thisavrou_log | ( august intro log )

Entry tags:

( august intro log )

Who: Everyone
When: August 1st and on
Where: The Moira
What: New “guests” join the crew on their journey and implement some changes.
Warnings: None for now. Please label your content!

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old but unfamiliar faces
"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once."

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. Any questions you might have would be answered in a straightforward manner as well as an explanation about how the Ingress, the thing that has pulled you onto the Moira, is broken and bringing people here unintentionally. This process also 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 or wrist with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters.

At first, this month seems no more unusual than the previous one for those who have been aboard the Moira for any amount of time. The crew who had landed on the slaver outpost were rescued, and with everyone aboard, the ship has pushed forward into the darker parts of the Runoff. Anyone arriving through the Ingress follows the same routine—moving from the Ingress room into the Medbay for their physical and contract before being assisted by seasoned crew members and helped to their assigned decks. But all familiar things must eventually come to an end: two final travelers come through the Ingress. The first, and most noticeable difference between them and all the others, is their clothing. Both are dressed in standard Moira uniforms, though they bear the insignia of one sharing the same rank as Captains Cúrre and Thán. After a moment to take in all the people on the platform ahead of them, one of the two latest arrivals approaches one of the Ingress panels and begins to manipulate the controls. The Ingress completely shuts down. Unlike before, however, there isn’t an imbalance felt across the ship; everything remains normal and stable.

Utilizing the computer systems located in the Ingress room, they send out the following message to the crew via the MID:
To all those aboard this vessel: I am Ira Phirun, assigned captain of the Moira. First Mate Egan and I will be commandeering all rights to the ship as soon as word is sent to those currently in charge. Expect a more detailed report as soon as all records and logs in Navigation have been reviewed by myself and the First Mate. All questions will be answered in a timely matter. For now, there will be no interruption of daily routine or reprimand if conduct among ranks is broken. Thanks for your time.

Heading to Navigation, the Captain and First Mate, for seemingly unknown reasons, approach Navigator Manasseh and have her show them all records and logs of the Moira. Those working in Navigation when the Captain and First Mate arrive will see Mana greet them in a professional manner. Oddly, the Captain and First Mate act very familiar with the Navigator. They review all documents, but when they come upon news that the Ploiatos is on board, their mostly friendly demeanor shifts quickly. The Captain issues a sharp order, unintelligible to those who are close enough to overhear parts of their conversation, and without any warning at all, Mana loses consciousness and collapses right there on the bridge. Within minutes of this happening, the ship as a whole falls into a low power state with basic functions only. Mana’s MID alerts Medbay, and without hesitation, Captain Cúrre places her in cryo with strict orders to those who work there not to disturb the unit.

As promised, the Captain and First Mate soon address the crew.

☄ lights down low

The lighting has dimmed in all the rooms and halls, the normally crisp air that is pumped from the vents low, and all machines and tech are running at half-speed. These effects can be found throughout the ship. Water in the showers remain hot for only a few minutes before reverting to cold. Recreational equipment powers off not long after it has been turned on. The sanitation and water filtration systems require an hourly manual reboot, and all unused areas of the ship have no power allotted to them until a crew member steps inside. Even then, most functions are not optimal. It’s as if the Moira has been transformed into a dark house with only a candle flickering on the window sill.

☄ reuse & recycle

The Captain and First Mate are quick to establish that this is a new regime and go about making the ship and its crew more efficient in the wake of their change in course and the low power state of the ship itself. This means they will systematically inspect each occupied barracks room and leave notes for what needs to be disposed of or stowed away. Unlike before, this is no longer a pleasure cruise, and each member of the crew is a guest on board; they will not tolerate useless clutter. Anything seen as unnecessary will be either placed into storage in the Cargo Bay or disposed of through the airlock. This new need for efficiency also extends to the need to conserve resources until they reach their destination. The showers are set to an automatic timer to minimize water waste. Those few minutes of hot water are all a crew member is now given. Meals are smaller, bordering on ration sizes, and luxuries are done away with entirely in order to preserve supplies so that the ship can go longer before needing to dock at a planet.

☄ new jobs, same faces

The Captain and his First Mate, as expressed in their addressing of the Moira, explain that work efficiency is a priority. Applications for a head of the following departments will be accepted for a short period: Navigation, the Tower, Medbay, Defense, the Hold, Sanitation, Ingress work, and the Galley/Mess Hall. (Here.) After reviewing what they receive, one head of department will be chosen and tasked with helping crew find positions relevant to those departments and their own skillsets. They will be allowed to retain any positions that they held before that aren’t ship-functional jobs, but they will have to be done in leisure time. In two weeks time, they’ll be accepting department position applications which will be approved, and all those that do not apply will be assigned in accordance with their initial work application. They will also choose three individuals to act as guards of Ploiatos to ensure that there is a rotation available at all times. Will you choose to follow this new decision and promote yourself into a position of responsibility? Or will you simply wait for a reassignment?

