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ximilia mods ([personal profile] ximilian) wrote in [community profile] ximilialog2023-06-01 06:40 pm

MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER

M I S S I O N   1 4 . 0

SOMEWHENPRESENT DAYFYI

// SOMEWHEN  


The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.

You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.

Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:

// 0-L1V-14
Oh, hello. You are not the team I know. Yet you are here for the orb … Good.

The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.

// 0-L1V-14
I've located one within the station, but it seems to have fractured. The air around them appears to have some sort of temporal disturbance that I can't quite pin down. Be cautious, but bring them to me before anything happens.

Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.


1.0   The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.

There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.

Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.


2.0   Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.

You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.


3.0   The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.

Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?

If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.


4.0   Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.

If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.


5.0   You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.

By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.


6.0   The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.

The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.

Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.

Present Day.

The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.

Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.

// VIVECA
“I don’t know how it happened… they should have arrived here. Everything seemed normal! But I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

// DEGAR
“They could be anywhere, right? Except we can’t even help them if we don’t know where that might be.”

// VIVECA
“I know. The strange thing is that it seems that we’ve located another orb… only, it states that it’s here. On the station. So even if the platform sent them straight to it… why aren’t they here?”

The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.

// DEGAR
“Keep working at it. I’m going to see what I can figure out in the station’s systems. Maybe we can trace back to the team somewhere. Or somewhen.”

Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.

// VIVECA
“Yeah. We’ll find them.”

TOP


F Y I

The events in this log take place during the first two weeks of June.

For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.

If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.

And finally, your soundtrack for this log:

TOP


NAV

peasant: (alina-ep1-3)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
[ her shoulders slump as they're released from bondage. alina flexes what muscles she can stretch, bunching between the sharp blades of her shoulders as she rolls them back, straining against her own coiled sinew. ]

You don't trust us.

[ why would he? he's witnessed the dregs of humanity, the toxicity of avarice — the animal motivation for self-preservation at all costs. even if it calls for tearing out another's throat; even if it calls for gnawing off one's own limb.

for all that it dangles between them as an accusation, it's blunted, absent the sharpness of one. rings from her mouth like a fact plucked from a statistic, or a book memorized from heart. it simply ... is, without judgment; she can tally, on one hand alone, who she might trust to martyr themselves long before they'd consider turning on her.

but everyone has their limit, and everyone has their price. none of them are exempt from that simple rule of nature.
]
dispassioned: (Default)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-08 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
[He continues to feel vaguely bemused, like they might be talking about two different things or otherwise misunderstanding each other. Still, he doesn’t hesitate to say:]

I trust you.

[He states it as though it’s obvious and indisputable. Why would he have shared so much of himself with her if he didn’t?]

And Jake, I guess. [Even if he’s a little salty about being stuck in this gala outfit, which is Jake’s fault.] I’m not sure about the others in general, but I don’t think any of them would host a death game. It’s the just…the situation. And the AI.

[He definitely doesn’t trust Olivia, okay.]
deaddrop: (pic#13351845)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-08 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
She might not know as much as she thinks she does.

[Not that it matters, since there's no one around to set to record straight.]

Thanks for not killing my best friend.
laviny: (pic#15367050)

[personal profile] laviny 2023-06-08 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
[She scoffs. That might not have been the right thing to say.]

Sure. No problem.
peasant: (alina-ep3-1)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
[ she blinks, stunned into a momentary lapse of silence. it's not the immediate insistence she had braced to receive. a taut knot in her chest tugs looser, by increments. ]

Is it just the situation?

[ she shifts to face him, an error of judgment she recognizes as the last bindings of her corset obstruct her. ]

Because you can't host a death game without participants. You must be at least a little worried about the others' morals.

[ they would need to want whatever prize is dangled, first and foremost. their life, their unspun regret — olivia could find any number of motivators to twist and turn them against one another. but, foolishly: ]

I don't think it'll come to that. Olivia wants the orb delivered to her, whole and intact, and we can't deliver on that deal if we've dropped dead.
deaddrop: (chrysso orchis)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-08 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
[Probably not, no. Look, this is awkward. Wouldn't having feelings now just make it more awkward?]

