((Misha Yeager Pregame START!))
Misha readjusted her glasses and looked out from the observation bay. She looked at the waves, endlessly rippling out towards the horizon. It unsettled her, in a way she couldn't quite put into words. She'd been to the ocean before - basically everybody at Cascadia had, at one point or another. And that was all right, because even though the Pacific was vast and bleak and scary, in the back of your mind you knew that there was something on the other end of it. If you kept going long enough, you'd hit Hawaii, or Japan, or China. There were people and civilizations, whole worlds out there on the other end of that ocean. But here it was different. Here, when you looked north... there was nothing. The map was solid blue from this point on. Just waves and waves and waves, going on forever, until you reached the end of the world. They said at the North Pole, every direction is south, and the pole exists in every time zone at once. You could run a lap around the pole, and pass an entire day's worth of time zones in an hour, traveling in time and space but going nowhere. Both dimensions were meaningless there. The first time she'd read that, she'd thought that that must be what Hell was like. Nowhere to go, and no way of getting there, hours passing with every few steps, time passing without elapsing.
Looking out at the waves reminded her of Made in Abyss, looking down into that hole in the world that just kept going and going, and every step you took towards the bottom was another step you'd never be able to take back towards the surface.
All of that sounded like good flavor text for her Polar Lit essay, so she wrote it down - except for the bit about Made in Abyss. Higher academia was slowly coming around to the value of pop culture, but she doubted it had progressed far enough for her to get away with that kind of comparison. Besides, she’d been dinged on her last paper for being overly prosaic, so she’d need to dial it back a little.
Misha chewed on her bottom lip for a while, trying to think of a way to rephrase it. After a while, she gave up and fired up her vector graphics program, doodling out a cartoon version of Tess holding Little Meech up in the famous Titanic “King of the World” pose. Would it be funnier to have Tess accidentally hurl the featherweight Meech up into the air by accident? Or to do it as a “Being on a Boat: Expectation” panel with that, juxtaposed with a “Reality” panel where she and Tess were in their cabin being violently seasick? She’d have to run it by Tess later tonight…
Over the Seas and Far Away
Day 1, late evening. Open!
Moderator: SOTF U Staff
INT. CORRIDOR - LATE EVENING
A familiar bearded face fills up the screen, Darren still fiddling with the settings before pulling the camera back with a grin, showing himself to be walking down one of the many corridors that weave their way through the NRV Frontier.
"Hello, and welcome to Adventures in the American Wildlands! It has almost been 24 hours since we set sail, and I've been SO excited about taking you all on a tour of the ship that I just couldn't wait till morning!"
The camera's view shifts away from Darren's face down to the ground, showcasing the various coloured arrows marking which section of the ship is which, before slowly panning the camera up towards a sign marked RESTRICTED AREA: NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT.
"I mean, obviously I won't be able to show you everywhere on the ship... Which, you know, fair enough! This is a nuclear-powered vessel after all, and if DnD has taught me anything it's that the last thing you want to put in front of a bored student is a shiny big red button..."
At that point he slowly shifts the camera back to his face, looking down as he pondered his next words carefully. "I mean, not that I'm suggesting that this ship is dangerous or anything, despite how uh... Dramatic the name appears. Heck I could go on a huge spiel about the pros and cons of nuclear energy, but... Well, how about we save that for a future video?" he'd say with a grin, giving the camera a very obvious wink. He was about to turn the camera away again when he suddenly snapped it back to his face.
"OH! One more thing before I continue, I am pleased to announce that I have managed to secure an exclusive interview with none other than Professor Carla Donato herself! She's been a huge influence on me these past several years, and I cannot stress how excited I am to finally have a proper one-to-one with her!" he'd say, his expression wavering slightly though still maintaining that eager smile. "I've, um, also managed to secure an interview with none other than the famed Peter Harrison as well! Albeit with the... Inexplicit caveat of not discussing... THAT video."
It was obvious from the tone of his voice that said viral video he was referring to was a bit of a sour point, most likely on account of it having accrued more views than most of his channel combined with a fraction of the effort he put into his content.
"But still! First, let's go check out the observation deck! I've already paid it a visit to get some good establishing shots before we get too close to the arctic circle, but even though we've lost the daylight I still want to share the amazing view with you guys..." he'd say, focusing the camera once again on the corridor ahead, slowly making his way along as he followed the various marked walkways.
On his way he'd walk past what appeared to be a security guard of some kind, one who was quick to bring a hand up to cover his face. "Oh, SORRY! Don't worry, I'll blur it out in post!" he'd call back as he passed, a nervous hint to his voice. "I have to say, I'm rather impressed by the security detail this ship has. Didn't think we'd need that many guards for a university trip, but I guess we ARE heading towards international waters. Better safe than sorry, I suppose..."
Darren would continue on through the ship, making his way up a series of metal stairs before opening the door to the observation deck, the camera's focus adjusting to the change in lighting and the distant view of the sea bobbing gently on the horizon. There in the corner of the frame sat one another student, casually doodling away as the camera turned to focus in on her.
"Oh, hey Misha!" said Darren, waving off camera towards his dorm mate. "Hope you don't mind me capturing some behind the scenes footage? Just taking my viewers on a tour of the ship!"
A familiar bearded face fills up the screen, Darren still fiddling with the settings before pulling the camera back with a grin, showing himself to be walking down one of the many corridors that weave their way through the NRV Frontier.
"Hello, and welcome to Adventures in the American Wildlands! It has almost been 24 hours since we set sail, and I've been SO excited about taking you all on a tour of the ship that I just couldn't wait till morning!"
The camera's view shifts away from Darren's face down to the ground, showcasing the various coloured arrows marking which section of the ship is which, before slowly panning the camera up towards a sign marked RESTRICTED AREA: NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT.
"I mean, obviously I won't be able to show you everywhere on the ship... Which, you know, fair enough! This is a nuclear-powered vessel after all, and if DnD has taught me anything it's that the last thing you want to put in front of a bored student is a shiny big red button..."
At that point he slowly shifts the camera back to his face, looking down as he pondered his next words carefully. "I mean, not that I'm suggesting that this ship is dangerous or anything, despite how uh... Dramatic the name appears. Heck I could go on a huge spiel about the pros and cons of nuclear energy, but... Well, how about we save that for a future video?" he'd say with a grin, giving the camera a very obvious wink. He was about to turn the camera away again when he suddenly snapped it back to his face.
