thisavrou_log | march event log

Entry tags:

march event log

Who: Everyone
When: March 17th and on
Where: The Moira and Ceta; various locations
What: Communication, mercenaries, and scraplets
Warnings: Please label accordingly!

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communicate & protect
"The best way to protect something is to set it free."

Since the Moira has arrived on Ceta, things have been (mostly) quiet considering their usual stay on planets before it. The only cruelty about this one is the fact they hunt for both sport and gain, and the creatures of Ceta do not have a voice—or intelligence to defend themselves. However, as the crew of the ship will come to learn, this is an elaborate lie. With the previous problem of the MID malfunctioning, and causing a bit of a miscommunication fiasco, finally solved, it is apparent that whatever had been wrong with this technology had slowly begun to affect the crew prior to exploring Ceta. Only in subtle, unnoticed ways.

With everything beginning to run a little more smoothly, a shift in the air overtakes both the Moira and Ceta in the days following.

☄ A LESSON IN MID COMMUNICATION ( 03.17 - 03.22 )
As the translator technology has recently been fixed, the crew will notice that their MID devices now come with an extra feature: a brief explanation of the extra capabilities of the translation technology. Each MID records all language that is spoken near it, stores information on phonetics and linguistics in order to keep each language as current as possible. In the event that an unknown language is encountered, all known languages are applied until the meanings of each sound or word are decoded. In some instances, it’s a long process, and in others, it spans the time of a few weeks.

There is a small addendum that states that no conversations are recorded and stored in their entirety in order to protect privacy.

Crew may ask themselves why this is there, but all they have to do is get close enough to one of the flying, whale-like creatures to find out. Communication is still not quite perfect, and this is where the translator technology needs the crew’s help. The more two beings interact using speech, the further the database will expand. Attempting communication might be futile at first, but eventually, the low peaceful songs filling the misty air of Ceta are broken with words: a cry for help When the creatures have come close to the temporaries before, it was not out of curiosity; it was an attempt to destroy them and save themselves. But remember, even if you want to help, these creatures are skittish around sudden light and it takes time for them to trust, time the Moira might not have.

☄ TRADE FOR RESOLUTION ( 03.22 - 03.25 )
It’s common knowledge that this universe runs on a system of trade for either goods or services. If you can provide either of those to another, then you can have anything you want. This includes protection. The closest neighboring planet, like so many others, has a variety of groups that can be hired out to perform a number of duties. In an effort to offer the crew peaceful resolution for something that they’ve learned is discomfiting to many Moirans, the hunting and killing of innocent creatures on Ceta, the captains suggest something a little different this time.

Contact and an initial payment has been made to a team of soldiers to travel to Ceta to meet with the crew. Essentially, if enough valuable resources are offered to this group, they will do whatever is necessary to rid Ceta of the hunters and declare that Ceta is a protected planet. This means that they will protect these giant creatures from future harm as long as a yearly sum is delivered to them. The captains agree to continue payment as long as the rest of the crew can gather enough for the first year.

☄ FEEDING FRENZY ( 03.25 - 03.31 )
With everything finally coming to a peaceful close, the Moira and the crew’s routine begin to return to normal. The process for leaving Ceta is spread ship-wide. However, as they leave Ceta’s atmosphere and enter space once more, some odd things appear to have flooded the ship. An infestation of scraplets have led to minor complications that soon start to escalate. Feeding exclusively on metal, they make a mangled mess of the ship's systems, causing them to glitch and stop working altogether as they chew their way through its internal workings. You may notice your door will no longer open or close, or maybe the temperature has gotten unusually warm. Is that a leak? How did that get there? Maybe you happen to be made of metal yourself, or have metallic prosthetics - "living" metal is actually preferred over the walls of the ship.

The infestation will start to threaten critical systems if left unchecked and will need to be taken care of as quickly as possible. It is the crew’s responsibility to band together and figure out a way to stop these scraplets from devouring the entirety of the ship and leaving them stranded or worse.

( OOC: Please label any material with content warnings. For questions, go here! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

My generator is broken. [He hisses, touching his leg. Also there's blood seeping through the cloth of his uniform, up on the calf.]

[It says something about his comfort around Rinzler that he rolls up the pants leg in front of him. Most normal people, he would half hide what he was doing. But he trusts the program enough that he doesn't feel uncomfortable looking at it, feeling judged.]

[Below Miller's knee is a cap, joined smoothly over the calf muscle. Except wires and framework are now visible and there are deep gauges in the skin, bleeding enough to need stitches or healing.]

