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r & r
"Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us."
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. 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. This process 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 with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters.
Having left Amissis-Re behind, tensions among crew members have continued to escalate into ship-wide consequences, and recognizing the need for some separation among those aboard the Moira, the Captains make the unanimous decision to deviate from their present course to a "nearby" planet that is notable for such popular distractions. While it is not a permanent solution, measures are being taken to monitor the crew's morale much more closely. New arrivals will be treated as they always are; yet, now, more than ever, it is important to stress the balance of working together toward their goal of reaching their destination so that everyone will return home.
WELCOME TO COLLECTIVES ASH3 - BF3 - CLF5
The Collective is a paradise resort located far from any other neighboring planets to offer the most leisurely experience possible to its patrons. Artificially created for multiple uses, it is divided into separate locales interconnected with a tubing transport system that is so fast and efficient that it’s like being teleported to the next area. Extensive mapping can be found at various intersecting points to offer some direction, and there are even recognizable adverts from a very familiar stop months before spread out across the Collective. Whether looking to explore or to simply shed the weight of anxiety, there are plenty of opportunities to be found within ASH3, BF3, and CLF5.
All crew members are given a card from the Captains that has an unlimited amount of credits on it. Organized through trade, these allow Moirans access to any of the luxuries that the Collective has to offer aside from the purchase of items considered weapons due to the escalation of recent events. Food, clothes, trinkets, or even a full spa experience—the limits, otherwise, are endless. The Captains emphasize that this is time to relax and take a break from the grind that is living and working on a spaceship as unique as the Moira.
☄ B.E.A.C.H! THE BEST ESCAPE ANYONE CAN HAVE!
For those seeking a fun time, the Collective offers a variety of activities on ASH3. There are multiple beaches to enjoy as well as beachside kiosks offering drinks, beach toys and surf equipment for those a little more sports-minded. The tide washes in beautiful shells to collect, and there are always life-guards on duty to make sure everyone stays safe while enjoying their time on the beach. ASH3 offers a safe and friendly environment with plenty of fun in the sun for everyone. There is also a boardwalk full of restaurants, bars and plenty of games and entertainment for when you want to step off the sand but don’t want to give up being out in the sun.For those who can’t or won’t bear the sun, ASH3 also offers a thriving night life on both beach and boardwalk. There are midnight boat tours to view the bioluminescent schools of fish native to the island and bonfire dance parties that go long into the mornings. On the boardwalk, all shops are open until midnight as well as many clubs and social spots where crew can mingle with other tourists in the area.
So you don’t like the sand. It’s too hot, and it gets everywhere. Then hop onto one of the many transportation systems, slip into some warmer clothes, and take to the slopes. More experienced crew can immediately dive in, but those who need help can take lessons on how to ski or snowboard. There’s hot cocoa, sleds, snowball fights, and the occasional person making a snow angel (or snow person). ASH3 also has areas for rock climbing, sky diving, base jumping, bodyboarding, canoeing, hang gliding, jetskis, mountain biking, hiking, and much more.
☄ WHEN I SHOP, THE WORLD GETS BETTER Not everyone enjoys shopping, but this Collective entices even the most frugal and reluctant into spending their credits here. In fact, the Captains are encouraging this. They give the explicit “order” to buy whatever you want for yourself and your fellow crew members, but more than that, to consider making purchases to better the ship. Is there any area of the Moira that needs spruced up? Maybe some fresh paint in the mess hall,or new furniture in the decks? Maybe some fancy curtains for all those windows on the observation deck, or a few throw pillows? New pots and pans for the kitchen might be something to add to this list as well as equipment for the rec area, or whatever else you think BF3 will have to help increase comfort aboard the Moira.
To enhance your shopping experience, the technology here allows you to try on clothes without lifting a hand. The food here is an unlimited spread of gourmet dining to comfort food and every dessert you can think of. When you’re finished with your purchases, have all your packages and larger items delivered back to the ship for you.
☄ TREAT YO SELF The accommodations on the Collective of CLF5 are as unique as they come. Lodging is available for those who want to sleep in an environment that’s underwater or perhaps those who desire something as simple as a soft bed. No matter what kind of room you want to purchase for the night, it’ll be available here, and the only true limit is the imagination. When you aren’t relaxing in a hotel room, you’ll find that there are numerous spas and hair salons that offer varied services. Gold face masks rejuvenate your skin, the Ever Young™ Spa can make you look ten years younger with one treatment, and the mud baths are known across the universes for making you feel youthful and refreshed. If you’re looking for a new hairstyle or to relax, this Collective is the place for you to spend those hard-earned credits.
