milliways_bar | (no subject)

Ray had a fairly disquieting thought earlier today and wound up spending most of the afternoon in his room. He comes downstairs in search of food and actual conversation, since let's face it, it's a mess up there.

[Summary: Martin Miggs comes around and talks to Ray about food. Because, well- FOOD. But not pixy sticks.

Scribble the baby raptor comes by with her toy! There is tug-of-war and then the rope is torn to bits, so Ray deploys one of his flashyballs and gets himself some protection against pointy bits, and then there is feeding time for the ickle Mesozoic deathbringer.

Lysistrata also pops up, and there is some discussion of things like rings and faked deaths and Spartan idiocy, and on the idiocy theme Ray reveals that he's currently having an envy/jealousy problem, and can't quite seem to get over it. Even though he knows it's stupid.

Scary scary Tim Hunter comes by to ask about borrowing a PKE meter. Ray is somewhat reluctant at first, but when he hears what happened to Ace, he hands the meter over without a quibble.

Hurley comes around to ask Ray what he knows about freakydeaky numbers and good / bad fortune combinations. Ray adds another item to his research queue as a result.

And finally, Akito turns up, and there is discussion of ID cards and communications gaps before Ray boggles a little at the name of Nergal Heavy Industries. Give the man a break, he's been studying Sumerian for the past week...]

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Ray's being looked at. The man's wearing a straightjacket, but it's not buckled up right now.

"Yeep!"

Scribble, it seems, is the stealth raptor. Look how easily she slipped away from Red and into the ~~without even an entrance posr!~~ She recognizes ray, and so hops after him, dragging the now severely frayed rope toy along with her. "Yeep! Yeep!"

Well, it's not as if Ray hasn't seen such things before. Although generally, they're buckled by the time he sees them. He turns from the bar with his plate of... well, whatever it is, there's rice involved... and spots the guy in the extra-huggy jacket. "Um, can I help you?" he asks politely.

Strata notices the slightly upset-looking Ray and decides to sit down.
"Hello."

Oooh! Now that's worth putting the dinner plate aside for. "Hi, Scribble!" Ray says cheerfully. He crouches down beside the table and reaches into his pocket for a strip of beef jerky. "Here- have some."

It's generally a good idea to make potentially dangerous critters see you as the giver of food, not the live source of food, is how it works in his brain. He's been carrying that jerky around pretty much all the time he's been out of his room- just in case.

"Hey there," says Ray, putting his wild-rice-and-something-or-other aside. "How're you doing, Lysistrata?"

"Yeep! Snnhr?" The toy is dropped at the appearance of food. Scribble tilts her head at the beef jerky, sniffs it, then grabs it and gobbles it down. She's not one to turn down food. "Yeep! Yeep!"

"I don't think so," Martin says, continuing to stare.

"I'm doing pretty well."
That would be an understatement; she's pratically beaming. She's also fingering an amethyst ring on her right hand.

Ray tosses another, smaller strip in the baby raptor's direction and uses the opportunity to pick up one end of what's left of the toy. She's really been doing a number on it- but then again, that's a good thing. Scribble's going to need to be a big, strong dinosaur someday, and you don't get that way by treating your toys nicely.

*Tim approaches, hands shoved in the pockets of his white trenchcoat. Wait, white? Yup, thats right. Tims inversed his colors today. His tye is still red. So are the spots on the sleeves of his coat. Oh, and sunglasses.*

Ray, got a minute?

"I see," Ray says. "In that case, do I know you? Or are you trying to figure out where you know me from, by some chance?"

The smile Ray doesn't notice straight off;he's never been all that good at body language. The ring, though- "Nice rock," he comments, indicating the right. "Where'd you get it?"

She pounces on it, gulping it down without a second thought. This, she's decided, is her favorite fuzzy tickbird-not that she's met many of them. But he's the one that feeds her. "Yeep! Screeeyeeep!"

Ray pauses, his forkful of rice foo halfway to his mouth. "Um.... yeah," he says carefully. "You didn't kill someone, did you? Because I really don't have anything that gets blood out of white fabric without screwing up the cloth."

"No, I don't think so," Martin says. "I haven't met you here. I don't remember out there."

He points at the door.

Hurley nervously walked up to the man,

"Hey dude, are you Ray, the uh Ghostbuster?" he nervously asked.

Of course he feeds her. Man didn't domesticate wolves by just walking up to them and petting them. "Wanna play now?" he offers, wiggling the free end of the rope invitingly.

"Squeep!" The chick crouches for a moment before pouncing at the wiggling end, landing on it and seizing it in her teeth. She shakes it, growling to herself. While the sounds will be frightening when she's an adult, right now they just sound absurdly high-pitched.

Ray nods slowly, eyes going to the jacket. "Must've been one heck of a trip here, then," he says at last. "Pleased to meet you, sir- I think. My name's Ray."

He... doesn't look like Mike, exactly... at least not around the eyes, where it counts...

"That would be me, yes," said Ray with a small smile. "Can I help you?"

"Martin Miggs."

He extends a hand encased in a very, very long sleeve.

"I don't remember the trip. I was just...here."

Then he brightens.

"I had food!"

"Stole it...from myself, technically. The raid went well. By Zewus it was close at times, but it succeeded. Lysistrata the Athenian is now officially dead.
"And the ring, it was an anonymous present after the war."
She slips it off and hands it to him.
"See, it's a tiny portrait of me."

"I'm Hurley," he said extending his hand for a shake.

"Would you know anything about why a string of seemingly random numbers would cause anyone who plays them good luck, and then really, really bad luck?"

When she's an adult the game is going to have to be played with the kinds of hawsers used to moor ships in the harbor, frankly. If it's still played at all. For now Ray just smiles and tugs at the rope steadily, giving what he judges is just enough resistance to keep things interesting.

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