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thisavrou_ooc2016-03-06 11:21 pm
hownkai) wrote in thisavrou_ooc2016-03-06 11:21 pm
tdm 8
T E S T D R I V E |
|
Round 'em up
Aside from being completely stoked that he's on a spaceship (because come on, SPACESHIP!), Rashid's cool with just about any assignment he's given. This one's... weird, even for him.
Once he's handed the proper equipment, it's time for him to get down to business! Rashid starts by finding a couple of the little guys and following them to a few cocoons, and one really big packler. "Yuck... which bad sci-fi movie did these things come from?" He runs towards it and nails it with a flying kick.
These things don't stand a chance against the Turbulent Wind!
Of course it didn't stay that way as a few more began to approach...
What's Yours is Mine
What the hell happened to his clothes? Rashid stood there, looking at the uniform. It was two sizes too big and an unflattering color. But he wasn't about to go out there completely naked. Maybe he'd find someone who was willing to trade. Maybe. Hopefully. PLEASE.
He put the giant uniform on, and in his opinion, he looked like an eight-year-old trying to wear his dad's clothes. At least his beard was still in magnificent condition.
Rashid stepped outside, keeping his eyes open for anyone with the same uniform but more his size.
Choose Your Own Adventure!
Maybe hit him up while he's wandering around the ship and being utterly fascinated by everything ever.
Aside from being completely stoked that he's on a spaceship (because come on, SPACESHIP!), Rashid's cool with just about any assignment he's given. This one's... weird, even for him.
Once he's handed the proper equipment, it's time for him to get down to business! Rashid starts by finding a couple of the little guys and following them to a few cocoons, and one really big packler. "Yuck... which bad sci-fi movie did these things come from?" He runs towards it and nails it with a flying kick.
These things don't stand a chance against the Turbulent Wind!
Of course it didn't stay that way as a few more began to approach...
What's Yours is Mine
What the hell happened to his clothes? Rashid stood there, looking at the uniform. It was two sizes too big and an unflattering color. But he wasn't about to go out there completely naked. Maybe he'd find someone who was willing to trade. Maybe. Hopefully. PLEASE.
He put the giant uniform on, and in his opinion, he looked like an eight-year-old trying to wear his dad's clothes. At least his beard was still in magnificent condition.
Rashid stepped outside, keeping his eyes open for anyone with the same uniform but more his size.
Choose Your Own Adventure!
Maybe hit him up while he's wandering around the ship and being utterly fascinated by everything ever.
Note: Canon point is a couple of years after the main events of Barrayar, but prior to the epilogue.
Laundry mishap
[ It's bad enough that she's found herself aboard a strange ship, far from her home of Barrayar that she's sacrificed so much for and away from her toddling son. The contract had felt coerced and foreign to be applying her word to a written document. Even still, this isn't the worst of what she's endured in her life. She will make it through this too.
The uniform assigned to her causes her to side-eye the fabric and while she wears what she arrived in for as long as she can stand, her lady-like long dress and bolero could only go so long without a cleaning. At least with the laundry services here, she feels confident that she'll be able to keep at least this one attire from home safe. She doesn't give it a second thought when she swaps into one of the uniforms given to her and sends it off with the rest of her, albeit meager pile given her short stay, laundry. It's an act as normal as breathing when she's at home.
The second thoughts come when she examines her wardrobe upon her clothing's return and immediately sees the problem. Someone caused her clothes to shrink. The rest of her uniforms are a wash and replaceable, but Vor fashions from home?
Their destruction is almost inexcusable.
It's not proper to leave her room in the same ship knits she slept in, but it'll have to do given the alternative and she's set off into the halls to find the person responsible. ]
Excuse me. Who's in charge of the laundry aboard this ship?
On your own/Wildcard
[ Feel free to find her anywhere on the ship, wearing a dark-colored dress with a long skirt and bolero, and her head held high. She will be inspecting her new surroundings with a careful eye. Space travel isn't new where she's from, but she's never had the chance to experience it herself. ]
Laundry mishap
[ It's bad enough that she's found herself aboard a strange ship, far from her home of Barrayar that she's sacrificed so much for and away from her toddling son. The contract had felt coerced and foreign to be applying her word to a written document. Even still, this isn't the worst of what she's endured in her life. She will make it through this too.
The uniform assigned to her causes her to side-eye the fabric and while she wears what she arrived in for as long as she can stand, her lady-like long dress and bolero could only go so long without a cleaning. At least with the laundry services here, she feels confident that she'll be able to keep at least this one attire from home safe. She doesn't give it a second thought when she swaps into one of the uniforms given to her and sends it off with the rest of her, albeit meager pile given her short stay, laundry. It's an act as normal as breathing when she's at home.
The second thoughts come when she examines her wardrobe upon her clothing's return and immediately sees the problem. Someone caused her clothes to shrink. The rest of her uniforms are a wash and replaceable, but Vor fashions from home?
Their destruction is almost inexcusable.
It's not proper to leave her room in the same ship knits she slept in, but it'll have to do given the alternative and she's set off into the halls to find the person responsible. ]
Excuse me. Who's in charge of the laundry aboard this ship?
On your own/Wildcard
[ Feel free to find her anywhere on the ship, wearing a dark-colored dress with a long skirt and bolero, and her head held high. She will be inspecting her new surroundings with a careful eye. Space travel isn't new where she's from, but she's never had the chance to experience it herself. ]
Edited 2016-03-07 05:12 (UTC)
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.]
[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.]
On your own/Exploration
[ This isn't Duv's first time on a ship. He hasn't been assigned ship duty, the job every Vorling he's come across in the Imperial Service seems willing to die to achieve, but he's had his training and required travel time to his outposts have left him with enough experience.
