Entry tags:

August Event Log: Part I

Who: Everyone
When: August 9 and onward
Where: An unexpected destination
What: The newcomers go on a trip and end up far from where they expected
Warnings: Potential violence. Please label your content!

NOTE: PLEASE READ THIS OOC POST FIRST.

When the time comes for the travelers to go on the off-world trip that will help restore Thisavrou, they are not alone. Others who have settled on the planets longer and come to call them home are also prepared to travel; through the Ingress and do their part. Yet when the newcomers step through, whether they stepped through the Ingress seconds or hours apart, they will find that they have arrived at the same time, and only newcomers are in sight.

What awaits them is not a land of plenty. The land is barren, and dark storms in the sky resemble those held at bay by the Ingress complex—but much, much closer. Those who traveled on the Moira may recognize the landscape; though they have come through at a different point from the crash, they are on the Midway Hub. And there is no portal back. They are trapped.

hitting the road

Though some have been here before, the Midway Hub is not as they remember it. The storms fill the sky, leaving it dark and ominous even when they are not sweeping across the landscape—but they have clearly done so in recent times, and often. While never a lush land, large patches of ground an acre or more wide looking nothing more than utterly dead; the thistle that naturally grows is brittle, black and unable to be consumed even with the usual preparations to make it edible, and here and there animal corpses are found twisted into unnatural poses, but seemingly uninjured. These places are particularly concentrated near the broken Ingresses litter the landscape. While Midway Hub as a whole may seem naturally arid, these dead spots leave no hope that anything can possibly live there again.

The travelers have two options: stay where they are, or move on. While it might seem that they've been tricked into coming here and been left abandoned, those with the technological ability to do so may detect a sign of hope: a familiar energy source, far in the distance. Although none of the Ingresses they pass will ever work again, the faint energy shows that one still-functioning Ingress lies far in the distance, days away.

Although technological scanning or impressive memory of the landscape indicates that they are not separated from their destination by one of the gates that divide the land, they are also far from the shelter of the facility at the center of the Hub. Any attempt to travel in a direction other than that of the energy signal will result in a strange disorientation after several hours, bringing individuals back to their original path as though they've gone in circles. Meanwhile, though travelers will feel the need to slake their hunger and thirst through any natural water sources they discover, wildlife they can hunt for food and any supplies they have on them, if they don't find sustenance, they'll find that they will never pass out or reach the point of starvation. Instead, they'll be left alive and awake but feeling utterly hollow.

storm front

At regular intervals, the energy storms above descend onto the land, bringing not rain but violent clashes of negative energy and thunder so loud that nothing can be heard above it. The passing of the storms leaves some strange effects. The ground is warped and rotted by their touch, even solid stone degrading to a spongy surface. The air is tepid and oddly charged. Prolonged contact with air or ground will not supply energy, however — it drains it from organic and synthetic life alike.

Those who remember their last trip to the Hub, or simply explore in the right direction, may come across the cave complexes with their glowing surfaces and streams. The light is dimmer now, a sickly green, but drinking from the streams will still restore the energy lost, for a time. This time, however, the lethargy that inevitably follows is much more severe, and the drinkers are left with a raw, empty feeling leeching in from the wasteland around.

Those who are exposed to the storms, either by finding themselves in very close proximity or even closely observing them for too long as they approach, may lose their sight, or hearing, even much of the ability to feel touch — whatever sense they used in observation. What lingers in its place is a numbness. A hunger. And as time passes, the time between storms decreases; what seemed like hours between the storms becomes scarcely one, and their intensity grows.

wild life

Sentient beings are not the only ones affected by the storms; these creatures, attracted to sound and able to track by scent, and these panthers, which once looked normal but have been twisted by the storms into more monstrous forms, are numerous enough that travelers must be constantly alert for their presence. Though natural predators, the threat the creatures represent is not itself natural. They are also more aggressive. Some strange instinct drives them, not a need for food. While the panthers themselves can be caught and their meat cooked, it has little taste, offering nutrition but not satisfaction.

old familiar places

Although it's difficult to track the passage of time without day-night cycles, after what seems like more than a week of the travelers' unexpected trip, the storms abruptly come rushing in at the group of travelers, as if they're herding the group to move faster toward their destination and the Ingress energy that awaits them. The true nature of that destination becomes clear when debris appears on the horizon; the energy comes from the wreckage of the Moira, the interstellar ship that crashed here months ago.

Despite the trauma of impact, large sections of the ship remain surprisingly intact, though few of them are properly vertically oriented. If travelers are able to make their way inside the damaged sections of the ship, they'll find familiar territory, if they are one of those who traveled on the Moira, as well as shelter—something that's increasingly necessary as the storms seem to center over the ship, leaving little hope for survival outside. Useful items may be scavenged from the ship if they are willing to explore, but no personal items of any kind remain.

Strangely, the deeper travelers go into the crashed ship, the less familiar their surroundings will seem, regardless of their orientation. The inward-leading paths into the ship become generic metal, and as with the travel on the surface of the planet, they may find themselves back where they started. And no matter how far they go or how hard they try, they will find themselves unable to make it to the Ingress chamber itself...for now.

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"I might need to break out the micro soldering, but we should be able to get it up and running before supplies run out."

Leaning his weight back on one foot, he tilts his head at Shiro.

"..."

That's not the social cue someone gives when they're actually fine and the human wasn't looking any less red than he did a moment ago. Eyes narrowing, Nihlus is silent for a good second, taking in the tense angle of those shoulders, the uncomfortable expression- before speaking again.

