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!

I
N
T
R
O

L
O
G

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)! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[the ingress]
[The variety of sensations that hits most of the crew otherwise feels like nothing to Reaper. The warmth -- that is something he feels, and it wakes him in an unpleasant manner. His fight response triggers, and there is nothing to push back against. So naturally, when the chamber opens to allow his exit, he comes not as a man but in the form wispy black mist.

The mist floats along for a few seconds until it finds a suitable shadow to disappear into. In said shadow, he lurks and waits while his body reforms. Impatience prickles under his skin while he assesses, silver-clawed gauntlets reaching for his shotguns beneath his coat--]

What?

[His voice comes as a startled growl, loud and angry when his fingers close around nothing. Away goes any pretense of stealth tossed away as he rises to full height, graveled voice turning to the nearest person in hopes of grilling them into submission with intimidation alone.

He's a large man covered in thick black body armor, after all. His mask of bone and claws of silver were more than enough to make any civilian uneasy, never mind the ever present snarl in his tone.

Or his general unhinged demeanor.]

Where. Are. My. Shotguns?

[dark]
[The dark makes it easy for Reaper to move, but he had never planned to be cautious. His bootsteps echo down the hall as he goes, echoing the message out of his wrist without paying much mind to it. Perhaps after he had decided his true purpose on the ship, he would consider his options more thoroughly.

For now, he searches for familiar faces. Absent his shotguns, he'll need to find other means to defend himself and other means to kill.

He minds his space and dodges the first three people that he finds in the hall, but by the fourth, he has grown tired of tight maneuvers. Rather than move, he stands as solid as a wall and waits for the other person to realize their error.]

[medbay and beyond]

[After processing and after his wanderings in the dark, Reaper is quick to circle back to the medbay -- not because he is injured or because he is looking to tend to the injured, but to see if he's somehow missed any arrivals he might care about. Circling around hadn't given him much, but he knows plenty of Ex-Overwatch who's attentions would be focused on the wounded, or he advanced equipment.

He stands out in all black and silver, coat brushing heavily against the corners of the various beds and chambers as he moves. Once or twice, he can be found touching something he probably shouldn't be touching, sterile or not. He doesn't look very much unlike a bored child that's wearing an itchy sweater.

And since that's exactly how he feels, he is quick to address anyone who gets close enough to him. He is probably waving some sort of dangerous medical tool in said person's direction.]

Pretty developed for a ship that can't fix a malfunctioning teleporter, don't you think?

[wildcard]
[Have an idea? Hit me! (Gently)]

Edited 2016-08-02 20:04 (UTC)

( know who isn't afraid of a hulking, grumpy man in intimidating body armor? someone who has armor of their own. emily's not even half as impressive in stature as this guy, but she looks well protected, and she apparently feels that way too if the way she marches right on up to him is any indication. at first she'd thought he was another physician or a tech. the more she watches him, though, the less convinced she is of that. all she's seen him do is sulk around and touch things.

which means he's probably not even supposed to be here, and yet here he is, handling the damn tools. most certainly ones she'd just cleaned herself. that just will not do. )

Well, unless you plan on fixing it yourself with that catheter, you'd better put it down. ( is it really some kind of super-futuristic space catheter? is she lying? nobody knows. she reaches out a hand, palm open and waiting, the other perched sternly at her hip. ) Give it.

[Catheter, huh? If he had a face that wasn't his mask, he'd be blinking in suspicion as he turned it over in his palm to inspect it further. A low rumble of thought comes from his chest. That's kind of gross -- but he's seen and handled worse. Were he asked and not demanded, he might have considered more readily turning it over.

But being an asshole about it sounds so much more entertaining.]

Who needs it?

[Shoving strange medical objects in people almost sounds appealing. He doesn't even make an attempt to give it to her.]

( unfortunately for him, emily is well versed in the ways of assholism. the only difference is she manages to make it sound so cheerful, all while wearing a shit-eating grin under that helmet. ) Aw, are you offering to put that in someone for me? That's so sweet!

( her hand is still stuck out in the air, waiting for the object that has yet to to be returned. ) I assume you have the proper credentials for that kind of procedure. So, what's your name, doctor? Or nurse? ( she's got her eye on you, buddy. you ain't no physician, but she wants to see where this goes. )

I don't need credentials. Or your permission.

[He's not patient enough for the word game she begins, and drops any pretense of an act immediately. He also can see that she clearly still wants the tool back, and so instead of offering it back like a reasonable human, he reaches up and starts to bend it into a crease.

Not only is it no longer sterile, but he's about to break it.]

Reaper.

If you want to get technical, it's not my permission. I'm not the boss around here! ( which is a pretty interesting change. she doesn't have to be the boss to be bossy, though, does she. )

That's a very unfortunate name, Nurse Reaper. Your patients must be very uncomfortable, especially if you think that is the way to handle tools. ( finally, she reaches out to snatch at it before it snaps. which may just ultimately break it in the process anyway. and which she will completely, entirely blame on him later if it does. )

If you're not the boss, then I don't care twice as much as usual.

