thisavrou_log | ( april event log )

Entry tags:

( april event log )

Who: Everyone
When: April 14th and on
Where: The Moira + Del Pascia
What: The prison isn't all that contained after all.
Warnings: For the (sort of) undead, possible violence, and nudity. Please label your content!

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revive the risk
"Big things have small beginnings."

Things have been going relatively well for the crew of the Moira thus far despite their current circumstances. With D-E-L’s help, many supplies have already been gathered, and those with the necessary components have begun making much needed repairs. Yet, things aren’t as peaceful on Del Pascia as they might have seemed.

The resident facility AI has slowly started growing more and more unresponsive to questions, often answering in rather irritated tones and short, snippy answers. Still, no system glitches appear across the prison except for one minor detail: random doors and hallways suddenly lock and close for no reason and don’t open again for varying amounts of time—ranging from minutes to hours. Does this have anything to do with the unsettling feeling some crew members have experienced since stepping foot onto Del Pascia? Or is there a simple explanation that can be easily chalked up to as an accident?

☄ DECONTAMINATION #2 ( 04.14 - 04.17 )

On the Moira, crew come and go without much hassle. They take a transporter to planets and moons and back again without any fuss... Until today. All crew that try to reboard the Moira coming back from Del Pascia will be denied access, a warning flashing on their MID - Decontamination Required for Entry. It’s a protocol that hasn’t been enacted before, and the MID offers no explanation as to why it is now. The transporter will seal and then be permitted to dock in the Cargo Bay, where the procedure will begin. All crew on the transporter have to dispose of their clothing by placing it inside hazardous waste bags located in a compartment near the front of the craft. After all clothing is stored, a gas-like substance will fill the transporter, breathable yet tasteless, and once it dissipates, crew will be free to go.

Other crew members will be waiting in the cargo bay with clothing and blankets, per the captain’s instruction, but no clear explanation will be given for this sudden new protocol aside from “potential health risks”.

☄ D.ON'T E.VER L.EAVE ( 04.18 - 04.23 )

After the decontamination procedures for the Moira go off, the captains issue a ship-wide alert to let the crew know that the ship is picking up on something inside each person that boarded the space station. It is speculated that the crew came in contact with an unknown biological contaminant either during the station’s decontamination procedure or sometime after. At this point, they aren’t aware of what will happen to those that are carrying the contaminant, and the captains ask for anybody with experience to head to the Medbay to begin testing. Crew don’t appear to be in any danger, so they are allowed to continue gathering materials and supplies on board the space station at their discretion. (Every time they come and go, they will be made to go through the procedure described above).

Any crew remaining on Del Pascia will find that D-E-L is more vocal than ever before. It is answering questions, as well as trying to convince crew members to abandon the Moira and take up permanent residence aboard the space station.

☄ FEAR ME, LOVE ME, DO AS I SAY ( 04.24 - 04.28 )

Like most unfortunate things, it seems everything happens all at once.The noises you heard, a step falling moments after yours or a rattle coming from the vents, become louder. You can’t place where they are coming from at first. You turn, you follow, but the search yields no results. And then, without any warning, it’s crystal clear as “they” begin to creep and move from within the shadows and ruined sections of Del Pascia: the prisoners and workers said to have been relocated by D-E-L. Their voice is one, regardless of how many gather, and they tell you, “You can be happy here” and “I can make you better” shortly after.

Worse than the way they speak in unison is the way they look. Mutated and deformed, their prison uniforms are in tatters and covered in various levels of the same blood that the crew has experienced during their time on Del Pascia while visiting the prison blocks. They don’t attack to kill; they only try to detain, to drag crew members further into the station and are methodical and precise in how they do this as if they’re being controlled by something greater and much smarter than them.

To those that fight, D-E-L’s voice will call out, telling the Moiran not to struggle, to stay here and be safe, be better. The AI explains that life there on Del Pascia is easy, peaceful, and nobody will cause you pain. Suffering is a thing of the past and loneliness is something you’ll never know again. The prisoners follow the command of the AI, its voice falling from their lips. D-E-L claims they feel no pain, no hunger. They are united in one purpose and are therefore free of all strife. Wouldn’t it be nice to be free like that?

As always, fearing for the safety of the crew (and despite the disrepair of the Moira from events prior), the captains ask for all those capable to assist with extracting those aboard Del Pascia as quickly as possible before D-E-L tries to lock them inside. Running, after all, is better than dying, and it’s certainly something everyone aboard the Moira has gotten quite good at.

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I. Decontamination

Starflight was waiting on the flight deck along with one of the crates of uniforms he had dragged from the cargo bay. It hadn't occurred to him the returning crew members would probably need shoes or anything else. But he was here ready to help. His claws tapped on the edge of the crate while he waited for the transporter doors to open. He had to admit he was just a little bit curious, but mostly he just hoped no one had gotten hurt.

