#RJ mccabe

[munchiezxx]

tscosi character design lineup for my portfolio :-) love this crew 4ever 

[quisters]

The agentss

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: the old stars are of no importance

Summary: In which RJ McCabe has more emotions about listening to a drunken group singalong than they'd expected. Set during season 1 episodes 9 & 10 and the aftermath of episode 10.

Also posted to Dreamwidth & AO3, or just keep reading for the fic!

---

Junior Agent RJ McCabe is having a terrible day.

A terrible week, actually. Or make that a terrible career.

RJ is no stranger to hard work – no-one can power through the Academy and get a Junior Agent role at twenty-three without working incredibly hard. But since Park was tak- since Park was rightfully apprehended, it’s not felt like hard work so much as desperately paddling to keep their head above water. All the weird stares, the muttering, the pointed questions from their superiors that RJ answers as honestly as possible while frantically analysing the words for anything that could reflect negatively on them.

They go from urgent briefing to the office to one-on-one report with the Major General to another briefing to the office to home, finally, though they’re barely sleeping. RJ is pretty sure their blood volume is 95% caffeine, lately – thankfully the IGR doesn’t test for that.

In recognition of the awfulness of break room coffee, they brew it at home and bring a big flask with them. Or they would, except that this morning they tiredly fumbled the pot while pouring and scalded their hand, causing them to flinch and drop it, splattering half of the coffee across their tiny kitchen floor. They lost ten minutes to the clean-up and they have half as much coffee as they need, damn it.

All of which is to say that they’re not in the mood for Junior Agent Goodman’s attitude.

“Twelve hours of nothing?” RJ repeats as they stare down at Goodman, whose normal mask of impassiveness has given way to annoyance. He looks tired, but RJ is no stranger to all-nighters, and Goodman shouldn’t be either if he wants to get anywhere in the Republic.

“The crew was mostly asleep for part of it,” Goodman responds. “Is there coffee?”

“It’s dreck,” RJ says. They’re wondering if padding out their stock of coffee with the break room sludge will result in halfway drinkable coffee. It will probably just taint the decent stuff.

“Yes, because I drink break room coffee for the delicate aroma,” Goodman says, his sarcasm acidic, and RJ’s patience snaps.

“I don’t want to write you up for insubordination—”

They listen to Goodman’s rationale for throwing away a full twelve hours of audio, interjecting with pointed questions. When Goodman says, “Trust me,” they almost snort. Trust Goodman. Trust Goodman after his leading questions about Park and his poorly-hidden recording device. After RJ had confronted him about the recording, he’d simply smiled and said, “You can’t be too careful.”

RJ is just taking his advice. They hold out their hand. “Hand me the headphones.”

The audio picks up mid-conversation, and at first it sounds like so much nonsensical rambling, until RJ is able to pick up the thread of what the insurgents are talking about. Edict 1837. Any confession by a known criminal needs to be transcribed, analysed, and examined for veracity – no matter what the contents.

RJ has to suppress a smirk when they realise what Goodman has been dealing with all night. For once, they’re glad they’re the ranking Agent.

They’re tempted to skip over it, but they can at least listen to the entirety of the group’s confessions. Patel and Tripathi’s knowledge of Republic laws and edicts gives them the advantage in creating, if not convincing confessions, certainly detailed ones. Jeeter’s is less elaborate, but would require a qualified Ancient Pre-Crisis Languages expert to verify. The Dwarnian Krejjh’s ‘confession’ is a pure flight of fantasy – no-one rational has believed Dwarnians can shapeshift since at least 2175.

As for Violet Liu – RJ would have expected her to choose a confession oriented towards her history as a Republic scientist. “The lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong” is just silly.

Their finger hovers over the fast forward button as Patel drunkenly challenges Liu to “prove it”.

And then –

Violet Liu starts to sing.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ has heard Violet sing before, during 'Report 1: Violet Liu', but there's something startling about hearing her suddenly strike out into song, a little unsteady but clear and melodious.

The note hangs there for an uncertain few seconds before Patel takes up the next line.

