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! )

Threaded | Flat

[1. Communication - onboard]

The MID is definitely an interesting device, a little beyond Liquid's understanding, beyond the basics anyway. He's no scientist, nothing close, but one thing he's always loved has been languages. He's fluent in seven, conversational in a few more, and knows bits and pieces of several others. So with the MIDs fixed (and with too few opportunities for him to confuse everyone with his multilingual skills now gone by), now he really wants to know how these things work.

Or, at the very least, figure out how to use them to learn something new. Sure, he's seen that there's a class on linguistics, but if there's one thing he can't stand, dating back to his childhood, it's classes. He prefers to seek out his own learning, thank you very much.

So he's standing there, poking at it this way and that, grumbling something about it giving up its secrets.

[2. Communication - on Ceta]

He probably looks completely ridiculous, trying to talk to the whale creatures, but these things are supposed to be more advanced, so why not? Might as well give it a shot. Worst case scenario, he says hi to a whale and looks silly. Best case scenario? He learns some shit.

He's sitting casually at the edge of the temporary, probably in a dangerous way, but like that's ever stopped him before. He's watching the MID while he talks, occasionally looking up at the floating creatures. "So then I said 'it's not over yet' and you know what? I bloody meant it. So I kept going and..."

Probably not the best way to communicate with space whales, but he doesn't care.

[3. Punching frenzy]

Liquid's about as fleshy as they come, a product of biological sciences rather than... robot ones. So it really takes him a while to notice these little robo-termites running around.

Still, a passing glance and there's something moving on that piece of equipment that he was just about to check out for completely unrelated reasons, and, well, he should know these things, shouldn't he? In case it's something he needs to do something about. So it's time to investigate.

Investigation leads to way too many of these little... robot things? Cute. Very cute. And for the moment they're devouring something that seems very, very important. He could just walk away and ignore it, but, well... why miss the chance to fight something?

So that's how he got into a 'punch tiny little robots' fight.

[4. Wildcard!]

[Anything else! He's not going to bother with giving things for the protection thing, but someone could try to recruit him if they wanted (not that it'd go well.) He's still got a lot of other things to do, too.]

communication;
[ So things are difficult. So there's people walking around and speaking strange languages, making 'meep' noises instead of words, and it's hard to know what anyone's saying. It's not so difficult when she can look into surface level thoughts or simply keep out of the way. Once things get fixed, though, she's eager to start using it to potentially understand the whales...even if, really, she can try to just look into their heads.

Ava can be found in the dark some nights, standing there near the edge, cautious and prepared for the potential of falling. Sometimes, the MID is close by to let her try to understand them. Other times... Well, she looks a bit strange there, standing, staring into the darkness. In reality, she's trying to get one to come close enough so she can look them in the eyes, listen to them in a more intrinsic way, especially since they aren't communicating to her in words so much as thoughts and emotions.

Anyone looking to share in the experience will find her quiet, subdued - when is she not, really? - but still in awe and fascinated by the experience. ]

What those hunters are doing is wrong. They just want to be left alone.

[ She wishes she could touch them, but every time she tries, they float away from her in a hurry. Her presence is hardly different from the people hunting them, after all. ]

They're scared of them and of us.

a lesson in manners
[ The captains are proposing they gather together items to pay for mercenaries to get rid of the hunters. And while the proposal is something to mull over...it's also dangerous, and it's costing the crew and not the captains. Further still, the hunters don't seem keen enough to leave without encouragement or threats, and Ava has a sinking suspicion that none of this will end well for them, the whales, or the hunters.

It takes a few days of deliberation to get her motivated to sneak out into the darkness. She's been feeding on blood packs in the medical bay to satiate her thirst and need to feed long enough, and the itch is there to have more, to hunt for something, and she wants so badly to turn the tables on the assholes harming the creatures on the planet...

But she refrains. For the moment.

Instead, she singles them out, one at a time, in the hopes of doing something else. If she can convince them to leave, even just a few...it'll mean less bloodshed, in the end, or another avenue of negotiations before the mercenaries come in and kill them anyway. She has to try, doesn't she? It's predatory, through and through; she finds one and manages to carefully lure them away. The MID has enough of their language to give her access to what she needs to say, and all it takes is eye-contact before she delivers the command. ]

Turn around and walk away. Get off of this planet and never return. Don't ever hunt the creatures here again, no matter what. [ Oh, and-- ] And forget everything you've seen of me tonight.

[ That, of course, takes a little more magic and coercion, Dominate's potency only working so much on its own. And it seems successful; the woman in question turns and leaves, going back to her makeshift home to gather her things for departure in the morning. She might still return, might wake up in the morning and remember, and Ava will have to deal with those consequences.