So he knows the importance of learning the layout of what's to be his current 'home' for however long that ends up being. Throughout his first few days on board, he walks the length of the ship, giving particular attention to the library. He pauses in the entry way to take in the sight of a library composed entirely out of paper books. Such things are a rarity now and he finds himself brightening as he moves towards one of the shelves to pluck a book off of it.
If he's going to be here, he may as well indulge his inner academic and see what can be learned from these pages. Were they from the worlds of all those brought here? Or specific to this galaxy? He frowns lightly in thought as he finds himself engrossed as he flips through the pages of various books trying to find some rhyme or reason to the collection. He's not likely to notice anyone's approach unless it becomes decidedly hostile.
Another location that catches his eye is the garden. Unlike most Komarrans, he's become accustomed to greenery from his time on Barrayar and his off-world assignments. The fact that a ship would devote this much space to such a place gives him the impression that they expect their crew to be here for quite a lot longer than a 'temporary' employment contract implies. He can be found here examining the planter boxes and their contents with curiosity. ]
[ This isn't Duv's first time on a ship. He hasn't been assigned ship duty, the job every Vorling he's come across in the Imperial Service seems willing to die to achieve, but he's had his training and required travel time to his outposts have left him with enough experience.
So he knows the importance of learning the layout of what's to be his current 'home' for however long that ends up being. Throughout his first few days on board, he walks the length of the ship, giving particular attention to the library. He pauses in the entry way to take in the sight of a library composed entirely out of paper books. Such things are a rarity now and he finds himself brightening as he moves towards one of the shelves to pluck a book off of it.
If he's going to be here, he may as well indulge his inner academic and see what can be learned from these pages. Were they from the worlds of all those brought here? Or specific to this galaxy? He frowns lightly in thought as he finds himself engrossed as he flips through the pages of various books trying to find some rhyme or reason to the collection. He's not likely to notice anyone's approach unless it becomes decidedly hostile.
Another location that catches his eye is the garden. Unlike most Komarrans, he's become accustomed to greenery from his time on Barrayar and his off-world assignments. The fact that a ship would devote this much space to such a place gives him the impression that they expect their crew to be here for quite a lot longer than a 'temporary' employment contract implies. He can be found here examining the planter boxes and their contents with curiosity. ]
round 'em up
Initially the rodent monsters pose no threat. In fact, Ben thinks they're kind of cute. In the beginning, while the creatures are still scarce, he can be found cooing at their tiny faces and fuzzy tails. He even considers capturing one and keeping it for a pet, but they're so swift and small that he'd have to transform into one of his aliens to even catch one. They're probably like the rats of yore, crossing seas and gnawing on sleeping sailors' toes. Gross.
Ben ignores them up until there's a call to round up these critters. Except they're no longer adorable critters, they're fully evolved, aggressive aliens. It hasn't been twenty four hours and here he is, standing at attention in the mess hall armed with an electric net (oh no) and tranquilizers (who let him have these?) and one job: toss the paklers into outer space.
Cruel for a bunch of harmless alien mice, he thinks at the start. That changes the moment he encounters one and it charges, teeth gnashing like it's straight out of a horror movie. Ben shouts and employs the netting, but in his panic it completely misses his target. Frozen in shock, the pakler swipes its hand at his upper body. Self-preservation kicks in and Ben throws himself to the side, momentarily avoiding certain death. He scrambles to his feet in time to dodge a second attack.
With a cry of, "Why did I think this junk would work!?" Ben throws his equipment to the floor and fiddles with his "watch" instead. A circular green screen illuminates his face and a dais raises to meet it. "Okay Omnitrix, give me Rath!" He smacks his hand on the dais and shoves it down. After a transmutation bordering on unadulterated body horror, an orange four-legged beast stands in his place.
Ben raises his clawed paw and huffs through his massive jowls. Guess Wildmutt'll do. Judging by the pakler's delay, it's at least intimidated by him.
Good. That makes this easier.
on your own
Post-pakler Ben Tennyson is a starving Ben Tennyson. After disposing of the alien's body, he returns to the galley with one meal in mind: a double cheeseburger with a side order of french fries and a vanilla milkshake. Depending upon how he feels after that, he might indulge in a smoothie. It's hard to say when he's digging through unfamiliar ingredients. He withdraws a clear container of some kind of vicious fluid before he realizes the container is too still for it to slosh around.
There's something alive inside of it.
Thoroughly appalled, Ben returns the container to its place and gives a full body shudder. Aliens, man. They eat some weird stuff.
After a long search, he finds something vaguely familiar. Judging by its ground beef consistency and violet color, he concludes it's some type of space meat. He opens the container and marvels at the lack of smell and movement. Can he eat this? He sure as heck can try. He forms two patties , flattens them on a preheated pan and listens to them sizzle.
To whoever is present, Ben says, "It can't be any worse than what they serve in schools on Earth. Mystery meat, you know? I bet it's not even meat. It's probably rubber, tar and food coloring."
Initially the rodent monsters pose no threat. In fact, Ben thinks they're kind of cute. In the beginning, while the creatures are still scarce, he can be found cooing at their tiny faces and fuzzy tails. He even considers capturing one and keeping it for a pet, but they're so swift and small that he'd have to transform into one of his aliens to even catch one. They're probably like the rats of yore, crossing seas and gnawing on sleeping sailors' toes. Gross.
Ben ignores them up until there's a call to round up these critters. Except they're no longer adorable critters, they're fully evolved, aggressive aliens. It hasn't been twenty four hours and here he is, standing at attention in the mess hall armed with an electric net (oh no) and tranquilizers (who let him have these?) and one job: toss the paklers into outer space.
Cruel for a bunch of harmless alien mice, he thinks at the start. That changes the moment he encounters one and it charges, teeth gnashing like it's straight out of a horror movie. Ben shouts and employs the netting, but in his panic it completely misses his target. Frozen in shock, the pakler swipes its hand at his upper body. Self-preservation kicks in and Ben throws himself to the side, momentarily avoiding certain death. He scrambles to his feet in time to dodge a second attack.
