October Mini-Event

[savmods]

Who: Anyone and everyone
When: Oct. 17-Oct. 31
Where: All over
What: Special deliveries

The latest residents of Avagi haven't been on the space station long, but many have settled into a routine of sorts. It's hard not to, when everyone is locked inside with no weather patterns or job shifts to make each day different. But on October 17, something does change.

Missed Items

It's subtle and swift. Those with sharp eyes and luck may glimpse a flicker of silvery light. It's smaller than the openings that brought them here, and disappears faster. When it does, it leaves something behind—an item from home, left close to the person who misses it... or not. The lights appear all over, depositing items familiar to your worlds. Do they end up with the right person? A completely wrong one? Are they left at a random place in public, to be discovered by the first person who happens to pass by? With so many odd, unannounced deliveries, the answer to all of these questions could be "Yes". Whether you've found someone else's treasure or are looking for your own, you may want to reach out—or at least, keep your eyes open.

A Sense of Home

Still, not everything that was missed was a thing. Certain spaces through Avagi experience a longer, brighter appearance of light, transforming in a variety of ways. Bar: The metal bulkheads of Avagi's bar now vanish a few feet into the room, replaced with wooden floorboards and warm light. While fully stocked, this bar and grill will lack its usual staff or patrons. Unless, of course, you want to step up to the task? Greenery: Especially with its malfunctioning taskbot care, the Greenery has had its share of climate swings... but the dry desert air is definitely new. While overwatering could keep the plants from withering under the heat, the temperature won't change no matter what settings are adjusted. On the bright side: the cactus is perking up! Bartering Block: As with the Bar, the previous construction of this space has been entirely replaced. Instead of wood or metal, the walls and contents are smooth and black, minimalist shapes interspersed by glowing lines of color. To those of a digital nature, the larger system around them will be tangible. Program or programmer, no character will be able to hack their way into complete control, but surface-level constructs and modifications can be made. Ingress Shrines: While no speakers or devices can be found, someone appears to be playing music in the halls... at three different locations. The doorway to the Hall of Music plays through a wide variety of 1920s-40s Earth music, interrupted every now and then by the scratch of a record. The library's Ingress shrine now cycles through 1980s- and 1990s-era pop. The view from the observation station might be depressing, but what about some early jazz to liven it up? No? Like it or hate it, you're stuck with the tunes for now. Observation Station: Speaking of the view from the station... a few of its windows appears to have undergone a marked change. Instead of showing the storm, they now look out onto a scenic compound—and its anti-aircraft defenses. Take in the gentle lapping of the waves as long as you like, but don't try to crack the windows. Whatever it looks like, there's no fresh air outside. Nothing lasts forever. By the end of the month, these changes fade away, leaving Avagi as it was before they arrived... if with some new precious memories.

[OOC Note: Happy housewarming, everyone! Items are permanent, and may be found by the person they're meant for... or by anyone else. We encourage players to reach out to their CR, or comment around on the signup page if you have interest in finding another character's item or allowing them to find your own.

The changed spaces are not permanent, but will be available for anyone to encounter and engage with. Altered spaces will return to normal on November 1.]

Comments

Asriel Dreemurr | ota

[pleasereset]

[Sadcat Manor]

[There's a whole pie sitting on the kitchen table, and a small goat monster seated across from it.

He may have just stolen a pie.

It was sitting there, among piles of other mystery items. It wasn't labeled for him, but the distinct smell of cinnamon was unmistakable. After having eaten nothing but nutritional blocks, he grabbed the pie and ran off before anyone could see or stop him. And now it's here, sitting on the kitchen counter.

He's a little afraid to tear into it, as much as he wants to. The last time he got a pie, it was filled with buttercups and he spent the next few days incredibly sick. And this time, Toriel wasn't around to take care of him if it was poisoned.

He pulls the pie a little closer to him, giving it a sniff.]

It doesn't smell poisoned...

[Would he even be able to smell buttercup flowers in this thing? He's not sure. He really wants to eat it though.

Maybe just this one, it would be nice if this was just meant to be some kind of early birthday present.]

[Bartering Block]

[Admittedly, Asriel hasn't explored that much to notice some of the changes. But when he checks out the Bartering Block, it's almost like stepping into a whole other world.

A world he's already visited once. The round, glowing disk on his back is proof of that.]

Wow, cool! It's just like Rinzler's world!

[He walks up to one of the walls, touching the glowing lines stretching across it.]

SADCAT

[squadgoals]

[Shepard moves through the house reasonably quietly—silently enough, it seems, that she's able to move up behind Asriel as a normal gait without him hearing her, staring intently at the pie as he is.

Clearing her throat to announce he presence, she pulls the chair next to him out, taking a seat.]

Where'd you get the pie?

[She's not saying he stole a pie, because where would you even steal one from? But he sure as heck didn't bake one from scratch—some key ingredients were, well. Missing.]

chara | ota, will match whatever format

[inconsequence]

look at this photograph; open to ONE, first come first served!

There's a framed photograph somewhere on Avagi. Perhaps it's lying on a counter, or crammed beneath a bed, or left among someone's belongings. But either way, it's possible someone might recognize one or both of the central figures. A boss monster with his small fanged mouth parted in delight, looking younger and less worn than the one you would see on the station today. And...a child, their features hidden by the way their face is buried in the sepia-tinted blooms of the bouquet in their hands.

The photo and frame alike are very dusty. But if someone were to find it?

There's a child on Avagi that would very much like to see it in their possession once again.

grillby's; open to absolutely everyone

[There is nothing about the revolting salt-and-grease warmth of Grillby's they've particularly missed or desired, and they know precisely who is to blame as far as its abrupt installation. The sheer aesthetic dissonance would be laughable, were they in the mood for that sort of callous amusement; the silvery composition of whatever metals and materials comprise the space station's ancient, sleek interior abruptly giving way to warm wood, the wall-mounted lights tinting everything with a gloss-orange shine.]

[A fraction of a home they do not miss. One cannot miss that which they have ruined utterly. And even if they did, what possible point would there be, in such a thing? And so the general makeup of the place is far from the child's priority.]

[Their priority is, instead, the jukebox poised in the corner of the room, glinting underneath the pink neon letters as they unfurl in a needlessly sprawling exultation of GRILLBYS, complete with the cyan gleam of some fancy drink or another - one whose existence in this sort of establishment they find dubious at best.]

[But however much they may roll their eyes at every disgusting, inadvisably acquired inch of the place, they can still be grateful for the presence of a jukebox which, as their luck may finally have it, contains two songs in particular that they find to be, despite everything, highlyd pleasing. It seems that even jukeboxes scoured from the depositories of human refuse can be of service to a timeless joke.]

[It seems they can afford something like thirty plays.]

[It's time for Chara to partake in the best meal they've ever had.]

[Without hesitation, they plug in twenty-nine plays of Tom Jones's "What's New Pussycat." True to the old Surface fable upon which this little routine is based, after the seventh consecutive play, they then input a single play of Tom Jones's "It's Not Unusual."]

[And after?]

[The jukebox promptly returns to its schedule of twenty-two more joyous renditions of "What's New Pussycat."]

[And all the while, a child watches the patrons with a sharp eye - both curious and apparently eager despite themself.]

every time i do it makes me laugh

[skelepun]

There wasn't a monster alive who couldn't recall the story of their prince -- the youngest monster in a thousand years to see the surface, and who paid dearly for it. The impetus for their people's simmering war with humanity, and the collection of souls. The spark behind the push for freedom that reignited hope after all was lost.

