( tdm 11 )

[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. ) H A I S T O S Unlike previously visited locations, the sweltering heat of this planet can be felt long before arrival. The surface of Haistos is not a place for those with a weak constitution. It’s in a constant state of low-level volcanic activity as its land masses are dotted with many volcanoes—all of them spewing black ash into the air. Breathing is difficult without the aid of a respirator due to the potential of breathing in ash, and the plant life is stunted, adapted to living in an environment with little sunlight. The weather is unpredictable, and ash-storms will often blow in fiercely, leaving people trapped for a hours at a time before they blow themselves out. But that same ash which chokes everything on this planet is what also provides its livelihood. Haistos’ volcanic resources are a highly sought-after commodity elsewhere in the universe, and as long as gathering the ash is profitable, people will continue to return. Looking closely, etched into the curling paths of ignimbrite deposits that swirl along the base of the volcanoes is a language that is easily translated by the MID, often resembling Latin. Carved over time by visitors and travelers, it tells a tale of fire and stone and power. Some might even say there are mystic abilities associated with these volcanoes, though the rumors and myths behind it seem to be nothing but a warning to those who think to go looking for it. It’s also hard to tell if the words carry any true meaning since there are no natives to question, and all those who harvest the ash can only tell stories. Still, it’s apparent that people from many different times have all added to the scrolling messages. A word of caution: you cannot build here. Stone, metal, and wood all burn, all crumble. Only what is true can survive, and fire will show its true quality. ☄ breathing sparks Despite the haphazard lay of the land, there are things to do. Or, at least, things to see. The rocky terrain often leads to some inactive volcanoes that are perfect for exploring and harvesting the ash that continues to rain down across Haistos. There are step-like structures built into the sides of the volcanic craters, narrow but sturdy. With each move down, the air gets even thicker, and your respirator takes longer and longer to filter the unbreathable atmosphere the deeper into the planet you travel. Yet, the risk of asphyxiation is worth what awaits at the bottom of the staircase. Still warm, the volcanic rocks that are sunk into the deposits are both smooth and clear as crystal. Most of these gems retain heat permanently and can be used to warm small spaces. Gathering too many together in a single place, however, creates a reaction with the limited air supply and can spark a faux volcanic eruption—yes, these rocks are capable of producing lava at an impossibly quick rate. Is it possible to outrun the flow and reach the steps before it begins filling the bottom of the crater? The only thing worse than a sudden swimming pool of lava would be the respirator finally breaking because of the abrupt, extreme heat, wouldn’t it? ☄ under pressure Despite being unable to actually build any structures of substance on Haistos, walking around the planet itself is surprisingly easy. Due to its unusual composition, the ground itself is a noticeable mixture of dark rock and shining surfaces. More than that, each step around the bases of the volcanoes reveals something both amazing and rather fascinating: the ability to create diamonds without much pressure at all. It only takes a single step or even a hand print. Take a break and sit to rest? Diamonds. Wrestling over what pile of ash is yours to claim? Diamonds. Tripping and falling and refusing to get up so that no one sees your embarrassment? Diamonds. Suddenly, moving around on Haistos has taken a whole new turn. Especially when it’s completely possible to keep what you make with your very own body weight. ☄ if you break it, you buy it Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet. At the base of one of the smaller volcanoes, this message is carved into the rock in large, curling script. The volcano is currently inactive and is dotted with openings large enough for visitors to enter through. Stranger than the message is the faint tinkling sound - almost like glass clinking against glass - that grows louder the deeper into the volcano you go. The intricate honeycomb of paths all lead in the same direction—towards the sound and a mellow blue glow. At the center, the sound is loud and the light illuminates a large space. Thousands of crystalline creatures swirl and bump against one another, the source of both the sound and light. They appear to be a cross between a lightning bug and bee, glowing and noisy and harmless. The beautiful sight may, or may not, be dampened by the fact that the cavern is littered with glass honeycombs that have been built up within the bodies of fallen travelers. It’s clear that the organisms didn’t harm them, perhaps the result of too much ash or broken respirators, and the honey they’ve produced is light blue and clear. It’s sweet if eaten, bright and citrus-y, and carries an earthy undertone, making the skin glow temporarily after ingesting. If careful, visitors may harvest the honey, but do not disturb the creatures. Their wings are sharp, and when agitated, they swarm out of fear. 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!