You know, you might like him if you give him a chance.
homeostatic: (276)

[personal profile] homeostatic 2023-06-08 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
( he bites his tongue against the urge to correct his title. uchiha wouldn't have known, of course, and can't be faulted for it.

mccoy doesn't pick over the plates, but he doesn't delve into his selections with gusto just yet, either. )


Now, I can't say I believe that. Everyone has preferences.

( a weak attempt to draw him out, but he tries just the same. )

blackfire: (itachi024)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-08 03:32 am (UTC)(link)
that cuts more, perhaps, than the rest. the glimmer of kindness, offered now to a stranger he has no reason to thusly indulge.

itachi studies the tray and then, with the sort of delicate, persnickety selection of a finnicky cat, selects a small bowl of noodles with tofu and peanut sauce, and then retreats back into his own space.


This will do for now. Thank you.
dispassioned: (pic#16296976)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-08 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
[He hums softly, considering, as he pulls at the laces at the top of her corset.]

In those games it wasn’t always about morals, it was about desperation. Even a kind person can be driven to violence when they’re desperate to live. What made an opponent dangerous was an ability to keep a level head in spite of that and a certain amount of intelligence, combined with the potential to be ruthless. There are a few I’d worry about here. Notably, Natasha Romanoff, Uchiha Itachi and Aleksander.

[So, he doesn’t really trust the rest of the crew any more or less than he trusts the average person on the street. What he concerns himself with is how challenging they might be as an opponent.

However, with all that being said:]


But you’re right. It’s not a rational concern to have. It is the situation. Previous experience is telling me to be prepared for something that probably isn’t going to happen.
Edited 2023-06-08 03:45 (UTC)
laviny: (pic#15057979)

[personal profile] laviny 2023-06-08 03:56 am (UTC)(link)
What makes you think he wants me to give him a chance? He didn’t exactly rush to reach out to me, even though he knew I existed.

[She shakes her head.]

You were his priority. The rest of the widows never mattered to him.
homeostatic: (STB - 32)

[personal profile] homeostatic 2023-06-08 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
You're welcome.

( something about the young man's careful choice, the elegant and precise way in which he moves, piques mccoy's curiosity. it makes him want to smile, biting the inside of his cheek to quell it.

he gives his own little bowl of sticky rice a poke with the points of his chopsticks, waiting for uchiha to situate himself before he digs in. )


I thought I knew most everyone on the station. How long have you been with us?
blackfire: (0623434)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-08 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
claiming to be new will fall apart under any amount of scrutiny. even just the act of bringing the man food so confidently would make it an obvious lie. so itachi purses his lips faintly, and then:

Since Alydhion. I... keep to myself, for the most part. he lets that statement sound just slightly hesitant, as if expressing a sort of vulnerability to which he is unaccustomed. hopefully, it will forestall further questions. It is unsurprising to me that we have not encountered one another before now.
peasant: (alina22371)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ tension returns to her spine, forced into a taut, narrowing line. muscles bunch in her back with the same coiled readiness of a panther gone rigid in its pacing, little divots that speak to the strain as he peels her bindings away, revealing that swath of skin.

aleksander. she'd thought him hopelessly dead. a nightmare lain to rest. it should come as no great shock that he's skittered away from death once more, crawling out of one life's grave to assume another existence — but she blanches, all the same, like a ghost has been invoked.

in some ways, she supposes it has been.
]

No. [ jagged edges mutate her tone into something brittle. ] You would be right not to trust anyone you've named.

[ natasha, by proximity to aleksander. anyone in his good graces has a noted place on her own list of names she keeps note of. as for itachi — she has neither reason to trust nor distrust him. he's only a casualty among those names, caught in the crosshairs of alina's refusal to draw attention to her history with aleksander. ]
bindsthedead: (art-shock)

[personal profile] bindsthedead 2023-06-08 04:32 am (UTC)(link)
Kazuma?

[This is Kazuma's world, isn't it? And from the talk of the bar exam... Sabriel remembers Remi's castle, and wandering through others dreams and memories.

Is this a memory from Kazuma's school days? Sabriel suddenly feels like she's stumbled into something personal, and she turns to leave, except- she can't. No more than she could the last time something like this happened.]
deaddrop: (artema nephilit)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-08 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
I really doubt I'm that special.

[Because she's not. And Clint is kinder than he lets on.

She doesn't want to apologize for Clint though, or pressure Yelena when she's already not handling this well.]


