thisavrou_log | ( october event log pt. 2 )

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( october event log pt. 2 )

Who: Everyone
When: October 19th into the beginning of November.
Where: The Mini Colony of the Runoff & the Moira.
What: The Moira stops to resupply at the closest planet and things get weird.
Warnings: Physical transformations, phobias - please label if needed.

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Between the Perspectives
"but in your future, the you i see is exactly the person you always wanted to be."

Supplies have been loaded onto the ship, and the captains have encouraged all crew members to explore with the added notice that this will be the last planetary stop (hopefully) until the Moira reaches the Midway Hub. While seemingly uneventful on the Moira, the mini colony has been thrumming with adventure and has offered its visitors the opportunity to explore. To those who have indulged, some experienced great changes and others discovered enlightening information about the Ingress and the very ship some have called home for over a year.

Later in the month, the Lamaria hold the closing ceremony of the Desiderium Festival (which was noted on the prior event log) . The burgundy and lime colors of the celebration slowly fade into black and vermillion, and small fires are now in place for visitors to throw their written notes into. Everyone who participates will be blessed by one of the Lamaria (they will visit the ship as well), and the MID will be able to only translate bits and pieces of what this blessing means. "Experienced loss — every story is different — and saying goodbye — not to know — understanding lies in the mingling of holding on and letting go."

☄ TRANSFORMATION CENTRAL

For some, it might be due to a touch or a look. For others, it might not be any of those things at all, and something that just happens. Either way, shortly after the blessing occurs, you will find yourself changing. Your character’s body will slowly transform into the physical likeness of another being on the Mini Colony. The effects of this change may last as short as a day or as long as a week, but each come with their own stipulations—advantages and disadvantages. This is limited to one as the blessing itself only allows for “a little understanding”. Linked below are some of the possible transformations that your character can go through. Players can choose either one of the mod-supplied suggestions or choose the form of another already living on the Moira.

☄ THE FEAR MACHINE

Paranoia writes the checks, we're dangling here like a marionette. Here we go again, the world is coming to an end. Engage the fear machine and collect the dividends.

While the festival is beautiful, and some have found enlightenment and understanding here, there are those on the mini colony who don't enjoy the festivities. In a secluded room on the fifth floor in one of the buildings in the Science District, there is one such person who finds the religious festival to be a nuisance—one who should be stopped. Thinking that disrupting the blessings and celebration will somehow "get back" at the Lamaria for impeding their work (some of those who have transformed got into the building a few years ago and destroyed this person's property). Pettiness thrives, and they create something they dub The Fear Machine. Yet, while the science is sound, the technology itself is not.

In the middle of the mini colony, the machine is set off, and bolts of transparent energy erupt and spark out around it, stretching as far as the docked ships. Since the technology wasn't created properly to sustain the energy, it doesn't spread out evenly like they had hoped. Some are hit. Some are not. Those who are will develop a sudden and overwhelming phobia that will last well into the beginning of November. The machine might be turned off and left behind, but the obsessive fear has only just begun.

( ooc; For questions, go here. This log will run into the beginning of November; any threads here can be claimed for bonus activity the following activity check as well. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ She can hear the grit of his teeth; that should be the first problem, but she can feel the muscle in his neck thickening and the shift of bone in his skull, and if the nanites did nothing else at least they were an anesthetic— though how much of this pain they'll be able to mitigate is another thing entirely. He's swatting her hands away and clawing at the mask himself, but more in an effort to keep it on than take it off, and the furrow of her brow shows her confusion and attempt to process his motivations on top of the current situation.

The mask had no life support or filtering functions, so... was he disfigured, somehow? Why hide his face so stubbornly? The flexible piece about his neck as added ballistic protection strains atop the swell of new muscle and her hands dive back into the fray to try anew, moving around the edge of the table to go behind him. ]

Why? This is going to end up injuring you if not outright strangling you. It has to come off.

[ She puts on her most stern no-nonsense tone while remaining as calm as possible, because she hears that panic. The pain moreso, something she's far too attuned to in her life that leaves her acting immediately. Slender fingers slip between his claws just long enough to hit the right releases, and just as he's choking on his own breath and he's fighting his mask back onto a shifting face (something that inadvertently helps her release it, but lessening the strain on the latches), she works it free and is loosening the neck guard. He can hold it over his face if he likes, but the fact of the matter is that it's no longer attached to anything, and her fingers are burying in the thick fur along his nape as she tries to brace him, her other hand looping over his bicep. ]

Just breathe, 76. It's almost over. It has to be.