Comments

[worn_wings]

Fleetingly, he wonders at that-- she must be half starved, coming from when she did. He's well-fed and healthy enough, but straight out of their world, if he trusted the food at all he would've cleaned the place out. But Carol, well, maybe it's just she's not in the mood to take care of herself, or maybe she doesn't buy that it's safe. Hard to say.

A little too slow, he nods at the clipped-off almost-question, wonders what else she might have held back on. He's been through the observation deck, and he's pretty sure he can get back there. It won't be like it would if he could pull her close and the two of them could feel tiny but not alone, looking out on a field of unfamiliar stars stretching on forever, but it might be nice all the same.

"We can. 'N maybe get you fed after."

If he plays his cards right and she sees he isn't gonna keel over poisoned, maybe she'll let him make sure she takes care of herself.

[dum_spiro]

A joke about the vast difference in their appetites is all but out before she remembers she's supposed to be starving (probably. She doesn't exactly know how things are right after Tyreese, only that it seems safe to assume 'not good'). It's not only her feelings about him that have to be kept quiet, it's everything, and she's not used to that anymore. Lying to him feels all the worse because she knows,now, how it hurts him when she does. Every word out of her mouth feels like that falling tree.

In the end, she doesn't say a thing about the prospect of eating. Lying is just too hard and she's out of practice, and this whole thing reminds her of why it was so frighteningly easy to convince herself that letting nothing in was preferable to being genuine. At least she's learned enough to put off making that decision right now, because she's not exactly thinking straight, and thankfully she got enough in the habit of second-guessing herself whenever she wants to run and hide.

Thankfully, almost everything she passes is a jumping off point for a subject change. In this case, a panel on one of the walls.

"Dare you to go press five of those buttons and see what happens." She offers a sidelong grin, obviously a little forced but it's not as if that should be anything new.

[worn_wings]

"Oughta give 'em a couple days before I start breakin' things," he argues, faintly amused.

It's hard to let his spirits get too high, not with everything that's weighing on him. Strange galaxies, familiar faces, memories he can't get to line up with what should be.

And-- well, and Carol jokes like that when she's trying to cover, often, and he can't quite sort out what she's covering for.

Fortunately the hall ahead opens up, and in lieu of having to say anything he just points. It is, he has to admit, a hell of a view.

[dum_spiro]

"Chicken," she parries, all fondness. Too late it occurs to her that maybe that's a bridge too far, it's difficult to remember how far those boundaries moved over the years in Teleios. Not that far, she thinks. But it's telling indeed that she's bothering to second guess.

She happens to still be glancing at him when he points (was she looking for too long?) and that diverts her attention ahead. Even having seen a similar sight before, it's still pretty incredible, and she jogs forward to get a better look. Given the empty husk of a world they left behind, it's really something to see the sheer possibilities that a space view like this brings to mind. Life going on somewhere, somehow, even if not for all of them. Not quite as touching as the view of Earth, but still impressive, and still choking her up a little.

...Though, in fairness, she could be nearly crying for any number of reasons. Hopefully Daryl will assume the less suspicious ones, to which there's more than a grain of truth.

[worn_wings]

It feels natural enough, not too casual, not strange enough to draw his attention on its own. But he's keeping it in mind, a slow count of things he can't piece together just yet. In time, whatever it is will come to light-- or it'll turn out that it's just him being out of step. Either way.

Her steps quicken but he hangs back just a little, letting her have that lead. Already he's spent a fair amount of time standing there staring out into space, thinking of everything left behind. It's beautiful, no doubt about that-- meaningless, in another way. The distance is beyond his ability to comprehend.

Coming up behind her to look out, he sets a hand on the small of her back-- a gesture that would have been familiar and safe at home, he thinks, and he wants that sense of connection.

It's just habit that his fingertips fall perfectly over the leaves inked there.

[dum_spiro]

There have been moments, still are though they're fewer and farther between, when being touched would make her jump. She likely would have now, except that for a beat she's convinced it's her imagination. By the time she's certain that it's real, there's no abrupt flinching, only stillness. The last thing she would want is for him to move, and she can't even manage to care that she's using his offered comfort as some twisted recompense for the hurt she's feeling.

One thing about growing up in a family of Southern church-goers, you learn to judge people. Carol spent far too much of her life doing that, and it's part of why she's still so hard on herself. There was always gossip around the tables at potlucks, women in their big hats chattering about who was running around on his wife or who the real father of Mrs. Wilkins' baby is. She always found it astounding that people would make those sort of impulsive decisions and wreck their lives and reputations, especially when she was always so careful, always planning, keeping Ed's punishments at the fore so she could calculate how far to push. Just plain lack of honor and willpower, those people who can't manage to follow a few simple rules, she'd thought.

