event } you're never gonna fit in much, kid.

Richard Strand as an adult sleeps curled in on himself. He cuddles, wraps himself around his partner. As a teenager he sprawled, secure in his own safety because he didn't have a wife or a girlfriend or a daughter to be responsible for. That's how Richard has fallen asleep - waking up before panicking.

He's always been gangly. He looked like some uncle his mother told him about. All glasses and knobby knees. Staggering into the bathroom - a bathroom - and staring at himself in the mirror he...

He looks like his father. He's filled out and he's got the old man's beard. Pulling at it he's got - gray. Gray in his beard and gray at his temples and when he went to bed he was 16. Sure he'd gone to bed late, worrying about mother did that - but she wasn't here. This wasn't his room he was just here with a really creepy painting and-

At least all of his clothes fit, even if none of this stuff is stuff he'd actually wear. Settling on the only flannel and trying to digest every ache and pain in this...altered body before slipping out the door.

In the cafeteria

Richard Strand mentally is a 16 year old boy and he's trying to adjust to being what his mother called a bottomless pit to being an adult - and not just an adult but an old adult.

So he's made what looks like an absolutely hideous burger smothered in bacon and cheese and bacon cheese fries and Richard Strand senior would vomit if he saw it but Richie digs in, watching other people warily.

When he does spot somebody he looks uncomfortable before wiping his face.

"-ugh. Am I not-" chewing noises, "Am I not supposed to take the food?"

Around the Ship

Richie is either staring out the window or just running his hands along the hallway before grinning at the nearest person.

"Can you believe it?! It's like star trek! a real space ship!"

The recent nightmares had lead to Kaz withdrawing and making himself scarce around the ship, but ever since the ice thawed and the hallucinations calmed down he's been surfacing more often. Things had returned to normal, right?

Currently, he's making his way down the same hallway Richard Strand is running his hands along, his cane tapping an uneven rhythm as he makes his way towards the observation room. His eyes shoot a sideways glance at the other man, but otherwise he doesn't seem interested in acknowledging him at all, content to continue about minding his own business. Indeed, as Richie starts talking, Kaz doesn't even break stride, continuing for a couple steps until something brings him to a stop.

He has no idea what star trek is, and frankly doesn't care, but something about the man's excitement strikes him as off. They haven't formally met yet, but Kaz has a knack for remembering faces, and he's pretty sure this is one that's been here at least since he got here. Has it taken him this long to puzzle out they were on a ship? As Kaz glances at the man, he quirks a curious brow, not bothering to try and soften his unimpressed and humorless expression.

"You don't say."

"I do." Richard straightens and grins, "Listen I signed the petition. I loved Kirk and Spock. Not that weird...writing stuff but I liked seeing the zines and stuff. My father didn't like me reading them but Wayne would bust them out occasionally and they were engaging..."

He pauses, "...Wait. I apologize." He straightens, "I'm Richard Strand. It's nice to meet you."

Fingers crossed the guy doesn't notice a tremor in his fingers about all of this. He's a giant and he's old the past day he was 16 and stressing out about his mother, trying to think of something to do to help her.

It occurs to him then that this might be a dream. Like the dreams of Bobby. He'd babysat the boy like, twice but he haunted him every single night, pointing into the distance, looking heartbroken.

A shadow crosses Richard's face, but he plasters a smile on.

"A what?"

It's a window by the time Murmur comes upon him, and while he does have to admit the view is fantastic he's much more intrigued by what the human is wearing. So far they were all dressed very strange, they spoke strange, they used strange words. Everything about this was distressing but perhaps the worst part of it all was the silence. And that he couldn't leave. Both of those were equally upsetting.

Not that... he even understood being upset. He walked a little strange when he approached the window and the man, like he didn't quite know how to make legs work properly. Fortunately he was a fast learner but it was still taking some practice.

"Do you know what's happening here?"

This human seemed to have an idea, maybe he had answers.

"I got shanghai'd onto a space ship." Richard looks over and cocks an eyebrow, "I mean- there's more to it I think but are you okay?"

He catches that wobble. Turning to study the angel he cocks his head, "I think this is a dream. Maybe. I mean I'm old and I'm not ...this old. No matter what anybody says."

He gestures, "It's ...a really realistic dream." It's not. Somehow he knows it's not. But he missed out on a whole life if that's the case and he doesn't want to face that quite yet."

