hownkai: (Default)
Cúrre ([personal profile] hownkai) wrote in [community profile] thisavrou_log2016-09-19 04:07 pm

( 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. )
notglitching: (red - caught in reflections)

[personal profile] notglitching 2016-10-24 02:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[Obvious. Useless. He doesn't need to look to read this throw, and the twitch of frame needed to avoid it is written to cache well before her grip releases. It doesn't change anything. His weight shifts, crushing the pathetic struggles underneath. His disks hum brighter. And he brings one sideways, a single, perfect—

'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.]
gentlemenpreferblondes: (When a lass needs a lawyer)

[personal profile] gentlemenpreferblondes 2016-10-26 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[No. They hadn't been able to fix it -- just like before.

"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.]
Edited (so many typos wow.) 2016-10-26 20:42 (UTC)
notglitching: (red - broken)

[personal profile] notglitching 2016-10-29 03:16 pm (UTC)(link)
['Don't'. Don't, don't, don't, fragile and scraping and so very assured. Rinzler hates being ordered. Rinzler wants to ask why. Why she lied. Why she cares. Why she stopped for the bugs, when they'd tricked her. When they were empty and worthless and weak. Why she'd stopped for him when he'd been broken, after Clu cut him to pieces for trying to fight back.

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.]