thisavrou_log | ( april intro log )

Entry tags:

( april intro log )

Who: Everyone
When: April 1st and on
Where: The Moira + Del Pascia
What: The crew finds themselves visiting the correctional facility of Del Pascia.
Warnings: Mentions of blood. Please label your content!

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slammed & counted
"I feel liberated when I'm doing it, and I want other people to feel liberated through it."

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. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay.

Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. This process consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters.

With the combined efforts of the crew, the terror plaguing the ship has been successfully removed from the Moira. Yet, it doesn’t come without consequences. Aside from the overall state of those aboard the ship, the Moira itself has taken considerable damage across various sections. Overall functionality seems stable for now, but with necessary repairs to be made and few supplies to actually make them with, the Captains have set a course for any nearby planet with the hope of finding what they need. However, that is much closer than it appears. As new arrivals begin coming through the Ingress, a message is received by those in the Tower and broadcast to everyone:
Please be advised. Your vessel is now entering Restricted Space. As per penal code 65208-A, only authorized personnel are to be admitted beyond this point. If necessary, further assistance will be provided once docked.
As there is little choice, the Captains instruct Navigation to proceed with caution. All transporters will be required to assist in taking those who volunteer to the main hub.

WELCOME TO CORRECTIONAL FACILITY DEL PASCIA

Del Pascia is one of many facilities across the universe built to maintain and rehabilitate its inhabitants. With a combined populace of both prisoners and employed civilians, it functions as both prison and living quarters. The central section of Del Pascia is divided into multiple floors that branch out into subdivisions of the facility—clearly and precisely labeled. For those contracted to work in the prison, Del Pas Main is home. There are cafeterias, common areas for exercise and general downtime, divided residences, and work stations. Beyond this area, each remaining wing of Del Pascia separates into cell blocks A through F with similar facilities available to the inmates. Varying degrees of criminals are brought to Del Pascia, ranging from maximum security to juvenile offenders, and security differs depending on which block is visited.

Yet, there is something peculiar about this prison upon further investigation: there are no living persons within Del Pascia. The AI, which runs and oversees all of Del Pascia, has made arrangements with the Moira so that those who wish may board and take what is needed to begin repairs. This program, while generally polite in nature, goes simply by the name D-E-L.

☄ ENJOY YOUR STAY ... IN PRISON

Those who choose to go to Del Pascia will find themselves greeted by D-E-L. It has already agreed to terms with the Captains, allowing crew to strip nonessential supplies that aren’t needed since the station’s crew and prisoners were relocated due to funding cuts. The only condition placed upon this agreement is that any crew wishing to explore must undergo a mandatory decontamination before proceeding through the rest of Del Pascia. This process takes only minutes and is guaranteed to cause no physical side effects. Following this simple procedure, exploration is open with only warnings to be careful about damaging key systems. It is important to note that there are various security cameras located throughout the correctional facility, and it is not uncommon for D-E-L to comment or show concern for those exploring parts of Del Pascia.

☄ DEATH BECOMES YOU

There is salvage to be found in all parts of the facility, including the cell blocks and infirmaries of the prison wings. However, there is something odd about these sectors, a strange charge in the air that follows you as you search for anything useful to bring back to the Moira. Perhaps it is the eyes of D-E-L watching? But then, after an indiscernible amount of time, it's like a switch is flipped. Suddenly, you are wearing your sins where anyone but you can see. For however much death you have wrought or committed, there will be blood on your hands—perhaps even further than that. This bizarre occurrence will appear as an almost digital skin and will not vanish until outside the cell blocks. If exploring the infirmaries for supplies, any and all health stats throughout your life will be visible and easy to read by anyone who happens to take an interest.

For those who have killed once or twice, they might find a red stain on their hands, but the higher the kill count will result in larger proportions of blood covering their arms and, in extreme cases, perhaps their entire body. The blood will vanish once you have left the prison wing, though you may occasionally see a flicker of the image while anywhere on the station. The same goes for health stats viewed in infirmary sections of Del Pascia.

☄ WHAT WAS THAT SOUND?

Del Pascia is a very large station and has been abandoned for quite some time. D-E-L will regretfully inform anyone who asks that some nonessential areas have fallen into disrepair. It will warn that exploring these areas can be risky as it has no knowledge of what damage these sections have taken. Regardless of that, if you venture in, you’ll find that these sections are in rather bad shape. Exposed wiring sparks in the walls, a great variety of broken tools are thrown about, and it seems that every camera has been purposely broken. Venturing in further will yield valuable components for salvage, and yet... as before, you suspect you aren’t alone. It isn’t often, but sometimes, you might hear a step falling moments after yours or a rattle coming from the vents. Every time you go to investigate... whatever made the noise is gone.

Should the AI be queried about this, D-E-L will emphasize that all personnel and prisoners were removed and that there is no one on board except crew from the Moira.

