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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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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_ooc2016-07-08 05:07 pm
no subject
[The subtle irony in his voice is the only indication that yeah, that's a joke (but, like hers, it's only halfway.) Adam takes a moment to dig in a pocket for his smokes, offering one to her before taking one for himself. At the rate he's going through his only pack, he's really hoping "space tobacco" is a thing.]
Can't say that's really my skillset, sorry. [Not unless the ship's got a surfeit of broken clocks that need fixing, and only when he feels like doing it. A pause to light his cigarette (and hers, if she'd decided to partake) and to take that first, satisfying drag.] Can't promise no one's going to be scared by me, either. But a ship this large must attract some unwanted attention – I figure that's when scary people are going to be in demand.
[Ship's already attracted that sort of attention, he'd wager. He's seen the damage to some of the interior, the telltale signs of battle. And unless there's been an abundance of mutinies onboard that he hasn't been told about yet…]
So are you saying you're an engineer yourself, Miss...?
[It occurs to him now that, between the ambush and that knife fight that almost happened, they haven't technically done actual introductions yet. Now seems as good a time as any.]
no subject
So she takes the cigarette, lights it, but doesn't quite immediately take a drag.
Better this than having him crawl about, possibly nearly attacking others. He seems sensible, at least, sneak attack aside. Knows more than he could let on, though how much is too soon to really tell.]
Isha Devan, at your service. [Not really.] Engineer, hacker, thief. Depends on the day, really.
[Said wryly as she now takes a drag. Q rounds out Isha and settles to sit just shy of the pair on deck.]
The scary people were incidental, I think. The unwanted attention was not. I'm not so sure there's any real plan, at least enough to warrant a horde of bodyguards and warriors on the off chance.
no subject
Even with the lenses covering them, it's easy enough to tell that his eyes are trained on the robot sitting just a few feet away. No wariness, just interest. He doesn't turn his attention away, not even when he starts to speak up again:]
I worked physical security at a biotech company. [Whether or not his enhancements are a "perk" of the job, he doesn't let on – though what he's got certainly could be considered overkill for simple security personnel. Clearly, he's being vague.] It's all about taking proactive measures. Your "horde" of bodyguards might've seemed unnecessary before… But if that's the case, I'm willing to bet that opinions have changed since this attack.
Or maybe that's just me hoping I don't have to find a new line of work. [There's a slight tilt at one corner of his mouth that could be taken for a crooked smile.
He could try and lead a normal life – or whatever passes for normal on a spaceship in a universe adjacent to his own. Repair things for a living. He'd be the most expensive, state-of-the-art repairperson anyone's ever seen. It's a nice thought, but he's not sure he'd ever be able to adjust after thirteen years of helping people the way he's learned how to help them. It's... Just what he's good at.]
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[Vague as he is, this company has real power, and a real need for some kind of secrecy, she could imagine, if he's as outfitted as he is. She knows how this goes. Corporations leverage just as much as any other government sector, if not more, and that she knows has been a trend since who knows when.]
If this is any indicator, [she signals, throwing her head up in the direction of some damage] you won't need a new job. But you won't be granted your previous job. [She takes a slow drag, realizing that smoking on the deck of a spaceship is probably not safe.
Realizing that at this point in time she doesn't actually care.
Isha notices, though, his eyes on Q-11. Always the greyhound...]
He won't bite. Yet.
[A clear indicator that she's not going to let him off the hook, despite being on civil terms now. A wrong move and at the very least there would be a fight. Prove her wrong, Jensen.]
no subject
The comment on his appearance gets him to look back around at her again, but he doesn't respond quite yet. If anything, it kind of looks like he's trying not to say something, trying not to let the conversation be carried in that direction. His gaze lingers for a few seconds before it turns back to the robot.
The way it– he's sitting over there, a little ways away just like so, actually reminds him a bit of Kubrick. Wherever Adam went, that dog would shadow him – not even begging for attention or anything like that, but just to keep an eye on him and make sure he was doing alright. He... And Megan, too.
(He could do without this right now.)]
Wasn't really worried about it until that "yet." [Because, you know, that impassively neutral tone tone of his really screams "worried." But yeah– he gets the picture. Now, with a little heat in his lungs, he can take a step back and recognize that he was out of line. Why he thought he needed to instigate something is still an extremely troubling mystery – but for the moment, he's going to concern himself with not making unneeded enemies.
And like that, his attention's back on her again, a casually wry note to his rasp.] Well, seeing as how I wouldn't want to start anything with him... I guess I just have to find a way to make amends with his owner.
[There's an unspoken question there. Help him prove you wrong, Devan.]
no subject
[There's a little sparkle in eye, just shy of mischief, just shy of genuine curiosity. If there's one good thing about the multiverse, is that truly no one knows who she is, and truly she could get away with so much more.
Yet there's a little nagging, and no, it's not the paranoia talking, it's the little voice that tries to reason with her, think of a little bit of morality and a little bit of generally playing nice with the other kids.]
Don't try anything stupid again, do her every bidding, perhaps she'll consider mercy upon you.
[She gives him a faint lopsided smile before taking another drag.]
She's INTERPOL, she'll have you know. Not that it means much here, but...
[Said oh so wistfully. So maybe she's grown to like having a steady paycheck and so maybe she's liked being able to throw around that she's really an agent these days....]
Consider yourself on probation, on INTERPOL terms.
[And wow would she know all about that. Not that it was actually INTERPOL terms, more like Team Mythos terms, but technicalities...]