"OH! One more thing before I continue, I am pleased to announce that I have managed to secure an exclusive interview with none other than Professor Carla Donato herself! She's been a huge influence on me these past several years, and I cannot stress how excited I am to finally have a proper one-to-one with her!" he'd say, his expression wavering slightly though still maintaining that eager smile. "I've, um, also managed to secure an interview with none other than the famed Peter Harrison as well! Albeit with the... Inexplicit caveat of not discussing... THAT video."
It was obvious from the tone of his voice that said viral video he was referring to was a bit of a sour point, most likely on account of it having accrued more views than most of his channel combined with a fraction of the effort he put into his content.
"But still! First, let's go check out the observation deck! I've already paid it a visit to get some good establishing shots before we get too close to the arctic circle, but even though we've lost the daylight I still want to share the amazing view with you guys..." he'd say, focusing the camera once again on the corridor ahead, slowly making his way along as he followed the various marked walkways.
On his way he'd walk past what appeared to be a security guard of some kind, one who was quick to bring a hand up to cover his face. "Oh, SORRY! Don't worry, I'll blur it out in post!" he'd call back as he passed, a nervous hint to his voice. "I have to say, I'm rather impressed by the security detail this ship has. Didn't think we'd need that many guards for a university trip, but I guess we ARE heading towards international waters. Better safe than sorry, I suppose..."
Darren would continue on through the ship, making his way up a series of metal stairs before opening the door to the observation deck, the camera's focus adjusting to the change in lighting and the distant view of the sea bobbing gently on the horizon. There in the corner of the frame sat one another student, casually doodling away as the camera turned to focus in on her.
"Oh, hey Misha!" said Darren, waving off camera towards his dorm mate. "Hope you don't mind me capturing some behind the scenes footage? Just taking my viewers on a tour of the ship!"
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MethodicalSlacker
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That was just about enough writing for one evening, Jarrett thought as they shut their laptop, exhaled sharply, and stared off upwards into space. That was a very nice ceiling meeting the wall up there. Not particularly dusty. They would have to ask how often they dusted things on board the ship. They hadn't noticed much at all since the morning, when, carefully and without waking their roommate, they slipped from their room up several flights of metal stairs to the observation deck for their first joint of the day, the beginning of a sequence which would continue shortly with its fifth installment after Jarrett had a chance to check their watch and re-tie their shoes.
Conveniently the ship's planners had arranged for a lounge area just a few feet from the outdoor viewing platform, a few locked doors down a perpendicular hallway to the one that went outside. That's where Jarrett was, with their laptop, a small blue Lenovo machine they were borrowing from their Mom while their own laptop was back on campus, being repaired after a suspected hard-drive failure, though Jarrett hadn't been able to stick around long enough to tell if that was the final diagnosis. There were just two stickers on this non-Thinkpad, as opposed to the twenty something on their preferred machine, an Asus non-Brick, hopefully; a KUOC sticker with callsign, frequency, and slogan ("the intersection of sound and art"); and also, a larger, air-bubbled (fuck) sticker advertising a burrito place in Tacoma ("rolling fatties since 199X").
A fatty Jarrett had not rolled, they reminded themselves, turning the joint over in their palm under the table. The staff here probably didn't give a shit and he could have sworn that one of the professors (all of whom seemed friendly enough if they could just stop looking at Jarrett like they didn't really have a reason to be there) was going out there to smoke just after Jarrett, earlier (that was after break #2), but, still. Couldn't be too careful. Especially if any potential cool staff/scientists/armed guards laid their silence contingent upon proficient rolling skills, which Jarrett did not exactly possess. But a pipe was too unwieldy for how cold their fingers felt outside, and any water would obviously freeze, so a joint it was, and rolled this time, because they were saving their cones and one empty Backwoods for later. Once, before they smoked, Jarrett wrote a short ice skating high schooler (long story) who explained, in very-obviously-copied-the-steps-from-a-googled-website prose stylings, how to roll a joint to somebody else, and it was sort of shameful that this fictitious high schooler was still probably better at it than Jarrett was, years later.
Anyways. Their watch was right, according to the wall clock, and their boots were laced, so, leaving their laptop unattended, up Jarrett got.
Then they stopped in their tracks as a fellow traveler (not that kind [?]) briefly crossed their field of view, walking down the hallway towards the observation deck, babbling into a small camera.
Jarrett had no qualms of their own with this film guy. They considered themselves in an adjacent, if not overlapping field of study. Jarrett had even done a couple of short films, for classes, here and there, so they had a rough idea of what it was like to be a film major, they thought. So they could emphasize and even sort of get vlogging the trip, as an idea, conceptually. It's just, that camera was not the vibe, at all. Not for smoking, at least. And they had a good feeling that film guy would agree that getting smoke in the shot was not ideal.
Tentatively, Jarrett began to continue walking down the lounge hallway, and turned at the corner towards the stairs going up to the observation deck. Oh, great. Now, they saw that not only was there the film guy to account for, but someone else, as well. Jarrett couldn't quite tell from here, because they were sort of blocked. Camera man in the way. Jarrett only knew there was someone else because they were being addressed, verbally.
Jarrett got to the bottom of the steps, then carefully (so as not to be picked upon on whatever oversensitive microphone that thing was packing) stepped up until just a couple before the door. They stood there and watched through the window, waiting for Darren to finish filming, half-distracted by the pretty sky colors filtering through and brightening the dust—there it was—on the glass.
Conveniently the ship's planners had arranged for a lounge area just a few feet from the outdoor viewing platform, a few locked doors down a perpendicular hallway to the one that went outside. That's where Jarrett was, with their laptop, a small blue Lenovo machine they were borrowing from their Mom while their own laptop was back on campus, being repaired after a suspected hard-drive failure, though Jarrett hadn't been able to stick around long enough to tell if that was the final diagnosis. There were just two stickers on this non-Thinkpad, as opposed to the twenty something on their preferred machine, an Asus non-Brick, hopefully; a KUOC sticker with callsign, frequency, and slogan ("the intersection of sound and art"); and also, a larger, air-bubbled (fuck) sticker advertising a burrito place in Tacoma ("rolling fatties since 199X").
