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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
no subject
He isn't done. He isn't sure he's even gotten started. The black mask stays fixed on J, noise seething out in wordless fury as he stares through the thin flim of red. Fluid violence is held in suspension, every line coiled and ready: to fight, to move, to break, or kill. He's been kept from his true purpose for much too long, and if the user who'd mocked him for his limits thinks her disapproval has any hold? She's going to learn she's very, very wrong.
Rinzler's helmet jerks sideways. Interrogative, response, one voiceless, pointless twitch in trade for another. Why?
Give him one good reason.]
no subject
She raises her gaze from the ground to meet his stare once again. The sharp, questioning head tilt makes her feel frustrated. Both with him but also with her lack of an answer. How can he not see that this is wrong? The bugs cant and wont defend themselves. What he does is unnecessarily cruel and simply unfair. It's not even been that long since he had been in similar situation, injured and helpless.
And she knows that there's really nothing she can do to make him see that. There's no humanity in him that she could appeal to. She thinks that she out of anyone ought to know how little mercy he possessed.
But still, she wasn't going to let this happen. She gives him another stern shake of her head as an answer, forbidding him to continue.]
no subject
And they'd still managed to break him. To cage him. To make him want it too.
(Again.)
A headshake isn't a reason. And he doesn't miss the strict forbiddance, the order written in every condescending motion of her frame. It's enough to clench the fury already coiled in the program's shell, enough for it to sizzle out and spill over to sheer rage. Can she see it? It feels tangible and thick, something to choke on or drown in. It always has been. Broken Rinzler, stupid Rinzler, a monster on a leash to be cut short or jerked aside. This is what he's written for. This is all he is.
But not. For. Her.
Noise jars out in a shattered snarl, helmet lowering in perfect match to the (subservient) (lethal) curve of Rinzler's spine. Then the program reaches down, wrist curving to slice off the creature's empty, broken head—]
no subject
Still, she had stood up and stepped in to stop him. But why? There's nothing she can do to stop him. She doesn't have any power over him --never has-- and now she has powerlessly to watch as he's going to kill someone again. Someone she doesn't know nor does she care for. So really, it shouldn't matter. Just a moment ago she had detested and wanted to condemn them to hell just as he. So why did she bother.
She watches him to turn his attention back to the mantis on the ground, crouching over it and reaching down to deliver the finishing blow. Just like before. It's not Peter and they've hurt her and everyone else and she's so angry about everything. About the whole party. Rinzler. Peter. Herself.
But just like Peter these foolish, disgusting creatures doesn't deserve this. Let them stay on this miserable place and waste away on their own, yes, but to attack and torture when they didn't even seem to realize what was going to happen to them. No, this is wrong.
And just like the last time she isn't going to let it happen. She's not weak.
Her grip on the pitcher tightens as she raises her arm and furiously throws it at Rinzler. There's a intense, almost burning weight on her chest that moves quickly up to her throat and before she can stop herself J opens her mouth, letting out a long suffocated voice:]
Rinzler don't you dare! [The voice is very high-pitched and powerful as she screams the words, feeling it to shake her whole body and bringing some tears to her eyes.]
no subject
'Rinzler—'
No.
'Rinzler don't—'
He doesn't know that voice.
'—don't you dare!'
He doesn't know that voice, but he can track its position. He doesn't know that voice because he hasn't heard it. Because it didn't exist. Because he gutted the user it belonged to, because she woke up as damaged as he is, in one small, vital way.
She said they couldn't fix it. He'd tried, but she said—she—
The pitcher bounces off his shoulder. The hum of his disks flickers, lags, a fraction of a second's stall. He doesn't drop them because he has never dropped them, because Rinzler is a weapon and a tool and a tool has no value if it breaks (so many, many times). But he doesn't finish the kill either. He doesn't move. Not the weapons. Not his core. Nothing but the small, slow twitch of his helmet as it raises toward J.]
no subject
"J is a sensitive kid," had been doctor's diagnose when she had lost her voice all those years ago when her father died. That's it. She's sensitive --weak-- and there's nothing that anyone could do about it so better leave her alone, right? And even back then she had been the one to break through the mute spell.
"If you're really a girl it's not like you're going to need it, right!" The boys from orphanage had cornered her in the bathroom, waving pair of scissors in front of her while laughing and mocking at her state of disability along with her unusual appearance. It's a secret memory of a humiliation that once happened. It had been important lesson about the cruelty in the world and what had pushed her over the edge, teaching that if she were to survive she'll have to do it on her own. She needs to be strong because no one is going to hold her hand.
Just like now. She's not going to wait for someone step in and help.
Never again is Rinzler going to make her watch this sort of violence, a murder, silently from the side. Not when she can do something about it. She's not weak.
Her voice had broke out with such violent force, making her ears ring and eyes blurry from the white noise. But despite her shaken appearance her glare that she shoots at Rinzler is everything but hesitating. It's intense, defiant and unforgiving.]
Don't do it. [She speaks again, this time her voice is nowhere loud or stark as before. On the contrary her it's quiet and squeaky, like a broken glass.]
no subject
He wants to ask, but she wouldn't listen. She hadn't before.
Why would she?
She's a user.
She's a user. She has a voice. They're nothing alike.
They never were.
Spattered liquid drips down his mask, a thin, rose-tinted sheen obscuring vision. Disks hum in clean counterpoint. His sound rises, and it's harsh. Meaningless. He's choking on his own corruption, just like he was meant to from the start. The black shell encasing him falls, just a little. Lifting his head to meet her gaze is suddenly too much weight to bear.
Disks wink out without a word. Without even the slightest pretense at one. Hands clench rigidly around each inactive blade, enough to dig in (enough to hurt) (to feel). And Rinzler turns, the coiled grace of combat bleeding away. Head bowed. Frame hunched. Only the weapons locked in either fist break the default of subservience as he starts to walk.
They don't matter. He doesn't meet this user's gaze. He doesn't look back, either, not at the broken thing she came to help. He passes out of the circle and he doesn't stop.]