thisavrou_log | ( april event log )

Who: Everyone
When: April 14th and on
Where: The Moira + Del Pascia
What: The prison isn't all that contained after all.
Warnings: For the (sort of) undead, possible violence, and nudity. Please label your content!

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revive the risk
"Big things have small beginnings."

Things have been going relatively well for the crew of the Moira thus far despite their current circumstances. With D-E-L’s help, many supplies have already been gathered, and those with the necessary components have begun making much needed repairs. Yet, things aren’t as peaceful on Del Pascia as they might have seemed.

The resident facility AI has slowly started growing more and more unresponsive to questions, often answering in rather irritated tones and short, snippy answers. Still, no system glitches appear across the prison except for one minor detail: random doors and hallways suddenly lock and close for no reason and don’t open again for varying amounts of time—ranging from minutes to hours. Does this have anything to do with the unsettling feeling some crew members have experienced since stepping foot onto Del Pascia? Or is there a simple explanation that can be easily chalked up to as an accident?

☄ DECONTAMINATION #2 ( 04.14 - 04.17 )

On the Moira, crew come and go without much hassle. They take a transporter to planets and moons and back again without any fuss... Until today. All crew that try to reboard the Moira coming back from Del Pascia will be denied access, a warning flashing on their MID - Decontamination Required for Entry. It’s a protocol that hasn’t been enacted before, and the MID offers no explanation as to why it is now. The transporter will seal and then be permitted to dock in the Cargo Bay, where the procedure will begin. All crew on the transporter have to dispose of their clothing by placing it inside hazardous waste bags located in a compartment near the front of the craft. After all clothing is stored, a gas-like substance will fill the transporter, breathable yet tasteless, and once it dissipates, crew will be free to go.

Other crew members will be waiting in the cargo bay with clothing and blankets, per the captain’s instruction, but no clear explanation will be given for this sudden new protocol aside from “potential health risks”.

☄ D.ON'T E.VER L.EAVE ( 04.18 - 04.23 )

After the decontamination procedures for the Moira go off, the captains issue a ship-wide alert to let the crew know that the ship is picking up on something inside each person that boarded the space station. It is speculated that the crew came in contact with an unknown biological contaminant either during the station’s decontamination procedure or sometime after. At this point, they aren’t aware of what will happen to those that are carrying the contaminant, and the captains ask for anybody with experience to head to the Medbay to begin testing. Crew don’t appear to be in any danger, so they are allowed to continue gathering materials and supplies on board the space station at their discretion. (Every time they come and go, they will be made to go through the procedure described above).

Any crew remaining on Del Pascia will find that D-E-L is more vocal than ever before. It is answering questions, as well as trying to convince crew members to abandon the Moira and take up permanent residence aboard the space station.

☄ FEAR ME, LOVE ME, DO AS I SAY ( 04.24 - 04.28 )

Like most unfortunate things, it seems everything happens all at once.The noises you heard, a step falling moments after yours or a rattle coming from the vents, become louder. You can’t place where they are coming from at first. You turn, you follow, but the search yields no results. And then, without any warning, it’s crystal clear as “they” begin to creep and move from within the shadows and ruined sections of Del Pascia: the prisoners and workers said to have been relocated by D-E-L. Their voice is one, regardless of how many gather, and they tell you, “You can be happy here” and “I can make you better” shortly after.

Worse than the way they speak in unison is the way they look. Mutated and deformed, their prison uniforms are in tatters and covered in various levels of the same blood that the crew has experienced during their time on Del Pascia while visiting the prison blocks. They don’t attack to kill; they only try to detain, to drag crew members further into the station and are methodical and precise in how they do this as if they’re being controlled by something greater and much smarter than them.

To those that fight, D-E-L’s voice will call out, telling the Moiran not to struggle, to stay here and be safe, be better. The AI explains that life there on Del Pascia is easy, peaceful, and nobody will cause you pain. Suffering is a thing of the past and loneliness is something you’ll never know again. The prisoners follow the command of the AI, its voice falling from their lips. D-E-L claims they feel no pain, no hunger. They are united in one purpose and are therefore free of all strife. Wouldn’t it be nice to be free like that?

As always, fearing for the safety of the crew (and despite the disrepair of the Moira from events prior), the captains ask for all those capable to assist with extracting those aboard Del Pascia as quickly as possible before D-E-L tries to lock them inside. Running, after all, is better than dying, and it’s certainly something everyone aboard the Moira has gotten quite good at.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A lot of the old damage was from back on the Neheda. She didn't wear the suit enough anymore to want to waste materials fixing the arm or the cosmetic damage. With the new tears right through the undersuit... She wasn't sure if it was worth saving now.