With a cry of, "Why did I think this junk would work!?" Ben throws his equipment to the floor and fiddles with his "watch" instead. A circular green screen illuminates his face and a dais raises to meet it. "Okay Omnitrix, give me Rath!" He smacks his hand on the dais and shoves it down. After a transmutation bordering on unadulterated body horror, an orange four-legged beast stands in his place.
Ben raises his clawed paw and huffs through his massive jowls. Guess Wildmutt'll do. Judging by the pakler's delay, it's at least intimidated by him.
Good. That makes this easier.
on your own
Post-pakler Ben Tennyson is a starving Ben Tennyson. After disposing of the alien's body, he returns to the galley with one meal in mind: a double cheeseburger with a side order of french fries and a vanilla milkshake. Depending upon how he feels after that, he might indulge in a smoothie. It's hard to say when he's digging through unfamiliar ingredients. He withdraws a clear container of some kind of vicious fluid before he realizes the container is too still for it to slosh around.
There's something alive inside of it.
Thoroughly appalled, Ben returns the container to its place and gives a full body shudder. Aliens, man. They eat some weird stuff.
After a long search, he finds something vaguely familiar. Judging by its ground beef consistency and violet color, he concludes it's some type of space meat. He opens the container and marvels at the lack of smell and movement. Can he eat this? He sure as heck can try. He forms two patties , flattens them on a preheated pan and listens to them sizzle.
To whoever is present, Ben says, "It can't be any worse than what they serve in schools on Earth. Mystery meat, you know? I bet it's not even meat. It's probably rubber, tar and food coloring."
Soundwave | Transformers IDW or Transformers Prime
decepticonpeacemaker
2016-03-07 06:08 am (UTC)(link)
((OOC: Hi all! I'm having a hard time picking between IDW Soundwave and TFP Soundwave on who I'd like to try apping for here, soooo you get to pick which one you want for the Test Drive. Also known as please help me pick I am very indecisive. For the canon unfamiliar, TFP Soundwave is creepy as hell and doesn't talk. He just plays recordings of words or shows things on the whole screen that covers his face to communicate. He's about as friendly as a bag of wet cats. But for some reason I like him? IDW Soundwave is better at being social with organics, even if he doesn't think they are as important as other Cybertronians. He's still a Decepticon but he's actually trying the whole "no war" thing. Key word is trying. I'll toss up prompts for both of them, so pick which one sounds more fun to you! Replies for TFP Soundwave will come from quietone.))
IDW Soundwave: Round 'em up
[Soundwave rather doubted that these 'paklers' would cause any serious issues for the Cybertronians on the ship. They would certainly die if they attempted to consume energon, and their teeth couldn't get through his plates. At most being able to hear them all running around the ship was bothersome to him.]
[However, seeing as a large portion of the crew was human or similar, and he couldn't exactly run a whole ship on his own, he would make an effort to help where he could. If he couldn't fit in an area to grab them himself, he could at least direct the humans as to how many and where the pests were. And if any paklers got underfoot... Well. They wouldn't survive out in space anyways, right?]
IDW Soundwave: OTA
[Chose your own adventure with the giant blue Decepticon!]
TFP Soundwave: On your own
[The ship was crawling with organics. It put him on edge more than he cared to admit. After seeing the end results of the humans' experiments on Breakdown, and those stupid children the Autobots kept managing to lock him in a prison with no escape? He had no desire to deal with them. He had covered his tracks here as much as he could - as soon as he arrived he ensured his name on the network was replaced with a pseudonym. Soundwave would give no one reason to look for or talk to him. One he had a proper plan, he could deal with the feasibility of taking the ship, or escaping it. Escape seemed more probable at the moment.]
[For now, he was in the cargo bay, one of the few places he could move properly. The blank, black screen that covered the whole of his face was fixed on the supply of what he was informed was energon. But it was bright pink. Considering the odd, or downright negative side effects of any energon apart from the normal blue had on Cybertronians of his world? It was concerning to see. Escape might come in the form of starvation after all.]
TFP Soundwave: OTA
[Chose your own adventure with Slenderbot!]
quietone.))IDW Soundwave: Round 'em up
[Soundwave rather doubted that these 'paklers' would cause any serious issues for the Cybertronians on the ship. They would certainly die if they attempted to consume energon, and their teeth couldn't get through his plates. At most being able to hear them all running around the ship was bothersome to him.]
[However, seeing as a large portion of the crew was human or similar, and he couldn't exactly run a whole ship on his own, he would make an effort to help where he could. If he couldn't fit in an area to grab them himself, he could at least direct the humans as to how many and where the pests were. And if any paklers got underfoot... Well. They wouldn't survive out in space anyways, right?]
IDW Soundwave: OTA
[Chose your own adventure with the giant blue Decepticon!]
TFP Soundwave: On your own
[The ship was crawling with organics. It put him on edge more than he cared to admit. After seeing the end results of the humans' experiments on Breakdown, and those stupid children the Autobots kept managing to lock him in a prison with no escape? He had no desire to deal with them. He had covered his tracks here as much as he could - as soon as he arrived he ensured his name on the network was replaced with a pseudonym. Soundwave would give no one reason to look for or talk to him. One he had a proper plan, he could deal with the feasibility of taking the ship, or escaping it. Escape seemed more probable at the moment.]
[For now, he was in the cargo bay, one of the few places he could move properly. The blank, black screen that covered the whole of his face was fixed on the supply of what he was informed was energon. But it was bright pink. Considering the odd, or downright negative side effects of any energon apart from the normal blue had on Cybertronians of his world? It was concerning to see. Escape might come in the form of starvation after all.]
TFP Soundwave: OTA
[Chose your own adventure with Slenderbot!]
why did it have to be rats?