“But it’s not the sea that’s coming for me-”

And then Liu joins back in-

“-and it’s not the storm, no, it’s not the storm…”

Tripathi starts playing a guitar – they’ve heard her idly strumming it in her room during downtime – and suddenly they’re all singing.

“When I go to sea, don’t fear for me,

“Fear for the storm, fear for the storm!”

RJ squints in confusion, forehead creasing. What are they all doing? Is this a taunt? Because they know they’re being listened to? Why else would the whole crew be sitting around singing like they don’t have a care?

(Fleetingly, RJ wonders what it would be like to have that level of comfort with a group. An image of Nan and Ferdy flashes across their mind’s eye before they quickly squash it. They’re getting distracted).

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside,

“The old stars are of no importance,

“They’re not what I navigate by...”

In hours of monitoring, RJ has never heard the crew sing together, yet they harmonise seamlessly like they’ve done it a hundred times.

The words are – nonsensical, just old-world seafaring imagery of seas and charts and stars. But the way the group sings gives them an energy; makes them important. Like they might be the last thing you’ll ever hear.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm...

“Fear for the storm.”

Liu sings the final lines, and then Krejjh exclaims, delighted,

“Oops – I guess we’re all Birdy and the Swansong. What a coincidence!”

The whole group bursts into laughter, and RJ’s finger stabs angrily down on the fast forward button.

“Don’t tell me it’s all like this.”

They pretend not to see Agent Goodman rolling his eyes.

---

The rest of the day blurs past, the usual chain of reports, audio, meetings, exchanging terse words with Goodman (who’s even more sarcastic thanks to his all-nighter), more reports, more audio.

They dismiss Goodman at the end of the workday, even though overtime is the norm in the Republic to the point where the ‘workday’ doesn’t really have a beginning and an end. (This was less depressing to RJ when they thought the agents were all getting overtime pay). He quickly goes, obviously not wanting to wait around for them to change their mind.

Silence descends.

RJ mechanically fills in a few more forms, initials some reports, getting caught up on the endless paperwork that’s generated by active cases. The Rumor audio isn’t being logged as it’s coming in; last night was an exceptional case in the aftermath of the insurgents making contact with the other Violet Liu, but based on the subsequent twelve hours of audio and today’s similar experience, they’ve determined it’s a more prudent use of resources to analyse it after the fact.

So, there’s no reason for RJ to be going over to the bank of audio desks and slipping on a pair of headphones. An audio file has just come in, but RJ pulls up an older file and scrubs through it, looking for the right timestamp.

They’re just double-checking Goodman’s work – making sure nothing was omitted when investigating the insurgents’ confessions under Edict 1837. A missed detail could give rise to a lot of additional paperwork, and their department can’t afford another blot on its track record. They pull an empty notepad towards them and poise a pen over it, ready to take notes.

But the notepad stays blank throughout the confessions, and then the singing begins.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on…”

Maybe the lyrics could be – could contain some kind of code? RJ scrawls, The old stars are of no importance, and then just as quickly scratches it out. Code for who? That wouldn’t make any sense. The words don’t mean anything.

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside...”

RJ has never been one for music or singing (especially in public); they always shrugged Nan off when she tried to cajole them into karaoke. At the Academy, they’d sat on the sidelines during that kind of drunken, raucous group bonding, nursing one drink and wishing they could be literally anywhere else. Eventually, they’d started making excuses about work to catch up on.

Listening to the Rumor crew sing should sound like that – the kind of alcohol-fuelled stupidity that RJ has never wanted to be a part of.

It shouldn’t sound like –

Like family.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm…”

The song ends, and RJ quickly hits ‘stop’. Almost guiltily, they navigate back through the audio to where the beginning of the song would be.

Distant footsteps sound in the corridor, and RJ goes very still, listening. Clark went home hours ago, so it’s not her.

They refuse to look around furtively, because that would be childish and also, they’re not doing anything wrong. They’re just doing their job.