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

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The more things change... [ He scrubs a hand through his tousled hair, suddenly feeling a little guilty for bringing up what can't be an easy topic for Thane. For all that he doesn't appear to be offended. ]

Don't mind me, it's, uh- well, it's kind of my job to imagine the worst. I'm sure you have a lot of good people taking the fight where it belongs.

Not even to spare the equipment. [ He's teasing her, for all that that's actually pretty impressive. He'd been wondering if they were really some brand of fashionable rocket boots or something like that, but then even if they are she'd have plenty of good reasons not to explain that a stranger. He'd come loaded with enough of his own secrets. ]

I'd worry that it would limit my mobility but it didn't seem to be holding you back.

Is it? I would've never thought to ask such things.

[And of course, Q is just happy with all of this attention. Good dog, lighting up all bright and happy.]

He's terrible at math. I hope you've improved over the years.

[ Wow, is that ever heavier than he anticipated. Wash grunts as he lifts the machine up, pulling it toward his chest. After making sure he has his balance, no time is wasted; right away, he's turning toward the door in order to make his way to the captains with the computer. ]

What? I don't know. Do you want me to say 'be yourself'?

[ The frown that settles across his face is somewhat confused. Tips for talking to the captains? There shouldn't really be any necessary. It's basically just an orientation before they let him have free reign of the ship like everyone else. ]

It's not a test.

[Operative is an interesting word for it, suggesting many things they're both likely more used to than this ship: espionage, "negotiations," mediating. (Alright, so they're things Anakin is also largely useless at, but there's a reason why this isn't his job). It sounds vaguely similar to what he remembers from the last time she was here, something about anticipating people's needs and once again trying to be the voice of reason in a situation that hadn't ever played by logic's rules.

He nods, wholly unsurprised (especially in that this feels far too small for her...that all of these positions feel small, period), but still, he can't quite quell the curiosity:] What kind of "counseling"?

"Still sounds like murder to me," Ratchet says, settling in comfortably and not looking back up at Starscream. "Can't help you."

Edited 2016-08-21 22:49 (UTC)

Someone oughta remind him from time to time.

[ He rubs his throat. ]

Victim of an old grudge, eh? Heard that tale before. Sounds like it was interestin', in any case.

[ A pause, because they've been talking a while now, and he's forgotten his manners. ]

The name's McCree, by the way.

Naw, not the one I had before comin' here. Bounty huntin' usually just means 'come as you are'. So long as that includes a gun, 'a course.

[ He grins, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. ]

I make a point of it, in fact.

[ He chuckles--a smoky, robust sound, right from the gut. ]

Ain't no hero. Things just aren't right in my world, and somebody's got to pick up the slack.

[ He tips his hat. ]

But til I can get back to it, I don't mind helping out fine folks like you.

[ His biceps are bigger, too. His good arm in general is thick with corded muscle, much like the rest of him; his body takes its licks from liquor and cigars, but other aspects of his hard living keep him fit, make him tough. Warmth, both figurative and actual, radiates from him. He's a cowboy now, through and through: simple, sentimental, and cocksure.

(Well, maybe not so simple. But the last two for sure.)

He chuckles at her declaration of protection. He'd insist on it being the other way around--his old-fashioned sense of courtesy pushes him to do so--but his modern sense of their actual relationship stops him. It's a mutual thing. ]

I've got your back, too, doc. Whenever you need it.

[ As for Jack ... he doesn't go on til they're in the beautifully lit (and marvelously empty) mess hall. Hmm. He pauses, standing before the stained glass windows, momentarily stunned. Thinking of church as a child. ]

Plenty folks ready to arrest the both of us, Overwatch or no. Trouble is, I ain't sure if his rap sheet comes down to good intentions like mine. Though it did seem to, from what I read up on.

[ His eyes are on the stained glass, fixed on the intricate patterns. He feels the interplay of light on his face, and an old prayer runs through his mind. Guilt follows. A few seconds pass, and he adds, his easy drawl a murmur-- ]

Sorry about not keepin' in touch.

[ He could make all kinds of excuses about life on the run, about the need to stay incognito, but, ultimately, that's what they were. Excuses. So he'll just settle for the apology. ]

At any age and under nearly any circumstances, flying is a topic he's more than willing to discuss. It seems like it'd make sense to leave everyone to their specialties-- he can't imagine himself having anything remotely useful to say about the Force-- but that's a worry for another time.

