thisavrou_log | ( june event log )

Entry tags:

( june event log )

Who: Everyone
When: June 20th and on
Where: The Moira
What: Something seems to be internally wrong with the ship! Caducus Secondary seeks retribution for its sister Caducus Primary!
Warnings: None for now. Please label your content!

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doors to windows
"Follow, and the universe will open where there was once walls."

With the Collectives now behind them, the atmosphere of the Moira seems to have subsided into the general daily grind of ship living. Shifts pass, meals are served, and the occasional tiff continues to hum in the background. However, whether new or veteran, today is not like any other day the crew have seen or experienced so far. The thrum of the ship is a normal one. Those aboard feel it, know it. In fact, whether you realize it or not, the pulse of the engine, its wings, and that of the Ingress is a constant, consistent buzz in the back of your mind and under your feet. Even during planet excursions, it’s almost like a pull to draw you back to the ship and ground you to the present moment. It’s familiar.

It’s late, in the early hours of twilight, that everything begins to feel off. The Moira suddenly begins to drift, tipping gently to one side and resulting in everything on board beginning to roll and tip over. So those in their beds may abruptly find themselves thrown onto the floor. Those walking from a shift back to their rooms or elsewhere on the ship will likely be thrown against a wall. The movement is drastic, but the ship’s systems realign the Moira within several minutes of the event. Anyone near the Ingress room will hear the Captains arguing with one another, and those that go closer will see that Captain Manessah is standing in the middle of a non-functioning Ingress.

It’s off, with no swirling light, and they can’t seem to get it to come back on. It’s clear to anyone that comes by that the Captains are worried, bordering on frightened by the fact that it doesn’t seem to want to restart itself—if that was even a possibility of the Ingress at all. They begin to disagree with each other on the best way to fix it, their spoken language changing to something that the MID can’t translate. Captain Thán exits the room in a rush, not stopping to speak to anyone, and the other two continue to try and find a solution to this problem. Not long after, they send out a ship-wide message informing crew that they are relieved of their duties for the rest of the week except for basic cleaning and cooking. Any personnel with experience in technology and matters relating to the Ingress are asked to come to the Ingress room.

☄ Turn It Off, Turn It On

Anyone who comes to the Ingress room will be asked to clean, repair, and examine the Ingress. The Captains don’t say why it’s urgent that it be fixed, but it’s obvious that they want it to be done immediately. Crew members can assist one another in taking the coolant systems apart to maintenance them or to suggest ways to fix the machine. After a few hours of steady work, that familiar thrum will be felt under everyone’s feet and the Ingress machine will power back on. However, both the Captains and the crew will notice one startlingly obvious difference: the moving blue light and energy has darkened around the edges. There appears to be a person standing just on either side but can’t come through. The shadow remains there no matter what anyone does, and the colors flicker and alter depending upon which crew member is the closest.

And like most things, they always come in pairs. Later that evening, a broadcast is received via Navigation that’s translated across the entirety of the Moira, both over an intercom and over the MID. While it is received as a text, a nondescript voice announces it promptly:

Greetings. We are sending this as a formality on behalf of our sister, Caducus Primary and its survivors. In accordance with our beliefs, the travesty that has occurred in the past must be made equal. That equality means lives given for those taken. While terms are unlikely to be made and agreed upon, they will be heard. A decision to flee will be seen as an act of guilt and cowardice. This is the only warning that will be made. You will be given time to prepare for our approach, People of the Vessel Moira.

With this message received, Navigation also informs the Captains, who then relay to the crew, that a ship bound from Caducus Secondary are within range and have made it clear they are here to settle a “debt” by attacking. Members of the crew are being divided into randomly assigned teams - which can be found temporarily listed in the MID under the directory - and encouraged to discuss plans to help prevent and preserve the lives of those aboard. Reporting these ideas will be the responsibility of elected team leaders, and a final decision will be made shortly thereafter by the Captains.

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[ Tony is seized by a feeling of foreboding, like there's a harrowing future of dry back-and-forths ahead of him. Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have let these two meet. ]

Who, me? No, no, pretend I'm not even here. I'd hate to intrude on something so beautiful.