There were statues. Memorials. Fountains, even, before they were repurposed by certain robo-entrepreneurs. It was hard to forget, even as time passed and details changed and new generations were born.

The human child -- their sibling -- was more difficult to recall. It was his theme that echoed through the carved out caverns of Waterfall, not their theme. And when Sans bends down to pick up the photograph from between two books in the library, it's Asriel he recognizes first. His late prince.

The dust is what registers second, hand jerking back instinctively. The library, abandoned as it was, could hardly be characterized as clean even in the more trafficked sections. Dust was not an uncommon sight, but this wasn't just any dust. It shimmered slightly. Clung. And no monster would mistake it for anything else.

Particularly not one who'd seen as much of it as he had.

The third thing he notices, pulling it more fully from its hiding place, is the child. Chara. A royal sibling, adopted child of the Dreemurrs, and a person Sans couldn't begin to peg. The flowers obscuring their face were only fitting, really. It takes him a moment to fight the bitter, resentful thought that it was just like them.

Y'see, he was trying not to think that way as much these days.

... Trying.

When he reaches the door to Sadcat, he's hoping for Shepard at the door. If not here, than any other adult one do -- preferably one that could stand him. Someone to ask very few questions, who Sans could pass along the photo with a flippant found this, anyway seeya before being on his way. If only things could be so simple.

There wasn't a monster alive who couldn't recall the story. A fact made less impressive when you remembered there were only three of them left, and one was none other than the prince himself.

But like he already remind himself, Sans was trying not to think that way these days.

Knock knock.

Frisk | OTA

[gainedlove]

Something Old [first come first serve!]

[The doll left behind by the flash of light might not seem terribly remarkable to most. A old, well-worn plush rabbit, floppy and just about impossible to sit upright, it could be any child's toy. There's no tags, no writing on a foot to claim it as any one person's. It's a little grimy, as if it had been left somewhere for a long time, but if washed a faint scent of almond lingers.]

[Not the most distinctive find, but perhaps something to be held onto? There aren't very many young children running around, these days.]

Something New [OTA]

[It doesn't take long for Frisk to notice the changes around the station, and they're quick to start investigating this time around. The music is a little odd, but the physical changes are more of a draw by far. In the greenery Frisk can be found running around with a pail of water to give the poor wilting plants that had just been starting to take root a little pick me up, and they sit at the bar with their chin resting on folded hands, seemingly lost in thought. The bartering block they avoid at first, before wandering in with their disk carefully stored away in their PacDisk--they're not taking risks about that anymore. The observation desk has them looking out at the waves with a furrowed brow--they know that's not really out there...is it?]

[But anywhere Frisk is found, they seem to have a new addition: an old plush rabbit, held protectively close no matter what they're doing. From time to time Frisk looks down at it and strokes one of the long, brownish ears, and...maybe it's a smile. Or maybe they look like they're about to cry. It's kind of hard to tell, really.]

something old

[squadgoals]

[It's a rabbit.

Probably.

She misses it, at first. The bar's sudden transformation already has her jaw dropping, staring at the new decor. It definitely hadn't been like this yesterday, when she'd absentmindedly chased Lavellan back to Sadcat Manor to sleep, instead of snoozing on the countertop.

But once the changes are processed, it-- yes, the rabbit-esque toy seemed just a touch out of place. Had someone lost it? The most likely suspects were already gathered under her roof. So, feeling only minutely ridiculous, she slips the toy under one arm, and takes it home, propping it up in the middle of the dining table as she works on various household errata.]

sans | ota | will match any style!

[skelepun]

anyway, i'm going to grillby's (bar; first come first serve!)

[It didn't take long for Sans to resettle into his old Moira routine, even with the new twists the Avagi provided. That daily schedule -- consistently inconsistent, save the frequent breaks -- always included a trip to the bar. Sure, the seats were rusty, the alcohol sour, and the company occasionally pretty much a bummer... but Sans was a creature of habit. And while it wasn't Grillby's, it would have to do.

Which makes his sleepy eye socketed approach that day all the stranger. The picture window, emanating warm light. The familiar baseboard walls. The no frills sign that hung above it all like some sort of bizarre joke. The bar on the Avagi wasn't like Grillby's except, apparently, when it was Grillby's.

It's a strange sensation, using the door. He never bothered with it back home. Never needed to. And that heady cocktail of nostalgia and wrongness only grows more potent when he looks in on the familiar decor. There were the booths, splitting in places. There was the big center table, looking naked without the spread of cards and chips from his canine coworkers. His stool was right where he left it, cushion depressed from far too many dates with his ass. Relics of innumerable evenings spent wiling away the hours until Papyrus came to pick him up.

But there was no Grillby. There was no Doggo. There was no anyone. It wasn't the first time Sans saw Grillby that way, and the memory isn't one he likes to revisit. Still, walking to his old seat, Sans can't help running a hand over the bar with a broad grin.]

Hey, everybody.

[Sure, there was no chorus of his name in response, but old habits died hard.]

anyway, i'm still at grillby's (bar; ota)

[Sans got over his ennui right quick. What came next, of course, were questions (How? Why? The passages of light? Must be.), but even those dispensed easily under the umbrella of who cares?

He had his old haunt back. They had the fries he like on ice in the back. His favorite songs were on the jukebox. And, perhaps most importantly, his favorite magical booze was right on tap.

And if there's one thing Sans doesn't make a habit of looking too hard at, it's a gift horse's mouth.]

Hey. [He begins, voice slurring. How a skeleton gets drunk, well. It's magic booze, pal. You're playing by his people's rules when it comes to this stuff.] You wanna hear the story about the time I passed out in here? You're never gonna guess where.

home sweet home (library; ota)

[Some people might say sleeping in a library is the purview of hobos and overwhelmed grad students. And as a perfect middle point between the two groups, Sans would agree. What started as a temporary place to rest while combing through the stacks had evolved into an out and out nest. Two chairs angled together made a bed and a few scavenged items from the battering bay (a quilt, a booklight, a makeshift pillow of sweatshirt stuffed with two other sweatshirts) rounded out the scene. Surrounding him were piles of books, some clearly intended for reading while others served as a rickety bedside table.

Still temporary, Sans told himself, but easy comfort was a compelling argument against moving. One that always seemed to win, in the end.]

Hey pal, could you do me a favor? [He asks, squinting blearily at whoever it was interrupting his beauty sleep.] Couldja read a little quieter? I'm a real bear if I don't get my twenty hours.

fancy meeting you here (corridor; closed to rinzler)

[Even in its limited state, the Avagi was large. It took Sans a week or so to finish mapping the main areas, which he could now travel to and from with ease. The smaller, less accessible corridors were the ones giving him trouble. They were narrow, out of the way, and a pain in the ass to traverse. It's after an hour of measuring out widths and lengths that Sans sinks against a wall, sighing.

Working hard wasn't a good color on him, but it'd be just his luck that some sort of horrible calamity would hit with the only way of stopping it here, in bumblefuck nowhere. And there was no way he was gonna walk here twice.

Still. No shame in a break.]

corridor!

