thisavrou_log | december event log

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december event log

Who: Everyone
When: December 1st and on
Where: The Midway Hub.
What: With the Moira destroyed, the crew travel to the center of the Hub.
Warnings: Potential violence. Lots and lots and lots of walking. Please label your content

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the outer gate
"Open up, and let them in."

The Moira is no more.

With the damage done to the ship due to the timeslip, all that remains is a burning wreckage and parts to be taken—if the crew can find anything in the pieces. Recovery and headcounts are the main objective for the first several hours of being planetside, and once things have settled just enough, Captain Ira calls for a meeting and addresses those who are able in person to explain the situation. He draws a rough map of the area and explains where he believes they are - according to the terrain - and where they must go. For anyone who’s listening, he describes things like an “Outer Gate”, an “Inner Gate” and “gate sectors”. Believing this to be the best course of action, all crew are asked to explore and gather what they think they’ll need to make the long journey towards the central point of the Hub. Because the MIDs are no longer working due to the lack of a network, the Captains distribute a newer tech called the TAB. It serves the same functions as the MID but is lighter, slimmer, and has the ability to stick to any surface.

WELCOME TO THE MIDWAY HUB

Now that the smoke from the crash has cleared, and injured crew have been tended to, the Captains get everyone ready for departure by explaining what they know of the Hub. Almost stone-like, the creators built a domed workspace in the largest solid space on the planet they could find. Gates are the only way inside, and anyone who catches a glimpse of the compound will see that parts of the dome are cracked. Yet, everything still appears to be relatively intact. The Midway Hub’s terrain is very rocky and difficult to walk on at times. Below the surface is a honeycomb of intermittently dense and brittle stone that makes travel difficult due to the unpredictable nature of what lies beneath the crew’s feet. Those who can develop the tech from what’s left of the debris might be able to create something to determine which route is the safest. Ships and small crafts can be used to fly, but landing is a problem—rocks jut up in sharp peaks and the clearer spots can't handle their weight. Vegetation is sparse, consisting of twisted dark gray thistles that have sprung up from cracks in the rock and burn when in direct contact with skin, and what could be considered small animals here can be seen scurrying away the closer crew get to them.

☄ WEEK ONE

Crew are asked to hook cryo beds together and to use any appropriate vehicles that can be made or fashioned to fit the terrain to carry injured crew on the journey to the center of the Hub. Supplies are gathered, and the Captains, as well as any crew who want to, give the Moira a proper sendoff, heads bowed as they say goodbye to what’s been their home. Traveling starts out slowly, a line of a hundred-plus crew members making their way slowly forward. Stops are frequent, but camping for rest only occurs at night. Crew are assigned watch shifts, fires are built, injured tended to, and those who are able are asked to explore nearby caves and hunt for food.

Something akin to deer, though striped and only to be found in pairs, can be stumbled across at night. Throngs of dark purple mammels begin to follow the Moirans on their trip as well. They are friendly, curious, and eat the thistle. Meet the intelligent, watchful predators that aren’t easily scared away and follow the crew from a distance as if waiting to pounce. The thistle can be eaten, but only if cooked first, and those who sample the chewy plant raw will experience a burning sensation in their throat that doesn’t go away until the cooked version is consumed. During the first week, water can’t be found.

Anyone who does hunt, gather, or explore should make sure to that their TABS are on and it’s suggested that nobody goes alone.

Nearing the end of the first week, an Ingress can be spotted close by that crew can explore. If anyone dares to go inside, they will find the texture of the ground and surrounding walls to be rather soft. If inspected closely, crew will discover that what they originally thought to be rock is actually a living organism that’s fed off the energy of the Ingress it’s attached itself to. It’s not harmful and squishy to the touch. If pressed hard enough, it secretes a turquoise liquid with the consistency of water that might make a good substitute for that very thing.

☄ WEEK TWO

When crew finally pass through the sector gates, a strange sensation encompasses them, and a depowering of sorts goes into effect. The creators put in security measures meant to put all visitors on equal footing as well as to protect themselves from harm. All crew will essentially have the strength and abilities of the average human. An unforeseen issue, this causes Captain Thán to slip into a coma as he is no longer able to continue to recover at a steady pace, and with the loss of the former Captain’s abilities, crew can no longer be brought back if they die. For the first time, all Moirans are subject to permanent death.

