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leavin’ on a jet plane
"Don’t know when I’ll be back again."
ABOARD THE MOIRAThe Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay. Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. Any questions you might have would be answered in a straightforward manner as well as an explanation about how the Ingress, the thing that has pulled you onto the Moira, is broken and bringing people here unintentionally. This process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand or wrist with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters. 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. You may notice a slight change in the artificial gravity every once in awhile; however, more noticeable changes can be found in overall morale of those of the crew.
☄ on your ownThere 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. ) The day begins normally. Or almost.
The Moira has accidentally fallen along the trajectory of an asteroid barreling its way through space. While most things like this are not uncommon, and the ship is far from any potential danger of collision or risk of debris damaging the exterior, there is something particularly odd about this specific occurrence. The rock itself appears to give off a strange light that is both eerie and alive. Often, if looked at in just the right manner, it will shift colors; so, while one person sees one side of the spectrum, someone else could see something entirely different. At first, things continue on as they usually do aside from the glowing asteroid alongside the Moira, but as the hours go on, that does not seem to be the case.
☄ the hours are breathingresignedly beneath the sky the melancholy waters lieWith a rather open view of stars and space, thanks to the skylight above, the pool in the rec area suddenly comes alive beneath the light of the asteroid filtering in. Perhaps it’s some natural response to the chemical composition of the water, or perhaps it’s magic. Yet, regardless of the explanation, those who happen to take a dip suddenly find themselves plagued by despair. The depression and melancholy are not subtle changes either; it slams into you with great force, like a punch to the gut. The longer you remain in the pool, the deeper it grows, like an all-consuming paranoia that settles into the back of your mind and causes your heart to grow heavy. These strong feelings will eventually fade if you choose to leave the pool and dry off, but as long as you remain damp from the pool, those emotions will continue to linger. Even after you’re completely dry, there will be no mistaking just how intensely you felt or why. There is no explanation and might not be. Would you dare a second swim to test whether or not it was a fluke? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
☄ those who have crossedthe eyes are not here, there are no eyes hereThe walls are shrinking in. Every room you step into feels much too small, like there isn’t enough room to even breathe. A crowded place becomes startlingly empty, and no matter how much you run, how much you explore, there is no one there to comfort you or answer your calls for help. Hallucinations run strong between the lulls of obscene loneliness or claustrophobia, and exposure to the glow of the asteroid is really the only thing to thank for that. You’re desperate to claw your way out of the ship—open the emergency hatch in the Cargo Bay, bust the glass of the Observation Deck. What’s worse is that it’s not just you. It’s catching, and the fear of being next is very real. It feels like you’re being watched, that everyone around you is looking and seeing everything you are. Or are not. The only way to make it stop is to admit that you’re afraid of being seen, but who, in the deep madness of the self, has the courage to ever admit the truth? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
☄ the sun in flightrage, rage against the dying of the lightSomething has drifted its way onto the Moira from the outside. Unlike the faint luminosity they give off, they suck up all the light around them, making them the only source to see by. From far away, they are just flitting balls of light, but if you get close enough to inspect them, they are mean. And have sharp, sharp teeth. Go poking, and they will bite you before trying to fly away while taking that only light source with them. The option to avoid them is quite easy if you’re not the curious sort, but without them around, it will be impossibly dark. As the asteroid moves on in the opposite direction of the Moira, these light creatures begin to dissolve and fade away with it. However, a word of caution: their bites glow. If you don’t manage to find the one that bit you and capture it between your hands, the bite will become a permanent glowing fixture of your body. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
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thisavrou_ooc2016-07-08 05:07 pm
no subject
Not that it would mean much to him.
So she hopes.
Any of the stencils back home would get them into years of trouble. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea... Vivian wouldn't approve.
But when he says red, she brightens, smiling broadly, nodding. Geo opens her mouth, closes it again. How to put it... She points to her ear and gives him a thumbs up. Perfect hearing! Then, she points to her throat and slashes a flat palm across it quickly.]
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[ Sitting down and balancing the stencil on one knee, he tears off a small strip of tape which he carefully covers one of the rips with. So long as she's not telling him no. ] Let me just put some tape on this, then it's not gonna rip all the way through so easy. 'kay? And then we can get to work. [ Gives her a smile. ]
The red's in my backpack, you can borrow it. [ He jerks his head to the side. His pack is a worn thing that's more patches and pins and stains than anything else. It's still open. Not like he's got space-cash people could run off with. ] No pink or orange though.
