rickitikitarr: (call me darling)
Ricki Tarr ([personal profile] 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.
routemistress: (dogs 1)

[video]

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[Iris replies from the couch in the laboratory break room: a small blonde lady of a certain age, her face set in exuberant smile lines. She wears a lab coat, its laundry-accident pink almost obscured with badges, stains, patches and scorch marks, and she shares the couch with two large, contented German Shepherds.]

Trust me, lovely, it's been taken care of. One day I'll take you to throw a ball for 'er. I'm Iris - Iris Wildthyme, transtemporal adventuress and lately interdimensional space prison warden. What should I call you, sweetheart?
routemistress: (glove)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 04:11 pm (UTC)(link)
There's Earth colonies up in the thirtieth, fortieth centuries that wanted their 'ands on a wider canine gene pool like ...like you could probably do with a drink, if you've only just arrived, petal. Anyone showed you the pub yet?

[The dogs hear the word "pub" and surge up, ears and faces alight with excitement.]

...someone wants some pork scratchings, eh, spoiled buggers. This is Solace and 'is brother Elvis. They didn't 'ave to be rescued from early experiments in space flight, but they like the way you think, Ricki love. See you there?
routemistress: (teddybear)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 04:21 pm (UTC)(link)
The pub's up on deck - come out of your room, find the nearest staircase and go up till there's no more up to go. Literally can't miss it, my darling. There's usually crisps and sarnies and sausage rolls, but I'm 'appy to fetch you summat more substantial from the kitchens, as you're new.

I'll bring Chromie's introduction pamphlet for you and all, shall I?

[Oh, how Iris loves people who read the pamphlet.]
routemistress: (yeees?)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
That's what they all say. I think it's beef stroganoff today, anything in that you can't eat?

[Five or six minutes later, she's at the pub door, a covered tray in one hand and a pamphlet in the other. Elvis and Solace are wearing rhinestone collars (one pink and one one turquoise, with their nails painted to match) but no leashes, though they stay decorously at Iris' sides.

Iris has lost the labcoat, and is now wearing a moderately smart leopardskin jacket over a black glitter tube top and zebra-print leggings. Her grin when she sees Ricki lights up her face with enthusiasm, making her seem to take up more space than her five foot nothing frame actually does.]


There you are! You 'old this while I open the door, lovey.
routemistress: ((book cover) martini)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 04:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[Ricki's avidity for the written word endears him to Iris almost as much as his concern for a lost dog did, and she doesn't try to interrupt until she's managed to steer him to a table. Then she fetches herself a gin and tonic and, after eyeing him briefly, decides on black label Johnnie Walker for Ricki.

When she does speak, it's quietly (by Iris standards), as if to someone in a library.]


Let me know if you've any questions, sweetheart. Or, well, any immediate questions. You aren't going mad, though, the universe does that all by itself.
demolitions: (bedhead)

Video

[personal profile] demolitions 2015-03-08 05:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[The accent of the speaker identifies him as a native of the southern US, with a distinctive twang more specific to Eastern Kentucky for those that might have an ear for such things. His tone is quiet, expression reverent.]

A good many animals died in space, sacrificed on the altar of scientific achievement. Not all of 'em got a statue in their honor.
routemistress: (monochrome)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 05:17 pm (UTC)(link)
I know, love. I know.

[She speaks gently now, eyes full of only slightly amused compassion.]

I find it 'elps to think of it in less absolute terms, if you see what I mean. It's a chance to examine the way your life went, to pinpoint the places you might've done it different. No one's expecting you to turn into the platonic ideal choirboy or owt. We've most of us done painful or stupid or disastrous things somewhere along the line, 'aven't we? And we generally 'ad good reasons for it at the time. Doesn't mean it couldn't've been done over ...less disastrously, though. That's sort of what we're shooting for 'ere.
demolitions: (conversational)

[personal profile] demolitions 2015-03-08 05:24 pm (UTC)(link)
No, if I recall correctly, it's in Moscow somewhere. Saw it in a magazine a while back, maybe five years ago. A little dog, standin' on top of a rocket.
velocette: (inappropriate laughter)

[personal profile] velocette 2015-03-08 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Astronauts say that space has a smell--something meaty, metallic, a little fruity. Supposedly every attempt to recreate the smell on earth has failed.

[So maybe the dog was a little distracted, at least, before she suffocated. He doesn't believe in propaganda, but he also doesn't believe a dog would be worth 'euthanasia' so far in space where no one could verify it was any better than the short minute or two without air.]
velocette: (3)

[personal profile] velocette 2015-03-08 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Seems to. Even up on the deck all I ever smell is people and air. [And tobacco smoke probably since he's got a cigarette balanced between his fingers.]

Most people here don't know a thing about Soviets and the space race, though. Most of them don't really seem to notice all the stars.
tucky: (an armadillo could run this place)

[video]

[personal profile] tucky 2015-03-08 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)
You really wanna stop for a dead dog?
tucky: (hey‚ what gives? I'M on the milk carton!)

[video]

[personal profile] tucky 2015-03-08 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh.

[That could... actually work, probably. From what Tiffany's heard, the Barge does weird things with time.]

You know, if you want a dog, you could probably get one. You a warden?
routemistress: (hands)

[personal profile] routemistress 2015-03-08 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
No. Not from us, any road, there's been some ports where things 'ave gone very pearshaped indeed - but when that 'appens we'll be right up to our necks in it along with you. No.

[Iris leans back in her seat and knocks a Sobranie Black Russian out of her packet, although she remembers not to light it while Ricki's still eating.

She also leaves the pack on the table, with a nod intended to mean help yourself if you like.]


We've got a couple of wardens from the British Navy in Napoleon's time, and more'n one inmate straight from twentieth, twenty-first century prisons. A lot of people arrive wondering when we're going to break out the floggers or the mindwipes or the neural stimulators or the solitary confinement. But we're not aiming for punishment 'ere - I wouldn't've used that word at all if I'd written the leaflet. All you can teach someone with punishment's 'ow to keep their 'ead down and do as they're told - which 'as its place on a wooden ship in wartime, admittedly, but not at all 'ere.
Edited 2015-03-08 17:50 (UTC)

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