For now...that's one person down and many, many more to go. She only has until the sun comes up. ]

[ ooc: for the second prompt, people are welcome to catch her, berate her, ask her what she's doing or even help her! up to you!! ]

☄ TRADE FOR RESOLUTION | Mero Deck | OTA

[He firmly believes that they could do this themselves, but at the same time it's probably better if they wash their hands of this as politically as possible. That's why a lot of people used to hire him to do their work. Niko rifles through his stuff in his room, pulling out a duffle bag of crystal looking items, last straggling objects from Cadacus Primary.]

[Offering these has a duel purpose, selfish in every foundation, he knows. It's most definitely not just for these whales- to be honest, in the long run he doubts saving the whales will do them any good and the actually space-faring hunters might cause them problems in the future for destroying their business. But to Niko, he still remembers when he got these items clear as day. A world of glass crashing down around him. A woman who decided to run back into a building after one last thing a victim of falling shards.]

[She had thrown her bag into the car Niko had been using to save people before she'd made that poor decision. He was going to get her out of there. Instead he just got this.]

[The only item he held onto was a picture in a frame- not her. Not someone he knew at all. But he jammed it into his own stuff and divided out the things like a hairbrush and money and some hair decorations. Some clothes. A couple of other mundane looking things, as if she'd just swept off a table or counter into the bag before running out.]

[He won't have to look at it anymore.]

I'm on my way out. [Niko warns whichever roommate is within earshot, grabs the smaller bag of objects, and exits into the hallway. He needs to find those mercenaries to drop off what he promised. Hopefully these men won't be what makes that girl's vision come true. It's something he's very worried about. But he doesn't want to see these whales killed for money. Not when they're people. The theme in his life has been persistant, and there's been no way out.]

[Still a handle on the bag he's carrying breaks, and he swears as the contents fall out. Sparking crystal on the floor, luckily not broken.] Shit! [He stops to pick the things up again.] These assholes better not fuck this shit up. [He mutters under his breath.]

Edited 2016-03-20 11:42 (UTC)

Communication;

[ The difficulties with the malfunctioning translators had been interesting, for sure, and Wash is glad when it's over. He's glad to hear that the MIDs have been updated to decode other languages now. He's glad about a lot of things that are happening now.

But he's not glad about what they all eventually learn, courtesy of the updated MIDs. That the whales have no reason to be hunted, that they can communicate and perhaps aren't as unintelligent as they were all led to believe when they arrived on Ceta. It's not because he's going to lose out on work now with this discovery that he's not glad--no, quite the opposite. He's unhappy because he's been helping to kill these innocent creatures. For about half a month now, he's been going out on ships and helping to take them down, just for a little cash.

He feels horrendous for it, and finds himself off the Moira now, but instead of joining the hunting parties, he's trying to stop them. The protests fall on deaf ears in most cases, and finally, he finds himself giving up.

Stepping back from the groups of hunters, he shakes his helmeted head in disbelief. ]

Why aren't they listening? [ The words are quiet, no necessarily directed at anyone in particular, but anyone who might be nearby would be able to hear them. ] This whole thing is wrong--and they know it. Why do people-- What do they think they'll gain?!

[ He gets louder toward the end, as more emotion builds in his chest. It's not all to do with the whales, however. The situation reminds him of the one he's in back home--the one he's just recently had memories break through about--of people doing horrible things for...what? Personal gain?

Almost so mad he could spit, Washington stands there, glaring out after the hunters, his fists clenched at his sides. ]

Feeding Frenzy;

[ It all started with just a few little malfunctions here and there on the ship. At least, as far as Wash noticed. Having to push his way through a door once in a while, finding the temperature in a room surprisingly uncomfortable... It maybe takes him a little longer than some to notice the tiny little beings feasting on the insides of the ship.

However, once he notices them, Wash immediately starts wearing his armour everywhere again--it's made of metal, and he'll be damned if he lets these little things mess any part of it up. It's important. He needs it.

The problem is, even when he can find the little suckers, he doesn't know what to do about them. So here he is now, staring at a few as they chew at the wall down one of the hallways, trying to figure out what to do. ]

...Does just stomping on them work? [ He asks as he hears someone approaching, not quite looking their way just yet. ] Or shooting them? --But I've got limited ammo for my guns...

[ Trailing off, he finally glances over at the other who's joined him in the hallway with a questioning look that remains hidden behind his golden visor. After a few seconds though, his head perks up as if he's just remembered something. ]

Wait, wait!! My armour has a low-energy EMP device in it. You think that might work? ...Or is that a little too risky? I mean, I don't think it'd be strong enough to affect the ship itself, but...