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Patches, huh? She's seen those, but not quite like the ones on his backpack. Geo stops for a moment to observe them, wondering what they meant or where they came from. Hell, his whole outfit has her buzzing with a thousand questions, but she'll keep it together. He didn't seem like a scavenger at all, but he tagged anyway. Cold weather, from the clothing and the beanie? It would seem likely...
She gingerly unzips the backpack. That low whistle she lets out is one that shows she's clearly impressed with his collection. Way more than she's seen in one go. But in her hand goes for the red. That's a familiar weight right there.
Wait. He doesn't have anything for his face or mouth...? Maybe she's just too used to it now, but really.
After she sets down the can, her hands quickly work at undoing the scarf piled around her neck and offers it to him. It used to be white, once, and the myriad of characters and symbols on the cloth have faded to an off-grey. The deep, black splotches from the ash have settled in as a stain by now, unfortunately.]
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The whistle makes him grin. ] Not that bad after all, huh?
[ There's a spare of each the black and white. Clearly that, the blue and the red see the most mileage, but he's got a few other colors besides. The yellow is mostly untouched. All the cans look much the same, colored caps and stains aside-- same brand all around. Perhaps, if she has moved back to the backpack, she has also seen the design on his vest.
The scarf he accepts with a smile, trading it back for the heart shape. ] Oh, thanks.
[ He forgets. Shouldn't, but does, and supposes she's got a point now that he's working indoors for a change, too. His fingers pick at the fabric of her scarf, curiously eyeing the faded characters on the grey. Stained as her clothes, sort of. He feels awkwardly pristine next to that, even though too many falls and scrapes have worn on his clothes a little, too, his white hoodie is still very clearly white, and the denim hasn't really changed color either. When he looks at her, it's obvious he's got questions, too. ] So uh, you've got a name, right?
[ Presumably. He nudges the pencil at her if she needs it. There's cardboard and a sketchbook and all sorts of stuff to write on, so. ] So I don't gotta keep calling you "you". I'm Delsin.
no subject
Like him, though, she feels off, yet in an opposite manner. Geo feels entirely too dirty. This entire setting is too clean from what she's used to seeing. A few places they'd been to were clean, but they were sinister in cleanliness. Sterile. Harsh white. Dark splotches in pristine buildings. They ran from abandoned buildings to sewers to overgrown zoos. Clean buildings meant they had the time and the patience to maintain everything, and to hide everything.
Geo tries not to think too much on it.
With her right hand, she points just one finger up, the rest of her fingers curled, index finger touching her thumb. D. A pause, then it changes again, for the next few seconds: knuckles bent, an L shape, a fist, a single pinky in the air, and finally a fist again, with her index and middle fingers rest on her thumb.
D - E - L - S - I - N.
She takes up the pencil again, clearly having some trouble in trying to keep the pencil in her hand. The shape is a little awkward in her hands, having gone without writing by hand for some time. She manages it after a little fumbling, thankfully. The pencil touches the cardboard, and in a slightly scrawling cursive, she writes Georgina. She then puts box with little rays around the first three letters and a smiley face at the end of her name. Geo signs her own name now as well, three hand signs spelling out G - E - O, all with a bright smile]
no subject
[ It's the way she struggles with the pencil that has him doubletake again. It's not like delving into someone's mind, not as clear, but there are hints all over the place, glaring and obvious. Showing instead of telling. What the hell kind of place did she come from? ... well, Earth to Delsin, maybe just ask some day. For now, he reads out what she's writing. ] Georgina...
[ Thankfully, her cursive is too much of a scrawl to remind him of Fetch too strongly. He cocks his head as she continues. ] So just Geo, huh? Alright.
[ Works for him. Short is good. He pulls the scarf on. ] So what do you say, Geo, should we get to work?
no subject
Geo puts on the gas mask properly. Funny how easily she manages to put it on. She doesn't bother with anything fancy like Delsin, with tape and composition and arrangement. Her fingers set the stencil in place, nails lined with black ash and dirt.
A bristle of self-consciousness cuts through her. She doesn't look like Delsin at all. She doesn't belong in this place. Her clothes don't even fit, despite that it's been taken in to fit her small frame.
She huffs audibly through the gas mask. Nothing she can do about right now. She's here to tag. Let the world know they're not going to be put down or shut up.