Hell. [He grunts, and pulls the pants leg back down. Now empty shoe and sock are stashed in his coat pocket.]

[At that moment, Rinzler will receive a new audio message on his MID.]

Rinzler? Where are you right now? [Alan’s voice sounds worried and for good reason; he’s not sure what manner of creature is currently swarming the ship, but he’s already heard of them attacking other inorganic crewmembers.] Those… things aren’t coming after you, are they?

[The helmet does tip down to look, but the enforcer's attention seems to be much more focused on the injury than any judgement. Rinzler's hardly a recompiler, but he's seen enough damage to user shells by now to know that the continued bleeding is a bad sign. The ticking rumble skips slightly as Rinzler glances up at Miller, then back to the door. The medbay's a long way to go, but...

The faint chime at his wrist interrupts the thought. When Rinzler glances down to see the ID listed on the call, it stalls out completely. Alan-one. There's an uncertain look back up to Miller, but he accepts the call, opening an audio line as Alan's message plays. The user won't hear much from Rinzler, of course—only the sharp slide of disks melding back together and Rinzler's usual ticking sound.

Text is slightly more enlightening.]

Barracks.
Not a target.

[He isn't. But they haven't stopped gnawing at the door...]

Ask him if there are any clear paths from the barracks areas to Med Bay.

[He doesn't know who Rinzler is talking to, and even if he's in a better position to use his own MID now, it's someone that's immediately available.]

[Miller realized only then he doesn't even have his poor version of a false leg. Not even his crutch. Maybe it's better that he's asking Rinzler to talk to someone that doesn't know him at all.]

[A sigh of relief.] Good.

[A voice in the background of the message catches Alan’s attention, though it’s somewhat muffled over a faint metallic crunching sound in the background. All Alan can make out is the word “Med Bay.” Alan raises an eyebrow.]

Is someone there with you?

[Rinzler glances from the user to the device. The enforcer's rumble has begun to build, a little harsher than Miller might be used to. But the helmet ducks in a nod, and it doesn't take Rinzler long to type out a reply.]

Yes.

Forwarding query. Clear routes to medbay?

[The program walks closer to Miller, leaving his MID in easy range for both parties to hear.]

He helped me fight off the scraplets, but one managed to attack me.

I'm bleeding. Not going to die or anything, but I need to get patched up.... and I can't-

[He can't walk alone.]

[The thought sobers him. Once again, he can't go anywhere unless someone is beside of him, and he's ashamed of that. He's already helpless again.]

From what I’ve seen, I don’t think there are “clear” routes anywhere. [He’s seen a good number of the creatures in the hallways, most of them occupied stripping metal from the walls and floors. No doubt that it's a very, very dangerous time to be inorganic right now.

His gratification at hearing that Rinzler has been aiding his crewmates during this disaster is tempered by the rest of the stranger’s report.] I didn’t know they were attacking humans as well. [At least they had seemed to ignore Alan entirely when he passed them by.] Do you need help? If you mark the location on the MID map, I should be able to find you.

[There's a slight freeze as Miller speaks—or more specifically, as he mentions Rinzler's help. Alan-one's injunction against violence is far too recent in the program's memory for any reference to him fighting to feel particularly safe. But the voice that answers holds no sign of censure, and Rinzler relaxes a little as the topic moves on. Bug-cleaning: probably acceptable.

At the question, he brings up the map, but glances first to Miller. Rinzler can wipe the bugs outside the door, and probably keep them off the user as they travel. But he can't carry Miller while he does that—at least, not without risking his life further.

Accept y/n?]

[Miller watches Rinzler, considering the offer of help after it's spoken. He knows they'll still come after his limbs, and he needs the clearance. He needs help. This man is already on the line and ready, rather than contacting people who are likely already occupied and protecting important ship functions.]

[He sighs out his nose and closes his eyes tightly behind his glasses. Okay. He'll have to do this. His pride has always been iffy- torn different ways. He wants to succeed without assistance or pity, but he's learned that doesn't work. Even the necessity for it is wounding. But a greater wound to his pride is being weak to those things out there. And if he needs help? So be it.]

They're not attacking just any humans. I have prosthetics. One's damaged. I can't walk alone.

[The last sentence could practically be an admission of defeat.]

Yes.

I need help.

I see. [It shouldn’t be surprising. Prosthetic limbs don’t seem to be all that uncommon among the crew, worryingly enough.]

I’ll be there as soon as I can. [He’s already set his MID to route to their location and is making his way there now. He hasn’t missed the metallic crunching continuing in the background either. He quickens his pace.]

