject
[He laughs, offers Ricki a vivid orange flower he'd accidentally pulled up but doesn't really want to carry]
Neither have I. Whatever America is, it's not.
Where have you been?
no subject
[He could actually keep going, add Kenya, Brazil, Istanbul, but better keep to a general theme, he figures.]
no subject
[He nods softly, reviewing the places in his mind]
They're all fairly English-speaking, depending, aren't they? Did you get a chance to learn the local languages?
no subject
[And considerably more than that in a few, but this fits better.]
no subject
[He brightens a little and shows him in sign language (American sign language, that is) how to ask for the pub.
If Ricki gets it right, it'll be the next stop on the tour.]
no subject
[But he can guess. The drinking sign is clear enough, he shows him pub in his time- one hand flat, the other a tipping tankard closer to his chest.]
no subject
[He repeats it, deciding to adopt Ricki's sign for pub rather than sticking to the one he'd learned from Harvey. Language is always evolving, after all.
He leads him out of the greenhouse and then up a level, to the pub.]
What did you do for fun?
no subject
[Bars, of course, were a given, as was the odd girl.]
no subject
[Books are generally more interesting than girls, in his opinion.]
You'll like the library. What about art? Games?
[He orders two beers, though he'll mostly just sip at his own]
no subject
Nah, never been any good with art. I do play a hand of cards now and again, though.
no subject
With stakes, or just for fun?
[The Motorcycle Boy has a hell of a poker face, and can't find hardly anyone to gamble with.]
no subject
I have three cigarettes to my name, and one little television box, which I imagine I should hang onto.
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