So she presses down on the nozzle. The red paint splatters onto her fingers, cakes even more on the stencil. Not a perfect heart, but an honest one. There's a bit of comfort in that. Not a perfect heart, just like she's not a perfect girl in this clean world.
Besides. This place needed some color.
Setting down the red, she reaches for the white, and paints just above the small heart another lopsided heart, larger this time.]
no subject
She's done with the red before he even has the first stencil in place-- little bit of arranging here and there. It's careful work for him, even though with the noise he makes ripping off the tape, it might not look it. But once it's done, he can't fix the angle anymore.
If she's still busy with the white by the time he's done, he'll reach for the spare in his backpack, before he pulls the scarf over his mouth properly and gets going.
He's not aware there's anything she's worrying about. Art is better than worrying, he finds, and it provides a much-needed sense of normalcy in a place that is, well, literally alien. Even without anything dire that he needs to get back to, he feels off-kilter and wrong being here, and this is his kind of band aid for homesickness and displacement. It leaves him raw, but it also gives him an out by letting him focus. He swallows thickly and makes sure he gets the edges clean. White, white, white, and thinking of the marks he left on Seattle instead of-- instead of the billboard back home right before this mess started. Anything but that.
Even getting caught now would somehow be right with the world. Not that he'd go easily. He steps away, once the first layer is done, lowering the scarf again and giving Geo a smile. ]
no subject
Big dreams and all. She's not even really a kid, but sometimes, she felt that way, just a small thing in a huge, dry and dying world, slowly trying to rebuild itself.
Geo can only watch him and admire his handiwork, his artistry. Geo had a feeling he'd done this a lot, but she hadn't expected all of this. It's... nice. Different. They tagged on the run. He actually took the time to make something out of it. Where is he from that had that sort of time, too? Everything was running, running, running away from the ash storms, to shelter and safety. He must either be from somewhere free of the ash, or somewhere different entirely.
Something was there hidden in the intense focus, but what, she couldn't say. Years of learning to read people out of necessity made it easy for her to pick up on the more subtle things.
Weirdly, though, it was calming to watch him.
She may even be a little jealous.
But hey. She could put that to work.
She gives him a quick thumbs up, as her mask is still on, then proceeds to pluck up the yellow can. The paint goes on thick in a corner, building up in a liquid bubble. She does the same for the red paint. She dabs a finger in the red, then the same finger in the yellow, and starts to mix.
No orange? No problem, as shown with the new color now covering her index finger. Geo smears the orange around the red in a bright outline, childish compared to Delsin's work, quite honestly.]
no subject
And so he does. As he takes the first stencil down and tapes the second in place, he catches her mixing spray paints into finger paint, and grins. Unconventional. Probably blasphemy to some people, in fact, but you gotta do what you gotta do and apparently she really wants that orange. Why not, right? Everyone starts somewhere.
But then he's grabbing the black can and shaking it up, the familiar rattling sound practically music. This layer is less work than the first.
As he takes it down, the white, indistinct person-shape has become someone in a space suit, a leash in hand apparently attached to... something. That something still needs work. But he nods, pleased with it, even though the paint is running in places. ]
no subject
But where is the space person going? Are they holding onto something, flying away with it, or are they leashed to something, forever bound to it?
Lips purse to stifle her smile, stifle the amusing thought crossing her head. It's silly, probably not at all what he's going for, but still.
She picks up the pencil and his sketch pad... and is promptly distracted by it. The intention had been to write an encouraging note. Instead, pages upon pages of art swirl her vision. She hadn't seen art like this in a long time. Sure, they'd made hideouts and bases of museums, but the paintings had been moved to the vaults, even the replicas. The ones that could afford to be burned for warmth or for cooking purposes had been destroyed carefully, thoughtfully, to ensure it would last them enough time.
This was real art, the kind people used to do in their spare time. She remembered those people from her childhood. Not so many existed now.
And then she stops.
She knew those buildings. It's almost too much.
Geo holds up the sketchpad to point at the Space Needle, with a clean finger, of course. Her eyes and brows are alight with puzzlement, surprise, and incredulity.]
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He watches her pick up the pencil and sketch pad while he sets out to put the third layer on, unaware how distracted she is by it. ] If you wanna write something down, just pick a new page.
[ And he keeps working. The shape the new stencil shows might resemble a jellyfish, if anything, but then he's turning around, and she's holding up one of his drawings and he just... pauses. ] Yeah, that's the Space Needle.
