thisavrou_log | ( september event log )

( september event log )

Who: Everyone
When: September 19th and on
Where: The Fixed Moons of the Runoff and the Moira.
What: Everything comes to a head.
Warnings: Nothing for now. Please label your content!

E
V
E
N
T

L
O
G

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. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He catches up so quickly—she hadn't expected it. He must not have taken a full session for himself. That's not what she meant, but she appreciates this well enough she doesn't say anything about it.

"You know what's frustrating?" she says. "That I don't know I'm going to overdo it until I'm doing it." She's walking slower now, trying to avoid needing to stop and rest like she'd had to do earlier.

He turns his face to her with a serious expression, as he walks alongside her.

"That may be the case, but it won't be forever: you're improving, not deteriorating. I don't know if it's comforting now, however." He pauses, then adds, "You would have beat me in there in any kind of fair fight, but that's precisely why I'm practicing with rifles. I'm not adept."

Edited 2016-09-27 05:05 (UTC)

"I can teach you more about shooting, if you think you need lessons," she says. "That way when we do compete, it's more fair." The latter statement is a joke, though, and her tone is amused when she says it. She could beat anyone on the ship in shooting under normal circumstances.

"I probably need lessons with anything that isn't a 9mm." Arguably, he could use more training with that, too, but as long as he isn't in direct opposition to someone who's a crack shot, there's a good chance he'll be all right.

He allows a doubtful expression to settle on his face, then adds, aggressively earnestly, "Maybe I should take advantage of your weakened condition to win while I can."

She snickers lightly. "I like a fair fight," she says. "I also like being at the top of my game." The two would seem to be mutually exclusive.

"You're working hard. To be honest, in your place, I'd find it difficult to sit still. When I was injured -- " He cuts himself off. "Well. I'm not a very good patient. All these medical advancements on these ships, in comparison to where I came from, and it still takes time to heal. It isn't ideal if you're the restless sort."

"When you got the scars on your stomach?" she says, but quietly, so as not to be overheard.

"Yes. But if you want to know more about it, I'd rather not tell you in the corridor."

It isn't that any conversation will ever be private, in the presence of the MIDs and cameras everywhere, a level of surveillance that even he finds impressive. It's that he'd rather not be overheard by other crew members in any explanation of what happened on the Tranquility. They have the Ploiatos situation to worry about; they don't need to worry about :) too, not if :) is never directly relevant to them.

"Certainly." It's a level of courtesy she would not hesitate to give to anyone, but especially him. "Anyway, I learned already in this body not to push too hard. I died and had to recover from that, and I kept injuring myself from pushing too hard. It's like a downward spiral, and I'm not really wanting to go through that again."

One day, maybe he'll confess to her that he's afraid to die, in spite of the fact that people can apparently be brought back -- not afraid to risk his life if the reason is good enough, but afraid to die, after living an entire life on the premise that you only get one and that death is final. But not today, and not here.

"Was that different from this? I can't imagine that they'd bring you back deconditioned, if they could help it."

"I weakened and died three times," she said. "I don't know why. But at the lowest point of that I was better than this." She closes her eyes briefly, continuing to plod along—her expression is one of misery, for that moment. Clearly she despises this whole process.

He watches her for a long moment, taking in her unhappy expression as he walks alongside her.

Then he puts his hand on her shoulder. It rests there lightly.

"The difference in your condition compared to two weeks ago is remarkable. Believe me -- I don't want to patronize you, but I've watched you every day. You've gone from not being able to turn a page to being able to fire a .22." He pauses, then exhales through his nose as if he's sighing. "It won't be long."

He leaves the indefinite pause in their physical relationship out of it.

"It's not patronizing," she says. "It's good to be reminded, I think." She's not normally big on PDA but this is nice. Something about his touch grounds her. Inexplicably her mind goes to what would happen if Church was the one comforting her—he'd frame his encouragement in sarcasm and she'd answer back sharply. They'd get into an argument about it despite being on the same side of the argument. Daniel's a far different man from Church. She can't help appreciating those differences when it comes to something like this.

It's some time before they reach her room and she has to take a couple of rests along the way, but they make it, and she unlocks the room and opens the door. "Come in," she says, leaving no doubt as to the fact that she doesn't wish their visit to come to an end yet.

He follows her into the room.

He's seen rooms on this deck before, but the difference between his own assigned room and rooms on Mero is always startling: there are fewer, larger, more private beds, and the room itself doesn't have the borderline-nautical masculine sensibility that his own seems to.

It's not really hard to tell which bed is hers. Her roommates are Matt Murdock -- L doesn't know much about him, but he knows he's blind -- and a child. One of the beds has sheets that are both extravagantly feminine and feature skulls, the sort of harder edge and mixture of moods that he'd expect from her.

"This one?" He indicates the bed with a tilt of his head, a significant expression on his face.

"Yeah. Hard to tell, huh?" She pads over to the opening in the cover and sits down. She looks up at him, edging her walker away with her foot. "You want to come sit with me?" She sat down sightly to the left side, so there should be room for him to sit to her right.

He does, so he settles in next to her, then leans against the edge of the opening. It digs into his spine in an extraordinarily uncomfortable way, so he sits back up.

"I have to admit, I've always been jealous of these. Have you ever seen the beds on Nomo? They're like a cross between summer camp and a cabin on a pirate ship. Single, built into the wall. I'll invite you when you're feeling better, but I'll warn you ahead of time that you won't be comfortable."