[ Looking to you for suggestions now, friend. ]

☄ FEEDING FRENZY | Random Corridor | OTA
[Miller finds himself scuttling backwards in a corridor, holding a broom handle like a baseball bat. His face, twisted up in anger, his footing unsure. He can't tell how many of those things there are. Just that they've caught the scent, and he's not sure if any are coming up behind him.]

[They seemed innocent enough before. But now he's terrified. Terrified and angry. All he has is the fucking piece of wood between him and whatever these things are, doing their very best to go at his new right arm, new left leg. To take his freedom as soon as he got it.]

Fuck off! Get away from me! [He hits one away, sending it rolling down the floor away from. Then the next one. They shake it off, get up, keep coming.]

[The wood breaks, with the next hit it leaves him with a shorter weapon.] No! No no NO! [He shouts, doesn't want to call for help but he'll need to. As soon as he gets behind this door to safety. Then he'll have time to use his MID.]

[The door doesn't open.]

[More scraplets see him from the opposite end of the corridor. Yeah, some behind him, too. He's easy prey. Miller crouches, ready to curl tight to try and protect his limbs. Considering that what he has to worry about are generators capping stunted flesh, those teeth can do a hell of a lot of damage to both them and the skin beneath.]

Edited 2016-03-20 11:41 (UTC)

Feeding Frenzy

[The biggest problems with the scraplets - for Andrew at least - was the fact that they wouldn't stop going after his camera. Not that they could get very close but he was starting to get tired of fending them off. He thought about leaving the camera somewhere safe in his room like he did his laptop but the camera was the one thing he wouldn't risk. Even if he could maybe get another one this was his camera from home - he still had footage on here that he couldn't bear the thought of losing and he hadn't gotten the chance yet to upload all of the footage to his new laptop. No, he'll just keep it on him.

Besides, the scraplets couldn't get close to him. And in fact, he found just sitting in the aft - his favorite place to be - filming the little metal monsters with his video camera as he sends them flying down the corridor quite relaxing. Occasionally the throws seem more aggressive with the force he uses to slam them into walls, and sometimes he simply raises his hand as a few float in midair before closing his fist, crushing them until they stop moving.

This turned out to be good stress relief, honestly.]

[Gardens, mail day]

Rosethorn draws up short when she walks into the garden on the 19th. She hears the humming before she even gets the chance to go close enough to investigate all of the hives. Bees. She wanted some, had talked with Crona about how her recipes would need to be altered if she had no source for beeswax.

She's delighted, absolutely beaming. It takes some time before she even stops to muse aloud, "I'll need beekeeper's clothes. And some way to keep these away from all the toxic plants." Somehow, she doesn't sound the least off-put by the prospect of figuring that out. She has bees!

And new plants as well. The mushrooms make sounds in a way no plant or fungus she's ever encountered has, and she's fairly certain the unfamiliar flowering shrub is one of those toxic plants she ought to keep her new bees away from if the ship wants usable honey. There's also another fungus, very uniquely shaped. She studies them intently, completely engrossed in what she's doing.

--

[Communication / Trade]

Eventually, though, she does have to leave the gardens. As soon as she does, the reality of what's going on on Ceta comes crashing in. Rosethorn is absolutely outraged. Her vows say she can't turn away anyone who asks for help, and she can't say she wants to.

She arms herself with vine seeds, mildly concerned that she won't be able to get them to grow in the planet's atmosphere. On second thought, she adds strong sleeping powders and, reluctantly, a poison or two to her arsenal. Other Moirans can catch her on the ship preparing, or down on the planet trying to get close to the whales. If she comes across any hunters, they're in for an unconventional fight.

Rosethorn will also be willing to trade what she can. Among other things, she can rapid-grow plants to harvest seed crops. She might not have much of monetary value, but food is something she's very good at producing. She'll lay aside all of her usual scruples about what's best for the plants, just for a little while, for a cause this important.

--

[Feeding Frenzy]

Rosethorn has very little of interest to the scraplets. Her belt knives, which she'll give up willingly enough... and Calendula, which she absolutely will not. The spherical robot has a name, a personality, even if it isn't quite a person. It carries an oxygen reserve for when her lungs give out. It's been helping her a lot all month, and she'd be to blame if she didn't return the favor.

"Oh no, you don't! Calendula is not food," she scolds, pouring magic into growing vines and trying to cocoon the little thing. Who knows if they'll hold, or if the scraplet will be alone for long?