"You got what?" Richard you're going to have to go easy on the slang, that concept doesn't yet exist in Murmur's current dictionary. Never mind, he was content to move on since the man was polite enough to ask.

"No!" He chirped, almost cheerfully. "I seem to be stuck in this husk and I have no idea what any of this is." He gestures vaguely at himself, and Richard, and the ship in general. Literally everything is foreign to him.

As for the hypothesis, Murmur considers for a moment. "No, no, I do not believe so. You see, I do not sleep and do not dream. I would know if this were a dream and I were visiting you, that is certainly not the case. Did you call me? Is that why I am here?"

"No."

Richard straightens at that. That's disconcerting. Husk? Something tickles at the back of his mind, "...I didn't call you. Sorry. When you say Husk what do you mean? Who are you?"

He pauses, "...Look. Maybe you ought to sit down if you have no idea where you are." You're always so kind Richie. Lean into that instead of your father's...faith. Blind skepticism. It made it easier and more comforting but some times there's enough from Jackie Strand in her son to make him into a nurturing figure.

"Let's go find a chair. There's some in the room I got shuffled into."

The very erratic man does take a moment to scrutinize Richard closely, too close, too intense. Those venomous green eyes drilling into his soul... but it didn't last long, as he was quickly satisfied that Richard was not trying to lie to him.

"This," He lifted one arm, patted it with his other. "Empty vessel, husk, body if you must. It isn't mine. Someone covered it in magic," He pulled up a sleeve to show off the alarmingly intricate geometric sigils and symbols that absolutely covered every bit of skin that wasn't covered by the convenience of long sleeves. "Is this familiar to you?"

Maybe if he could identify the culprit behind the magic he could identify the culprit behind bringing him here.

"Sit? Why?" Clearly he was even more confused for the suggestion but if Richard wanted to go sit somewhere then sure.

Richard frowns before reaching out for the other man's arm, then withdrawing. Get him seated.

It's so strange because he actually appreciates his father for teaching him about archaic images. Those look familiar. He's just never seen them that detailed, that up close.

"Sit down so you can get your bearings." He nods, "C'mon. Let's go to the cafeteria. Something to eat might help you too."

A pause, "You don't know anyone connected to magic do you? Or the occult?"

"Eating?" Again, so many strange things this one was talking about. "Oh yes, that's that thing you humans do all the time isn't it?" He doesn't eat but he'll go wherever Richard ends up dragging him if only because now that he has one's attention he doesn't seem to disbelieve him.

"Myself, of course, all of my brethren. This isn't any of their doing they have far too much going on to spend time shoving each other in empty vessels. What do you mean by occult?" It wasn't quite a thing yet. Not in the way Richard would recognize it anyway.

"The stuff on your body. The markings. They're occult in nature. Magical - looks almost...Aramaic? That's an ancient human language from the time of "Christ."" Richard can't hide the same contempt his father had instilled in him, "It's traditionally used in angelic and demonic magic rituals."

He says this casually, "...Whatever's happened to you, maybe to all of us ...I mean it's not occult obviously but it's important to recognize what it might be."

They're heading towards the cafeteria with Richard walking jaunty, hands in his pockets.

Edited 2021-09-15 00:57 (UTC)

He just looks more confused. "Ancient?" Never mind that Aramaic didn't actually exist in the time Murmur's memories were currently from, it was some of the script on his arm Richard was absolutely correct about that. But the concept of ancient certainly threw him off. Humans didn't exactly have enough writing yet to consider any of it ancient. The contempt seems to completely go over the man's head as he gets excited instead about something else.

"Oh! No, you see, the angelic is right here," He pulled up the sleeve on his other arm to point to a strand of flowing geometric writing that would be absolutely alien to Richard. "Enochian here," He continued on, indicating something else also likely terribly alien alongside the Aramaic. "This... demonic perhaps?" He was trying to twist to see something written on an elbow at an angle no human should quite be capable of managing.

He just... calmly snapped that shoulder back into the socket when he was done as if nothing strange had transpired at all. Totally fine. Didn't even flinch. This is normal.

Murmur will follow along, after some watching of Richard he'll figure out how to mimic a stride much more natural than his earlier attempts.

It's hard to tell what bothers richard more. The casual dropping of Enoch or how the Angel just snaps his shoulder back into place.

