tdm 8

[hownkai]

T E S T D R I V E

ABOARD THE MOIRA Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged, but as another planet grows closer to being docked, things start to get a little hectic. You'll notice a slight change in the artificial gravity as the Moira is pulled into a gravitational field; however, more noticeable changes can be found in the overall morale as you prepare to descend. ☄ on your own There are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) ☄ round 'em up The day begins normally. You check out the mess hall and report to your assigned job, and so far, nothing seems incredibly out of place. However, as the hours pass, you begin to notice something strange scurrying along wall edges and into open vents. For the most part, these rodents are harmless—in this stage. While they may get into the food supply in the Cargo Bay or terrorize those in the kitchen, they are not violent and appear to be skittish. However, once they've "matured" - the color of their tail will have changed from a light gray to a very dark purple, prompting them to enter a temporary stasis inside a cocoon - they aren't so cute anymore. These paklers are vicious, will bite if they're caught, and defend themselves with claws as well as the protrusions on their bodies. There is nothing to be done about them except capture them and eject them into space as they are considered a pest and very harmful to the crew and the ship. Once they run out of food, they will turn on each other as well as anything resembling a living creature. The captains provide the proper equipment, electric nets as well as tranquilizers, to assist with the capture of the paklers and their immediate removal from the Moira. ☄ what's yours is mine Something seems a bit off about the laundry delivery service these days, doesn't it? Has the Moira always had one of those? Whether you realize it immediately or not, something is very wrong about the clothes that have suddenly appeared in your wardrobe. They are either much too big or far too small, and as far as you can tell, there seems to be no happy medium in all of this. Will you Dress To Impress in your new uniforms? Will you swap with someone who might be a similar size regardless of the fact their uniform colors are not the same as your own? Or will you simply walk naked through the halls of the ship, carefree and bare to the rest of your crewmates? ☄ n'sync While exploring the ship, first down one hall and then another, you come across a strange door you've never seen before. When you pull it open, you'll find someone, a crew member, standing on the other side, hand outstretched as if they've just opened that door from the opposite side. Every move you make, they mirror, and if they shift to the left or right, you also shift left or right. Absolutely everything the both of you do is the same except for the words that come out of your mouth; somehow, you still manage to maintain the ability to talk without mimicking your partner. You're unable to completely control your movements again until someone says "in sync". Good luck figuring out the magic words, and if you decide to question the captains (or anyone else) about it, they won't have any idea what it is you're talking about. OUT OF CHARACTER INFO FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION For mature or graphic content, please label. For questions, please direct them to the FAQ. As always, be kind and have fun!

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"Mark" | Vorkosigan Saga

[accidentaltruth]

Rats in the Walls

[He's not impressed. Not with this ship, not with the fact he's stuck with a name he blurted out because the only alternative was Miles, not with the uniforms never designed to fit a man Miles Vorkosigan's height, and certainly not with the rats, or whatever they are. He grabs for one, forgetting for a moment it's not exactly a good idea- right up until it bites him and he throws it against a wall, cursing it.

Once he's had his little display of temper, though, he goes right back to catching them, apparently ignoring the fact his hand is bleeding, although not without a scowl at any bystanders.]

What are you looking at?

Mirror Dance (yes this went there)

[Anyone opening the door to Mark is likely to be met with a furious expression. It only gets worse as he realises he's stuck aping someone else's gestures. God, can't he even have his own body under control?]

This isn't funny. Work out how to fix it!

[Anywhere else]

[He'd pretty much hoped that being here, a whole new Vorkosigan-free universe... maybe he'd be allowed his own life here. But nope, once again, Miles was here first. People who know Miles might be surprised to find him looking pretty furious as he moves around the ship, trying to find some place he feels comfortable.

The mess hall is right out at meal times, too many people staring, but he makes sure to turn up between meal shifts. He puts a small amount of whatever's left on his plate at first... but this is the first time he's ever been allowed to just eat and it's free, doesn't have to come out of his dwindling credit chip, and he ends up piling his plate high with a furtive air, taking his plate to a back corner to eat it quickly like he expects someone to take it away.

The library is pretty quiet, too, and he wanders in there once or twice, finding a quiet corner to curl up in. He actually quite likes the main hall, empty and mostly unused as it is. He can also be found in the corridor of locked doors, trying one or two of them curiously, expression very nearly not entirely angry- at least until someone spots him.]