RJ hits ‘play’ again.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn…”

---

Chaos reigns as RJ, Park, Liu, Patel and Krejjh dash towards the window where Tripathi hovers with the heisted spaceship. The Vre Chel Noke nanoswarm, which had been a thick, shimmering mist around them seconds ago, hovers ominously like a warning.

It’s enough to keep Goodman and the other guards from trying to retaliate as Tripathi begins helping each of them into the open spaceship door. (RJ was tempted to take a potshot at Goodman in the chaos, but they told themself they’re better than that. Also, they didn’t want to waste any time). RJ is keeping their eyes fixed on Park, deliberately not thinking about what they’re doing, just thinking about the next moment. Stay alive. Get out of here. And then – we’ll see.

As Tripathi holds out her hand to RJ, though, they can’t resist a last glance behind them at everything they’re leaving behind. They thought this building would be the site of a long and (hopefully) distinguished career; it was practically their home, their life – until recently.

A line bubbles up in their mind, and RJ stifles the absurd urge to laugh. The old stars are of no importance – They’re not what I navigate by…

RJ turns away and accepts Tripathi’s hand up into the ship.

---

All things considered, it’s not surprising that only a few hours after joining the crew, RJ finds themself in the middle of a group singalong.

The mood is a mixture of tense and exhilarated in the immediate aftermath of their getaway. Everyone is visibly exhausted, Park possibly most of all, but it’s clear they’re all too wired to sleep or rest. They wander around the new ship, acquainting themselves with the layout and the rooms. The Rumor crew all exclaim over the size of the mess hall, which is pretty small to RJ’s eyes, but they guess anything would seem impressive compared to the homemade junk bucket the crew were flying in before.

The crew have a couple of bags stowed away, stuffed with supplies – all that’s left of the old ship. RJ thinks fleetingly of their small, bare apartment. There’s nothing they’ll miss.

Jeeter – Brian – makes some food and crucially, coffee, which is as bad as the break room dreck, but RJ will inhale anything at this point. The group chatters, their voices still surreal for RJ to hear in person and not through headphones.

They glance at Park, who looks more relaxed than they’ve ever seen him. The Rumor crew are sharing details about what happened to each of them during ‘The Plan’; Park volunteers a little about his own part, though there’s a conspicuous lack of detail about anything related to Zone Z. Sometimes the conversation falls awkwardly silent when the subject comes up. RJ isn’t about to push, and can tell the others don’t want to, either.

Trip- Sana and Krejjh determine it’s safe to set the new ship to autopilot, and Krejjh comes into the mess, intensifying the noise and cheerfulness. RJ tries not to stare; they’ve never been in close quarters with a Dwarnian (well, before shooting Krejjh earlier) and have only ever seen them in Republic training footage and, uh, Sh’th Hremreh. But Krejjh seems to find them fascinating, too, gamely questioning them about their ‘sharpshooting’ skills. Apparently sparing their life carries more weight than shooting them in the leg.

Eventually, Krejjh’s attention turns to their fiancé and the wider group, and RJ, no longer observed, lets their shoulders slump. They’ve drained the last of their coffee and want to ask for more, even though they’re practically vibrating. Adrenaline has carried them this far, and they don’t want to find out what happens when they crash and the reality of what they’ve done hits them. Part of RJ feels like they left their body back at Headquarters; or like they’re about to blink and wake up in their office chair with Goodman glaring at them.

“You okay?” Park asks in an undertone, and RJ jolts, upsetting their thankfully empty cup. They open their mouth to reply, but then Sana calls, “Okay, everyone!”

She’s holding a guitar, and RJ stares, wondering how much space that must have taken up in the supply bags. Arkady groans, but she doesn’t look angry. Violet covers her mouth in amusement, and Krejjh cheers.

“I thought we could christen our new ship with a bit of a song,” Sana says earnestly (RJ is learning that ‘earnest’ is Sana’s default mode). Park’s eyes widen, which makes RJ glad that they’re not the only one experiencing slight panic. Is it too late to sneak out? Sana plucks at the guitar strings, twiddling the pegs to tune them. She strums a chord and nods, satisfied.