I hurt him too.
bindsthedead: (Art-On the ground)

[personal profile] bindsthedead 2023-06-08 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
[Sabriel and the man are... talking, chatting, about small things. The history of 'Belisaere' which is apparently the city they're in, and about the food they're eating. But there's a tenderness in their eyes as they look at each other, though they do not touch.

It's all seafood and winter vegetables, simple fare, but it was the first hot meal the two have had for a while.

Until Sabriel turns and blinks, confused, as she suddenly realizes there's a third- or fourth, if you count the white cat asleep on the bed- person in the room.]
peasant: (alina-ep3-7)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ clouds of dust puff up with the clap of her hand in his. the tip of alina's nose folds into a crease, with it — though it's difficult to say whether it's the polluting offender or question that's the main target of her distaste. ]

Was it that obvious?

[ sources say yes. it leans more wry than genuine; no amount of pretending otherwise can lessen the clawing weight of the crown atop her head, digging into her skull, straining her neck until it's at risk of becoming a limp noodle. sapphires and silver, as it turn out, are a great deal heavier than the seamstresses had led her to believe.

still, she circumvents it with the same ease she takes in using the leverage mccoy has offered her, heaving herself up over a gaping hole in the floor's brackets.
]

I go away for awhile, and all of you destroy the station. [ a joke, clear as a bell — though it fades into something more serious, more solemn, in due time. she peeks from mccoy's face to the hallway's bend — or where she'd approximate it to be, at any rate. ] Are the others still ...

[ she trails off. safe? alive? here? any number of the above probe at her anxiety. ]
peasant: (alina-ep3-1)

my indecisive ass spent too long deliberating but lmk if u want something diff!! rip tl;dr

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 05:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ bright light sears through itachi's vision, on first blink. it blinds as the sun refracting off of desert sands would — searing, hazy with a curtain of heat that blots out shapes in the distance. the longer he withstands it, the more his focus seems to sharpen onto its source: a woman glowing within her own skin, at the center of a supernova with power.

no. not simply a woman. as the light shutters out in swift instant, like a candle snuffed between two fingers, the dark wave of hair is unmistakable, though the modest hunch to her shoulders isn't its usual shape. alina starkov rests at the threshold of steps, leading to two grand thrones. a smug, decorated man rests on one. the other, a fair-haired woman exuding vanity, her neck dripping with diamonds.

an ostentatious display. the conflicting contrast to alina is stark, as if the drab colors of her uniform must appease the king, lend to the notion she is a diamond plucked from the dirt to be polished by him and him alone.

at her side stands another man — kirigan and the domineering arch to his chin, forcing her to stand within his shadow, as the king and kirigan debating her training without input. it fades away into a din, in alina's memory, as if she's forgotten its importance in light of the way she is welcomed in the aftermath; bodies in different shades of spun keftas swarm to greet her the way the faithful flock to deities. warm. worshipful. all with a spark of hope.

a woman with a shock of fiery hair grips alina's hands, all proud grins. you truly are one of a kind, she says. the whole country is going to be talking about you now.

it warps and fades. the scenery isn't so dissimilar. the halls that enveloped alina carry the same ornate decoration of the thorne room, lending to the impression of a rich palace. it should be pleasant. but there's a taintedness to the memory, despite alina's smiles. a duo of women flank her on both sides, donning close replicas of the uniform alina dons now, bright blue and spun with golden threads, and steer her from the door she had been eyeing, as she nervously laughs among them. footsteps of two silent soldiers follow behind. guards at every door only enhance the sensation of entrapment, no matter how blissfully unaware alina seems to have now become of her gilded prison.

the single, short-lived glance she casts over her shoulder is its own testament to how accustomed she's become to their company. to becoming a monitored, complacent animal in a cage, the way preening songbirds do.

the women part at the entrance to a spacious library. the footsteps behind her continue, even as the oprinik assumes their station at its large wooden doors. the edges of alina's mouth stay fixed in a permanent upturn as she brushes her fingers across well-kept spines, brushing down aisles — but she starts at an instant at any sound, something now uncharacteristically meek when she calls out:
]

Who's there?
dispassioned: (pic#16249599)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-08 05:23 am (UTC)(link)
[...Huh. That's not a reaction he was expecting. Those names struck a nerve he didn't know was there. Or at least one of them did.