( ooc; For questions, go here. All players, please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )

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"The ketchup is excellent." Sans explains sagely, eye sockets closed in an odd parody of serenity as he raises his own glass and downs it, viscous red sludge pouring down his spine. It's not exactly a pretty picture, something Sans seems all too aware of.

"I don't think I've ever seen you around here before." He offers after a beat, unaware that this isn't the other version of Commander Shepherd he's observed around the ship. This one already seems less buttoned up. Not to mention less unhappy to see him. Maybe a few drinks is what it took to unlock a smile in her.

"Shepherd, right?"

Shepard watches the downward decent of the ketchup with mixed fascination and disgust, with a hearty dash of amusement. Hell of a party trick.

She quirks an eyebrow at her name. Does everyone keep that close an eye on the directory? She wonders idly, giving Sans a proper once-over. There was something about him that made her feel as though she was staring into a black hole. Mysterious? Sucks you in? Drinks ketchup? She mentally shook her head, and physically nodded at Sans instead.

"That's me. Fresh out of the ingress, but if you're a regular here, I think there's a chance you might start seeing me around more often."

Left hand on the stool beside her for support, she reaches across with her right hand outstretched for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, Mr...?"

"Skeleton." Sans grins, looking remarkably cheeky for someone without cheeks. He shrugs, grin looking for all the world as if he's on the verge of laughter. "But please, Mr. Skeleton is my father."

It's a bit of a reach for someone with arms as short as his, but Sans leans hard down the bar, hand extended in greeting.

"You can call me Sans."

She shakes his hand (bones, those are definitely just bones), and relaxes back on to her own stool, taking another drink before she continues her conversation with a literal skeleton. Of a proud line, from the sounds of it.

"Nice to meet you, Sans. You been aboard the Moira a while? You sound like someone who knows all the best places for condiments."

Very proud. Possibly too proud.

"Nice to meet you too, Shep. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll ketchup." Still, there's a crease of surprise between his brow bones. "Gotta say, I'm a little confused. Haven't you been around even longer?"

She chuckles at the pun, nodding as she replies.

"It's understandable. Apparently, I'm the second me to grace this ship. My identical twin is an alternate universe version of myself — or, I am. Of her." She shrugs, surprised at how quickly she was becoming comfortable with this ludicrous fact. "She's been here for the last six months. Know her?"

"Nope." Sans grins even wider, as if he delights in being unhelpful. It's not that far from the truth, actually. "I just like to keep an eye socket out. You can learn a lot people watching in this place, y'know. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, Cap."

"I do like my people watching," she chuckles, taking another drink. "Looks more like I was caught skeleton watching tonight."

"Always preferred the talking part, though. Getting to know people, learning more, or new things, differing views. Widening my perspective is something I've never really gotten tired of."

"Yeah?" It's an interesting point of view. Sans considers himself much the same, but the truth of the matter was a little different. The monster population was decimated after the war, and it never quite recovered. Sans knew everyone that lived under Mt. Ebott, but once you met every last Icecap and Vulkin... the pool sort of dried up fast. Until someone had a baby, the population remained fairly stagnant.

"This place must be a dream come true for you, then. Intergalactic travel and new people funneling in every month from thousands of alternate realities... talk about perspective."

There's a pause as she considers it. The Moira might not be a dream, but it is a completely new experience. Sans is right, too — as inconvenient as being plucked out of her own universe may be, the opportunity to meet and talk to people from untold number of realities and different universes was somewhat of a unique experience in its own right.

"You're right there. I thought I had intergalactic travel down pat, and now here I am, travelling through someone else's back yard. Who knows? Maybe I can even lend a hand."

She swirls the ice in her cup for a moment, then nods to Sans. "What about for yourself? This place a dream, or a nightmare?"

"That's very civic minded of you."

He considers dodging her question entirely, and very nearly does, before deciding against it. Throwing the dice is fun.

"Somewhere in between."

Well, something vague is better than nothing at all.

Shepard cocks her head to the side, taking another look at her bar buddy. "Constant limbo, or days of drastic extremes? Considering what I've seen and heard, I feel like it's got to be the latter."

"There anyone you knew from back home aboard with you?"

"Oh, yeah." San answers readily, looking a bit reinvigorated at the indirect mention of his family and friends. "My little brother, Papyrus. There's Mettaton, he's kinda a celebrity back home. N' my friend Toriel and her kids."

That energy seems to fade a bit at the mention of her children.

"Most of 'em are pretty great."

"Her kids? How many kids are we talking about, here?" It wasn't something she'd previously considered, but statistically speaking, there would definitely have to be some children around aboard the Moira, wouldn't there? "Sounds like a handful."

Children weren't exactly in her wheelhouse — and from Sans' unenthusiastic reflection on them, not his, either. "Great that your brother's here, though. Is there a family resemblance?" Here, she she gestures at the skeleton's... well, frame.

Edited 2016-04-29 08:25 (UTC)

"Three. Two of 'em are real sweet, the other... well, you look like a gal who can handle herself, I'm not too worried." If she was a monster, Sans might administer a warning. Having a human body went a long way towards deterring the fervent slaps of a small child, as it happens.