[ You’d think if there was a single benefit to being pulled from your home and given an unwilling role in a bad sci-fi premise, it’d be the lack of rodents. But, no. Now there are space rats. Not only are they similar enough to the earth version to trigger anyone’s musophobia, but they’re also capable of evolving. Needless to say, Topher’s spent half the day jumping, screeching, and whining to anyone who will listen about the parklers - and that was all before the claws came out.
Now he can be found sitting on a table in the mess hall. No, he’s not helping with the collection effort. He’s...providing moral support to all the hard-working hunters around. ]
Over there! There’s one to your left. No, not in that corner -- the other one!
[ Assuming you find frantic pointing and panic inspiring. ]
no strings attached
[ Unlike the clothes and rodents, this actually isn’t so bad. For the first five minutes. That’s how long it takes Topher’s interest in the phenomenon to turn to boredom, followed by frustration, and finally worry. Nothing that either of them have tried has worked so far, and as amusing as it is to see someone imitate a gesture the first time, it loses entertainment value fast. Especially when you’re stuck in the same situation.
Eventually, he throws his hands up in exasperation. ]
I’m officially out of ideas. Any suggestions? Because my next one involves 'Duck Soup', and I don't think we want to go there.
the anything else option
[ It's a spaceship. Like, in space. Once Topher's gotten that into his head, and discarded any theories about The Attic for the time being, he can be found almost everywhere. His most frequent haunts include the medbay, the science department, and the observation deck. The former two because he can't resist trying to learn whatever he can about this place - genius, duh - and the latter because it's awesome.
If it wasn't for the whole 'unable to get home' and 'likely to die horribly' factors, this would be the coolest trip ever. ]
[ You’d think if there was a single benefit to being pulled from your home and given an unwilling role in a bad sci-fi premise, it’d be the lack of rodents. But, no. Now there are space rats. Not only are they similar enough to the earth version to trigger anyone’s musophobia, but they’re also capable of evolving. Needless to say, Topher’s spent half the day jumping, screeching, and whining to anyone who will listen about the parklers - and that was all before the claws came out.
Now he can be found sitting on a table in the mess hall. No, he’s not helping with the collection effort. He’s...providing moral support to all the hard-working hunters around. ]
Over there! There’s one to your left. No, not in that corner -- the other one!
[ Assuming you find frantic pointing and panic inspiring. ]
no strings attached
[ Unlike the clothes and rodents, this actually isn’t so bad. For the first five minutes. That’s how long it takes Topher’s interest in the phenomenon to turn to boredom, followed by frustration, and finally worry. Nothing that either of them have tried has worked so far, and as amusing as it is to see someone imitate a gesture the first time, it loses entertainment value fast. Especially when you’re stuck in the same situation.
Eventually, he throws his hands up in exasperation. ]
I’m officially out of ideas. Any suggestions? Because my next one involves 'Duck Soup', and I don't think we want to go there.
the anything else option
[ It's a spaceship. Like, in space. Once Topher's gotten that into his head, and discarded any theories about The Attic for the time being, he can be found almost everywhere. His most frequent haunts include the medbay, the science department, and the observation deck. The former two because he can't resist trying to learn whatever he can about this place - genius, duh - and the latter because it's awesome.
If it wasn't for the whole 'unable to get home' and 'likely to die horribly' factors, this would be the coolest trip ever. ]
Edited 2016-03-07 16:35 (UTC)
[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.
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.
[here is riptide walking into the cargo bay because it's a normal day and he has nothing to fear.
here is riptide stopping in his tracks, optics widening when he notices soundwave.]
Oh, jeez. Haha. Oh, man, oh, god. No. Nope. Nooo, no no.
[here is riptide holding his hands up and walking out backwards. he's pretty sure if he turns his back on soundwave, he'll get his energon sucked out.]
here is riptide stopping in his tracks, optics widening when he notices soundwave.]
Oh, jeez. Haha. Oh, man, oh, god. No. Nope. Nooo, no no.
[here is riptide holding his hands up and walking out backwards. he's pretty sure if he turns his back on soundwave, he'll get his energon sucked out.]
[Riptide would find something large and silver standing between him and a swift escape into the hallway. A hand rests on the Autobot's shoulder.]
Calm down. He's just as lost in this region of space as we are.
[The ex-Decepticon isn't expecting much of a warm welcome, but it's not like they can just leave Soundwave to wander around alone. Factions aside, they were all still Cybertronian. They needed to look out for each other.]
Calm down. He's just as lost in this region of space as we are.
[The ex-Decepticon isn't expecting much of a warm welcome, but it's not like they can just leave Soundwave to wander around alone. Factions aside, they were all still Cybertronian. They needed to look out for each other.]
Laundry Problems
[Of all the things to be bemused by after arriving on a giant flying craft that can supposedly traverse the stars, Asgore wouldn't have thought it would be something as simple as the laundry. Going about familiar day to day tasks such as dressing oneself was a good way of grounding his thoughts, he'd found, so to be faced with the dilemma of clothes that did not fit a very large monster, was rather troubling to say the least.]
Hmm... this uniform seems far smaller than I recall. Did it shrink? Perhaps whoever put it here has made a simple mistake.
[Either way, he wasn't about to go out there completely naked (wouldn't that make a good impression of monsterkind?), so he did his best to squeeze into what he had as best as he could. Now to find someone who might be able to help... which required moving. Stiffly. Very stiffly, to the point where the seams of his uniform threatened to burst.
If he meets you in the hallway, you'll likely notice how uncomfortable he is, and when he speaks, it's rather... strained.]
Ah... excuse me. I am... in... in need of some help.
Facing a Mirror
[Just when Asgore felt that things were getting better, he comes face to face with... well, whatever crew member happened to be on the other side of the door he'd just opened.]
Excuse me.
[He tries, attempting to pass, but... whoever is there seems to be mirroring his movements. He tries again, pausing and changing direction, but yet again the other person moves as he does. How very strange.]
