ximilian: (Default)
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

oiorpata: (77)

[personal profile] oiorpata 2023-06-15 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ there is next to nothing that andy remembers about being a child. she knows it happened, objectively, and she knows she was raised by a strong tribe of women, knows the axe belonged to her mother - but it's all simply too long ago. the orb shard pulls it forward the as best it can... ]

[ but there's only so much. ]

[ the dog is not part of her memory, but the child reacts the way any child would, whirling around and face lighting up with delight upon seeing it. there are no words to be had, because andy has forgotten those too, but at least a smile remains universal. ]

[ she holds the axe up and away with one hand, then pats the dog with the other. ]
blackfire: (pic#15688696)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-15 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
shisui may be ten years old — a scant decade on the earth, and twice over the length of time remaining to his short life — but the look he gives wei wuxian is not the look of a ten year old. it's fond, somehow, in the ancient ways that trees are fond of rain and sun and mountains are fond of the aquifers they safeguard deep in the arms of the earth.

and then the moment is gone, and he's mirroring wei wuxian's smile just the same. he rubs at the back of his neck, a show of pleased embarrassment that manifests into what he says next:


Ah, I don't know that I'd say we're alike... You know, he's already better with shuriken than I am? The only reason they won't let him be a jōnin yet is because he's the heir to the clan.

there isn't a trace of bitterness there — even in these halcyon days, shisui expected that he would one day live in itachi's shadow. it's more like — a sense of protectiveness, as if the world around them has suddenly curved inward with a desire to cradle itachi at its center, safe from harm. they are ninja, and theirs is a fate they can only delay and never escape — but he is resolute in his thinking that itachi should not live the life he lives, because skill has been wrung out of him like blood from a stone until it's all he has left to give.

Shisui— there is a faint note of questioning alarm in itachi's voice, like a fissure, like a fracture in the world.

but shisui shakes his head, smiling fondly as he fishes a skewer of dango out of the little take-away container, politely offering it to his new elder.

It's all right, Itachi. He agrees with me, I think.
peasant: (pic#16330962)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-15 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
Is that what's new to you?

[ it shouldn't come as any great shock. a lonely child has no one but themselves and their books as confidants. she'd been more fortunate than most to have mal — but even then she'd hidden herself between pages, imbued her secrets into ink, when she couldn't be trusted to share the unworthy pieces of herself. the ugly parts that might have forced him to leave, a fate that would have been equal to losing a vital organ, at the time.

chishiya had been so forthcoming with her, still. spoken words with smooth ease, as though it cost him very little to traverse those subjects. she blinks up at him through bleary eyes, ignoring their urge to droop and flutter beneath the lulling strokes of his fingertips.
]

I wouldn't have guessed. You made sharing those parts of yourself seem easy.
singlelogbridge: (141)

[personal profile] singlelogbridge 2023-06-15 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
[His heart aches in his chest and he resists the urge to reach out and cradle Shisui's cheek. No matter the maturity and wisdom that Itachi's memory lends to him, he's still a child for all that the harshness of their world had stolen his innocence. Wei Wuxian stills his hand, afraid that even inside of the memory, such a gesture of affection might be too much.

The softness of the smile he turns on Shisui carries the weight of the absent touch all the same. He knows Shisui's consciousness isn't here, just as Madam Yu's wasn't really inside of his own memory. They're constructs of memory and relationship, built from their own minds and recollections. That doesn't stop his from hurting for both boys.
]

Your duties demand a great deal from you. From both of you. [He concedes, because it would be foolish and unkind to dismiss the world that they were born into.] But skills aren't the only thing that hold value, and I think you are alike in the depth of loyalty you have to your friends.

[He accepts the dango skewer from Shisui with a grateful incline of his head.]

You're a good friend, Shisui.
deaddrop: (pic#15027536)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-15 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
[Natasha has the restraint not to say that she has, but the price was never less than about $1.99.

To say nothing for where it is in 2023.]


You know, not often. Any recommendations what to get? I'm thinking maybe the ice cream.
dispassioned: (pic#16249584)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
Well, one of the things.

[And maybe the least remarkable, at that, but also the easiest one to address at the spur of the moment.]

You made it easy.

[Maybe in part because he met her at the right time, a turning point, when he was ready to try something new. To push aside his fear and let himself be seen. But it was also her personality, her stubbornness and compassion, the parts of herself that she'd chosen to share. It was easy because it was her.]
laviny: (038)

[personal profile] laviny 2023-06-15 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
What are you apologizing for?
blackfire: (pic#15480028)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-15 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
shisui smiles a bit, and looks down at the dango in his hands. he is fifteen, and he reaches up to wipe blood from an empty eye socket.

Ah... that's kind of you to say.

he might concede — to itachi. but in the churned-up mud of a third war battlefield, there was a friend he left behind. a moment's failure, and it had cost someone dear to him their life. he had sworn then, never to let that weakness touch him. and if that has meant giving his all for itachi, he has shed his fear of the cost.