II. Fear Me, Love Me, Do as I Say

Starflight hadn't been on the station before, and from the looks of things that had been one of the smartest decisions he had ever made. He'd waited inside the Moira watching for returning crew members, but there were still too many people outside. It had taken every scrap of courage he had to join the rescue effort.

Starflight was stalking carefully through the halls, eyes darting toward any movement, any shift in the light. Every sound made him flinch. His jaw was clenched tight with fear as the machine in the station tried to coax him into staying. Not in a hundred years.

His nose was raised to the air as he tried sniffing out the other crewmembers, trying not to gag from the overpowering smell of dust and rot. He listened carefully for any sound as well, though with how hard his heart was pounding in his ears he wasn't sure he would hear anything.

Edited 2016-04-15 06:14 (UTC)

It probably wasn't hard to smell Kain, since there was a good amount of smoke, fire, and smouldering rotting zombie hanging in the air around him; he's only wearing his thermals, and as soon as the door is opening there's fire formed around his claws and smoke and sparks on his breath before he sees that it's not more of the zombies.

The fire and sparks cut out and he actually looks dumbfounded.

"...Are you from the ship?"

Starflight stopped short, staring. He'd seen some weird people since coming to the ship, but this was definitely one of the more bizarre, like some sort of dragon-human hybrid. The smell wasn't helping, bringing back memories of the NightWing's volcanic kingdom.

He nodded, lifting up his left talon so Kain could see the MID strapped to the back.
"Are- um, are you from the Moira?"

Kain held up his own wrist in answer; there was definitely smoke and ash tarnishing it, but his MID was as indestructible as ever. "Heat and fire seem to be all that works against this, so I've been trying to keep halls clear and make sure our people get out."

He seems to have a moment realizing he's been staring a little, shifting to finding a spot on the wall fascinating to focus on. "...Sorry. It's been a long time since I've been around a live dragon that wasn't trying to kill me."

"Fire stops them? That's good to know," Starflight replied, sounding just a little relieved that there actually was a way to stop them and it was something he could actually do. Thank goodness he wasn't from a tribe that couldn't breathe fire.

"Don't worry I get that a lot." He tried to sound reassuring, but he was notably distracted. "Er- can I ask what, um, what you are? Exactly?" Starflight had met a bunch of different aliens, but none of them looked quite as dragon-like.

He hadn't really thought about the comment, although now that Starflight had replied, he was a little worried about how many worlds out there had conflicts with dragons.

The question about his own state is probably karma for the lack of forethought, really, as he shifts weight and looks at the wall. "...A gargoyle - or that's what the world where I was turned into this called it." There was an uncomfortable rumble. "For some reason it ended up taking a little after the Hallowed Father of Dragons from my world."

"'Turned into'? You don't mean like- like those things?" He looked meaningfully at the door Kain had just left from. "What were you before?"

His spines flatten and there's a quiet rusty sound. "Human. The last place I was, there was a goddess who wanted servants that would fight for her - so she took people, changed them, and then did everything she could to make sure the world was against us so we'd have no choice but to go crawling to her."

He folds his arms, shoulders hunched a little and eyes on the wall to the side. "She couldn't take over someone's will without them accepting her 'help', but after a while, the people who did were about like that."

"A 'goddess'? What's that? Some sort of magic user, like an Animus?" he asked with a shudder, trying not to think too hard about that last bit. "I'm glad there's nothing like that on Pyrrhia. If any of the queens had that sort of power, well, things would probably be a lot worse with the war than it is now."

"But, um, i'm sorry that happened to you," he added, realizing a little late that it was clearly something that Kain was upset about. An image of his friend Glory crossed his mind, and all the times she's criticized him for being tactless.

It's a shame Starflight is being so careful and jumpy, because Riptide is nearby, being mobbed again and yelling incoherently. Of course, being a sizeable robot, there's a lot of clanging, though not quite drowning out the noise of D-E-L's monotone begging.

If Starflight is especially unlucky, he might see a few prisoners go flying his way from down the nearby corridor Riptide is in. Pitching things can't die like softballs is a totally legit tactic.

Starflight froze as the yelling and metallic clanging started up ahead. Whatever that was, it sounded terrifying. He yelped as a body went flying over him, cowering beneath his wings. He heard it land behind him and cautiously peeked his head out to see what happened. Surely whatever it was wouldn't be able to get up from that collision, right?

When it started moving again, he panicked. scrambling in the direction it had come from. Which was when he finally saw Riptide, recognizing one of the giant metal crew members.