Edited 2016-03-20 16:27 (UTC)

A. Mail Day (3/19)

[ Lara is entirely and completely unprepared for the absurd twist her life has taken of late. Honestly, the tiny motorized hoovers are one thing, but these... She's stopped counting and is half tempted just to upend the entire crate and see how many fall out, expect a part of her is worried that if she does, there won't be an end to them. Finally, she gets to the bottom and takes a step back, hands on her hips, to survey the somewhat alarmingly vast, colorful plush creatures. ]

Right. What am I meant to do with these.

[ As if on cue, a hundred plus tiny little motors revved up and a cacophony of high pitched voices rang out. ]

ME FURBY!! UH-OH!!

B. A Little More Conversation, A Little Less Action

[ This is more anthropology than archaeology, but still Lara is fascinated. The novelty of meeting an alien species still hasn't worn off and the revelation that they can be communicated with all the more so.

The problem, of course, is making contact. The creatures seem rather prone to avoiding the temporaries for the most part, not that one could really blame them, which meant leaving the temporaries was necessary. That's where things get a bit tricky. Lara stands at the edge of one now, bow and arrows slung over her back and her pickaxe on her hip, contemplating the floating island not far away. She could probably make that jump... ]

C.The Roomba Rescue Patrol

[ Miller had said she was good at using her surroundings to improvise, but she never quite imagined she'd be doing it this way. With 15 of her original 30 roombas left, she mounts 10 with the stripped down skeletons of the furbies and sets them loose. It works shockingly well as a diversionary tactic, the combination of the shrieking, squealing metal and the enhanced speed of the roombas sending the scraplets scrambling one second and buzzing after the contraption in hot pursuit the next. Lara is rarely far behind, axe in hand to pick off the stragglers. ]

Feeding Frenzy:

[Venom roared in anger as he aimed to smash into a nearby corridor wall, aiming to knock the metallic monsters attatched to his prosthetic arm. Even though he couldn't feel pain on his arm the creatures were gnawing it off his fucking arm. The skin attached to his arm was being attacked and he could feel that. Yeah, that hurt.]

Get the hell off of me! [Snake stamped on a few scraplets that failed to sink their teeth into the metal well enough and ended up on the floor. Snake growled and then launched himself on the ground, as he felt more of the metal monsters climb up his back and launch themselves onto his arm like a magnet. He was a damn magnet to these things. Whatever the hell they were. What was happening? All Snake knew was that they ate metal and were destroying his prosthetic arm.]

I need this, dammit! [He had no weapons on his that would do any damage to these things. His tranq was non-lethal and no good up against these metal munching beasts. Shit. It seemed hopeless as the metallic monsters kept climbing up his legs, over his back, up his chest just to get to his arm. Their prize. He kicked a few on the floor and then bashed his arm against the wall once more trying to knock them off.]

I. Trade for Resolution: The Cargo Bay

Ultra Magnus was standing to the side of the cargo bay, silently evaluating the growing collection of items that were going to be traded to the mercenaries. He didn't think it was the best solution, but it was a bit late to suggest an alternative, and the captain and crew seemed to be in agreement.

He knew they were supposed to be trading valuables, but even so he was planning on intervening if anyone brought anything that would be a significant loss to the ship. Not to mention ensuring no cybertronian tech made it into the pile.

II. Scraplets, Investigation: The Air Locks

As the Moira repair officer, fixing problems with the ship fell under his jurisdiction. So when more and more issues started developing around the ship Magnus had gone outside to check everything over. Nothing seemed to be out of place, the exterior of the ship was in perfect order. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the mechanisms that controlled the airlocks, because when he tried returning to the ship, the doors wouldn't open.

He banged on the inside of the door a few times to try and get someone's attention. When that didn't work he turned to his MID, sending out a quick audio message.

"This is Ultra Magnus, I could use some assistance getting the air lock doors open. It would appear they are also malfunctioning. Any help would be appreciated. The sooner the better."

III. Feeding Frenzy: The Halls (Moro Deck)

The minesweeper was driving down the hallway with uncharacteristic recklessness, easily explained by the ever growing sound of screeching saw-blades chasing them. Turning a corner quickly, the vehicle came to a screeching stop in order to avoid running over someone standing in the hall.

"Move! Now!" Magnus ordered with angry desperation. The metal plating on his alt mode already showed gashes from where the pests had gotten him. The noise of the approaching scraplet swarm was growing steadily louder.

[Scraplets: Cargo Bay]

There were a lot of interesting things down in the Cargo Bay, and that was Tailgate's main incentive to be there. Even working wasn't so bad now that Tailgate's started doing it more often. As far as surprises go, this small, bug-eyed thing wasn't too high up the list. Tailgate knelt down to examine it, charmed by its cute appearance.