“What shall we start with? Any suggestions?” Her gaze alights on Park and RJ, and she smiles encouragingly. “McCabe – do you want to suggest a song? You don’t have to sing if you’re not comfortable.”

“Uh…” RJ would like to suggest something less – incriminating, but unfortunately, there’s only one song currently on their mind. “What about... ‘Fear for the Storm’?”

To their relief, Sana doesn’t ask questions. “Good choice!” she says, and RJ feels, ridiculously, pleased. Park quirks an eyebrow at them after Sana looks away, but RJ just shrugs, not wanting to explain.

Sana strums a few opening chords, and Violet and Arkady begin, singing the first line together.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ sits back in their chair and fractionally, begins to relax, letting the singing wash over and around them.

Quietly, too quietly, to be heard beneath the singing, they hum along.

---

A/N: So the idea conception for this fic went something like this:

Me: Okay, I've got this fun idea I want to write about the real lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong listening to the Iris casefiles and reacting to the group singalong-

My brain: I have an even better version of that idea!

Me: Yes?

My brain: What if McCabe-

Me: OH MY GOD

...Go on...

I have one (1) character whose perspective I'm consistently inspired to write from and can do so at the drop of a hat xD (I was trying to write this in a few days for the Small Fandoms Surprise Scramble on Dreamwidth. I succeeded!

The idea that became this idea was sparked off by listening to the full cast version of Fear for the Storm and having some Emotions about it again :D I remember how captivated I was by this song when listening to Episode 9 for the very first time, and so the idea of giving McCabe some of those Emotions was a very appealing one. Poor thing is going through it.

This also gave me a chance to write about the immediate aftermath of Episode 10, which I had not done before!

[glassfullofsass]

thinking about McCabe 😔❤️

[jaggedwolf]

TSCOSI Ficlets #4

Queued a couple of batches of five of old ones, wanted to collate'em before I lost'em.

I'll protect you!

Krejjh tackled Translator Jeeter to the floor before the glass window shattered. They didn’t make a move till they heard the gunfire drift farther away from the restaurant. Other patrons went back to their meals, one pair trading four tens with the look of a settled bet.

Krejjh?” Translator Jeeter’s breathing tickled the frills of Krejjh’s neck. A couple of words in human-English that Krejjh couldn’t catch, and then in Dwarnian, “Can I get up now?”

“Sure thing!” Krejjh pushed themself back into a crouch, and stared. No blood coming out of anywhere, no obvious wounds, only quicker breaths. “Are you injured, Translator Jeeter?”

“Nope, thanks to you.” Translator Jeeter smiled for too short a moment before looking worried. “Krejjh-”

Krejjh spun around to face the window, the smarting of their left wing only another focus for the coming battle. No enemies faced them. They turned back, confused.

Translator Jeeter frowned. “Your wing-”

A waiter slid between them briefly, and wow, human restaurants were way more used to Nuezo gunfire than Krejjh would’ve thought. Folks back home would’ve freaked out about mixing meals and battle.

Krejjh folded back their right wing, peering closely at the other one. There was a small tear in the translucent membrane. From the glass, not the bullets. They lightly flapped the wing. Krejjh hummed with the solid, soft sting of air passing through the new hole.

“Woah,” said Translator Jeeter, curls of his hair swaying in the wing-created wind. “I mean, uh, do you need a doctor?”

“Nah.” Krejjh shrugged, their extended wing brushing against a human who scowled and shifted their chair away. “It’ll be good as new, just got to eat and not get any more holes in it.”

Translator Jeeter let out a big breath. “Thanks again for the save. Man, I could’ve sworn the Lower District was supposed to be safe this week?”

“It’s no problem at all.” Krejjh puffed up their chest. “I wouldn’t let my translator get hurt.”

They sneak a look, pleased when Translator Jeeter’s cheeks turn interesting shades of red.

Bad dreams

When Arkady woke, a new shot of adrenaline spiked through her heart at the arm around her waist, the leg tangled between her own, the pressure on her back. It took the sight of her gun on the table and the tickle of breath against her spine to keep her still.

The Iris. Her own room. Violet.