I will let you pass instead. Please, go ahead.
[Let's try it the other way around?]
Wild Card
[Bump into Asgore staring into space on one of the observation decks or perusing the gardens and marvelling at the big tree with its long trailing roots. Or make up something else entirely!]
[Of all the things to be bemused by after arriving on a giant flying craft that can supposedly traverse the stars, Asgore wouldn't have thought it would be something as simple as the laundry. Going about familiar day to day tasks such as dressing oneself was a good way of grounding his thoughts, he'd found, so to be faced with the dilemma of clothes that did not fit a very large monster, was rather troubling to say the least.]
Hmm... this uniform seems far smaller than I recall. Did it shrink? Perhaps whoever put it here has made a simple mistake.
[Either way, he wasn't about to go out there completely naked (wouldn't that make a good impression of monsterkind?), so he did his best to squeeze into what he had as best as he could. Now to find someone who might be able to help... which required moving. Stiffly. Very stiffly, to the point where the seams of his uniform threatened to burst.
If he meets you in the hallway, you'll likely notice how uncomfortable he is, and when he speaks, it's rather... strained.]
Ah... excuse me. I am... in... in need of some help.
Facing a Mirror
[Just when Asgore felt that things were getting better, he comes face to face with... well, whatever crew member happened to be on the other side of the door he'd just opened.]
Excuse me.
[He tries, attempting to pass, but... whoever is there seems to be mirroring his movements. He tries again, pausing and changing direction, but yet again the other person moves as he does. How very strange.]
I will let you pass instead. Please, go ahead.
[Let's try it the other way around?]
Wild Card
[Bump into Asgore staring into space on one of the observation decks or perusing the gardens and marvelling at the big tree with its long trailing roots. Or make up something else entirely!]
(Canon point is mid season 3 so if you'd like me to avoid spoilers let me know~!)
Exploring
[There were few things Lexa didn't expect to have happen in the course of her life and presently two points on that very short list had occurred. She'd begun her cautious journey through the ship tense and disorientated trying to understand just where she was and what was going on. With no immediate answers she's still wandering, carefully peering around corners and eyeing passerbys with no small amount of suspicion.
At one point she can be found on the Observation deck, staring in awe out at the endless expanse of space. She never dreamed she'd ever be able to come here, only ever hearing about it from Clarke and seeing it in the books the younger woman had showed her. It quickly loses it's charm as she dwells too long on thoughts of things passed, but she can't find it in her to move just yet.
Much Later there's a chance she'll be found in the Gardens, seemingly perfectly at home among the diverse plant life.]
Wildcard
[Or you can bump into her anywhere else on the ship!]
Exploring
[There were few things Lexa didn't expect to have happen in the course of her life and presently two points on that very short list had occurred. She'd begun her cautious journey through the ship tense and disorientated trying to understand just where she was and what was going on. With no immediate answers she's still wandering, carefully peering around corners and eyeing passerbys with no small amount of suspicion.
At one point she can be found on the Observation deck, staring in awe out at the endless expanse of space. She never dreamed she'd ever be able to come here, only ever hearing about it from Clarke and seeing it in the books the younger woman had showed her. It quickly loses it's charm as she dwells too long on thoughts of things passed, but she can't find it in her to move just yet.
Much Later there's a chance she'll be found in the Gardens, seemingly perfectly at home among the diverse plant life.]
Wildcard
[Or you can bump into her anywhere else on the ship!]
slams into this. also wildcard. i also can do the right formatting.
whatdidisay
2016-03-07 02:21 pm (UTC)(link)
( He's coming back from visiting Elizabeth when he catches a glimpse of his mother, and it has to be his mother, down the hall -- engrossed in something. There's only one person Ivan knows who looks like that, who carries herself like that. Lady Alys Vorpatril, in the flesh. It's been years since Ivan's seen his mother decked out in full mourning colors; she wore the various dark shades for most of his childhood, and had since favored more somber designs and colors even after. But the clothes he recognizes, and a sinking feeling starts in his stomach.
Well, okay, in addition to the one that happened when he realized his mother was here. He could run, though, in the opposite direction and leave this one for someone else to handle. Ivan also knows that, unlike Aunt Cordelia, there is no way he can avoid this confrontation. Even if he does feel like maybe he should leave it to his aunt. She was reassuring enough, right? But it's still his mother, and he can't. Not really.
So instead he attempts to clear his throat casually once he's closer, and offer a hazarding ) Mamere? ( just in case. )
Well, okay, in addition to the one that happened when he realized his mother was here. He could run, though, in the opposite direction and leave this one for someone else to handle. Ivan also knows that, unlike Aunt Cordelia, there is no way he can avoid this confrontation. Even if he does feel like maybe he should leave it to his aunt. She was reassuring enough, right? But it's still his mother, and he can't. Not really.
So instead he attempts to clear his throat casually once he's closer, and offer a hazarding ) Mamere? ( just in case. )
Edited (OK I'M DONE NOW I SWEAR) 2016-03-07 14:22 (UTC)
♣ round 'em up
You bet your ass the moment Elle spotted one of those things, that she tried to lure it back out of its hiding spot. It isn't like she doesn't always carry food with her out of habit, anyway. Between the good old banana yucca trick she learned in Zion and her weird way with animals, she has the thing crawling into her bag as somewhere to hide instead. And then? She takes it to her room.
She will kiss him and love him and squeeze him and hug him and call him George.
Well. Okay, she's not calling him George. She's calling him Bob. You know, short for Shishkabob? Like, "squirrel on a stick"?... look, it's funny in the wasteland. Anyway, the point is, Elle has a new pet. And she's very, very happy about it. She lets it live behind her weird pod bed and leaves boxes of potato crisps and Sugar Bombs open for it.
