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by the inquest
"Arguments on their nature are refuted by those who return to shore, wide-eyed with tales of their savagery."
All Moirans are woken to the sounds of the ship coming to a rather grating halt some time in the early morning cycle. It’s no faster or slower than any other stop, but it is unexpected as the captains didn’t mention an upcoming disembarkment. Shortly after, a message is sent to every MID:Navigation has informed us that we’re approaching bad traveling conditions: an overactive star. Instead of stopping on Liant El, we’ll be docking here on Ceta. Please exercise caution while gathering supplies and during excursions. Follow their safety guidelines. If the chance allows, we’ll also be signing new crew on the planet. Please greet them first and show them to the ship. Thank you. The 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.
For those few who come through Ceta's Ingress, there will be crew of the Moira there to greet you. They tell you of the Ingress, how it is broken, even on this planet, and that the ship is headed back to the origin of this technology. This planet’s Ingress is set precariously atop a floating rock formation, the only way from one area to the next is on small air-propelled boats. Crew members will guide everyone back to the Moira and take them to the Medbay; contracts will be signed posthaste.
WELCOME TO CETA
At first glance, Ceta seems mostly inhabitable, and that's because it is. The atmosphere around the planet is surprisingly thick in most places, sometimes thin in others, and without some way to filter the air, it is mostly unbreathable; it's a giant gas planet, its core made of various molten metals and the atmosphere a mix of oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrous. Ceta's gravity is also uneven, meaning that some areas will have stronger focal points than others. The terrain, when it is visible, appears rather rocky—hardly the best conditions for life and stable living. What's more unusual, however, is that despite this fact, there is, indeed, a small populace "living" among the mist and clouds, but it's clear they do not live here year-round. It's hunting season, and they are there for the bounty.
These visitors have built small platforms that are hooked together by ropes and swinging bridges, which they call "temporaries". Unstable buildings are rare, dangerous, and spread out over these temporaries to prevent damage or accidents. The temporaries float along, swaying and shifting with the planet’s atmosphere, and posted at every point of entry and all open surfaces are a particular set of rules that everyone must abide by. They are written in dark ink and large block letters so that all passing by will stop and read them:
NO FIRE. Flammables, ignition sources, matches, lighters, and anything that creates a spark is prohibited. The atmosphere has higher levels of hydrogen, and the smallest spark will create a problem.
AIR BREATHABILITY. Monitor your vitals. Wear masks or re-breathers if needed.
WATCH THE EDGE. All walkways are the only thing from you and falling. Be cautious and watch your step. These signs should be given their due attention. The edge is just that: the end of where it is safe to walk. If a wooden plank gives way beneath your feet, you will plummet through hundred of miles of atmosphere before hitting the planet’s thin surface. The captains reiterate that crew should be careful and stick to the main temporaries, gather supplies, visit at their leisure, and then go back to the ship.
☄ IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE!The organisms that have evolved on this planet are unintelligent—a fact that is told to you by the other visitors. As there is no solid materials or ways for them to interact with their environments, these giants float along within the atmosphere, though it appears that they are flying when they are merely navigating through. They travel in groups of three or more and sometimes come close to the outskirts of the temporaries. Because there is an invisible filtration dome around the temporaries, this allows the creatures to pass through without harm and return again into the mist as they please. They are difficult to see at night and are rather skittish in the presence of sudden light.
☄ @ THE MUSEUM Every evening when work is done, artificial light sources illuminate the streets of the temporaries. There is one bar, if you can actually call it that, but the main attraction is a museum. The support structure appears to be made out of the skeletal system of the giants that "swim" and live on Ceta, and though the outside seems rather unassuming, the inside is not for the faint of heart. As it's considered informative, there are displays of the internal structures and functions of the very creatures that seem harmless and as unintelligent as the visitors claim. There are sections of the museum dedicated to their anatomy and what makes them so valuable: inside their air sacs, which is what gives the illusion to flying through the atmosphere, is a mineral that, when harvested, attunes and sharpens the senses so that brain capacity and function excel over one-hundred percent efficiency. Likewise, aside from these informative areas, there is also a history of how and when the visitors began to hunt them for this valuable, unnamed resource.
☄ HARVEST SEASON Are you looking for work? Or perhaps you're bored with your duties aboard the Moira and prefer to see just what it is these visitors do during the day? Hunters will often pay for menial labor to help with the killing and retrieval of the giants of Ceta. It is by day, not by hour, and once aboard one of the many ships, you will be put to work handling equipment or being on the lookout for "signs" of the creatures. Once they've been spotted, the real work isn't in capturing them or even trying to subdue them—though they give a good fight. It's in the harvest, done below deck once they have been safely brought into the ship's cargo areas by the tethers, that can get quite gruesome. As a defense mechanism, cutting into the skin creates a rather noxious emission that can cause disorientation, hallucinations, or unconsciousness. Worst case scenarios can often result in death.