A fatty Jarrett had not rolled, they reminded themselves, turning the joint over in their palm under the table. The staff here probably didn't give a shit and he could have sworn that one of the professors (all of whom seemed friendly enough if they could just stop looking at Jarrett like they didn't really have a reason to be there) was going out there to smoke just after Jarrett, earlier (that was after break #2), but, still. Couldn't be too careful. Especially if any potential cool staff/scientists/armed guards laid their silence contingent upon proficient rolling skills, which Jarrett did not exactly possess. But a pipe was too unwieldy for how cold their fingers felt outside, and any water would obviously freeze, so a joint it was, and rolled this time, because they were saving their cones and one empty Backwoods for later. Once, before they smoked, Jarrett wrote a short ice skating high schooler (long story) who explained, in very-obviously-copied-the-steps-from-a-googled-website prose stylings, how to roll a joint to somebody else, and it was sort of shameful that this fictitious high schooler was still probably better at it than Jarrett was, years later.
Anyways. Their watch was right, according to the wall clock, and their boots were laced, so, leaving their laptop unattended, up Jarrett got.
Then they stopped in their tracks as a fellow traveler (not that kind [?]) briefly crossed their field of view, walking down the hallway towards the observation deck, babbling into a small camera.
[Jarrett Bergman: Pregame Start]
Jarrett had no qualms of their own with this film guy. They considered themselves in an adjacent, if not overlapping field of study. Jarrett had even done a couple of short films, for classes, here and there, so they had a rough idea of what it was like to be a film major, they thought. So they could emphasize and even sort of get vlogging the trip, as an idea, conceptually. It's just, that camera was not the vibe, at all. Not for smoking, at least. And they had a good feeling that film guy would agree that getting smoke in the shot was not ideal.
Tentatively, Jarrett began to continue walking down the lounge hallway, and turned at the corner towards the stairs going up to the observation deck. Oh, great. Now, they saw that not only was there the film guy to account for, but someone else, as well. Jarrett couldn't quite tell from here, because they were sort of blocked. Camera man in the way. Jarrett only knew there was someone else because they were being addressed, verbally.
Jarrett got to the bottom of the steps, then carefully (so as not to be picked upon on whatever oversensitive microphone that thing was packing) stepped up until just a couple before the door. They stood there and watched through the window, waiting for Darren to finish filming, half-distracted by the pretty sky colors filtering through and brightening the dust—there it was—on the glass.
Misha automatically slapped the laptop shut, probably harder than she needed to. It was an instinctive thing. Even though she'd soon be unveiling the antics of Meech and cartoon Tess to her tens of followers - and, ostensibly, anyone in the world who cared to look for them - being observed in the process of drawing them just gave her the heebie-jeebies. Maybe a throwback to covering her test papers so other kids wouldn't try to copy her answers, maybe just a self-conscious thing after getting one of her doodles made fun of in art class as a kid. Could've been any of those things, or none of them. Even when she was sitting in the hospital waiting room scribbling out stories and doodles, she always sat hunched over with her knees drawn up, trying to protect her little notebook from prying eyes. Whenever she was doing anything that required careful thought and expression, the presence of other people made her skin crawl.
It was only after the whap sound of the screen closing had lingered for half a second that Misha realized that sitting alone with a laptop which you abruptly slammed closed would probably broadcast an entirely different sort of implication. She internally cursed her lizard brain for doing it.
"Oh! Hey, Darren!" she said, waving awkwardly. "Um... yeah! Go ahead and film whatever you need. Do you... should I go, or... stay, or... um... I dunno, should I introduce myself or something?"
It was only after the whap sound of the screen closing had lingered for half a second that Misha realized that sitting alone with a laptop which you abruptly slammed closed would probably broadcast an entirely different sort of implication. She internally cursed her lizard brain for doing it.
"Oh! Hey, Darren!" she said, waving awkwardly. "Um... yeah! Go ahead and film whatever you need. Do you... should I go, or... stay, or... um... I dunno, should I introduce myself or something?"
"Oh, nono! No need for that!" Darren replies in response to Misha asking if she should leave, the two talking over each other's words for a few seconds. A glint of inspiration would appear in his eyes when Misha suggested making a proper introduction of sorts, his lips curling into a grin. "Oh! Sure, that sounds..." he'd say, before then realising there was someone else behind him, turning back and shifting away from the doorframe to let them through.
"Aaaaye! Didn't see you there, Jarret!" he'd say, the camera turning around to briefly focus in on his fellow film student, before suddenly panning down to the floor once Darren picked up on Jarret not wanting to be filmed. "How's it going?" he'd ask, pausing to let Jarret respond as the camera lingered on his own feet.
"Cool, cool..." says Darren a short while later, scratching his beard as he glanced between the two. "So, um, now you mention it Meech that'd actually be pretty sweet! Doesn't have to be anything toooo long, just a little intro, couple words on how you're feeling about the trip so far, yadda yadda... If either of you are happy to be on camera for a cheeky little vox pop, that'd be ace!"
Darren then shifted his gaze back at Jarret. "I mean obviously, no worries either if you'd rather not! Wouldn't want to be, uh... Interrupting anything..." he'd add, turning back to his dorm mate before taking the briefest of involuntary glances down at Misha's closed laptop.
"Aaaaye! Didn't see you there, Jarret!" he'd say, the camera turning around to briefly focus in on his fellow film student, before suddenly panning down to the floor once Darren picked up on Jarret not wanting to be filmed. "How's it going?" he'd ask, pausing to let Jarret respond as the camera lingered on his own feet.
"Cool, cool..." says Darren a short while later, scratching his beard as he glanced between the two. "So, um, now you mention it Meech that'd actually be pretty sweet! Doesn't have to be anything toooo long, just a little intro, couple words on how you're feeling about the trip so far, yadda yadda... If either of you are happy to be on camera for a cheeky little vox pop, that'd be ace!"
Darren then shifted his gaze back at Jarret. "I mean obviously, no worries either if you'd rather not! Wouldn't want to be, uh... Interrupting anything..." he'd add, turning back to his dorm mate before taking the briefest of involuntary glances down at Misha's closed laptop.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Now Jarrett could see the other's faces and felt a fool, for these were not strangers but comrades of a sort. Film Guy was actually Darren Decker, Jarrett's former dungeon master from a while back, and a classmate from time to time in the film department. And the one they hadn't seen before, Misha Yeager, was another erstwhile classmate, an accomplished writer in her own right but unpublished like themselves. Tension they hadn't noticed building steadily in their shoulders released, their arms drooped, their posture slouched. They were among friends, or at least, people fit enough to be called such, under the circumstances.