Something stirs in Richard Strand's mind. A lash of energy, a prod, a poke. Then he shakes it off and takes a step back.

"...what. what are you?"

Did that mental lash catch the angel's attention? It seemed to given how his eyes snapped up and he regarded Richard with a tilt of his head not unlike a bird for just a few moments. That quiet little stirring wasn't so quiet to him, after all.

He didn't smile, because he didn't realize that he should. "An angel, of course." Stated in a tone as if that should have been patently obvious.

"You're not going to do the screaming thing are you? I do so detest that."

"...angels aren't real." But it's said by route, "but I'm also on a space ship and I look like-"

The disgust is visible, "my father. So. I request proof. And offer any resources I have because otherwise I'll think you're mentally deficient."

"Oh? I'm not? My mistake," Now he seemed just a touch cheeky, and perhaps amused, though it was muted. As if emotions were something he were mimicking more than actually having. And not especially well.

Again that birdlike tilt of his head as he considered what proof to offer. There were a number of things he could do, most would likely result in excessively startling this skeptical father-hating monkey. "The skeptical type. Very well, but I am going to have to insist we hurry this tired business of disbelief along. I am quite busy, you see, and have too many duties to be summoned down for frivolous purposes." Proof, he wanted proof and he will get that proof...

It's not the full thing, rings and eyes and blazing horror, but the wings spring out out of his back from nowhere. Massive, pale gray wings with a shimmering coating as though lightly touched in frost, with a patch of feathers near the shoulders that seemed to be stained with blood. They were so large he couldn't quite spread them in the confines of the room. And with it a light, a burning halo so brilliant it would be like staring into the sun. This radiance that was punctuated with the weight of too many eyes all focused upon you at once, peering beyond the flesh and straight into the soul. Peeling away its layers and secrets beneath their unblinking gaze.

He didn't hold the halo long, just enough to get an idea of what he was dealing with here and to make the point that he wasn't interested in drawing this game out longer than necessary.

"Satisfactory? I will do no more tricks for you, monkey." That's not very polite, Murmur.

Richard Strand has believed. He believed in them years ago when they came for Cheryl, scratching at their window. When she'd climbed into his bed screaming and he'd wrapped them both in his blanket trying to be brave enough to look as they crept and crept forward...

His father beat him for it. He can feel the pain on his back as he feels sick but when the thing shows it's eyes and curling halo...

The thing that poked before lashes out. He can't see it, it has no tendril, it's a mental black wing that swings over his mind as he puts a hand over his eyes and screams.

"Stop! Stop - I understand I - I won't." Good god. Fuck, "That's- kind of refreshing it's not raphael or the other masters I-"

Is he crying? No. He drags his hands over his face. He's not going to cry or sniffle because that was loud. A special loud that rang through his head and when he closes his eyes...

He sniffles, wiping his hands before dragging a hand over his face, "...Well. Yeah. Okay I believe you. What are you the angel of?"

Edited 2021-09-15 03:41 (UTC)

Murmur is still watching him by the time he pulls back, head still bird-tilted to the side inquisitive and unblinking. The tendril lashed in self defense and Murmur didn't budge, only watched. Ever watching. This one was one of his, but he also wasn't? A darkness had its claws in him and while a part of the angel insisted it was his duty to eradicate such things it wasn't particularly loud. Instead a nagging tug of 'maybe that's not the way to do things' gave him pause.

He would continue to observe.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that," He rubbed at his ear in mild annoyance. The screaming. He hates the screaming. They ask, and then they scream! Every time. It's exhausting. His annoyance seemed to evaporate instantly. "You do know of us!" Raphael was one of the Archangels after all. Good, good, now that they're on the same page. The angel just tucked his far too large wings back and tried to fold them nicely, they were rather unwieldly for a human sized body.

Back to excessively cheerful he chirped: "I am the Angel of Sight. Which, I believe, puts you under my flock. You're certain you didn't call me here? A stray prayer perhaps?"

"You can take whatever food you like, as far as I'm concerned," Lucifer says casually, strolling in wearing black silk boxers and a matching robe over an expanse of bare chest. He's here to raid the fridge a bit, as well, though the food he picks out is mostly finger food, which he's piling on a plate.

"Work up an appetite did you? Finally worked through that UST with Alex?"

The innuendo is clear. Lucifer is oblivious to any change - after all, it's not like he knows Strand intimately. As far as he can tell, it's just, well. Richard Strand.

