[ Point blank and bluntly, from a very paranoid standpoint: ] Is this a gotcha? Some kind of trap? Are you luring me into a human trafficking sex ring sort of deal?
[ Hey, it's honesty. Roman's high pitched, rather effeminate giggle shines through. ]
Alright, yeah, fine, give me your cabin number--but just so you know I'm deeply disappointed. I'd totally be worth an entire country's GDP on the dark web and the fact that you didn't take advantage of that is seriously unfortunate.
[ Is he joking? Maybe he's joking. Roman's learned pretty quickly not to dismiss the crazy shit other people say, especially here. He nods. ]
Yeah, I'll be over.
[ He's true to his word: Roman makes his way to the assigned cabin, dressed in his usual business attire, though he forgoes the blazer and the first few buttons of his collar is undone. Standard Roman Roy fare as he knocks shave-and-a-haircut. ]
[The first word that comes to mind for his cabin is elegant - but it's not the elegance of 21st century minimalist luxury. Everything is just a little bit alien, from the nacreous luster of the door, almost mimicking a silk tapestry of foxes romping among lump off-white boulders, with no hinges or knob, to the candlevines growing across the ceiling for gentle light. The main room is hexagonal, neat but lived-in, decorated in soothing greens with pale wood furniture, dotted here and there with the utterly unfamiliar technology of the Hexarchate, which somehow almost fades into the vaguely Asian, impeccably lovely aesthetic of the place. Jedao himself, on the other hand, is wearing perfectly ordinary earth clothes, dark slacks and a big cozy powder-blue sweater. The door slides open and he waves Roman in.]
[ It's fancy in a different way from Roman's own tastes, but that's what makes it fascinating. Despite his reputation on the ship, Roman has no problem admitting other people have cool things and neat aesthetics, and this is certainly in that category.
He whistles, loud and low, making his way into the place with his hands on his hips, not bothering to hide the fact that he's looking the place over with slight admiration. ]
[Jedao says it dryly, even fondly, with a wry little smile.]
But I think Shuos-Zho just took standard agent's quarters, added more security measures, and had it painted 'please-stay-calm' green.
[Part of the wall across from the couch shifts to a sleek black screen at no apparent cue from Jedao, as he moves to a cabinet with, it turns out, an assortment of bottles, most of them purchased in Blue York.]
Any preferences for your drink? I said vodka earlier but that's just my favorite.
[ Roman's eyeing the wall that opens up with mild surprise and vague curiousity, his brows knit slightly. ]
Yeah, sure, definitely a prison cell. Regular ol' Alcatraz.
[ He's not complaining, though, not if booze is there--he hates the fact that he usually has to mooch any alcohol off of his warden. Even if he really likes his warden. It makes him feel like a child. But this? This is different, this is just being casually offered. ]
Fuck it, I'll vodka. Why not? You can grill me over your drink of choice.
I was sort of a political prisoner. Different rules.
[The bottle isn't any recognizable brand, unless Roman was also investigating available liquors in Blue York. The glass is hand-blown with a delicate venetian spiral curling around it, apparently the only label it needs. Jedao pours them each a cup. Jedao's taste runs to no taste, dangerously smooth with barely a hint of harsh alcohol flavor, cool in the mouth and warm in the throat. Jedao toasts Roman wordlessly, takes a sip, and then rifles under the table for controllers, vaguely intuitive looking only because there are only so many ways to make things ergonomic for human hands.]
You want to talk about Izzy bullshit first, or James, or your own shit?
[ Roman too busy spending most of his time in Blue York jonesing for home: as much as he enjoys booze, he’s not enough of a booze hound to start picking and choosing at labels. As long as it looks expensive and isn’t bottom shelf, he grabbed it.
Roman answers the silent toast with the hint of a smile, taking a sip. He does appreciate the glass, holding it up to examine it, not feeling the need to be too full of manners as they’re literally about to play some version of what he’s assuming is Mario Kart. It’s Jedao’s next sentence that causes his whole face to pinch like he’s swallowed a lemon, and he tries his best to at least sound nonchalant, setting the glass down. It’s less interesting, suddenly. ]
Um– [ High, short, clipped. Roman scrunches his shoulders into a shrug to match his face, and then smooths it all out. ] –is there an option where we don’t do any of that and we just hang out?
[Jedao's voice, always low, is a little warmer and rougher after a long sip of his vodka. But he does hand Roman a controller and turn to face the screen himself; the view that comes up suggests it is, indeed, very much like Mario Kart, but with little wedge-shaped spaceships instead of cars, the Darts of the title. The tutorial track is a planetary ring system.]
