01 ⚓ Video ⚓ Strangers, who are you? Where do you sail from?

[hearrrtofgold]

[For half a second the feed catches the corridor outside of the mess hall, showing a blurred image of the walls before focusing on a new face. It's a rather handsome youngish male face, framed by brunet hair, adorned with a soul patch, beard, and moustache, and dominated by a prominent nose as well as brown eyes and lips pulled into a thoughtful frown.]

That is officially the weirdest way I've ever been sprung from custody.

Hi. Duke Crocker, token new guy, here to do - you know, all the typical crap. [Graduate an inmate, save his hometown and his best friends, possibly start an underground trade system, that sort of thing. No big deal.] Two things, before I go any further: first, mess hall and kitchen's this way on level one, right? I'm starving, and that hospital food isn't fit for an animal. Not even a spotted hyena would touch it.

Second, what the hell is the date? Is it still December, or is it June? Apparently it's been a really long time since I've seen a calendar. Someone should really do something about that.

Comments

[coldlies]

Time hardly matters here.

[hearrrtofgold]

That's the impression I'm getting.

[coldlies]

A great many things do not apply to this ship. Time being the least of them.

[hearrrtofgold]

And the others?

[coldlies]

Death, for insentience. Logic. Occasionally physics.

Barriers between universes.

[hearrrtofgold]

I think I'm going to fit in here.