IC Contact Post

[therushingsky]

"Heyyyy, you've reached the head office of the Atlas Corporation, leave a message and your number, and one of our people will get back to you."

Comments

[therushingsky]

Shit, no furniture at all?

Do you need like... a chair? I have a couple of spares.

[But he'll start off towards the lounge as he waits for the answer.]

[stand_unshaken]

Been camping out in the common rooms. I been fixin' it up, but thanks for the offer.

I ain't too fond of this little machine, buddy, if you don't mind I'm gonna go ahead and just see you there.

[therushingsky]

Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you in five

[This is the first warden since Taura who actually chased Rhys down to meet up. The last two have been fine. They've reached out over the app, he's politely rebuked them, and that's as far as the warden inmate relationship has gone. He doesn't bother to get dressed up to go to the bar, instead opting to pad down in sweatpants and a jumper, one sleeve hanging empty from the shoulder down, one of Ford's tracker bracelets fastened around his other wrist.

If he makes it to the lounge first, then he'll loiter around outside it until Arthur arrives.]

[stand_unshaken]

Arthur doesn't really rush when he doesn't have to, but right now he feels it's prudent to be there on time. They walk up at around the same time, and if he's fazed by either the sweatpants or the empty sleeve he doesn't show it.

He reaches out when he sees him, for a handshake with his left hand so Rhys can reciprocate.

"Good to see ya. Arthur Morgan." Arthur, these days, is keeping things simple with just some dirty trousers and boots, a blue shirt that's at least pretty clean, and his hat. Besides that, he's got his hip pouch and/or hammer space, and a pistol at his side. Prime outlaw style.

[therushingsky]

Oh, his new temp warden is from Pandora.

Wait, no, he's almost definitely not, but there's just something about Arthur's vibe that makes Rhys think of his time spent fleeing bandits and dodging bullets, so it's easy enough to accept the other man's hand and let his be shook.


"Yeah, Rhys, hi. It's nice to meet you too."

Once his hand is free, he'll sidle up to the lounge door, waiting for it to open.

"So who was your last inmate?"

[stand_unshaken]

"Mortimer Toynbee," he tells him, getting out his leather-bound journal and touching it to the scanner to get the door open. Like he knows it works-- it just does.

"Left after about a week. I got in touch with him, but didn't even really get to talk."

[therushingsky]

"Wow. That's a whole mouthful of name." Rhys observes, not particularly sympathetically, "I don't think I knew him?"

They'd spoken, but he wasn't on Rhys's radar. When the door opens, he follows Arthur in.

[stand_unshaken]

"Green-looking feller. Real big, didn't talk much in general. Someone said that might be why he left."

He goes up to the bar, and looks over at Rhys. "What're you havin'?"

[therushingsky]

"Yeah, It's as good a theory on why people poof out of here as anything else, I guess."

Rhys offers, a little morosely,

"Don't suppose you know how to make margaritas?"

[stand_unshaken]

"All I know is that it sounds like a lady's name. But you gimme a couple pointers and maybe I can whip somethin' up."

[therushingsky]

"It's not too complicated. Tequila, triple sec--" He pauses, then leans forward to reach over the bar and grab a couple of bottles, "Maybe I should make you one, what with me knowing what they're supposed to taste like and all?"

[stand_unshaken]

"Probably a good call. Hit me."

As someone from 1899, he has no conception of girly or masculine drinks. He'll pound a few cocktails, no problem.

[therushingsky]

Rhys, on the other hand, has the conception of girly and masculine drinks, and mostly sees it as a way to send social signals to idiots who are dumb enough to buy into such things.

It takes him a while to measure out the ingredients. He's hindered by the lack of his arm, slowed down enough that it clearly isn't second nature to be without it, but steady enough that he's clearly done this before. Finally he pushes the lid onto the cocktail shaker, before passing it to Arthur,

"Would you shake the hell out of this for me, please?"

He'll grab glasses and ice, and set them out on the bar in the meantime.

[stand_unshaken]

He lets him take his time, clearly somewhat used to interacting with people with similar disabilities. He's not one to pamper regardless, and definitely not just because you've only got one arm to make cocktails with.

He raises an eyebrow at Rhys, but he's game, and he shakes the hell out of that shaker before passing it back.

"I never had a drink that required so much fussin' over it."

[therushingsky]

"Well, in that case--" Rhys cracks open the cocktail shaker, and pours the drink out into two thin stemmed martini glasses, before pushing one towards Arthur, "You are very welcome."

[stand_unshaken]

He looks at it in the light, like he might a fine whiskey. Colorful, at least.

"Alright. Uh-- cheers, Rhys," he says, meaning it well enough, before he takes a drink and... makes a face.

"Is it supposed to be kinda sweet?"

[therushingsky]

"It's supposed to be a perfect balance of sweet, sour, bitters-- and, if you can be bothered with it, salt. But I was too lazy so no salt for us."

If Rhys is bothered that Arthur doesn't seem immediately enamoured with Margaritas, he doesn't let it show, instead taking a liberal swig of his own.

"Annnnd, it's easy enough to drink that they get you drunk really, really fast."

[stand_unshaken]

"Now that, I can get behind."

He takes another sip, and after consideration doesn't hate it, but he's a beer and whiskey man. It's not going to be his favorite. But he's going to finish it for Rhys' sake.

[therushingsky]

Rhys lifts his glass in a silent toast to that.

"So was the other guy-- Mortimer, was he your first go on the inmate roundabout, or have you been here longer?"

[stand_unshaken]

"First time. So if you wanna stick around a little longer than a couple weeks, I'd be appreciative. How long you been here?"

[therushingsky]

"A little bit over a year as a warden, helped my inmate graduate last summer, then maybe-- shit, I'm coming up to six months since I got demoted."

[stand_unshaken]

"No shit? What happened?" He really doesn't judge, here, just seems interested.

[therushingsky]

"Inmate threw me overboard, and right before I hit space I managed to drag him over after me." Rhys explains, dispassionately, "I call it self defense, the Admiral calls it revenge."

Rhys shrugs,

"He didn't like me anyway."

[stand_unshaken]

"Admiral? Why not?"

[therushingsky]

"Honestly? I think it's because I kept pitching suggestions at him." Rhys answers, taking another sip, "When he installed the escape pods he put one in where my cabin had been, emptied all my stuff into the corridor. In hindsight I guess it was a pretty loud get off my ship hint."