this is the part where prison is more or less dave and busters

[saklas]

Passengers: Everyone who wants to come see what the weird vending machine is about for the first time it is open to them! This is an open mingle/party style log.
Location: "a corner," the location of the Commissary
Date: February 1 - 7 on year one of our cool and sexy journey
Summary: 14 space idiots squint at the ATM that can supposedly make elk meat and clown shoes for them
Warnings: Will add as needed! I'm 90% sure someone's going to ask for drugs or blades, just as a weather forecast

Comments

[smugreport]

[ Three tickets, all of which should belong to Rhys! He is like, 80....75% sure this guy won't try and attack him again, at least not so soon. And this is trying his luck, he knows, but it's a gamble he's willing to make. He's owed, dammit! ]

Hey.

[ He's giving Travis a wide berth, enough distance between the two of them that he could hopefully dodge any kind of attack Travis might try. He holds his hand out (still keeping that distance!!) palm up and points. ]

You owe me a new shirt, dude.

[rank1]

[Travis sees that bullshit distance. Corporate dickhead and a chickenshit. It emboldens him. This guy doesn't have shit on him.

Travis shrugs openly.]

You owe me six hours of my life. I'd say we're even.

[smugreport]

[ He's not chickenshit he's just reasonable! About preserving his body parts! ]

Uh, no. Broken nose, remember?

[rank1]

[Travis moves closer to him, exaggeratedly looking at Rhys' nose from all angles.]

[smugreport]

[ In response Rhys leans back far as he can without losing balance, his chin tucking into his neck, face scrunching up as he's scrutinized. To his credit he does not back up. ]

S-Sto-- cut it out! Remember? The blood? The bandaid? I was puffy for days.

[rank1]

Oh jeez, I almost didn't recognize you with all the swelling, but then I saw the triple-chin and remembered. This is not your angle.

[smugreport]

[ So that's how we're gonna play huh?! ]

Ohoooo yeah, I bet that's cause you got used to seeing me walking around above you while you were strapped to the ground.

[rank1]

[Travis leans right into his space with a smirk.]

Walk around all you want. I'm a threat and they know it. You're just the idiot looking for the spa.

[smugreport]

[ Rhys tries to lean back further but cannot. Is he afraid? For his face, yes! But he's not backing down, he's not letting this asshole in a pink fucking jacket and no shirt (?!) win. ]

Your a nuisance, and could use a breath mint.

[rank1]

[Shirtless as fuck, baby. Check out that chest hair and kinda sweaty sheen because he is wearing a leather jacket without a fucking shirt!!!]

You got any? I'm fresh out.

[smugreport]

[ Gross!!! He's probably starting to smell too!!! Rhys scrunches his nose (on top of everything else) to emphasize how nasty and smelly Travis is. ]

Why don't you give those tickets you owe me, and I'll buy you some if there's any left over. As a treat.

[rank1]

[A grin, a lil nod. Any closer and that chest will be right against you, Rhys.]

You want them? Take them from me.

[smugreport]

[ God, he wishes he still had that stun baton, that would make his options so much clerer. He tries to give Travis a once-over but the guy is way too close at this point to do much of that. He probably can't take this guy head on, he's smart enough to know that much. He's gotta make an opening first, throw this asshole off. ]

Hahaha, are you trying to intimidate me or kiss me?

[rank1]

I'm not gonna have hate sex with you unless you try to take these tickets, bro.

[Sorry bitch u can't sike me out with gay chicken.]

ignore me

[saklas]

[Volk, helping nobody, is just filming this from way way way across the room.]

[smugreport]

[ Damn, this kinda move usually works on macho dick swingers. This has backfired to the point that Rhys is now the one caught off guard. ]

I wasn't- you weren't supposed to- you owe me a shirt, okay?! End of story.

[rank1]

[Sorry, Rhys, he’s actually just a loser!!]

And I said I don’t owe you shit. Fight me for them like a man or get out of my face, no prizes for losers.

[smugreport]

[ Through gritted teeth ]

You're in my face.

[rank1]

Then fucking step back.

[smugreport]

You step back.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Who happens to be in the vicinity to hear this testosterone battle? Everyone's favorite party-pooper, Claire. And she has heard far too much.]

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. What the hell are you two doing? For God's sake!

[It's like finding two dogs about to fight. She's loud on approach, but instead of pulling Rhys by the legs (the one least likely to bite her), she grabs his arm. Travis, she ignores, but the words are directed at them both.]

I have better things to do around here than fix bloodied noses and get a headache every time I want to get something to eat because someone is cuffed to a table because of nonsense like this.

[rank1]

[Travis is disappointed to not get his pound of flesh, but you know what feels good? Not being the one grabbed. He’s cool.

He stays exactly where he is.]

Then don’t fucking cuff me to the table! Problem solved.

[smugreport]

[ Claire's presence does what might be the opposite of what she's hoping for, as it bolsters Rhys to not only not step back (yet) but point an accusatory finger in Travis's face (with his robo arm to avoid sudden broken fingers.) ]

He's the one who started it. All I did was let him know about the shirt he owes me and it's all "let's fight it out like real men!" You know what real men do? They talk dude.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Rhys. Back.

[Claire is about a 2 when it comes to physical strength, but does her best to give Rhys a pointed tug, away from Travis.]

Real men don't allow themselves to be baited. Both of you, away from one another.

[rank1]

The fuck do you know about real men?

[He smirks.]

Bet you’re missing more than just an arm.