[ He's not sure why she's so worked up, but it seems serious, so he figures completing this thing can wait. Not that that makes him any more sure for how to approach the situation but, well, no time like the present. Maybe start at the top? ] You been to Seattle?
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Pencil to paper, she starts sketching. It's admittedly very amateurish, but it still has the shape of the Space Needle. But pieces are missing. She starts to draw in the overgrown ivy that has taken over the base. She scribbles all over it a light grey tint.
Two figures stand at the top. It's an approximation of the mercenaries guarding the tower, and by extension, Seattle. Ropes hang off the edges, infinite, almost, were it not for the platforms she now draws jutting out.
She furiously begins to write next to her drawing.]
Space Needle. Military Base.
Seattle. Safe Zone. Military run. 15 water tanks for entrance. 35 for protection. 65 to live. Toll-based. War lords and smugglers known to live in Seattle. Squatters not tolerated.
Rebels eliminated.
[This time, she doesn't hold it up. She simply hands it over to him, a little self-conscious of everything she wrote. It's prime information, but it's not much of a secret either. The military running Seattle were hard to enforce their laws. Seattle had become one of the most exclusive cities, the antithesis to San Francisco, yet similar in so many ways.
They were not welcome here.]
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Military? [ Incredulous. Safe zone? War lords? ] What the hell happened? Why would it have to be a safe zone? Safe from what?
[ He studies the picture again for some kind of hint, but it doesn't really help, just confuses him more. Water for an entrance fee just sounds... well, kind of like a postapocalypse. Then he offers it back to Geo, hoping she'll tell him, well, something. ]
no subject
But even they knew the stories of the ash, the storms, the beasts roaming out there. They were lucky, though, to have underground bunkers and what almost seemed like an infinite supply of everything.
Finally, Geo does take back the sketchpad.]
The Ash. 2027, CAE, aka Common Ash Era. Everything's drying out.
[She stops for a moment. It's true, she can't deny it, but...]
World's trying to grow back. There might be a cure for the Ashen. People who inhale the ash too much get mummified alive. Dry, bony things.
[A drawing of a gaunt face follows up the sentence. Lips are pulled back, revealing rows and rows of teeth. Eye sockets look hollow.]
They're scary dangerous.
[Another momentary pause, before she draws up the symbol for i, the infinite, unknown number. She draws an arrow pointing to it, then continues writing.]
That's me and my crew. We're gonna save the world.
no subject
Yeah? You guys are the heroes, huh? [ And he means it, not in some mocking or sarcastic way, nods and accepts it. Then he sighs, braces himself to tackle the rest of the thing. ]
Okay, uh... so for me, before I got here, it was 2017, and we ain't ever even heard of The Ash. I mean I wouldn't say that things are totally fine all around the world, but that at least isn't one of the problems. [ It explains the stains, and the gas mask, and the military gear, and the rifle, which he glances at, still on the floor. ] There's no safezones, no Ashen, [ which, you know, sound kinda like zombies ] no people having to trade in water. At least not in Seattle, or anywhere in the United States that I've heard of. So, you know? The world hasn't exactly ended yet.
[ Which... paints a pretty different picture. And he's starting to feel awfully sheltered here. But there's something else he's curious about. Is it really a matter of time before the places he knows turn into some kind of nightmare vision, or... ] I've got just one question. Have you ever heard of Conduits?
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She's also trying to hold back the smile at being called the heroes. Save the world? Sure. Heroes? Nothing they've really been called before, not outright. Her world's bleak, but it doesn't mean they can't try, and it doesn't mean it's gotta be the end of all hope. There's some good out there.]
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He takes in her confused expression, also cocking his head. ] Huh. See, they're kind of a big deal where I'm from. I'm just trying to figure out, if we're both from Earth and all, if it's just that we're from different times or... I guess if the difference is bigger.
[ He scratches his head. How to explain. ] Okay so Conduits... are basically people who have special abilities. There's a bunch of different kinds, and apparently it's genetic, so it's not like some disease you can catch. [ Unlike what he thought at first. ] But I'm talking like, shooting lasers out of your hands and flying around and running up the sides of buildings kinds of powers. [ Or a single person remodling the landscape-- let's actually not bring Augustine into this. ]
Now a lot of the normal people are still scared of them. But nothing really gets solved by just trying to lock every last one away, so now I guess we're... working out our differences. [ There's still a lot of them to work out. ]
And you know, if you had people like that around? I figure you'd have heard about it, even if the world as a lot of people knew it might've ended.