"Hey, come and look at this!" He shouts to the nearest person, just as the tiny thing launched itself at him. A pained yelp followed afterwards as Tailgate suddenly realized the the thing was eating his arm plating! Panicked, he slammed his hand down on it as hard as possible and stumbled away as the crushed body fell to the ground. An ominous chattering sound could be heard among the boxes and Tailgate backed up nervously.

"Can we not?" He quietly asked the universe.

a. feeding frenzy

Riptide, after having a... whale of a time recently, had decided to take the very adult route of dealing with his rapidly piling problems by immediately passing out on his bed and not moving for a few days when he and Megatron had managed to get back.

When he's woken up, he's almost not surprised to see that it's because there's something chewing on his foot. For a very baffling moment, his brain tells him it's Sideswipe. It takes a minute to process what he's looking at, but it's unmistakable this little thing is starting to work down the armour.

Several loud curses can be heard through the Nomo Deck halls as he kicks it off then stomps on it. The curses are eventually punctuated by clomping as Riptide - still carefully - tries to make his way down the hall, chore bot under his arm, and away from the damn scraplets.

b. wildcard

((riptide is only available for the scraplets part of the event for Reasons - hit me up on

jabbers for anything else you wanna do :|b))

a. communication

"Sentient?!" Aurelia states, tone slightly unclear. She's still out on one of the temporaries, and one of the whales had got close enough for the MID to pick up on its language. Aurelia had stared in disbelief at what had popped up for a good few seconds.

She breaks into very dainty giggles. "Oh my goodness they were trying to--" she's not even particularly talking to anyone, more voicing her thoughts out loud. Maybe directed at someone if they happen to be close to her. She's clearly having a lot of trouble stopping the laughter. "--destroy the-- bloody hell! Oh, good lord. That's good. That's very good."

She wipes a tear.

"Ah," shakes her head. "Fuc-- oh, excuse me. Silly whales! Very silly."

b. feeding frenzy

Aurelia, of course, is probably the only one having fun. As usual, when killing things is involved.

She keeps only her sniper on her after cluing up to the scraplets enjoying metal - keeping as little of it on her as possible, and where there's a gathering of them...

"Incoming, darlings!" she shouts, cackling as she fires off her ice diadem. It seeks out and freezes a good amount of the scraplets before returning and Aurelia starts to pick them off from a distance. Not as elegant as she would like - Aurelia hates quickscoping, but it takes them out quickly and has a bonus of using up the disgusting autographed ammo she'd received in the mail.

One she misses, she casually kicks into the wall. She'd be having more fun if she weren't vaguely worried about the damage these things are doing to the ship.

That's a new feeling.

c. wildcard

((anything you want!))

Edited 2016-03-20 23:19 (UTC)

[COMMUNICATION]
[He'd heard through the 'grapevine', so to speak, that the big whale creatures were trying to talk to people. Which Sideswipe thinks is just plain awesome -- like the whales themselves. Of course he's going to try and help out with that, 'grounding' be scrapped.]

[Firstly, he'll be trying to scrounge up literally anything that can play music. Even if it's a beat-up old record that only plays one song. If and when he accomplishes this, he'll be packing it down to the planet.]

[You know that one movie scene where the guy holds a boom box with a love song up outside his love interest's house?]

[Yeah.]

[That's about what you're going to find with Sideswipe, should you choose to follow him. This is about how he's going to try and communicate with the flying whales. Maybe, if this fails, he'll do something even more stupid, and try to serenade the whales.]

[FEEDING FRENZY]
[This is literally something out of an urban legend. He'd only ever heard of these things before -- like a tiny, carnivorous bigfoot flock. Or Hook Hand Car Man.]

[Thanks to said Urban Legend, though, he does know what he's looking at after some long, awkward pauses. He definitely did not try to pet them, despite what you may be thinking. That bite mark on his hand was an accident. Totally an accident. And he's totally not scared, either.]

[The yelping and running is less of an accident, though. Regardless, should he come upon a bystander, they'll either be picked up, or ushered out of the way. Who knows if these things will try to eat something other than metal! Maybe his new human friends are in danger too!]

Look out!

[CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE]
[Hit him up with anything else!]

Feeding Frenzy;

[ It's been a conflicting time since the mail arrived for Elsa. Having received the gloves she was wearing the night of her coronation, the ones that removing had symbolized, for her, freedom to be herself and no longer hide her powers, she's been debating what to do with them. Keeping them off, she continues to risk freezing things or accidentally harming people with her bare hands, but putting them back on... It feels like a symbol of being put back in that cage she's been in all her life, the one she'd just finally escaped before the Moira ruined everything for her.