"Hey, Darren, Misha," Jarrett said, looking from one to the other, "it's going good, good." They curled their lips up in what they hoped looked like a smile to the others. It was always hard to tell sometimes if they were doing it right.
"I was just gonna, uh, y'know." They brought the hand without the joint to their lips and mimed smoking.
It seemed Misha was in the middle of something too, before Darren got here, though Jarrett doubted, with these temperatures, that it was what he thought, or was pretending to think. Come to think of it, did the ship's Wi-Fi even reach out here? Anyways.
"I can do an intro, sure," Jarrett said. They took a moment to think it over, how to describe their project without sounding like a total dumbass and not look like they were essentially on vacation.
"Ready? Okay. Hi, I'm Jarrett Bergman, Creative Writing and Digital Media Studies double major. I'm on the trip to, uh, sort of just study the crew and goings on—it's research, for a story I'm writing. Enjoying myself so far, a bit chilly, out here, though.
"...that's good, yeah? I can do another take, if you need me to."
But they'd prefer not to. That joint was starting to burn a hole in Jarrett's hand.
"Hey, Darren, Misha," Jarrett said, looking from one to the other, "it's going good, good." They curled their lips up in what they hoped looked like a smile to the others. It was always hard to tell sometimes if they were doing it right.
"I was just gonna, uh, y'know." They brought the hand without the joint to their lips and mimed smoking.
It seemed Misha was in the middle of something too, before Darren got here, though Jarrett doubted, with these temperatures, that it was what he thought, or was pretending to think. Come to think of it, did the ship's Wi-Fi even reach out here? Anyways.
"I can do an intro, sure," Jarrett said. They took a moment to think it over, how to describe their project without sounding like a total dumbass and not look like they were essentially on vacation.
"Ready? Okay. Hi, I'm Jarrett Bergman, Creative Writing and Digital Media Studies double major. I'm on the trip to, uh, sort of just study the crew and goings on—it's research, for a story I'm writing. Enjoying myself so far, a bit chilly, out here, though.
"...that's good, yeah? I can do another take, if you need me to."
But they'd prefer not to. That joint was starting to burn a hole in Jarrett's hand.
Misha caught Darren's glance at her laptop and internally cursed herself out. There really is no way to say "I wasn't looking at dirty pictures" that doesn't immediately and irrevocably convince the other person that you were absolutely looking at dirty pictures, especially if you're bringing it up unprompted. She'd just have to take the hit on this one and maybe subtly ask him to edit that bit out.
While Jarrett was doing their intro, she took the opportunity to readjust her glasses and brush back a few stray hairs. If she'd known she was going to be on camera today she'd probably have put in her contacts, but after all the effort of travelling and getting settled and everything else, going to just that little bit of extra effort had been an ask too big. She'd have to remember to do it tomorrow, in case she wound up in the background of any shots. Misha didn't consider herself a particularly vain person, but the glasses gave off a particular hipster nerd girl vibe that she wasn't fond of. Not that she wasn't a nerd. She was, big time. Whenever she heard the name Michelangelo she thought ninja turtle, not Renaissance sculptor. But there was a big difference between being a nerd and looking like a nerd. It was cool to be a nerd, but it wasn't cool to look like a nerd. It was cool to wear nerd girl glasses if you didn't actually need to, but totally lame to wear them if they were prescription.
By the time she'd finished haranguing herself for being stupid enough to have bad eyesight in public, Jarrett was done with their intro, and it was her turn. She took a quick breath when the camera pointed at her, and then went for it.
"Hiya!" said Misha, immediately regretting the word choice. "I'm Meech, and I'm an English Lit major. I'm here as part of a course on polar literature, studying memoirs and creative writing about expeditions and adventures, stuff like that. I'm really excited to see these places firsthand, and compare them to what we've been reading! That, or I'd like to see some polar bears."
She lapsed into silence, her eyes quickly darting between Darren and the camera. "Uh, was that okay? Too peppy?"
While Jarrett was doing their intro, she took the opportunity to readjust her glasses and brush back a few stray hairs. If she'd known she was going to be on camera today she'd probably have put in her contacts, but after all the effort of travelling and getting settled and everything else, going to just that little bit of extra effort had been an ask too big. She'd have to remember to do it tomorrow, in case she wound up in the background of any shots. Misha didn't consider herself a particularly vain person, but the glasses gave off a particular hipster nerd girl vibe that she wasn't fond of. Not that she wasn't a nerd. She was, big time. Whenever she heard the name Michelangelo she thought ninja turtle, not Renaissance sculptor. But there was a big difference between being a nerd and looking like a nerd. It was cool to be a nerd, but it wasn't cool to look like a nerd. It was cool to wear nerd girl glasses if you didn't actually need to, but totally lame to wear them if they were prescription.
By the time she'd finished haranguing herself for being stupid enough to have bad eyesight in public, Jarrett was done with their intro, and it was her turn. She took a quick breath when the camera pointed at her, and then went for it.
"Hiya!" said Misha, immediately regretting the word choice. "I'm Meech, and I'm an English Lit major. I'm here as part of a course on polar literature, studying memoirs and creative writing about expeditions and adventures, stuff like that. I'm really excited to see these places firsthand, and compare them to what we've been reading! That, or I'd like to see some polar bears."
She lapsed into silence, her eyes quickly darting between Darren and the camera. "Uh, was that okay? Too peppy?"
The screen rose up to Jarret first, taking a brief moment for the focus to be adjusted correctly just in time for the student to say their piece, followed by them asking if another take would be necessary.
"Nono, that's perfect!" replied Darren, smiling as he then turned the camera to focus in on Misha, letting her say her piece as well before raising his hand past the camera to do the OK symbol with his finger and thumb. "Bellissimo!"
It was at that point that the camera's view shifted again as Darren pointed it downwards, realising in that moment that the power had started running low. "Oooh, right... Alrighty, just gonna get a few shots of the observation deck then take this back to my room to charge up, maybe finish the rest of the tour tomorrow morning..."