She tries not to worry too much when fuzzy, mammalian-looking Bob weaves himself a cocoon. Hey, he's an alien squirrel, right? Alien squirrels are allowed to weave cocoons. She ends up getting herself all excited instead, wondering what he's going to turn into.
...
So... Elle may be standing in the hallway outside of her room, trying to barricade the door. She's got, like, a chair. And that's about it. Her eyes are wide as saucers as something throws itself against the other side of the door. There may or may not be the sound of claws scraping down the metal.
"Bob, no! Be good! Sit! Heel!" The thing on the other side of the door roars. Or... something. It's hard to know what word to use to describe alien animal shouting. Elle yells back, "Bad Bob!"
♣ on your own / wildcard (no pun intended it's not my fault)
Alright, so this entire thing is like something out of a bad Pre-War sci-fi holofilm. Or... Maybe, a good one? This spaceship is pretty freaking cool. Whenever Elle encounters tech that's new to her -- which is pretty frequently -- she can't help but think to herself, oh, the Think Tank would love this. And then she's deeply grateful that a Think Tank didn't get transported in with her. That... yeah. Let's just sum that up with a big hearty "that'd be bad" and move on.
Cue Elle sticking her nose into absolutely everything. The observation deck holds a particular marvel for her, given the way it drives home, without a shadow of a doubt, that she really is in outer space. With the stars and the vast blackness and everything. "This is way too cool," she'll utter, but she doesn't stay calm for long. It only takes a short moment for her to start literally bouncing, because this is way too cool! Even in the face of everything else about this, how can she not be excited about space?
The gardens are another favorite spot of hers. Look at that tree! Look at all of these plants! Are some of these crops, even? Once again, she gets swept up in her excitement, because she'll whirl to look at the nearest person and exclaim, "Hey! Do you know much about these? Like, if any of them might grow well in a desert?"
And, of course, there are all the hallways between, and all the other sights there are to see. Elle is going to explore all of it, and with so much enthusiasm.
Edited 2016-03-07 15:32 (UTC)
Round 'em Up
Fatima crouched near a service conduit opening, skillfully balanced on the ludicrous heels of her stiletto pumps, holding a hunting knife in her fist. Time and time again, Artemis had scolded her for training in her high heels instead of in gym shoes. But Fatima had always argued that she never knew what she would be wearing when danger struck. Besides, the pressure of a single woman's stiletto was about the equivalent of an elephant's weight on a man's chest.
It was one of the few arguments she'd ever won.
Force of habit, combined with an intense hatred for the assigned boots for her uniform, had her wearing the shoes when she first spotted the rodents. But while a stiletto heel had the pressure of an elephant, it didn't quite have the accuracy of a knife.
She didn't look like the sort of girl who'd be comfortable hunting down rat monsters. She was California, through and through. All she needed was a purse with a lapdog in it. But Fatima had never been very good at living up to--or down to--expectations.
In the end, she was a hunter. More so than ever since Zelien. But she didn't like to think about that.
Choose Your Own Adventure
Run into Fatima pretty much anywhere. I'm flexible!
Fatima crouched near a service conduit opening, skillfully balanced on the ludicrous heels of her stiletto pumps, holding a hunting knife in her fist. Time and time again, Artemis had scolded her for training in her high heels instead of in gym shoes. But Fatima had always argued that she never knew what she would be wearing when danger struck. Besides, the pressure of a single woman's stiletto was about the equivalent of an elephant's weight on a man's chest.
It was one of the few arguments she'd ever won.
Force of habit, combined with an intense hatred for the assigned boots for her uniform, had her wearing the shoes when she first spotted the rodents. But while a stiletto heel had the pressure of an elephant, it didn't quite have the accuracy of a knife.
She didn't look like the sort of girl who'd be comfortable hunting down rat monsters. She was California, through and through. All she needed was a purse with a lapdog in it. But Fatima had never been very good at living up to--or down to--expectations.
In the end, she was a hunter. More so than ever since Zelien. But she didn't like to think about that.
Choose Your Own Adventure
Run into Fatima pretty much anywhere. I'm flexible!
[ Mamere? Who in the world would be calling her that, much less here of all places?
She turns, lips in a tight line, and she stops cold at the man she sees. ] Padma...?
[ She knows the name is wrong as soon as they leave her lips despite the sharp wrench she feels in her chest. No, Padma's gone due to his own idiotic mistakes, and while there are similarities in his features, they're not quite right for her late husband.
For the first time in her life, Alys feels at a true social disadvantage and has the nagging feeling that somewhere in her brain is an answer she would never consider. Wouldn't dare to even in this strange place. She feels almost frozen as her eyes search his face, his posture, anything for an answer. ]
She turns, lips in a tight line, and she stops cold at the man she sees. ] Padma...?
[ She knows the name is wrong as soon as they leave her lips despite the sharp wrench she feels in her chest. No, Padma's gone due to his own idiotic mistakes, and while there are similarities in his features, they're not quite right for her late husband.
For the first time in her life, Alys feels at a true social disadvantage and has the nagging feeling that somewhere in her brain is an answer she would never consider. Wouldn't dare to even in this strange place. She feels almost frozen as her eyes search his face, his posture, anything for an answer. ]
[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.]
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.]
( ivan doesn't flinch at his father's name, but there's a brief flash of sadness across his face before he buries it down with the dregs of what he thinks about captain lord padma vorpatril. which isn't much, really -- a certain amount of childish jealousy that miles had a father when he didn't. but his father had never existed for ivan, just a name and a plaque on the ground where he burned his hair every birthday morning before the melancholy was replaced with celebration. and sometimes a cake, right after, from a bakery down the street.
he does wish for a good, long moment that he'd left this to aunt cordelia. who would understand better about having an adult child thrown at you upon arrival. ivan swallows past a lump in his throat, and attempts a grin. it is mostly successful, he thinks. )
Er, no. ( smooth, vorpatril. ) Ivan.
