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the lucid disparity revisited
"Never be the first to arrive or the last to go, and never, ever be both."
By now, time has passed, and most of the crew have found some sort of comfortable groove with the natives of the unnamed island they crashed near. Partying, gambling and drinking, and more… Even the mysterious pool has given people who could answer its riddle insight in this confusing time. However, as the nights and days continue to progress and the parties begin to blur together, things are… odd. The hosts are still as kind as ever, offering anything and everything those at the temple-like building could ask for, but every so often, the world around them appears different. Clear, as if a fog had been lifted. Yet, it’s only a blink, and then, it’s gone, returning everyone to their regularly scheduled eternal party.
Down on the beach, the Captains are still as busy as ever working with those capable to restore function to the Moira. On the morning of the 20th, Navigator Manasseh’s vitals begin to slowly return to normal, her status on the Directory reverting to GREEN, and with it, life is brought back to the Moira. This, of course, means everyone is able to board the ship and leave, but most of the crew who traveled through the jungle and stayed at the party aren’t exactly willing to go just yet. Prior to this, a few of the crew who suddenly realized things were strange and that the people around them were acting strange - themselves included - approached Thán with this particular revelation, upon which Nathan Drake planned to bring back things from the temple to be tested for irregularities. Each sample returned to Cúrre does not alert her to anything abnormal, comprised of similar compounds—except for the water brought to her from the pool. Acting quickly, she reaches the same conclusion as a few of the other crewmembers do: that the water neutralizes the mysterious intoxication caused by everything on this unknown planet.
☄ FROM UNDER THE VEIL
The combined efforts of the crew and Curre have resulted in an “antidote” being made from the pool water; crew members pass it around to those down on the ship and beach, then utilize caution while administering it to those at the party. The change happens slowly for most. A drink that was perfect only a little while ago is suddenly sickeningly sweet and no longer enjoyable. The food tastes wrong. The music no longer urges you to dance but instead reminds you that your feet are aching. The magic is fading, and as it does, the cracks in the facade begin to reveal themselves. The elegant city built into the rocks is faded and cracking at the edges. Nothing is as it seems, especially the hosts. Their eagerness to please now has an edge to it. They try and ply their guests with new food, drink and distractions, but they know when the game is up. Do you try and slip away when they’re distracted, or do you demand to know why they’ve done this? Do you dare to find out?
☄ AS TIME GOES BY Crew have begun to filter to the beach, and as the ship reboots, its systems expelling water and allowing it to float on the surface, all Moira-connected technology refreshes. MID devices, to those who check, will show that a year has passed since they crash landed on this strange planet. Those that did not join the party would not have been aware that so much time had passed as the planet seems to be under the influence of a blurring of time, probably due to the fact it is so close to the Luminous Sea. Crew would have gone through the motions and not realized that supplies were dwindling, and anyone who has themselves looked over in the Medbay will discover that they are, in fact, physically one year older. With the Moira finally functioning and with everyone on board, the ship finally begins to ascend and leave the planet behind.
The Captains are all working together to get the crew settled back on board and help those who might need some adjusting to this particular news. Since it has been such a long time, fresh supplies are badly needed, and the ship is directed towards the closest known place: the Mini Colony.
( ooc; For questions, go here. )
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-09-19 04:07 pm
riptide / first prompt ota >:U
[he accepts the antidote if only because he's been putting just about everything and anything inside himself recently. trying all the alien delicacies, the usual worry about it not working with his systems pushed right to the back of his brain.
aaand then it all comes crashing down.
riptide just sighs with dull resignation when he realises He's Been Had.]
...Goddamnit.
[if anyone is near him, riptide just cocks his head.]
You want a lift back to the ship? I don't know about you, but this is embarrassing and I'm eager to forget about it. [he casts a glance at a nearby host.] Yeah, mate, I'm talking about you.
b. operation: cat ass (locked to magnus and ratchet)
[riptide is... hesitant when he gets the mail message. last time had been a disaster and literally nothing about the situation was doing anything alleivate his anxiety about even going to the cargo bay to see what waited him.
he does, though, because if it's another head, then riptide would rather he find it than one of the human crew.
predictably, what he finds is much worse. riptide can't help the loud shriek that echos through the bay when he finds what was addressed to him, and he hasn't quite calmed himself when he messages two of the people he thinks would know what to do.]
Whu-- what happened to Ravage?? Y-you guys are from further on, what happened to him?!
[the last part is practically screamed into his mid. riptide would never have been too heart-broken about a decepticon dying before, but he sort of liked ravage. that, and you never really get used to seeing someone's entrails spilled on the floor like dropped spaghetti.]
wildcard
GO GO GO
OPERATION: CAT ASS IS A GO
Where are you.
Re: OPERATION: CAT ASS IS A GO
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A: is for asshole
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OPERATION CAT ASS
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[Rung was honestly not surprised when the illusion came to an end. He'd been bothered by the instances of clarity over the time here, and so this made so much sense. Now, though, he felt he needed to find others to see how they were doing, especially as the antidote kicked in for them.]
[He steps up to anyone he sees that seems to be realizing that this party is over.]
Are you all right?
B. Back to business.
[It was time to head back to the ship. He's urge along anyone he could, or needed to, though he was pretty sure that as the illusion broke for others, they'd be eager enough to leave.]
[What was he real surprise was the length of time they'd been away from the Moira. Time wasn't really thing Cybertronian's tended to worry themselves with. What with living for millions of years, a 'year' wasn't really much to make note of and tended to pass quickly anyway. But this? This was much faster than normal and left him feeling just...a bit off.]
[Was this how Tailgate had felt, waking up and being brought onto the Lost Light after so long? Displaced and just shocked? Though, that was a much greater scale, but still, it was...strange feeling.]
[Still, it felt good to be back on the ship, back in his office, and while the place needed a bit of dusting, he was ready to open his doors to anyone who needed a moment of his time. And he could think of a few he intended to seek out for their own good.]
[In fact, he's just going to wander about the ship and start checking on people.]
C. Wildcard.
Come at me, bro.
B, after ratchet's post ngl
He's either super into cleaning or he's distracted by all the bullshit running through his head right now but either way he's not paying attention to Rung at all and is kind of grumbling to himself about whatever the fuck]
Poor Ratchet.
fuck rartchet poor starscream >8U!!
jean grey
( from under the veil - closed to peter )
It took time but once her mind was clear, it was like breathing in fresh air for the first time. Her senses came back full force but she felt more in control. She didn't drink or eat anything else and let the others hand out the rest of the antidote. She tried to get her old uniform back, telling their hosts she didn't want to stay in the dress anymore. They wouldn't return the uniform so she asks for another outfit. Pants, a shirt, boots.
She gets them plus a jacket with fancy stitching. It'll do.
As she slips away, she starts to see the building for what it really is. It's actually pretty damn creepy. Infuriating if she were to really dissect it. They had all been fooled, including her. Their hosts' intentions may have been genuine but it was all done to make them stay without even realizing it.
Looking out over the edge of what had been one of the balconies, she can just make out the edge of the jungle far off. There's no way she's going back down and going through that jungle. Instead, she walks away from the ledge, takes a breath, and then turns and walks back.
She can do this. She can do this.
Jean lets out another breath as she jumps off the ledge and into the air. ]
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( as time goes by - closed to obi-wan )
Sorry I'm late!!
no worries! i am slow myself
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( as time goes by - open )
( wildcard )
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thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw
( haircuts @ friseur de angie ) so long, we'd become the flowers
two corpses we were, two corpses I saw
( LOCKED to
when the weather gets hot
( wildcard ) after the insects have made their claim
I'll be home with you, I'll be home with you
wildcard
It's not long after Adrien leaves her to her own devices after helping her get transferred back to her body that another staff member arrives and Tex can't avoid calling out to her. ]
Excuse me—I'd really like a bottle of water.