☄ WORD LIMITS As things are beginning to wind up (or down), something seems to have gotten into the MID systems and caused a malfunction. On the morning of 03.13, it suddenly becomes clear that communicating with others who are not from the same universe or similar timelines seems very difficult. Understanding each other becomes rather hopeless as the day continues, and these repercussions can be felt across the entire ship. The Captains send out another MID message that appears as a jumble of unusual letters and symbols. However, there is one word that can be read by everyone and (hopefully) understood: RATCHET. Figuring out this problem shouldn't take long if everyone can leap the language barriers and work together.
( ooc; All New Arrivals: you have the choice of coming through the Moira's Ingress OR Ceta's Ingress. For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )
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thisavrou_log2016-03-01 02:40 pm
i
It's also amazing! Winry would love to meet the engineer that managed to save that life and refit her with the requisite limbs, that was for sure.
"I can do my best." Al stops and obligingly clanks over to her, though his voice is apologetic and sympathetic. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, though, sorry. I've only been here a few weeks myself and I'm still kind of confused by everything."
no subject
"Oh, I see," she says as she recovers. She has to crane her neck back to talk to him, but even then, the visor of his helmet is too thin for her to make any eye contact, or so she thinks.
"I guess my first question, sir, is if all of that nonsense about worlds and such is even true?" she continues, hope tainting her words. "And... thank you, for talking to me. I'm Fiora."
no subject
"It's Alphonse, not sir, and it's nice to meet you, Fiora."
He injects every ounce of warmth and friendliness he can into his voice, well aware that he can look intimidating with how tall he is. Though his voice does tend to help offset that a bit.
"Yeah, it's true. It's pretty amazing, huh? I never thought I'd ever see different worlds or stars in my whole life, but there are people here from planets I've never even heard of."
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"I might find it more amazing if I understood it better..." she says apologetically, not sharing his wonder. "Does this mean I'm really stuck here, then? Don't they care whether we need to be back home?"
no subject
He understands, he really does. His voice is a blend of sympathy and his own frustration and being trapped here. It's amazing to be able to get the opportunity to look around places and meet people he never would have been able to before, but that doesn't change that there are things he needs to be doing back home.
"I'm really sorry, are there people waiting for you?"
no subject
With a sigh, she raises a hand to her face to hide her growing distress as the conversation continues. Fiora had left the ship with some hope that the crazy story she'd been told was exactly that, a crazy story, and all of this would be over soon, but...
"A lot of people, actually. My brother. There's a war going on... and my friend, he got really hurt and wouldn't wake up. What am I supposed to do now...?"
no subject
The response comes out immediately, quiet but firm. Al knows it probably isn't his place to say this sort of thing to a literal stranger, but he has always spoken from his heart and he understands what she's going through so well. He feels the same way, the same gnawing concern when he thinks about home and the people he's left fighting there without him.
"I know it's hard, and I know you're going to miss them and worry, but you have to trust them. Remember how strong they are, and trust that they're going to fight and survive until you can get back to them. And then you have to be that fighter yourself, don't give up until you make it home."
no subject
Frowning, she looks down. Al is right, even if he meant it slightly differently than she's taking it. She's being selfish.
"You're right," she finally says, keeping her other thoughts to herself. "Sorry. I'm not going to... give up."
no subject
Somehow he gets the feeling that what he had intended to be inspiring words of optimism have fallen flat. He hadn't meant to make her feel as if she needed to say sorry; not to him or to anyone else, though he's glad that she's not going to give up.
"It's understandable to be worried and concerned, you just have to not let it get the better of you."
no subject
"Yeah, you're right. Sorry. I just had a moment of clarity, I think." Finally looking up again, she smiles. "You're right. I've been through worse than this. There's no reason for me to feel so helpless."
S clasps her metal hands in front of her, recovering as the seconds pass. "You knew exactly how to answer that question, though... I take it you've been here long enough to answer it a few times now?"
no subject
He can't smile at her, but his high voice is full of warmth and understanding. He would reach out to lay a hand on her shoulder, but he doesn't know how she'd take it so he restrains himself.
"I knew how to answer because I feel the same thing. There are people I care about fighting back home right now and I should be with them, but I know I have to trust them just like I know they'll trust me to be strong enough to make it back."
no subject
"Well, either way, thank you for being patient with me," she says. "I guess everyone else here really is stuck in the same situation. I bet some others have it much worse off than me."