But right now, with Daryl's hand on her back in exactly the right place, she gets it. How someone could let an impulse, a silly and selfish want, ruin everything. She never wanted anything more in her life than to pivot into his arms and yank him close, knowing he'd give whatever she asked and not caring what taking that kind of advantage would make her.

Instead, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and looks over at him. "I'm okay," she says quietly, knowing he can clearly see that she's lying, and not even very well. Fumbling for an excuse and settling on not wanting him to think he did anything wrong, she tucks herself against his side, her head ducking to rest on his shoulder, arms slipping around him for one gentle squeeze before hanging loose around his waist. Not the right thing to do, but not as wrong as what she really wants. It feels good, so damn good that she'd throw everything away for another few moments before he shrugs her off in embarrassment.

[worn_wings]

It is, he thinks, not as uncomfortable as he'd expected, to stand here like this. He hadn't thought to reach for her until he did it; half expected, as he did, that she might pull away. But of course, whatever he's lost in losing her this time, it's not everything. He thinks of their clasped hands going off the overpass, the way she'd let him bully her into taking care of herself, into letting anyone else take care of her. That doesn't mean it's easy to predict when she'll draw back, when she won't be able to let herself feel it.

There's no way she's okay, not really, no more than he is-- no more than anyone could be in a situation like this-- but he lets it lie. Okay enough. Gotta be. What takes him by surprise, for a moment at least, is that she leans in against him instead of pulling away-- offering comfort, which makes sense, but accepting it, which is always the harder thing for Carol. Or so it seems.

It can't be fair of him to do this. Not this-- leaning against each other, offering and taking some solace in everything they have shared-- but keeping the secret. Puzzling through it is just a long knot of doubt. If she doesn't remember, it doesn't change the fact that he does, and if she'd feel unfairly violated by him knowing, wouldn't it be doubly a betrayal to hide that from her? Ignorance is bliss, though-- and she's worked, for the most part, to avoid learning too much about her own future. Whether that's different when it's in the past... And what if she's just carefully avoiding asking, the same way he is?

There's got to be something-- some idle old joke that won't demand too much explanation if it passes her by, or something. If she's expecting him to pull away, she's got a surprise in store. The thought doesn't even cross his mind. He doesn't think he would have, before Teleios. Not after everything, after Atlanta. In Alexandria it'd be her keeping her distance.

Hell, he should've let her snoop around the kitchen. At least he'd have probably managed to talk her into eating at least a little of whatever she made, and if she'd stumbled after cooking it, he might have some answers.

"Might could let you make me a grilled cheese," he murmurs at length, with all the warmth he can muster-- an obvious joke, perfectly casual, hopefully sufficient to lighten the mood if that's all it does (because the truth is he isn't even hungry), but he's thinking of a particular moment that maybe she'll recall.

(And if she does, well, maybe she'll be bold enough to say so.)

[dum_spiro]

Probably, it should pique her something's not right reflex that he's okay with so much contact when they've tended to be more sparing about it, according to her (somewhat trauma-fuzzied, admittedly) memories of before Teleios, which she'll have to remember to call "home" now. This feels... like it should feel, like a real home, and that's not how it should be at all. And then, in the midst of arguing with herself about how much less comfortable she should feel, he drops that.

Her first thought, oddly, is yet another wave of panic, which maybe he can ascertain given that she tenses up. Because no way he's not going to notice when he eats whatever she decides to cook that he feels a small but certainly evident surge of energy. She never figured out how to keep things entirely neutral, only how to enhance it. And, while she's busy getting frantic about that, it dawns on her the joke he just made. It certainly could be nothing, and she's quite sure that it's her own wishful thinking reading into it a callback to that night she beckoned him from his rabbit traps back to the farmhouse on the strange psychic bracelets Teleios used (she even misses those, how utterly crazy). It really could be just an innocent comment, albeit one that's coincidentally cutting damn close to the quick.

But... what if...?

"Those are best at three in the morning," she says, just enough humor in her clogged voice to pass it off as something that people just say. (She's being stupid, frankly, to let herself hope, knowing it couldn't ever be that simple. If, on the other hand, he hits another point that's far too close to home, she could duck her head just a little more -- she knows exactly how much, of course -- and someone who was looking for it would see a flash of black on the nape of her neck. But, of course, that's ridiculous, and really she should have let go already...)