"N' heh, nah, he's way taller than me. Handsomer too, but don't tell him I said that." Sans winks, conspiratorially. "You got any siblings?"

"Ha! I bet he says the same about you." Sans was the perfect kind of partner for drinking banter — easy-going, good chatter, and a sense of humor. She shifts one seat closer as she responds, for ease of conversation.

"No siblings here, unfortunately — just your average only child." She'd always kind of wanted one. Being on the move all the time made you want someone other than your parents to share it with. "Might be part of why I like meeting new people so much. Who's older? You, or Papyrus?"

"Ha! I dunno about that, but I'll take it."

The motion is welcomed, and Sans finds himself feeling pleased he came to the bar tonight. He comes to the bar most nights, of course, but at least this time he can tell himself he stayed for the banter and not the buzz.

"Well I'm older, but he's bigger, so we both got equal claim to the little brother title." The bartender on duty long since stopped bothering with pretense and left Sans the bottle -- a bottle he's not squirting into his glass to top it off. Ketchup, the drink of kings. "Don't get me on that guy though, I'll talk your ear off. I got pictures. It's a whole thing. Warnin' you now."

She laughs easily, and knocks back the rest of her drink, signalling for another. Turning to Sans, she makes a "please continue" motion.

"Hope you brought the whole photo album and slide show vids, because I'm all ears. Any brother that inspires that level of praise is clearly worth my time."

"You are diggin' yourself a real hole here, Cap." But Sans looks undeniably pleased, his halfhearted warnings aside.

Talking about himself might be like pulling teeth, but talking about his brother? Forget about floodgates, she might as well be destroying a dam. It's nearly an hour of conversation, mostly uninterrupted, discussing and sharing the finer details of his brother's greatness. His favorite foods, his hobbies, the place where his favorite foods and hobbies intersected and Sans' enduring belief that his brother will one day make a meal that's edible.

Sans doesn't realize how much times has passed until he notices his buzz is starting to wear off. He was so distracted, the thought of ordering another drink didn't occur to him. Checking his MID, the time stamp gives him immediate pause.

"... Crap. I'm supposed to be somewhere."

Edited 2016-05-07 00:17 (UTC)

For an hour she listens, laughs good-naturedly at Papyrus' dedicated efforts towards making edible food, leans forward with genuine interest at the talk of hobbies (several), and wonders what it would be like to have a sibling of her own. Besides her own Ashley Williams, Sans and Papyrus are clearly the siblings to sell it. She's about to ask after Papyrus' job, in the hopes of running into the great one himself (and perhaps, even being blessed enough to sample his "food"?) when Sans notices the time.

"Uh oh. Sorry to have kept you. Where you headed?"

Her question prompts a flush over Sans' cheekbones -- a combination of his own sheepishness and lingering effects of the booze. Skeletons, as it happens, can indeed blush. Though it probably helps when they're made mostly of magic.

"Well, you might wanna sit down, 'cuz this news is probably gonna shock you." He slides off his stool, rubbing the back of his skull. "Papyrus usually gets a bedtime story around ten. He's a little old for it, but, y'know. I like doing it n' he indulges me."

Clearing his throat (apparently skeletons could do that too), Sans extends a hand out to her.

"You're a swell gal, bud. Glad I ran into you."

If she's surprised by the inconceivable blush and sounds only a human throat should be making, she doesn't show it, despite her head buzzing with questions. It probably wouldn't do to ask — for the moment, at least. Besides, she's busy with other things — like smiling widely at this sugary-sweet display of familial relations. Truly, the poster children for brotherly love.

Shepard reaches out and grasps Sans' hand firmly, giving it a solid shake.

"It was great meeting you too, Sans. Maybe next time, you can introduce me to your brother. Until then? Make sure you read him a good one."

He winks, shaking her hand once. Best way to greet a new pal, after all.

"Next time, I'm gonna bug you for questions. Prepare yourself, buddy. As for now, I gotta head downstairs."

Holding up a finger for her to wait, he walks around the corner of the bar. He's already barely tall enough for much of him to be seen over the end of it, but that doesn't stop him from miming a descent down imaginary "stairs."

Only he never comes back up. If Shep was to check, she'd find nothing but empty space.

Well, empty space and a post it note.

for bad jokes gimme a call

After a few minutes, she crosses her arms and taps her foot dramatically. "Okay, okay. What am I waiting for?"

There's no answer. She makes her way around the corner, expecting to see Sans crouched there with... what? A funny mask? A jump scare? She's not sure, actually, but all things considered, it really wouldn't be outside the realm of possibilities.

Instead, there's nothing — but a note. Talk about outside the realm of possibilities. She scoops it up, and smiles at it bemusedly. At the very least, Sans knew how to make a hell of a first impression. With a deal of care, she folds the note up, and tucks it away safely. One never knew when they might be in need of a bad joke.

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( april intro log )

barbara-ann

Bartholomew Rex

sorry for the delay, busy weekend!

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:D