"Shiro, I can go fetch Shepard, it's really not a problem." Setting the printing platform back against the scrap pile, he watches with concern etched onto his face. "You should go get some rest."

"I'll keep a lookout for anything else you might need."

He's still stubbornly insisting he can do this. Because he's not going to let something like being flustered get in the way of the common good. If this can help people, he's not going to let their weird... encounter... get in the way.

"I'm all right. It's nothing."

He'll even step forward to try and take that platform again.

"Shiro."

There's a gloved hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

"You will stop lying to me."

And if Shiro should look up, he will find Nihlus' expression set solidly to 'Spectre in charge', sharp green eyes searching his face through the visor.

"Either explain yourself or go to a doctor. I'm not risking anyone's health for a piece of sheet metal. Do you understand me?"

He cannot believe this is happening. All because he wanted to try and do a good thing -- try and help out. He's getting called out like this. Like Nihlus himself doesn't know what's happened.

Maybe he really should stop using "I'm Fine" every opportunity.

"It isn't that important. I..." Please end him, right here right now. "Can't believe you don't already know."

That gives Nihlus a pause.

"Know... what, exactly?"

But now that he's looking at Shiro, he recognizes the signs for what they are: embarrassment. He just hadn't been looking for it because there hadn't been a logical reason for it to be directed at him like this.

Something's changed.

"Shiro, what should I know?"

This is ridiculous. It's some huge cosmic joke at his expense. Like the majority of his life up to now. Like Nihlus is making him say it to laugh at him. He almost just walks away. Part of him would like to.

But...

Something in the other man's tone tells him it's a serious question. Not a joke.

"That night in the shuttle." He says it slowly, finally making a game attempt at looking the Spectre in the eye without blushing. "You... asked for a ride home. And c--"

Black Lion save him.

"Came onto me. A lot."

Silence. It lasts for a good couple of seconds, Nihlus just staring at Shiro, concern tangling up with something else, something heavier.

"When was this?"

Because he has no memory of this, but Shiro hadn't reacted this way the last time they'd spoken and that was only a couple of months ago. Looking back on it now, he remembers his shadow's network post and- Shiro's reply.

"Sometime... before the shadow problem got out of hand."

But the person in the shuttle with him hadn't had the telltale eyes. Or the black ooze. Or anything other than that weird inclination for personal space invasion. Honestly, he'd thought the guy was just drunk.

Or something else intoxicating.

"... The person who made the network call wasn't me."

Inclining his head, Nihlus watches Shiro for a good, long moment.

"Was it directly after that?"

Because it sounds like you kind of narrowly dodged being murdered a little there, guy.

And it processes.

You can see the gears turning in his head, to the conclusion part of him really, really did not want to reach. Ever. Because there's no way to deny it right there. Not at that particular line of logic.

He can just feel his eye twitch in his head.

"I... need all the mouthwash. Immediately."

Which probably answers Nihlus' question.

"Didn't pack any, unfortunately."

It's humor, wry and dry as a desert. Underlining it is something like an apology.

"Look, I'm..." How does he put this tactfully? "... Taken. Like, very taken. I have been taken for a few months now. So if anyone or thing that looks like me comes up to you and tries to hit on you?"

A pause to let the information settle and then:

"Leave. Maybe run. Running definitely works too."

"Wh-- I don't--"

Oh why did this conversation suddenly take a left turn here? He sort of makes an awkward gesture with his hands, like he's trying to move an invisible box from one side of himself to the other.

"I'm not -- I wasn't trying to... put myself out there! It just -- made a move!"

Maybe the Moira's remains will explode and he won't have to have this conversation. Or ever see Nihlus again. That would also be good.

"Fine. Okay. Noted."

"I didn't mean to imply," Nihlus offers in his most soothing tones, twining his fingers together, clearly used to this kind of discussion. "That you were trying to put yourself out there. I was just trying to convey this information for any future instances of shadow-copy related incidents."

Still, it's followed by a somewhat pregnant pause.

"You are a very patient and stunning looking man though," he adds tentatively. "So if you were looking to put yourself out there, I'm sure you won't be short on options."

That's properly encouraging for someone that's just been turned down. Right?

This conversation just keeps going more and more downhill at a faster and faster rate. Like a boulder rolling through explosives and garbage. You just stand there and wait for the inevitable wreck at the end.

"I'm. Not. Looking."

How did it come to this? To I need mouthwash to the alien super secret agent assuring him he was attractive. How? Why is this his life. His face feels like it's burning up.

"That's -- I'm not. Even remotely worried about that."

"If you were worried about that, I hope I've put some of that worry to rest. Seeing as you weren't," and Nihlus is smiling, just a bare glimmer of mischief shining through his eyes. "Then I apologize and I hope I haven't flustered you too much."

Goodness but Shiro is easy to fluster.

"Now that we've established you're not horrifically ill or looking for any sort of romantic company," leaning against the printing bed, he gives the human pointed slant of a mandible. "Let's move this junk upstairs, shall we?"

He just drags a hand down his face. Which is no mean feat when you're wearing a helmet. He manages, with the practiced skill of someone who has been doing this for a very long time, and envisions doing it again and again in the future.

"Let's just. Move the junk."

This is Shiro refusing to meet Nihlus' eyes. Bending to heft the machinery up in his right arm.

He's got this. Let's never speak of this again.

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August Event Log: Part I

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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heading for a thread wrap?

sure!