text | un: v-nikiforov

[genice]

I don't know about the ship's calendar, but I'm going to keep one following the Gregorian calendar back on Earth. That winter themed celebration last night with the sudden intrusive gift problem I faced today reminds me of North American Christmas, so I'm counting today as December 25th!

( happy birthday to himself, he guesses? )

Speaking of, did anyone else find unexpected packages left in their room overnight? Maybe even something alive? I've spent all day trying to figure out what this thing is or what it eats, but even the people who pass as veterinarians here swear they've never seen anything like it.

[ Attachment: 12yHu84.jpg ]

( the attached image is of a brown, poodle-fur tribble wearing a flower crown of yellow daffodils. in the background, an actual poodle can be seen sniffing at the tribble. )

Comments

[ouzel]

There are games to be played on ice as well, I think? [ Childhood memories are fuzzy and full of pain, but he's pretty sure people skated for fun instead of demonstrating skill.

It isn't that Cassian has no interest in learning it's that everything he's learned for almost the past two decades has been specifically towards the end goal of getting information to the Resistance and keeping himself alive in the process. Without that cornerstone he's a little lost as to what would be useful and what wouldn't be.

But Victor is becoming highly esteemed in his opinion. The man is clearly intelligent and Cassian doesn't mind talking to him, which is nice.

Then again, maybe he's just lonely. ]

Ah. [ A drink? Hm. ] Water would be fine. [ He kneels a little, then, to scratch behind the dog's ears. ] You'll have to forgive me, it's been a while since I've had a chance to really socialize.

[genice]

Oh, certainly. Hockey's one. There are pucks and sticks and goals involved. Lots of padding, too!

( But he holds up his hands when he laughs, considering he doesn't have an vested interest in ice hockey, or much of an explanation to give offhand. He turns, pulling one of the ceramic mugs out of his one cabinet. He locks the latch after; it makes sense that any ship keeps things on lockdown when and where it can. Even (or especially) in space. )

It'll be whatever's on tap, I'm sorry. I'm still looking for a good filter.

( A light statement, and maybe it's meant to be nothing more than light. Systems that recycle and reclaim what they use, even filtering them through living biomes, still carry their own taste to them. It's one to get used to; or it might be other concerns, ones about processing water on ship in a separate capacity... or thinking ahead to being somewhere where it's necessary for other reasons.

By and by, he hands a tap-water filled mug to Cassian. It's just as likely that he's lonely, too. Victor has been too good at living a lifetime of loneliness in spite of being in the limelight of his niche in the world for well over a decade. )

No, no, don't worry about it. Before the last eight months or so, most my social interactions were at press conferences, the rink where I trained, or at events.

( He chuckles, laughing at himself when he reaches out to pat his dog on the shoulder, straightening back to his feet. He ends up moving back to lean against his small counter. )

No time like the present to get the practice in. Did you happen to stop by the Atrium yesterday?