( ooc; For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-06-01 12:20 am
Closed; Rinzler
The last seemed the most likely, with how he'd went straight from checking for threats to checking out the scenery. There were all sorts of nooks and crannies for him to investigate, natives to stare at and food to be tasted in the name of 'scouting'. The slopes were the last place he wanted to hit before going back, not being dressed for cold weather. It was supposed to be a quick look, a glance around the snow before giving the all clear and rambling to is few friends about the shit they could stir at the resort.
He didn't expect to hear something that far up the slope, to let that all too likely curiosity get the better of common sense. He didn't expect the ground the give under the friction of his speed, to feel that stomach wrenching moment of free fall before crashing into ice and snow. He wasn't expecting that twinge behind his knee cap when he landed full weight on his left leg, nor the ache it sent straight through the bone.
Peter wasn't expecting that he wouldn't be alone either.
Laid back on his elbows, still dazed from the fall and fumbling for his MID to use as light, he can hear something moving the dark of the crevice. He tenses, breath puffing out white from the dropping temperature. He thinks briefly of wild animals and then of the other tourists visiting the resort.
"Hey," he says loudly, hoping that if it is something dangerous the noise will scare it off. "Mind helping a guy out here?"
/puts on fight music
The admins might take issue with harm against their own, but Rinzler wasn't a user. He had no value by this system's rules, and no matter how many times Peter_Maximoff attacked or crippled him, Rinzler wouldn't be protected by the ship. Oh, there were users present that might try to stand for his position, but their interference wouldn't be supported or sustained. At best, their voices would do nothing, like before. At worst, they'd split the system further.
Rinzler could fight his own battles. Rinzler had to. It was why he'd left the Moira before the first transporter even launched, masking the glow and signature of his own lightjet as he performed his own quick scouting flight. It was why he'd scanned the surface of the cold terrain, finding a spot where the frozen ground was thin enough to give. It had taken a little more effort to investigate the fault below, ensuring no easy exit was in reach or sight. No way to escape by speed.
From there, all it took was waiting. And here and now, with the glitch that taunted him and trapped him crumpled on the ground and shouting out for help? Rinzler's gaining a new appreciation for the arbitrator's commentary on revenge.
The noise that answers Peter's call could have come from an animal. Certainly he'd referred to it that way the first time he'd heard the sound. But the rumbling echoing through the narrow twists of the crevasse is too mechanical for any creature that might live there. And at the moment? Far too satisfied.
It's joined by a hum as the blade of Rinzler's disk flares, white/red light stark against the darkness.
rock on
In the moments before the space is bathed in red light, he takes a breath and struggles to get to his feet. A sick feeling grows in his stomach, a dread undercut with the sharp pains from the muscles in his leg. There's an anticipation, a foresight to how this will end.
He just hopes he's wrong.
"Hello?" Maybe it will be one of the other robots. Maybe it's just some fancy flashlight. Maybe he hit his head when he fell and he's just dreaming. Maybe, maybe. "Come out. Don't hide, come on."
no subject
Rinzler doubts the glitch had the forethought to bring the gloves it used before. But he isn't planning to leave this to chance. As the weapon streaks forward, a lethal ricochet at head-height through the narrow gap, the rest of Rinzler closes through the darkness, light steps nearly soundless as he twists and leaps off the ice-slick rocks. His lights are dark, sound dampening to silence as he plants a hand off the wall and twists, lower body leveraging for a fast, hard kick to his opponent's gut.
no subject
He ducks on instinct, letting his weight drop down from his attempt to stand. His leg protests the quick movement, but he'll take the pain over the threat of decapitation. He slips on the ice underneath him, rendering Peter momentarily unable to use his power. He sees the kick coming, sort of, in the low light coming off Rinzler's disc. The blurred movement running slow in his vision. But he can't do anything about it.
He tenses, tries to throw his arms out like that will have any effect in stopping Rinzler. It doesn't. The blow still lands in his stomach, close the the scar Rinzler had left just those scant weeks before. Peter groans, spit flying and the blow sending him sprawling on his back. He flails his arms out again, trying to push the program away. Trying to prevent another attack until he can get back up.
"You fucker," Peter screams, or at least he tries to. The blow has knocked the air out of him, making his voice weak. He scrambles madly along the icey ground, feet failing to get enough traction to push him up. "Get the hell away from me!"
no subject
His enemy's? Less so. The gasped invective earns a faint uptick of the enforcer's sound, circuits briefly relighting in the gloom. Rinzler is standing a few paces off, right hand wrapped around the shaft of a baton while his left comes up to snatch the joined disk from the air. The helmet quirks a little to the side: taunt, rejoinder, mocking answer. Why? The user certainly hadn't left him alone.
