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

locumstudentesquire: (Vexing...)

[personal profile] locumstudentesquire 2023-06-16 03:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[BUT?????

Ryunosuke is canny enough to suspect there's some significant weight behind that word, but he doesn't press Minimus on the matter for the time being. Though, his face does twitch slightly at the mention of the name 'Magnus'. That's... An unfortunate coincidence, isn't it?]


Ultra Magnus...? It sounds like you're quite a big deal back in your world. [He cocks his head.] But... How do you even go about defending someone you know to be guilty of something so serious? Surely you can't advocate for strict innocence, in that kind of scenario...?

[It's been some time since he last felt the weight of his lack of formal training, as keenly as he does asking this question. There's still so much he has left to learn... And he's supposed to go back and help reform Japan's legal system? Is that REALLY a good idea?]
drawsblood: (5)

[personal profile] drawsblood 2023-06-16 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Why shouldn't I be? Is it wrong to worry over my friends?

[ What he doesn't say is: I have precious few. So of course he's going to be protective over those he has. He thinks he understands her tone and that she's trying to play it off as funny, but sometimes he just doesn't comply. ]
coordination: (where the lost are the heroes)

[personal profile] coordination 2023-06-16 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He hears the voice, the tone of knowing in it which means he was close enough to be affected by the same thing Yzak just had. He drops his hand from his face, head snapping in Jake's direction, tense, and-

There's a brief pause, a look of recollection in Yzak's eyes (eyes that are as tense at the rest of him) as he thinks, why is it this guy again? Why does he keep running into this dog guy at times like this? When he's vulnerable, dealing with something he doesn't want to be dealing with and definitely doesn't want anybody else to be privy to.

Much less the memory itself. Something so hopeful now just makes him sick with the reminder that it was all for nothing and he lost even more in the end anyway. Should be, Jake says. This isn't anywhere close to where Yzak wants to be; it's not anything close to what he'd wanted "now" to look like back in that memory. But maybe this is where he should be and deserves to be for wanting that much at all. ]


I know that-! [ He says, snaps, for lack of anything else to say because as actually Not Bad as it is to have someone there with him, to ground him and give him anything else to focus on, he still automatically pushes against it. ] These stupid fucking things...
winscenario: (eighty four.)

[personal profile] winscenario 2023-06-16 05:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He knows that, that day, he managed to find a safe place just beyond that fence, and the day after that he ran away for a few days. So not changing things should assure their safety. Rationally he knows that they would be able to handle Frank, but emotionally that's not something he ever wants to deal with again.

Or talk about, which is why Natasha's words make him tense. He doesn't say anything, though, just giving her a brief glance, pressing his lips thinly as he keeps walking at a swift pace.

Beyond that fence, there is a barn not too far from the main house. His friend liked to keep a spot there to hang out, there were blankets and even a few snacks sometimes, and it's where he heads to, hoping and knowing he'll find that place there again. ]
winscenario: (seventy.)

[personal profile] winscenario 2023-06-16 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Jim crouches next to Andy, but doesn't move any closer. He's not sure if actually reaching out would be welcome, and besides, it's not like he could change a memory, regardless of how it ended up playing out. ]

This is your memory. Only you can say what happens next.

[ He would absolutely love to get some shade, though. ]

Which way do we go from here?
coordination: (Divorced & Now a Bottom)

[personal profile] coordination 2023-06-16 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The reminder still stings, because no matter how far he's come from that time, it's still embarrassing to remember he'd been so ... awful and stupid and blind. And there's always something in Yzak that automatically recoils from any feeling of being alone, left behind, even if it's just something from a memory. Feelings that he never wants to feel like that again.

But at least he's not there anymore. So it isn't all too bad to "come back" to the station proper after that. Jarring for sure, though. So Yzak blinks, glancing over his shoulder at Andy when she asks - because she's standing right there, and that means she saw it, too. ]


My best friend.

[ It's odd to say, because he's been here for so long without him, now. Having his back, standing at his side, diffusing his sparks of anger (unless they're really deserved in the moment, Dearka always has a way of being able to tell) and serving as a constant, comfortable presence in his life whether it's while they're on duty dealing with something difficult together, or during more peaceful times where he'll be the one reaching out and making sure Yzak doesn't remain in that whole work-to-home to work-to-back to work cycle. ]

Since back in our academy days. We served on the same team together during the first war, and I appointed him as my XO when I was promoted to command my own team.
legalcy: (🎵 are you okay)

[personal profile] legalcy 2023-06-16 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Ultra Magnus, meaning he was from the noble House of Magnus. [Which means that his given name was "Ultra", yes. He was born to be cool.] It's part of my job. Ultra Magnus represents true justice - impartial and extending legal rights to all criminals, no matter how terrible their actions have been.

[Lawyers aren't people, in a sense. They're tools.]

If we deny certain people of basic rights, how will be ensure that we are fair to all citizens?
heroooic: (pic#16118602)

[personal profile] heroooic 2023-06-16 07:21 pm (UTC)(link)
…do you think we’ll be here long enough for that to be a problem?

