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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?
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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-08-01 12:13 am
dw tried to protect andyr by not giving me this notif, for shame
"There's been attempts, in the Houses, at least. You get riots here and there, but never enough to take the whole system down. Hell, rarely ever enough to bring a single House down. KNs only make about two or three percent of the global population, clones not included." Even with their physiological benefits, what can they really do? The clones are so brainwashed, or engineered to be docile, most often, that getting them to rebel takes a miracle, Andyr's thinking, as his mind touches on Miray. But normal society itself?
"As for outside, the slums suck, but no one's getting tortured." He'd lived there, before Hapsburg took him, and it was a shit time, sure, but people got by. The threat of trying to stand up to the Houses and the social elite, with their armies at beck and call and no governmental force with the balls to put them in check, just wasn't worth losing what you had. But that'd not his concern anymore, because Andyr'd already lost everything he had, and those people in his neighborhood couldn't step farther away from him when 'KN positive' was announced.
"It's not where I live anymore, so I couldn't give a fresh fuck. They're all screwed in the head anyway."
no subject
"It sounds like people have accepted their unhappiness as just a way of life," he remarked, though he was guessing. There wasn't a lot of information to go on, but probing at the words that had been spoken meant that he could gradually build a better understanding. Not that it mattered, but he like to think he could build on the mistakes of others to create something beneficial for those that remained behind.
"Is your gruff attitude of not caring a front to prevent yourself from losing whatever it is you have left or just your own way of rebelling against the way your life turned out?"
no subject
“You always psycho analyze people five minutes after meeting ‘em?” If it’s meant to be good humored, nothing of that shows in the tone, but it isn’t spoken harshly either. More blank, distanced. For a long moment or so, Andyr’s deciding whether or not he wants to try to answer that seriously, or just tell this guy to fuck off. Sucking the inside of a cheek between his teeth, Andyr idly chews as he thinks it over, eyes cast aside at one of the stained glass panels against a far wall. Eventually, he comes to a conclusion.
“No. Neither.” The answer he’d come to after reflecting on it, honest in how it’s given. “There’s nothing left to prevent losing, and my way of rebelling is a lot more violent than this.”
Massacres, bloodbaths in the Hapsburg hallways in the times he’d gotten free, scalpels plunged into the bodies of lab techs that couldn’t restrain him fast enough, guards with their skulls crushed open when they’d relaxed a bit too much around him. But the not caring? “They never cared about what happened to us, so why should I care about them? Let ‘em die off. That’s evolution, isn’t it?”
no subject
He nodded at the honest answer, feeling that it wasn't given to him out of any particular force, not that he could. Yet. There was no point making enemies, not when one of them had his asset's face; it could prove both entertaining and vital to future plans that he was pulling together.
"I suppose if you weren't so useful where you're from, they would have either removed your threat or used you as an appropriate weapon given the perchance for violence then," he remarked, shrugging his shoulders as if it was expected of a man with literally nothing. And it was. Nothing to lose meant everything to gain.
cw: vaaague mention of suicide?
Then again, there are all those Mice who just bow their heads and comply, try to keep themselves safe, and call that living. Clones and KN1s alike. It’s an outlook Andyr finds wholly disgusting. Then again, he’s rather aggressively narrow-minded about these things.
“If I was just a clone causing this much problem, you bet your ass they’d put me down in a second.” He’d learned very early on that not only were they unwilling to threatening him with anything fatal or permanently damaging to his person, they also would not let him die. So, yes, that’s about the one thing that keeps him around and able to wreak the havoc he does. It’s also the one thing he has left to do other than lay back and try to go brain dead.
no subject
He examined Andyr quietly for a moment and then tilted his head, sympathetic but plainly unable to contest that bitterness. Why would he? Pierce had lived a life of privilege, had seen his share of knocks, but never the same as this man. "I would be a liar to say that I wouldn't. Your life experiences need not be cheapened by my attempt to rationalize why you have become what you are."
It was such a good thing that this young man was so special, wasn't it? He knew someone with a similar face that could claim to the fame of being coveted and special as well. They might have even suffered in similar ways. The difference was that the Soldier presented arms to any head of HYDRA for the express purpose of elimination. "Instead you rebel to have what little revenge you can, is it?"
no subject
Again, narrow-minded. He has categories he sorts people into, but he's been speaking with this man for longer than he does most any stranger, these days. Learned about his grandchildren, about his home. It's a bit more complicated, and Andyr's not sure he likes that. Everything on the Moira is a bit more complicated.
"Not really much else to do, 'side from counting ceiling panels." A beat, and he blinks, adding on shortly after - "37. Ceiling panels in my room. 153 tiles on the floor."
But that's not completely true; the part about not much else to do, not the tiles. He could fight less, take compromises. Comply with operations to get some time out of his cell, visit the other Houses maybe, talk to people. It's more a case of dignity. Of being able to say I fought for me, when no one else would.
no subject
He raised an eyebrow at the fact that this young man had the tiles counted and memorized, which seemed like a waste of talent by his measure. Think of the productivity such a bitter cynical outlook and tenacity to survive that could be set in the right direction. A world of change started with the disillusioned, those that had seen the worst and had the strength of character to still fight back.
"Wasted talent. Your masters clearly wanted a compliant muppet when they could have had so much more." He sighed and shook his head. "At least you are here now. So much change and so much adventure to be had if one was willing to take it."
no subject
For now, at least. However, that moment of favor quickly turns sour at the word ‘masters’, and all that follows it, even in that kind, even tone he’s been using. The mood of his conversation snaps, flickering to something visceral and angry in a short moment.
“They aren’t my goddamn masters, and fuck what they could’ve had. The human enslavement part’s the problem, not what they had me do all day.” But Andyr’s a mercurial creature, and after a moment or so of quiet, he calms, somes to sink some, even. Sobering , at the mention of what opportunities he supposedly has now.
“Yeah, and for how long?” Spoken quietly, distant. He has no illusions that he can’t be easily swept up and sent back home when the Ingress gets moody again. Andyr isn’t letting himself get attached to this place.