[ His legs have gone full digitigrade, chest barreled out and ribs realigning, pads on his feet and palms swelling and turning leathery, claws dark and fully-formed. His boxers are about to give out sooner than later and he'd be fully bared, then, but he seems to have no tail— just the blunt end of his spine ending where his hips have shifted to a position friendlier for movement on all fours. His ears are smoothing, shifting ever-upward—

Hearing him in pain hurts her in turn, heart fluttering with nerves and her uncertainty weighing heavy on her, cloaking her in this failure. She couldn't help him. What else is there for her to do? Some part of him had trusted her and all she could do was help make him some fraction more comfortable. ]

[He snarls at her again when the mask unclips, head and jawpiece coming undone and falling onto the exam table as he desperately tries to keep the mask and visor covering his face. If he weren't in the throes of panic, he might realize that he's probably been made unrecognizable, but he's not exactly having rational thoughts at the moment. Even Angela supporting him is barely registered, but that's mostly because given the room to do so, his face is grinding out into a muzzle.

Even as he thrashes and growls and spits, she knows just how to hold him, and she keeps him in place as he rides out the rest of the changes, shuddering involuntarily against her.

Eventually, the mask falls too, but not out of his own volition, and he keeps his clawed hands over his face as he lets out something of an anguished-slash-exhausted groan. He still hasn't quite given up the idea that somehow, something will give him away.]

[ 76 can spit and snarl all he likes, she isn't going to back down. She never has, and she has no plans to in the future. It's just how she is and he'd known it the moment he decided to head her direction. Her curiosity about his face doesn't even cross her mind as she holds him in place on the table, fingers at his nape pushing up through the thick white fur to hook over his shoulder, leaning forward until her brow presses against his back. It's a moment of weakness on her end, as well as another little tether of connection as she hears bone creaking and grinding, nothing she can do for him but offer her sturdiness as he shudders in her hands and tries to thrash. Her heart goes out to anyone in pain, but this in particular is one of the worst she's had to witness.

His body's feverish with the sudden output of energy and cell production, and it's no surprise he's as exhausted as he is when it seems to be over. The mask clatters to the floor and his hands still cover his face, his groan as harsh and guttural as his pants, slowly easing her grip on him. Slender fingers are still buried in his fur and she smooths down where she'd ruffled it in her grip on him. ]

You're burning up; come here and lay down, give yourself a moment.

[ If he'll let her, she'll give him a gentle little tug at his arm and guide him to lay down on his side. She won't force him to show his face; Angela only wants him to take a breather and rest so she can check his vitals when they've evened out. ]

[Once he realizes that struggling is futile, he slumps into her, and then in his exhaustion and disorientation, he forgets where he is. It's so familiar, the sound of her voice, being in her arms on an exam table in her Medbay, and for a moment he allows himself to hold onto that feeling.

Eventually, his breathing slows and he helps her ease him onto his side, hands falling from his face in the process. 76 can only hope there's nothing about him she'll recognize, but after this ordeal, he can't seem to find the energy to keep up the charade. He feels top-heavy, too big for the exam table.

After a long moment, he tries to talk, perhaps a little pleased that he still can. He doesn't look at her.]

How bad is it, Doc?

[ The second he ceases his struggling and he slumps back into her she holds onto him easily, no matter that he must now weigh at least 300 pounds as it nearly all relaxes onto her. She turns her head to press her cheek into him and his fur is thick and soft, listening to his heart as his breathing evens out, still labored in his exhaustion but no longer the quick panting of panic as his heart rate similarly slows, and finally, finally, he calms enough for her to guide him onto the table.

His legs draw up and his feet only scrabble for a moment on the padding before he settles, claws thankfully not rending open the table's surface as she settles behind him, seated and the length of her thigh pressed against his back as she strokes his arm, easing up to carefully lay a hand over his head and feel his brow. When he's hot here too, her nails sift through his fur and back, carefully brushing over one soft ear. It takes her a moment to realize he's lowered his hands and she can finally get a look at him.