But the more you tell me yourself, the more it can be dishing hot gossip instead of an interrogation. Start with James. Are you two friends or what?
[ Roman’s not really a video game guy-–video games, in his little universe, are vastly uncool despite the piles of money they rake up for Waystar Royco. His stint at the Entertainment head of the company was more hollywood blockbuster movies, anyway, but he at least knows how to hold a controller and play, he’s not completely helpless. It’s just that the last time played mario kart or whatever equivalent this is, it came out around when he was into Pokemon. He's grateful for the tutorial, even if he doesn’t admit it, and focusing on the television is a lot easier than looking at Jedao anyway. He feels like he’s about to be interrogated. ]
He’s alright, yeah. Mostly schtoopping my warden, I guess we’re friends.
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It's a trap where I butter you up and ask you questions. But also kick your ass at Cario Dart, because it's no fun with newbies.
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Alright, yeah, fine, give me your cabin number--but just so you know I'm deeply disappointed. I'd totally be worth an entire country's GDP on the dark web and the fact that you didn't take advantage of that is seriously unfortunate.
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[Jedao says this in an easy, playful tone, not like it's a joke, exactly - more like it's just as obvious as it is absurd.]
Five-thirteen.
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Yeah, I'll be over.
[ He's true to his word: Roman makes his way to the assigned cabin, dressed in his usual business attire, though he forgoes the blazer and the first few buttons of his collar is undone. Standard Roman Roy fare as he knocks shave-and-a-haircut. ]
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Welcome.
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He whistles, loud and low, making his way into the place with his hands on his hips, not bothering to hide the fact that he's looking the place over with slight admiration. ]
What the fuck is this?
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[Jedao says it dryly, even fondly, with a wry little smile.]
But I think Shuos-Zho just took standard agent's quarters, added more security measures, and had it painted 'please-stay-calm' green.
[Part of the wall across from the couch shifts to a sleek black screen at no apparent cue from Jedao, as he moves to a cabinet with, it turns out, an assortment of bottles, most of them purchased in Blue York.]
Any preferences for your drink? I said vodka earlier but that's just my favorite.
[And Roman is a guest.]
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Yeah, sure, definitely a prison cell. Regular ol' Alcatraz.
[ He's not complaining, though, not if booze is there--he hates the fact that he usually has to mooch any alcohol off of his warden. Even if he really likes his warden. It makes him feel like a child. But this? This is different, this is just being casually offered. ]
Fuck it, I'll vodka. Why not? You can grill me over your drink of choice.
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I was sort of a political prisoner. Different rules.
[The bottle isn't any recognizable brand, unless Roman was also investigating available liquors in Blue York. The glass is hand-blown with a delicate venetian spiral curling around it, apparently the only label it needs. Jedao pours them each a cup. Jedao's taste runs to no taste, dangerously smooth with barely a hint of harsh alcohol flavor, cool in the mouth and warm in the throat. Jedao toasts Roman wordlessly, takes a sip, and then rifles under the table for controllers, vaguely intuitive looking only because there are only so many ways to make things ergonomic for human hands.]
You want to talk about Izzy bullshit first, or James, or your own shit?
no subject
Roman answers the silent toast with the hint of a smile, taking a sip. He does appreciate the glass, holding it up to examine it, not feeling the need to be too full of manners as they’re literally about to play some version of what he’s assuming is Mario Kart. It’s Jedao’s next sentence that causes his whole face to pinch like he’s swallowed a lemon, and he tries his best to at least sound nonchalant, setting the glass down. It’s less interesting, suddenly. ]
Um– [ High, short, clipped. Roman scrunches his shoulders into a shrug to match his face, and then smooths it all out. ] –is there an option where we don’t do any of that and we just hang out?
no subject
[Jedao's voice, always low, is a little warmer and rougher after a long sip of his vodka. But he does hand Roman a controller and turn to face the screen himself; the view that comes up suggests it is, indeed, very much like Mario Kart, but with little wedge-shaped spaceships instead of cars, the Darts of the title. The tutorial track is a planetary ring system.]
But the more you tell me yourself, the more it can be dishing hot gossip instead of an interrogation. Start with James. Are you two friends or what?
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He’s alright, yeah. Mostly schtoopping my warden, I guess we’re friends.
[ Light. Airy. Purposefully noncommittal. Surprisingly calculated. ]