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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"Uh huh," he drawls in response to the - very conspicuous - stomach rumble. Now Bruce is just being petulant. That's Tony's job, so he should really back off.

"Whatever's in the mess hall. Which is the same thing every day, pretty much, so I'm sure you know your options."

Errand running really isn't Tony's style, so Bruce should appreciate this moment, this once-in-a-lifetime honor.

Um excuse you, he can have whatever job he wants, Tony doesn't get to call dibs. So yeah, he's going to be a petulant little shit as much as he likes, welcome to the greatest friendship you'll ever have.

Bruce hums a little like he's pondering, while at the same time not really knowing what to choose. Like when having too many options and not feeling like any of them.

"I miss shawarma."

"Yeah, join the club. We could always put in a request for the joy of having it ignored." Space doesn't exactly lend itself to food variety, for obvious reasons. Or luxury of any kind, really.

"Otherwise, you're probably getting a droopy space salad."

Tony's eyes drift momentarily toward his discarded laptop screen, JARVIS flashing some notice or other without verbally interrupting their conversation. A request Tony had made before Bruce awakened, maybe. He spares it a few keystroke's worth of attention, and it's probably his distraction that lets the offhand comment slip out.

"Wonder if those folks in midtown ever got their joint fixed up..."

It sure had been missing a wall when the Avengers last patronized it.

"I'm pretty sure we've got some functional replicators on board. So if we can manage to fully replicate the molecular structure of shawarma..."

A shrug. You know, because that's what you use science for, to make junk food, why not. Anyway, not that they can complain much about the food served on board, in fact out of all the things that's among the ones he minds the least.

"They did, actually," Bruce cocks his head, taking him a moment to realize that at his point, Tony might not even be aware of it. "You paid for the damage. Well, your company."

"Huh." That's all he offers in response to the last bit, because yeah, that makes sense. He'd been vaguely considering the establishment of a foundation for such things, which is possibly a little morbid. Are the Avengers going to wreck so much shit that a relief foundation is necessary for Avengers-related altercations?

Then he remembers what Bruce has told him about Johannesburg. Right... yeah. Welp.

"So, I take it you're volunteering to science the shit out of some middle eastern cuisine? Once you're out of time out, that is."

There's a pause.

"Unless you wanna get started on that right now, 'cause I'm starving." He'll bring you equipment and everything, Bruce. Redeem yourself. Make them some real food.

Welp indeed. Tony knows his own track record anyway, now imagine that multiplied by five, and add to it a Hulk. There's your math. Of course a relief foundation is a necessary thing.

"You know, normally I'd take that as a joke and move on, but right now? I'm just bored enough that I wouldn't mind doing that." The replicators need some more Earth cuisine added anyway, and though Bruce is far from a chef, he is a nuclear physicist. He can definitely do this and have it come out tasting as if they were in a five-star restaurant. Probably.

"But you might want to get yourself something to eat in the meantime. It'll take me a while to get it done."

"I'll eat when I feel like it," he says in direct opposition to the 'I'm starving' he just slung out. So a bargaining chip more than the honest truth, maybe. Or else he just really can't be assed with self-care beyond coffee right now. In his defense, there's a lot to do in the face of an enemy ship that really wants them all dead.

"But y'know, actually, it would feel a little like slave labor to have you tinker away in a cage. I could get you a book instead."

(Except he's lowkey hoping - assuming - Bruce is gonna go the science route anyway. He wants some real goddamn food, whenever he does get around to remembering humans need food to live.)

"You were the one who said you were starving," he counters almost in the same breath as Tony, like a really fast ping pong shot. Honestly he doesn't even know if Tony really is hungry or not, or if he's just being a jerk about it for the hell of it, but Bruce can be a jerk right back.

And you do kind of need to eat even in the face of an imminent attack. If Tony has to fight —if, because Bruce is still hoping that won't be the case—, he'll need strength to do so. Unless his plan is to swoon right into the Caducans' arms.

"Pretty sure it's not slave labor if I want to do it." So long as he can have his cake and eat it. Well, shawarma, in this case. "I need a distraction anyway."

"No I didn't," he shoots right back, being deliberately twelve at this point. They're not being recorded. Bruce can't prove shit, and being petulant is the best, most benign possible outcome when Tony still just wants to rip into him for being such a hard-headed moron.

But anger aside, the idea of Bruce at least busying himself while he's locked up is comforting. Makes it feel a little less like they've relegated him to some kind of fucked up prison sentence where all he can do is stare out the bars and ponder his choices.

... Though that last thing is admittedly a little appealing. The making him ponder his goddamn choices bit.

"I'll get you the stuff. And that droopy salad, which should serve as extra motivation to achieve scientific breakthrough."

Bruce stares at Tony with slightly widened eyes, an expression that practically screams 'are you fucking kidding me', but immediately after he follows it by rolling said eyes and sighing out a groan. Whatever, it's Tony. Like he should expect anything other than him acting like a petulant kid just because.

And he's already pondering his choices, he doesn't need a cage for that. What he does need a cage for is to make sure he won't pick the same choice anyway, or something along the lines of throwing himself out of an airlock. Not that he would but... It should be a real concern for those trying to stop him from making himself out to be a martyr.

"I do like droopy salads, so thank you." His thanks aren't genuine, for the record. "Too bad there's no currency here, I could open up a shawarma shop and make a fortune."

"Don't let lack of currency stop you," says the opportunistic billionaire entrepreneur, naturally. "Think about it: good old fashioned barter system? You could collect favors from half the people on this ship. You'd never have to do laundry again if you didn't want to."

Not that Tony thinks Bruce would actually go through with it, but if it were him, he sure as hell would. He's not exactly interested in playing with the replicators, though, even if he has a million and one suggestions for whoever does take on that burden. There are too many other way-too-interesting things in this place. If only he'd known a month ago that a space age food replicator would fall under the umbrella of "boring", along with iPhones and modern art.

"Anyway, I'll be back. Don't go anywhere."

He thinks he's fucking hilarious.

"I could've been collecting plenty of favors all this time if I wanted to." Considering how much he's helped so many people on board, he could easily not ever do any of his mess hall duties, for instance. But Bruce isn't the kind to hold that sort of thing over other people's heads, unless an agreement had been set up from the start.

As it is, he'll gladly incorporate new things into the replicators and everyone's free to make use of them. Also Tony, the replicators can give you just about anything. Not just food. Think about it.

"Right," he nearly lets out a laugh at that. Not because Tony's hilarious. "Well, since you insist."

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