[Reaper holds fast when she tries to snatch the tool, breaking it cleanly with their combined force. Which had been Reaper's plan all along of course.

But that doesn't mean he isn't going to blame her for it.]

Now look what you did. Some doctor you are.

[76 works his way down into the bowels of the ship, more to familiarize himself with the layout than anything. A regime change doesn't exactly bode well, and he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, which means it's not going to hurt for him to learn everything he can about the structure of the vessel. He doesn't expect to be able to escape, but he can at least come up with potential contingency plans.

This deep and away from civilization proper (as it were--76 doesn't discount that there might be other people around), the corridors are dark, emergency lighting and the glow of his visor the only thing that lights his path.

He's still not convinced that this isn't some sort of hallucinogen-induced fever dream, that he isn't strapped to a chair in some Talon base somewhere, tortured to the point of insanity. That all of the ex-Overwatch agents he's encountered aren't just tricks of an addled mind, meant to extract information from him.

It's been kind of a day.

He has his gun at the ready, even if his scanner isn't picking up any signs of life. 76 isn't sure what he expects to find, but it can't exactly hurt to look.]

[Reaper doesn't need the glow of lighting to guide him -- his constant regeneration ensures that his eyes are far better at adapting to the conditions than most. It had been a long time since he'd been a soldier in broad daylight. Working from the shadows was much more his speed.

At first, when 76 rounds the corner, Reaper doesn't believe his vision. Its impossible to mistake that visor for anything, and he knows the paranoid beat of the other man's steps by now, having hunted him for months on end. But 76 wouldn't simply be here on this ship, so ripe and ready to be murdered in cold blood. He momentarily wonders if he himself has finally gone mad, and if the man just a few paces down the hall is an illusion or if he is flesh.

Of course, there is only one way to find out. The pulsefire rifle doesn't concern him -- a simple imbalance in power would hardly ever stop him from taking this sort of opportunity.

He disappears in a wisp of black mist, darting down the hall until he begins to re-materialize behind him, clawed gauntlets raised. He will have to react quickly to avoid the chokehold that Reaper attempts to place him in. At least if he is a ghost, nobody is around to see his overreaction.]

[Even after meeting so many of the people from Jack Morrison's past--trying to process how they even got here and what kind of coincidence this is or isn't--he hasn't given thought to the possibility of certain others being on the ship as well. In hindsight, he'll realize how foolish it was, but right now he's got other things on his mind. He's heard of the mercenary, certainly. Knows who it has to be, even if he desperately doesn't want it to be true. That, however, isn't exactly what he's thinking about as he explores the darker areas of the ship.

Reaper doesn't show up on his environment scanner, and 76 is too hyper-focused on his current task to catch something that hides so well in the shadows.

He thinks he's alone until it's too late. By the time the hair prickles on the back of his neck, Reaper is already solid and on him, and he's cursing himself for being so sloppy. 76 spins on his heel, trying to bring an arm up to block the chokehold, but only manages to get halfway before at least one hand is on his throat.]

Edited 2016-08-08 18:56 (UTC)

[He hadn't expected the takedown to be easy, even with an advantage. He knows enough about the man under the visor that he would have been angry with that sort of victory, and the failed grapple shoots adrenaline through his veins. Even with all of their time apart, he had not forgotten the other man's fighting style (too similar to his own, at times).

With one clawed hand digging rivets into 76's collar, squeezing as much as the awkward grip would allow, the other reaches for the arm that had managed to get free.

If he can't disarm him immediately with a well placed grip, then he will attempt to use his weight to throw him to the ground in what might be the most ungraceful manner possible. In between his growls of effort, he manages just one short taunt.]

Don't bother struggling.

[This is what he gets, he supposes, for letting his guard down in the wrong way. 76 should have expected something like this--prepared for it, but here's Reaper, one step ahead of him. It's only his own reflexes that keep those clawed hands from closing around his throat entirely.

He pushes back, pulse rifle clattering to the ground next to them, already forgotten in favor of more visceral grappling. Digging his boots into the ground only does so much to prevent him from being thrown, but he'll most certainly pull Reaper down with him, hands twisting in his coat.]

And make this easy?

[He won't ever allow him that satisfaction, trying to lash out with his fist.]

[Reaper snarls when 76's fist collides with his mask, head snapping to the side with an ugly crack. His body rears backwards in spite of the grip the other man finds, claws ripping through what fabric he had managed to grab in favor of returning his punch with one hand.

The other hand fights to keep 76 pinned to the floor by one shoulder. He drives his fist into the other man's stomach first in an attempt to wind him, before exchanging blows with his face.]

Its already easy!

[It isn't, and doesn't need to be.]

reaper | overwatch

slams hands down on medbay prompt

slams hands down in return

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

d...ark...where else....

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

dark

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Wildcard - a few days later? - random hallway

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject