( august intro log )

[hownkai]

Who: Everyone
When: August 1st and on
Where: The Moira
What: New “guests” join the crew on their journey and implement some changes.
Warnings: None for now. Please label your content!

I N T R O L O G

old but unfamiliar faces "We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once." 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. 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. At first, this month seems no more unusual than the previous one for those who have been aboard the Moira for any amount of time. The crew who had landed on the slaver outpost were rescued, and with everyone aboard, the ship has pushed forward into the darker parts of the Runoff. Anyone arriving through the Ingress follows the same routine—moving from the Ingress room into the Medbay for their physical and contract before being assisted by seasoned crew members and helped to their assigned decks. But all familiar things must eventually come to an end: two final travelers come through the Ingress. The first, and most noticeable difference between them and all the others, is their clothing. Both are dressed in standard Moira uniforms, though they bear the insignia of one sharing the same rank as Captains Cúrre and Thán. After a moment to take in all the people on the platform ahead of them, one of the two latest arrivals approaches one of the Ingress panels and begins to manipulate the controls. The Ingress completely shuts down. Unlike before, however, there isn’t an imbalance felt across the ship; everything remains normal and stable. Utilizing the computer systems located in the Ingress room, they send out the following message to the crew via the MID: To all those aboard this vessel: I am Ira Phirun, assigned captain of the Moira. First Mate Egan and I will be commandeering all rights to the ship as soon as word is sent to those currently in charge. Expect a more detailed report as soon as all records and logs in Navigation have been reviewed by myself and the First Mate. All questions will be answered in a timely matter. For now, there will be no interruption of daily routine or reprimand if conduct among ranks is broken. Thanks for your time. Heading to Navigation, the Captain and First Mate, for seemingly unknown reasons, approach Navigator Manasseh and have her show them all records and logs of the Moira. Those working in Navigation when the Captain and First Mate arrive will see Mana greet them in a professional manner. Oddly, the Captain and First Mate act very familiar with the Navigator. They review all documents, but when they come upon news that the Ploiatos is on board, their mostly friendly demeanor shifts quickly. The Captain issues a sharp order, unintelligible to those who are close enough to overhear parts of their conversation, and without any warning at all, Mana loses consciousness and collapses right there on the bridge. Within minutes of this happening, the ship as a whole falls into a low power state with basic functions only. Mana’s MID alerts Medbay, and without hesitation, Captain Cúrre places her in cryo with strict orders to those who work there not to disturb the unit. As promised, the Captain and First Mate soon address the crew. ☄ lights down low The lighting has dimmed in all the rooms and halls, the normally crisp air that is pumped from the vents low, and all machines and tech are running at half-speed. These effects can be found throughout the ship. Water in the showers remain hot for only a few minutes before reverting to cold. Recreational equipment powers off not long after it has been turned on. The sanitation and water filtration systems require an hourly manual reboot, and all unused areas of the ship have no power allotted to them until a crew member steps inside. Even then, most functions are not optimal. It’s as if the Moira has been transformed into a dark house with only a candle flickering on the window sill. ☄ reuse & recycle The Captain and First Mate are quick to establish that this is a new regime and go about making the ship and its crew more efficient in the wake of their change in course and the low power state of the ship itself. This means they will systematically inspect each occupied barracks room and leave notes for what needs to be disposed of or stowed away. Unlike before, this is no longer a pleasure cruise, and each member of the crew is a guest on board; they will not tolerate useless clutter. Anything seen as unnecessary will be either placed into storage in the Cargo Bay or disposed of through the airlock. This new need for efficiency also extends to the need to conserve resources until they reach their destination. The showers are set to an automatic timer to minimize water waste. Those few minutes of hot water are all a crew member is now given. Meals are smaller, bordering on ration sizes, and luxuries are done away with entirely in order to preserve supplies so that the ship can go longer before needing to dock at a planet. ☄ new jobs, same faces The Captain and his First Mate, as expressed in their addressing of the Moira, explain that work efficiency is a priority. Applications for a head of the following departments will be accepted for a short period: Navigation, the Tower, Medbay, Defense, the Hold, Sanitation, Ingress work, and the Galley/Mess Hall. (Here.) After reviewing what they receive, one head of department will be chosen and tasked with helping crew find positions relevant to those departments and their own skillsets. They will be allowed to retain any positions that they held before that aren’t ship-functional jobs, but they will have to be done in leisure time. In two weeks time, they’ll be accepting department position applications which will be approved, and all those that do not apply will be assigned in accordance with their initial work application. They will also choose three individuals to act as guards of Ploiatos to ensure that there is a rotation available at all times. Will you choose to follow this new decision and promote yourself into a position of responsibility? Or will you simply wait for a reassignment?