Any idea how many are outside the room?

[At Miller's acceptance, Rinzler keys in the location data. He listens quietly through the rest of the exchange, and if the program's stare lingers a little at the blunt admission of need, there's no overt reaction. To that question, though...]

Not relevant.

[The black mask tips toward the door. They shouldn't open it until the threat outside is dealt with... so if Alan-one's coming, the time to handle it is now. Rinzler glances to Miller as he pings the user's MID, adding it to the transmission. The users can talk—and very well might need to. He has some bugs to clear.

Once the line's set up, Rinzler crouches and jumps for a ceiling vent. He disappears into the darkness, and seconds later, the hum of paired disks can be heard from just outside the door.]

[As usual, he's quietly impressed with Rinzler's dexterity. But he's also hurting and he holds to the wall with his real hand, to pull himself upright, leaving a streak with his bloody fingers. This time he'll be standing when someone comes for him, not in some pitiful position on the ground. Even if it's just on one leg, with the other pants leg dripping from his injuries.]

[The program’s response gets a raised eyebrow from Alan, but he hears no contradiction from the other man, and so he’s willing to drop the question. A moment later and he also sees Rinzler had added a new contact to the MID transmission, one “Kazuhira Miller” -- it doesn’t take much of a leap to guess who that is.]

Mr. Miller -- sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. [He can’t imagine what it must be like being attacked by one of those things; if those teeth could tear through metal with such ease, he doesn't want to think what they’d do to skin.

With the MID’s assistance, it doesn’t take long for Alan to find his way to the marked destination. A clamor of sound becomes audible as he approaches the last corner, a discordant cacophony of metallic gnashing against a strange, oscillating hum. Alan proceeds cautiously, already with a vague idea of what to expect before he even turns the corner.

He isn’t disappointed. In the middle of the hall, amidst a growing pile of debris, Rinzler is locked in battle with the remnants of the scraplet swarm, tearing through the stragglers with extraordinary ease. Alan stops in his tracks, watching the clash in silence; he doesn’t want to interrupt the program -- not to mention, he’s never seen a program fight before and its incredible to watch.]

[The bugs are numerous, and quick enough to make a challenge, but there's no real skill or strategy behind their motions. Nothing but the urge to swarm and feed. If they were targeting him, it would be just like home; as is, Rinzler wastes no time making use of his advantage.

Disks slice the metal orbs to scrap, a liquid dance as Rinzler strikes and turns, stepping up and off the corridor walls when he needs better vantage. A pair bolting for the vent, he dispatches with a thrown disk; the lone scraplet still gnawing on the door is crunched to pieces with a kick. That barrier is damaged enough without applying further blades.

Still, it doesn't take long before no more attackers are forthcoming. Rinzler shifts easily, glancing up and down the corridor to check—and stills, noise skipping up in an uneven rattle as his observer registers. Alan-one. The freeze is followed by a jerky nod, disks merging carefully into one grip. Still, if far too many processes are still locked in wary, frantic loops, Rinzler doesn't waste time with hesitation. A reach behind to the (thankfully, intact) access panel, and the door keys open.]

[When the door opens, Miller holds onto the wall and makes those few hops forward, gripping the doorway and looking at the carnage.]

[Never has he been more gratified to see that.]

Good job, Rinzler. [He says gratefully, before noticing Alan.]

Sorry. I'm a little bit of a mess. [He reaches out with his artificial hand. At least that's still intact.]

[The fight is like nothing Alan has ever seen before. The pests may as well be actual insects with the ease with which Rinzler destroys them, each strike landing as effortlessly as breathing. As the last scraplet falls to the program, Alan almost forgets his purpose there until the program turns to face him, those fluid movements immediately locking and becoming halting and sharp in his presence.

Alan takes that as his cue to walk over, stepping over the metal scraps that now litter the floor.] That was something else. [A smile.] Looks like I was wrong to worry. [Since it’s quite clear Rinzler is much more of a threat to the scraplets than they are to him.]

[He looks over to the doorway as it slides open and a man hobbles out. Alan can’t help but wince sympathetically when he sees the blood staining the other’s pants leg.]

No need to apologize. [He reaches out to shake the proffered hand.] I’m Alan. Sorry we have to meet like this.

[Miller's thanks receives a cautious twitch of the mask in acknowlegement. Rinzler doesn't quite dare look away from his user, though, and when Alan-one smiles, the helmet ducks with a wave of genuine relief. Not a violation.

More... if that expression was any sign, he might actually have made his user proud.