[notglitching]

[Avagi is large. But not large enough for a familiar ID to go completely unobserved... especially when it broadcasts itself over the network. Rinzler had acquired as much data as he could by remote, and proceeded with the obvious next step of investigation.

Following maybe-threats into metaphorical dark alleys.

It's simple to pick up the signature. Surprisingly easy to pursue. There are no dead ends, no sudden disappearances. A function downgrade? Or was this really the same one? Either way, it's interesting data. And adds to the question: what is the not-user doing here?

Whatever it is, it seems to be taking a while. Rinzler moves quietly when on the hunt, sound damped and signature masked. Still, for a certain skeleton keeping an eyesocket behind him, the shift of dark armor in a dark hall might be a little more apparent.]

A teddy bear (and a Sombra) | OTA

[vata]

I: New Best Friend

[It's a warm flicker of light, a faint little flash at the edges of your vision— and when it recedes, there's a new crewmate aboard the station. Small. Round. Old enough to look ragged on closer inspection, though he's not particularly unwelcoming.

Oh, and he's a teddy bear.

You could leave him there, slumped on his side on the floor of the atrium, all alone. But you wouldn't do that, would you? You're not heartless.

And he looks so lonely.]

II: The Hangover

[Maybe you're minding your own business, maybe you're not. Either way, it's not like you could see it coming when something invisible and heavy clips your shoulder, nearly knocking you to the ground.

Still, there's nothing there in the aftermath aside from the distant sound of footsteps over flooring. Nothing aside from a rundown, orphaned little bear left flopped on its side. It's old. Really old, and closer inspection would leave your hands damp and smelling like...alcohol? Where did this toy even come from? And how did it get here?

Do you ditch it? Keep it? Run away for fear of it somehow being the thing that hit you like a mini-plot alien off an episode of Star Trek? It's just a bear, after all: how much trouble could it be?]

III: [Closed to Talon]

[There's a bear. A cute, adorable, antique teddy bear— sitting in your favorite spot on the couch. And that motherfucker has the remote. He's not so much propped up like a human so much as laid out flat on his side; easy to miss if you're distracted.

Less easy to miss if you happen to sit down.]

III

[araignee_du_soir]

[There was not supposed to be a bear on the couch. There had never been a bear on the couch before, so Widowmaker didn't even look at the couch before she sat down with her laptop under her arm and an open file folder in her hands.]

Quoi--

[Said as one fine rear ended up planted on said bear. Rarely was she ever startled, but there she was, jumping up from the couch like one of the vermin had curled up on the couch like a lazy house cat. Half of the papers and surveillance photographs scattered to the floor as the sniper hastily turned before she managed to snap the folder shut. And then she saw the offender.

Nose raised in the air, looking down it at the ratty toy, Widowmaker set her items down and picked the bear up by one limb to peer at it. It was sorely in need to cleaning and mending, but that was not her problem. So she tossed it unceremoniously at the trash can without a care and went to gather up the wayward file.

Luckily, she hadn't really tried, so the bear ended up bouncing off the can and landing on the floor nearby it.]

Erik Lehnsherr | OTA

[magneticfields]

[1: It's not for people with uneasy hearts]

[ While on a mission to collect more scrap metal, Erik notices something significant.

The bar has changed considerably.

He enters slowly, cautiously, hands at the ready and looking around warily. This is a trap, surely. But the stocks behind the bar seem to be replenished with bottles that might be worth drinking.

If there is scotch, he is going to take have some. ]

Should I put my name in at the hostess stand, or is this a "seat yourself" situation?

[2: Til they beat that drum to get you back home]

[ He's been very busy with his projects. So busy that he's barely spoken to the rest of the mutants, aside from the obligatory pleasantries when crossing paths in the shared lavatory.

It is an uneasy peace that has settled. He knows the only reason the rest of them, particularly Logan, tolerate his presence is on Charles' insistence. The fact that he owes anything to Charles rankles him. If this cease fire could progress to some sort of armistice, it would make his situation considerably more secure.

By way of an excuse, he brings some place settings. Some pieces he scavenged, others he made from scrap. Basic, utilitarian design (though he couldn't resist a few subtle color shifts on the pieces he made). Nothing extravagant. But at some point, they were going to have some sort of food and when that happened the children would need to have something so they weren't eating off the floor. ]

Have we bothered to set up a kitchenette yet? [ He asks by way of announcing his presence. ]

[3: Don't be surprised by your regrets] (Closed to Diana)

[ At some point, even he has to rest. He had tried exploring the Hall of Music, but when the music actually began to play he had to leave. Pre-war popular music was never something that would put him at ease, and dolorous melancholy wasn't the sort of relaxation he was looking for.

The library also quickly became intolerable with the sounds of something wretched he didn't recognize. He would have guessed it some sort of alien music, except he recognized the words of the lyrics. Whatever it was, it was dreadful.

He finds himself back at the observation station. He takes one of the more comfortable seats, stretches his legs out and pulls a flask out of his pocket. The jazz and the view are as incomprehensible as anything else going on, but at least it's of a pleasant sort. ]

2!

[seeingscarlet]

[Or in Wanda's case, she sitting in the common area eating pastries out of one of the boxes they appeared in. At least most of this is finger food, but she's not sure what they're going to do about the torte. It hasn't been cut yet, and they have no way to eat it except with their hands.

Wanda and Jean can cheat, of course, but that doesn't solve the problem of cutting it into slices.

She looks up from a book when Erik walks in, a little surprised to see him here but smiling.]

Are you sure you can't read minds too? All of this food suddenly appeared, but no, we don't have a kitchen.

RATCHET | OTA

[neveroutwrenched]

The Ex-Greenery;

[Ratchet's suffering was finally over.

Alright, 'suffering' was too strong a word. But only by a few degrees. Being a non-humans on a ship dominated by humans made certain things a struggle for Ratchet. Little things. The way standard issue clothing never fit right. The way everything always had way more salt than any species should really need.

But more than anything else; the way it was never quite warm enough.

Walking onto into the greenery after hearing words that something there was definitely amiss was a borderline spiritual experience. It was perfect. Not just perfect...it felt like Veldin. Like his world. The temperature and humidity might as well have been set exactly to mimic the plateau where he'd grown up.

All the plants may have been withering in the heat, parched and browning the longer they were deprived of any moisture, but Ratchet was wandering around looking like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to the ship. Anyone who didn't know him might not realise that he almost never looked this happy.]

Can you believe this?

[notglitching]

[This temperature is definitely familiar. It feels like a trap in a hallway. Like crashing slowly in a cage. A few cycles in the user world have exposed Rinzler to many and varied sources of overheat, but the last time he was in a room configured to these specifications, it had been significantly smaller, with a lock on the door.

And, among a stream of many others, that voice calling judgement from outside.

Ratchet's exclamation will be greeted with a skip of static and a glower. It's been a long time since this user visited his cell, and nearly as long since it left the Moira's space entirely. Still, Rinzler monitors the network, and it's not much surprise to see it back.

Ratchet, on the other hand, might be a little surprised by the spoken syllables that answer.]

Your edit?

Rinzler | OTA

[notglitching]

Bartering Block PSEUDO GRID

The edits to environmentals have been anything but subtle. It's growing hard to find areas not cluttered with strange user rhythms, and half of his room collective is up in arms over the heat glitching up their plants. Rinzler isn't especially fond of it himself, but if heat is the worst inconvenience any of this poses, he'll count them all lucky. He widens his patrol, keeps alert with scans and visuals—

—and stalls in a dead freeze as he turns a corner, takes a step, and feels a living world beneath his feet.