He decides to let it drop for now, after all, there's another matter to deal with. He pauses his hands at her back.]


It fastens in the front, right?
peasant: (alina36971)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-08 05:28 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah.

[ only a minuscule amount of relief seems to slacken her posture. he won't let it lie. she knows chishiya well enough to assume his curiosity will have him sniffing around her warning, eventually; for now, she busies herself with unlatching her fastening's, squirming to shove the wealth of fabric down. ]

I'll just — [ a huff of annoyed, exerted breath. ] Take the whole Saints-forsaken thing off.

[ his hoodie just might be the savior of the day. she steps out from the overwhelming lake of material as it puddles at her feet, shoving her frilly petticoat down with it, next. ]
bindsthedead: (art-breath)

CW: Zombie described in graphic detail.

[personal profile] bindsthedead 2023-06-08 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
[The simulation room fades away to a moonless fall night, just cold enough for frost to form. The wind is blowing hard from the north, and most of the illumination comes from starlight, as the electric lights in and around the buildings flicker, flare... and then go dead. Wyverley College's grounds are well kept, but the shadows seem unnaturally long, and the wind can't dislodge the mist that clings to everything. The only sound is of the wind in the trees- there is no sound of night-birds, or of insects.

Sabriel is fourteen in this memory, out far past her curfew with a chainmail hauberk that's slightly too big for her gawky frame and a training sword that she'd spent an hour desperately trying to sharpen, and another hour enchanting. The marks glow on the blade, and she lifts it carefully as she moves through the grounds, muscles tensed as she sketches out a sequence of marks- one she doesn't release, but instead holds in her free hand.

She doesn't need to look for the Dead creature- she can sense its presence. And hear it, as she gets closer. The clack of bone against bone, the sound of joints totally stripped of flesh and cartilage and yet still moving is distinctive, and Sabriel braces as it gets closer, its tall form emerging from behind some carefully trimmed shrubbery. And then, it is illuminated in far more detail as Sabriel shouts out the final mark of her spell and hurls a ball of fire at the thing.

The first thing she sees are the eyes, glowing red like coals, and the mouth, stretching far too wide, the teeth far too sharp, the same dark red fire burning within. Most of the flesh on its face is gone, save for a bit of hair on the right side and something hanging from its chin that at first glance might be a beard, but on second glance is what's left of its face. Below is not much better- the neck is twice as long as it should be, and the exposed vertebra aren't shaped right- there are spines jutting out of the sides.

The spirit within has warped the body to suit its purposes, even as the flesh continues to rot. The arms have lengthened, as have the fingers, the tips of the creature's claws going past its knees. The ribs and clavicles have grown into a kind of armor, rotting and exposed muscle shifting out of the way to accommodate them. The feet, Sabriel distantly realizes, are nothing but bones, the flesh and skin below the knees dangling in strips. But the toes are longer than they should be, the bones ending in sharpened spikes.

The thing shrieks at the fire, scrambling sideways and then toward Sabriel as she readies her sword, the marks on the blade glowing brighter the nearer the creature gets.]
deaddrop: (venia kakamega)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-08 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
I can be very charming. And if that doesn't work, there's always choking someone out.

[But she'd try being charming first.]
dispassioned: (pic#16321489)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-08 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
[His eyes track the way the fabric pools at her feet, and then wander back up her body for a moment. He probably shouldn't let himself be so blatant about looking at her. It's not the time to be incorrigible. But a few hours ago he was all but convinced he wouldn't see her again. It's difficult not to drink in the sight of her.

But also, that is...so many layers of clothing. How was she able to move? Especially with the corset so tight.]


I really can't blame you.

[As impractical as his outfit is, it's not actually uncomfortable. In fact, he'd say it's much more comfortable than his last suit. The fabric is soft and loose, so he doesn't feel confined, at the least.]
laviny: (pic#15036890)

[personal profile] laviny 2023-06-08 06:02 am (UTC)(link)
[She doubts she’s that special. Yelena sighs, because seriously?

But she doesn’t respond to that part, she responds to the other thing.]


Yeah, you did.
deaddrop: (pic#15038448)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-08 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
[Look, she's not. Not really.]

I'm sorry...

[Natasha sighs too.]

Look, do you want to get out of here?