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and they'd find us in a week, when the buzzards get loud.
after the foxes have known our taste~
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so long, we'd become the flowers
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appointment with friseur de angie
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COMMANDER SHEPARD ★ ota!
2☄ WILDCARD
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Ah well, what's one more? But just a little! I think I'm... too many in today already.
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Re: COMMANDER SHEPARD ★ ota!
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get your fix
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forgot to use these icons on the first tag
Sorry!!
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Craig Boone | OTA
[Boone hasn't exactly been difficult to tempt into drinking strange things since he got here, so offering him the water is pretty easy. Soon enough he's back to his normal self, his body aching and his eyes suspiciously taking in the party around him. The abrupt change in his demeanour attracts one of the hosts, who offers more food and drink. And though he declines, instead asking what the hell their game is, the mantis just moves its mouth parts into what he assumes is supposed to be a pleasant smile, and offers something else.
Clearly, he's not going to get any answers. He's probably better off just getting the hell out of here, before he goes back to how he was before. Passing his fellow crewmates, he can see that some are starting to come back to their senses, too. But if he passes someone with a drink still in their hand, he stops to knock it to the floor. Because tact.]
Goddammit, don't drink that!
[He says it in a low hiss, though that's mostly just because he's extremely pissed off. Still, he doesn't know that the hosts won't turn violent if they catch him trying to break up their party.]
☄ Stress Relief; training sim room
[Being told that he's a year older isn't actually a massive problem for Boone, at least not in the sense that he's not as young as he was. He's still only 27, and feels pretty much the exact same as he did at 26. The problem is that he can't wrap his head around how he lost an entire year partying under some bizarre spell, and he keeps wondering what would have happened if nobody had figured it out. Most of all, he's pissed at himself for getting caught up in it. It's an irrational anger, but it's there all the same. He knows he was in a bad place when they crash landed on that planet, and he'd been all too happy to drink to forget. Maybe if he'd been less inclined to drown his problems in booze, he would have had the sense to walk away. Instead, he'd just accepted it.
Well, that's how he sees it, anyway. Maybe it doesn't matter, in the end. It's over with now.
So, onto the other important stuff that he can actually do something about; making sure he hasn't gotten rusty with his rifle after a year of doing nothing but drinking and eating. He's in the training simulation room with his sniper rifle, firing at distant targets below from on top of a rocky cliff of sorts. He figured out a while ago that he was still as good as he was before, but goddamn does it feel good to shoot things right now. And if anyone happens to join him, he just glances over at them briefly before getting back to it. His own quiet way of accepting the company, even if he doesn't say anything.]
☄ Wildcard
[Anything else!]
Re: Craig Boone | OTA
[Niko was given the cure earlier at the beach, with the others near the ship. He'd not been all that into the party, but the realization of how distracted he'd been was subtle. He went with the others to disperse more of it, snap as many people out of it as possible.]
[For once he doesn't feel way under-dressed. Everyone else is overdressed.]
[He follows Boone through the crowd, spiking some drinks.] You alright man? Didn't do too much, did you? [Even if the answer is probably yes, he's going to check.]
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Continued....
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andyr prince | original
[ the rousing from compulsion slumber, for neither Andyr or the ones he came to the Moira with, isn't pleasant. in fact, it's agonizing, given the ports on Andyr's spine are filled with a sanitation gel meant to keep the ports neutral and clean, and that gel is meant to be changed out every few months. it's now been a year, plus the time before that he'd gone without. he comes to his right mind feeling like he has open wounds all down his back, and they're all infected down to the bone. it's with gritted teeth, grimaces and the occasional gasp for breath that he pushes on to leave the party area.
however, it's unfortunately not before he's gotten someone to fill him in on what exactly happened to them here, and how much time they've lost. not only is this an issue for Andyr, and Alva to boot, it's one for Val, who also has the problem of a constantly running organ farm in his chest, that's full to bursting now. It's honestly a wonder he can still move for how painful it must be. so, agonizing spinal pain and all, he violently launches at the first alien he sees, enraged, punching with reckless abandon. ]
He could die, you fucking dumbasses! [ and yet, all the alien does is offer him more food and wine, and ply him to stay. it becomes apparent that he could probably murder this person and they wouldn't care to stop him. with a disgusted sneer, he picks himself back up, shaking his head. ] Mindless fucking bug-zombies.
B] everything still hurts but i'm not dying anymore (medbay) CW: gross scifi surgery stuff and needles;
[ pre-surgery: the first stop Alva, Andyr and Val make is the medbay, and for a long while, it'll be the only stop. Given that Val is most in danger of permanent damage and fatality from the lack of regular medical maintenance, he goes first into surgery, with Alva, being the only doctor familiar enough with these processes (or trusted by any of them) getting some quick bandaid of maintenance before tending to him.
That leaves Andyr out in the larger medbay area, curled up in one of the beds, with a sheet pulled up over his head, just a patch of brown-red hair sticking out. it should be noted - Andyr's pain tolerance, between what's naturally boosted from the KN gene, what Hapsburg did in operating on him, and all the vivisection he's had to live through for the last six and a half years, is fairly absurd. so it certainly says something for just how much this hurts that the figure under the sheet is shaking. he's used to enduring intense amounts of burning pain, but it isn't by any means easy. someone to sit and talk to him, just to give his mind something to do outside of hold together, would be greatly appreciated.
post-surgery: if you were in the medbay over the last hour or so, you've likely now heard what Andyr Prince sounds like when he screams, albeit likely muffled by whatever he was biting on. the reason for that being: the ports are drilled all the way down to the bone, sticking anything in there is like stabbing him right in the nerve cluster. anesthesia would have helped, if it weren't for the fact Andyr's metabolism is absurd, and it takes delivering it through said ports for it to have any real, lasting effect, hence the ports being there at all. with them in such poor shape as they are, it's too much a risk to try. thus, Andyr muffling screams into whatever cloth he's biting onto, as Alva goes digging around in his spine to clean everything out and replace it. If you're one of the medbay staff, or just someone aggressively curious enough to barge straight into the room all this sound is coming from, there's a chance you could be there for it, but otherwise, likely not.
Once it's done, however, Andyr will be back to curling up on one of the medbay beds, being kept under watchful eye for a bit longer, but a bit more present now, if a bit grouchy from fading aches. And bored. There's also a vase with a very, very small whale, smaller than a basketball, sitting on the bedside table, and a stack of cards between him and the possibly passed out in the bed boy next to his (Val). They were playing Go Fish. ]
C] nothing hurts and fish are everything (building the aquarium room);
[ once Andyr has woken up from his Fuck Everything coma, with weird medical issues all resolved, released from the medbay to go about his business, he very quickly finds himself the proud owner of a butt ton of aquarium stuff, all in pieces, with little paper instructions on how to assemble it together into actual tanks and filtration systems. You may have noticed, back on the island, that he'd been catching fish from the ocean and storing them in vases and the like, pilfered from the mantis people, or you may have noticed him carrying said vases full of fish up to the Moira as they left (even with his spinal agony, he wasn't going to leave the fish behind).
Apparently, one Commander Shepard (the
Andyr's hunted down an empty room to have the space for assembly, and taken a few people with him to help sort through this IKEA nightmare of an aquarium extravaganza, but feel free to stick your head in if you're curious as to what the fuck's going on in there with all that glass and all those boxes full of fish in bags and why is that whale so tiny and why is he in a flower vase. You're likely to see Andyr sprawled on the floor, frowning as he holds up two pieces of metal siding, and glancing over a page of instructions nearby. ]
I need part H4... You got H4 over there? What about J20?
D] wildcard;
[ choose your own adventure!!! or shoot me a message at
nothing hurts and fish are everything
Some set-up you’ve got here. Did you get all of these fish from that planet?
