#they’re both ships but Bargie IS the ship

[ct-hardcase]

idk I just think the differences between Bargie and DAX

[bargarean]

i don’t think i’ll ever move on from how mtz and red dwarf are just. the same shows. they’re about a little group of people in space who are so bad at their jobs and/or do not do their jobs. they’re all always fighting but love each other more than anything. the protagonist is a purposeful subversion of your usual sci-fi protagonist by making him kind of so pathetic to varying degrees. his best friend is either a robot or arguably a robot and also they’re kind of ridiculously gay for each other despite having one sided beef that grows into absolute best friendship. i could write essays on how rimmer and lister are like if pleck and c-53 swapped roles and personalities. rimmer IS nermut if you put them in a room together they’d leave several hours later not shutting up about how they finally met someone who was On Their Level who UNDERSTOOD and APPRECIATED their career goals. one time nermut was very clearly about to get executed but he was COMPLETELY convinced he was getting a promotion—this would happen to rimmer. holly and bargie? okay sentient ship/ship ai nation. they’re both about The Horrors and how important it is to find love for life and for the people around you to get through it. this list does continue i’ve been thinking about this for months. these are the same shows in different fonts and it’s beautiful.

you know what’s insane though. mtz parodies basically every popular piece of sci-fi media in existence and yet there is not a Single red dwarf reference in here. if any of the cast had watched red dwarf there WOULD be a reference somewhere. But there isn’t. these guys don’t know they remade a british sitcom in podcast format. They don’t know how many hysterical episode premises they missed out on

[thatsadorbsyo]

Julia and Augustin - Argy-Bargy (22)

The Trivium fountain sits in the heart of the city, right at the border between three busy streets and a small but lush greenery park. Julia often takes her lunch here, sitting on a bench that overlooks the fountain from the other side of the intersection, with her back to the trees and her eyes on the crowd that idles nearby, catching the spray from the spout.

It’s a natural place for them to meet. She’s halfway through her meal of greens and vegetables wrapped in flatbread when Augustin pierces her bubble by sitting down, unannounced, in the empty seat to her left. The medals and decorations of his station chitter at his breast when he lowers himself to the bench, and she has to shuffle to wrap the rest of her food in paper before leaning over to give him a firm, warm hug.

Augustin’s hold is stronger than his brother’s was. His hair is kept neatly braided, and his uniform is pressed and crisp. His posture is impeccable and his hands are clean. Functional and utilitarian, just like her. Sometimes, Julia wonders if she tried to marry the wrong Naevos. Maybe that was her sin.

They hold each other for a moment longer than they should; long enough for her to dip her chin down on Augustin’s shoulder and smell the soap under his collar. It’s a touch too far toward intimacy, and she breaks away immediately. His embarrassed smile mirrors her own, but despite the social overstep, they maintain eye contact for a prolonged moment, open and hopeful. Almost as though they’re both waiting for the other to speak.

The moment passes. If either of them had good news to share, it would have come out just then. There’s nothing to say; Lucas is as gone as he ever was.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” she starts, smoothing down her skirt and subtly brushing a few crumbs off of her lap. “How’s your father?”

Augustin sits back, spine straight, looking dead ahead in front of them. Watchful, alert. A perfect guard. He squares his shoulders and settles into the seat in a gesture reminiscent of her own father, of a man larger than the confines of his body. The wood creaks quietly. “Retired,” he answers with a restrained smile. “Old man earned it three times over. I’m here to see him before I ship out.”

Julia licks her lips, following his gaze to a cluster of children across the street, tossing coins into the fountain. Backward, over the shoulder. They toss them in blind faith, but still each one finds their way into the water. “Where are they sending you?”

“As close to Werlyt as they can get me.” It sounds as grim as it feels. “Legatus van Varro is really putting them through the grinder out there. So they need to flesh out a few cohorts, and I need soldiers to lead.” He shrugs; it’s a sealed deal.

She chews on her lip now, turning something over a few times before speaking. Her fingers twine together in the hammock of her lap, her food forgotten. “What if you took a different assignment?”

Augustin glances sidelong at her, expectant but reserved. Ready to call bullshit. “Like what?”

“It’s a secret,” she hedges, and he twirls his finger at her. Get on with it. “I, ah,” Spit it out already. “I made an absolutely fucking heartfelt pitch and convinced my praefectus to let me go to -- to go undercover. Recruiting.”

He narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

“For aetherologists. I’ve gotten as far as I can.” It hurts to admit this; she all but points at the pearl in her forehead. “Salutatorian of my class at the Academy and I still can’t save the damn world from itself, not with my... handicap.”

His nostrils flare. Augustin turns his head, displeased with something she’s said. What is it?

She presses on. “I need to learn from the people who do it best. From the people who can do it. These stunts they keep pulling with the production factories is embarrassing, and even if we truly believe they’ve shut them down, who’s to say that there aren’t old samples still floating around? In the black markets? On their way to who knows whose hands?” She’s pleading now; she can’t help it. Julia nearly reaches for Augustin’s hand. She doesn’t say what she’s thinking: Lucas was right. She should have listened to him when she still had the chance. What might be different now, if she had?

Augustin lets out air. “What does this have to do with me?”

Julia returns her hands firmly to her own lap. She looks down at the grass, composing herself. How is it that this is the man who humbles her, while barely speaking a word? “I need protection,” she admits, her voice small and timorous.

“I’m not your fucking bodyguard.” Clipped. It’s angrier than she believes the situation warrants. “Eorzea is the last place on this star that I want to be, do you understand? That place ate my mother. It swallowed my brother. Now you’re going to march straight into its maw with open arms? And you suddenly have the balls to ask me to come with you? Not a chance.” Augustin’s composure is falling away. His voice is loud; it carries to the children at the fountain, who pause and turn their heads to look.

“You’re already going to Werlyt--”

“I don’t have the luxury of telling my tribunus no. But you? You, I can say no to.”

“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t know why she’s apologizing.

Augustin pulls it in, swallowing the rest of his anger with visible effort; the apple of his throat actually bobs in place. She fixes her ponytail, and he straightens his coat. How had this gone to shit so quickly?

“The work that you’re doing is good,” he concedes in a softer tone, at the same time that she lifts her hand. Don’t, it says. Just don’t. Don’t baby me now that you’ve told me the truth; I’m a big girl.

They both look back over to the rambunctious kids tossing pocket change into the Trivium fountain, running in circles and wasting handfuls of coins on superstitious wishes. It’s stupid. It’s so damn stupid, which is exactly what she’d said to Lucas the day they first met at this same fountain. He’d handed her a silver piece in return. Do something stupid with me, then.

“Do something stupid with me,” Julia breathes, extending a hand to Augustin with her palm up. She wiggles her fingers inward toward her palm, expectantly. Pass me a dime. Let’s make a wish.