( ooc; For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )

Comments

adam jensen | deus ex

[hanzer]

» CARGO BAY

[Jesus. Not more than a few hours pass since they stick him on cargo bay duty, when this happens? With dozens upon dozens of the crew's confiscated items spilling everywhere, the damn hangar looks like several pawn shops exploded in it.]

We're supposed to organize all of this? [Muttered aloud to no one in particular, his rasp is only barely audible over the ever-present background noise of grinding machinery. He gets the new Captain's need to get rid of "useless clutter" – sees that attitude whenever there's a change of management anywhere – but really? Adam has a hard enough time keeping his own shit organized as it is.

That said, there's a certain itch that can only be scratched by getting to go through a bunch of strangers' things – this sometimes overwhelming curiosity (some would say "nosiness") of his that he really only ever half-tries to keep curtailed. It's an instinct that's always served him well, so why try? So while Adam takes up the long process of getting all these new entries into inventory sorted out, he spends maybe a bit longer on each piece than he really needs to – taking the time to suss out an item's function, or flip through a book, or simply wonder at what significance something could possibly have that motivated its owner to hang on to it for this long.

The next time someone comes on into the cargo bay, he might be handling one of their things, too!]

» MERO DECK/HALLWAYS

[It happens the moment the water in the shower unexpectedly turns from hot to frigid: sudden clarity, a sharpening of a vague half-memory that had been all he could recall from his time just before coming through the Ingress. Icy salt water filling his throat and lungs, the weight of his metal limbs dragging him downwards into dark depths. Distant screams of the mad and the dying, the shriek of metal bent and twisted beyond its limits. The torrential rush of water in his ears, a climbing pressure that threatens to crush him beyond recognition–

Gasping, he tears himself out of the showers and snatches up a towel, the water automatically shutting itself off when he doesn't bother to. Heart hammering in his chest, he barely notices the softly-blinking warning icons along the sides of his vision – concerned messages from his health implants – while he goes about finding his foundation again. Adam wills his breathing steadier, and beat by beat the pounding sound of his own pulse in his skull slowly fades from his hearing. Swallowing hard, he dries himself off, throws on a uniform, and stumbles out of the housing deck and into the darkened hallways.

The dim lighting out here's a comfort, calming in contrast to the stark white of Mero Deck. He catches a glimpse of himself in a window and pauses to look – prosthetic eyes peer back at him, framed by the black twin commas of his eye shield implants. They look... Haunted, uncomfortable to be set in the hard angles of his face. He'd never thought that anything artificial could look so strained. Vaguely, he tries to remember the last time he'd had a real good look at himself. Weeks, months ago? He's not sure if the Adam from back then would recognize himself. There's a disconnect when he looks at himself now that leaves him uneasy.]

I should be dead. [The sudden thought's too sharp, too honed to a point for it not to pierce his consciousness and spill out his mouth before he can even realize he's saying it aloud. Or before he can realize there's anyone around to hear.]

» WILDCARD

(( hmu with anything you want! feel free to pm or plurk at arcanebarrage if you want to talk specifics, or if you want me to write you a header. c: ))

cargo bay

[saveyourserpent]

[Liquid heads into the cargo bay like a man on a mission. Take his stuff, will they? At least he was able to keep more things than he'd expected; apparently their idea of extraneous wasn't quite what he was expecting. Still, they'd taken what they'd thought was unimportant junk, when in fact...

In fact, he's just noticing that someone is handing a very familiar pile of junk. It may look like a pile of scrap metal and other useless things, but it is in fact a pile of crude weapons fashioned out of said junk.]

Ah, there it is.

[He stalks over towards the man who's currently got his things. Sure, he doesn't really need a bunch of weapons fashioned out of sharpened metal wedged into hunks of plastic and the like when he has proper knives and a nice collection of guns, but he wants them.

It's simply being prepared, as far as he's concerned. Besides, they took some effort to make.]

How angry do you think they'd get if I smuggled those out?

[hanzer]

[Pausing in the act of trying to figure out what exactly he's looking at (a knife block, just for a single knife?) Adam glances up at the guy from behind his darkened lenses. The sleeves of his uniform – worn only very begrudgingly – are pulled up to his elbows, revealing forearms and hands sculpted from black polymer and metal.]

Probably not as angry as they'd be at me for letting someone smuggle these out. [Not that…He really cares. Honestly, he wouldn't mind seeing them back with their owner – how the hell is he supposed to categorize these, anyway? They're kind of like weapons, but so's half the junk here if he's going to be that broad with the definition.

He sets down the thing he's holding, placing it back with its companions, and folds his arms.] Why? Is there a modern art gallery around here that's missing them, or something?

[saveyourserpent]

[Luckily for Liquid, he isn't working at the moment, so he doesn't have to wear his uniform. And he's the kind of guy who takes that thing off the second he gets the chance. This guy does not seem so lucky. He's got some interesting arms, though. Liquid probably looks like he's staring for a moment, but he's just taking a look. It's different.]

No, but there's a weapons collection around here that's a bit incomplete. And to think, they considered them rubbish.

[Because they are, and he knows that. But he likes to have some sort of fully rounded arsenal, and that means anything he can get his hands on, and what's the point of having them if he can't get his hands on them?]

Didn't think they'd have someone inspecting everything so thoroughly. Suppose they really want to make sure everything's by the book around here.

» hallways

[psychadrellic]

Why is that?

[That's either the voice of a 100-year old chain smoker or an alien talking to you there, Jensen.

Thane realizes he wasn't actually being addressed, but the man's statement pings his curiosity enough he replies regardless. And of course, he's polite enough to emerge from the shadows he's been lurking in to do so, as well.

'Sup.]

[hanzer]

[The voice – inhuman, almost like it's being run through a modulator – takes him by surprise and he nearly whips right around to face the speaker, but barely manages to control the motion. With a calm that doesn't quite match the unease still sitting in the pit of his stomach, Adam glances around over his shoulder, only to be greeted by a barrage of confused readings from his retinals.

"Inhuman" is right. It's…Well, he's in space– it's got to be an alien. Whatever it is, his implants don't know what to make of it. Adam has to suppress a harsh laugh. Magic's real, apparently, so why not this too?]

Where I'm from, drowning will do that to you. The Ingress… [His brow knits, like he's trying – and failing – to remember something.] Not sure if I should call its timing "convenient" or "miraculous."

cargo bay;

[alterplex]

[ Venom's search isn't quite as scandalous or sentimental as others are bound to be, but his item of choice is another vice among the stack of harmless indulgences, the naughty mags and novelty joke goods. He's not meant to be here, he realizes, because the point of an item being confiscated is that it stays that way, but leeway can be given in light of the fact that he'd arrived with his belonging of choice curiously missing. No one'd explicitly plucked it from between his cold, metal appendages, so. Fair game, right.

The man weaves through the dim area of the cargo bay like, yes, a phantom. Neutral expression shadowed by poor lighting, blood-red bionic occasionally clicking when it finds small cylindrical objects that resemble what he's looking for, but not quite.

He actually regrets touching quite a few of the things that he winds up skimming through, but no matter, he's a persistent man and he will, if he can, find his goddamn smokes.