[ She gestures with her hand to the bags of fish. They’re all so pretty. She has a feeling the aquarium is going to be something to look at once it’s finished. Hey, Dutch can appreciate these things. ]
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c.
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C OR SHOULD I SAY SEA BECAUSE WE ARE BUILDING ONE
FJSDKLA THATS PERFECT, CRIES
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B, post
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B; presurg
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everything still hurts but surgery's on the horizon bring on the morphiiiiiine
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Agent Texas | OTA
Upon coming out from under the natives' influence, Tex's immediate move was to rid herself of the temporary body they had provided for her and seek out Adrien to be placed back in her cloned body. The body has been in stasis in cryo, as it turns out, for an entire year, so although it's healed from the injuries it sustained in the fall, it's lost a lot of muscle tone and strength. Unfortunately the best thing for her body is for her to remain in it, to work on strengthening it and recovering. Her robot body is still out of commission, and even if it was available, it looks like it wouldn't be the best idea to be transferring to it very often, anyway.
So Tex is left to recover in medbay, dutifully carrying out her physical therapy day by day. Her recovery is rapid, comparatively speaking, since she's not suffering any cognitive damage from the fall, but still slow enough to frustrate her. She has to use a walker when she manages to get into an upright position, and even then she's not deemed able to leave med bay on her own for two weeks.
Since she's spending so much time in her cot, she's taken to calling out to those nearby or who are passing through the recovery room, seeking friendly conversation. She's not usually the most patient with small talk but she's the one offering up the mundane questions to get the ball rolling now—"How have you been doing?" or "What have you been up to since we got back on the ship?"
She may even ask closer friends more specific questions about their lost year.
B. AS TIME GOES BY — AFTER THE 2-WEEK MARK
Now Tex is more able to move about, but she's still slow, still weak. She hates it. Still, she makes do, insisting on making her own way to meals and the exercise facilities, even when it takes her some time and multiple breaks to rest. She knows better than to push too hard, but she does seek out what her limit is on a regular basis.
So she can be seen, carrying out her physical therapy in the gym, raising her legs and arms against elastic resistance bands, or doing pelvic tilts to strengthen her core. At mealtime, she's slow and methodical about eating, not wanting to make a fool of herself by missing her mouth with the spoon.
She's not quite as lonely now as she had been in medbay, but she still seems to reach out to people a bit more than she did before.
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Eventually she's released. She's ostensibly able to live on her own, but her initial struggling is obvious to him, and he keeps a quiet eye on her -- frequently from a distance, sometimes closer. He often avoids the gym when she's there, thinking she may not want him to see the difficulties she's having.
Tonight, he's meeting her for dinner in the mess hall. He sits opposite her, chatting.
"-- I really wonder what made them decide to incorporate sails in the design. It seems incredibly impractical for a society that has technology like the Ingress... you'd be surprised how close an eye we have to keep on those things."
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b.
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Zam Wesell | OTA
[It’s a while before Zam gets a taste of the antidote. Until then, she’s content to stay in the endless party, blissfully unaware of how much time has truly passed. It’s only been a couple of days, right? Three, at the absolute most. Still, she feels no fatigue -- perhaps there’s some kind of stimulant in the drinks. Certainly she’s had plenty since she got here. It hardly matters. She doesn’t want to go back, doesn’t want to be faced with that sudden flood of memories that had accompanied her shift back to adulthood. Things are better here. Even if they can’t last.
It’s why, even through the haze brought on by the myriad substances the hosts have been plying to her since their arrival, she still notices her fellow crewmembers trying to slip away
Her words aren’t threatening, the hand on your arm not forceful, but both are at least insistent.] You’re sure in a hurry, aren’t you?
I REGRET EVERYTHING [no longer partying | medbay]
[It turns out that by the time the bulk of the crew is back on the Moira, the medbay has been returned to working order and is already doing what it can for those recovering from an actual year of debauchery.
The good news is that the technology is such that the withdrawal period can be compressed into the space of a couple of days. The bad news is? All the symptoms get compressed into that short amount of time as well.
Which is why if you happen to find Zam in the medbay, she’ll be in one of the cots, tossing and turning as if she’s lying on a bed of nails. She manages to force herself to lie still when someone comes near, shoving her hands under the sheets to hide their shaking. If she doesn’t know you, she’ll give you her best can’t-be-bothered-right-now glare. If she does?]
If you want to smother me with my pillow? This would be the perfect time.
medbay
When the Moira crashed here, Tex's cloned human body suffered an injury, and the lack of care over the last year means the body has been healing in stasis, losing muscle tone and strength all the while. Tex has her body back, but she has to stay in it to help it heal. And it's too weak to do much. She can't even walk yet.
Tex and Zam have never really been the best at ease with one another, at least not since they visited Zam's home world in the alter-Ingress and Tex got killed. It seemed to be Tex's own tendency to be reckless that got them into the situation they were in, and that isn't something she likes to admit to herself. Anyway, right now Zam's in a bad mood and Tex's isn't much better. She's stuck in a cot in arguably a worse condition than Zam's, so what's she complaining about? ]
The only reason anyone would smother you is to get you to stop whimpering.
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I REGRET NOTHING
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medbay buddies
i love j
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Anakin Skywalker | OTA (unless marked otherwise)
[Mornings in this place have long since blurred together, the day becoming nearly unending in terms of how it's spent, always much in the same way. Time simply hasn't been a consideration: the day just is, the party just is, the company is right.
This morning is different. The light--any of it--seems piercing simply to be around, and what had been unceasing elation is simply aching. Anakin is awake. It isn't a simple feeling or intake of sensation, but painful and too-aware. He doesn't know how this has become so different, or why this morning suddenly feels so much more (unforunately) real. He has to lay still for a moment, eyes lazily lidded against the offensive light, listening to his own heartbeat for grounding. It reminds him of those terrible mornings, those too quickly and easily torn away from the solace of his Coruscanti home, where he leaves his heart in a place wholly different from the cavern of his chest.
But unlike those mornings, his heartbeat doesn't sound alone, and it isn't the cold that brushes past as a stark reminder of what he's leaving behind. No, there is a warmth curled up next to him accompanied by the steady, soft breath of sleep. Force, how he just wants to roll back over, bury his face in those wild curls, and never move again. A day ago, he would have felt soothed and comforted by the idea.
Now, the anxious thunder of his own heart, not asuaged by trying to wish it away, doesn't allow it. Everything feels urgent (and nauseating).
He does, at least, finally force himself to move, aching and sore as every part of him feels, pulling that warmth closer as he curls into it. His hand wraps around Padmé's abdomen, and only then does their complete state of naked disarry finally click. (But however "worth it" this feels, that does not asuage the acidic crawl of anxiety up his throat either.) A soft kiss is placed below her ear, and he groans before uttering three words that feel like an absolute betrayal:]
Padmé, wake up.
ｒａｇｅ ａｇａｉｎｓｔ ｔｈｅ ｄｙｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｌｉｇｈｔ (locked to
[Back on the Moira, under its harsh lighting and far more sterile air cycling, feels like death. The light reflects on everything, and every time it glares just so against his eyes, Anakin could swear someone has just shoved a pair of daggers into his face.
That might even be kinder to the growing pain wrapping itself around his brain and squeezing.
This is torture. This has to be torture.
Worse still is the cacophany that seems to close in from every angle. There is no refuge against the noise, whether it's simply mindless thoughts he can't find purchase on to properly understand, footsteps passing in the corridor, deck doors sliding open and closed, or, kriff it, talking.
His entire body has been rebelling, from waking up in that sanctuary in the jungle, to clawing their way back to the ship in various states of angry, frustrated, snapping, and now this, where the withdrawal, and the need to continue, creep back up in hideous fashion. He ends up leaning against the doorway of their room on the MERO deck, groaning loudly, and suddenly lacking any will power to properly close the next five feet to fall into bed. He has a myriad of things to still worry about: whether Padmé has made it to her own room alright, if she feels as dead on her feet as he thinks is a literal description now of his state of being, where Ahsoka has made it to, and even if--where--the rest of their broken little family is. If he had the energy, the state of the rest of the crew might be a concern.