"I had occasion to," she says. "I think I'll pass. There's room enough for the two of us here, hm?"

She smirks a little, shifting a bit to face him better. It's their first occasion to be truly alone together since returning to the ship. She's not good at being coy, and though it's true what she told him about being less affectionate than their time on the planet would make it appear, she is a bit starved for a tender touch. So she sets her hand on his chest and leans in to kiss him.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, airily. "Wouldn't that depend on what we were up to?"

He wasn't sure whether or not she had this sort of thing in mind, particularly after what happened in the shooting range. It had been on his mind while he was putting the guns away, but only because of her explicit invitation to catch up with her, and he realized at the time that it would be possible to misinterpret it... she might only have wanted company, and since the ship had become operational again, the kind of company she'd been getting from him had been strictly platonic. It couldn't continue that way forever, though, and maybe she wants some kind of consolation... or maybe she just wants him. It's hard to say.

Either way, he leans in to return her kiss, his hand going up to cup the back of her head. It's strange how he feels like he's kissing the same girl, even though she looks nothing like she had when it started.

Edited 2016-09-27 07:24 (UTC)

She keeps the press of her lips firm, no tongue, just to ease back into this with him. There's no telling what might develop, considering what they now know about their time together on the planet, and she wants to keep it respectful as well as signal her willingness to learn what he's really like in this situation.

His hand on her head is nice, and she moves her hand from his chest to his shoulder, pulling away just slightly—she already needs to catch her breath. That was an unforeseen development, but it affords her the chance to pepper his jaw with lighter kisses while she works to do so. Here, he's returned to dressing the way he typically does, rather than wearing the finery the natives of the planet had provided, and it's funny how the bagginess of his clothes hides his physique, how they make him look sloppy. Funny, because he doesn't strike her as being a sloppy person in the least. She wonders why he chooses to present himself that way.

In any case, she takes a couple more deeper breaths and then presses her mouth back to his, this time swiping her tongue along his lower lip. She doesn't start nibbling or anything though, not yet, not until she sees how he responds.

They like him to wear the uniform, but he gets out of it whenever he can: whenever it's viable and practical. Since they've returned to the ship, she's mostly been seeing him in his off hours, which means she's been seeing him in his own clothes.

He follows her lead as she kisses him, although he tries to remain conscious of the curve of the bed's upper shell, a little worried that one or the other of them will bump their head on it. When she kisses down his jaw, he tilts his head to give her easier access, and when she opens her mouth, he returns her kiss in the same way, his tongue against hers, his fingers in her soft hair. He rests his other hand on her thigh.

Maybe she just wants to kiss, or maybe she wants to see how far she can manage to go, or maybe she simply wants to feel good again to whatever degree is feasible after a few weeks of dull, determined misery. He can't say yet, but he doesn't want to suggest to her that she may not be up for what she has in mind: she'll come to that conclusion on her own if it turns out to be the case.

If not... well, she can probably have her way with him, for now.

She has to pause to breathe again after less than a minute, and this time she pulls back a bit. She likes the way he's touching her. She moves her hand from his shoulder to cup it under his chin. "I know I said I'm not much for cuddling, but do you want to lie down here with me for a while?"

That gets a subtle smile: not the sort of grin that could light up the room, but a brighter expression than she's probably used to seeing from him on the ship itself.

"Yes."

It doesn't really seem like she should continue to try to sit up, not if she appears to be winded after a minute of kissing.

"You should probably get into bed first." The big oval opening seems totally negotiable for someone in normal condition, but increasingly complicated for two people, especially if either or both of them is having any kind of physical difficulty. And she's said "for a while," which confirms that he's likely to leave before she is.

She tosses the pillows to the back of the space, then lies down and scoots back, which is a laborious process in a way, and takes a minute, but eventually she's back against the pillows. She rolls on her side to face the spot where he will be lying when he joins her. This whole process was tricky and she's left catching her breath, even more winded than when they'd been kissing.

"Normally I just lie down on the edge there," she says, watching him now that he has the space to come over and lie down with her.

It's much easier for him to crawl in alongside her, but it occurs to him that, on the whole, the lower bunks on Nomo might be friendlier to her condition. Then again, those beds are narrower and easier to fall out of than this is.

"I don't blame you."

Now he's lying next to her, facing her, not really sure of what to do next. She likes initiative, he remembers, but her condition makes him reluctant to take it. Nonetheless, he rests his long hand on her waist and leans in to kiss her, watching for signals about what kind of kiss she wants.

She rests her hand on his arm in return, gripping his bicep, letting her head fall back against the pillow and accepting his kiss. She's interested in something more intense than it appears she's capable of receiving, so once again she doesn't nibble at his lips, simply keeps the pressure firm, with gentle swipes from her tongue. Eventually she can't resist, though, and she nips lightly at his lower lip. She's short on breath again, but that signals her desire to up the intensity of things, and she presses her tongue into his mouth.

The thing with these two weeks or so of celibacy is that her physical condition dictated it—she hasn't been feeling her libido at all in this time. When she decided to ensure he follow her to her room this evening, she mainly wanted to spend more time together, more time to get to know each other as they have been doing over the past two weeks, to get the chance to actually spend time in private for once for discussion and yes, for kissing. That's really all. It's just that knowing they could go further than that is exciting to her. She knows it's not likely to happen, being stuck in this condition, but at least there's this—kissing and touching and being close.

Not long after that she pulls back and sets her hand on her chest, working to catch her breath. Lying down was supposed to make this easier, but she'd gotten too eager.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject