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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?
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-08-01 12:13 am
cargo bay;
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
(He himself's been designated as a veterinary assistant, so. Thanks, Moira.)
Not much for idle conversation, he nods and takes a precursory look through the piles of... whatever all of this stuff is. Mechanical joints curl deftly around something that looks like a karaoke microphone, which he accidentally triggers into playing a loud, midi-esque version of the Sailor Moon song.
Well, that's. Okay. ]
You need a better job. [ He concludes, frowning as he tries to find out how to... shut this thing up. God, it's autoreplaying, what the hell. ]
no subject
...As long as it lasts, anyway.]
Well, the first day wasn't so bad. Then someone figured out how to turn that thing on. [He's kidding, but only mostly– because what the actual hell is he listening to right now (is that Pritchard's ringtone?)
Watching quietly, Adam lets the guy struggle with the toy for a little while, the dulcet sounds of 1995 serving to fill the silence between them. He'll probably let it go on for about twenty seconds more before his nerves start to wear thin, before he rationalizes just grabbing it back and snapping the thing in two (it's unsorted, who's to say it couldn't have gotten broken in transit?) The slowly deepening knit in his brow might say as much.]
no subject
He almost levels Adam with one of those patented Dad Looks, the one that says 'son, that thing probably cost someone some amount of money' (the side effects of military frugality), but it comes and goes. It's not as if he particularly enjoyed having to converse over some Sick Magical Girl Tunez.
He even breathes a quiet exhale for Adam's trouble. Some permutation of a chuckle from a past life. ]
Guessing you're going to get tired of this pretty fast.
[ Thank you, Venom Snake, purveyor of infinite wisdom. He's attempting to keep it light, though, for the sake of Adam's sanity and for some sense of empathy in a situation where nothing makes sense and their autonomy's been robbed unceremoniously. If nothing else, they're all in this together.
Venom politely refrains from touching anything else that might make noise. ]
If you're not tired of it already.
no subject
Adam takes the busted toy and – this, after the way he'd handled it earlier – gently sets it back down in its place. He'd far from pulverized it; it might even be something he'd be able to fix, should he feel guilty enough about it later to try. Settling back, he folds his arms, the black polycarbonate bunches of myomers flexing and extending almost like the real cords of muscle they're meant to emulate. He regards the other man levelly.]
Maybe. Granted, I've been a little short on patience lately. [Something something "wild goose chase across the globe," something something "conspiracies perpetuated by the people he'd thought he could trust." But there's no animosity in his tone, even if his words are blunt.
There's a questioning look about him though, obvious even with his eyes shielded from view. What is it that the guy's looking for, if not some musical accompaniment?]
no subject
Blood-red fingers pick up another cylinder, sets it down when he identifies it as some sort of novelty pen. The next item he finds is a vial of foul-smelling cologne.
He's not sure why the captains even bothered confiscating some of these. ]
—Speaking of patience. [ Help a guy out, Adam. ] I'm looking for an electronic cigar.
[ Yes, he came all the way down here, listened to the Sailor Moon song for 30 seconds, engaged this poor guy in awkward conversation, just for his smokes.
He is incredibly earnest about this. ]
no subject
The prosthetic gets his attention now – he'd noticed it before, but it's a bit easier to focus on it now without cartoon jingles playing in the background. The thing's crude, but after watching the man move for a few seconds, he comes to the conclusion that it works better than its looks suggest. It's the sort of thing he might see on those underground body modders obsessed with an older aesthetic, throwbacks to a vision of the future that never died when the eighties did.
Not that this guy got it just for the aesthetic. The curiosity's there – what is it like for augs in other worlds? – but Adam doesn't put a voice to any of his questions. He can be blunt, but not that blunt.]
Sorry. [Surprisingly, he even sounds a little sorry.] Haven't seen anything like that yet.
But if you're desperate– [He reaches into a pocket, drawing out his smokes and flashing the label. The offer's there.]
no subject
But that aside, the smokes. Venom almost quirks a shadow of a smile when the goods are proffered to him with such ease, maybe a bit enamored that some vices will be common across the board for soldiers (which he assumes the person he's talking to is, officially or unofficially). Regardless of universes or worlds, there's some comfort in knowing that they all need to cope somehow. ]
Aren't we all.
[ Dryly, but with a hint of gratitude. His human hand reaches out, palm up, to take whatever Adam will give him. Not the whole pack, he figures— if they're cutting down on 'luxuries', he has a feeling cigarettes may fall under that purview. ]
I owe you one.
no subject
Just get me sometime later. [Said with a dismissive raise of one palm.
At the rate he's going through his only pack, he can envision a lot of these trades happening in the future. If he's lucky, these planets they're supposed to be visiting will have 'em: civilization and space cigarettes.]
My name's Adam. [He nods.] So you can find me, after I find my way out of here.
[Hopefully to a more fitting position. He may not be a soldier, per se– but he's not whatever they're asking him to be right now, either.]
no subject
The lighter clicks once, twice. Third time's the charm, and the familiar scent of smoke fills the small space between them. ]
Adam. [ He repeats, as he hands back the lighter. ] Call me 'Snake'.
[ Surprise, he is definitely not the only Snake on this ship, but that's a story for another day...
And just to make sure that Adam knows he's not alone in this place being utterly shit, he appends: ] If you need me, I'll be at the vet clinic.
[ Completely deadpan. ]
no subject
Alright. Like Kurt Russell, yeah? Another relic of the eighties. Guy's got the looks for it, at least.
The lighter goes back in his pocket, and his arms go back to being folded. That last remark earns Snake a quirk upwards at one corner of Adam's mouth– the closest thing he has approximating a real smile.]