Currently, his energy is being expended in trying to will away a wave of nauseua, and a dull aching need he can't define.]
If I ever see alcohol again, I'm going to--
[No, no, he can't even think that, it'll happen. Another groan.]
How do you do this?
ｄｏ （ａｎ）ｄｒｏｉｄｓ ｄｒｅａｍ ｏｆ ｅｄｍ？
[When he no longer feels like he's on the brink of utter collapse, the ship finds Anakin scrambling for a sense of normalcy. He spends long(er than normal) hours on the Flight Deck, tuning up any piece of machinery that he can get his hands on.
(Un)fortunately for him, his new assistants--three short, spindly machines with a cyclops-like sensor in the center of what must be a semblance of a head--are more than happy to continue to make work. Any fix he finishes, one will investigate and then...rip apart. When one repair droid finally takes hands to wires still sticking out of Anakin's knock-off R2 unit, he reaches out and hits the thing harsly above its optical sensor, hard enough to sound out with a resounding clang of a metal hand against a metal skeleton. The droid conviently folds up into a compact, unmoving unit.]
You're a menace.
[Hopefully he's alone with that petulant sigh and poorly-directed exclaimation...]
ｄｏ ｙｏｕ ｅｖｅｎ ｌｉｆｔ， ｂｒｏ？
[It's strange that the concept of a year both leaves him entirely too smug and restless all at once. He hasn't atrophied--not noticably, at least--in that few-weeks-turned-calendar-year, but to his mind, it must have happened. A year "wasted" (though with the company and how it was spent, the term is lacking in how it fails to encapsulate how little regret he presently feels on the subject) must have dulled him somehow. As if overridden senses hadn't been disconcerting enough.
It leads him to a relatively-deserted rec room, currently running through lightsaber forms with an unignited blade (which, to the untrained eye might look entirely ridiculous). He'll keep doing this until interrupted, or likely until he drops.
But a little running commentary never hurt either, did it?]ｗｉｌｄｃａｒｄ
[Hit me up with something else!]
do you lift tho
Except the rec room isn't empty when she gets there, throwing off her plans to punch something and scream until she feels better.
Honestly, if it were anyone except one of her Jedi trainers, she still might consider doing so. But as things stand, he's going through the same motions she's been learning, albeit better (she begrudgingly admits to herself). Still, her blood is about ready to boil and maybe punching someone instead of something would make her feel better faster. So, she says the first possibly inflammatory thing that pops into her head.]
You look ridiculous.
[Her eye is only partially trained.]
uh i asked you first
yeah yeah i do lift what of it
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cw: adult situations~
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Sidesipe | OTA
[However it happened, it's... unnerving to realize some weird bug aliens were basically holding you hostage for a chunk of time. Granted, he doesn't worry too much about the actual unit of time, because, wow. Not a big deal to his mind.]
[Gently extracting himself from the situation, however, is the far bigger deal.]
[Because Sideswipe can't do anything stealthily or calmly. So he is loudly putting his hands behind his head, and whistling. As much as a robot can.]
Maaaaan... sounds like it's time to crash...! Somewhere else! I should go! Later... uh. Rad bug guys...!
[Real smooth, Sideswipe. What's even less smooth is the friend or nearby associate he's just going to scoop up or sidle away with, depending on whether they're organic or not. Is it you? Or do you try to stop him?]
[Time to go!!]
B; BACK AT THE BEACH
[Eventually, he makes it back to shore, and then, heading onto the ship. Feel free to pass him in the hall, or on his way to the room he's currently sharing with Riptide.]
... Well. Guess we gotta smell ocean for the next forever, huh? Whoo.
[As he just sort of. Kicks a shell to one side. Sulkily.]
C; WILDCARD
[Hit me!]
B; BACK AT THE BEACH
[Padmé offers quietly as she glances at the being that had spoken. There is a curious expression in her face, although rude is not something that she has ever been called. Even with those that have stood on opposite sides of her, she has always carefully used her words to cut, but never degraded herself to breaking in to profanities.]
My husband will complain about the sand though, no doubt.
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Reinhardt | OTA
[Reinhardt managed to extract himself from the party with little fuss. Possibly because he still had his armor, he thinks. He also didn't announce himself to anyone but his friends and comrades. Once he was sure they were all safe and sound, he'd turned and marched out.]
[Simple as that.]
[Now he's back aboard, attempting to stow his armor. To check it over for any damage or too much wear and tear.]
[He's left the door to his room open, though. Feel free to barge in.]
B; CHECKING IN
[Once his armor is checked, Reinhardt makes his own rounds. Looking for the people important to him -- the people he'd befriended here -- just making sure everyone was accounted for.]
[Feel free to run into him anywhere. Concerned battle grandpa has a mission, after all.]
C; WILDCARD
[Anything else?]
wildcard
When the Moira crash-landed on the planet, her cloned human body was injured, and Adrien put it in cryostasis. Thankfully, the natives of the planet had temporary bodies for AIs such as herself and she enjoyed using one during the time the body was laid up. But now she knows it's been a year and that this whole thing has been one giant lie, and it seems the worst of it was in store when she returned to her body—being in the equivalent of a twelve-month coma meant her body had lost muscle mass and tone. Tex was released after two weeks, after proving she can make her way across the medbay with her walker, but now she's not just walking across medbay—she's trying to make it all the way to her room. Not as easily done as she'd thought.
After a while of pushing herself Tex remembers what a bad idea working herself too hard would be, and she starts shuffling along, taking little breaks. The walker has a little seat she can flip down and sit on to rest, which she does, until someone else enters the hallway. Then she stands and proceeds down the hall. Why so much pride about it? She doesn't know, but she doesn't want to be seen as being that weak.
It doesn't really help matters when she stumbles—catches her toe on the floor because she's barely lifting her feet. ]
Fuck.
[ It's barely an utterance, said under her breath, but she's sure it's been noticed. ]
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B
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a
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Mettaton | OTA
Mettaton's very rarely experienced such utter exhaustion while in his robot body, unless he was already low on battery. He didn't really understand why, but his legs felt as if the joints were locked up, and although his arm had been fixed recently--or so it feels--he's finding it hard to move, the segmented limb struggling to even flex properly. It's...even worse than before, actually.
Taking a seat wherever he can, he attempts to gain his bearings. What was happening? Wasn't he having a good time?
What had happened?
He could recall something happening, an offering of sorts given to him that he hadn't really put much thought into. He'd been so high off his ass at some point that he'd tried actually eating things, then laughed it off when it didn't work. He was a robot, that was dumb!
...Someone had offered him something recently. Something to drink, and he'd stupidly tried it.
Apparently it was doing something to his circuits, because he felt as if he was experiencing rather severe malfunctions.
Closing his eye, he focuses on self-diagnosis. The readouts are internal, non-verbalized.
Battery remaining: 47%
Critical arm malfunction [LEFT]: Immediate service needed
Internal battery compromised: Repair IMMEDIATELY to prevent critical system failure
Imminent leg malfunction [LEFT, RIGHT]: Immediate service needed
Temperature regulators: Nonfunctional. Immediate service needed in order to preserve CORE integrity
Last Known Service: 1y36d
...That's not right. That can't be right. How had he reached such a severe loss of integrity?!
It's enough to unnerve him. Especially when referencing his last known service. One year, 36 days. One year. That's impossible, right?
As he sits, looking concerned and trying not to move too much, as if that'll help him...Mettaton turns to watch people dreamily moving close to him, as if they're in a haze. Had he been that out of it earlier? Jeez.
"Interesting party, isn't it?" he asks awkwardly. "If you aren't busy, would you mind helping me through that awful jungle, darling? I think...I need to be away from all this for a while."