There's always someone worse off, she reminds herself, thinking of the later Face Units. Speaking of which... what exactly is Al's deal? That voice, and to a lesser extent his kindness, is really clashing with his outward appearance. Fiora is curious, but not so curious that she'll just come out and ask.
"...If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?" she asks, settling on that euphemism. "You're... pretty tall."
no subject
He meant to tell her, but then came those inevitable questions. He's used to them, of course, he gets them all the time even back home. But they still make him nervous.
"I'm fifteen!" Says the voice of a ten year old. "I'm just, uh... I guess I drank all my milk when I was little." Haha-- ha.
no subject
"I'll take some of whatever milk you're drinking, then," she responds, playing along. "Not that I think I'm going to be growing in any way with the body I've got, but miracle milk like that has to good."
Apparently he's a bit of a later bloomer, though. His voice hasn't changed yet. Maybe that's a side effect of the milk.
While Al's answer didn't really satisfy the curiosity behind her question, the laugh has made Fiora forget about it. "If you're that young, then it's me who should be offering to help you," she says with a wink. "I used to take care of big lugs like yourself. Maybe I can go back to doing that on the ship."
no subject
"We all have to take care of each other here, regardless of how old we are."
He chuckles and reaches out to grasp her shoulder finally, squeezing it once in solidarity and a gesture of friendship.
"You might still grow even with automail attachments, my brother has! Not by much, mostly because of the weight pulling him down, but he has grown and so could you. I guess it might be tricky here, though, to find an engineer to replace any parts that didn't fit any more."
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The physical contact is sort of unexpected, but Fiora recovers after just a blink or two. "Well, thanks," she says happily, appreciating his sentiment as she reaches up to pat his armored hand with hers. "But, automail? Is that what you'd call a person like me...?"
If Al is familiar with people in similar circumstances, that would explain the friendliness. Of course, it's doubtful that whatever he's talking about is exactly like what Fiora actually is - a Face Unit - but close enough.
"You're right about that, though... finding replacement parts."
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"Uh, sure? Do you call them something else?"
He doesn't like to ask too deeply because of the sheer amount of automail, but she must have gone through something terrible to need that many replacements.
"My brother has an automail arm and leg, he could probably help you out if you need it at any point. Though I should warn you, he's definitely not a competent engineer on repairing them."
[ooc: Sorry for the wait, I was out of town at a wedding.]
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"I'm... a Face Unit," she says hesitantly. "All of us are like this. I've never heard of someone just having an arm or leg converted. The Mechon wouldn't have much use for someone like that."
So, they're probably talking about completely different things. She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "I think we're running into some world differences here. But any help your brother could give me would be wonderful. I'm surprised there are people here even a little bit like me."
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"Yeah, I think you might be right." World differences. Though the thought of that is still mind boggling to him even after living with it for over a month. "Automail is a type of prosthetic, it's used when the person has lost a limb or an eye or-- well, anything like that. A replacement."
He doesn't want to be insensitive, but the burning need for knowledge is pushing him on despite that.
"Is that-- is that not what a Face Unit is? I'm sorry if it's hard to talk about, Brother doesn't like to discuss his arm and leg."
For reasons Al also doesn't want to discuss them. Not in detail.
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"To be honest, I... died. And this was done to me while I was asleep. They didn't ask me before they did it. It's sort of complicated..."
Face Units were weapons of war, really - humans converted into half-Mechon hybrids to be brainwashed and turned against their old kind. But that feels like some heavy conversation for someone she just met.
"But don't worry. I'm alright talking about it. It's just long, and... a downer."
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Partly because what she's describing sounds like the sort of human experimentation and alteration that someone like Shou Tucker would be interested in, and partly because she sounds so matter of fact about it.
"I-- I'm really sorry, that sounds awful."
To be altered like that with no say in the matter, and now to have to live with the reminders all the time.
"Are there many people like you?"
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"Oh, no," she begins quickly, "please, don't feel bad. I'm alright, I promise. Feeling bad will just make me feel bad about you feeling bad," she adds with an uncomfortable laugh.
"There were a few others like me back home, but not that many. But it's not a big deal - I haven't seen any of them here so far, that's for sure."
She shifts her weight to one leg and daintily puts her hands behind her back. "Really, I'm fine."
It's easy not to feel so sorry for yourself when you're thankful just to be alive.
no subject
Something about that feels wrong.
But he doesn't want to upset her, especially not when she's so new on board, so he forces a chuckle out and rubs the back of his head awkwardly.
"Well, I'd hate for you to feel bad about me feeling bad, I have a feeling that would just end in a cycle we might struggle to break."