What was he even trying to hide? There are two scars on his face. And? His eyes are blue, not quite like hers, but crisper, more faded. Denim instead of sky. The shade of his eyes combined with "Doc" shakes something loose, a tightness in her chest that leaves her brows furrowing, but it could just as easily be taken as scrutinizing his new face. Which turns into actual examination, brief and unobtrusive though it may be. ]

Well, you're certainly a lycanthrope. I'm jealous of how thick your hair is. [ That's enough teasing; she says it all gently, tentatively, yet still. ] Are you still in pain?

Werewolves ain't real.

[Says the guy who definitely just had a spontaneous lycanthropic transformation. He seems content to grumble into the exam table, but really he's waiting for something to give him away, flinching at her touch though he really has no reason to. When it doesn't come, he ventures shifting a little, not exactly comfortable curled up on his side while she examines him.

It takes him a moment, but soon he's shrugging her off and sitting up, splaying his hands in front of him, turning them over to examine the black pads on his palms (he still has thumbs, at least), as if trying to decide whether or not this is real.

Which it is, apparently, and he almost asks for a mirror but has to stop himself. He settles for self-examination by touch, instead, inspecting the thick coat of white-gray fur on his arms and chest, hands traveling upward to assess the damage to his face. It's enough to make him wince.]

No.

[He still aches, but the sharpness of it is ebbing, so it's nothing he needs to bring up. There's a bigger problem, notably the fact that they still don't know what's caused this, or if it's even reversible.]

I'm afraid to say I've touched one with my very hands. They're about as real as can be.

[ Says the doctor speaking of her patient right here on her table, with a wry sort of quirk in her voice. (How many people in this world had blue eyes? Surely there was more than one American man with denim blue eyes. She's being ridiculous and Jack had left her six years ago. She's being foolish.) 76 flinches beneath her touch but she only persists stubbornly, maintaining it and thumb smoothing the dip between his eyes, touching his scar with feather lightness as she monitors the spike in his body temperature, stroking over his head until he's shifting uncomfortably and she offers an apologetic smile.

It'd essentially amounted to "petting", if one were to put too fine a point on it. It'd just be the wrong end of the pencil. Angela would have called it "soothing", as well as "necessary" to monitor his body. Thermometers were useless on his body as it is now. Eventually 76 shrugs her off to sit up and he's examining himself, her touching slipping off his head to careen off his shoulder, nails raking through the fur halfway down his back before she withdraws her hand properly. She remains seated, and they're nearly back to back as she turns to watch him check out his own hands (paws), certainly not missing the wince and curl of his lip as he feels his face.

Angela doesn't believe him about the pain; his motions are still a little stiff, but it likely wasn't enough to warrant mention. She'll let it slide. ]

I'm glad for that, at least. You know how these things have happened before; they don't last long. I'll be looking into it regardless, but I want you to remember that strange occurrences aren't so strange aboard this ship and this isn't the first time. We get the gist. Right?

[ She just wants to make sure he's all right before she starts poking around the MID or has to take off to the gardens or hunt down the reference books on the herbs and foreign medicines in the medbay. Which isn't to say he couldn't come with, but she doesn't expect him to, either. ]

There has to be some explanation.

[Something that could have caused this, but he already knows that they're not going to get any answers until it starts happening to other people, too. If it starts happening to other people. 76 doesn't really want to think about that--he has enough on his plate as it is.

It all feels a bit surreal, which he guesses is better than sheer panic, but that doesn't mean he's comfortable. He shifts awkwardly on the exam table, feeling her touch leave him. The silence hangs in the air for a few moments before he speaks up again.]

You were petting me.

[Don't think he DIDN'T NOTICE.]

I want to be sure you're stable before I investigate, but I'm sure there is an explanation.

[ Her conviction goes into it, because so far, that had held true— time distorted in an unstable part of the universe they'd passed through resulting in age fluctuations, the mantis people on the last planet had drugged their food and drink with a mild hallucinogen, and so on. Somehow, somewhere, there is a reason for this change. They just need to work on finding it and curing it. Time had taken care of the first, water from the pool she and Jesse had rested in had taken care of the second, so what's to come of the third?

At least his panic has ebbed. That fear and anger has diminished to a smolder, and he doesn't seem to be in as much pain the more he moves, for which she's glad.