[ Still, JARVIS has fallen silent, apparently recognizing the smarmy request for what it really was. That's why they get along. ]

..Good point. Well, not anymore since I started working there.

I've hacked into the NSA satellites. That was a fun one, never had to do that before.

[With a sigh, Daisy shifted on the bed and held her good hand out.]

So I can I help?

[He grimaces and shakes his head.]

If I were lucky, I'd gave gotten her away from the shithead who dropped it in time and not watched her nearly bleed out in my arms.

[Fuck Harry Flynn forever. And to think he'd considered the guy a friend.]

I figured she survived that, she didn't have anything else to worry about.

Just because you aren't a peaceful man, doesn't mean you can't try for peace anyway. Just the attempt is worth something. I used to know this guy named Johnny D. Real nasty sort, got in with the wrong crowd as a kid, grew up to be a total asshole, the kind of guy who'd beat someone up with a baseball bat for a couple of caps, or just 'cause he didn't like the look of the other guy's face. He was the kind of guy that everyone said would come to a bad end and good riddance to him. Maybe a gang war would do him in, or a merc, or he'd pick a fight with the wrong person and get axed. Like, literally. Hit in the face with an axe.

But by the time I knew him, he'd turned himself around, got himself a wife, a couple of kids, learned a trade. He tried to be an ordinary, decent guy. But as much as he hated violence and hated what he'd been and what he'd done, there was still a fragmine of rage in there that the wrong step could set off. Some raiders attacked, killed his wife and kids, and he just completely lost it. Totally slaughtered all the raiders, didn't even remember doing it. After that he felt hollow. Killing them didn't bring his family back, didn't even make him feel like justice was served. Just, nothing.

So he headed west to join the Followers of the Apocalypse--they're humanitarians, doctors, teachers, that kind of stuff. He still wanted to try to do good, to make up for the bad he'd done. That fragmine was still there, and if someone tried to hurt people important to him, it could explode, but he still valued peace most of all, still made the choice to chase after it.

...I think he died somewhere in Utah, ambushed by tribals. Which totally fucks up my story, so let's just pretend that he arrived safely in the New California Republic and became a doctor or something, and saved lots of lives.

[Half of it's bullshit...but half of it's not.]

[She just barely avoids laughing as he eats one of the crackers, and covers her mouth up with her hand as she settles down to eat. Her smile covers up the fact that she's aching over the choices that have to be made in this, that she'll feel partially responsible of this ends in violence and what's left of an entire world is eliminated.]

Some people aren't meant for traveling planet to planet. After hearing this about our captains, I'm not sure they have the right to be leading the rest of us.

[Her smile fades then, and she's left looking tired and a little upset.}

I think they see all of us as monsters. And more than anything, I don't want us to have to act like what they think we are. We can't attack them, we have to hope that words will be enough. I've saved too many planets from extinction to take part in wiping out the last remaining refugees from a planet the people here destroyed. And do you know what? A part of me feels that those that are responsible for what happened deserve to be punished some way. They have to help make things better for those people, have to be the ones to show that they have regret and want to make it better. But no one can make it better, and we've all been lumped in together in this, and none of it is fair. It's why I'm grateful you want to help, that you were there and want to speak with them.

[She bites at her lip as she realizes she's gotten worked up and is close to the verge of tears. She really needs to stop letting her mouth run away from her.]

[There's a lot of talking going on in the offense meeting. A lot of talking. Put sixty odd people in one room, even with someone oozing natural leadership at the helm, and things were gonna get pretty noisy.

So Sans, as he's wont to do, decided to take a break.

Which is how he found himself here, leaning casually near the negotiations meeting place (eavesdropping? him? nah) while he chewed on a stale donut. It was spaghetti filled. His brother is a treasure, really.]

[It's obvious, that passion that's building up in her as she speaks. That it hurts. That she wants to do more but she's on a ship of soldiers and warriors and their first inclination is to fight. Almost naively he offers her a peanut butter cracker that was going to contribute to a ceiling, a man over thirty sometimes prone to acting like a kid.]

They probably do. And the truth is, you may have saved some? But this is the second world I have contributed to the death of. Whether being forced to or by accident.

I don't want that to happen again. And I know for certain the captains do not want that to happen again. For all that this is a shitty decision too.