( unlike miles, ivan doesn't see the point of breaking his identity to his mother gently. there's no real point to it -- it's bound to come as a shock, anyway. and at least his mother isn't carrying around a severed head demanding a uterine replicator back. vorkosigans.
he is also slightly reassured by the fact his mother doesn't seem to have a set protocol for moments like this. it makes him feel like he'll be excused from any fumbling he does of the situation. )
he does wish for a good, long moment that he'd left this to aunt cordelia. who would understand better about having an adult child thrown at you upon arrival. ivan swallows past a lump in his throat, and attempts a grin. it is mostly successful, he thinks. )
Er, no. ( smooth, vorpatril. ) Ivan.
( unlike miles, ivan doesn't see the point of breaking his identity to his mother gently. there's no real point to it -- it's bound to come as a shock, anyway. and at least his mother isn't carrying around a severed head demanding a uterine replicator back. vorkosigans.
he is also slightly reassured by the fact his mother doesn't seem to have a set protocol for moments like this. it makes him feel like he'll be excused from any fumbling he does of the situation. )
[ No amount of time in Vorbarr Sultana's social and political scene could have prepared her for this. No matter how much she wishes it had.
She catches that flicker of sadness, the name means something to him at least. It adds more weight to his next words, as fumbled as they are, and she's looking at him with new eyes. It takes another moment of searching, but it clicks. There as much her in him as Padma and is this really her son once he's in adulthood?
There's one question keeping her in place, though the urge to stride toward him and examine him more closely is growing close to overwhelming. ]
Ivan? But how?
[ He's alive. If this is really Ivan then he's alive and that thought alone has her fighting back the few tears that threaten to fall.
Surely even a place like this wouldn't play a joke so cruel. ]
She catches that flicker of sadness, the name means something to him at least. It adds more weight to his next words, as fumbled as they are, and she's looking at him with new eyes. It takes another moment of searching, but it clicks. There as much her in him as Padma and is this really her son once he's in adulthood?
There's one question keeping her in place, though the urge to stride toward him and examine him more closely is growing close to overwhelming. ]
Ivan? But how?
[ He's alive. If this is really Ivan then he's alive and that thought alone has her fighting back the few tears that threaten to fall.
Surely even a place like this wouldn't play a joke so cruel. ]
Errolyn is walking along, trying to get his bearings in this new space and enjoying a cigarette, when Elle walks directly into him, like she does.
He blankly stares at her for a beat and a half, the cigarette hanging limply from his lips, before he recovers.
"Ah, good. What took you? We seem to have lost the car and gained a capital ship, though I'd much rather the car, to be honest. Do you have those notes on the GDI conference? I seem to have misplaced those upon arrival, and I was thinking I'd look over them while we had the time away."
[The way he's speaking, he clearly thinks he knows her, and is apparently treating her as some kind of compatriot. Or employee.]
He blankly stares at her for a beat and a half, the cigarette hanging limply from his lips, before he recovers.
"Ah, good. What took you? We seem to have lost the car and gained a capital ship, though I'd much rather the car, to be honest. Do you have those notes on the GDI conference? I seem to have misplaced those upon arrival, and I was thinking I'd look over them while we had the time away."
[The way he's speaking, he clearly thinks he knows her, and is apparently treating her as some kind of compatriot. Or employee.]
Edited 2016-03-07 16:53 (UTC)
Scott looked absolutely amazing in his suddenly super tight uniform, but, don't get him wrong he's digging the new look, it's just not practical. So he strips down to his boxers and socks, tugs on his shoes, drapes the uniform over an arm and leaves his room.
"Hey, man, what's going on with our clothes?"
He doesn't mind that he's pretty close to naked, he's still mostly covered.
"This is too tight when it fit perfectly yesterday."
"Hey, man, what's going on with our clothes?"
He doesn't mind that he's pretty close to naked, he's still mostly covered.
"This is too tight when it fit perfectly yesterday."
[ 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?
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?
[ this is, admittedly, not the first time miles has woken up in some corner of the library without remembering how he got there -- a near month's worth of sleep deprivation hasn't done much for his short term memory or his...anything, really, but hell if he's going to go back to entertaining nightmares every night. and the few sedatives the medbay had to offer that he's not allergic to haven't done much for them, either. so he's looking even more gaunt than unusual, dark rings like bruises around his eyes, and there's a more distinct limp to his gait than there used to be -- and a pair of leg braces like he hasn't worn in years.
miles glances at his MID when he staggers to his feet and tries to judge how long he's been out -- a few hours, maybe? his best guess, anyway. ah, well. elizabeth won't mind that he'd fallen asleep in her little nap space again, he's sure -- and at least this time he didn't wake up hallucinating.
and that's when he damn near walks past captain duv galeni in the library, bringing himself up short with a double-take. yeah, that sure is his erstwhile CO paging through paper books with that look of engrossment and...yeah, that's duv galeni, alright. but is it really duv galeni? miles wonders how well it would be received to stop, reach out to poke galeni's arm and ask pardon me, but are you real, or can i just assume you'll go away if i close my eyes long enough?
to his credit, though, this time he manages not to react in shock -- a few ounces of savoir faire and relative composition regained through a few hours' sleep give him the wherewithall to saunter up next to galeni, leaning against the shelf as he cocks an eyebrow up at him. he figures if this one's just a hallucination then at least the likelihood of anyone catching him talking to thin air is fairly low. ]
Captain Galeni. [ miles, somehow, mostly manages to keep the dry creak of exhaustion out of his otherwise conversational tone. he blinks rapidly, his eyes too bright, too hyper-alert to really constitute a well-rested look. ] I didn't see you on the list of new arrivals, although I suppose I'm not surprised to find you here.