Which is a nice way to say 'I would love to not break down here.'
As Time Goes By
By the grace of some individual, Mettaton's made it back to the beach, finally close to the ship. Something like that should relieve him.
It doesn't. His fears have been realized; it has been a year. And it's not just Papyrus missing from the MID, Alphys isn't in the directory either. He...he didn't even get to say goodbye to her, and that's so awful, so unfair that when he realizes it, he just flops onto his knees on the sand. To hell if he gets it in his already-sensitive joints. What does it matter in the end. He never got to say goodbye. Like with Papyrus, he didn't even get to show how much he cared. He wouldn't even have cared if she fixed him, or helped him at all. Not as if he deserved it.
But he didn't even get to say goodbye.
Mettaton didn't move. He just stayed there, in the sand, feeling sorry for himself. It's a little pathetic really, how very unmotivated he was to go any further at this point.
There's a very unsubtle flicker of his core. What's new though? He even laughs, a jittering stutter of a sound. Mechanically, he wasn't doing great.
"H-haha. Now my outsides match my insides," he says quietly, not speaking to anyone in particular.
This Is My Hole. It is My Home
Owing to the fact that people knew where his old hiding spot was, once Mettaton had found his way back on the Moira, he began a quest to find a new hiding spot. He wasn't going to go back to his room if his life depended on it, because he couldn't bear it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He couldn't even bring himself to fetch his diary. There simply wasn't anything he wanted to write about, and his thoughts were depressive enough. He didn't need to put them to paper and keep a permanent chronicle of it.
He can be found wandering the ship, ignoring everyone he passes by. Even people he knows won't draw a response out of him unless they call him by name, and even then it takes a moment before it fully registers. In addition, his gait is a far cry from the usual; his steps are erratic and stilted, and the core which usually glowed a beautiful, bright pink had about as much light to it as a dying light source.
Once he's found a new little closet space, Mettaton made camp there, shutting the door, plugging himself in, sitting in a corner, and remaining quiet. Anyone who enters will do so with no real prompting, or perhaps they have the urge to explore the ship now that it's back up and running. Mettaton doesn't want to be found, and so he won't be, if he can prevent it. And if he is, then he'll just move again. He is certainly doing no work from now on.
He...he really needs time to process everything. Hopefully his body doesn't break while he's stupidly sequestering himself, but so what if it did? He couldn't unify with it anyway. He'd just float nearby it. It was fine. This was fine.
...Nothing was fine.
As Time Goes By
Why was he even upset that everyone was having such a good time? His family looked happier than they ever had, and it's not like he wanted to go home. Was it because he couldn't feel...?
He quickly shakes that thought aside, a chill running down his spine. He's taken to walking up and down the beach, collecting shells. His horns have grown out a little, and he half wonders if it's from stress. Do horns even work that way?
The figure in the sand gets a perplexed look. And when he hurries over, that confusion turns to alarm
"Mettaton...?"
Why is he all kneeled down in the sand?
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as time goes by :3c
time goes by
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the beach ; for kazuhira ; i picked his default on purpose i swear it fits best
Link stands on the beach, watching the ocean waves rush towards the shore, then fall back again. It's... a comforting sound.
He had been so happy to see the jungle and its fog. He remembers... He remembers spending time among the trees, playing with his fairies, playing Saria's Song. It had felt, at the time, like home. But now?...
Link doesn't know how he feels. He doesn't know how to describe this wrongness. Like his body doesn't fit right, too.
It's not like he hasn't done this before. At least it's just one year this time, instead of seven.]
The default is really pretty tho.
it really is...... i love it so much
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the moira gardens ; for fi
/quietly slides out of hiatus
rey | star wars: tfa | ota
[When a fellow crew member had handed her a drink, Rey hadn't thought twice before downing it in one gulp. She'd already had so much to drink, so one more couldn't hurt. Her time on this strange planet had been a blur of dancing, eating, drinking, kissing, and more--and she's strangely fine with that. Rey has never let loose in her life, never just done whatever she wanted because she could. Everything had always been calculated, executed, and had a profitable result. But on this planet, she had simply done what made her happy. It had been new and exciting, and she'd never wanted it to end.
Except soon enough, it had. The drink she'd been given had been the last thing to not taste awful and a few hours later, she had come to her senses and fled to the ship. Most of what she's done she remembers in very vivid detail, but there are definitely a few blurry patches in her memory.
It scares her, and sends her running to her old clothes, her old isolated ways, and her old work space. She's feeling too many things, and needs to focus on working in order to clear her mind. So it is that she's working on the Ingress, checking and rechecking wiring and connections, everything she's already done a dozen times but will do again because it'll keep her mind off how much time she's wasted. At least she can try to be productive here to make up for it.]
SHE LISTENS LIKE SPRING AND SHE TALKS LIKE JUNE
[To say the least, Rey had become soft during the wild year on the mystery planet. Her muscles aren't as toned as they once were, and she finds herself getting hungry more often than she ever remembers on Jakku. She remembers a time when she could survive on half a portion a day. Was it comfortable? No, but she could do it. Now, she feels as if she'll die without eating something every few hours. Indulgence has made her weak, and that is inexcusable.
But first, she needs to build her strength back up. In the days immediately following their departure from the planet, the sim room becomes a second home for her, right behind the Ingress hangar. She runs simulation after simulation, working with her staff, her lightsaber, and her bare hands. Anything to keep her busy and make her feel as if she's making up for the time lost.]
BUT TELL ME, DID YOU SAIL ACROSS THE SUN?
[Eventually, her body had become too exhausted to continue working and Rey knew it was time to exercise her mind. But meditation is difficult, even in the tranquility of the gardens. So after a few hours of trying to meditate, she instead begins to sketch. It had helped her pass the time and calm herself on Jakku, and often kept her sane when she'd been trapped inside her AT-AT home during a sandstorm. She sits with her back to the first tree she'd ever climbed, sketching parts of Jakku, the ship, and the things around her.]
DID YOU MAKE IT TO THE MILKY WAY TO SEE THE LIGHTS ALL FADED
[wildcard! feel free to pm or ping me on plurk @
BUT TELL ME, DID YOU SAIL ACROSS THE SUN?
Her clothing from that world has been discarded, and she's returned to her own attire. Slightly showy, it is far less ornate than anything she ever wore for the Senate. A pale blue and flowing dress, with her hair drawn slightly up in to two messy buns on either side of her head, she looks much like her daughter, although Padmé has come to learn that she has since departed. She is sorry for that, selfishly, as she had wanted to learn more about her, but no doubt Leia has a place to return to, the story of her life waiting for her.
She's pausing now and then, to smell a flower or caress a leaf, before moving on. Caught in her own thoughts, her arms raises, to run lightly across the lower leaves of the tree before her and she almost misses the individual with her back up against the trunk, until she is almost upon her.]
Oh! My apologies. I didn't mean to intrude.
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Tali'Zorah | OTA
[The Moira feels like they never left it. Somehow that's annoying, like the only indication that they just spent an entire year of their lives here is that their MIDs have different dates on them now. There's the strangest feeling that the tech is somehow lying to them.
The signs are there, though. If not on the ship, then on her own body. It doesn't look different, not that she can tell, but it makes itself well known in the rec room when she goes back in, trying to get back into a routine she hadn't realised had slipped so badly.
Less than an hour in, she's done. When the door opens, she's sitting in the middle of the floor, taking sips from a water bottle between panting for breath. She looks up, swipes a few stray hairs from in front of her face and grins wryly.] This is what I get for taking a cheat year.
I Wanna Be The Very Best
[Tali doesn't often get mail - when she does, usually it's because the Ingress is being sadistic and decided it wants to give her geth paraphernalia. So she's actually dreading a little going into the cargo bay - what's next, a Dyson Sphere blueprint? A postcard from Rannoch - 'this unit does not wish you were here'?