"It's not the same, but you can figure it out. Mostly. A little trial and error." He shrugs, easing into this a lot more now that they're on comfortable topics. It's not so difficult to believe they're related with her talking like that.

"Did they say where you're working?"

That's amazing.

[He says it without thinking, and it's kind of hard to stop himself from staring even more and trying to assess the whole suit, but that feels like it'd be kind of creepy and invasive. It's just an outstanding piece of tech, he can't even imagine how many lives could be saved with that.]

So you... Spend a lot of time in warzones?

[ Her touch moves into his hair when he falls forward and she'll keep him balanced with the other hand against his sternum to support his weight, leaving the ice pack on the back of his neck. She can hear the soft plip of his blood hitting the floor, splattering against her boots, but she'll lean over him just enough to bump her shoulder against his where his head is in the crook of her neck. Her fingers thread through his hair in a few passes before going down his back in slow sweeps as his grip tightens about her wrist. She can take it.

When his fingers slip between hers and his sternum, she'll turn her hand over to lace her fingers with his. Slender and soft, but nimble. Strong, as a surgeon's hands should be. She'd been a natural picking up some light cybernetics, operating a soldering iron as easily as a scalpel. But more importantly, they've done a lifetime and again's worth of soothing. She can tell he's trying his damnedest. ]

Mine is blue as well. Robin's egg blue, Dutch blue, or that shade the sky takes when the stars are easing out for the sun. Not quite midnight or navy; there needs to be a word for it. Or perhaps I just haven't heard of one yet. Then next is red, which has always amused others seeing as I'm Swiss. It's expected, isn't it? When our flat is a big white cross on a red field. But it's the color of life and passion and the heart.

What's your favorite food? [ If he says kaiju sushi she may actually smack him tbh. Don't eat those!! ]

Fine arts? That's generally someone who teaches art, whether painting, drawing, sculptures or the like. [Had Padmé ended up with that job, she would have been ill suited. Yes, she had briefly dates someone who went on to become an artist, but it is not something that she has a skill in.] I've been assigned Counseling Operative.

Edited 2016-08-22 01:08 (UTC)

[It is change, to be certain. Her role has always been political- Princess, Queen, Senator. Although she cannot say that she has been limited to those roles, but they are the labels that others know her by. While she cannot say that she is exactly in the right mindset to start right this moment, Padmé doesn't doubt her her diplomatic skills could be useful.

And when she does answer that, it is clear that she has studied the job description enough that she has, more or less, memorized it. Then again, the first five or so time she had read it, it simply hadn't sunk in to her mind at all.]

Listening to, and recording, crew members' problems or concerns while maintaining an awareness of any psychological needs.

Ahaha! With our guns you mean! I have heard them called that.

[See McCree he knows slang!! Not really, but still.]

[But yes. It's probably time to set the other guy down. Carefully. He may be older, but he's still much, much smaller than Reinhardt. Time to at least try to be careful.]

Ah. That sounds--[His eyes widen at the mere thought that he had so narrowly missed such ordeals. She is right, of course, that this ship does not seem like a place for rest and relaxation, but he hadn't imagined anything so distrubing as a slavers' planet.]

That sounds truly awful, honestly. I'm glad to see that you're unhurt.

[He almost--almost--places his hand on her arm, but the idea of what they no longer have is not completely lost on him. He refrains, for now. But he has hope for the future. He always has hope.]

You were headed somewhere, before I ran into you. May I accompany you?

You certainly do. I'll be sure to tune in.

[ Which, in of itself, is an impressive admission. Obi-Wan doesn't usually find himself in one place long enough to actually consider local media. ]

Do you create any music yourself?

[ He'd filled out nicely after his scrawny arrival and further development, last seeing him just beyond this side of "lean". His chest and shoulders had been broadening up with his regulated exercise, training honing him from raw skill to applied focus. Between his body heat and his serape the chill of the hallways fall forgotten behind them, pressed up into his side until her hips brush against his thigh most steps, only falling away every few strides just to end up right against him again. All too readily working herself into his space and appreciating him.

The low laugh is about what she'd expected of him and she'll tip her head against his arm for a long moment. ]

I've never felt safer. [ Tone lilting with her accent, playful, but genuine enough all the same.

