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by the inquest
"Arguments on their nature are refuted by those who return to shore, wide-eyed with tales of their savagery."
All Moirans are woken to the sounds of the ship coming to a rather grating halt some time in the early morning cycle. It’s no faster or slower than any other stop, but it is unexpected as the captains didn’t mention an upcoming disembarkment. Shortly after, a message is sent to every MID:Navigation has informed us that we’re approaching bad traveling conditions: an overactive star. Instead of stopping on Liant El, we’ll be docking here on Ceta. Please exercise caution while gathering supplies and during excursions. Follow their safety guidelines. If the chance allows, we’ll also be signing new crew on the planet. Please greet them first and show them to the ship. Thank you. The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar.
For those few who come through Ceta's Ingress, there will be crew of the Moira there to greet you. They tell you of the Ingress, how it is broken, even on this planet, and that the ship is headed back to the origin of this technology. This planet’s Ingress is set precariously atop a floating rock formation, the only way from one area to the next is on small air-propelled boats. Crew members will guide everyone back to the Moira and take them to the Medbay; contracts will be signed posthaste.
WELCOME TO CETA
At first glance, Ceta seems mostly inhabitable, and that's because it is. The atmosphere around the planet is surprisingly thick in most places, sometimes thin in others, and without some way to filter the air, it is mostly unbreathable; it's a giant gas planet, its core made of various molten metals and the atmosphere a mix of oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrous. Ceta's gravity is also uneven, meaning that some areas will have stronger focal points than others. The terrain, when it is visible, appears rather rocky—hardly the best conditions for life and stable living. What's more unusual, however, is that despite this fact, there is, indeed, a small populace "living" among the mist and clouds, but it's clear they do not live here year-round. It's hunting season, and they are there for the bounty.
These visitors have built small platforms that are hooked together by ropes and swinging bridges, which they call "temporaries". Unstable buildings are rare, dangerous, and spread out over these temporaries to prevent damage or accidents. The temporaries float along, swaying and shifting with the planet’s atmosphere, and posted at every point of entry and all open surfaces are a particular set of rules that everyone must abide by. They are written in dark ink and large block letters so that all passing by will stop and read them:
NO FIRE. Flammables, ignition sources, matches, lighters, and anything that creates a spark is prohibited. The atmosphere has higher levels of hydrogen, and the smallest spark will create a problem.
AIR BREATHABILITY. Monitor your vitals. Wear masks or re-breathers if needed.
WATCH THE EDGE. All walkways are the only thing from you and falling. Be cautious and watch your step. These signs should be given their due attention. The edge is just that: the end of where it is safe to walk. If a wooden plank gives way beneath your feet, you will plummet through hundred of miles of atmosphere before hitting the planet’s thin surface. The captains reiterate that crew should be careful and stick to the main temporaries, gather supplies, visit at their leisure, and then go back to the ship.
☄ IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE!The organisms that have evolved on this planet are unintelligent—a fact that is told to you by the other visitors. As there is no solid materials or ways for them to interact with their environments, these giants float along within the atmosphere, though it appears that they are flying when they are merely navigating through. They travel in groups of three or more and sometimes come close to the outskirts of the temporaries. Because there is an invisible filtration dome around the temporaries, this allows the creatures to pass through without harm and return again into the mist as they please. They are difficult to see at night and are rather skittish in the presence of sudden light.
☄ @ THE MUSEUM Every evening when work is done, artificial light sources illuminate the streets of the temporaries. There is one bar, if you can actually call it that, but the main attraction is a museum. The support structure appears to be made out of the skeletal system of the giants that "swim" and live on Ceta, and though the outside seems rather unassuming, the inside is not for the faint of heart. As it's considered informative, there are displays of the internal structures and functions of the very creatures that seem harmless and as unintelligent as the visitors claim. There are sections of the museum dedicated to their anatomy and what makes them so valuable: inside their air sacs, which is what gives the illusion to flying through the atmosphere, is a mineral that, when harvested, attunes and sharpens the senses so that brain capacity and function excel over one-hundred percent efficiency. Likewise, aside from these informative areas, there is also a history of how and when the visitors began to hunt them for this valuable, unnamed resource.
☄ HARVEST SEASON Are you looking for work? Or perhaps you're bored with your duties aboard the Moira and prefer to see just what it is these visitors do during the day? Hunters will often pay for menial labor to help with the killing and retrieval of the giants of Ceta. It is by day, not by hour, and once aboard one of the many ships, you will be put to work handling equipment or being on the lookout for "signs" of the creatures. Once they've been spotted, the real work isn't in capturing them or even trying to subdue them—though they give a good fight. It's in the harvest, done below deck once they have been safely brought into the ship's cargo areas by the tethers, that can get quite gruesome. As a defense mechanism, cutting into the skin creates a rather noxious emission that can cause disorientation, hallucinations, or unconsciousness. Worst case scenarios can often result in death.