It's not. She finds her own name fairly quickly and lifts...a ball. Plasticish, bright red and white, not very heavy, and with a button on one side she's momentarily a little wary to push - she's seen guns, poison darts, all sorts of things delivered in the mail (not all to her, admittedly). If this is a grenade of some kind (a grenade in primary colours)...
She looks around and gestures at the nearest person.] Hey, do you know what this is?
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Huh?
[Niko still worked in the Cargo Bay, much to his growing hatred, and he heard Tali ask. He turned away from what he was doing, something that involved boxes and weights and picking out which ones smelled like the foul buttcheek of a half rotten ass so he could identify it as spoiled goods.]
[She's holding something he's seen before, but can't quite place. Then suddenly he does, and all he can do is stare in muted, bland horror. The end times have come.]
Sranje.
[But it seems like... they should... check on it.]
Okay, we're taking that thing to the training room. Where there is lots of room. Trust me, okay? Not here. [He knows what it is, obviously.]
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I CHOOSE YOU
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As Time Goes By
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Marian Hawke | OTA
[Wow everything that's great is secretly garbage! What a shocking twist! At least it's one that explains why she couldn't sleep despite being so exhausted. So when the jig is up, she takes off her stupid dress, puts back on her old jeans and t-shirt (thankfully cleaned and no longer puke stained) and stumbles back through the the jungle on unsteady feet.
You can try to help her if you want but she'll probably stubbornly refuse. If you wanna really embarrass her just pick her up.
Once she reaches the beach she flops to the ground and goes straight to sleep. Yeah sure the Moira is rising out of the ocean. WHO CARES. She's so tired. Someone drag her ass onto the transport back to the ship. Someone be her pillow on the ride back. Or she's just decided that you're her pillow and she's gonna sleep on you. Doesn't matter if she knows you or not.]
As Time Goes by
[Once she gets back on the Moira and into the Medical Bay, everything hits her. She'd been drinking and partying and not sleeping for a year. And so being away from that, she spends a copious amount of time throwing up as they examine her. Maybe to clear her system and maybe to punish her for continuing to drink.
Either way, she can't blame them, she assumes she probably looks awful since she hasn't slept in a year. Or a day that was a year. Whatever, it feels like she hasn't slept in a year. So when they scan her and say "hey, you're 29 now!" she barely registers it. Other than she probably missed her chance for a swinging birthday party.
So when she stumbles out of the MedBay pale and still holding her stomach, the first thing she does is reach over and drop a paper crown (clearly made of her medical documents) onto the head of the first person she sees.}
Congrats on one year older. Maybe we ought to throw a party.
[And at the very words her stomach lurches and forces her to regret that joke.]
But maybe one that's more... sitting around and sleeping a lot.
[PS if ur her CR she's gonna give you a lot of shit about BEING OLD. Congrats on making it to 40. Or maybe 50 if she feels like being mean.]
Return to the scene of the crime
[After she recovers enough to be able to walk around the ship without retching, the first place Hawke goes is engineering. The massive engines of the Moira loom over the open and massive space. She never really noticed this thing until the day she tried to restart it and realized she didn't know anything about it. And for some reason it's easier to blame her failure on her own shortcomings than just facts of fate.
She reaches into the mechanisms and grabs the same wires that she grabbed a year ago to try to restart the ship. She flinches as a jolt runs through her. After a moment, it's too much to take and she pulls back sharply and turns to look at her hand. It's smoking and burned. She winces as she clenches and unclenches it a few times.
Fuck you too, stupid dumb future machine. Fuck you the most, Marian Hawke.]
why would you put a hat on this man
Absolutely terrible.
It takes 76 a moment to realize that someone is harassing him with arts and crafts. He turns, very ominously, then reaches up, very ominously, and takes the hat off. Ominously. He presents it to her with body language that makes it a little ambiguous as to whether or not he intends to turn it on her as a weapon.]
Keep it.
because he needs it!!
no!!!
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this is a terrible place for a nap
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Return to the scene of the crime
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as time goes by
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The Girl | OTA
[She'd taken the antidote because it was one of the few drinks going around they'd let a child have. She'd been smiling until the effects hit, until she realized the ugly truth of what was around her. She'd bolted for the beach, barely able to breath with how terrified she was.
Now she sat in the sand, making herself throw up as much of the food, drink, drugs as she could.
She'd always thought she was lucky, living as long as she could remember in the desert and never knowing the effects of the city. She'd never had their pills shoved down her throat, never had to live with their control in her veins. She wasn't so lucky anymore.
She rocks back on her heels, burying her face into her knees. She mutters about Poison between gasping sobs. It's not clear if she's talking about the drugs they've all been fed, or if it's just a scared child calling out for someone who isn't there.]
B. As Time
[She came back to an empty room. A place where her best friend no longer resided. To a ship missing the closest thing she'd had to connect to the word 'mother' outside of whispered stories and crayon littered letters.
It hurts.
After a few hours of crying about it, wrapped up in blankets she'd started to think of as her own, she wipes her face. Puts back on her vest. Gathers what's left of the spray paint she'd gotten so long ago. She marches out into the hallway and paints.
The faces are childishly made, but recognizable to anyone who'd been on the ship long. Leia, Robin, Fiora, Allison, Deacon. Faces only one other person would know. Someone in a dark helmet, something that looks like a purple Frankenstein's monster, a red haired man in a yellow mask. The Girl sits underneath the mural, the paint stretching from her door to the one beside it, writing below the faces. When someone comes close, she wrinkles her nose and waves them back.]
It's not finished yet.
C. Goes By
[She spends her nights in the Trans Am, in the cargo bay, too afraid to sleep in her room alone after a lifetime of sharing space with people. In the mess hall, at meal times, she refuses to eat anything the head chef doesn't hand over personally. Her days are wasted in the gardens, where she plays listlessly with the cats and tries to keep them from swatting at the scared rodent she takes with her near everywhere.]
under the veil!
He's trudging along the beach, alone. His scrawny shoulders are hunched and his hands are buried deep in his hoodie pockets while he stares down at the sand he's walking on. His face is pale, numb with an anxiety trapped inside him like a ticking time bomb. A whole year. There's a sinking pit of despair knotted up in his gut. God, if only Mr. White was here. He's loath to admit that he's actually missing his old chemistry asshole teacher like all hell.
He sees someone up ahead and the moment he realises it's a child doubled over, vomiting… All despairing thoughts quickly drain away as his eyes widen and he starts to break out into a run with sand kicking up under his shoes. Jesus, they got kids here?
As he approaches the kid, he slows to a uncertain walk, hands burrowing into his hoodie pockets. Concern is written all over his pale, tired face. ]
Hey. Hey, yo. You… you okay?
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C. Goes By
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Nihlus Kryik | Mass Effect
The view outside stops him.
Nihlus stares at the window, feeling a strange… offness about it. Stepping into the square of bright moonlight, he peers out.
It’s night outside, clear, star-laden skies hung over a sea of fog and a brilliant moon peering down at it all. Nothing to worry about in and of itself but- why is it still night?
The planetary cycle hadn’t seemed this long when they’d landed.
… Hm. Might be a good time to grab a quick nap at some point. Goddess knows his sleep deprivation was probably causing all sorts of weird feelings of time distortion.
Brief moment of worry slipping from his mind, Nihlus leans over and folds his arms over the windowsill, enjoying the moment of quiet. The music is distant now, woven through the susurrus of leaves being stirred up a breeze and he can smell salt and ocean.
If he closes his eyes, he could almost pretend he’s back on Virmire again.
2. AS TIME GOES BY OTA
This was a new level of exhaustion Nihlus didn’t think he could reach.