I wonder if I could be allowed to talk to Benjamin Link as well. He could have some powerful friends out here.

[She smiles sadly as she takes the cracker and eats it, quietly chewing as a tear falls. Annoyed with it, she reaches up to quickly wipe it away.]

I'm not sure who that is.

[It's a soft admission, said with some cracker and peanut butter still in her mouth.]

And have you prepared yourself for what might happen if the group doesn't vote to talk things out with these people?

[She's prepared to put her foot down if need be, but she wants to do this leader thing as diplomatic as possible.]

Then I protect the Cargo Bay and that's it. But I'm not considering helping them a possibility. If I do that, then I've already given up.

They don't even know what this means. To them, they're just being threatened. But these people are endangered. Do we really want the children on this ship to see us attack them with no effort to see them as actual people? Do we want to keep with a trend of destroying everything we touch, with no room to salvage good relations?

[But maybe he's thinking of the bullshit politics at home again.]

See if you can get me in there first. That's what I ask. Let me try.

I don't want the children on the ship involved in this at all.

[Her voice almost goes shrill at the thought of it, but knows that her protests about keeping the kids uninvolved will go ignored. The children here either don't want to be protected or are expected to be the same as the adults, and it drives her completely mad.]

Even if we have to go against what everyone else is doing, we'll try. I can't kill these people, not when our crew is at fault for their pain and suffering. We need to find a way to help them move on. If that's even possible.

I want to prove to them that attacking us will damage their fair laws even more. If balance is important to them, this is a hundred worlds we represent...

They should at least understand that.

[He still feels guilty that all of his appeals to the Cadacus Primary rep had fallen on deaf ears. And he'd honestly come so close to convincing them.]

[Her fingers move against the table before fidgeting together, thinking over all of that. She's becoming increasingly anxious about how all of this is going to turn out, no matter how well she can fake confidence for her team.]

We have to figure out a way to make them understand. Everyone listens, if you find the right words. You're the ship's diplomat. I trust that you'll do everything you can to limit the lives lost.

[She reaches across the table to pat at his hand. Carefully, so the cracker mansion doesn't wind up crushed.]

[The heavy lifting gets a long, interested look, but the comment about rats is what prompts a hint of a double-take. Please, no more mutated rats. Once they come to mind, he can vividly recollect the feeling of the claws in his leg.]

I certainly hope it isn't rats. It would be hard to get rid of normal ones, but god only knows what they have out here.

[He lifts his MID; makes sure the interior of the area he's working on is captured for his reference before he does anything further. As he peers at it all, he adds,]

The wings?

[He shakes his head slowly, looking into the machine's interior. What's even wrong with this thing?]

Not usually anything like this, but it's the same as you... some experience building stuff and programming. What sort of things have you built?

[Given Clara's propensity for being everywhere, he wonders why the Captains haven't given her the sort of job he has: she would be good at it. It's possible that they have and that the other work is a cover, but they haven't given him a cover... he simply claims to be a cleaner.

He's out and about, trying to find out what's going on, when she runs into him, and she seems to have something she wants to say. Either she knows something or she hopes he does.]

Catch your breath. I'll wait. Then tell me where you're coming from.

[The total shift in gravity and position catches him off-guard, and the next thing he knows, he's slamming into... snow. The landing is soft, but the wind is knocked out of him. He turns his head to look at the other person in the corridor.

Ah, this girl. She had briefly turned the eighth floor of the Tranquility into an arctic wasteland a few months before he'd been pulled from that ship to this one, and she'd posted to the network apologizing for it, rather tearfully. Other than that, he'd never interacted with her, but her presence had seemed... what? Gentle?

He looks at her when she asks after him. She has very light hair, blue eyes, pale skin... not tiny, but not physically imposing, either.]

I'm all right.

[He doesn't move to stand, but pulls his brows together in a slight frown, interested rather than disapproving.]

The snow... how did that happen?

[In Rinzler's case, footsteps is probably a misnomer. The light, quick impacts Clara hears come with a blur of red-orange on black, coiled limbs releasing in a backwards flip as the ship rolls back to level. The movement takes Rinzler off an easy perch on the (previously-horizontal) wall, one hand planting on the floor before he folds into a crouch. It's rapid, graceful, and definitely more showy than it has to be.