[OOC note: Mark is an identical clone of Miles Vorkosigan- but he won't take well to being reminded of it.]

/rubs hands together

[tearmeanewone]

[Elizabeth charges down the hallway towards the escaping rat, bucket at the ready. These things are fast, but she's used to the erratic and unpredictable movements of splicers. She slams the bucket down on the creature and drops a heavy almanac on top.]

Got it. [She puffs and looks up, instantly catching sight of the blood on Miles' hand.]

I'm looking at you, and your hand. [Elizabeth moves towards him quickly, pulling a handkerchief out of her sleeve.] Let me see it.

[accidentaltruth]

[He steps back for a moment, not entirely comfortable with the speed he's being approached at, but eventually, reluctantly holds his hand out.]

It's not that bad.

[He's had worse, and the job isn't finished yet, and he can't quite escape the nagging feeling there'll be worse pain if it's not finished soon. Some things are hard to escape.

...And besides, he's not sure he trusts whoever she is- even if she is kind of pretty.]

[tearmeanewone]

[Trust her, she's pretty, that never goes bad ever.]

[Elizabeth gives him a smile, heaped with friendly skepticism, as she takes his hand and looks it over. It really isn't so bad, these things are vicious but still small, but she's not one to have patience with male posturing over injury.]

Good news: I'm ninety-five percent certain you'll live. [Still, best to stop the bleeding. She lays the handkerchief, embroidered with the seal of the Barrayaran Imperial Service, over the cut and applies some pressure.]

[accidentaltruth]

[He doesn't really notice the seal until it's too late, a little too caught up in the smiling- but when he does, his face goes from almost neutral to angrier.

Of course no-one would help him. It's always Miles.

He snatches his hand back with a mangled curse, glaring.]

You think I'm him, don't you?

[tearmeanewone]

[Elizabeth pulls her hands back in shock. What the hell is he so angry about? She stares at him for a beat, hands held up defensively, trying to parse what he's talking about. Sometimes it's hard with Miles...]

Him who?

[...is she going to have to call Ivan because Miles thinks she's somebody else again? God she hopes she's not going to have to call Ivan again.]

...have you not been sleeping again?

[accidentaltruth]

You think I'm Miles.

[He spits the word out. It's easier, being angry, when he has nothing else to fall back on. No plan, nothing to work for, not even the comfort of anonymity.]

I'm M- not.

[He'd nearly given her the name that's been rattling round his head since Miles threw it at him, an unwelcome and unasked for gift and curse all at once. He cuts it off, though, substituting something else.]

mirror dance

[forwardmomentum]

[ this hasn't been a great week for sleeping. alright, this hasn't been a great month for sleeping. miles is fairly certain he's caught at least a few hours over the last day or so, but it's all starting to run together and anyway it's not like sleep is doing much good lately, with all the nightmares. he's looking even more gaunt than usual, dark circles like bruises under his eyes which are too bright, too hyper-alert to be well-rested. he looks downright twitchy.

he intended to head back to his office -- new arrivals keep on showing up, in bigger batches every time, and his desk is so bogged down with personnel files to review he scarcely find it anymore -- but he must have blanked out on some turn or another, because the door he pushes open most certainly does not lead to his office.

miles stares, wide-eyed and a little noncomprehending. is this another hallucination? or worse yet -- some kind of waking nightmare? shit, is he even really awake? to his credit, miles manages not to drop the mug of coffee in his hand, but he barely registers mark's words, and his own voice does come out strangled and stunned. ]

Mark?

you went there

[accidentaltruth]

[For a moment, he almost feels like he's somehow looking in a mirror, before it dawns on him and his face twists up further into disgust and loathing.]

You.

[Even when he's trying to avoid Miles, the universe still makes it so he can't, apparently. He tries to jerk back, wheel to get away, but somehow... can't. He jerks his head to the side, one of the gestures they'd forced him to assimilate, teeth gritted.]

Stop staring at me.

i sure did

[forwardmomentum]

I'm not --

[ except he totally is, because it's mark, dammit, it's his brother, and of all people to show up here, somehow he hadn't expected --

miles lets that sentence finish on an exhale and he drops his gaze to avert it even as his brow knits, but his gaze keeps flicking back up to mark's face. he can't help it. he's so frigging tired this might be a hallucination, although miles's nightmares around mark usually involve inhabiting his body. well, there's still time.

it's the doubt and the prolonged exhaustion that robs miles of his usual cool in situations like these, and miles tries checking mark's name against his mental directory of the moira and the new recruits, and realizes he's barely even made a dent in the new personnel files. no way to verify one way or the other. ]

I didn't see -- did you come in with the last wave?