Ever since Shepard had administered the antidote, his body had felt more like a bag of lead than anything particularly functioning. It was a persistent kind of tired too, no amount of sleep seemed to help- and he’s been sleeping for once. Long, long spans of dreamless blackness that he always woke up from with a sudden panic, wondering if he’d died again.
Exhaling a long breath, Nihlus sits back against his chair and rubs his face, ignoring the flecks of white that came away on his palms.
There’ll be time to fix his face paint later. The ship NEEDS to get up and running before their supplies ran out.
3. Wildcard - OTA
Hit me up at
1. :V
With the antidote in hand, and back at the party she'd initially sought Nihlus out, first. It was selfish, but not without reason: they needed to talk, and the most time they had to do so, the better. But it had been for naught — wherever he'd disappeared to at the party, it wasn't somewhere in the main hall. So she'd busied herself topping up other people's drinks, bringing them back into reality — one year on.
Making a slow circular sweep through all the rooms and halls, even knocking discreetly on private rooms, she'd made her way here, to an annex hall some ways away, all windows and breeze and natural moonlight. Outlined by the soft glow, the metallic thulium of his carapace seemed almost to sparkle.
It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking. The thought catches in her mind, and she realizes it's not just the picturesque imagery she's thinking about. Was the planet's insidious drug back in her system?
No, she'd gone immune. Been tested. Drunk the antidote for, at this point, hours. No, this was magnitudes worse: she was dealing with an honest-to-god attraction. The admission, private though it was, was enough to make her stomach drop, almost painfully. The drug had only given her the push — even if it was for a jump she wouldn't have taken otherwise.
For a moment, she contemplates turning around, leaving. Other people were walking around, now, distributing antidote — they could deal with him, instead. Shepard and Nihlus never had to talk about it. Done.
Am I a high schooler? Or an adult? I didn't assist in command of an entire galactic strike force to shrink away at fucking relationship issues.
Shepard steps forward, letting the footfall of her extremely functional work boots make her presence known as she approaches the Turian, two glasses in hand.
"Hey," she smiles up, relaxed demeanor near his side coming easily, too easily. "I've been looking for you."
get your boy undrugged Shep
OMW TO UNDRUG MY WEIRD SPACE CATBIRDMAN
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2.
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daryl dixon || ota <3
At first he doesn't notice the drink he's handed is anything other than more of the same-- whatever delicious, unidentifiable, euphoric thing the hosts favor. It doesn't taste the same, though, and he grimaces. Nearly spits it on the stone floor, except he's so goddamn thirsty he finishes it.
It's a slow change, and in his strange, enrapt state, he resists it at first. Drinks more, wolfs down whatever they give him, but none of it's right. The liquor is too sweet, it tastes spoiled; like overripe fruit beginning to rot, and it reminds him of-- of what? The food doesn't do anything but leave him hungrier, and the ache creeps over him. He can't remember the last time he was hungry and sore.
Maybe he's snatching food off the table before you can get it, maybe he slams into you barreling across the dance floor, or spills your drink. Lost and tired, Daryl is still drunk enough to be kind of an asshole.
ii. resist and multiply
Once he catches up, though, and realizes how wrong everything is, his temper cools considerably. The task at hand becomes pretty clear: wake up as many people as he can, find anyone he cares about, and get the hell out of here.
He stalks around, rather obviously out of place, looking for anyone with that uncertain look in their eyes, anyone who falters in their dancing or stares too long at their drink. Anyone he might be able to convince to leave with him.
iii. and see the sky
The wind blowing off the sea is fresh, dispelling the last bits of the perfumed fog he's been in. As soon as he's back he throws himself into work-- hauling anything that needs to be moved on or off the crashed ship, helping people stumble to safety, anything. Everything. He's exhausted, but the escape has left him in a frenzy.
Eventually he stops to rest. It's a polite way of saying he stumbles off and practically falls into the sand, staring up at the open sky, relieved just to breathe clean air.
iii
"Still kickin?" She asks, picking a nervous hole in the nice dress the bug's had provided. She thinks she'll burn it the second she's back on the ship. "Ya look like all your juice has run out."
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Rinzler | OTA | warning for bad things to bug people
[Compared to most of the crew, Rinzler knows he had it easy. He'd spent the better part of the cycle scouting and searching, mapping out the planet's surface and tracking the dubious gathering from range. Unaware of the passage of time, but still himself. It was only during the last "day" or two (he'd thought) that he'd been drawn in close enough to let the party dull his processing. His awareness. His function.
The fact that he glitching well knew better.
Compared to most of the crew, he's only spent a short time edited and trapped. Forced to attend and participate, forced to want compliance to the mold their captors set. Being lied to. Being kept. The fact that he's still furious about about it doesn't need spelling out. And certainly, it's easier to be angry, easier to subsume himself in rage, than to think so hard about why he loathes so much of that so deeply.
Fortunately for Rinzler? He's not the only one with a grudge to settle. Maybe you know each other. Maybe you don't. Maybe you just saw the program stalking angrily toward the nearest of your hosts and seized on the opportunity. One way or another, the two of you are agreed on at least one thing. You're going to get answers. Rinzler's cornered one of the bug-like aliens against the wall, constant rumbling upgraded to a soft and menacing growl as his joined disk hums in lethal counterpoint. A cycle. If Nihlus hadn't suggested he carry it when they met before, Rinzler wouldn't have the disk now—or his mind, or his memories, or anything. He'd be a stray, because of them.
Was that what they were trying for? Too late now. Rinzler knows what happened, Rinzler is himself, and the program was written to kill and break and deal out harm. He's all too ready to carry out that much. Still, the desire for information is real, and speech is disallowed to Clu's enforcer.
That makes questions your job. Might want to get on it. Your partner-in-interrogation doesn't seem to have a lot of patience in reserve.]
Violence: spray bottle?
[There are no answers. Not for who did this, not for how they got into his code. Nothing but lies and platitudes, confused and desperate pleas to stay, relax, enjoy the fault-crashed trap. Whatever help he had in the interrogation is likewise gone, in frustration or disgust. There's no way to fix this. There's no way to stop it happening, again and again and again—
The one he'd questioned is long gone. Most crewmates have started back toward the ship. Only a few hosts—a few tools—are wandering the wreckage left behind by their year of celebration. Rinzler hates the sight. He hates how weak they are. How stupid. Not even enough left to question, not even enough left to think. Like batch-codes, hollowed out and empty, and that thought (
repurposed) is enough to flinch, or fight, or kill at. Noise seethes out in a snarl as the enforcer's mask jerks sharply to the side.Toward the one glitch foolish enough to meet it.
The alien is sitting by one of the gaming tables, a cup of dice held in one claw-tipped appendage. Its feelers twitch, expression crinkling in an approximation of a smile as it rises, stepping closer with the container extended. The offer is clear. Stay. Relax. Play a game.
Rinzler stares back. Then he nods.
Distance closes in two quick steps. Circuit-lined fingers close around a vestigal wing and yank, hard enough to tear. It gives a shrill noise, stumbling after as the dice cup falls to the ground, and Rinzler throws the bug's full weight with an easy flick of his wrist. It lands, scrambling upright before it looks around and marks the circle it's inside. The structure is rough and flimsy, a thin fence made out of twisted fiber rope, but Rinzler recognized its purpose as soon as he'd seen it. How couldn't he?
It's an arena.
Slowly, the creature edges sideways, head twitching toward the dull tipped staves set aside for weapon contests. Rinzler follows its gaze, and shakes his head. Disks split in the program's hands with a flare of light, twinned circles burning brighter as he stalks closer. He'll play a game. He'll fight. He'll win. Exactly how he always has.
But it won't be for their entertainment.]
Shipboard: wildcard!
[When Rinzler does return to the ship, the anger hasn't left completely. Still, there's something more subdued to the enforcer's motions, and he doesn't look for conversation—least of all about that place. Instead, the program buries himself in function. He can be found in the flight deck, checking over the transporters and scheduling his transport crew for extra maintenance to repair any damage to the machines from sitting idle. He keeps up his patrols through the halls, reporting to his programmer as requested—albeit, not while carrying his disk. And he makes a few trips to the gardens, examining the newest crop of kittens from the tree.