For the time being, they've simply been sitting on her bedside table in her room, where she spends a great deal of time staring at them. However, since hearing about the little creatures that have begun to attack the ship, she's left the gloves behind for the time being, dropping them from her mind as she thinks she might actually come in handy for once.

Thus, she's taken to roaming the ship, searching for signs of the rotten little metal-eating termites. She can do this. She can help with this. Her powers will actually (probably) work in getting rid of these pests. She's still uncertain about just blatantly using her powers out for all the ship to see, considering she's still trying to keep them hidden (for the most part--at this point, she's become a bit more open about them), but she wants to help. To be useful. And though the Moira is in a way holding her hostage, she doesn't want it destroyed. Not if it's their only chance to get back home.

Entering the mess hall, after having to push her way through the half-shut, malfunctioning doors, she spots several clusters of the things throughout the room. Without even thinking about it, she approaches the nearest grouping and raises her arms, hands aimed at the group and covers them with a blast of ice. It doesn't destroy them, but it certainly keeps them trapped in place, now more easily destroyed by someone else. She thinks, perhaps, she might be able to come up with a way to use ice projectiles to actually destroy the things, and gives it a shot on a few of the stragglers that escaped the radius of her ice. The shards pinpoint the little metal beings and cut right through them, leaving Elsa standing back, actually quite satisfied with herself.

Hearing someone else pushing their way through the door, her gaze is drawn away from her work and she offers the other a smile and a gesture to the infested room. ]

Would you care to help me out with these pests?

Closed to Obi-Wan
[Zam has a lot of questions for the universe lately. First and foremost being: ’Why do you hate my arm so kriffing much that you need to destroy it three separate times to properly demonstrate it?'

She supposes she’s lucky that the worst of the damage was done while the prosthetic was going through one of its normally irritating numb phases. However, it still isn’t exactly pleasant to wake up to what looks like a very toothy severed droid head chewing at one your limbs, prosthetic or not.

The more pressing problem now is that the numb phase is gradually lifting, which means that Zam’s in more than a little pain right now. And it’s only going to get worse the longer the prosthetic stays attached to her. She’s tried pulling the thing off, even tried to shapeshift out of it, but the docs in the medbay knew what they were doing: it’s stuck just as firmly as if it were flesh and blood.

Which is why she’s headed towards the medbay now, her damaged, sparking arm hanging by her side. She’s halfway there when the arm helpfully decides that now is an excellent time for its pain receptors to surge back to almost full capacity and Zam almost falls down in shock.]

Cag see echuta! [She moves to the side of the hall and immediately starts trying to detach the prosthetic with the frantic determination of a felinx trying to chew its arm out of a trap. Kark, that hurts.

And this, out of all times, is when the forces of the universe decide to throw a familiar face her way. Zam sees him coming and stops her struggling, expression that of someone who has just thought of a very, very bad idea and knows it. As he draws closer, Zam speaks up.

Hey! Jedi. I-- [a grimace.] I need help with something.

Feeding Frenzy [OTA]
[That bit of unpleasantness done with, Zam decides to pay these little droids back in full. The report of blasterfire and the sharp smell of burnt metal follows her around the ship as she systematically hunts down every last scraplet she possibly can. Nothing like a little bit of old-fashioned revenge, right? The fact that she’s now missing her right arm doesn’t seem to slow her down; she went a good few weeks without one after Cadacus Primary, and you only need one hand to pull a trigger anyway.

Maybe you happen to be in the middle of facing off with the scraplets yourself when the bounty hunter approaches with her blaster raised.]

Hey, get out of the way! [She calls out, lining up the shot.] I got this one.

[action/prose is ok, will match format]

WHALES;

[He's sitting out on one of the temporaries, watching the creatures fly overhead. He's not attempting to communicate, because talking to the sky makes him feel stupid and he's had enough of that lately. But it's kind of peaceful to be out here and listen to the whales.

He doesn't look up when someone moves nearby, but he does lift a hand in acknowledgment.]

Planning to talk to them?

Scraplets;

[Peter isn't particularly bothered by the infestation. After hearing about it, he'd dropped his remaining Walkman off in his room and felt like he had nothing to worry about. He didn't have any metal on him and it felt a lot like it was not his problem.

And then he just had to run into someone having trouble with the little shits. While Peter is more than willing to turn a blind eye to a problem, it's a lot harder to do when it's playing out in front of him.

He sighs, groans and finally approaches with all the reluctance a teenager can pull off.]

Need help?

Oh My;

[Or just talk to Peter as he's running around the ship. Hanging out poolside, eating in the mess, he's everywhere all the time, so just say and he'll be there.]