"No - Niko, you need to sit down. I didn't realise you'd-- Somebody else can help with..." She stared at him, aghast, as she took the helmet and neck of the suit, cabling and fabric and all. Her motions are a lot faster than they were the very first time.

"Did you go over there on your own?" she asked, urgent but barely loud enough to be heard.

"I met up with people when I got over there. I had to fight them off someone."

And then, miserably, he added. "I don't want to sit. It feels sticky and I don't like to get up from it."

Here he was, obviously in pain, but didn't want the stickybutt feeling of planting his bare ass in a seat.

The entire head portion of her suit went into the sack, then as she started to undo the front bit by bit, straps and cables she was largely used to undoing by now. The tendrils of dark Ploiatos scarring from throat to right shoulder hadn't abated any since she'd first got them.

Her gaze had caught irresistibly on a bandage soaked through in red, but his response made her head jerk up and look at him searchingly as if wondering if he was joking. But of course he wasn't, and in a moment her mouth quirked in a sort of fond, frustrated amusement.

"You need to take care of yourself when you're taking care of other people." Her lips pressed together, aghast, and oblivious to the fact that as she loosened the suit, tears in the material sagged slightly open to reveal cuts, albeit shallower ones.

"They will fix me when I get back." At least he'd asked. He didn't want to die getting brainwashed into a gestalt. Not on his top ten list of ways to go.

(It was mostly sad that he actually had a top ten list.)

"I loosened you up." He told her, nodding in a way that he stuck out his chin a little.

"Thanks," she murmured, stepping away from him so she could quickly undo the suit, sliding it off her hips and making quick work of stripping the rest of it off, throwing it into the sack.

The extra work gave her time to think - meant she didn't have to immediately say anything. It wasn't until she was standing there, naked and arms wrapped around herself for warmth, that she found anything to say at all. There were a few cuts along her own body too - where clawing hands and attempts at restraint had torn through her suit and even the skin underneath, though not deep. The suit had protected her from that much. Various bruises were darkening her skin, and the Ploiatos scarring stood out as stark as ever.

"Take it from me..." she said slowly, looking him in the eye. "You don't want to take your health for granted. I spent my whole life wanting what you've got."

Not that she meant to guilt trip him, but just because he was somebody who could withstand being half ripped to shreds, didn't mean he should have to.

He does feel bad about it, the way she says it. And he's known how hard it's been for her. Not much can be done to hide it right now, or he'd try. "I told Med Bay as soon as it happened. They will be ready for me." He promised.

But what he didn't say out loud was that this was all he had. He wasn't smart like her, wasn't kind in the long run, or super-powered like other people. Green team had taught him one lesson he couldn't shake. This was him. His most valuable asset was just to survive.

"Don't worry about me. I'm taking care of it."

"I am worried," she retorts, so quickly she surprises herself. Maybe this has been coming for a while now - scared of the idea that he doesn't care about himself, that nothing she can do is ever going to make that change. Maybe she's just worried about everything these days and taking it out on him. Maybe if she wants to tell her boyfriend off she can think about doing it when they're not naked in public. So many maybes.

"Somebody has to be, if you won't."

He kept frowning, but didn't argue. Couldn't argue, either way. Because he didn't worry about himself. Not really.

So he found some other part of the room to stare at.

"I think I saw someone in a towel." That was what eventually chose, of all things. "I think I will go get one." And that bit, practically muttered. Because all he could think of giving was a sorry. Somehow he knew that wasn't enough, though.

For a split-second, instinct kicked in and she opened her mouth to say she'd go and get it and he wasn't to move. Then the realisation hit - that was him walking off. A look of something between anger and a strange sort of fear swept over her face, and then,

"Yeah," she muttered, voice impassive even if her face wasn't. "Sure."

As he moved away and she went to sit down, not giving a damn about sticking to anything, she couldn't stop herself from throwing out after him, "You're going to get yourself killed."

But it wasn't that loud. If he wanted to pretend he didn't hear her, he could.

She sat down against the wall, nausea roiling in her gut and sour in her throat.

He obviously heard her, because he stopped when she said it. And it was loud enough to be a little embarrassing. Even if just loud enough for him to be able to barely hear it clearly.

This wasn't anything he wanted to talk about here, though. Not in this place. So he hobbled off for that towel, limping a little as he went.

Other than that stupid sound apology he had to harbor for now, explanations he knew wouldn't truly explain anything, he couldn't think of anything to say.

( april event log )

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