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They let self-proclaimed thieves and hackers in INTERPOL in the year 2177? Things really have changed.
[Despite how it sounds, there's no judging here – he doesn't need to imagine how those two skills can come in handy during an investigation, not when he's experienced it firsthand – but he feels compelled to give back at least a little of the sass he's received from her.
An exaggeratedly thoughtful pull on his cigarette, and an equally exaggerated exhale of heated breath and smoke.]
She drives a hard bargain, I've got to say, but if the alternative is suffering her wrath... [He shrugs both shoulders in mock helplessness.] Seems like I don't have a choice.
[His words say one thing, but his body language says (at the most), "I'll take it under consideration." Which is about as much as can be expected from him!]
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Don't forget engineer, try not to undersell such an esteemed woman.
[She's so full of shit.]
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A solemn nod in her direction.] And for what it's worth, you do a decent enough job of selling yourself. You don't need to rely on me.
[Or in less understated terms, she's a bit of a braggart. But he knows a lot of those – it's a quality he can even find a little endearing. He wouldn't be playing along as much as he is, otherwise.]
no subject
Ms. Devan. [She scoffs, taking a drag.] I haven't been called that by anyone since grade school. Or the police, I suppose, but they hardly count.
[Q finally settles to a less aggressive mode. He's not an open threat anymore, so Q can surmise, so he lets up on his need and willingness to fight.]
no subject
I'm ex-SWAT, so feel free not to count me either. If you're keeping track, I mean.
[Her use of the word "police" instead of something like – you know – "coworkers" stands out to him. Like she may work for them, but she doesn't see herself as one of them. Or maybe he's reading too much into it.
A thoughtful tilt of his head.] You know– most thieves try and stay as far away from the police as possible. How did one end up working for INTERPOL?
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Oh you know... One day you're minding your own business, stealing absurd amounts of money in Paris and the next day you find out someone's been playing serial killer under your name.
[She's not bitter at all, absolutely not. It's not as if she's lost her online identity, her reputation, her carefully crafted personas, and ultimately her arm to this mess.
This is fine.
This time, the drag is longer, more thoughtful as well as quietly angry. The first week was torture. The first month, absolute hell. Six months out, and she's still getting those waves of anger and frustration.]
And how did ex-SWAT become a security guard, hm?
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[Neater to say that than to explain the Mexicantown Massacre. He's not so bitter about how everything played out – not as bitter as he senses Isha is about her story, but… He's been there. But a year and a half had done a lot to put things in perspective (and the aftermath of the more recent attacks had overshadowed any lingering resentment there.)
There's a moment where he considers offering something – commiseration, comfort, everything he'd refused during his low points – but it's a fleeting one. Too personal. Involving himself would be too much.
Adam's tone is carefully neutral, detached.] I was given an order I couldn't follow. In the end, it was my decision to leave.
no subject
Couldn't.]
Was it?
[Would she say it was her decision to join INTERPOL, to stop the man who had been her brother once? Would she say that it really was all done freely?
She's thought on this. The roars say no, the whispers say yes. She's yet to decide. Now that all of her criminal life is official and on file, there's no way she could go back. She lost it and made something new out of an old life.
But it had been under a threat, at first. Matters of choice became too complicated quickly.]
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Just give him this one moment of self-determination in his life, just one thing he can say he'd decided for himself. He's had enough of choices being made for him.]
Yeah. It was. [Adam's reply is short, blunt.
Out of habit, he nearly puts his cigarette out beneath his foot, but a glance downwards at the clean white floors makes him pause. Grimacing, he digs around in his coat and– good, he still has that empty bottle of painkillers. It'll do.
He pops the cap open, flicks the stub in, and replaces it. While going through the motions, he adds:] I'm not gonna pretend it wouldn't have been miserable if I'd stuck around, but I didn't have to leave.
[Sticking around wouldn't have gotten the bad taste out of his mouth, though.]
no subject
The street rat that is Isha Devan wants to put out the cigarette in a smear of ash, kick the flattened butt out to wherever it landed, the way Jeramie and Finn used to do it.
Instead, she simply puts it out with her metal hand. The sensation burns, but not enough to do anything about it, not enough to have her pull away if the feedback had been working properly. Hundreds of years into the future from Adam Jensen, and still they were all subject to the whims of the human body.]
So it goes.
[Not said particularly maliciously, or with any sort of tone behind it, really.]
Well, the past should stay dead and right now I have ventilation to fix and a whole mess of engineering to sift through. You're more than welcome to come if you're feeling curious or perhaps willing to lift the heavy objects I refuse to touch.
no subject
As tempting as that sounds… Another time, maybe. If I'm going to familiarize myself with this place, probably better to start somewhere other than the vents.
[Can't keep all the irony out of his voice as he says that – he's probably spent more time exploring in vents in the past month than he has in the rest of his life (and maybe even hers too.) The more honest excuse of his would be that he's simply worn out his capacity for socialization for the moment. Some time alone sounds… Attractive right now.
A nod in her direction.] Next time we meet, I'll try not to make it a surprise.
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[Seeing as that she's spent some time on her own in vents before this job anyway... Not recently, thankfully, at least. She'd like to thank INTERPOL for her suit.
She smirks as she puts on her glasses, flicks away the cigarette butt.]
Expect the unexpected, right? Have fun, love. Try not to turn to glass.
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Still, there's unmistaskable sincerity in Adam's voice when he adds:] Take care.
[And with that, he takes his leave. But this time– he thinks he'll stay away from those hallways.]