Then his disk flares, a blinding surge of light and power against the darkness of the ice-shaped cave. The angle of the throw is sharper this time, rebounding in a zigzagged, repeating slant from walls to floor. Ghostlike reflections mirror the bright light, splitting to fractured patterns on the ice around. It's not impossible to track, and certainly someone with Peter's speed is capable of avoiding it. But it takes focus. And by the time the weapon has passed its target by, only darkness will be left in its wake.
Rinzler's disappeared.
no subject
Peter rolls, abandoning the attempt to find traction in exchange for tracking the more immediate threat on his life. Getting to his hands and knees makes it easier to scramble away, nails digging through the quickly compacting snow. But it puts more pressure on his aching joint. Peter has to his through it, throwing himself forward to narrowly avoid the disc.
He's plunged into darkness after.
Blinded and injured against an opponent that actually stood a chance of killing him, this was the sort of situation that before he was pulled here, Peter rarely considered. Just an idle thought when reading comics, easily dismissed with his belief in his own hype. After what happened in the observation deck, it was the sort of situation he found in his nightmares. Peter lets out a stuttering breath and forces himself to stay still. He strains for the clicks and whirls he's come to associate with Rinzler, trying to pinpoint where the next attack might come from in the shadows.
Sorry for taking forever!
Peter won't have long to try.
The volume rises just a fraction of a moment before impact, Rinzler's own speed enhanced by gravity as he drops down. The edge of his disk fills one hand, his baton the other, charged just enough to numb and shock where it connects. But if Rinzler's first strike is on-target, neither weapon will be the user's main concern. He's not just dropping, but leaping, not just leaping, but kicking, both legs uncoiling to drive all of his momentum into the side of Peter's already-damaged knee.
np! take all the time you need
His attention is fully on the glow of the weapons, he doesn't notice what the rest of Rinzler is doing until the pain shoots through he bones.
Peter screams, jaw snapping shut at the last moment and body curling up in the natural instinct to protect the injury. He realizes as he's moving that it's a mistake, that he's moving right into Rinzer's line of attack. He throws himself to the side awkwardly, screaming through grit teeth as it makes something pop and pull in the injury. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, he's winded from the pain.
Even as he tries to fight back, lashing out with a fist at Rinzler's side, Peter thinks he's already lost.
no subject
The scream is satisfying. The punch, Rinzler doesn't even bother trying to avoid. The user has speed, but nothing like a proper angle, and this time, there's no injury for it to exploit. Rinzler is whole and undamaged, and his flexible dark armor is more than capable of absorbing such a feeble blow. So is the program it belongs to.
No, Rinzler doesn't run this time. Rinzler's not trying to get away. Rinzler follows, disk launching even as he hits the ground, a sharp ricochet ahead of the user to pen in its escape. He rolls forward to a crouch, steps forward to a strike, elbow slicing sideways towards the user's throat as its fist glances off his shell. He holds back enough force not to crush the structures inside, but it hardly matters if that blow hits or not. The point is to stay close. The point is hold the user's focus.
Focused enough to miss the motion of his other hand... until pressure settles just above the user's core. The baton. The weapon hums slightly, charge waiting and ready to be used, and Rinzler's helmet angles to the side. Does the user remember what this weapon can do?
And does it really think it can outrun that?
no subject
It's a bigger hit to his pride, the stark evidence at how much he owed to other people to still be alive today.
Rinzler's next blow connects, because Peter's attention went with the launching disk. He's too busy trying to track it, on where to move to avoid that he doesn't keep enough of an eye on Rinzler's body. The strike across his throat doesn't need to be crushing to incite panic; it just takes the implication for Peter's try to rear back and get away from the idea of being choked to death.
His struggling doesn't last long, not when he realizes what Rinzler's real goal was.
There's still a scar on his stomach from the last time Rinzler put that weapon to him. He sleeps in a shirt now, just to avoid seeing the mark in the mornings. Sometimes he thinks one of his friends is going to touch it when they're horsing around or when his sister goes in for a hug, and he feels like he could vomit. It's something he works hard to pretend to forget.
It's like the air's disappeared from the room, like he suddenly can't get enough oxygen to breath. Peter freezes, falling limp against the snow. He's staring at Rinzler in a way that suggests he's not really seeing him, but he is. Just a Rinzler from a different time, mind switching between now and memory.
"Sick fuck," he says, voice too weak to make the insult effective. Even he's not sure which program he's talking to, the one here or the one in his head. "Again?"
no subject
The baton stays in position. Rinzler doesn't miss the user's stare, or the utter stillness that comes over a being that never stops moving. It's good to see it's not quite that slow a learner. It's more than good, it's satisfying; it's right, and finally there's no one else to interfere. No one to die where this glitch should have.
He could kill it now. It deserves that and so much more. But it wouldn't last, it wouldn't fix things. And there's something more important. The baton stays in place, but Rinzler reaches back with his left hand, and there's a soft click as his disk returns to dock. Then the program reaches for his wrist, and red-orange letters scroll out through the air.