Smooth planes. Clean surfaces. Light and dark and code, code, [code], and something deeper, humming far below and out of reach. Rinzler stands stock-still for the better part of a minute before sinking down into a crouch, hand flat against the surface as he pings for data and processes the swift return. Power flow and source, process list and nearby constructs. Function, prioritized in ordered sequence, from one line to the next.

A reach back to undock his disk and throw it, and Rinzler watches the resulting score of light, the split of voxels in the wall. The weapon rebounds with perfect geometry, no irregularities that might deviate its path. Rinzler catches his thrown weapon and stalls again, lights humming brighter with sheer awe.

Finally, a real system.

Clu, he pings. Anyone else to discover the space will likely hear Rinzler before they see him: a low rumble echoing through the cavernous interior. The archways that once divided up trade stands are taller than they used to be, a smooth black network of catwalks that offer an ideal walkway for a certain program to survey all entrances to the space below. Does it feel like you're being watched? It should.


Medbay (Closed to: Adrien)

If the edited sectors are a more overt risk, Rinzler is at least as suspicious of the sudden influx of items. He remembers how things had gone aboard the Moira. Still, the wad of user clothing that rezzed in beside him doesn't register as much of anything on scans. And if the attached ID tag is severely corrupted, it's not too hard to make out the name.

He's passed by the repair wing previously, but hasn't made more than a cursory investigation to its contents. Rinzler's usual ticking rattle echoes through the space as he steps in, helmet tilting around to take in the layout—and, he hopes, the current occupants. Where's Adrien?


Wildcard!

Rinzler can be found inspecting any of the odd phenomenons—or, for that matter, most of the normal ones. Sadcat sector in particular gets extra patrols, with bonus odds of ceiling!Rinzler in ur vents. Spam or prose freely!

[prorenataa]

Adrien, as expected, has been pretty much existing out of the MedBay since they arrived. He was currently tucked up under an exam bed attempting to fix some of the bolts that held it to the flooring. He was taking a break from beating his head into the actual function of some of the equipment, which was unlike anything he'd seen to date.

Courser heard and scented Rinzler's approach and it was the bahari he heaved himself up from his spot on the floor and padded silently over towards the program. He sat down and sneezed delicately, which might have been a type of hello?

elena fisher | ota

[tearsinajar]

Bar;
[ It was practically empty as she stepped in, the boards beneath her feet creaking quietly with her weight and each step. There was an eeriness to this place, quiet, peaceful. The chairs were seated at the tables, the stools at the main counter tucked in. Everything seemed to be in order, she'd noticed, moving closer to the bar.

Pouring herself a drink, a snack was set up beside her glass, a small bowl of what had to be seasoned nuts. Elena took a few sips from where she stood behind the counter, taking in the low lighting of the place, the missing patrons, and her stomach broke the silence on a grumbling complaint. Not one to deny the rumbling, she left her glass beside the bowl and went to see what else she could find.

Eventually the smells of spices and seasoned food cooking began to fill the place, her humming carrying while she fixed something up in the kitchen, the door propped open. ]


Observation Station;
[ This new observation area had nothing on what had been on the Moira. While it was nice and the scenery and waves had a way of being relaxing, Elena missed the stars. The empty void that stared back at you while you could see your own reflection in the thick windows of the ship.

As it was, Elena was seated on the floor in front of one of the windows, legs drawn up. Her chin was rested on her knees as she gazed out, seeing and yet not, as her mind was elsewhere. Such as it was currently lingering on the seeds she'd received in a small box shaped like it was meant to hold a ring.

Over and over she gave it a shake, shaking out a rhythm that anyone else would find grating to their nerves. ]

Medical Bay Wildcard;
[ Should anyone need something, whether it be supplies or to step in to talk to someone there, she can also be found there doing some inventory counts or just setting something up or doing some general cleaning. ]

Bar

[neverheardofhim]

[It seemed Varric wasn't the only one planning on bringing the bar to life. He'd caught wind of its existence by both listening to whispers and exploring the strange "new world" of Avagi on his lonesome.

After the chaos, the dwarf figured everyone could use a drink.

He ambled into the room with a few alcoholic recipes in mind, only to stop dead in his tracks at the smell. Abandoning his quest for the time being, Varric instead made his way toward the kitchen.]

Working hard, I see.

[Like with Hawke and the others, Varric had known that Elena was alive. Beyond that, though, he couldn't be sure. Was she feeling well? In good spirits?

He would have to see.]

Glad you made it here in one piece, Elena.

Zevin Raeka : OTA

[salarianpathfinder]

The Greenery:

[This. Is an absolute disaster.

After all the time and work people had put into cleaning this place up, into planting and watering and fertilizing, all the time Raeka herself had spent taking soil samples and running tests and countless scans to make sure that everything was just right, the Greenery had been coming along beautifully. Better than she'd expected, even. For the first time in a long time, things were starting to go right. For the first time since her arrival, Raeka felt like she could relax.

That was before she stepped into the Greenery and nearly had a heart attack. All those plants that the Greenery crew had busted their asses to grow? Yeah, just. Y'know. Dying completely right now? Needless to say, Raeka is the most pissed salarian ever.

At least she's professional about it. She doesn't spend too much time staring in shock, getting right to work watering things and trying to salvage this shitshow. Come help save some plants, kiddos!!

Or if you come in later you can maybe talk her down from punching the goddamn climate control console because it doesn't goddamn work. She's not having a good day.]

Ingress BS veteran reporting in!

[beautifulspaceraptor]

It's not climate control.

[ Yeah, guess who dropped by to check on those weird dickshrooms?

The expression on his face decidedly sympathetic and he's reaching out to place a gentle hand on Raeka's shoulder to try and stop her from pummeling the innocent console. ]

You need to start setting up tents with atmo pumped in from another section of the ship. The climate is portal related. There's nothing you can change here.

Nihlus Kryik | Mass Effect | OTA

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Greenery - OTA - Sort of NSFW?

The dry desert heat is a welcome surprise for Nihlus. Avagi’s temperature was definitely modulated to lean more on the cool side and he was often walking around with layers over his thermals.

It was so nice he actually completely loses track of what it was he was doing here, just standing in the strange, sweltering warmth with his eyes half-lidded.

Eventually, however, he registers the sight of the wilting plants and he blinks away the sudden drowsiness. Right. He was here for a reason.

Surprisingly enough, the sprouting clippings of the milk plant didn’t seem to be too disturbed by the arid climate. Slowing to a stop in front of the little patch that’d been set aside for it, Nihlus sinks down to one knee to examine the pale stalks rising out of the dirt.

Passerbys will note that they look oddly, like, well.

Phallic?

Observation Station - OTA - CW alcohol

The first time Nihlus steps onto the observation station after the changes start happening, his immediate reaction- upon glancing at the view through the window- is to leave.

It’s hours later before he comes back. He smells like he’d just spent a solid eight hours down in life support and sanitation and he did. He smells like he’d just downed half a bottle of species inappropriate vodka and he definitely did that too.

In fact, he’s currently armed with said bottle, sitting with a leg tucked against his chest on one of the available benches, glowering balefully at the peaceful view.