But Itachi has a way of bringing that out in people, doesn't he?

itachi — now the age at which wei wuxian knows him best — reaches out and grasps at shisui's arm. it isn't quite a wordless entreaty not to leave, but it is nearly that thing. softly —

It was yours first.

shisui looks at him. really looks — brow knitted together, expression set with all the stoicism of one determined to grit their teeth against some impossible pain — before standing up. wordless, itachi lets him go. shisui slips through his fingers like sand, like shadow. shisui stretches, something popping in one shoulder as he hauls both arms up over his head, stretching out his triceps.

Anyway — I'd best be heading out. I just wanted to say hello. Not every day you get to give your best friend a hard time on his birthday, huh? Twenty-three... a faint, impressed whistle. Ah... what an old man you've become, Itachi! You need to hurry up and settle down with this newfound time of yours.

shisui stops in front of wei wuxian, and reaches out. pulls him up to his feet.

You see him. his voice is gentle. Keep seeing him.

something in that, perhaps, has no root in memory alone. where shisui had touched his hand, the warmth of chakra like a spring wind will blossom along his veins. not entirely unlike qi, not entirely like it. but familiar by its nature — something known, however distantly.

and then he is gone. shisui of the body flicker, they had called him once upon a time.

yet, the memory persists. it weathers the leaving. nothing shatters, nothing trembles, nothing breaks. the world only darkens a little, is all.

but itachi is looking up at the stars, and seems not to have noticed.


Stay.

he has asked that once before, hasn't he?

this time, though — he holds out his hand.
Edited 2023-06-15 15:43 (UTC)
deaddrop: (pic#15124020)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-15 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
[If it's any consolation, it's not that he doesn't want him specifically to see it.

It's that she doesn't want to think about it.

She prefers this to Yelena?]


He got me out of a bad situation. Couldn't get rid of me after that, I guess.
peasant: (alina-ep2-1)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-15 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ one of. it's ominously vague, but alina doesn't dig deeper to unbury what's unsaid. instead, she props her cheek onto a loosely curled fist, a sculpture of thought as she looks at him. no, not looks — contemplates him, the little speechless wrinkle stretching between her eyebrows like a drawbridge.

nothing about her should have invited that ease. she'd been pricklier than cactus spikes, and twice as guarded. but he'd persisted, regardless, despite her bristling. a long, slow blink stalls the moment further, as if she's stuttering through her brain's failure to fully process the sentiment.
]

Shouldn't you allow yourself to take more credit than that?
deaddrop: (pic#13347548)

[personal profile] deaddrop 2023-06-15 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
Maybe not apologizing, exactly. Just... sympathetic. It's an awkward situation.
dispassioned: (pic#16337965)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 05:40 am (UTC)(link)
Do you think so?

[He hums thoughtfully, considering it.]

I made the choice. But I made it because I felt comfortable with you.

[Certainly he'd had some opportunities to open up to others on the crew, but it hadn't felt as appealing. Things that had been easy to share with her had felt difficult with McCoy and Strange, for instance, so he'd avoided it.]
peasant: (alina30761)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-15 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
I do. I couldn't have forced you to share yourself with me. [ then, with endeared exasperation, ] You're much too vexing for that.

[ it's as he said — he had been the orchestrator of that choice. credit where credit is due. he's never given the impression of flimsy material that bends to another's will, that would break beneath a pestering interrogation.

but she isn't discounting the sentiment he's handing to her. perhaps she had made it simple. perhaps — she is the safe space she's always intended to be, for people like her. the misfits. the hated. those who have nowhere else to turn, just like her grisha.

she skims the blanket draped across them between her fingers, idle. a small, wistful smile cracks the corners of her mouth.
]

It mustn't have been that easy. I did make it an uphill battle for you, after all.
Edited 2023-06-15 06:13 (UTC)
dispassioned: (pic#16255341)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 06:30 am (UTC)(link)
[He chuckles softly.]

You didn't force me at all. That's why it was easy.

[He hadn't felt pressured to tell her anything. Even when she did ask questions it felt more like gentle prodding than demanding something he didn't want to share.]

I liked you so I wanted to.
peasant: (alina-ep2-11)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-15 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
[ for reasons unknown, when her attitude had hardly inspired like. but rather than express her continued bafflement, retreading a past they've already retreaded once before, she smiles, rounded out with softness.

a warm laugh breezes out of her, nearly nothing more than a wisp of a breath.
]

You don't like other people? Or you just happen to like me the best?
Edited 2023-06-15 06:42 (UTC)
dispassioned: (pic#16309464)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 06:52 am (UTC)(link)
[He's learning to like other people, but:]

I like you best.

[That's easy to admit, and there’s no hesitation in it. He’d told her as much in his office on Naephus when she was suffering the effects of not using her power. That she was the favorite. But it was said playfully, so she probably hadn’t noticed the ring of truth in it.]

That’s new, too.

