[Trevor makes no effort to hide it, not having much context for what this is. He only just learned how to use the network a few weeks ago and doesn't understand fully the difference between permanent and temporary placement. He gives a nod, to where it had been lying on the counter near Lark.]
Just over there. I think it came in with the dinner shift, or maybe I picked it up in 101 as part of the meal plan.
[He shifts so Lark can read it over his shoulder if he likes]
Looks like somebody's been filling out a bestiary entry on me.
That's your file. You got it here, or you got it in 101? Because if it's from here it could be anyone who left it [some people are that careless] but if it's from 101- I'm your warden.
[He nods, distracted as he leafs through the pages, giving a snort when he sees a photo of himself he definitely doesn't remember taking. He looks surly in it]
Yeah? You've been my warden for a month now and all of a sudden I get given a copy of my life in miniature?
It's probably from 101, I would have picked it up as part of the meal plan, carried it with me, set it down there.
[Trevor waves a hand at the place he normally puts papers when he comes in for his shift]
[He shrugs a little. It always hurts to see the names of family members long dead, and passing mentions of Sypha, so that's something of an unhappy discovery. The worst aspects of his personality, less so, because he's harsher in his own darkest moments. After a second or two of looking it over, he closes the file and walks back over to Lark with it]
No. Nothing I didn't already know.
So if we're 'permanent', what's that mean? You force me off this ship, you get a deal, and I don't get another warden in a month?
[he glances at the clock, gauging how much time they've got. Far too little to go into Trevor Belmont existential crisis mode; best put a lid on that. He chuckles, quiet, and turns his head back to scrubbing]
Never mind. I'm going to bring down the mood and there's still an hour left in this dinner. You still have prepping for tomorrow to do, Mr. Werewolf Cook.
As stubborn as you are, [his tone thoughtful] I don't think you're prepared for having a werewolf lawyer interested in you. We'll be picking up this discussion again later. My mood can take it.
Hey, I'm not avoiding the conversation. I just don't want to watch you get mobbed and burned because everyone in this ship goes hungry while you and I talk out whatever it is you want to talk about.
Shut up. If I keep throwing carrots at you there won't be any left for the soup.
Here are the facts: if you tell me what you need and what you're lacking, I can try to get them met. For example, you're able to fight again. You seem like the sort of man who needs that freedom.
Lark, you're a smart man. I think if you read that file, you'll know what I really want, and I'm sorry to say that by giving it to me, you'll have no hope of getting your own needs met.
So how about we forget that I said anything and go back to feeding this angry lot of children?
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Just over there. I think it came in with the dinner shift, or maybe I picked it up in 101 as part of the meal plan.
[He shifts so Lark can read it over his shoulder if he likes]
Looks like somebody's been filling out a bestiary entry on me.
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That's your file. You got it here, or you got it in 101? Because if it's from here it could be anyone who left it [some people are that careless] but if it's from 101- I'm your warden.
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Yeah? You've been my warden for a month now and all of a sudden I get given a copy of my life in miniature?
It's probably from 101, I would have picked it up as part of the meal plan, carried it with me, set it down there.
[Trevor waves a hand at the place he normally puts papers when he comes in for his shift]
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[He makes no move to take it, just goes back to peeling a potato] Anything good in it?
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No. Nothing I didn't already know.
So if we're 'permanent', what's that mean? You force me off this ship, you get a deal, and I don't get another warden in a month?
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I mean that what if you don’t get someone you like? I don’t trust the admiral for shit: I wouldn’t trust him to not try something fuck-off evil.
Just because you and I don’t want to kill each other doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing.
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Cooking, sure. I can taste the results.
But you’ve never dealt with a member of the Belmont family. When we want something, nothing gets in our way.
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Nothing you can give.
Sorry, that was dismal-sounding, wasn't it?
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There's a hierarchy of needs. Where I'm from it's named after someone but it's a common concept. You've heard of it?
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Never mind. I'm going to bring down the mood and there's still an hour left in this dinner. You still have prepping for tomorrow to do, Mr. Werewolf Cook.
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But you're my first priority.
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Here are the facts: if you tell me what you need and what you're lacking, I can try to get them met. For example, you're able to fight again. You seem like the sort of man who needs that freedom.
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So how about we forget that I said anything and go back to feeding this angry lot of children?
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