It's a nice change. The harsh stutter of sound eases, and Rinzler's next glance across the wreckage holds a little more of his usual satisfaction with his skill. He stays where he is, disk filling his left hand as the program projects his scans through the corridor, watching for oncoming threats. Still, the helmet doesn't stray far from the users, and Rinzler's gaze sneaks back more than once behind it. Miller doesn't seem much worse, but the increased red is worrying.]

Rinzler's skilled. And efficient. [He confirms, having seen him work in a lot of aspects. He shakes Alan's hand, but then holds his arm up higher to grab at his shoulder. He needs the human brace.] And luckily, not very appetizing to those things. I don't have traditional prosthetics, but I have ones generated like the artificial environments in the simulation room. I guess that's enough for them.

[Which is why it seems to be gone entirely.] They bit the generator, and my leg with it. [It's frustrating. Infuriating. He just got this thing so he wouldn't feel helpless anymore, he wouldn't have to ask. And he ended up a target.]

[More than Rinzler’s skills (impressive as they are), Alan is proud that his program is out helping people in the midst of this chaos. And hearing this man speak favorably of the program is a nice change from Alan’s first week aboard the Moira.

Alan isn’t familiar with the mechanics of the “simulation room” on the ship, but it’s simple enough to understand from the context. He glances down at the blood staining the man’s clothes once again, face lined with concern.] Looks like a deep bite. [It’s certainly more blood than Alan is used to seeing. He’s not medically experienced enough to make any sure statements about the danger of blood loss but it’s enough to kickstart his sense of urgency all the same.]

We should start moving before more of those things show up. [At least Rinzler seems to be watching their backs. Alan shifts to Miller’s side, carefully moving his hand to his other shoulder so the man can lean on him. He stays watchful of the other's reactions -- Alan's never had to do something like this after all.] Does that work for you?

[The open praise does draw a look, circuits brightening just a little in pleased surprise. But Rinzler would hardly be efficient at all if he let their words distract him from his task, and the enforcer logs the conversation for later review as he keeps up the sweeping scans.

Alan-one's not the only one harboring a sense of urgency, and it isn't long before the program can feel... something. Not in sight, not swarming—not yet. Probably their group hasn't even been observed. But there are whispers of motion off to the left, a creeping shift of minute errors. Rinzler's disk lights with a low hum as he shifts forward a half-step, helmet jerking down the other corridor. He'll cover them if the threats close, but they should move. That way.]

Affirmative. [He confirms when he sees Rinzler give some warning. And he shifts to accept that hold around Alan's shoulders, falling into a force stride so that his right leg will match.]

Yeah, that works. [The words are less forceful than the one's he'd spoken to Rinzler. Like the difference between a sergeant confirming a troop's intent and a beleaguered businessman. Kaz was very much both, and he was hurting and discouraged.] Thanks. I'll owe you one.

[After taking a moment to adjust to the new weight leaning against his shoulders, Alan falls into step next to Miller in the direction Rinzler had indicated. He watches the other’s reactions as they walk, alert for any sign that he needs to adjust.] Don’t mention it. I’m glad to help. [It’s not like Alan is doing this in expectation of a reward later; it’s just the right thing to do given the circumstances.]

I remember there being quite a lot of machinery in the medbay. We should be prepared to run into more of those things there. [Said to both Miller and Rinzler, though he expects the information will be more pertinent to the program, as he’ll likely be the one fending them off. At least from what Alan had seen earlier, the program doesn’t seem to be in any danger protecting Miller; the creatures show no interest in attacking Rinzler himself and even if they did, Alan gets the feeling that the program would still be more than capable of defending himself.]

Edited 2016-04-03 18:28 (UTC)

[Rinzler's weapon stays lit, flashing out once to cut down a lone scraplet skittering around a corner. But when it rebounds back to him, he keeps it in hand. It takes effort not to go further, split the weapons and set out in pursuit after the groups he can feel gnawing at the system. Rinzler knows his priorities, though, and for now he sticks to shadowing the users, scans checking each junction as they come to it.

Alan-one's warning receives a quick nod. Probable. When they reach their destination, he'll move out in front.]

More of those things there?

....Shit.

[It's obvious from the sound of it that he doesn't want to have to deal with more of them.]

Okay. Can you just get me to my room and help me get something strong from the bar? Very strong. I'm going to wrap this up myself until I hear the area's clear.

[He can always go then. But he's not going to risk an attack on the arm that he just got.] Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. I've had to do it before.

march event log

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TFW WHEN YOU WROTE A TAG DAYS AGO AND FORGOT TO POST IT D:

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