At that point he headed out to the outdoor section of the observation deck, pointing the camera towards the horizon. Unfortunately at that time of night there wasn't a whole lot that could be made out, the screen appearing dark and fuzzy as the camera tried to adjust to the awkward lighting, though one could just about recognise the shifting waves and the subtle curve of the horizon.
"Well, it's a bit tricky to tell but here we are, out in the northern pacific! As we're due to arrive at our destination in a couple days I suspect things will quickly get more unpleasant out here, especially once we start nearing the bering strait. Right now it's pleasantly cool, but I suspect the next time you see me outside I'll be wearing my pop's trapper hat..."
On that note he turned the camera to face himself. "Which is fake fur, of course! Or, well, according to dad it was anyway..." he'd say, frowning as he pondered for a moment whether his dad really meant it, before shrugging the thought off for now. "Anyway, that'll be all for tonight, will show off the mess hall and the other decks I'm allowed to visit tomorrow morning. Until then, don't forget to like and subscribe, and if you wanna support the channel further hit the link in the description below! Until next time!"
On that note, Darren would salute the camera with a grin on his face, before switching it off.
(Darren Decker continued elsewhere...))
"Nono, that's perfect!" replied Darren, smiling as he then turned the camera to focus in on Misha, letting her say her piece as well before raising his hand past the camera to do the OK symbol with his finger and thumb. "Bellissimo!"
It was at that point that the camera's view shifted again as Darren pointed it downwards, realising in that moment that the power had started running low. "Oooh, right... Alrighty, just gonna get a few shots of the observation deck then take this back to my room to charge up, maybe finish the rest of the tour tomorrow morning..."
At that point he headed out to the outdoor section of the observation deck, pointing the camera towards the horizon. Unfortunately at that time of night there wasn't a whole lot that could be made out, the screen appearing dark and fuzzy as the camera tried to adjust to the awkward lighting, though one could just about recognise the shifting waves and the subtle curve of the horizon.
"Well, it's a bit tricky to tell but here we are, out in the northern pacific! As we're due to arrive at our destination in a couple days I suspect things will quickly get more unpleasant out here, especially once we start nearing the bering strait. Right now it's pleasantly cool, but I suspect the next time you see me outside I'll be wearing my pop's trapper hat..."
On that note he turned the camera to face himself. "Which is fake fur, of course! Or, well, according to dad it was anyway..." he'd say, frowning as he pondered for a moment whether his dad really meant it, before shrugging the thought off for now. "Anyway, that'll be all for tonight, will show off the mess hall and the other decks I'm allowed to visit tomorrow morning. Until then, don't forget to like and subscribe, and if you wanna support the channel further hit the link in the description below! Until next time!"
On that note, Darren would salute the camera with a grin on his face, before switching it off.
(Darren Decker continued elsewhere...))
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MethodicalSlacker
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Both Jarrett and Misha (did they have to start saying Meech, now that she used it on camera?) earned Darren's approval with their introductions. This was a great relief to Jarrett, as they didn't really want to do a second take in the first place and thankfully hadn't had the chance to berate themselves about asking. Before he left, Darren turned to Jarrett briefly and asked, softly, a question.
"Well, just gonna plug this in and I'll be back in a sec, got some edibles if you're down to chill for a bit? Pun not intended..."
To which Jarrett nodded, mouthed "sure, later," and Darren grinned, before he disappeared below deck.
Now it was just Jarrett and Meech, out in the cold. For a moment, Jarrett didn't say anything, instead staring off into the polar evening sky. Polar literature. Like, arctic research stations, killer polar bears, Shackleton's suicidal march through the blistering cold. The first part of Frankenstein when they find the dude out in the cold and bring him on board the ship. Jarrett wished they'd thought of that, or read enough of it to base a project around. Compared to Misha's intro, Jarrett's was aimless, wandering, and it sounded exactly like they had no idea why they were here. Just watching. A cameraperson with just the eyes.
Then Jarrett realized that they had been acting weird and cleared their throat.
"Sorry, I'm spacy today. Or, er. You mind if I smoke?" they said. Then their eyes went back down to the laptop, which they had forgotten. Writing out here in the cold, that was true dedication to the polar lit spirit. But there was a chance that they weren't writing anyways. Still, it was a neutral enough way to put the question.
"Ooo. What'cha working on?"
"Well, just gonna plug this in and I'll be back in a sec, got some edibles if you're down to chill for a bit? Pun not intended..."
To which Jarrett nodded, mouthed "sure, later," and Darren grinned, before he disappeared below deck.
Now it was just Jarrett and Meech, out in the cold. For a moment, Jarrett didn't say anything, instead staring off into the polar evening sky. Polar literature. Like, arctic research stations, killer polar bears, Shackleton's suicidal march through the blistering cold. The first part of Frankenstein when they find the dude out in the cold and bring him on board the ship. Jarrett wished they'd thought of that, or read enough of it to base a project around. Compared to Misha's intro, Jarrett's was aimless, wandering, and it sounded exactly like they had no idea why they were here. Just watching. A cameraperson with just the eyes.
Then Jarrett realized that they had been acting weird and cleared their throat.
"Sorry, I'm spacy today. Or, er. You mind if I smoke?" they said. Then their eyes went back down to the laptop, which they had forgotten. Writing out here in the cold, that was true dedication to the polar lit spirit. But there was a chance that they weren't writing anyways. Still, it was a neutral enough way to put the question.
"Ooo. What'cha working on?"
- 
- Misha gave Jarrett a thumbs-up in response to the request, and then smiled self-consciously when they asked what she was working on. "Well, I was trying to work on my Polar Lit essay. I thought that sitting out here in the cold might inspire me, you know? Get into the right headspace, and get a good sense of what these authors were writing about. Plus I thought it would be a good motivational tactic. Kind of a 'you can't go in where it's warm until you come up with a good introductory paragraph' sort of thing... but it's way colder out here than I thought it would be, and I'm gonna lose feeling in my fingertips and start making typos, and if I go back inside now I'll have to sit around being blind until my glasses stop fogging up, so I guess it's a bust all the way around, huh?"