With that said, when he finds Adam sifting through the inventory, Venom tips his head carefully to the side and ventures a soft tap of his foot against linoleum, announcing himself. ]

...You work here? [ he assumes. ]

[hanzer]

[Adam glances around at the sound, attention lingering on the man for a few extra seconds. "Grizzled" is the first word that comes to mind when he sees the guy, eyepatch and all– military, without a doubt. Starting to run into a lot of those.]

Apparently, yeah. [His tone's dry, if not especially annoyed-sounding (or especially full of any emotion at all, really.) Not a hundred percent sold on the job as a whole yet, if it isn't obvious; honestly, he's feeling a little underutilized, a bit like the Six Million Dollar Inventory Guy. At least it's quiet– or it would be if people weren't constantly coming in here looking for their missing stuff.

Adam cocks a brow at the latest of these visitors.] Let me guess– you're looking for something?

[He indicates the pile of crap in front of him with a wave of one cyberarm. At one point, it might've been organized by "sorted" and "not-sorted," but the people that've come before to pick through and reclaim lost possessions have seen to that.]

guess you're just getting all the snakes! (hallways)

[soldiergenes]

[ After a long day of dealing with both familiar and unfamiliar faces, Snake is about ready to turn in and try to get some sleep. Nothing has settled in light of the arrival of a new captain, but the ship is still moving and time is still marching forward. Snake may not sleep much, but it has to happen sometime.

On his way back to his room in Mero Deck, he spots a man staring out one of the windows into the open chasm that is space. A lot of the newcomers have to wrap their heads around their situation like that; Snake had been the same way once.

He's in the middle of passing him by when the stranger speaks up, and his words are enough to stop Snake in his tracks. He may not know the guy, and the words probably aren't even meant for him, but it's also not the kind of thing you ignore.

Snake turns back toward the new arrival, scanning over his face and those unnatural eyes. Yet another person with prosthetic enhancements. One of Snake's own eyes has been turned to glass, so he's not really in a place to judge. ]

You're not the only one. [ Snake doesn't mean himself. He's heard of a handful of other people who've come back from the dead here. ]

there're 40 snakes in my boot!

[hanzer]

[Adam looks around – surprised in spite of himself – and catches sight of another man, his eyes immediately drawn to the other's. One reflective sphere where a real eye should be, no attempt to make it appear anything but. Somehow he doesn't get the sense that it's a proxy eye by choice. Glassed after the tussle with the Caducans, just like Dorian and Isha had said– it must've been. This guy's been here a while, then.

He takes in that statement, the line of his mouth thinning.] It's a little hard to find that comforting, believe it or not.

[The words would sound a little waspish coming from anyone else, but there's no hostility in his tone – or much of anything, really. It's almost too-deliberately neutral, like he's trying to hold back something just under the surface, keep it from bubbling over.]

A ship full of dead people? [One corner of his mouth tugs upwards.] It ought to be named the Charon instead.

[The Moira's name had grated on him from the start, ever since he'd first heard it. The Fates – like he needs anyone or anything else tugging at his strings.]

throws another metal gear on the pile (cargo bay)

[cyborged]

Guess so.

[Raiden drops down from up high, landing like he's just hopped down from a low wall. This isn't his assignment, but so far it's the quietest part of the ship, and moreover, now someone's here he can ask about his stuff. It's just a knife, and he still has all his other weapons, but he doesn't exactly know how to go about getting a new one. Especially not with this regime change.]

Don't suppose you've found a bowie knife in all that, have you?

i have enough of them to build a metal gear of my own now!

[hanzer]

[Despite himself, Adam jerks his head around at the sudden appearance of... Someone who looks to be even more augged up than he is. Ogre is what comes to mind – illegal in his world outside of national armed forces and sanctioned PMCs, ogres were so extensively modified that the UN classified them as lethal weapons rather than people.

But if this guy's an ogre, he's a little on the small side. No less capable, though– not the way he'd managed to escape his attention so completely. There's a conflicted mix of wariness and interest in the way Adam holds himself as he turns away from the assorted stuff in front of him to face the cyborg.]

