12 - Not a field agent!

[no_fastolfe]

[Mansooreh's Brooklyn accent, never really mild at the best of times, gets thicker when she's surprised. The effect is sort of 1940's-esque; it's been a hundred some-odd years, the slang was due for a comeback anyway.]

Can I speak to the captain? Is there a steward or something? Look, this is a really really nice space liner but I don't have a ticket or anything! I have to get back to Schenectady, yesterday! Oh man, you guys, you only get one screw-up at US Robots and then you're canned! I can't miss work unless I'm dying. They'd still fire me if I was dying! They'd drop the pink slip on my coffin!

Oh, sheesh, this is bad.

Comments

[no_fastolfe]

[Mansooreh's eyes bug, and she slaps a hand over the communicator.]

Great Cats,, put some pants on, Mister!

[The expletive-- or as close as the clean-mouthed young woman gets-- is startled into to three syllables. Guh-RATE.]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

[His brow furrows. Except you can't see it because his helmet is huge and bronze-like and AWESOME.]

What are these pants you speak of.

[no_fastolfe]

They go over your legs! What're'ya dressed like that for anyway?

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

I was in battle. There was a great flash of light yet I felt no pain and suddenly I was here and my arms had been taken from me in a bed that belonged to someone far too soft and far too rich to be a member of the spartiate.

I am a soldier.

[no_fastolfe]

We, uh, we aren't at war. Nobody's... at war?

[She snaps-- only audible because her hand is still covering up the excess amounts of Manskin on the other end of that screen.]

Hey, I get it. You're one'a those re-enactors! Whatchacallem! Cicadians! Wow, are you having one of your conventions on this liner? That's pretty fancy!

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

[The spartan's brow furrows. Then again, she could very easily be someone's helot. The way she was talking certainly sounded like a helot.]

I am Akelios, son of Akilos. Lieutenant of the bear company of Sparta. We are at war with the persians and that vile thrice damned dog Xerxes.

[no_fastolfe]

...wow. Is he on board too?

What'm'I saying? I can't sit around gossiping about conventions! Industrial design jobs are not thick on the ground, I've gotta contact Mrs. Nomura and tell her I'm... gosh, I'm ... I don't know how I got here.

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

Yes, go. Your master will be pleased to see you are working again.

[yes, he did just say that.]

[no_fastolfe]

Excuse you, sir.

[Mansooreh's jaw juts out, and she actually takes her hand off the communicator to fix her blouse and headscarf, so she can look disapproving in a neat and mannerly fashion.]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

[Why are you so upset about this.]

Why have I offended you?

[no_fastolfe]

Well, I mean, America's a free country. I understand you have to stay 'in persona' all the time but that's a little rude!

[She's a little defensive because she may have called her boss a 'slave driver' over a pint of mint chocolate chip at one point.]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

[The spartan stops]

..what is this America.

[no_fastolfe]

All right, all right. I'll play along, until someone on the crew gets back to me. My country is the United States of America. We don't have masters and slaves there. [Unless you're into that? But that's really not her business.]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

[That makes the man pause] ...Does this country have men called po-lice?

[no_fastolfe]

Yeah. Yeah, we have po-lice men. From the po-lice department. [Slow nod?]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

....Are these rich men? Important?

[no_fastolfe]

Well I mean it's a government salary, you aren't buying a house in the Bahamas, but it's an important job, yeah. [She nods seriously.]

[expectremorse.livejournal.com]

...I see.

[He is thinking about this]

Not the equivalent of a Spartan.

[no_fastolfe]

They wear pants. [Pants pronounced with a well-loved dipthong. Pay-ants.]

It's a very respectable position.