[ miles's hand tightens around the handle of his coffee mug, breath short. if this is a hallucination, he really doesn't want to stick around to see it through. but if it's not... ]

[accidentaltruth]

You are. Don't see yourself in the mirror often enough?

[He ignores the way his hand clenches, taking it for an involuntary action, some of his anger bleeding through into physical gestures. It's not like it's unlikely, after all.]

Why does it matter? You were here first, again, and that's all you need to know. When I came here isn't any of your business.

[Does it matter? No, other than the fact it's something he doesn't have to tell him. Something he can hold back from Miles' curiosity just a little longer, something only he knows.]

[forwardmomentum]

[ miles blinks tiredly, brow furrowed, mouth half-open as he processes all that on a delay and still trying furiously to determine if this is real or not. his grip tightening on his coffee mug is mostly an insurance against dropping it, but his attention is starting to drift and he blinks at mark again. ]

Actually, no. I tend to avoid it.

[ a breath escapes him that seems like a weary echo of a wry laugh, although he doesn't quite smile. he resists the urge to rub at his blearying eyes, suddenly reluctant to let on how tired he is. if it's a hallucination, that might only make it worse. hard to tell sometimes. ]

No -- no, I suppose it isn't. [ a thin breath trickles out. he has to choose his words carefully here -- whether it's the real mark or not. no pressing the point. no pushing or pulling. asking him if he's alright is right out. instead he just shrugs one shoulder. ] You're right. It doesn't matter. No more than it does that I happened to get trapped here first.

[ he steps back away from the door, out of mark's path, and gestures with his free hand out to the hall, if mark feels like leaving. he'd let mark go once before. he's being reminded of just why -- not because he wanted to, but because there was no other choice between that and forcing mark into...something or other. and if it's a hallucination, well, miles is going to find out in short order. his grip on that coffee mug is starting to shake. ]

I'll be on my way then. Sorry about the unexpected intrusion -- wasn't the door I thought it was.

[accidentaltruth]

[He wishes he'd had the option to avoid it. Instead, he'd spent long periods of time staring at himself, making sure he looked like Miles, the hair style and the gestures and the expressions.

Now he spends long periods of time looking at himself trying to see someone other than Miles. It must be nice to have the option to not look. To be so confident of who you look like, that looking isn't necessary. Mark adds it to the list of things to be angry about, even if he can't physically frown any harder.

He isn't really best pleased when he feels his feet move, without him choosing. Or when his hand rises, a moment later, gesturing in the same way as Miles is, a perfect mirror image. He snatched his hand back, arms crossing across his chest roughly.]

How are you doing that?!

COLLIDES WITH THIS, HOWLING [rats]

[lets_see_what_happens]

[Thin, pale fingers tap Mark's shoulder but their owner stills entirely as Mark turns around, hazel eyes widening in a brief, barely there consecutive flicker of shock, confusion, then understanding. His eyes narrow with a restrained, curious intensity, but his voice is very mild when he speaks.]

Mark. [He's carrying a small bundle of supplies under his other arm, though his hand drops back to his side and he stays otherwise out of Mark's personal space.] You're bleeding. Would you like a hand?

Gregor no

[accidentaltruth]

[Honestly, someone recognising him as someone other than Miles, even by the name he's been stuck with, really pulls the rug out from under him. For a moment he can't quite think how to respond, at least until he finally recognises who he's talking to.

He'd studied this man, once. Not as much as he'd studied Miles, obviously, but enough; he'd been expected to know all his eventual targets, all the corpses he'd have left for Galen's plan. Somehow, it's... hard to reconcile Emperor of Barrayar, Galen's tyrannical dictator, with the person he's looking at, without the context of palace and ImpSec and clothing that isn't the same uniform as everyone else is wearing.

The emperor seems to have some idea who he is, which he supposes isn't entirely unexpected- but then, if he does know about Galen's plot, why the offer of help? A trap? His eyes narrow, trying to run through the possibilities, but that kind of rapid thinking is not Mark's speciality.