☄ WORD LIMITS As things are beginning to wind up (or down), something seems to have gotten into the MID systems and caused a malfunction. On the morning of 03.13, it suddenly becomes clear that communicating with others who are not from the same universe or similar timelines seems very difficult. Understanding each other becomes rather hopeless as the day continues, and these repercussions can be felt across the entire ship. The Captains send out another MID message that appears as a jumble of unusual letters and symbols. However, there is one word that can be read by everyone and (hopefully) understood: RATCHET. Figuring out this problem shouldn't take long if everyone can leap the language barriers and work together.
( ooc; All New Arrivals: you have the choice of coming through the Moira's Ingress OR Ceta's Ingress. For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-03-01 02:40 pm
no subject
It's been over two hundred years now since the bombs fell, and people have found ways to get by. And, like, 90% of people have even found ways to get by that don't involve dicking over other people, at least not too much. It's the other 10% you've gotta worry about, because they'll shoot you on sight and loot your corpse. But there's farmers working the land, traders running the caravans and guards hired by the traders. There's scavengers who dig through the ruins of the Old World for valuables.
People have even set up cities--well, we call them cities, but I guess to you they're probably more like villages. There's one that's inside what used to be the baseball stadium, Fenway Park I think they used to call it? Anyway, it survived almost completely intact and those high walls make for awesome security against raiders. There's more opportunity for work in the cities. People set up shops, bars, build houses, hell, they even have a radio DJ. So it's not all bad. But even in the cities rule of law is a little bit more iffy than it was in the Old World. The city governments aren't exactly models of democracy and freedom. But people feel safer there and for a lot of people, that's worth the trade-off.
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Nuka Cola. Like...Coca-Cola?
[ Weird.
But what he says makes sense. Cities are going to build up from what they used to be; societies will resort to the old ways while attempting to adapt to the way the world is now. She isn't surprised to hear much of the same has stuck around...except for governments. ]
Well, there's probably fewer cops, fewer places to stash prisoners away with the world gone to shit. It's harder to fight just...gangs of people who are trying to make a living, no matter how awful they are. It's all about survival.
[ She can sort of relate. She tilts her head slightly, inquisitively. ]
So, what do you do, Not-Priest Deacon? What's your job or place in all of that mess?
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...nah, not very likely.]
Me? I'm the leader of the Minutemen. [They're talking about him now, so he's back to lying again.] We're a group that's trying to get all the farming settlements to band together, help each other out, recruit people who will go to any settlement to help defend it when called. You know, strength in numbers, yadda yadda. We're the bestest, most noble, and we're totally not going to be corrupted someday down the line and start charging people for "protection."
[Okay, that lie fell apart. He couldn't resist letting too much of his actual opinion leak in. Take two.]
Nah, honestly I'm just a drifter. I wander around, do odd jobs for caps or trade, stake out promising trash heaps and rifle through them for something good. That sort of thing. [That's a much better lie.]
no subject
[ And she can't drink it anymore. What a downer.
Deacon gets a very slow and quizzical arch of an eyebrow as he continues rambling, especially when he starts getting cynical. He tried pretty hard to keep that one going, she'll admit. The other one sounds much more palatable. ]
Mm, irradiated trash heaps. Sounds like fun. [ She manages another smile. ] I can't blame you for not getting in with any one group-- Kind of seems lonely, though.
[ Just her observation. ]
You said Boston, right? Is that where you usually roam?
no subject
Seriously, sometimes it is. All the decomposition lets off gases and if you're in a tight space in a landfill tunnel you've gotta be careful about firing off any shots because one spark and you might blow the whole place up.
And yet somehow I've never found that perfect someone who wants to spend their life garbage diving with me til death do us part. Some people are so picky. [He shrugs.] I'm used to flying solo.
[He misses his shades. He knows he lies freely and casually and frequently enough that he's good at it when he needs to be, but he still prefers the reassurance of knowing that no one can see his eyes.]
Yeah, my digs are in Boston. Ever been there?
no subject
Oh, yeah, I can't even imagine why not. You clearly haven't found the right type of girl for that kind of gig. I'm sure you'll run into her one day. Maybe she's just in a different dumpster?