That so? [He snorts.] Gotta say, I'm starting to think we're being hazed.
no subject
Blowing a thin line of smoke towards the ceiling, Venom gives up on his search for his possession and situates himself a step away from the table, away from all the relics of strangers' lives. For Adam's smile, he has another wry statement to spare.
(This is the most he's talked in a while.) ]
Got a feeling the 'hazing' won't stop at poor job assignments.
[ A quick glance upwards, at the flickering lights and the stuttering hum of the temperature control. ]
We're gonna have to find ways to cope with what we aren't being given.
no subject
Settling back on the table behind him, ready for what he's expecting will be a long stretch of silence while Snake has a smoke, he has enough time for one thought (wait, do we even have animals here for a vet to treat?) before his companion speaks up again. Seems like nicotine is what gets this guy talking.
Adam doesn't have to follow the glance upwards; he get the idea. Even if the cold doesn't get to him as much as it might – perks of the health implants, he supposes – he's seen the way it's affected the ones who can't cope.]
Did you have something in mind?
[Could be legitimate ways he means, could be more… Clandestine. Hard to tell. Snake's a tough one to read, he has to admit.]
no subject
[ Cigarette between his lips, he taps at the MID embedded in his wrist to make his point. He can't say that he feels the need to broadcast his face and voice so publicly, the way the others have been doing, but his assessment of the matter is largely neutral. ]
Quickest way to build up our own stockpiles would be to figure out who's reliable. Who has access to which resources, and how they gained that access.
[ A militaristic solution to a rather basic problem, but it extends to more than just food or blankets— it extends to influence, to how they're going to gain a modicum of respect around here. ]
no subject
Practical. If you believe in our new captain's judgment, we've got department heads being chosen pretty soon here. ["If you believe" being the operant phrase here.] Could be a place to start.
Otherwise, we're talking networking to find the people who're worthwhile. [It's hard to keep the wryness out of his tone – so much for avoiding the network. He doesn't say it in as many words, but Adam's feelings about the whole "public broadcast" thing probably align with Venom's, from the sounds of it.]
no subject
[ Which sounds paranoid, yes, but he doesn't want to rule out that possibility completely. An ingrained distrust of nebulous organizations and mock-governments? Possibly.
He takes a long inhale of smoke, lets it settle in his lungs. Talking shop is far easier than talking about anything else; it's routine. Like clockwork. ]
—What criteria do you look for when you're looking for 'trustworthy'.
[ Abruptly, Venom turns the question on Adam. Single eye swiveling to fix itself firmly on the man settled a few feet away from him, rendered in sleek synthetic material. ]
no subject
In other words: once you're enemies with the goddamned Illuminati, everything else seems that much more believable by comparison. It's a good point on its own merits, though– and one that he's already considered, himself.
But the question, as abrupt as it is, gives him pause – it takes him a good few long seconds of thought before he can come up with any sort of answer at all.] As long as they haven't given me a reason not to trust them...
[He frowns, mouth thinning. It's a weak-sounding answer, and he knows it – but it's very truly the only sort of criteria he's come to be able to rely on.]
Lately, I– Haven't really been able to be picky about who I place my trust in. But as long as we're all here, I think most of us are in the same boat.
no subject
...So you think a shared situation can unite people from different backgrounds.
[ Asked as a statement of confirmation, rather than a question. It's not particularly accusatory despite the phrasing, and the slight pause before he speaks is a testament to the fact that his reply is hardly a dismissal. ]
no subject
[He's made his gambles countless times– and lost many of them, admittedly. Looking back on the past couple of weeks, thinking about all the enemies – hidden and unhidden – that he's made, Adam finds that he can count on one hand the people in his life that he'd place his trust in unquestioningly.
But without even those one or two people backing him up, he's certain he wouldn't have made it as far as he has. It's that thought that still keeps him capable of trust at all, he supposes.]
no subject
Right.
Let's see if you'll ever have to take that gamble.
[ The carcass of a cigarette grinds itself extinguished against the cold surface of the wall, the stub kept and curled between metal fingers (force of habit, not to leave traces of himself behind). Venom delivers this with such ease that it might even be taken as a joke; he'll do nothing to dispel that misunderstanding, incidentally. ]
https://youtu.be/-crgQGdpZR0 - thread theme, apparently
Unfolding his arms, Adam pushes forwards off the table and circles around to its other side where his "work" patiently awaits. As much as he'd love it, shit ain't gonna sort itself. Leaning over the table, propped up by his arms like a commander poring over maps and battleplans, he glances up and jerks his head in Venom's direction.]
For what it's worth, I wouldn't offer a smoke to anyone I wasn't willing to take a chance on.
[Especially because he's got like, what– twelve of them left? Better make them count.]
v'll make adam a mixtape with that song on it, dw
Too late, though. His barely-there exhale would be considered a chuckle from a more amiable person, and as he brushes past Adam's desk of colorful knickknacks, he has a twitch of his lips upwards to spare. ]
Beats some other tests of faith I've been through.
[ Murder, it's always murder.
But he leaves it at that, prone as he is to entering and exiting without any real explanation. He's remembered Adam's face, though, so chances are he'll say hi in the halls. ]
he's a 90s kid, get him dat a-teens version
Adam watches wordlessly, impassively, as Venom brushes past. No explanation required – in truth, it's the sort of communication he likes and prefers to have. Short, illuminating, and with an absolute dearth of small talk. He remains that way for a little longer, even after the other man's left the room.
Venom's certainly one to keep his eye on, in the future. But for now, he'll keep an eye out for that cigar.]