First. What? Second, Richard swallows his sandwich and blinks at the other man before setting it down carefully. What is UST - and who - more importantly - is Alex.

"I. No." Work through implies partner. So wait on this ghost death unreal space ship I'm seeing somebody? "I mean not yet. We're close though and I was just-starving I suppose."

He snorts, "We can't all be you." Dressed like that, presumably hanging out with beautiful people, "Hugh Hefner."

Awakening:

If there's one thing Murmur's learned on this voyage thus far it's that he is not as impervious as he once believed. Things that he didn't think could affect him do, the link with Navi and the other passengers a rather persistent reminder that even he couldn't escape the inconvenient whims of a chaotic universe taking the piss out of him. Even when he knew it was coming. Perhaps especially when he knew it was coming.

And that was why, uncharacteristically, he'd retired to his own cabin for the "rest hours." When it hit, he didn't want to risk putting Jack in danger just in case he mistook her for a threat.

That would later prove to be a wise decision. Upon waking, trapped in a foreign vessel, hearing no songs of the Choirs nor the Word, he panicked. When Murmur panics he does one of two things: First he will attempt to flee, given that he quickly found he could not do that the second course of action was to encase himself and the entire room in ice. After a time of that failing to solve any of his problems or questions he finally managed to stumble his way out into the hallway in a flurry of over-sized awkward wings and feathers skittering across his own ice flow.

This is fine.

Exploring:

The whole physical body thing was still proving to be a dreadful hindrance. Humans either had too many limbs or too few and Murmur wasn't entirely which was the case. Either way, attempting to pilot this monkey suit was very much like one of those old VR games where the controls barely worked, the camera didn't seem to be put in the correct position, and for whatever reason your person wasn't able to step over a small stone or low shrub. To put it bluntly, he was poorly optimized.

This resulted in a man staggering through the hallways very awkwardly as he tried to brute force learning to walk on two legs. It was working in a manner of speaking, but definitely looked weird. He'd put away the wings once he realized they really weren't helping with balance but don't worry, they'll probably show up again at any time.

Mostly he can be found either with a hand on the wall staring up at the ceiling in a mixture of confusion and wonder. Or staring out a window somewhere as if searching the stars might give some answers. However, if he spots another living soul he might just approach. Surely someone must have some answers.

"Please," Lucifer scoffs. "I have much better fashion sense than Hef. And more of... well. Everything."

He pauses, then, in the act of dropping some grapes or something on the plate, squinting at Richard. "Have you done anything nice for her yet? I recommend the spa. I got the Detective the deluxe package two days ago and she's thanked me for it half a dozen times now."

He finds some cheese and starts cutting it into bite-sized pieces, his expression decidedly lovestruck.

And for better or worse, he stumbles nearly into one (1) man-shaped Devil. It's a good thing he paused in the hall to momentarily adjust his cuffs before continuing, otherwise he might be caught on the ice as well. Wouldn't that be embarrassing.

"What's happened to you?" he asks casually, raising his eyebrows at his fellow angel. "Bad dreams? Don't tell me you're molting or something."

"Of course I know the angels. I can recite every level by heart just not by name. Thrones, principalities, archangels..." He frowns, "What do you mean under your flock?"

It's hard to distance himself from God's not real and his father's disdain. It's also weird to have a reach on this...being. He's got muscles - old ones. But that's a supernatural creature.

"I have shitty eyes."

Nice for her. Richard's about to make a dick joke - something about carrots and rabbits flirts across his mind, but instead he is focused on. Nice. Spa.

"...I could do that." His voice was slow. Who was this Alex. was she cute. Did she have blonde hair? Brown hair? Big eyes? He liked big eyes.The nice part about being old was that apparently he had self control because the last time he tried to imagine Leslie Blake's eyes and his gaze had strayed downward he had-

"I mean we haven't been together long though. How ...long would it take to do something nice? Like what's a good "Hey we've been together X amount of time. Here's a gift. Like...six months? A year?"

How long have they been together Lucifer. That's the question even as Richard tries, tries tries to manipulate the devil.

event } you're never gonna fit in much, kid.

Richard Strand | The Black Tapes

around the ship!

yee

Around the ship

Re: Around the ship

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cafeteria!

Re: cafeteria!

Murmur | OTA

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awakening, because the possibility of round 2 of their first meeting is too good

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