During this week of travel, broken ingress machines and parts will be found scattered among the rocks, and new crew will come through. Unfortunately, these Ingresses aren’t in good shape, and anyone coming through will be in varying states of distress—some physical and some mental. New individuals will either have suffered an age slip, growing older or younger than their original body, some form of body transformation (perhaps that shiny thing they were wearing is now part of them somehow), or an extreme weakness they had never been subjected to before arriving on the Midway Hub. The new people will be offered to join their group, once found, and seasoned crew will be asked to explain to them where they are going and what they know.

The rest of the week will be a mix of greeting the new arrivals and continuing to travel to the center of the Hub. The closer they get, the less frequently they’ll see animals, and more caves will begin to pop up.

☄ WEEK THREE

Entering the third week of travel, settlements and houses begin to crop up and are prime areas for exploration and general supplies. Those who go inside may find items that have been left behind and evidence showing that those of varying species and cultures lived in the homes. Some appeared to have been scientists while others were explorers, but all living quarters are deserted. Crew who are less lucky in their search might come away with no fresh supplies, and others might walk into traps or safeguards left behind by previous tenants; these come in many forms, from mild paralysis to temporary unconsciousness. As there are more residences, there are also more caves. The entrances vary in size, and light sources will be needed to explore. Once inside, crew can find purple underwater streams, which can be consumed, and glowing surfaces. When crew drink the water, it temporarily restores powers, a few minutes tops, and then, extreme lethargy settles in for a couple of hours.

Further into the cave systems, crew will come across these lovely creatures that are attracted to sound and track through scent. They are highly dangerous and attack simply to feed. Killing them, though, is surprisingly simple as they are just as vulnerable and weak as everyone else. They are vicious in demeanor but only as strong as an average human.

The closer to the Inner Gate crew get, the less homes, wildlife, and more caves there will be.

☄ WEEK FOUR

The Captains, aware that the crew is exhausted, stop and make camp for the first few days. Someone mentions that it’s the holidays where they’re from, and the Captains do their best to throw a party. Set up at the base of a cave, tents are built and fires roar. Soft music is played in the form of guitar, thank you Ira, and Cúrre brings out some legumes that taste like cherries when roasted. There isn’t much in the way of decorations, but crew are encouraged to dig through their pac-discs and contribute to the festivities.

After a brief respite, crew learn that the entrances to Gate A and Gate B are inside one of the caves but any signs or markings have long since worn away or been destroyed. Groups are split, TABS are synced, and crew explore carefully until an entrance is found. Crew discover Gate A first, and all crew are contacted to gather there. The Captains will remain at the cave entrance until all crew are accounted for, and then, they’ll enter through the gate together.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

So he not only presumes to know them, but he seems to be operating under the sad delusion that he has missed them in the interim. How sad. One cannot miss something that only exists as a consequence; his life must be despicably poor and lonely if a disjointed figment of a long-dead child is the best he can do.

"She's not my mother." The words come reassuringly easily, despite the sickening pang to their chest. Cushion the blow with LOVE, polish it away into nothingness. They killed her and she flinched, laughing as she crumbled away into dust, as her SOUL dissipated into alabaster fragments.

Easily spoken. Gone and ERASED.

"Right." Chara had never spoken about Toriel before. Peter only found out when he started working with the woman, and even then by accident. But he'd seen the same look on Toriel he'd seen on the face of his own mother whenever the woman talked about her kids. That wasn't the kind of look someone could insist away.

"I think that's something you should take up with her, because she certainly thinks so. If it were me, I wouldn't argue about it. She's not the kind of lady I'd go messing with."

Chara smiles, lifting their eyebrows with the air of someone who's just heard something funny. And it is, isn't it? It's ever so hilarious. Don't argue about it, Chara. You wouldn't know, Chara. She knows best for you, Chara.

She knows best for all her children. You know, the ones she seared to death with her fire magic. Those ones. She loved them with all her heart. And then, because they know how love reaches its natural conclusion, she LOVED them just as well.