[ Finn at last pulls a dented and well-worn flashlight out of his backpack, clicking it on to at least partially light their way. It cast long shadows across the vacant room, scattered items of no value or use to them looking like pieces of jetsam in a dark sea. ]
heroooic: (016)

[personal profile] heroooic 2023-06-16 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
I can be here! It’s my dungeon!

[ His implication being that he’d found it himself, as all great adventures do. Certainly not that his brothers had built it, at their father’s request, while Finn minimally helped with the late stage ornamental construction. Either way, the pillow dungeon of reality and the pillow dungeon enshrined in Finn’s memory as a young child, seem to have taken some serious divergences, not the least of which was in scale.

But all of that is secondarry; for now, he looks surprised by the recognition, her being a complete stranger to him. There would come a point in Finn’s life when being recognized by people he’d never met would feel commonplace. But at the tender age of only five or so, it strikes him merely as a compelling mystery. ]


I’m Finn! Who are you?

[ He holds up a wooden sword toward her, mostly in mock threat, backed by intense curiosity. ]
singlelogbridge: (226)

[personal profile] singlelogbridge 2023-06-16 07:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[The words prompt a boyish giggle and Wei Ying shakes his head.]

We don't have to stay for years, Gege, but maybe just a little while longer. [The grin on his face softens into a sweet smile and his eyes widen with mischief as he turns suddenly. Reaching over the side of the boat, Wei Ying comes back with a glowing purple bloom cupped in his hands. He closes the distance between them and reaches up without the slightest hesitation to weave the flower into Itachi's hair.]

For you, Gege.
softshoes: art by <user name=usaalock site=twitter.com> (🌱 66)

sorry for length there are too many people talking

[personal profile] softshoes 2023-06-16 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)
["What do you mean, what?! It's your job!" Breckinridge barks, officially... locking Yzak in the pen with the geese. Immediately, they start hovering around his ankles, honking at him insistently. Evidently, Bill's the one who feeds them.

Yujin, as if sensing something off in the dream, gives "Bill" a double-take.
] Erm... [But before he can say anything, Sholmes launches right into it with the stall owner:

"Mr. Breckinridge! We were recommended to you by the landlord of the Alpha."

"Oh, yes." he replies, turning his attentions away from Yzak. "I sent him a couple dozen."

"Fine birds they were, too,"
says Sholmes, rubbing his chin. "Where did you get them from?"

The man, anger suddenly piqued, cocks his head and stomps forward to the edge of the fence. Arms akimbo, he gets louder and louder as his irritation grows. "When I pay good money for a good article, there should be an end of the business, but all night, it's 'Are these all your geese?' and 'Who did you sell the geese to?" and 'What will you take for the geese?' One would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss that's made over them!"
]

N-now, sir. [Yujin holds his hands up apologetically as he glances nervously between Sholmes, Breckinridge, and Yzak. The geese are getting restless, too: they're bustling about, one flapping up into Yzak's face.] I assure you that we have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries.

["But if you won't tell us, the bet is off," Sholmes continues carelessly. "My friend and I have five pounds on it that the bird I ate is country bred."

There's a split-second of hesitation on Yujin's face before he frowns and leans right into the bit.
] Surely not! It must have been town bred. You owe me, Sholmes.

["Hah!" Breckinridge's exclamation sends the geese all a-flutter. Again. "Your Eastern friend is right! You've lost your fiver-- it's town bred."

"It can't be! It's nothing of the kind," Sholmes retorts.

"I say it is."

"I don't believe it!"
]

Sholmes... [says Yujin, a warning tone in his voice.

"D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha were town bred!" shouts Breckinridge. The geese, anxious, are now scattering about, some rushing past Yzak, a couple attempting to squeeze their way past him and out the gate. "Bill, bring me the book of sales records! We'll teach him to be obstinate!"
]
Edited (i also forgot my own formatting LMFAO) 2023-06-16 20:32 (UTC)
drawsblood: (33)

[personal profile] drawsblood 2023-06-16 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)
I can't say one way or the other. What I can say is I was preparing for something to happen on the station like when Olivia took over and took away the lights and water. We are vulnerable as long as we're at the mercy of someone we can't trust for our supplies.

[ At least out in the wild a person can hunt or trap animals and collect vegetation to eat. If you fail out there it's because the resources don't exist in that area or everything in poisonous. Here it's hoping the AI doesn't let you starve or takes away your air. ]
blackfire: (pic#15697071)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-16 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Mm.

he lets the boy work, holding very still as it's woven into his hair. once wei ying leans back, itachi reaches up to adjust it just enough that it won't fall out.

Thank you. That's very thoughtful. I do have a fondness for the colour.
peasant: (alina-ep5-5)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-16 10:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ curious. it's a far cry from the paranoia that often plagues the edges of her awareness. her stare doesn't snap away; if anything, it only grows in unspoken bafflement, widened into an owl's gaze.

perhaps it should be an insult that he perceives her as so non-threatening to him. but mostly — it's a relief not to be handled by entitled hands. the same ravkan hands that know she belongs more to the soil of her nation than to herself. the same sticky, greedy hands that had leafed through the private sanctity of her thoughts, ruined the sanctuary her journals had become, until that safe haven had felt too invaded.

she loosens a breath, silently pouring out of her.
]

I could be some sinister criminal mastermind for all you know.