Color immediately rises to her cheeks with the "accusation", stated so matter-of-factly she can't help but be defensive. ]

I was touching you. Your brow to monitor the fever that displacement of energy has put off, and I tried to soothe you otherwise. You're insulated now and your skin needs to be able to breathe so you can regulate your body temperature

[ DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT??? GEEZ. ]

You were petting me.

[There's a little growl in his voice this time, but otherwise he doesn't seem to be hostile--perhaps he's too shell-shocked or exhausted to be. What he does know is that he didn't exactly hate it, which means it's time for him to extricate himself from this situation.

He slips off the exam table but is completely unprepared for the way his center of gravity has shifted, and he has to catch himself on the edge of it as he realizes that he's not carrying his weight the same. The top-heavy sensation suddenly makes sense, but 76 isn't exactly thinking straight as his legs nearly buckle under him and he digs his claws into the table.]

I'm not going to argue the minutiae of how I made physical contact, 76.

[ He may not seem hostile but he's drawing out her stubborn tone of voice that brooks no arguments, and the faintest hint of exasperation that obviously inflects "but I wasn't petting you" to the end of her spoken word. He's tired and he's shell-shocked from what had just transpired and she isn't going to offer resistance, but she tries to grasp his arm when he moves to get off the table with an aborted verbal warning before he's tipping forward and twisting to dig his claws into her (undamaged until now) exam table and try to keep himself upright.

Angela's off the edge and circling around in no time, a supportive hand under one elbow to urge him up to his feet. ]

A little slower, now— take your time to focus on where your weight is and how your limbs want to settle. It should come to you naturally, no matter what your mind may tell you.

[ Too many years of dealing with prosthetics has the words coming to her lips out of habit, supporting his weaker side where he's lower. ]

[He definitely wants to argue with her, reiterate that she was most certainly petting him, but figuring out how to walk is probably a higher priority at the moment. 76 can always come back to this.

The really sad thing is that he knows exactly where she's coming from when she tells him things like this. If he wasn't vaguely addled, he might find the familiarity comforting, not that he ever expected to be the recipient of this kind of advice.

He tries not to think about it, straightening and hauling himself up onto the balls of his feet. 76 realizes that his arms are thicker, longer, the pitch of his hips sort of indicating that he'll probably be able to get around on all fours just as well, if not better than on two feet. The thought makes him a little uncomfortable, so he decides not to give up on a bipedal stance just yet.

The solution seems to be to hunch slightly, accommodating the new angle of his pelvis and offsetting the weight of his upper body. When he feels stable, he tries to shrug off her hand.]

You can let go.

[ She's glad he chooses not to argue— yet, anyway. It's a good enough start and she turns his focus back onto holding his newly-shifted weight, where he'd likely need to bend at the knees for a sturdier base, standing with his feet further apart to make up for how he'd need to hunch forward. She can see it in his physiology already, how his body wants to settle, but she won't fuss overmuch.

Yet he listens, and hauls himself back up into something resembling what she had imagined. Much better. His elbow nudges out to shake her off and she'll let go, taking a step back to get a look at him now in full and his stance. ]

That looks significantly more comfortable for you. There's room for you to walk around the table if you want to give it a go.

[ Maybe once he's on the other side he can shed his boxers because really, it looks silly. A wolfman in underwear. ]

[He’s still a little wobbly, but she is right—as soon as he settles into the stance, it’s easier and more comfortable than what he was trying to do. 76 is sort of fighting off the urge to lope around using his hands, but it does seem he’s capable of remaining bipedal, so he’ll stick with that for as long as he can.

It doesn’t mean, however, that he’s more amenable to taking her instructions. He’ll walk around the exam table because he wants to, not because she’s telling him that he should. As soon as he takes a step, he’s reminded of the fact that he’s still wearing underwear—too tight, and half ripped, but he does her a favor and makes sure the fur is everywhere before he rids himself of it.]

If it’s all the same to you, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t stick around.

[76 won’t admit that he’s exhausted, but perhaps he can frame it like he’s offering himself up for observation, or any other tests she might want to run, especially if other people wander in with the same afflictions.]