Depends on how generous your definition of a bowie knife is. [He's only sort of being flippant. Adam gestures at a pile of sharp objects that may or may not be intended as knifes; after minutes of careful deliberation earlier, he'd decided that only their creator knew the answer to that question.]

hallwayssssssssssss

[wallride]

[lúcio, upon seeing adam again, immediately switches to his healing wubs before even engaging in conversation. he skates to stop next to adam, cocking his head quizzically.]

You're not, though.

[the concern is clear in his voice.]

[hanzer]

[A vaguely familiar tone reaches his ears before its owner comes into view; the significance of the sound doesn't escape him. Healing beats. DJ Medic clearly came prepared, this time. Adam lets out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding – a sharp rush of air, almost like a harsh, hoarse laugh. He doesn't look around.]

We've got to stop meeting like this. [An attempt at humor, meant to deflect that troubling concern of Lúcio's – but the humor barely reaches his tone, much less his expression. He'd gotten a bit worse at doing that over the past few months.]

Cargo Bay

[dancingblade]

[she cannot say that the change in leadership bothers her too much; there was logic in their previous captains handing over control to what appears to be the original captain, though the suspicion of the crew at such a gesture is also sensible. But judging the actions of others was not Fi's task and so... She's taken to circling around the ship. To someone else, she might appear to restless.

For her, she's simply trying to figure out how many people were aboard this vessel now and if any required help. Humans and dim lights were never a particularly good combination after all--]

...

[she hadn't expected someone to be going through the many items that had been moved to the Cargo Bay though. It's someone new; she doesn't recognize the man's aura at all. On the plus side; she has no items to root through or discard]

It would appear that the supplies we are carrying have increased. [comes a soft voice from above Jensen's location. She flutters down quietly after 'announcing' her presence] Will you be re-organizing everything alone?

[hanzer]

[He glances upwards at the sound and… Has to make an effort not to visibly react at his newest visitor.

Soft, almost child-like– the voice of Eliza Cassan, Picus TV's ever-present news anchor, immediately rises to the forefront of his mind. She'd turned out to be an extremely advanced AI; it's hard not to associate the idea with what he's looking at right now. Adam gets a sudden, crazy urge to reach out and try and sweep an arm through the body in front of him – prove to himself that he's speaking to a hologram – but stamps it down.

It takes him an extra half-second to stop staring, shake his head to dispel the confused readings from his retinal implants, and respond.] It'd probably seem less intimidating if I wasn't.

[Not that he looks like someone capable of being intimidated at all – there's a purposefully casual sound to it. He's certainly keeping his voice admirably level, given his shock from earlier.]

cargo bay

[whoami]

[ While Sam was in cryo, it looked like two of the grand total of three (four if you counted the disc) of his belongings had ended up in here. The Ducati, and his motorcycle jacket to be precise. The second...well, he wasn't that attached to it. The first? Looks like he'd have to park it somewhere lse. ]

Hey! Leave it alone!

[hanzer]

[Well. He'd wondered who this thing belonged to– looks like the owner found him first.

Adam stands up slowly from where he's kneeling aside the bike, in no sort of hurry at all – not like someone who was just caught doing something he maybe shouldn't have been doing. He shows both hands placatingly, the silver of a micro-spanner clearly visible against the black polycarbonate shell of one artificial palm.]

Easy. I promise I'm not hurting it.

hallways

[mylawn]

[76 has been busy learning the layout of the ship--partially for practical reasons, mostly because he definitely expects things to go south sooner rather than later, and wants contingency plans in place. It mostly involves stalking through the halls with his big-ass gun, poking around, and reacting poorly when people tell him to not point his big-ass gun at them.

Suffice to say, if someone doesn't stop him, he's perfectly content to ignore them and continue on with whatever it is he thinks he's doing, but Adam's outloud musings are enough to give him pause.

Or, at least, enough to get his attention. He's still trying to figure out the nature of whatever brings people here.]