"What ARE these things?!?" Starflight shouted, his voiced pitched to a squeak, alternating between staring at the small horde around Riptide, some of which had noticed the newcomer and started moving toward him, and the one Riptide had tossed which was still moving down the hallway.

"Annoying!" he shouts back, kicking a few of them. "Are they grabbing you? Tell me if they're grabbing you!"

He's trying to not be scary, while also smashing little organic people. He's really trying.

"I think maybe not staying here is a better idea, actually." Riptide concludes after a few moments, not waiting for Starflight to answer.

"Not yet!" he screeched, slashing out at the creatures. His claws tore through their skin like paper, but they healed over almost instantly. Starflight wanted to faint. This was the worst kind of nightmare. Starflight felt his wing brush one of that was reaching for him and that was too much for him. Besides, why should he try and fight them when there was someone much stronger than him already here. Starflight leapt toward Riptide, the one point in the room where he would be moderately safe.

"Let me up! Let me up!" He pleaded breathlessly, but he didn't wait for Riptide's permission. In moments he was scaling the cybertronian's leg like a terrified cat, using Riptide's armor to climb up until the dragon was safely perched on Riptide's shoulder, wings flared to help him balance, staring down at the mob that still surrounded them.

"Alright, al--" before he's had a chance to crouch down, Starflight is on his shoulder. "Okay. Wow, you climb quickly." he raises a hand up to his shoulder vaguely holding his fingers out, just if Starflight needed something to grip onto to get his balance properly.

"They won't be able to get you up there, alright? Far as I've seen, they don't climb." A beat. "Well, unless they break through the ceiling." He looks up. "...Yeah, that'd do it."

Starflight looked up at the ceiling so fast he heard his neck crack.

"Do you really think they could?"

Please be joking.

Riptide pauses deliberately.

"...No? No. Naaaahh. Probably not."

Is that the right answer? He hopes so.

Starflight gave the back of Riptide's head a look of utmost betrayal. Now that Riptide had brought it up, he was going to be worrying about an attack from above the whole time until they got off the station.

He looked down at the swarm of bodies around Riptide.
"Do you know how to stop them?"

"If it makes you feel any better I'll smash any that come near you again." Even if they were... one his shoulders and in spots where he can't reach. He'll do it for you, pal.

"Nnnot permanently, and it's not a good way. I'm not going to tell you what I did, because I can guarantee you will probably freak out and I'm not actually that proud of it myself, honestly."

Thanks Riptide you're a true pal.

"Were you stepping on them?" Starflight asked flatly. He'd seen dragons do far worse, and from his new vantage point he could tell that was the logical course of action. Especially if Riptide didn't have to worry about getting injured. All that metal armor clearly came in handy.

"I... yeah. I don't like it. I can feel the bones--" he starts, then shakes his head and cuts himself off with a shudder.

"Sorry. I'll get you back."

The offer was a relief. The ship was safe, and it wasn't like he would be able to help anyone anyway. But....Riptide could. And if he was taking Starflight back, that was less time he could be helping people who were actually in trouble.

"I- I think, well, if anyone else is out here, we should stay and help." He sounded as if he was still trying to convince himself it wasn't a horrible idea.

"If I pick up anyone on my scanner we can go for them, but I think you've been spooked enough, eh? You're gonna do that thing organics do sometimes. Have a heart attack."

Sorry, Starflight, he's not blind or deaf.

Starflight briefly considered whether being mauled by space mutants was better than dying of embarrassment.

"I am not going to have a heart attack," he replied indignantly, his voice cracking. Starflight was no medical expert, but he'd read enough to know dragonets were hardly susceptible to something like that. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself and sound more dignified. Even knowing his friends always gave a hard time for his 'epic hero voice'.

"We have a responsibility to help the rest of the crew, and I'm not going to have you stop looking for people because of me. If- if I'm not in danger here, then there isn't anything to worry about. And I could-" he faltered, trying to think of what he could actually do. He was going to suggest help keep a look out but if Riptide had a scanning device for that...
"I won't get in the way."

"You're in danger if you're here and unsuited to getting those things off you," he says flatly. "Look, how about we meet half way. I'll get you somewhere quiet and you can take a moment to calm down and recover then we can go look for some other people, yeah?"

There was a long huff that may have been resignation, or disappointment, or the prelude to more arguing. Or all of the above. Starflight spent a while thinking this over, watching the mutants mill around Riptide's legs.

"Alright. I...I guess you could just take me back to the ship. It's not like there's a safe place anywhere else in this prison."

Edited 2016-06-06 07:05 (UTC)

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( april event log )

Starflight | OTA

II

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Sorry I'm so late : (

Ahah...hah.... >.>;;; /passes tea?

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i said i'd do it dawg also II

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Thanks for your patience

luv u lex i'll wait forever

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