[ He is still a little wobbly, but she lets him move on without her support when he keeps one hand on the exam table, steadying himself just fine on his own. And he does take her up on the suggestion, testing out the new body and way of carrying himself. It would take some practice, certainly. When he circles back around he's completely bared to her, head to toe in thick silvery fur and indeed being without a tail, muzzle scarred and revealing eerily blue eyes. Too familiar, too intelligent for what she's looking at— but she has no issue reconciling the beast before her with 76 even with such a different image. This is 76. She's spoken with him and spent time with him in spades.

It's nothing to worry about. It would fade, as these effects always did. She has no doubt about that, but his shoulders are still slumped and his movements sluggish enough to go beyond simple consideration. He's still tired. She takes the statements for the quiet request it is, and it would allow her to continue to check him out and try a few other attempts on his behalf for an earlier cure; win-win. ]

I think that would be for the best; would you like to lie down again? If not on the table in here, the room next door has a proper bed. Would you mind the company if I bring some research material in to sit with you? I need to comb over the records for the herbs here, but I still had a few ideas.

[ She's busy picking up and folding his clothes, "packing" them in his armor that she also gathers, separating the chest and back pieces of the torso to nest together and put his clothes inside. His boots are deposited in a bag to flatten on top of the clothes, finally topped with his mask and all wrapped in his jacket for one big bundle she can hug to her chest and wait for his decision on where to go. She'll begin moving toward the chair beside the door either way, because she'd leave his things there if he stays in the room. ]

[He shakes the remnants of his boxer shorts off his claws, apparently not concerned with the fact that someone is going to have to pick them up, unless Angela likes shreds of fabric all over the floor of her Medbay. When she looks at him, he straightens, taking in for the first time just how tall he is—he must be at least seven feet, likely more. Combined with all his added bulk, it makes the room feel small.

Angela is studying him, he can tell that much, and he’s again plagued with the slow bubble of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. She can’t possibly be recognizing him, can she? Maybe by his eyes, but—

76 tries to stomp it out. He hasn’t seen any shock on her face, and that’s the first emotion he’d expect when and if she puts two and two together. Instead, sh offers him ]

Don’t need a bed.

[Even if he could probably stand to rest, 76 doesn’t want to feel idle. He’s uncomfortable enough in this new body without a whole room to himself to contemplate. She starts touching his things and it takes a concentrated effort not to stop her and take over. Angela has all his gear bundled up before he can even reach out.]

Just do what you need to do. [Like she’s not being interrupted by a huge wolf man.] I’ll stay out of your way.

[ His height makes her feel small when he straightens, somewhere around Reinhardt's height, though not quite nearing his build. He turns down her offers as easily as ever, and she can only sigh as she goes to open the door, then, and will move to her "office"; really, more of a semi-private corner with three walls, but it did the trick well enough.

He's cagey enough as it is, and she doesn't imagine the closed-off room was helping much, so she'll leave to something more open and tipping her head for him to follow. ]

Fair enough then. I'm going to leave your things at my desk, all right? I'll show you where they'll be.

[ And once they leave the room, she'll do just that, tucking the bundle under her desk in the back left corner, pushing her chair in to hide them. Not that anyone would be going through her things in the first place, but still. ]

I know it's easier said than done, but please try to make yourself comfortable, 76. I'm going to get those materials.

[ She won't stop him from following her as she goes to gather up multiple handwritten texts. At least she hadn't brought the pup to medbay with her today; he's still learning to stay at her heel, after all, and it's been too hectic to really chance it. Poor thing likely would've had a heart attack seeing a similar dog so much larger and volatile than himself. ]

[He’s perhaps just the slightest bit relieved that she doesn’t insist on further observation, content to leave him alone while she takes care of other work.

Still loath to have someone else touching his things, he follows her more to make sure nothing happens to his visor than anything else, bending a little to peer under the desk after she stashes them. If this is temporary, as she suspects, 76 wants his gear nearby in the event he changes back without warning. That’s the last position he should be caught in, for obvious reasons.

76 finds a nice corner with a good view of the room, settling down into it and appearing to consider something before he speaks up. He’s watching her intently.]

Thanks, Doc.

[For trying, at least.]

