Time Out For A British Invasion

Log Title: Time Out For A British Invasion

Characters: Kimber, Major Bludd

Location: Quintesson shuttle

Date: 1 March 2016

TP: Killing Jar TP

Summary: Bludd and Kimber find common ground in music.

Beneath the blankets on Bludd's bed, an assumedly human lump fidgets and twitches. One arm dangles over the edge of the bed, its fingers occasionally closing as if grasping something. Suddenly the lump gives a strangled cry and tumbles out of the bed, landing with a painful-sounding thump on the floor. It thrashes violently, giving non-verbal barks of surprise as its occupant fights free of the blanket. Bludd thrusts his head out from the tangle of blankets, gasping for air.

Kimber bolts upward in her bed at the noise. Considering the situation, she's been sleeping in her clothes, which is an added insult for someone who prides herself on her extensive pajama collection at home. She looks around in the dark - the alien has been raising and lowering the lights on a diurnal cycle mimicking the outside world. Kimber rubs her pale, sleepy eyes, and calls over, "Are you OK?" She pulls the covers aside and hops off the bed, crossing the hallway towards Bludd's room.

Bludd looks around in a panic before he remembers where he is. Sometime during the night he removed his shirt and tossed it onto his desk chair, and his fidgeting has caused his eyepatch to come off, lost now somewhere in the blankets. He tries to get up but his legs are still tangled in the blanket, so he half-crawls the couple feet to his desk and smacks blindly until he manages to hit the touch-sensitive panel that turns the light on. Blinking in the sudden light, he turns toward Kimber, the pale scarred orb that was once his left eye in full view as he sits under the light. "I, er," he stutters, squinting at her as if he's forgotten who she is, "I dunno."

Compassion, fear, and revulsion flash in unison across Kimber's pale face, but she frowns with determination and approaches Bludd, crouching down in her bare feet to help untangle him, trying hard (but not succeeding) to keep from staring at the extensive scars from Bludd's years of mercenary service. "Here," she says a little late in the process. "Let me help you." She pulls the blanket back and carefully focuses her attention on Bludd's good eye. "We're still on the alien ship, although I don't think we're moving. You had a bad dream," she decides.

Bludd stares at Kimber for a long moment before he makes an attempt to get free of the blanket and get to his feet. He wobbles and takes an unsteady step toward his bed before finding his balance. "Er, thanks," he mumbles absently, sitting down heavily on the bed. "Yeah, bloody crazy dreams. People kept comin' in an' botherin' me with things... when Cobra Commander showed up I managed ta sneak out the back before he saw me. Then I stopped off at home, grabbed my surfboard off the rack on the deck, an' went surfin'." He runs a sweaty hand through his hair. "That was great until the surfboard turned into that alien fella an' he started whackin' me with his tentacles." He rubs at his thigh, frowning. "That shit hurt." He looks up at Kimber. "Moral of the story is never eat alien mystery meat before bed, I guess."

Kimber raises her thin eyebrows. "I ate some and didn't have any nightmares. I was dreaming something...." She frowns, pursing her lips. "I can't remember what now, though. Are you OK? I didn't know you could surf!" She continues to carefully focus all of her attention on Bludd's good eye, studiously avoiding looking at his other eye or bare chest. "I tried skateboarding a few times, but not surfing. When I'm at the beach I pretty much have to stay under an umbrella or I catch fire."

"I was too hot so I took off my shirt," Bludd explains, gesturing to the shirt on the chair, "an' then I was too cold so I curled up under the blankets..." He sighs. "I'll live." His expression brightens a bit as she talks about the beach. "Yeah, I've been a surfer since I was ... " He glances off into a corner of the room for a moment. "...Six years old. 'Course I had a bellyboard first... surfin' usually calms me down some. Kinda like yer music. An' with yer hair colour I'm not surprised yer burn-sensitive."