Ceta;

[She doesn't care about all this nonsense with the whales and hunters, what she care about is that the conversations surrounding those issues makes it sound like they'll be leaving soon. She's not looking forward to spending time on the ship without the knowledge she can go outside whenever she wants.

She's walking along the bridges between temporaries, arms stretched out and delicately placing one foot in front of the other like a tight rope walker. She might as well get in a little more play planet side before there's not more outdoors to enjoy.]

Moira;

[With all the commotion over the scraplets, the girl has found people are a little too busy to pay keen attention to a child messing about inside of working. Which is why she's taken some markers with her and settled in the hallway leading towards the rec area.

Currently she's busy drawing an odd blue mouse on the wall, with a few sketches of mushroom clouds surrounding it. The marker isn't doing a good job of sticking to the metal walls; every movement is smearing her work. She looks up as someone passes, frowning.]

This would be easier with paint.

Communication

[there's an extra spring in Bel's step on the way to the rec room; one never really appreciates translation technology enough until it isn't there anymore.]

These MIDs are getting smarter and smarter. Has anyone tried the new translator out on the cats yet?

[or the "dumb animals" downside. that might be a reason to actually visit the planet again, especially if anyone else has had the same idea.]

Acquisition

[the notice of something waiting down in the cargo hold takes Bel by surprise -- they'd made no inventory requests of late. nonetheless, there's a crate holding some very delicate objects, neatly packed: a teacup and saucer, which is indeed Bel's property, and a double-sided hammered dulcimer, which is very decidedly not.

anyone in the cargo bay might be privy to complete astonishment on discovering the instrument, an automatic look around (and, oddly, upwards) for its proper owner, and the reverence in Bel's touch (despite having no idea what to do with all those strings) while freeing it from its wrappings.]

Resolution

[evening mess is over and Bel swings into a seat by the bar, scrubbing a hand over a very tired face. supposedly there are negotiations going on, help is on the way, but Bel's more than half ready to swoop down with the nearest atmosphere-safe firearm to hand and blockade the temporaries personally. unfortunately, even if everyone on the Moira joined in, they're not enough to cover the planet, and the inaction is grating.

eyes sweep the room over the rim of a drink, catching the gaze of the next person over. genocide, mercenary involvement, the perilous, volatile atmosphere... it's a hell of a thing, down there. if you're having trouble dealing with it, you're not the only one.

~~and if you're fine with it, Bel would be delighted to punch you in the face. options!~~]

Feeding Frenzy

[the MID turns on accidentally, a violent whirl of motion finally centering on a skittering scraplet with a dent in its head.]

Ow, dammit! [breathing hard, the lean, ambiguous face appearing sideways at the edge of the display.] Moira, this is Bel Thorne -- I just caught one of these things eating a pipeline down in Sanitation. We need a repair crew down here. And an exterminator!

Wildcard

[shenanigans plz!]

Edited 2016-03-23 02:46 (UTC)

[[ooc: All scraplet starters here, but if you want something else, feel free to wildcard! Spam or prose are both fine.]]

A. Damage Assessment

Rinzler's made a habit of patrolling for threats since the first day he arrived. Today, though, there's an unusual barrier in his way. The hallway door is stuck at mostly-shut, a flickering light and spasmodic, twitching grind flagging the error even from a distance. When Rinzler approaches, it's not hard to find the source. The access panel to the side is a sparking ruin—vital components eaten through.

The enforcer's helmet fixes on the damage for a long moment, constant mechanical rumble building to a growl. Rinzler knows exactly what this is. He turns back to the obstruction, bracing both hands in the gap before he shoves, forcing the heavy doors apart with a shriek and twist of warping metal. The program wastes no time hopping through the widened opening, and on seeing someone waiting on the other side, he steps toward them immediately.

Rinzler doesn't know you? Doesn't matter. Rinzler hates your guts? Also doesn't matter. System threats take priority, and this is one that needs to be dealt with without any lag. Orange-glowing fingers tap at his MID, and holographic text pops up, facing toward the other.

Require data. Bugs observed?

B. Stabbing fixes everything

Once he catches up to the source of the problems, Rinzler wastes no time in wiping them: anywhere and everywhere he can. A priority is put on securing the cargo bay, and making sure the transporters inside are safely out of access from these glitches. But Rinzler was a combat program well before he ever learned to fly, and bug-clearing isn't something you limit to one sector.