[ She'll give him his time to recuperate; she would never push someone who's just been through what he's dealt with through tests and biopsies unless it were absolutely urgent, but his personality is still clear at the surface and the transformation is over. The bundle of his things are tucked deep into the shadows and she has a seat on the rolling stool as he occupies one of the corners, peering out over a good swath of the medbay. She has a particularly head-on view of the entrance and a blessed bit of quiet in the space around her; it's private, and she has one of the porthole windows to see the stars.

It's a little more difficult to make out his expression when his facial structure is so wildly different from human, but his eyes convey a lot and she can see the contemplation there as she begins flipping through pages, scanning the words tidily recorded. She keeps him in her peripheral (not made hard with how small her 'office' was, in truth, and he's nearly within her reach even tucked in the corner, large as he is) as she reads, feeling his eyes on her all the while. It results in the tiniest quirk of her lips, finally turning to look when he opens his muzzle. ]

You don't have anything to thank me for. I couldn't help you, after all— I'm sorry.

[ She turns another fraction, leveling her full attention on him with her hands coming to rest in her lap. Wringing, almost, in a rare show of her regret, brows gathered up apologetically. ]

[True, he's much more shaken than he's going to let on--over the next few minutes into the next few hours, he'll be sitting in quiet contemplation of an entirely new body, too shell-shocked to really do anything productive. His current position in the medbay is more tactical than anything, but he knows he's not going to be able to do much.

Even if she hadn't been able to help, she'd tried, at least, and he can't help but worry about the way she's wringing her hands, an old reflex he hasn't been able to shake.]

You did what you could.

[And now he is a dog.]

[ Things like this take time, after all. And time was something they found on their hands at length, but at the rate things have been thrown at them, it's no wonder it feels like nothing. There is little space between the weird happenings thrust upon them and this is one of the worst, she thinks. If he's content to stay in her company, she's content to give him her patience and provide what she can to keep him comfortable.

He looks alert when he replies, and she hadn't missed the way his eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. Slender fingers flinch before she's forcing herself to stop. ]

It hadn't been enough though; my apology stands. But thank you.

[ It's only a short shift of the stool before she's within reach to rest a hand on his head, smoothing down a bit of fluff stubbornly flipping up near the back, fingers curling about his ear and nails sifting through fur out of newly-formed habit with the pup back in her room before she catches herself and is inwardly mortified, but she won't yank her hand back unless he reacts negatively to the (hopefully soothing) touch. ]

[He’s too stunned to even stop her hand, really, but he tenses underneath her and his lip curls, like he’s trying to bite down a snarl. In truth, he’s frozen, a low rumble in his chest as she moves her fingers from the back of his head around his ear and scratches gently.

76 sits there, frozen, apparently unable to figure out what to do about this gesture. For a moment it feels nice, her nails hitting a spot he didn’t even know he had (maybe it’s a new spot), but he very quickly comes back to himself and swats her hand away. Absolutely mortifying.]

I said don’t.

[ She'd only meant to smooth his hair down like one picks a leaf off someone's shoulder or a string from their shirt, but she went too far without paying attention and he tenses, lip curling but ears splaying the smallest amount beneath the soft drag of nails along the shape of his ear before he's swatting her hand away and she jerks back with it.

It hadn't necessarily hurt, the way his hand had connected with her arm, but it had been enough of a reprimand even before he speaks. Her other hand covers the point of impact out of reflex and her fingers curl about her arm, shoulders drawing up just a fraction. ]

I'm— I apologize, I only meant to straighten your hair. I'm... going to go get some coffee; would you like a water or anything?

[ A B O R T ]

[He reflexively tries to scrub down the cowlick at the mention of his hair, but it seems to be just as stubborn as always. 76 hadn't exactly meant to growl at her, but it's clear that he's either not used to being touched, or simply doesn't like it, withdrawing further into the corner.]

I'm fine.

[Things he's not going to attempt to do in front of Angela: drink out of a glass.]

[ Angela would respect that, in most cases, but the act of touch comes second nature to her and she often employs it as a way to connect with others; she'll scale back at the very least and make an active effort to avoid it. He withdraws back into the corner and her shoulders draw up in much the same guarded stance, afraid she's gone too far and turns to leave. At least give him some space. ]

I'll be right back, then.

[ Enjoy that backwards tongue scoop action 76 because she's bringing you a water anyway and will promptly leave again to let him figure it out. He needs to stay hydrated!! ]

( october event log pt. 2 )

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