Not the first time Violet had spent the night, but the first time one of those dreams had happened during. Stupid. Should have thought of that, she’d almost flipped and pinned Liu on pure instinct, and that would’ve been-

That would’ve been bad. Arkady disentangled herself. She swung her legs off the bunk, the cold floor a jolt to her toes. Violet’s breathing stayed steady behind her. So quiet, you could almost miss it in the constant hum of the ship.

Arkady listened until her muscles untensed. She slumped forward, forearms on knees. Before tonight the worst thing about the nightmares had been her memory of them - only the barest outlines remained for her head to conjure a dozen possibilities, even as her chest seized in desperation. She blew a breath out past her lips.

“Arkady?” Violet’s voice solidified. “Hey-”

There was the sound of the covers shifting, the feeling of shifting pressure on the mattress, a tentative hand on her shoulder. Arkady leaned back into its warmth without turning around.

“It’s nothing,” said Arkady, throat dry. “Bad dream. You can go back to bed, Liu.”

The thumb idly brushing under the strap of her undershirt stilled. The hand disappeared altogether. The dim disappointment mixed with relief didn’t last long, movement catching the corner of Arkady’s vision.

A pajama-clad knee rested against Arkady’s bare one. “Would you rather be alone?”

“No,” admitted Arkady reluctantly.

Violet slid her arm along Arkady’s, interlacing their fingers. She yawned and cuddled closer to Arkady. There would be another question soon, in the next few minutes, or tomorrow.

Somehow, Arkady didn't mind.

Feet

Sana sighed and tilted her head back against the wall. It had been a long week. Good to be back on the Rumor. Good to be here with its crew.

“This wall is way more comfortable than I remember it.” Sana stretched her legs out, careful not to knock over the cup of moonshine next to her. “I could fall asleep here.”

Sitting cross-legged opposite her, Arkady half-grinned the way she did the way after jobs that mostly went according to plan. “Captain, your mattress is literally five feet away.”

That it was, sheets messily crumpled on it. Sana shrugged. “I built this wall too well, I might not even take off my boots.”

“Now I know you’re drunk,” snarked Arkady, taking a quick swig from her own cup. “Actually taking credit for something?”

“Hey, I do-” Sana’s train of thought was derailed by Arkady lifting Sana’s right foot into her lap, palms skimming the brown leather. Arkady’s fingers made quick work of the shoelace knot. Sana shook her head, trying to clear it. “Kady, you don’t have to-”

“There’s a lot of shit I don’t have to do,” grumbled Arkady, shoulders tightening.

Sana noted that line of tension, the flicker of nervousness in Arkady’s dark eyes, and the easy comfort her own legs felt. She didn’t pull her foot away. “That’s true.”

Arkady continued unlacing the boot. Sana picked up her cup again to take a slow sip. “I don’t thank you enough for it.”

Arkady snorted, but her shoulders relaxed. Good enough. Arkady coaxed out the boot’s tongue, pulling the boot Sana’s sore foot without jarring it. She peeled off the sock in the next breath. Unthinkingly, Sana wiggled her free toes.

Not that Sana had any expectations of where this was going, but if she had, she would’ve expected Arkady to move on to her left foot. Instead, Arkady’s fingers interlocked around the top of her foot. Arkady’s movements were cautious. As if there was a wrong way she was capable of touching Sana.

Sana let out a low groan at the warmth and pressure of Arkady’s thumbs digging into her sole. “Wow, that’s good.”

Arkady’s expression grew more content. “Not exactly my first job with a lot of on-the-feet time. Learnt a few tricks.”

Cat AU

RJ skulks along the alley's walls. They try to keep in mind Park's lesson on minding sound and warmth as much as sight, the first time he had let them accompany him to the kitchen. One had to be careful not to wake the sleeping of the big house.

Park's advice is no use out here - RJ hisses at the thought - where it's always noisy and hot and RJ keeps feeling things on their whiskers that makes them want to dart under dumpsters like they're a kitten.