And they LOVED her right on back.

"No?" Chara simply sounds distantly, vaguely amused. "I wouldn't know about that. I did kill her, you know."

There's quick as lightning shock passing over Peter's face, courtesy of the water's effects on his powers. But his expression evens out. If Chara is trying to get a rise out of Peter, they'd have to try someone more than that.

It's not like Peter wasn't already aware of what the kid was capable of.

In the months Peter had known Chara, the other Chara, he'd heard of the child trying to kill Papyrus in cold blood. He'd sat the trial that had come of the whole affair. He'd mourned when Chara had slain Sans. It didn't come as such a surprise that Chara had killed before. It wouldn't come as a surprise if they did again.

"She's alive here. You'd get into a lot of trouble if you tried anything again." Peter shrugs, feigning disinterest. Peter knows what Chara is, but it still makes him a little- sick? disappointed?- that such a kind woman had to be a part of it. "It's not like how it was when you were here before. There's not trials and three days in jail. They could make you leave. They could force you into a cell indefinitely."

He sighs, continuing like he still believes he's talking to the same child he once knew. "And that's just the captains. People like her, you know. They might not forgive you hurting her like they did with what happened with Sans."

So they did in that heap of bones and smiles, did they not? A pity, then, that he's evidently long gone. They would call it a relief, but they are rather beyond that. With him gone, they are all much relieved of the judgmental wittering of a ruthless hypocrite, and this can only be for the best.

At least they've a helpful spouter of exposition at their beck and call. How very articulate of him.

"Perhaps I was merely defending myself." They cock their head to one side. "But I see how it is. No matter how deeply someone like that may hurt you," and their grin twists in a brief flash of teeth, "you are never allowed to hurt them back. I see you have all taught Frisk that lesson rather well."

"You were merely looking for revenge." He narrows his eyes. Something is finally starting to spark for him, the thought starting that maybe Chara isn't acting the way Peter would expect. He couldn't understand why Chara would bother being coy about the situation with Sans so long after it had been settled.

"And you know that's not what we ever tried to say to you. And you know I'm hardly the one to tell you not to protect yourself. Not with the shit you've seen me do." He frowns, sitting up straighter and half considering using what little energy he has to look for Frisk. "Did you do something to Frisk?"

Revenge seldom gets anyone anywhere, does it? A pity, then, that it seems to be the only language anyone understands. The FIGHT is truly all we know, it seems. The only thing that can ever keep kids like them in line.

Again he references a past they did not truly share, events for which they lack any memory. A pity. A true, solemn pity.

Chara smiles, as is their prerogative.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, given time." Did they do something to Frisk. Yes, how indicative that this is to where his mind immediately springs. And what have they done to Frisk lately? Nothing but been the cancerous presence they always are, but honestly, who are they to rush forward and defend themself? They are all too familiar with what that gets them.

It's rude to swear in front of children, you know.

"Chara." Peter's voice takes a little edge to it, frown deepening. "Christ, I thought Frisk was the only person you got along with."

He'd never seen the kids together, granted. But Frisk acted so fond of Chara, asking Peter to keep an eye on the other and constantly encouraging Peter to befriend them, that Peter just assumed they were close.

"Sometimes I swear you just say stuff to make me react." He says it like it should make him mad, but Peter just sighs and smiles ruefully. "I suppose if you'd actually done something I would have already heard everyone freaking out about it."

That is a matter of opinion, as well as perspective. Chara is not what anyone would call a "safe" individual, a reality they have always been frank about, and they are all too well-acquainted with the assumptions one makes in the face of a child with red eyes who smiles far, far too much.

"Congratulations," Chara comments dryly back. "It appears that, despite all evidence to the contrary, you do in fact have at least two brain cells to rub together."

And the spark of which produced enough reasoning for him to infer that no, Chara has not actually stuck a shiv through Frisk and left them for dead, because they may have no standards, no morals, and no redeeming qualities, but they are Frisk's humble servant, and they follow them to the utmost.

"Thanks, kid," Peter says dryly, unsure if he wants to roll his eyes or laugh. He sort of missed the feeling of exasperation Chara was so good at bringing out. "I'm so glad you don't think I'm a complete idiot."