[Liking someone as much as he likes her, in the way that he likes her.]
rootlessly: (pic#16364524)

cw disordered eating / suicidal feelings / child abuse ref

[personal profile] rootlessly 2023-06-15 07:21 am (UTC)(link)
[The small, locked room is perhaps the least unfamiliar part of the memory, calling back his earliest times aboard Ship Three, before it became his new home and family. The girl's panicked desperation to get out is less so; he had spent months locked away in that room while the ship's crew debated what to do with him in listless despair and resignation, barely eating or sleeping--with nowhere to return to and nothing to contribute, he hadn't seen what the point was in remaining alive, let alone being released.

Many things have changed, since that time, but the young girl's pain is still recognizable even as it takes a different form from his own. There is a moment where he nearly lunges forward, to take the brunt of that makeshift blade for his own rather than allow it to find purchase in her wrists -- but she, as with the rest of this vision are as ghosts, ephemeral, and there is no preventing anything that unfolds. Vash is very quiet, through the end, as though lost in his own head. Softly, at length:]


...For what it's worth, I'm glad you lived.

[Perhaps it's a strange sentiment to receive from someone with whom you've only spoken twice, but Vash is absolutely earnest about it. Even if they were never to exchange words again, he would notice, if she were to die. For a hundred and fifty years, he's made it his business to notice, and to mourn, when there is nobody left to remember. All the same, he hopes he will not have to.]
peasant: (alina12806)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-15 07:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ her grin grows, carved out by the dimpling dips it creates, bashful by nature. it isn't wholly new; mal had always kept her in his circles. genya and nikolai had neer hesitated to welcome her under their wings. but this is still novel to her, too, some days — being anyone's favorite, outside of her utility.

a predicament that will only worsen, now that the shine of a crown on her head will attract carrion. it's no worry of hers, here; if anything, chishiya seems the type to be repelled by wealth and status, rather than drawn to it. maybe that should be her chief concern — how differently he might eye her, once it comes to light. losing her favored position in a fall from grace. but for now —

she reaches out, idly toying with the ends of his hair, tickled into warmth by his easy admission.
]

What's new? Having a favorite at all?

[ hard to say if the obliviousness is her usual brand of daftness, or an act — but all signs point to the former. ]
dispassioned: (pic#16300061)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 07:59 am (UTC)(link)
[Her response is infectious and be finds himself smiling back. He lifts a hand to touch her cheek, tracing the dimple lightly with his fingers.]

Mm. That's right.

[The closest was Kuina, but even that hadn't been like this. The feelings were different, and how he viewed himself and the world at the time were different, too.]

Feeling this way in general. Is that strange?
Edited 2023-06-15 12:55 (UTC)
rehandle: (pic#16175963)

[personal profile] rehandle 2023-06-15 08:35 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah. I'll bet.

[ But it's there now, isn't it. Hanging in the air, very present for all they might try to skirt around it. He could change the subject entirely, or leave, or do anything else to spare Chishiya the aftermath of being seen...

Only that's not going to change that he has been. So what more harm can it do to ask? ]


Did you leave?

[ He stopped practising, that much Stephen knows, but there's also a gap between a pediatric surgeon and the allusions to people not wanting to make an enemy of him he was privy to at the gala, and the more recent, more mysterious reference to last time something like this happened to me... ]
dispassioned: (pic#16311732)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 08:49 am (UTC)(link)
[The corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. Half-rueful, but at least a little bit genuine, as well.]

Well, it might be more accurate to say I was transferred.

[To an alternate world. He thinks he's hilarious.]
rehandle: (264)

[personal profile] rehandle 2023-06-15 08:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's a little dip of his brow here - the joke lands both its meaning and its humour, any apparent disapproval a mock-up. ]

And not to the Ximilia's infirmary.

[ So where? ]
dispassioned: (pic#16362906)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 09:03 am (UTC)(link)
Not immediately.

[Obviously, he had ended up there eventually. Somehow or another.

He's being cagey on purpose, as usual. Because it's fun and an easy distraction from being percieved. The indirect inquiry just makes it easier.

Still, as a treat, he offers:]


There's a question you want to ask, but you're not asking it.
rehandle: (282)

[personal profile] rehandle 2023-06-15 09:10 am (UTC)(link)
If you want to answer, you'll answer.

[ If he doesn't, he won't. Chishiya already knows what he's angling for. Asking the question's more or less a wasted breath. ]
dispassioned: (pic#16314432)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-15 09:38 am (UTC)(link)
[It's a kindness, really. Stephen's giving him room to choose whether or not to share more about himself after what's already been shown. It's a personal failing of Chishiya's that he doesn't always know how to respond to it. At least that's something he's aware of now.

He sighs, suppressing his instinct to make things more difficult, to play more mind games.]


I didn't choose to leave. I just woke up in an empty, alternate Tokyo one day.

[It's the truth, even if it's vague. It's hard to know where to start when it comes to explaining Borderland. There are always going to be questions he can't answer.]