Kimber frowns. "Yeah. I'm so pale I practically glow in the dark. I wish you had some way to relax in here - does the writing help? Maybe we can create something together to take our minds off things." She gives Bludd an attempt at a reassuring smile. "I can write music - are you any good at lyrics or poetry?"

Bludd chuckles. "You wanna make music?" he asks, incredulous. "With -me-? Hm. Wonder if that alien fella would give me an electric guitar ta play."

Kimber brightens. "Why not? We could ask. If we're going to be cooped up in here anyway, we might as well try to make the best of it and try to have fun! I'm not very practiced at jailhouse tunes, though - I'm sure you might have more experience in that area." She grins at Bludd, intending that more as a friendly tease than an insult. She seems to be adjusting pretty quickly to Bludd's half-dressed, scarred appearance.

Bludd snorts, grinning. "Jailhouse tunes," he echoes. If he remembers he's missing the eyepatch, he gives no outward sign. "Glad t'see yer calmin' down some. That's the right attitude t'have." He lays back on the bed and folds his arms behind his head. "I mostly played rhythm guitar back in the day," he adds. "Played a lotta British Invasion stuff. But that's not the only stuff I like. As far as lyrics..." He shrugs. "I prefer t'play."

Kimber returns the grin. "Outrageous!" She looks up at the ceiling. "Hellooo!" she calls out. "Mr. Alien! If you're going to keep us here, can we have a guitar? Maybe we'll play something for you. Do you have a favorite form of Earth music?" She glances back at Bludd, giggling, and then looks around the room as if expecting a guitar to appear as quickly as everything else appeared. She hms as one fails to appear immediately. "You think we should make a more specific request?" she asks Bludd thoughtfully.

Bludd laughs at Kimber's antics. "You are somethin' else, I gotta say." He directs his gaze to the ceiling, clears his throat dramatically, and calls out, "I have a request: A 1969 Teisco Del Rey electric guitar, with tobacco sunburst finish an' a whammy bar." He pauses. "An' a shoulder strap an' guitar pick. Oh, and an amplifier an' cord." He glances to Kimber and smiles. "I think that'll cover it. You think I could order us up a nice beach t'sun ourselves on too, while I'm at it?"

Kimber laughs. "It might not hurt! If it has equivalent technology to what the Holograms have, an illusion of a beach might not be out of bounds, although the water itself might be problematic. I wonder if it needs time to come up with specifics for an actual working guitar? That might be hard to do with holographic projector and forcefields - a keytar might be easier to simulated than sound created by vibrating guitar strings, you know?"

As Kimber ponders the limits of alien technology, Bludd's actual guitar request appears on a guitar stand, completely with amp, strap, and a small case of picks. "Outrageous!" Kimber gushes, and hops over to take a look. While its workings still are to be discovered, it at least looks the part.

Bludd cackles with glee and leaps up from the bed to inspect the guitar. He takes it gingerly from its stand, looking it over carefully. "Beautiful," he breathes. He rests it on the stand long enough to pull his t-shirt back on, then picks it up again and drapes its strap over his shoulders. His fingers find an open E minor chord and he strums it experimentally. "Damn, it's been ages since I played ..."

The guitar responds beautifully, nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. Kimber squeals with delight, and runs over to grab her keytar, seeming for a moment to forget that the two of them are alien captives held for experimentation. Instead, Kimber focuses on a chance to jam with another musician. She comes back and sits on the edge of Bludd's bed. "What shall we play? Who's your favorite British Invasion artist?" Never mind how long the British Invasion was before Kimber was born.

"Well, I've been a fan o'the Beatles fer almost as long as I can remember. But the first song I ever played out was by a band called Herman's Hermits." He strums an E major chord and smiles at Kimber.

Kimber chuckles and starts singing, "I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am" with an exaggerated Mancunian accent. =)

Bludd laughs. "Oh, no, not that one! That one drives everybody crazy! I know. I played the hell outta that record when I was a kid."

Kimber giggles. "What did you used to play, then?" she smiles, seeming to get into it. She picks up her keytar and looks game to join in if it's anything she knows or can pick up.