He lets his snort hang in the air for a moment, just watching Chara from the corner of his eye. There's still something nagging at him that he can't put his finger out. "So. Was I your last stop or do you still have people to go see again? I think some of the kids I used to see you running around with are gone. Have you seen anyone you remember?"

Not a complete idiot. My, but they must dry harder.

"Frisk and I have things well in hand." An evasive answer, if not simply because they have led him to believe that they do in fact remember him - and others - with a disturbing ease. They've grown to know other children as well. Interesting.

Though not, on second thought, surprising. Children are preferable to adults. Their thoughts are much easier to glean, and much easier to overpower should the situation arise.

"Well, I'd believe that about Frisk." He smiles, trying to show it's mostly a joke. "Even though that doesn't tell me much. No trust in me, huh kid?"

It wouldn't be surprising. The other Chara never really confided in Peter, never showed any desire to. He's sure that Frisk might be the only one to really understand anything about the child.

"You show up right when we're so close to getting home. That doesn't really seem fair. You have a few awful days in a cave and then you get to go right back."

Trust is not a right, particularly not for humans - and particularly not for the older.

"Unless, of course," says Chara, "one would prefer not to go home at all."

They will return to their slumber in the soil, most certainly, but they will once again, inevitably, be woken and stirred once more; to hang about another child's shoulders, to whisper, to preface their words with asterisks and dispense guidance when necessary. They will never really sleep at all.

What's the saying? Miles to go...

Well, you know how it goes.

That makes Peter sit up a little higher, stare a little sharper. "You don't want to leave?"

It's not like Peter couldn't piece together that Chara had certain tensions with some of the other's from their home world. Attempted murder tends to make things a little awkward, after all. But it's the first indication that Chara wants to stay.

"What, like, you want to find a ship and stick around space? Have you talked to Frisk about that? Your mom?"

"I am not fond of repeating myself." They lock their stare with his, unblinking. "She is not my mother."

And that world, for whatever reason, will continuously not see fit to release them from its grasp. Perhaps they are better suited to finding one that will. ERASE this pointless world, and move on to the next.

Simple. Clean. Pure.

"I see no reason why they should be consulted." An argument for the sake of argument hardly benefits anyone - unless, of course, there is a significant and relevant point to be made. "It is my decision to make, is it not?"

"Again. Take it up with her. I like Toriel and if she wants to claim you I'm not going to argue with the woman." Peter's been the caretaker for a tantrum throwing little sister long enough that a hostile stare down is nothing new. He's actually pretty good at it, with his powers making him move fast enough that it only looks like he's not blinking.

But holding a staring contest with Chara isn't what he's here for. Neither is he interested in an argument.

"Yeah, your decision. But it's a decision that's going to effect them." He shrugs, settles back down on the ground. "I think they'd like a heads up."

"Of course. I had forgotten children are objects to be claimed at will." The disgust in their tone is rivaled only by the level of disdain with which they spear his words, a flat-eyed stare with the minute twitch of an upper lip that approximates a sneer. "What reason should a child have to enjoy radical concepts such as autonomy, or self-determination?"

Self-Determination. What a joyous, delightful joke that one is. Perhaps beyond his understanding, depending on how much or how little he knows of their world.

But then again, perhaps not.

"That's putting words in my mouth, kid. You know what I mean. She loves you as her own. There's nothing you or me or anyone else can do about it." He rubs at his temple again, shutting his eyes against Chara's gaze.

"Chara, I know you're all independent. And it's not like I don't encourage that." He's hardly one to tell kids not to make it on their own. It's not like Peter had much by the way of supervision growing up. "But I think they'll be upset that you'll be here alone. I mean, geez kid. I'm sticking around, I'll keep an eye on you but I'm not Frisk. Or your mom. I'm not your family."

She loves you as her own, does she? How good.

"I suppose you have not been informed as to what Toriel does to the things she loves," says Chara, quietly. Has he any clue whatsoever? Does anyone? They are willing to bet that - no, he does not. Frisk would not inform anyone, because Frisk is full of perfect forgiveness and could not bear to make a single person feel bad for the sins they've committed.