Entering the mess hall always took a moment of wonder for her, but Jesse's lasts far longer, allowing him to take it in at his own pace, watching his face more than anything. The colors were beautiful and they even seemed to shift, as if there were a light source moving behind the panes unseen. When he speaks again, she'll gently lead him through the cavernous display over to the cafe. If he wanted a drink drink, there was a bar, but she's slipping from his side to approach the coffee corner and pull herself an espresso. Ridiculous serape and all. ]

Mm, I'll certainly be keeping an eye on him and speaking with him the next time I see him. All I can really offer is patience and an open mind, or else we may never know. 76 is a prickly man. [ There are reasons for that as well, though he didn't seem to actively despise the Overwatch agents aboard. He clearly had it in him to do more than throw a couple punches or growl threateningly if he really wanted to do damage. ] In a place like this, so far from home? We all need a friend or two.

[ Even if it's solely to find out what his intentions truly were. An ally is an ally, and she can only hope it won't be such a superficial thing. When she sidles back up beside him with a hot mug in her hands laden with cream to an apology, she'll consider it with a somber quiet. Her presence is enough to dissuade any ill feelings he may think the quiet lends to, but it is still something serious for her, and something that had hurt. For a long time and in varying degrees; still hurts even with him right here beside her. It's an ever-present ache that encompasses more than just Jesse, something clenching tight between every heartbeat. ]

I only ever wanted to know you were still all right. [ It isn't exactly an acceptance of his apology; she may not accept it in full just yet, but there is a fraction of it she'll allow for now in the tired turn her tone takes. ] With your leaving, Genji, then Ana and Jack and the Swiss Headquarters... The occasional news clips and updated warrants were all I had to go by. It was not particularly easy on my mind.

[ Gabriel is a whole separate can of worms hanging in the back of that by insinuation alone. What it boils down to is her closest friend wasn't there when she needed him, and that was harder than words could convey. Yet he's here now and she's never had much of a mind for grudges, unable to hold it against him when she knew, somewhere, he'd had his reasons and had seen glimpses of them in the strain with Gabriel and Blackwatch. Once they've found their seats she'll lay an upturned palm on the bar between them in silent request for his hand. It's as close as she can get to accepting his apology for now. ]

Certainly. [Vision gives him a look. One that he recalls giving Tony a number of times in the past but one that is perhaps new to this version. It says: "I'm not certain I believe you, Stark, but it doesn't help either of us to second-guess you." It's a very specific look.]

I imagine you may have some lingering questions about...anything. [Me.] If you would ever like me to fill you in, I could.

[It's a common trope in literature that one shouldn't know their future, but such superstitious lines of though hardly seem to matter here, do they? What's more sensible is the idea that Tony may already have all the information he wants about him, and anything that happens after. Vision smiles in that way he sees people do sometimes--conciliatory would be the word for it.]

Or not. I would understand either way.

You can put up a sign on his door. I'm sure he'd appreciate that.

[Joking. He doubts the kind of person who strangles someone suddenly isn't gong to listen to a friendly sign reminder.]

It was something. They were good, but not good enough. Got rid of them eventually, although it didn't exactly turn out the best.

[He holds his right hand out for a handshake. Under the glove, it isn't exactly made of flesh, a product of things not turning out the best.]

Liquid Snake. Good to meet you.

[He smiles. When he thinks back, his name, much like his very existence, comes from little more than an odd convergence of circumstances. The universe is a strange place.

Strange enough to have brought him here and to have allowed him to be acquainted with beings like this. His face brightens further when he hears the term 'Cybertonian'.]

Ah, yes! I was told about your race when I first arrived! I am mostly inorganic myself, so I have been gathering what information I can on the synthetic beings here. [He does little to hide the note of excitement in his voice. He has never come across anything even remotely like himself--barring Ulton, of course--so each new discovery is thrilling.]

I only just arrived recently, from earth. A version of it. I'm still getting to know the way around, trying to understand the way the ship runs. Though that appears to be changing.

[From being in Libra and being constantly manhandled, insulted, and beaten by his superior, Leo's learned when to keep his mouth shut-- actually, no, that's not true, Prometheus just hasn't reached Zapp levels of annoyance now and Leo can occasionally pick his battles]

[This stranger isn't quite offensive enough for him to fight with, though he doesn't look particularly happy about it]

Aren't you a machine? Why do you need to use the showers? [His face creases with a deeper frown as he acts.]

Well, nothing's exploded or tried to kill me yet. It's not so bad. I didn't realize you were so interested.

[It's met with]

[passive-aggressive sass?!]

Er.... how high is that, exactly?

[When McCree walks in, he can see that Leo, while fully clothed, is still sopping wet, as he was in such a hurry he didn't dry himself off properly.]

Leonardo. Leonardo Watch!

[He bows, managing to splash McCree a little if he doesn't dodge in time]

It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCree!

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( august intro log )

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apologize one more time and I'mma bend u over my knee (unless you're into that)

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LMAO YES the monkey is named Sonic and he travels at supersonic speeds.... blame Nightow, not me!!!!

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