It’s the first properly alcoholic drink he’s had in nearly a year.

At least it’s a small bottle.

Wildcard - OTA

(( OOC: If you wanna do a thing, just ping me on Plurk @zapperkat and we can work out a thing! ))

observation deck

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

"Aren't you in a jolly mood," comes a voice from the other side of the hall, approaching him. There's little soreness to it but it's much better than the last time she and Nihlus had talked -- which wasn't exactly their best encounter so far. She had behaved poorly but then again, he hadn't been too mature himself so J likes to call it a tie. If such things even mattered.

And speaking of last time? There's now a light cigarette between her lips and her appearance is little more closer to her usual satisfied-self.

She doesn't need to get too close before the smell hits her nostrils, making her scoff a little. But in a way, J thinks she can sympathize with him.

"Where you've been?"

Vetra Nyx | OTA

[nyx_it]

A GIFT
[Somewhere in the halls is a crate. A nondescript crate labeled NYX in some alien alphabet. A crate that, when opened, is clearly full of cereal of all things. Every box bearing this design, and the words "DEXTRO-LY DELICIOUS" in fine print.]

[Humans, please don't ingest. You'll regret it. Or maybe you want to try, regardless. Either way, please return to one (1) Vetra Nyx, if you can find her.]

EXPLORE
[For the most part, Vetra will be lurking in the BAR and OBSERVATION STATION. And, you know, resuming her scavenging. Which includes raiding the bar for anything that happens to be safe for turian consumption. Alcohol included -- feel free to bump into her walking out with an armload.]

[Within the observatory area, she's stopped, and staring again. Confused. This is not... what was out the windows earlier.]

What the hell...


WILDCARD
[Hit her up with anything else!]

disappointment

[deal_me_in]

[It's a crate. Sitting in the hall. WHO LEAVES CRATES IN A HALLWAY?

Obviously the next best thing is to open it. Can you blame him? Cayde comes from a place where anything stashed in crates is fair game. And since this place has been more or less abandoned, anything just sitting around is easy pickings, right? Never mind the fact that he's pretty sure this crate had not been there the last time he'd come down this way.

To be sure, he's staked the place out and watched to make sure no one would be coming to claim it. For all of five minutes but come on, waiting gets really boring! With his Ghost keeping a look out, Cayde sets to work in getting the thing open, rubbing his hands eagerly before he pulls off the top.]

.....

.....

...what is this?

...it...looks like a jellyfish armed with blasters.

..............

[Even that description seems a bit of a stretch, but the two stare at it for a while longer before the Exo very quietly sets the lid back over the thing and turns around to walk away, Ghost trailing behind him.]

Shouldn't we perhaps-

Shhh- shhshhshhshh...

shiro | ota

[shiro2hero]

(1) A GIFT ; suites, housing block
[There's a uniform laying neatly folded beside one of the Ingress Shrines. It's a pretty ugly olive color, but looks like it's in good shape, aside from that. With a nametag and everything.]

[Said nametag says, simply: SHIROGANE.]

[Who the hell is that.]


(2) OUT AND ABOUT
[First stop is the greenery. To check on the cow. She seems perfectly fine with this arrangement, despite the sudden change in temperature. Placidly chewing on a cactus like literally nothing at all is different. He gives the animal a long look.]

I guess you're doing all right...



[It's the smell of food that gets him to the bar. Gets him there and into the kitchen, where Shiro should never set foot. After a few moments of stunned staring, he is marching himself into the pantry or cupboard or whatever else is there. Observers will witness him raiding it for, of all things, a single bag of ground coffee.]

[Before stuffing it into a pocket.]


(3) wildcard!
[anything else? Hit me up or plurk at me!]

the greenery

[bloodbathing]

[ There's a cow.

[ Agent Maine, a goddamn space marine, stares at the creature like he's been stunned. They're on a space station three hundred years in the future, scrounging for survival with no way home, and there's a cow. A completely normal cow.

[ When is the last time he even saw a cow?

[ Maine approaches slowly, like he's afraid of spooking the creature. When he gets close enough to Shiro, he grunts out, ]

Cow?

[ Just. Y'know. To make sure he's not the only one seeing this shit. ]

Fareeha Amari || OTA

[justice_from_above]

Suites

[Her room being more utilitarian than anything, if she's in the suites she's either just on her way out at the beginning of a day cycle, or just heading in, but she's always got time for her suite-mates.

Outside of Lion Suites, she keeps an eye on two doors down where Widowmaker and her ilk are hiding out, or communing with her fellow neighbors that she actually gets along with, or new neighbors entirely.]

Bar

[It's curious, and while Fareeha isn't exactly a heavy drinking type, she's lured in by the warmth and contrast from the rest of the station, and she might stay for a drink or two - especially if there's company. No sense drinking alone!]

Library

[She's here to do some research, but ... she might hang around and hum some of the tunes under her breath. They're ancient oldies from her time, but no less memorable - especially for someone who has a secret joy of rocking out.]

Observation Station

[Even back during her first stay here, she'd found herself drawn to the observation deck and the view beyond. It was a nice quiet place to think, a soft form of meditation for her as she looked out into the star-speckled darkness of space. Now, the scene may be a little more macabre, but she still finds herself drawn to it.

She's quick to notice the change, of course, and finds herself staring out at the tropic scene with open wonder. It's got to be a trick of the eye, right? It looks so real ... and tempting.]

Closed to South Dakota

[After one particularly interesting exploration patrol later Fareeha is knocking on Agent South Dakota's door. Seems she found something interesting she thinks the other woman might want to take a look at. She'd been making patrols, getting a sense of the area, and had seen a flash of silver from the corner of her eye. When she'd looked, there wasn't anything left that would have issued such a light, but there was a photograph with someone familiar on it.]

Stasya, it's Fareeha. Do you have a minute?

Closed to South Dakota

[whosthemonsternow]

[South was- well she was supposed to be cleaning up a little bit, it was her turn, but. Well. She's just sitting in the common area of the suites, slacking off on her work and just relaxing in her shorts and one of Maine's sleep shirts. She's contemplating slipping into her room and stealing a nap, maybe dip into the snacks she has hidden in there, when she hears the knock.

She eagerly welcomes the distraction, jumping up and running off to the door]

I have exactly as many minutes as you need, Fare.

nill | closed to commander shepard

[culver]

[The small passage of light had appeared right next to Nill while she'd been in the Greenery, working on the garden that she and Laura were putting together. The air had suddenly become so dry, and it had gotten so hot--it's all she can do to keep their space vegetables from completely withering on the vine.

She's watering when the light flashes by her foot, and she thinks she's stepped on something dangerous for a second. But when she sees what's by her shoe--a white Mauser C96 pistol--her heart nearly stops. Though there's no chain attached to the butt of the gun, there is a small loop where one should attach. She reaches down for it, fingers brushing against a few scattered bullets as she wraps her small hand around the grip. Her arm shakes as she lifts it.

This is Heine's gun. But Heine isn't here.

Nill exhales, gathering up the bullets and holding them and the gun close to her chest. This only means one thing to her--Heine is still home, still alive and trying to protect her, even across dimensions. Well, she isn't about to let this gift go to waste. She doesn't know if there's any kind of shooting range here, but she knows there's an open area with a track attached to the gymnasium, so that's where she heads.