She idly traced the outlines of the stickers plastered on her laptop. She'd first gotten the machine in high school, and had steadily added flair to it over the next few years. Her parents had offered to replace it when she went off to college, but she'd refused. The laptop worked fine and she hadn't wanted to lose the stickers. There were so many that it was hard to see the original black plastic casing anymore. The logo was completely gone, covered over with various Pokemon (only the cute ones, natch), a 1-UP mushroom and a fire flower, a slightly crooked Master Sword, and Aphrodite's symbol from Hades. On the bottom right corner was a faded and creased sticker that had been partially destroyed. It had once depicted the main cast of My Hero Academia, but Momo had been violently scraped off, and had taken most of Froppy and Deku's arm with her. Misha had worried that the whole thing would weaken and come off, but the rest of clung on like grim death, and was now practically melded to the plastic. Covering up the hole that Momo left behind was a custom sticker she'd printed out at Kinko's, featuring Lil Meech and Lil Tess holding hands.
She grimaced at the sticker, still feeling self-conscious about the cartoon she'd been drawing, and the childish impulse to hide it. "I was also... I dunno. Doodling a little. I draw cartoons sometimes. They're kinda dumb."
She idly traced the outlines of the stickers plastered on her laptop. She'd first gotten the machine in high school, and had steadily added flair to it over the next few years. Her parents had offered to replace it when she went off to college, but she'd refused. The laptop worked fine and she hadn't wanted to lose the stickers. There were so many that it was hard to see the original black plastic casing anymore. The logo was completely gone, covered over with various Pokemon (only the cute ones, natch), a 1-UP mushroom and a fire flower, a slightly crooked Master Sword, and Aphrodite's symbol from Hades. On the bottom right corner was a faded and creased sticker that had been partially destroyed. It had once depicted the main cast of My Hero Academia, but Momo had been violently scraped off, and had taken most of Froppy and Deku's arm with her. Misha had worried that the whole thing would weaken and come off, but the rest of clung on like grim death, and was now practically melded to the plastic. Covering up the hole that Momo left behind was a custom sticker she'd printed out at Kinko's, featuring Lil Meech and Lil Tess holding hands.
She grimaced at the sticker, still feeling self-conscious about the cartoon she'd been drawing, and the childish impulse to hide it. "I was also... I dunno. Doodling a little. I draw cartoons sometimes. They're kinda dumb."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Oh, God, nothing felt better than seeing that thumbs-up. Jarrett hesitated for just a moment, turning over briefly the idea of asking a stupid question (are you sure?) before they put the joint in their hands to their mouth and lit it. Well, they tried to—but the wind put out the lighter before they could see a flame. It took a turning away from, and a cupping their hands around, the wind and the fire, respectively, but Jarrett nevertheless got the joint lit. While Misha spoke, they guided the flame down from the twisted off end of the paper to the J-proper.
As Jarrett took their first couple short puffs off the joint, they watched Misha's fingers trace the stickers on the laptop. Those were some neat stickers. It took a lot of will not to talk about them, instead of responding to Misha's actual spoken out loud words. Luckily the coughing fit prompted by the third, too big inhale gave Jarrett an excuse to think a little extra about what they wanted to say.
"Usually when I try to get in the right headspace, I just smoke or drink. I try to justify that to myself with some stupid bullshit, like, oh, Hemmingway drank himself near to death, and he was great; or, Hunter S. Thompson was an addict, and I love him, or whatever. And then I remember how bad a nothing their lives amounted to outside of their work. And then I smoke anyway.
"But what you did makes more sense. Being in the cold to write about the cold. That's some method-writing there. Good thought, even if it's a bust. Now, if nothing else, you can write better about how the cold feels, when you're warm enough to do that."
Misha was doodling too? That was cool. But,
"There's nothing dumb about doodling. I draw a bit too, even though I don't really know how, in a technical sense. I'm not sure how you can do straight lines when you're shivering, but it would be a good way to, like, not make those, on purpose. To shade something. Just lean into the shiver.
"...do you want a hit?"
As Jarrett took their first couple short puffs off the joint, they watched Misha's fingers trace the stickers on the laptop. Those were some neat stickers. It took a lot of will not to talk about them, instead of responding to Misha's actual spoken out loud words. Luckily the coughing fit prompted by the third, too big inhale gave Jarrett an excuse to think a little extra about what they wanted to say.
"Usually when I try to get in the right headspace, I just smoke or drink. I try to justify that to myself with some stupid bullshit, like, oh, Hemmingway drank himself near to death, and he was great; or, Hunter S. Thompson was an addict, and I love him, or whatever. And then I remember how bad a nothing their lives amounted to outside of their work. And then I smoke anyway.
"But what you did makes more sense. Being in the cold to write about the cold. That's some method-writing there. Good thought, even if it's a bust. Now, if nothing else, you can write better about how the cold feels, when you're warm enough to do that."
Misha was doodling too? That was cool. But,
"There's nothing dumb about doodling. I draw a bit too, even though I don't really know how, in a technical sense. I'm not sure how you can do straight lines when you're shivering, but it would be a good way to, like, not make those, on purpose. To shade something. Just lean into the shiver.
"...do you want a hit?"
Jarrett's response about Hemingway and Thompson resonated with Misha. The English lit crowd had a tendency to romanticize the vices of famous authors - as though their insights into the human condition left them no other options. Misha couldn't really get on board with that, because she'd lived life long enough to know that you didn't always have to have some kind of loftier motive. You didn't need to be steeped in misery to want an escape. You could just... like to drink. And on some nights, sure, she didn't want to be herself for a little while. But it wasn't a tragic thing. Alcohol was just quicker and cheaper than counseling.
So, yeah. If Jarrett wanted to get high just because Jarrett wanted to be high, that was fine by her. When they offered a hit, she nodded and reached out to take the joint. "Sure, why not?"
Marijuana was supposed to help with nausea, and her stomach wasn't loving the pitch and roll of the high seas. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.
"It's easy to do straight lines," she said. "I use a vector art program, so it's just a matter of telling the computer where I want the lines to start and end, and it fills in the gaps all by itself. It'd be easier with a mouse or a stylus, but I can still make it work with the trackpad. And a lot of what I'm doing right now is just reshaping assets I've already drawn. So, like, I draw a character and do their arms and legs and stuff as separate objects, so instead of having to redraw them each time, I can just move the bits I've already drawn or rotate them to a new position. It's probably cheating to do it like that, but it's way easier than doing everything from scratch each time."