[worn_wings]

There's no reason at all for her to panic. No reason he can account for, unless it's that she's trying to account for something she can't say, and there's very little he can imagine would fit that bill other than a few years' memories in another world. Carol, like anyone, is entitled to her privacy-- more than most, maybe, given she was denied it for so long-- but if there's a chance of this then damn right he wants to dig a little deeper.

He answers that with an affirmative hum. Maybe not as clear a confirmation as she'd hoped, if she's hoping. Her idle comment isn't exactly a declaration either, and for a moment he almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is if they really are avoiding the same thing, oblivious to the collateral damage of sparing each other's feelings.

He racks his brain for a better answer, something more sure, something she couldn't mistake, but short of blurting out the whole truth he hasn't got many food ideas. Instead he shifts his hand all too casually-- she has to feel it, the intent stillness of his stance, the way his attention is wholly focused on her-- and settles it on her shoulder. Not so abnormal. She shouldn't find it too unusual; they're close, of course, at home they're close, especially after Terminus, after Atlanta.

(And if he's right, then she doesn't know that.)

His fingers fall idly on her shirt, his thumb falls deliberately along the line of her spine, and he tries to figure out a way to look without seeming like he's looking.

[dum_spiro]

When his touch, yet again, is uncannily accurate, her thoughts go from confusion to flat-out reeling, not that it's outwardly evident as practiced as she is at appearing controlled when she's anything but. Part of her wants to leap away for reasons both noble and selfish, but that would lead to its own questions that she isn't prepared to answer. How did this get so out of hand so quickly? (Her only explanation, of course, is to blame herself, that Daryl's just trying to respond to her pressuring him to stay this physically close and doesn't have a clue about the loss he's innocently dredging up.)

Rather than startle away, she releases her hold and slowly moves to step out from his, because if she stays like this there's no way she won't cry and that impression is not the one she wants to leave him with. Her hand immediately moves to rest against the back of her neck, then moved just as quickly when she becomes aware she's doing it -- which may be telling, but only in the sense that she's not usually fidgety unless someone knew what she was hiding there. Far more telling is that she's quickly getting red in the face because she knows exactly how unhinged she must seem.

"-- Sorry. It's not..." Why is she talking? She knows better than to talk when she doesn't know what she's about to say. But she owes him an explanation for why she's acting like a lunatic, he has to know it's not a rejection because if she has to see that hurt look on his face again because of something she did she's really gonna lose it. And here she thought being suddenly on a spaceship was the most complicated thing she'd have to do today.

"I know I look crazy, but..." But what? Come on, think! In the end all she can do is murmur under her breath, "God, I don't know where to start."

Those moments when you're watching yourself be an idiot and can't manage to shut up despite how loudly your rational self is screaming for you to just stop? Yeah. But if she's going down in flames at least she won't be a liar to boot.

[worn_wings]

If he didn't know, the way she's acting would look crazy as hell. If he didn't know, he wouldn't have been able to do that, though-- to trace the unseen line of ink unerringly. She's not thinking that through-- of course she isn't, because she's not letting herself believe she could be so lucky, he thinks. It's reasonable enough. He's only half sure himself, even with the evidence mounting. It makes perfect sense-- even better, it makes the rest of everything that doesn't make sense make perfect sense.

And he should be dealing with this more gently, but with the rush of relief and the disorientation of where they are and the sudden lifting of the burden of inexplicable grief he couldn't share?

Yeah, rationality can take a hike. He laughs, warm and short and breathy, takes half a step closer. Fuck it-- at this point if he's wrong, things are muddled enough that it won't matter.

"C'mon, lemme see," he says encouragingly, a low rumble of amusement. And then-- Heaven help him if he's wrong--

"You gonna make me take my shirt off here?"

[dum_spiro]

To say his reaction isn't what she was expecting doesn't begin to cover it, and by the time he offers to take his shirt off her mouth is working silently as she struggles to follow, and she's half convinced that space makes people go utterly mad... until, at last, it sinks in. Her momentary confusion gives way to a shock of understanding, and then giddy, free-floating relief.

Placing a hand on her hip, she levels him with a look that would be frighteningly stern if she weren't so obviously holding back a stupid grin. Yeah, he got one over her this time, for a second, and honestly she could not possibly care less. But she's never going to roll over that easily, especially not when, as it turns out, she doesn't have to explain something incredibly strange and complicated in a time and place that has enough of both without her help.

"Exactly how long were you going to let me think I was going nuts?" she demands, looking for all the world like she's going to give him a good thumping for scaring her like that. But, of course, he'll know she's screwing with him.