[ he's barely even gotten halfway through the list of new arrivals, bogged down with new personnel files as his desk is. so whether galeni's really here or not is a total toss-up to him. ]
miles glances at his MID when he staggers to his feet and tries to judge how long he's been out -- a few hours, maybe? his best guess, anyway. ah, well. elizabeth won't mind that he'd fallen asleep in her little nap space again, he's sure -- and at least this time he didn't wake up hallucinating.
and that's when he damn near walks past captain duv galeni in the library, bringing himself up short with a double-take. yeah, that sure is his erstwhile CO paging through paper books with that look of engrossment and...yeah, that's duv galeni, alright. but is it really duv galeni? miles wonders how well it would be received to stop, reach out to poke galeni's arm and ask pardon me, but are you real, or can i just assume you'll go away if i close my eyes long enough?
to his credit, though, this time he manages not to react in shock -- a few ounces of savoir faire and relative composition regained through a few hours' sleep give him the wherewithall to saunter up next to galeni, leaning against the shelf as he cocks an eyebrow up at him. he figures if this one's just a hallucination then at least the likelihood of anyone catching him talking to thin air is fairly low. ]
Captain Galeni. [ miles, somehow, mostly manages to keep the dry creak of exhaustion out of his otherwise conversational tone. he blinks rapidly, his eyes too bright, too hyper-alert to really constitute a well-rested look. ] I didn't see you on the list of new arrivals, although I suppose I'm not surprised to find you here.
[ he's barely even gotten halfway through the list of new arrivals, bogged down with new personnel files as his desk is. so whether galeni's really here or not is a total toss-up to him. ]
on your own.
[ He doesn't think his life could get any worse than this — his life torn from one universe to another. From death trap to the next. The doctor gripes the entire way through his physical, throwing snippy comments at anyone within earshot, arms folding across his chest, pouting like a stubborn child until he's handed his gear.
The days that follow aren't much better. McCoy reports to his assigned job in a huff, stomps into the mess hall for all his meals — and coffee cravings. He keeps to himself most of the time, his back hunched over the table, stabbing at his food with a fork.
He explores the ship during his leisure hours, poking his head into the gardens and medbay before eventually scurrying off. The observation deck is the only place he actively tries to avoid, for the sake of his nerves. ]
what's yours is mine.
[ He couldn't believe this. His uniform fit perfectly the other day. Now, it's size too short. The sleeves and pants were a couple inches too short. The doctor stuck out his arms and watched the fabric roll up past his wrists. Great. Just what needs to start his day.
He stalks through the halls metaphorical storm cloud over his head, darkening his demeanor and making things miserable for everyone around him. He steps into one of the lifts with a huff, his eyes casting a look over at the only other passenger. Stomping to one side, he folds his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his uniform roll up as he does, and show off a good part of his forearm before he notices and shoves his arms back to his sides.
His head tilts down and he grumbles something unintelligible. ]
[ He doesn't think his life could get any worse than this — his life torn from one universe to another. From death trap to the next. The doctor gripes the entire way through his physical, throwing snippy comments at anyone within earshot, arms folding across his chest, pouting like a stubborn child until he's handed his gear.
The days that follow aren't much better. McCoy reports to his assigned job in a huff, stomps into the mess hall for all his meals — and coffee cravings. He keeps to himself most of the time, his back hunched over the table, stabbing at his food with a fork.
He explores the ship during his leisure hours, poking his head into the gardens and medbay before eventually scurrying off. The observation deck is the only place he actively tries to avoid, for the sake of his nerves. ]
what's yours is mine.
[ He couldn't believe this. His uniform fit perfectly the other day. Now, it's size too short. The sleeves and pants were a couple inches too short. The doctor stuck out his arms and watched the fabric roll up past his wrists. Great. Just what needs to start his day.
He stalks through the halls metaphorical storm cloud over his head, darkening his demeanor and making things miserable for everyone around him. He steps into one of the lifts with a huff, his eyes casting a look over at the only other passenger. Stomping to one side, he folds his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his uniform roll up as he does, and show off a good part of his forearm before he notices and shoves his arms back to his sides.
His head tilts down and he grumbles something unintelligible. ]
( how is a lot more complicated than it seems -- even ivan's not aware of the ins and out of the ingress. )
The Ingress doesn't really care about when we're from, I guess. Miles probably knows more, or Aunt Cordelia. They're both here, along with Gregor, by the way. Although Aunt Cordelia's from the middle of the Pretendership.
( his mother knows who he is, and dressed the way she is means that she has to be from after, although ivan's not sure when. he doesn't ever remember his mother looking this young, but he supposes she must have been. at some point.
he never imagined his mother showing up. well, that's not exactly true -- he feared his mother would show up in all of her vorish glory and take charge in the way she always does when managing social events. he wasn't expecting this, the difference in times between the two of them tugging at the bonds of family he tries to ignore. it almost makes him have a small amount of sympathy for his cousin.
running a hand through his hair, ivan finds himself aimlessly lost in what to do next. how do you do this? he should have asked miles instead of making fun of him, damnit. well, too late now. and the answer would have probably been vastly unhelpful in the first place. )
The Ingress doesn't really care about when we're from, I guess. Miles probably knows more, or Aunt Cordelia. They're both here, along with Gregor, by the way. Although Aunt Cordelia's from the middle of the Pretendership.
( his mother knows who he is, and dressed the way she is means that she has to be from after, although ivan's not sure when. he doesn't ever remember his mother looking this young, but he supposes she must have been. at some point.
he never imagined his mother showing up. well, that's not exactly true -- he feared his mother would show up in all of her vorish glory and take charge in the way she always does when managing social events. he wasn't expecting this, the difference in times between the two of them tugging at the bonds of family he tries to ignore. it almost makes him have a small amount of sympathy for his cousin.
running a hand through his hair, ivan finds himself aimlessly lost in what to do next. how do you do this? he should have asked miles instead of making fun of him, damnit. well, too late now. and the answer would have probably been vastly unhelpful in the first place. )
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