She realized she was babbling, and cut it off there. "Sorry, didn't mean to nerd out there."
So, yeah. If Jarrett wanted to get high just because Jarrett wanted to be high, that was fine by her. When they offered a hit, she nodded and reached out to take the joint. "Sure, why not?"
Marijuana was supposed to help with nausea, and her stomach wasn't loving the pitch and roll of the high seas. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.
"It's easy to do straight lines," she said. "I use a vector art program, so it's just a matter of telling the computer where I want the lines to start and end, and it fills in the gaps all by itself. It'd be easier with a mouse or a stylus, but I can still make it work with the trackpad. And a lot of what I'm doing right now is just reshaping assets I've already drawn. So, like, I draw a character and do their arms and legs and stuff as separate objects, so instead of having to redraw them each time, I can just move the bits I've already drawn or rotate them to a new position. It's probably cheating to do it like that, but it's way easier than doing everything from scratch each time."
She realized she was babbling, and cut it off there. "Sorry, didn't mean to nerd out there."
-
MethodicalSlacker
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"Oh no, don't worry," said Jarrett, "I info-dump all the time. I'll just be doing a ho-humdrum conversation with some one at some party some place and they'll mention some movie or band or game that I know about out of hand, and the next thing I know I've been talking for forty minutes straight and everyone in the house has decided that they'd rather be down at the sports bar, where nobody can hear anything."
It was fascinating, though, how Misha was describing the art program. Jarrett had often wondered about what if they could draw. When they were young, in middle school, right in the worst of their Homestuck and just about anything they were into at the time-phase, they tried to start an interactive adventure type drawing game with their best friend, James. It was at first a simple Jailbreak type comic—until one simple panel went wide, way wide, with a few of those ==> numbers, and revealed that they were all in a biodome on Mars, and then it became Marsstuck. Jarrett managed to fill a whole few notebooks with it, every other day at recess, until they stopped around when Top Hat Guy met the Ice Maiden, drawn in blue pen. Sometimes Jarrett thought about what it would be to pick that back up. Usually they talked themselves out of it. They hadn't gotten any better at drawing in the interim, after all. And they'd tarnish the memory of the concept.
But, what Misha was saying now, about a program that filled in the lines when you told it where the ends were? And what's this about reshaping assets on different layers? That sounded powerful. Maybe too powerful. They'd have to look into it, when they got back to Twin Peaks. I mean Tacoma.
"What's the name of that software?" Jarrett said, "maybe I'll get it. And, uh, don't, ah, don't bogart that joint, please."
It was fascinating, though, how Misha was describing the art program. Jarrett had often wondered about what if they could draw. When they were young, in middle school, right in the worst of their Homestuck and just about anything they were into at the time-phase, they tried to start an interactive adventure type drawing game with their best friend, James. It was at first a simple Jailbreak type comic—until one simple panel went wide, way wide, with a few of those ==> numbers, and revealed that they were all in a biodome on Mars, and then it became Marsstuck. Jarrett managed to fill a whole few notebooks with it, every other day at recess, until they stopped around when Top Hat Guy met the Ice Maiden, drawn in blue pen. Sometimes Jarrett thought about what it would be to pick that back up. Usually they talked themselves out of it. They hadn't gotten any better at drawing in the interim, after all. And they'd tarnish the memory of the concept.
But, what Misha was saying now, about a program that filled in the lines when you told it where the ends were? And what's this about reshaping assets on different layers? That sounded powerful. Maybe too powerful. They'd have to look into it, when they got back to Twin Peaks. I mean Tacoma.
"What's the name of that software?" Jarrett said, "maybe I'll get it. And, uh, don't, ah, don't bogart that joint, please."
"It's called Inkscape," Misha said. "It's a bit tricky to learn, but it's way more user-friendly than something like Blender or any of the Adobe stuff. It can't do any texturing, though. Krita is a more advanced version of the same type of thing, if you have a bit more knowhow it'll let you do more advanced stuff. I stick to more simple cartoony type stuff, so I just stick with Inkscape for now. Maybe someday I'll get good enough to need something better, but I've always been more of a writer than an artist. If I need to do more advanced editing stuff, Pixlr's free and it's got a lot of great editing tools. You have to have a web browser for it, though, so I probably can't access it until we get back to civilization."
After a quick puff, she passed the joint back to Jarrett. "Thanks. Hopefully that helps with the nausea. If it gets much worse I don't think I'm gonna be coming out of my cabin again for the rest of the trip."
After a quick puff, she passed the joint back to Jarrett. "Thanks. Hopefully that helps with the nausea. If it gets much worse I don't think I'm gonna be coming out of my cabin again for the rest of the trip."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Jarrett nodded as Misha explained the computer program and tried their best to follow on through what felt to them like a fairly technical explanation. They noticed that Misha didn't open the computer and load the program to show them, which was fine, since they sort of knew what the other programs it was compared to were like. Photoshop or GIMP or Paint.Net was what Jarrett usually used to do weird format screw images whenever they had to do something for a multimedia project or whatever. Or even just Microsoft Paint more than half of the time probably. And they also if they might add didn't mind that the explanation was technical, and maybe that didn't come across the best earlier, but in general they enjoy learning the details of systems they don't entirely understand, and being treated like they have a brain, a mind, inside of their physical person, with which they can figure things out and compare mental models and process information and do other things that thinking people do, and not like something that doesn't have that, a something they felt the world's eyes could often look upon them with such contempt and incuriosity as to see them like. Often. But not right now.
"It'll help you relax," Jarrett said, knowing full well there was a good 50/50 chance that it might go off either like a big nothing or like an extra boat turning on a tsunami inside her stomach. "Should help you relax, about it, at least."
They took the joint back and took a drag on it themselves. The sunset looked beautiful. A freezing ocean on fire. Jarrett always got the distinct sense that the surface of the water was the top of the sky of another world. Whenever they were around it, that is. It was a world they couldn't really enter, on account of not knowing how to swim. Not that it would matter much out here when you'd go all popsicle bobbing up and down in no time flat after splashdown. But no, it wouldn't be like that. That was a cartoon idea. It would be more like shriveling up and turning blue. The blood freezes, not the air around the person. It was never how it went in cartoons. The world spirit had a sense of humor, but not physics. Physics never laughs.