Find a time, find a place, and feel free to prod. He's cramming his life with as many distractions as he can.]
Flight Deck
It seems like someone else has gotten there first though. It's not surprising. In fact, Asriel's a little relieved that he's not up here by himself. He hadn't seen Rinzler that much during the party, but after a while Asriel stopped visiting it as much.
A lot of his friends and family had vanished in such a short amount of time. He's not sure if Rinzler is glad to be back on the ship, but Asriel sure is.]
How bad do they look?
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bad murderkitty :(
cat + bugs. it was inevitable~
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Mildly Bad Cop & Significantly Worse Cop vs Zorak's Stoner Cousin
/applauds title.
just Raiden flipping his shit nbd || OTA
[There's a trail of destruction behind him; cups, trays, tables, etc., all laying shattered on the floor, contents strewn across the ground where offerings were thrown aside. He's so incensed and there's nowhere to direct it, no one to get angry at. The bugs, these hosts, either they don't know anything or there's nothing to tell, and there's only so much breaking stuff and carrying a sword is gonna get him answers here.]
[He's incensed, and anyone who finds him will probably come across a cyborg in various states of his rage rampage. Any bug who approaches him has their offering smacked away and tossed aside by Raiden as he makes his way through the city, looking for someone with some kind of authority. Demanding to know who runs things or why.]
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[riptide hadn't been following the trail of destruction, he'd just come across the small rampaging man by chance.
he cocks his head and looks down.]
You need a time out, pal?
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han solo ][ ota
It takes him a long time to leave the party.
The worst part isn't that he can't find Leia-- it's that he can't even recall how long it's been since he's seen her, and that until now, it hasn't bothered him a bit until now. She could be lost somewhere-- she could have been dragged off to be eaten by the bugs, or run out into the jungle, or anything, and he didn't do a damn thing to stop it.
She's not the only one to have gone missing, but a man's got priorities. He stalks around the party demanding answers, shaking strangers by the shoulders to try to get them to snap out of it, snapping and staring down the hosts when they try to hand him a new drink with a side of disingenuous consolations.
But eventually he takes off for the beach, reasoning that maybe she's gone back for the ship.
This is the likeliest place you'll find him-- helping get the Moira in order, or crawling around atop the hull of the Millennium Falcon with a grim look on his face.
If he gets a say in the matter, they're not leaving this world without some answers... or possibly vengeance.]
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This means, of course, that he has to relearn what it is to school his emotions. He'd gotten so used to them running rampant — they'd run amok too long, causing the Jedi Master distraction unbecoming his role. But with that vitality returned, even the heaviest burdens feel lighter on his shoulders than they have in — well, in a year, it seems.
He suspects, particularly when he seeks out Han, that it's certainly not something to brag about. It's hardly on his radar at all, for that matter, knowing as he does all that's changed in what feels like a very short time. Empathy is the way to go. Solo surely has a lot on his mind.
Standing below the Falcon, Kenobi peers up to where Han is working. ]
Repairs to be made?
[ He only asks, because his other assumption is that Han is preparing to depart, and that leaves his throat too tight to even bring it up as an option. ]
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J | ota | medbay adventures (cw: drug withdrawal and ptsd)
[It's everything but difficult to get J try the antidote as after the first promise of mindblowing experience she was already downing it in one go. For a moment she had been disappointed to find that it was nothing but plain water and annoyed that she had been tricked. But then the effects starter to kick in and the illusion of the party was stripped away, the previous joyful and luscious feelings gone and replaced by the confusion and anger. She doesn't stay there for long before she joins the rest of the crew and heads back to the Moira.
The walk through the jungle takes longer than during the first time, the exhaustion from the party finally catching up to her along with weird and irritating headache. And the time she finally reaches Moira the jarring pain has turned into the worse, making her feel fatigue and nauseous. At first she tries to fight it but before she even manages to reach her room on Mero Deck she decides to pay a visit to medbay to fetch some relief to her pain.
Which turns out to be the best decision she's made in whole year as it's really a miracle that she even makes it there without fainting. Who would've guessed that drinking and smoking various things for a whole year could cause one such intense withdrawal symptoms?
The first night is worst and J spends majority of it tossing and turning around restlessly, complains and sobs escaping from her lips. Her whole body is shaking and covered in clammy sweat as both cold and warm waves take turns with hitting her constantly. There's a IV drip attached to her hand and a bucket placed right next to her bed just in case. However, the changing body temperatures weren't the problem, she could've easily take those, but the killing pain that she was in. It was like all of her muscles and each inch of her were screaming in the pain. God, she had suffered few hangovers and crashes at the party before but they were nothing compared this. Back then she had felt like she'd die from the headache alone but now she wishes she'd die. After some time she's not even sure what is real and what is not anymore, as she keeps drifting between state of awake and feverish dream.
In the late hour of the night J opens her eyes and shifts on the bed to face away from the wall, her gaze focusing on a figure before her. Who knows, maybe they were just checking up on her (after all she had been moaning and whining rather loudly through the night) or maybe just a random passenger who was walking past her bed and headed towards the bathroom? But unfortunately, that's when things really turns worse as the hallucinations starts. All out of the sudden her eyes are filled with tears and she starts screaming -- more out of fear than pain --, arms flailing blindly almost as if she was trying to get away.]
DAY 2 -- and onward
[J's doing much better on the following day, having survived through the worst. Sure, she still looked simply awful: with her skin pale like the sheets of her bed and big black bags underneath her red eyes. Her overgrown curly hair is all tangled up into a horrible mess and there's some unwanted bodyhair on her and all was crowned by ridiculously long finger nails. With a cranky and annoyed look on her face she almost looked like a some kind of troll from children's story book.
She's feeling overall just so angry and fed up with the whole Moira, Captain, their stupid planet stops and all other fucked up things that just keeps happening for some reason without any proper explanation. At this point, losing a year didn't even feel like that much of a big deal compared to some other shit she's gone through ever since her arrival.
Her head is still hurting and she wants nothing more than leave and go to her own room but the staff at Medbay had said they'd want to keep her there until they were 100% certain that the drugs were completely off her system. Which, in worst scenario, could take weeks.
Well, fine. Whatever, she cursed to herself. Keep her there for all she cares, it was going to be their nightmare.]
(OOC: In case your character doesn't know J's a transwoman and during her stay on the medbay she looks like a young and feminine man. She's wearing the hospital gown without her bra etc. Also, what is different from the before is that she's speaking again... sort of.)
Day 1
Adrien was actually taking a late shift in an effort to avoid people. Most of the patients in the MedBay were asleep at this time and there was minimal staff on duty; it was about as quiet as it was ever going to get.
And he liked it that way.
The doctor was in the middle of doing rounds, which mostly consisted of checking on vitals as reported by the diagnostic equipment. He had his head down, making notes on a datapad for J (and wasn't her appearance an interesting thing indeed) when his patient suddenly began to scream.
The moaning and whining he'd let pass, checking only to ensure that J wasn't at a dangerous level of distress but otherwise giving her privacy. Withdrawal was a bitch and there was only so much medicine could do to ease the symptoms, before the body just had to fight through it.
But the flailing and screaming, were not something he would let pass.
After the initial exclamation of a violent curse, as he was startled and jumped back, Adrien ditched the datapad onto a nearby table and moved forward, attempting to catch J's flailing arms. ]
J J! Stop, you're okay, you're safe on the Moira!
[ Crap, if he couldn't catch her arms, she was going to rip that damn IV out. ]
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DAY 2
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Day... idk 4 maybe? Drama baby, honestly.
why is the child the most well-behaved one here
such is the life of frisk.
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