#~~character interactions

He’s been tossing and turning like clothes in a fuckin’ washing machine. Ugly as all hell, too. And those noises…Jesus Christ.

Curly’s stomach twisted as he stared down at his ‘friend’. Swansea’s voice was merely background noise to him at this point.

“You need me to feed him his pills again?”

The hell do you think, Captain? Damn fool is using all of his strength to shut his jaw when I try. Stubborn—that’s how you know it’s Jimmy.

Curly’s throat tightened, and he managed to turn just enough to grab the medicine. Oxycodone—brand name, OxyContin. Strongest stuff they had. His hand was shaky as he popped open the pill bottle. But even as he fumbled with the cap, his gaze kept drifting back, unable to fully pull away from the sight of Jimmy’s burnt and deformed body. The scars, raw and jagged, seemed to burn into Curly’s memory, refusing to fade. They spoke of unimaginable pain and suffering—a story etched into every line of charred skin.

“Leave us, Swansea.”

And he did. And then the two pilots were alone.

“Are you…gonna cooperate? The easier this is, the less it’ll hurt. I can promise that.”

- @neoninspace

[Not forcing BTW, only if you feel up for it!]

Odessa looked around, everywhere it could possibly be, while keeping her distance. She could hear the angered screaming no matter where she went, and though she tried to avoid it, it always felt like it was one step behind her.

She had searched the entirety of Medical, the lounge, and the front section of the cargo hold with no luck. She'd even searched the cockpit once all the screaming died down. She didn't like looking at the bodies in the rooms, couldn't stand knowing she could have done something more.

She couldn't make eye contact with Jimmy, for a number of reasons.

As she emerged from the cockpit and started to make her way towards the Utility room, she heard a sound that made her freeze. Her blood ran cold. A gunshot.

So that's where it went.

Whoever held it, Odessa didn't want to be around when they emerged. Given how little space was in Utility, she could only assume the shot was lethal.

She took off running, blowing past the Utility door and beelining for the cargo bay. Only three people left alive, and she was one of them- the second, unable to do anything to help or hurt.

Finding out who would emerge from that room was not on Odessa's list of tasks.

- @autumn-joyce ☆

Two shots. That was all it took to end the former intern—one a warning, the other final. Yet Curly still felt those young eyes searing into him, unblinking, a silent specter of judgment. Whispering. Accusing. Even if they weren’t… they probably were. The gaze wouldn’t let go, like a weight pressing down on his chest. Gritting his teeth, Curly shoved him away, his electric blue eyes blazing and raw, dry from what felt like hours without a single blink.

But Daisuke didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. What mattered was Jimmy—keeping him safe. As long as Jimmy was safe, Curly was a good captain. He had to be.

With trembling fingers, Curly reloaded.

He was a good captain. He was a good captain.

The medbay was empty. Except for Swansea’s body sprawled lifeless on the floor. The sight ripped the air from Curly’s lungs. His hands tightened around the gun until his knuckles whitened. The therapist. The fucking therapist.

He moved quickly, his breath ragged, every step making his hands shake harder. The utility room—empty. The cockpit—empty. He was running out of places, and time.

Finally, he reached the cargo bay. Darkness and silence greeted him, the vastness amplifying every desperate thud of his heartbeat.

“Doctor,” he called out, his voice raw and edged with desperation. “I know you’re in here. Give me Jimmy.”

- @neoninspace

“Rougher?” Curly smiled at the new face, amused. “Older, yeah. I wasn’t even a captain when I was his age, to be frank.”

The captain cupped his chin in thought. “Now that I think about it, I may be a little rougher. Or maybe he’s just nicer than the rest of us.”

He winks, his voice lowering. “But between you and me, certain men like me rougher.”

Odessa looked up from the little clipboard she was holding, pausing in her steps that most likely were to direct her to the Medical Bay.

"It's lovely to meet you. I'm Odessa Joyce, licensed doctor and therapist." She offered a warm smile, slipping the clipboard under her arm. "I apologise in advance for how hectic things are going to become, but feel free to stop by Medical any time you just need a break."

- @autumn-joyce (i have arrived for a basic intro thread between the two! tag may not work, we'll see lol)

Without so much as a second thought, the captain offered an equally warm smile, his teeth glimmering white in the light. “Good to meet you too, mate, and good day to you!” Despite not knowing Odessa well yet, he already seemed fond of her, similar to that of an old friend you’ve known for ages. “Captain Grant Curly—but you can call me Captain.”

Curly held a hand out to shake, his grin brightening his eyes. “I’ve never had a licensed therapist aboard one of my ships. Guess our budget’s less tight this time around, huh?” He laughs jauntily. “You’re very welcome on the Tulpar, Ms. Joyce! And don’t worry about things getting hectic—that’s my job.”

❛ is there anything i can help you with, while i'm here? i know i'm not... your nurse anymore, but you're ... still my friend, after all. ❜ - anya @nursewashing :-)

Curly hadn’t anticipated a trip to his physiatrist today.

Over the past four years of his recovery, unexpected jolts of pain had become routine—especially during the first two years of rehabilitation. For example, today brought a terrible shock in his mechanical limbs: Phantom Limb Pain. The doctors had been right: healing was a slow, arduous journey, marked by the frustrating rhythm of two steps forward, one step back. Though Curly was making progress, every improvement felt painstakingly slow.

Today, Daisuke was actually occupied—a rarity—leaving Curly once again in Anya’s care. But he trusted her. She had never let him down before. In fact, it was largely thanks to her that he was still alive. Yet, beneath that trust lingered a heavy, unshakable guilt that gnawed at the former captain.

“Fine,” he managed to say, forcing out the words. “I’m just fine.” His jaw clenched. Had he sounded curt? Perhaps too blunt? The worry nagged at him.

“…Thank you.” The words came out tight and uneven, a reminder of years spent in speech therapy. But the gratitude behind them was real.

The Captain isn’t quick to anger, or even shock—he simply stares, wide-eyed.

And then he smiles.