It's empty when she arrives, and she's thankful for that. It takes her a few minutes to figure out how to load the clip, but once she does, she lifts the gun the way Heine does--with one arm. She's seen him do it a million times, and he hardly ever misses. Her arm shakes again, not used to the weight, as she aims at the wall a few yards away from her.]

[squadgoals]

[On the far side of the gym, Shepard enters, expecting no one else. It'd an odd time of the day (if you can even consider such a thing, here, with its regulated light cycles), and her favorite time to pop in. Despite her natural gift of gab, training was something she'd always preferred to do on her own.

At the sight of another person, she stops, trying to get a bead on them, and whatever they were doing. It's a girl—someone she's seen around, but never had the chance to directly interact with.

And she's holding a...]

Hey!

[A gun, and not with the steady hands of someone who's used to one.

Shepard is already striding over at a double pace as she continues.]

What are you aiming at? What's going to happen if it ricochets and hits you, huh?

Clu 2.0 | Tron | OTA;

[a_perfect_end]

Greenery: Deserter

He opens the doors and the heat hits him square, a blast like the open mouth of a furnace. His senses white out momentarily for the sheer influx of light, the multi-frequency scramble of overwhelming solar output. He actually staggers for a step, two, all his subsystems shrill with (warning).

His main systems compensate, but this is a world of constant loss and the sudden power drain prickles uncomfortably where Users would rub away rivers of sweat.

No question: heat is bad for the circuits.

And it's murder on his ferns. They’re designed for partial sunlight, safely nestled in protected understory. Not--not this--flood of hydrogen byproduct, all scorching waste heat and radiation.

The sun is a problem.

Quantity is also an issue: he’d planted them all, all except the tiny sickly one still clinging to life under a soft growing light in his room.

These are the entire fertile cutting. There aren't any more.

...Which is why he's wrestling a limping taskbot for a set of pruning shears and a trowel.

Little help, maybe?

Bartertown: Panning Down, You Have Arrived

He's elbows deep in scavenged dirt, tamping down a ball of roots with frantic gentleness into please please let this be enough water when he gets the ping.

He smooths down the dirt with a last brush of his fingers and simply cuts the frames--he’s washed twice and out the door at speeds that would clip through any human interference, to spectacularly messy results.

Every time. Every time he might finally be getting somewhere, something else happens. It’s a trap, trick, bait, and Rinzler’s right in the thick of it. All promises are threats.

He’s going to kill every task running and drag his enforcer free by the scruff of his--

The low, soft subliminal hum of incoming data washes through inputs he’d almost forgotten, bathes him in an influx of received:, perfect telemetry for expected values. The world is gentle dark, glassine surfaces clean and precise, alive down under the surface with all the power he could ever ask for: potentials that obey clear rules and adhere exactly to known sets.

Not identical. Familiar, but not his, not yet--still. There are rules here, form and order and sense.

He doesn’t call for it right away, but the answering prompt shivers through him charged with awe: a returned address series he hadn’t allowed himself to miss.

His own pingback is clarion loud.

He lays hands on wireframe for the first time in ages and draws forth sleek foundations in molten gold. It’s near instantaneous, the whole world bending just as he asks, energy flowing easy and strong in his grip.

Black towers raise rain sleek, six perfect planes at sixty degree angles, stacks on stacks of exactly hexagonal structure.

When he's done, Rinzler will have somewhere to come home to.

And if the rest of you see a massive forbidding spire with brutally heavy gates, well. That's just because your perception is on straight.

“Sorry, man.” Not sorry--electrum bright with transfer, warm vocals awash in the feedback of raw triumph. “Your princess is in another castle.”

Wildcard

Have they met yet? They really should. Given that the greenery is desiccated ruins and his User's got his hands on everything technical, you are most likely to find him in the library in the few micros he's not on the Bartertown Grid.

Sleep is for organic weaklings.

greenery :)

[inconsequence]

So.

He is here. It is him, in the flesh, or whatever it is he boasts as a rough equivalent. They'd been far from pleased at the state of the nascent garden, just as Lavellan had been - the word they'd think to use, all things considered, is distressed. But Lavellan is not here, and what remains of their supply of seeds is safe enough from this mess, even if much of the rest perished in the abrupt heat.

What purpose does one such as they have here, then, now that they've done all that they need to do?

To watch him suffer, of course.

"Why, sir," says Chara, with the same close-cropped disdain as always. "You appear to be having some trouble."

COMMANDER SHEPARD ★ ota!

[squadgoals]

1. LOST AND FOUND

[In the hallway up to the Ingress Memorial are several terminals, each with the ability to be logged into, for whatever various purpose they served in yesteryear. Once logged in, they project their information on to a holoscreen behind, without a need for a screen.

Currently, one of these is activated—with no clear way as to how to de-activate it. But rather than a station status readout, it displays a huge picture of what looks like a party—or a class photo. Maybe it's a family portrait? You're not entirely sure.

The only thing that is certain is that the person in the dead center of the photo is also present in front of you, tirelessly attempting to hack the terminal, which is cheerfully not directly responding to her current flavor of bruteforce entry.

Maybe she can tell you what kind of photo it is.]

2. FOUND AND LOST

[The observation station's transformation is beautiful, a calm and peaceful tropical scene, albeit one that makes no sense.

So you might be excused for raising an eyebrow or two when you see Shepard walk in and stop dead, as if hit with a rock, color draining out of her face. Her eyes dart around for a moment, expression scrambling to return to normalcy.

If you want to say something, it's now or never—she's got that "I should go" look in her eyes.]

W I L D

[Want something else? Just let me know via PM or @nijikai!]

Lost and Found

[beautifulspaceraptor]

You look so happy.

[ It's soft. So, so soft and filled with a quiet note of wonder.

If Shepard looks up, she will find Nihlus leaning against the side of the console, arms wrapped around himself, the light from the screen painting slivers of warm, silvery light over his dark, striped features. There's a glimmer in his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable- ]

Try the blue wire.

closed to flynn;

[alan_1]

[Alan can already tell something is different before he ever sets foot in the bartering block proper. Even the atmosphere feels different as he approaches, not the stale, stifled air of the station as it usually is, but charged with potential. Or maybe Alan’s just imagining it. He is very curious to see what Flynn called him down here for.

He expects to see a new project. Flynn always had a way with showmanship when it came to showcasing his latest idea or creation. It's not like Flynn doesn't have plenty to work with in Avagi, even in the station's current state of disrepair. What Alan isn’t expecting to see is another room entirely.

The bartering block is gone. In it’s place is a void of black shapes and elegant lines, as simple as it is alien. Alan has seen it before, if through someone else’s eyes.

It’s the Grid. Or at least, a very small part of it.

Alan slows to a halt, taking the sight in with bewilderment—and with trepidation.

On one hand, if Flynn called him down to see it, it’s probably not dangerous. On the other hand: how the hell had Flynn even pulled this off?]

Yori || OTA

[yorisearching]

Eyes wide in wonder, Yori stops just outside the entry to the barter block...which seems to have gone missing. The dark expanse doesn't look anything like Encom, but it does look more like a system than anything she's seen outside her dreams in years.

This has to be what Flynn meant.

If Flynn texted her, it's not likely to be the kind of danger that kicks in right away. Yori is still cautious in her first step on the smooth, grid-lined surface.

It feels far more right than the rest of the station, a quiet pulse of background energy. Even as a stranger with no access privilege, to Yori it could have been home.