[ So gross. Ava shrugs again and shakes her head. ]
Nah, I'm from the west coast. I used to live up closer to Washington before I went to college, then I moved south to Los Angeles. I've been there since. I've never been anywhere up along the east coast. I hear it's nice, though. Cooler. ...Well, not for you, I'm guessing, with all the radiation.
no subject
[Then he turns more serious and his voice quieter. Speaking of the Old World is like speaking of the dead. He usually does it softly, and with a touch of reverence.]
What's it like? L.A. before the War?
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It's... It's busy. I've never been in a city always so full of people. No one sleeps; they're out at all hours, drinking, clubbing, having fun. You have your weird people, of course, but there's businessmen and students and artists all around. You can sit in Griffith Park or go to the observatory. There's a million and one things to do in Los Angeles. [ There's something wistful about the way she speaks of it. ] I had this...great view from my apartment. A little patio deck - not much to look at or anything - that I'd go out and stand on, look at the sunrise with my coffee. Or have a drink in the afternoon with a friend.
[ And it's all gone. She'll never see it again, won't be able to do the things she wants to do. She can't go back to school or hang out with the same people. They all think she's dead. ]
There's a beach down at Santa Monica. Beautiful, always crowded. Used to have awful food before they cleaned it up a bit. You could go anywhere from Los Angeles, like it was your ticket to something great.
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[Deacon assumes the wistfulness he hears is because she was snatched up and taken to an alien planet and misses her home.]
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[ Not just for her family but for the vampires like her. They won't survive the radiation, and for quite a few of them, she imagines they deserve a chance. Just...not most of them. ]
I'm sorry, too, that your universe is...the way it is. There has to be a way to fix it.
[ A pause. ]
Do you think the people who brought us here would know how?
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And it is getting better. It's slow, and there are some steps backwards sometimes, but it's getting better.
Who knows? Maybe in another two hundred years we'll even be able to mass produce boxes of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes again. [Civilization = Twinkies.]
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[ Maybe not a fix, maybe just a band-aid. But a little help is better than no help, she thinks, and she wants to have hope that her potential future - or anyone's, for that matter - has a fighting chance. ]
Worth a shot, right?
Until then...I guess you're along for the ride and whatever weird garbage we pick up along the way.
no subject
But getting people to stop being crap to each other, to trust each other and work together, that's just going to take time. [Not that Deacon can talk about trust. He's pretty shitty at trust himself.]
In the meantime, being here isn't so bad. There's bound to be some awesome alien trash diving opportunities, and the company here is pretty good.
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[ Not even a nuclear fallout can fix that. ]
I haven't met too many people but...they seem like they want to help.
[ Which is a surprise considering their situation. And she isn't certain she can trust it outright. ]
Haven't met the captains, though. Not sure if we will.
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Please don't prove me wrong by, like, whipping out a gun and shooting me now. [It's a joke. Mostly.]
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[ No knives but a lot of people with powers and abilities. That's always something to be watchful for.
Ava briefly looks at him, then shrugs, and she fishes for something in her jeans. She pulls out a pocket knife that doubles as her lockpick to show him. ]
Sorry, I don't have a gun. I have a pocket knife, though, if that counts...? L.A.'s not a safe town, even in the past.
[ ...She won't mention that she has a gun too. It probably won't help him feel better. ]
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Since you showed me yours I guess it's time for me to show you mine.
[He takes out his laser pistol. It was state of the art in 2077. But by 2287, it's looking a little beat up. He has a switchblade as well, but he'll keep that hidden. That's the weapon of last resort.]
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[ It looks fancy, honestly. Nothing like the things she's seen at home. She gives it a long once over and quietly tucks the thought away that she never wants to stare down the barrel of that weapon, and she gives a little sideways smile at him. ]
Guess that's enough proof you are from the future. Or really, really good at making gun props.
[ Look, you never know. ]
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[ Aha, morbid humor. ]
But otherwise, it'd be a decent bluff. Besides, if they try it and it doesn't work, you can always tell them they're obviously not from your shiny future.
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[Thumbs up, morbid humor.]
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[ Which probably says a lot about their society, but, y'know. ]
Or do people just dislike the fact that you scavenge?
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But, nah, mostly when I'm shot at it's raiders and super mutants. The raiders looking for a corpse to loot and the super mutants hunting down a quick meal.
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[ And why are they looking for people to eat? ]
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They were humans once. They're a unique sort of monster in the wasteland in that they weren't twisted by radiation. They were experimented on, mutated intentionally to serve as super soldiers in a slave army. I'd feel sorry for them except that every time I come across a group of them they're more interested in fillet o' Deacon than brotherhood of man and sympathy. Even raiders are easier to reason with.
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