How nice for them. Chara will shoulder that burden. It is what they're good for.

"And a good thing for that." They smile once more, brightly. "Or I fear you would have an increased risk of a fatal case of death."

"I can take a few guesses. Bake pies? Make them go to school?" To Peter, Toriel was as kindly as the sort of mother's in his little sister's programs. Sweet and nurturing in the way everyone thought a mother was meant to be.

Of course Chara's tone says differently. Chara isn't the type to remark on someone's better qualities. Peter has a feeling what Chara wants to say about Toriel, but he's far beyond believing just everything that the child says at face value.

"Saying what you mean is a lot better than trying to talk me in circles."

"If you must know." Their smile is the perfect, plastic thing it always is, rigid and unremitting, a perfectly sunny endeavor.

"Mother dearest, you see, has a fondness for employing violence to keep the children in her care safe." She sees it as acceptable, of course. Prove to me you are strong enough to survive. It is for the best, because she knows best for you, of course. "She runs the risk of killing them, but when has that ever mattered? Why should a child be concerned, if those who claim to love them hurt them for their own good?"

It is a familiar tale, is it not?

It is doubtful, they think, that he will believe them without fail. But they cannot say that any of it, not a single word they have spoken, is a lie. They have certainly lived it often enough. Felt Frisk's skin crisping as it burned off their frame and they screamed, cried, pleaded for Toriel to stop.
Saw her face when one too many little balls of flame struck home.
But Frisk, of course, cares little for that.

Frisk has always chosen to embrace the things that hurt them most.

Their smile is a predator smelling blood, tasting weakness. It's his reminder that as much as he's ever tried to treat Chara like a child, there would always be something about them distinctly non-childlike, distinctly dangerous. He tenses, just minutely, steeling himself for whatever Chara has to say.

"You're claiming she's tried to kill you?" His tone is filled with skepticism. He's seen the Chara he knew attempt murder after murder, throw tantrums with knives and plot downfalls. He's only ever seen Toriel round of kids for the ship's classes, bake strange pies and yell at him for underage drinking. She's never struck him as the dangerous sort.

"Somehow I'm not believing that. Frisk isn't afraid of her."

"Frisk isn't afraid of any of the people who have attempted to kill them." Who have succeeded, on several occasions. But we cannot possibly allow people to know that, can we? That may sully everyone's reputations!

"Or have they not informed you of that little quirk of the world they come from?" Perhaps that is what makes this most damning; the fact that none of it is a lie. The fact that it is not twisting anything at all, but is simply the way things were.

"Humans, you see, are regarded as the enemy where we come from." Chara inclines their head faintly. "My fault, naturally. But humans in the Underground are valuable for one reason, and one reason only."

Can you guess what that might be, Peter?

"Their SOULs."

Peter’s well aware that Frisk has a strange desire to protect the kind of people who try to cause them harm. It’s been an old argument between them, in so much as Frisk ever really argued with anyone. But Peter just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Toriel being any kind of danger to her children, Frisk’s odd attitude notwithstanding.

Knowing Sans as well as he did made Peter somewhat aware of the rarity of humans to the monster’s realm. And Sans had mentioned a few things about that realm, off handed jokes and little asides, enough to clue Peter in what the relationship between humans and monsters really entailed. He’d just chosen to ignore what that may mean for Frisk, for Chara.

“Souls? Come on, they’re monsters. Not demons.” Sans had only made the one reference to souls and Peter had never tried to ask beyond that. He took it as one of the skeleton’s strange jokes.

If that is meant to be a joke, it is a poor one. Their smile widens, head to one side, as if to say, by the condescending lift of their eyebrows alone, how adorable.

"No. I would be the demon in question, actually." Quite hilarious, really, how that worked out! Who is to say if Peter was making a joke regarding what they are? It hardly matters in the least. "Human SOULs were necessary, you see. They were the only thing powerful enough to break the barrier that kept monsters trapped Underground."

But the SOUL must be ripped from the body. Regardless of whether it is taken or given willingly, the host always suffers.

"But if you presume to know about where I come from than I do," Chara continues, a faint note of scorn inflecting their tone, "by all means, do continue."

december event log

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cw abuse mentions whoooooops

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