Warily, he stands his ground, but that doesn't mean he isn't assessing chances of a quick getaway, or just... completing part of his mission, if he has to.]

Miles told you who I am? What I am? Why would you ever offer to help me?

GREGOR YES

[lets_see_what_happens]

[Gregor watches Mark size him up patiently, one eyebrow quirking as Mark speaks, though his voice is very level.]

Miles debriefed me, yes. As did Simon. I also read both Miles and Captain Galeni's extremely detailed reports on the matter, once Captain Galeni had dug himself out from the enormous mountain of paperwork under which Miles had left him buried on Earth. I certainly have enough data to know that you are most certainly a 'who' and not a 'what'.

[accidentaltruth]

[He looks sideways for a brief second at the mention of Galeni, one of the people he... might owe something, a slightly nervous glance like he's expecting him to pop up. His eyes slide back to Gregor, though, still studying for a moment.]

None of you have a clue who I am. I was trained to assassinate you, you know that?

[He's not sure why he says that, other than to see if Gregor actually reacts to that.]

[lets_see_what_happens]

[Gregor tilts his head, watching Mark's face with a careful, coiled intensity, sharpening briefly before it eases again. He looks utterly relaxed despite the half-implied threat, his eyebrows climbing briefly.]

Yes, I know. After you took Miles' place and dispatched Aral, I expect, though the precise timetable wasn't necessarily clear. It matters less now, I suppose. [He flips a hand palm-out in agreement, lifting his chin.] And... you're quite right. I don't have a clue who you are. Thing is, I'm not entirely sure you do, either, since it doesn't seem like anybody has given you the opportunity to figure it out without having your elbow jogged.

[accidentaltruth]

I-

[His hand clenches for a moment, frustrated and angry and perhaps a little afraid. He's not used to people dissecting him that easily, and he doesn't like it all that much.

Somehow, though, it's... easy to slump a little, out of his more aggressive stance.]

Does it matter? I'm just a clone, right?

[heart_breaking]

[The library's corners offer only a false sense of refuge, but Chara can't bring themself to shun them. Even a false sense is still more safety than they've had in a long time. Maybe they'll try again sometime. They're small, and they can probably find corners here that even busybodies won't notice...]

[... Speaking of busybodies. They stop when they see the foot dangling over the chair's edge, and then stop again, grinding their teeth at his identity. Him. That asshole from the Hold. Should they turn around? Hell no, they're not going to let this prick drive them off. Chara walks up to the chair from a blindspot, planting themself solidly.]

You're sitting on my book. [Probably. They left it under the cushion, and hope it's still there.] Get up.

[accidentaltruth]

[He looks around, face very close to neutral for once, studying the person who just interrupted his chain of thought. Small, probably a child, indeterminate gender- and although he doesn't feel particularly threatened yet, he gets the feeling they might not be the safest person on board ship.

Not dangerous yet, though, and Mark isn't always the best at backing down- or doing the safest thing.]

Try asking.

[He jerks his head up, face falling into more sullen lines. He doesn't have to do anything if he doesn't want to, not here, and he isn't feeling very pleasant right now.]

[heart_breaking]

[Their eyes narrow, and they lean forward a little as though a skinny child of 4'1" exactly could be ever the slightest bit intimidating. Do they seem genuinely malicious? Probably. Would any attack from them lay a man out like a solid punch from someone three times their size? Perspective is a tricky thing.]

Will you get up, please?

[accidentaltruth]

[He gets up slowly, and not entirely because they asked, either. Something about them has him on edge, and he settles squarely into a defensive position, eyes on Chara, still and watchful.

He's the last person to underestimate anyone's capability for violence, after all.]

Up. Nice to meet you, too.

[He can't help the faint hint of sarcasm, though, pushing a little, though he's not sure why.]

[heart_breaking]

We've... met. [Doesn't he remember? The question is at the tip of their tongue, and they ask it with their frown. He'd mentioned holes in is memories the last time they'd spoken, but surely that hadn't meant that his memory was still failing. Did it?]

[They continue to eye him as they step towards the chair.]

[accidentaltruth]

[There's almost the audible sound of teeth gritting from him, and his face falls even more as he tenses up. God, just one person who he doesn't have to explain this to.

He can't help sounding a little bitter, though, especially on the name.]

No, we haven't. You met Miles, didn't you?

[He isn't taking his eyes off them, though, or letting up on his stance. Better safe than sorry, after all.]