Talking to yourself?

[That sounds like something you say when you're talking to yourself.]

[hanzer]

[He say that out loud? Great. A deep exhale of breath – still not as steady as he'd like, but not as shaky as before. It'll have to do.]

Thought I was.

[Turning his head to take a look at his unintended audience, Adam gets an eyeful of what he nearly takes for a cyborg– before he realizes that what he'd thought were a series of red eyeplates (the light appearing to coalesce into a single shape) is actually the broad lens of a visor. His gaze flicks downwards, lingering over what the guy's got in his hands for a few seconds.

That is a big-ass gun.

Adam's eyes narrow, but he offer little reaction other than that. No fear, no wariness. For how he acts, one would think that people've got their guns out around him practically all the time.]

Taking your rifle out for a walk? [There's a wry note to his rasp.]

Hallways

[otiosity]

[You hear things in the hallways, especially when new people arrive. It's part of life being trapped on a ship with people who may or may not be pretty much insane. Hawke doesn't usually comment on any of it. It's not her business. Whatever troubles you have are your own. However that one sort of perks her ears because it's just such a curious thing to say.]

Dead... physically? Emotionally? Spiritually? ...Politically? Do you think they make graveyards for the politicians who kill their careers?

[Welcome to nonsensical musings with Marian Hawke.]

[hanzer]

[Adam doesn't turn to look until the "graveyards" bit, because– what the hell is she on about, for real?

He levels her with a look, the metal components in his eyes gleaming in what little light there is around them. A faint look of recognition passes over his face – something about the way she talks reminds him of someone – but his expression is otherwise carefully neutral.]

Let's go with "all of the above." Just to be safe.

[Guy sounds like he eats his cigarettes and then chases them with whisky. One of those things is true.]

cargo bay!

[cockade]

[It's not unusual for Arno to walk along the higher ledges and simply watch people as they work, a viewing point that he spends trying to keep his mind busy. The cargo bay reminds him of the space found within Les Halles et Deux, at least before his unwise decision to destroy an entire shipment of gunpowder. (Nearly exploding a building with him inside it is honestly something he'd rather forget.)

Seeing others tinker through some of the confiscated material isn't surprising- he's heard of jobs that are similar. But his eyes get caught on Adam's lingering with certain pieces that causes the Frenchman to pause, crouching lower on his perch to try and see what exactly he's got in his hands.

Finally, he decides to call out below- whether this startles the other or not, he never really concerns himself with it.]

Are you finding anything interesting in what you have there, monsieur?

[He may have forgotten about the fact that he's made himself look incredibly suspicious in all this curiosity that he has. Oops.]

hallways - because no one does late like Dorian does late

[liberaltus]

[To say that the new regime was inconvenient for Dorian is an understatement: two minutes worth of hot showers, the chill in the air with the ship running on less power, the taking of certain of his belongings! Dorian hardly created anything that could remotely be called clutter, and yet certain of his things were gone and that included some of his wine stores. It was certainly enough to make a grump out of him, never mind that his feet were positively freezing.

Warm showers id little to help, as he'd just experienced that warm shifts to cold in a short space of time. Not enough time at all to groom properly forcing him to continue even as the water became bracingly cold. Fortunately the one thing that hadn't taken from him were his grooming tools, there certainly would have been an uproar of gargantuan proportions had that happened. The only way he could achieve any level of warmth was to layer up: thermals, pajamas, socks, slippers, a robe, and a blanket...as long as he was well groomed he could care less about what he wore. Not that he wore anything badly, but who simply walked around in their bedroom clothing?

He could have stayed in his room, hid under his blankets, but sitting still did nothing to take his mind off of his and so he left his quarters? Did it cure what ails him? No, but seeing a familiar face in the halls went a long way to help, however, even if his timing could have been better.]

Such a tragic waste it would be to lose such a handsome face. [Dorian offered a smile that was both concerned and sympathetic.]

fashionably late!

[hanzer]

(( I FORGOT... overflow log.

continued here! ))