She doesn't move any farther for a long moment. Adjusting. All right, staring at everything, it's part of adjusting.

The sky is so dark. But those pinpoints of light appear to be a copy of User stars, which she ought to recognize by now, not a lighted network like Encom's sky. Flynn's influence?

Among all the darkness, she spots a strange bright spark. Not white but pink. That's interesting enough to permit a detour, and moments later she's holding a small familiar storage unit with bemusement.

This isn't from the Grid at all. This is Encom style. In fact it feels like her own. Something for everyone, around here? She'd like to know what's going on.

Closed to Flynn

[yorisearching]

The scenery's lovely, but where is the User who wanted her to see it?

"Flynn?" Yori calls, voice low, moving farther into the dark space to seek him. He must know something about all this.

Nathan Drake | journal locked to Logan; Nate OTA

[ascendit]

[Somewhere on the ship is a white leatherbound journal, embossed with the letters CM. One might open it to find notes on the lost treasure of Henry Avery, including sketches, maps, and copies of letters. Really nerdy stuff.

[Elsewhere on the ship is a really nerdy nineteen-year-old, sketching either the more unusual passersby or his new surroundings in a black leatherbound notebook with no such embossing. Except in the library, where he's moodily taking notes from the history of the Great Catastrophe.

[In the hall of music, he's disappointed to find no changes to draw, but he does spot something shiny up in the control booth of the theatre. Immediately, he sets out to climb up to it from the seats (instead of... thinking ahead and realizing there's stairs up there), and on the booth's window sill, he finds a tiny gold figure, like a teardrop on a base.

[Clambering back down to the seats, he folds one down and half sits, half lies in one, peering more closely at the figure and turning it around.]

Huh, this doesn't match anything I've seen on here, before or after... Is this an elephant?

[And so he starts to sketch it.]

Music hall!

[nicearsenal]

[Chloe's been out scouring the ship for things she can take to make her and Sam's less than luxurious apartment a bit more comfortable and a bit less... well, crappy chic is the best way she can describe it. There's not an awful look that's not nailed down in here that she can really take away easily, certainly not anything that'll make the apartment more homely. Maybe she can recruit Sam and give him something to do that'll take his mind off his missing cigarettes.

She hadn't noticed earlier that she wasn't alone, but now she's not looking for stuff to borrow, she's aware that there's someone hunkered down in one of the back rows. It's only when she hears the faint scratching sound of carbon on paper - theatre acoustics really are impressive- that she looks up and heads towards the back row to see who it is.

When she does, she performs a bit of a double take. She recognises them, but... something is definitely off.]

Nate?

The Big Sister | OTA

[handofrapture]

Observation Station, early jazz
[The Big Sister is not a fan of Avagi. It’s too small and confusing, windows showing nothing but swirling colors on all sides and no suggestion of anything beyond. She comes back to the Observation Station at least once a day, hoping that maybe the station will have drifted somewhere new or that the roiling storm will have dissipated. She’s always disappointed.

Today, however, is different—not because of what she sees, but what she hears. She only picks up faint notes at first, but as she approaches, they swell into a full-fledged song. One she recognizes.

To the Big Sister, music in Rapture had been pleasant, but ultimately inconsequential. She would sometimes stop to listen to the records Splicers left on—and even more rarely, would watch the Splicers themselves dance. Though she was entertained by such occasions, she never really tried to seek out music on her own.

Now though, in yet another entirely unfamiliar world with its strange rules and sensations, the effect of the music is much more profound. She stands in the doorway to the Observation Station, still besides for a slight, unconscious sway back and forth. Anybody passing by will see the inhumanely tall girl framed in the doorway, listening to the mellow notes drifting out of the room—apparently bewitched.]

[bloodbathing]

[ It's not the music that catches Maine's attention. It's the girl's height.

[ The seven-foot-tall Freelancer pauses in his trek back to his room; shaved head tilted slightly to the side as he watches her sway. Her proportions are a little weird, he thinks — but he remembers being gangly as fuck when he was a teenager. It sucked. Maybe she's in that shitty in-between stage.

[ The music she's listening to is old. Very old. Not his style. But, as he watches her curiously, he decides it's not so bad. ]

Mini Treasure Hunt..? OTA - First come, first serve - Flynn's got dibs on one

[deal_me_in]

Things You Didn't Know You Missed

a. This ain't Treasure Island
     It's an unassuming thing, old, leatherbound and worn in a way that suggests it's been well-used. Were it to be found in the library, perhaps the journal wouldn't have been so out of place, but then it might also have just remained hidden. Technically the possibility that the old book remained so would have been a fair one, but with people keeping an eye out for interesting and useful things, the percentage has probably risen by at least ten percent.

     To be fair, it's not even really hidden. It's like the thing had fallen or been kicked off to the side of one of the corridors heading towards the bar, and how it rests in the corner where the paneling of the wall flanking the one with the next reinforcing archway hiding sectional sliding doors meets. There's a spade-mark scratched into the lower corner of the cover. Some flipping through will find you a few interesting entries, the handwriting fancy, neat and flowing. There's even a few sketches here and there of weapons, symbols, the face of a human, half of it robotic. Some of the entries are more like prose, but some are curiously written in letter format.

     Waaait should you even be reading this? Well, too be fair, how else would you be able to determine if it belongs to someone? With people finding strange stuff around the station that hadn't been there previously, it's quite possible.


b. Memoirs of an Exo
     Go figure that something would be sitting in the bar, even with it newly, if perhaps temporarily "renovated." The single page comes floating out freely after perhaps a bit of bottle shuffling in the back of the counter. It's definitely handwritten, and the torn edge of the age-browned paper suggests that it's been torn out.

     Those who have spoken to Cayde might at least find the reference of an "Exo" famiiliar, if not telling as to who this might belong to.


c. Later, Ace
     Caught flat against a the grill of a small vent in one of the residential quarters, a sharp eye might find the yellowed piece of paper. It definitely looks like it's been torn out from something else, and upon first glance, it looks like it might be a letter of some sort. Further reading would quickly clarify things, and mentioning of certain subjects might be enough for those in the know to guess at who might be the writer, maybe. How many people with Ghosts hang out around this place?

Later, Ace

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Nihlus has been going around, checking out how the vents were holding up and noting down any of them that needed more thorough maintenance run. It's in the middle of one such check, planting his foot down on the topmost step of the foldout ladder, that he spots the little piece of paper stuck to the grill.

Blinking, he reaches up and gently tugs it out. Pinched between the flats of his claws as he reads the writing, mandibles slanting in curiosity.

Ace? Ghost?

It takes a moment, but the former at least pings off a little memory, listening to the frantic transmissions in the aftermath of Mother's betrayal.

Cayde will get a little notification on his ACE. A location- the entryway to Sad Cat- and a brief note about a lost item.

closed to chemistry unit 4;

[arcreact]

[ The housing unit isn't exactly cozy, nor homey; it will take a while to reach that point, but if nothing else, the company is familiar and comforting. It makes the accommodations easier to deal with, in the scarce time Tony spends there.

The general lack of comfort is why a basket full of wine bottles is exactly as unexpected as it sounds.

Tony finds the basket perched precariously atop a heating element in the corner - seems safe - and wanders over to peer into it with no small amount of bemusement. Most people are still drinking vinegar swill at the abandoned bar - so where the hell did this come from? ]

Uh- honey?