He'll know. God damn she's never been more relieved to have just been acting like a loon, if that's what finally tipped him off.

[worn_wings]

Acting like a loon certainly didn't hurt-- it was enough to prove he wasn't imagining everything. If it'd been in his head, she might have reacted oddly, but not like that-- not so unsure, like she couldn't trust herself around him. Looking at it that way, he has a much better sense of what she must have thought-- which is something to chew on another day (because there's never been a time, not since they left the quarry almost, when she couldn't have leaned on him if she needed it, and she oughta know that). For the moment he doesn't care about a goddamn thing.

"Dunno," he answers, not bothering to hide his own grin. Because she remembers, she knows, neither of them are crazy and there's nothing to hide. "Bout as long as I felt like I was, I guess."

And if she's got no reason to keep stepping back, well, there's no reason not to reach for her now, right?

[dum_spiro]

If they're crazy, then it's like she always told herself when Teleios seemed too good to be true: it's the good kind. They both know enough about life and how hard and exhausting it can be, how it piles weight after weight on your back until you think you can't go on anymore and then, somehow, you can't seem to stop putting one foot in front of the other. Something like this, like they built in Teleios, their home, if that kind of relative happiness is crazy then sanity can take a flying Goddamn leap.

Huffing, she shakes her head in mock disappointment. "You're just the worst," she says, and then practically jumps into his arms. There'd be a kiss here, and a good one too, but she's actually crying a little now as she clings to him with a desperation that would be embarrassing if she weren't sure his feelings on the matter echo hers. Not tears of grief, of course, but the way she'll cry when he runs to embrace her outside Terminus, if she ever goes back, not that she knows that yet. Crying because her relief and joy and gratitude is so immense that something had to give, and with Daryl here and whole and with at least the important memories intact she's sure as hell not going to sacrifice her hold on him.

"I thought..." Well, it's obvious what she thought. They'd both been ready for that, to leave Teleios and have those two years-and-change vanish utterly. She couldn't decide which would be worse: going back to the shell of a person she was after Lizzy and Terminus, or having to pretend to. But she doesn't have to do either, and it's the closest she's come to thanking any God that might be out there for anything in so, so long. Maybe there will be awkward explanations to make at some point to someone or another about it, but at least she won't be facing it alone. In so many ways nothing has really changed for them in this strange new place where they don't know the rules or have any alliances to help them out, their family isn't whole. But now, for her, what felt insurmountable a few moments ago is suddenly a piece of cake by comparison, because if this can happen, if life or fate or whatever decided to grant them the space and chance to find each other yet again in spite of the astronomical odds, then by God anything is possible.

Burrowing her face into the crook of his neck, she lets out a puff of laughter that's almost a sob. It feels stupid, selfish, to be so relieved about this when having him here and safe would already be more than she deserves, and how many times did she tell herself that it didn't matter as long as they had each other somehow? No denying it anymore, which feels oddly freeing in itself.

[worn_wings]

She closes the distance, and he wraps his arms around her as tightly as he did after she found them, in the woods outside Terminus-- as tight as he did when she came back to Teleios. For just a second he lifts her off her feet, and then he's just hanging on, resting his cheek against her as she tucks herself in against his neck.

Of course he knows what she thought; the same thing he'd thought, that they'd lost each other. This isn't where either of them is supposed to be-- and maybe it makes more sense that they both got lost the same way, but he couldn't have dared to count on it. He just hums, vague and low, affirmative and affectionate, something she'll probably feel more than here the way she's pressed against him. Yeah. He gets it.

It's another long moment before he can trust his voice to say anything.

"Took a wrong turn."

[dum_spiro]

She doesn't blame him for taking those few moments before speaking, because everything she needs to hear he's saying without words. Dizzy with relief, it'll be another good few moments before she can answer anyway, busy as she is thanking whatever broken pieces that thing called the Ingress has and kicking all those complicated, painful thoughts of keeping herself held back out of her head.

"A broken machine," she says, laughing now more than crying, because it would be a goddamn fluke like that that let them stay together instead of going back to the hell on Earth like the last two years never existed. Sure, they intended to go back and help, but it didn't go that way and she can't manage to be sorry for it. "We should go buy a lottery ticket, if they have one here."

Finally pulling back -- just enough to look him in the eye, smiling so much she thinks something might break, not caring enough to wipe at her wet face -- she changes her mind immediately and tugs him close again, for a kiss if he wants one, adding 'being in public' to the list of things she doesn't care a whit about.