They inch forward. Their paws are weaker from hunger than they've ever been, but Park is counting on them. Park, who's still asleep in that box two or three blocks back, who's hurt in a way that makes RJ want to yowl even though good cats aren't supposed to. RJ scrunches their eyes shut and tries not to remember the swinging boot that-

The sound of crashing cans fills the alley. When RJ's eyes open, they see a tail disappear around a corner. Another cat! An alleycat, RJ reminds themself. Yet they and Park hadn't eaten in almost a day, and reconnaissance was always a worthy endeavor. At the very least, it would be good intelligence to report.

RJ curls around the corner, both relieved and disappointed to see nothing. They enter the alley, sniffing nervously for any sign of food. A sudden weight lands on their back. They stumble and fall, yelping when hot breath fills their ears.

"If you don't wanna get hurt, keep still," the breath says.

RJ knows that voice. It's one of those alleycats. The fighty one, RJ thinks. The other cats land softly around them, sets of white and orange and grey and striped feet caught in peripheral vision. The group must have waited up on a fire escape or a windowsill. Should've cleared the area fully.

Claws out, RJ readies their trembling paws. These alleycats aren't going to find out where Park is from RJ.

Blankets

Krejjh's Earth-English is isn’t good enough to catch what the human from the bed is frantically yelling into the comms. A summoning of reinforcements, perhaps.

What is this room? The inside of this ship looks nothing of Dwarnian make. The last memory is of a game night with the other pilots. Krejjh’s armor and weapons are nowhere to be seen. If it’s a capture, and these humans are willing to gain something for themselves...the subclan might bother attempting to make a trade, but the subclan would never let Krejjh live down such a folly.

There's still only one human. Krejjh has yet to fight one face to face, only shot down ships and buildings from far above, but Krejjh has the entire upbringing of a Dwarnian citizen and this human has-

Hair? This human has hair, which makes sense, because humans do. Dark curly hair on the head, and a thinner layer over the bottom half of the face. No weapons or armor worn, doesn’t strike Krejjh as a soldier, but what other reason could explain the presence?

"Krejjh?" The human's voice softens, turning to Krejjh with empty hands in the air. In accented yet understandable Dwarnian, the human says "Hey friend, I really need you to stay calm. The war's way less of a concern than what you said earlier, we’re not enemy soldiers or anything.”

The human’s term of address stirs something in Krejjh’s vitals. A sign of deception? A bargain? Krejjh had never been good at the social games, had flown right away from all of those. The blanket, gripped tight, could serve as an impromptu weapon. Then again, it was human-make like everything else Krejjh could see. Could as well fall apart at the first use. The human’s eyes stay on Krejjh’s face, not a glance at Krejjh’s hands.

"Why have you captured me?" asks Krejjh. "Where are your fellow soldiers?"

“None of us are soldiers,” says the human.

The door slams open with the entrance of another human who was covered in guns. The scarred face scowls as Earth-English spews forth - something about the taking of oaths, and maybe weapons. Though the new human really didn’t seem to need any more weapons.

"That's definitely a soldier," says Krejjh, slowly sliding against the wall, pleased when the new human mirrors the movements on instinct.

"Arkady's not a-I mean, kinda used to be but-"

"Catch!" Krejjh throws the balled-up blanket into the face of the new human before leaping through the open door, leaving the humans yelping behind.

Escaped from the room, check. Next stop, armory or cockpit. Shoulders cooled by the ship's air even while running, Krejjh glances down.

It’d be fantastic to find a shirt at some point.

[fearforthestorm]

RJ McCabe. you agree. reblog

[allidreamedup]

ok so I'm listening to the pasithea powder as you guys recommended, I'm having a great time, and I love that i immediately recognized Elinor Lopez's voice as RJ McCabe from starship iris, i have listened to that podcast so many times I'm glad i got it right

[sparklemaia]

some quick character sketches from The Strange Case of Starship Iris, @iriscasefiles. I am obsessed with this “gays on a spaceship” scifi audiodrama podcast, y’all. 

you should check it out because it’s got:

a ragtag found family of criminals undermining a corrupt intergalactic government! 

heists! ciphers and secret codes! double agents! 

alien linguistics as a plot device!

a useless lesbian! (good with guns, bad with feelings!)

a queer trans Jewish nerd wanted by several mafias!

a stunt pilot who composes battle poetry while defying the laws of physics!

multiple nonbinary characters! bi rep! poly rep! (grey) ace rep! it’s so gay you guys

baby goats! 

sea shanties!