Jarrett took a step closer to the railing. They bent forward a bit so that they could rest their elbows on it and took a drag from there. The sky was like an ocean, of sorts. And human beings lived under that. So what lived at the bottom of the ocean? Usually Jarrett could just look that up, but they were on a boat. Very far out boat. Funny word. Boat. There were many boats. Schooners. Why schooners first? Yachts. Ruby-yacht. Rubaiyat. Something else. Pontoons. Like a platoon? No. Several boats of a verb-boat or noun-boat constructed character. Fishing boat. Cargo boat. Cruise boat. Those could also be called ships. Small boats for one or two people. Kayaking. Jarrett had been kayaking on the Charles River, and in a pond in Cape Cod, where they capsized one summer without a lifejacket. It was funny, and fine, because they were with friends, and quickly rescued. Two summers previous they were in a canoe which was another small boat. They were with one other person in the canoe. Friend not present following two summers for capsize moment. Other friend, a no-longer friend, who was present for capsize, was following in a kayak. That was a strange night. The later-unpresent friend asked if they could have the later-present nonfriend take a picture of them standing in the canoe without any clothes on. Something they'd always wanted to do. And it happened, even though Jarrett had their back turned and didn't see anything, and didn't look when they and the other four, the whole group, at the time, showed it around to each other later. Didn't look. Brook. Now that was just where water was.
Jarrett took another drag and noticed something wrong. It wasn't smoking like it should. They took their focus off the horizon line and put it on the joint and ah well there's your problem. Of course it was canoes they stopped on because that was not the only boat of the moment: the joint itself was canoeing!
Wrong boat! No, boat wrong! Look alive, Captain Fuckhead, yer weed's smoking itself!
"Shit," Jarrett muttered. It was their fault of course. They'd pinched it above the filter as they'd done before and fucked up the airflow. A mistake made by those neglecting the acquisition of sea legs. They took their lighter out and tried to burn down the other side but that never worked. Of course. Not in this wind. The lighter went away and next Jarrett tried to lick their fingers and put it out that way, with their own spit. That worked to end the thing. Now Jarrett just had to reposition their fingers to hold the filter and not the paper and—
"Ah fuck!"
It slipped!
Avast! Joint overboard!
"Awwwwww. Nuts."
It was gone, and only halfway done too, and that threw Jarrett's whole thing off. Sure they still had a couple rationed out for the day, but now they'd have to either go one short or steal from tomorrow.
"Man."
Jarrett stood there, looking down at where it had fallen. It wasn't exactly overboard, because it was on the ship, but it wasn't somewhere they could go. A present for the ship's finest. Amazing.
"That's great, really."
Jarrett stood there, head in their hands, and went back to looking at the sunset. Now that made two things out of reach and on fire.
"It'll help you relax," Jarrett said, knowing full well there was a good 50/50 chance that it might go off either like a big nothing or like an extra boat turning on a tsunami inside her stomach. "Should help you relax, about it, at least."
They took the joint back and took a drag on it themselves. The sunset looked beautiful. A freezing ocean on fire. Jarrett always got the distinct sense that the surface of the water was the top of the sky of another world. Whenever they were around it, that is. It was a world they couldn't really enter, on account of not knowing how to swim. Not that it would matter much out here when you'd go all popsicle bobbing up and down in no time flat after splashdown. But no, it wouldn't be like that. That was a cartoon idea. It would be more like shriveling up and turning blue. The blood freezes, not the air around the person. It was never how it went in cartoons. The world spirit had a sense of humor, but not physics. Physics never laughs.
Jarrett took a step closer to the railing. They bent forward a bit so that they could rest their elbows on it and took a drag from there. The sky was like an ocean, of sorts. And human beings lived under that. So what lived at the bottom of the ocean? Usually Jarrett could just look that up, but they were on a boat. Very far out boat. Funny word. Boat. There were many boats. Schooners. Why schooners first? Yachts. Ruby-yacht. Rubaiyat. Something else. Pontoons. Like a platoon? No. Several boats of a verb-boat or noun-boat constructed character. Fishing boat. Cargo boat. Cruise boat. Those could also be called ships. Small boats for one or two people. Kayaking. Jarrett had been kayaking on the Charles River, and in a pond in Cape Cod, where they capsized one summer without a lifejacket. It was funny, and fine, because they were with friends, and quickly rescued. Two summers previous they were in a canoe which was another small boat. They were with one other person in the canoe. Friend not present following two summers for capsize moment. Other friend, a no-longer friend, who was present for capsize, was following in a kayak. That was a strange night. The later-unpresent friend asked if they could have the later-present nonfriend take a picture of them standing in the canoe without any clothes on. Something they'd always wanted to do. And it happened, even though Jarrett had their back turned and didn't see anything, and didn't look when they and the other four, the whole group, at the time, showed it around to each other later. Didn't look. Brook. Now that was just where water was.
Jarrett took another drag and noticed something wrong. It wasn't smoking like it should. They took their focus off the horizon line and put it on the joint and ah well there's your problem. Of course it was canoes they stopped on because that was not the only boat of the moment: the joint itself was canoeing!
Wrong boat! No, boat wrong! Look alive, Captain Fuckhead, yer weed's smoking itself!
"Shit," Jarrett muttered. It was their fault of course. They'd pinched it above the filter as they'd done before and fucked up the airflow. A mistake made by those neglecting the acquisition of sea legs. They took their lighter out and tried to burn down the other side but that never worked. Of course. Not in this wind. The lighter went away and next Jarrett tried to lick their fingers and put it out that way, with their own spit. That worked to end the thing. Now Jarrett just had to reposition their fingers to hold the filter and not the paper and—
"Ah fuck!"
It slipped!
Avast! Joint overboard!
"Awwwwww. Nuts."
It was gone, and only halfway done too, and that threw Jarrett's whole thing off. Sure they still had a couple rationed out for the day, but now they'd have to either go one short or steal from tomorrow.
"Man."
Jarrett stood there, looking down at where it had fallen. It wasn't exactly overboard, because it was on the ship, but it wasn't somewhere they could go. A present for the ship's finest. Amazing.
"That's great, really."
Jarrett stood there, head in their hands, and went back to looking at the sunset. Now that made two things out of reach and on fire.