Over the next week, the enforcer can be found all over the ship, all too happy for a chance to carry out his real function. These scraplets might eat metal instead of code, but gridbugs are gridbugs, and both die just as easily to a lit disk. He'll respond to distress calls and actively shadow any individuals that seem to be drawing them in. If he can't get at the scraplets through a door, you'll find a dark-clad glowing figure dropping on them from the ceiling. The vent-mapping project might have had its flaws, but right now, Rinzler's nothing but satisfied with the results.

C. Scraplets from above!

Unfortunately, Rinzler isn't the only one using the vents to get around. Somehow ~~Chara~~ in a whole ship of easily consumed metal, these glitches had taken up residence in some of the smallest, most cramped passages. Skittering can be heard inside the walls and ceilings at odd intervals—occasionally followed by a ticking rattle or the sharp hum of a disk. Rooting them out one by one is inefficient, but otherwise not hard, and risks little more than puzzlement to anyone wandering the halls. But when Rinzler happens on a larger swarm...

Well, the noise is much, much louder. The confined space limits Rinzler's speed and maneuverability, but it also funnels the bugs into a killzone, and it doesn't take long for combat to become pursuit. Scraplets zoom through the ducts, swarming past and over one another with a sound not unlike a tiny avalanche to anyone outside. And when they do find a vent, an exit, blocked only by a thin sheet of metal...

...has your character ever wanted to be in the middle of a rain of scraplets? No? They should probably move fast. Rinzler will be along shortly.

Not the pests you were looking for (3/18)

You know, there are some things about the Underground Frisk decidedly does not miss. The lack of sunlight, for one, and being attacked nearly everywhere they go does get pretty tiring after a while. And then...

"Get back here with that!"

There's the Annoying Dogs.

The capitals are there for a reason, mind. Small, white, fluffy, and somehow capable of writing an entire game by barking into text-to-speech, Frisk doesn't know why these dogs are so mischeivous but by god are they persistent in making a nuisance of themselves. Mostly in the form of stealing things and running off, which is what the small hoarde of five dogs in front of them are in the middle of doing.

"That's not yours, it's not funny!" The small stampede skids around a corner, with Frisk scrambling to keep up. Two of the dogs have some items of Frisk's (a stick and a cellphone with a quite full keychain attached), but the others may have something of your own. Some boxers, or maybe a priceless memento from home? Either way, they're all making quite the ruckus throught he halls of the ship.

i Communication (A); Honestly Sam had been kind of worried something like this might happen, but once he went into the MID network, it was like nothing he'd ever seen before. The coding language wasn't even decipherable at first, but when he (finally) started seeing some method to the madness, he was taking notes with his stupid phone. He was essentially learning as he was helping others just as outclassed and outgunned as he was to fix the MID translation software. When he thought they might have something usable, he'll try it out.

"Hi. I'm hoping you understand what I'm saying."

(B) Ceta; Playing a hunch, Sam went down to Ceta again. He was as geared as he had been before with the single-strapped backpack and miniature rebreather around his neck like a necklace.

This time he didn't really have a ride. So when he got to the end of the Temporary he had ended up on and the beginning of the dock, he looked back to make sure no one was there to see. Then he casually slid his phone out of the back pocket of his bag and started hacking his way around the lock. Wouldn't take much it's a simple lock, and Sam needed a flying boat.

ii Feeding Frenzy; These things were everywhere. They were in the the walls, on the ceiling, coming up from the floor, the vents, all of it. Most were intent on the metal decking (or walls or ceiling) of the ship itself. If that wasn't worrying enough Sam was having to defend his poor little phone from being a bite-sized snack. Sam wasn't much of a fighter to begin with, so he was using a plastic broom handle like a bat. It's somewhat effective? Whatever these creepy little things are, the tide of them is managing to push Sam down the hallway.

"C'mon little metal bugs! Who's next for stick ball?!"

iii Wildcard;
(Hit me up if you don't see anything you like. c:)

A: Feeding Frenzy
What better way to test out his new gun than on a swarm of tiny metal creatures? The cold seemed to be especially effective on the little buggers, slowing them down and turning them into twitching, useless pieces of junk. Len strode through the halls, finding the biggest swarms he could and blasting them enthusiastically, the blue-white glow of the cold stream illuminating the walls around him.

(He wasn't doing this to save anyone or be heroic, of course. He had to try the gun out. And this was pretty fun... good way to blow off some steam after being stuck here for a month.)

Rounding a corner, he found a horde of the scraplets pouring through a new hole in the ceiling, chewing through sparking wires and metal alike. "All right, c'mon," he said with a grin, bringing his gun up again.

B. Wild Card
Create your own starter for him!

Edited 2016-03-22 22:56 (UTC)

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Liquid Snake

the fledgling | ota

Niko Bellic

Agent Washington | ota

J