I love every single one of these idiots, thanks to the whole team at Procyon for this kickass story. I’m currently listening to it for the 8th time in 2 months 😅

[awnrii]

s2 park + mccabe… oh the family ever

[imgonnagetkilledbynutstink]

Now that ive actually finished TSCOSI heres a redo of the picrews (plus characters i didnt do last time)

Violet Liu

Arkady Patel

Brian Jeeter

Krejjh (yeah the matching earrings are on purpose)

Sana Tripathi

Ignatius Campbell

R.J. McCabe

Jin Seon Park

Picrew is PotatoLord's Persona Creater

[anewgayeveryday]

Today's LGBT+ Character is;

RJ McCabe from The Strange Case of Starship Iris-Nonbinary

Species: Human

Art by @munchiezxx

Requested by @quailfence

Status: Alive

[munchiezxx]

ok im in the loop now i finally watched dungeon meshi i don’t know if this is controversial but chilchuck is rj mccabe to me

[miralines]

“straight-laced government agent becomes obsessed with illegal alien soap  opera after they’re put in charge of monitoring the surveillance of a criminal gang that watches it” is quite possibly the funniest thing to happen on any podcast ever

[iffeelscouldkill]

OKAY WAIT I just came up with a crack headcanon about Shelly

What if even RJ doesn't know who she is?? 😆

Maybe Park mentions her once or twice in passing, and RJ is hoping to glean from context exactly who this is because they feel too awkward to ask 😅 (Park's going to tell them, right? Or does he think they already somehow know??)

And then Park says, "If Shelly calls, tell her not to expect me," and through the dread comes a new realisation - RJ is going to have to talk to this person they have absolutely no idea about.

-- But it must be in Park's file, right???

Cue RJ frantically (and guiltily) searching through their superior (former superior?)'s file only to find out:

Even the IGR doesn't know who Shelly is.

Maybe Shelly doesn't call - or maybe she does but RJ struggles to gather anything from her voice or her references to Park about who she is to him. And it's a really inappropriate moment to go "also, um, who exactly are you?"

Come Episode 10, RJ asks Park, "How's Shelly?" and inwardly thinks am I finally going to find out?? But Park's reply is non-committal and RJ is still in the dark 🙈

(And it's not exactly the most pressing issue, what with the whole "sparing the life of a Dwarnian" and "Park being a traitor to the Republic" and "RJ being a traitor to the Republic oh god")

But then they're on board the Iris 2, Shelly's name comes up, and Park looks stricken, so the Rumor crew obviously decide not to ask. Later, someone (Sana?) pulls RJ aside and asks about Shelly and RJ (in far far too deep to admit the truth) improvises desperately.

"She and Park were very close…" (Surely that can only be true, right?) "Park really misses her…" (Again, self-evident) "I think it's difficult because she can't know what's happened to him…" (That's just part and parcel of going on the run)

Sana nods and doesn't seem to detect that the key piece of information is missing.

ALTERNATIVELY, they're on board the Iris 2 and Shelly's name comes up, and both Park and RJ make confident references to her as if the Rumor crew already know who she is. Did Park mention this? Did Other Violet? It's been a crazy 48 hours, no-one has slept, and later on it seems almost… too late to ask (each member of the crew thinks they're the one who can't remember who Shelly is).

Which results in Park + a ship full of people all desperately trying to pretend they know about Shelly

[art-heap]

for the record, arkady is growing her hair out

and whilst i condone violence (in fiction and sometimes in life) i think you should talk with your fists, not with one-hit-one-kill gunshots

30/06/21 1.5hr sketch

[violetren]

Park and McCabe getting hooked on Brian and Krejjh's fav soap opera is just such a fun thing and I love how much character and world building they jammed into an interlude episode of the four of them watching said soap opera.