Fun with gravity apparently over, the program stands, black mask angling down curiously toward the source of the complaint. Another noise is audible as the chaos settles: a quiet ticking rumble echoing through the hallway. Rinzler reaches for his MID and a holographic textbox pops up to his side, characters scrolling out in a quick burst.]

System Administrator Manasseh.

Don't see why they would chew up wires, instead of going to the kitchen. [it's probably not rats, but machines shouldn't just suddenly break. Not that they didn't, but they shouldn't.]

Uh, the sails? Whatever they're called. I float out in space and pluck rocks out of them.[you can assume that means very large rocks, considering the ease of which he can peel apart metal]

[If Sans was hoping for less noise at the negotiations’ meeting, he’s not going to get it. In fact, the noise in the room has long since escalated from talking to shouting and Zam seems to be behind this latest uproar.]

He’s one person! One person who’s already shown himself more than willing to give himself up and you’re willing to sacrifice how many people to protect him? [Zam's expression is twisted in open scorn and disbelief as the debate continues and one gets the impression that control over her own complexion is the only thing keeping the red out of her face right now.]

No, you know what? Kark all of you -- if the Caducans decide they want him, I’ll bring him to them myself! [With that Zam storms out of the room and into the hallway, slamming the door against the flurry of shouts that follows her. She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice the much shorter Sans until she walks right into him. She stumbles back a step and then turns her glare down at him.]

What are you doing here?

[ Yeah, that was pretty much what he'd figured. There was a harsh exhale but otherwise, Wash left it at that. He was a little reluctant as Adrien approached to offer help, entirely tempted to argue that he could make it himself, but considering he'd been hugging the wall the entire way here... Ugh. Regardless of how much he didn't want to, he took the offered support. The sooner he got everything looked at, the sooner he could leave. ]

That's it. Anything else is minor. [ He was sure there would be bruising right across his torso and maybe some on his back, but those were hardly problematic. ]

I'm pretty sure there's a broken rib. Heard a really nice crack. [ And, you know, he hasn't been able to stand fully upright since hearing said crack with the pain, and all. ]

[Shep is busy.

There was the fish tank (no losses, only a mess), then the announcement, then the news that she was expected to be the leader for the offensive planning — and planning is already underway.

She's poring over old broadcasts, updates, information, everything she can find, and sketching out thoughts on a datapad in front of her, occasionally running scenarios into her own omni-tool. When the ping comes through, she initially mistakes it for her coffeepot's "finished" noise, and blinks in confusion at the empty pot, before slapping her forehead lightly, and pulling up the MID display to read over the message.

Was that air quotes around her name?

This should be good. Settling in, she reflects the MID's keyboard to haptic hologram, and types up a private reply.]

"Commander Shepard" reporting. Anything in particular you'd like to talk about?

[The dog emits a small whine and bows his head as if to be truly hurt by these allegations of chewing! He simply wanted snacks. Is that so wrong.

He drops to lie down on his stomach and looks at her expectantly with a little bark.

She must have snacks right?]

They always say I was my mother's prettiest daughter but not her smartest. Especially not at age 5. And I'm glad we're getting to the part where you just start to expect madness from my direction. Believe me, it saves you time.

[She gives a cheerful shrug and skips over to Kitty and Tony. Aww what a pair. The dog barks happily and goes to stand over next to her.]

I haven't sent him on errands before but are you sure you need more? Maybe the coffee bar tender needs to cut you off.

[He takes her hand and gives it a good squeeze, before letting her have it back.]

I'm nothing if not stubborn. A lot of people disregard what I have to say, so I have learned to pick my battles.

You ever hear of the Yugoslav Wars?

If I knew I would have a solution for you, Bellic!

[She'll be giving an answer anyway just because she's not having the best time. Still. Gaby is grateful that Niko is the type of person to look out for his fellow coworkers - she clasps proffered arm.]

Someone at the wheel must have had a little too much to drink.

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( june event log )

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closed to zam

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[ingress]

[hallways]

Hallway

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TEAM OFFENSE HEYYYOOOO

dog dog dog

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