[ Surely Pepper would know - a closer examination reveals these wines are a collection of Pepper's favorites, which is downright uncanny. Did she have the foresight to stuff her pacdisc with these? She is the smartest and most resourceful person he knows, after all, so he wouldn't put it past her. ]

[efficacy]

Hm?

[ Busily tidying up their bedroom nook -- the space can only barely be called a "room", considering the sort of bedrooms they're both used to; spoiled rich people that they are -- Pepper pokes her head out when Tony calls, frowning at the basket he's inspecting. Abandoning her task and dusting off her hands, she makes her way over to check what's giving Tony such pause. ]

What's that? [ She sucks in a slow breath of astonishment when she reaches his side, staring open-mouthed at the wines in the basket; her breath legitimately shorting a little as she lifts out an incredibly expensive vintage of Romanée-Conti, holding the bottle with such reverence you'd think it was her first-born. ]

Oh my god. This is a five thousand dollar bottle, easy.

[ She's had a glass of it once in her entire life. Pepper eyes the other wines, her confusion growing upon seeing many of her more reasonably priced (but still expensive to your regular person) favorites; reds, whites, even a bottle of (less reasonably priced) Dom Perignon. ]

Where-- where did you get all this?

laura kinney | ota ; will match

[foins]

i. greenery
She’s reminded of her time in New Mexico, but that does little to help the plants struggling to remain hydrated not long before. Thankfully, this time around she isn’t trying to cut things with her claws that might not need cutting, but it’s likely clear to anyone who passes that she has no idea how much water to give plants either. Since she’s drowning them with a hose and forming giant puddles of mud all around the place, that is.

ii. cigarettes (and doughnuts) ; closed to snake
She had awoken to a pink box of doughnuts on the other side of her bed. Not the cheap sort either. The good stuff, only a couple hours old. The smell is intoxicating, so much so that she takes pause to open it. And. Finds that a box of cigarettes has smuggled its way into the sugary treats.

Carefully she picks it up, gives a sniff, trying to discern the scent beyond the sugary bits of doughnut glazing and sprinkles that cling to the exterior. Yes, definitely cigarettes, and a full pack of it even. Drawing it away again, she can’t help but squint. Lucky Striker? Isn’t the brand named Lucky Strike? Despite never having seen this brand before, the scent rings familiar. It's after a few moments of thought that she realizes why.

She searches for him then, after replacing the smaller box back into her bigger box and locking up her room to prevent a certain idiot from otherwise infiltrating. It’s a small enough place, and she finds him quickly enough, pink box balanced in one arm.

iii. a little piece of home ; closed to laura
Though her first thought had been to enjoy them on her own, it took finding Snake’s cigarette box inside to remember that there are people she can share her treats with, especially as they remind her so much of Earth and the little things that made living good, even when the rest made no sense at all. The obvious choice to seek out after Snake is her kin, her other.

She hopes her presence isn’t too sudden, or even unwelcome. She knows her other has not endured the same hardships as she has, but at the least, she wants to share the simple thing she has found herself missing most, even if it is what they call “junk food”. Because of the sugar or something. She doesn’t really know the difference.

xxiii. wildcard
(have something else in mind? hmu at crashfade \o/ )

[coercive]

Laura glances up when she notices the familiar scent, but her nose twitches anyway as she picks up on a sweet undertone that normally isn't there. Always glad to see her older self, she gives a small hint of a smile and a wave. It's a sign that it's okay to come in closer, and that she's curious about the reason for this visit. They may be close to the same person, but they still don't see one another for fun.

Then again, this might be the day that changes. They had fun together play fighting, so maybe more of that will happen. "Everything is alright?"

james buchanan barnes | ota ; will match

[lefthandfree]

i. hall of music
The theater has yet to leave his heart, the elegance of it far from lost and unappreciated in his old soul. He’s returned from time to time, occasionally during his breaks from cleaning up the greenhouse, but when the sound of music, strikingly familiar, comes echoing down the corridor before he’s even reached the Hall of Music on the 17th, he all but dashes in, a familiar giddiness overtaking him as he recognizes the timber and wear of one of his 78s. For as fleeting as so many of his other memories are, the music has never left him.

After several moments, drinking in the feeling of warmth, of home, that the sound surrounding him fills his chest with, the familiar start of The Yam begins, and he finds himself darting up the stairs of the stage and dancing along to instructions he doesn’t listen to; his feet remember, even when his mind can't. He doesn’t even need his second arm to remember how much he loved passing the hours out dancing, his heart racing as he continues, song to song, as he had in days long gone.

(For half hour periods scattered throughout the time of the event, he'll be around dancing and continuing to unless stopped, though occasionally when a crooner pops on he’ll pause for a break bc he doesn’t have a dancing partner and that’s the polite thing to do! Or was when dancing halls were still a thing. He's so old; I'm sorry.)

ii. bar
God damn, if this place isn’t everything he’s needed, for even as much as alcohol itself hasn’t worked the same in decades.

He’ll be lingering at the bar ordering drink after drink in what would approximate to the evening hours of his own day cycle, the effects of liquor essentially missing while chatting up anyone around that’s willing to suffer his company. All in all, he’s here for a good time. Maybe even after enough, that faint tickle of a buzz will be more than just a tickle, and he can enjoy the alcohol more properly, even if the taste alone brings a sort of comfort he’d never be willing to admit to anyone else.

iii. greenery
Well, shit. The heat's really gone and messed with the surviving plants in the greenhouse and started in on slowly rotting various plants that cannot take the heat. Literally. The piles of debris that he's created about the facility while cleaning up have also taken a sour hit.

Though he does spare time to take breaks, for sleep, food, and the occasional dance break at the Hall of Music, he focuses most of his energy and efforts on properly developing a compost not far from the greenhouse to maintain reusable waste for later use as natural fertilizer. He’s here most of the time during the two weeks, trying to maintain a healthy temperature level for some of the more delicate flora and trying not to fret too much, though he’s visibly troubled enough that he might not stop to acknowledge or greet anyone nearby in passing, as he would have before the heat took over the Greenery.

xx. wildcard
(want a different shade of bucket? hmu at crashfade \o/ )

ii. bar

[magneticfields]

In truth, Erik is not overly fond of bars. He has found himself haunting the one on the Ingress with more than usual regularity for a few reasons. First, at least the drink selection, mediocre as it is, tastes like something. Second, he does not know many on the station, aside from Charles and the children. There are few places to socialize, which is is only means of gathering information about the others at this point as the network is still inaccessible. At least to him, anyway.

Besides, he is fairly certain that whatever data the network has available will not lead him to assess how trustworthy any of them are. Or who may pose potential dangers.

He calms his mind and resolves once again to appraise anybody he interacts with from a neutral stance. To expect all to be enemies would blind him to potential allies and leave him completely dependent on Charles.

Which is not an acceptable state.

Erik nods to those he's made acquaintance with before as he enters, and sees a solitary man at the bar he has not met yet. Handsome, and in relatively good spirits as far as he can tell. Although it appears that expressions of good cheer are not something he is accustomed to.

It's intriguing enough for Erik to approach.

"I've found all the decent liquor, and was shown which wine was toelrable. Do you happen to know if any of the beer is drinkable?" He asks as he makes his way around the bar to serve himself some.