Don't like being hunted.
He didn't either.
no subject
Part of him wants to close his eyes, to stay in the dark rather than in this tense anticipation. Peter would like to think he's staring Rinzler down out of defiance. But he doesn't feel all that in control of himself right now, panic rising with each passing second and taking over all his functions. He takes a shallow shuttering breath. Then another. Then another.
Nothing happens.
Peter watches, in that hazy kind of way that he's not really sure what he's seeing, as Rinzler starts to type. It takes an embarrassing amount of seconds for his mind to process the letters and put them back into words. When he does, it's with a frown and no small amount of confusion.
"This isn't a hunt." Peter gasps out. He shuffles slightly against the ice, only to freeze again at the press of the baton. He shakes his head in tiny, barely there movements. "What the hell are you waiting for? If you're going to do it-"
Do it. Don't make him play whatever game this is. He can barely make himself think right now, anxiety shutting down almost everything that wasn't a loop of imgonnadieimgonnadieimgonnadie.
no subject
The line scrolls out as quickly as the user speaks. This is definitely a hunt. Hunt, trap, threat—the metrics are close enough to run in parallel. It just isn't the one in charge for a change.
And oh, that freeze is satisfying. The enforcer's ticking rumble hums out evenly, a quiet resonation in the ice. The darkness might make detail harder to spot, but Rinzler's lights stand out all the brighter in contrast, and the streaks along the side of his mask incline just slightly to the request. If he's going to do it, what? Go ahead and say it, user. But it won't, because it's scared.
It should be.
You didn't stop.
no subject
The anger isn't from what happened those months ago, not entirely. It's from the anxiety of waiting. Why isn't Rinzler just killing him? Why draw it out? Just to torture him? He knew Rinzler was violent, but he didn't think a machine would be so cruel.
"If this is your revenge, then why aren't you taking it?"
no subject
But he's not sure any longer that the user does.
Never threatened your sister.
The black mask fixes, sharp and challenging. Does it understand that much, at least?
no subject
It'd felt like a threat, make his skin crawl like one. And with so many months between now and then, he couldn't remember it as anything but. His mind had been so focused on Wanda and her safety he couldn't find the exact words, only the assumed sentiment.
"You just leave them alone after you kill me. You just make this it." If he's going to die, he needs this to be it. No more worrying for any of them, the cycle ended. "Just get it over with and let this go. You killing me won't change my mind about what happened."
no subject
"Shut. Up."
Rinzler's arm extends as fast as it retracted, slamming Peter back against the icy wall of the crevasse with no particular care for where the force connects. He'll let go, but the smooth black mask twitches, sharp and interrogative, as he stares down at his prey. Did it think this part was optional? No. Rinzler would delete it in a nanocycle if it were a matter of wants. Instead he's laying out the data, instead he's using words, because one way or another, this is going to be over.
It doesn't get to hide behind any more glitching excuses. It doesn't get to give him orders. And however stupid it might choose to be elsewhere, whatever delusions it wants to cling to? Here and now, for once, the user was going to listen.
Told you I knew her.
Told you I wasn't stupid.
The MID relights with a flick of motion, lines scrolling out in quick, furious gesture.
Threats: yours.
no subject
He doesn't believe it. He won't believe it. Peter can let it go, has been prepared to since the series of lectures he received in the aftermath. To learn his place, stay away from Rinzler, let Wanda take care of herself. Her safety wasn't in his hands anymore, particularly now that her real twin had arrived. But to have brought her up at that moment had felt like a declaration of war and he couldn't delude himself to otherwise.
At the same time, this was supposed to be over. He'd made too many promises to let it keep going and let the cycle continue.
"If that's what you want to believe, then okay." But what about the first time, he thinks. But why play those recordings in the middle of tension. But why, but why. He clenches his jaw against the urge to argue and spit and let out his fury. "If that's how you think it happened, okay. I'll be the bad guy."
Did it matter if he was just going to get stabbed again anyway?
no subject
Your threats. Your attacks. Didn't respond.
Not after the fight on the spacewalk. Not after the ambush in the hall. He'd let the user plan and plot, let its sister retell every story to mark him as a system threat. He'd let it happen because he knew it wouldn't matter. Because he'd forfeited his chance already, because Tron's maker was going to remove his mind. He'd let it happen because at the source, he'd known the user was right. He was broken, he was less, and he'd never have a place here.
Done with that.
no subject
In death or walking away, whatever it took for the cycle to end.
"I'm not going to keep this up. I'm not coming after you again, I'm not looking for another fight." It was the truth, whether anyone around him wanted to believe it or not. "I'm done with being the bad guy. Respond. Do what you think you have to."