[ the joke falls flat on its face, its spirit half-deflated. because it's too close to the truth to make light of it; because beneath it all lies a warning, if not her subconscious, insistent need to test how easily he might be driven off. the waters of alina starkov are murkier than he might think, and he's only just begun to wade through. ]
Edited 2023-06-16 22:36 (UTC)
ximilianpc: (0-L1V-14)

[personal profile] ximilianpc 2023-06-16 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes.
blackfire: (pic#15580382)

[personal profile] blackfire 2023-06-16 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)
What are your conclusions thus far?

she always has worthwhile input — and it is not as though there are other pressing demands upon their time here. they could remain a hundred years, and still emerge in a heartbeat's time from tsukuyomi.
dispassioned: (pic#16249585)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-17 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
[His eyebrows go up at that. Well, that would be interesting. And anything is possible. But he doubts it. Not that she’s committed crimes. That, actually, wouldn’t surprise him. From what she has told him she grew up impoverished on the fringes of society, and those are the people most likely to turn to crime to survive. And he knows, too, that she’s acquainted with how ugly the world is.

What he doubts is the "sinister" angle. He’d met his share of sinister types in Borderland. She didn’t act like any of them.]


A sinister criminal mastermind wouldn’t care about a stranger dying in a sudden down pour. Especially one who had insulted her. If you’re a criminal I’d guess you were more of a Robin Hood type. You have your reasons.
Edited (Punctuation ) 2023-06-17 00:16 (UTC)
peasant: (alina-ep2-14)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-17 12:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ the edges of her smile turn serrated with bitterness. his is a limited scope of what's sinister, it seems, like he's used to seeing the glint of teeth in the dark before they rend through him. alina has had no such fortune among vipers that coil in the grass and sharp-toothed wolves that hide within soft skin and pleasant promises. ]

They do if they're clever about it. Maybe I wanted you to see me as your savior.

[ none of his criminals have had the patience to enact a long con the way kirigan had, apparently. she expels a sigh, heavy and resigned between her ribs, as she draws back by mere centimeters. it's stupid, really, that they're debating it just to debate — but his obstinance will supply her with fresh grays in her hair, for how utterly vexing he's choosing to be.

she twists onto her back, a flopping shift of weight. her tongue is looser, she finds, when she doesn't have to examine how her words are received. out of nervous habit, her hands clasp loosely across her stomach, toying with one another.
]

What if I told you that you weren't entirely wrong about me, the first time we met? That some of what you guessed was true.
Edited 2023-06-17 00:35 (UTC)
peasant: (alina36036)

cw for self-inflicted injuries THIS IS SO TL;DR I'M SORRY

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-17 01:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ it isn't the first time she's walked these dusty, worn halls. sunlight streams through the mosaic windows that greet vash, casting an amber glow over the cramped kitchen. a cursory look might give a homey air, but on closer inspection — there's chips and peeling paint on the walls and dirt swept across the floor. meager supplies of herbs and fruit rest on a small table, overlooked by paintings that give a religious aura.

and two children, in the center of it: a curly-haired boy and a freckled girl, shoved into roughspun clothing, identical in material. mal is nearly unrecognizable — but the determined set to alina gives her away, even in her youth, as she ushers him to keep watch.

"once i have my sketchbook," she tells him. "we run." it's decisive, like this plan has been one in the making for years, despite their young age. "we never look back. right?"

the boy offers her a nod. there's a meekness to him that's still soft, still childlike — a timidness he'll outgrow, in time. alina seems twice her small, sickly size by comparison, like she's been forced to make herself taller to account for it. to instill herself with the bravery that eludes mal. when he makes no move to answer further, when his stare nervously hones into his hands, the girl's dart forward to snare them.

"how many times will we be out there in that field? if it's not the grisha trying to separate us, it will be the war. we can't hide forever, but we can run — together."

he echoes that last syllable before alina turns to set the plan into motion, a strategy that dies an early death as she pivots, smashing a clumsy elbow into a saucer. it drops to the ground in a deafening crack of porcelain, forcing them both to scramble with the shards. it's too late to conceal — footsteps drum up into the kitchen, the voice of a shrill woman cutting through.

"thought you could hide?" there's a sternness to the exasperation in her eyes, weariness in the wrinkles forming on her mature face. "well, you're wrong."

impatience marks the way she ushers them into an adjoining room. agitation follows them, a nervousness that drags their feet toward three women lined up at a table, in nearly matching uniforms, almost expectant in their gazes.

"we cannot test him like this," one says, disappointment steaming a sigh through her nose. "his injury makes it impossible."

alina's turn awaits, then. even as the woman assures her in gentle tones, uncertain tension rests in her stiff shoulders. "if you're not grisha, your life will carry on as it always. but if you are, a whole new world awaits you, and all of this will fade into the past."

an instrument sits in her hands. as she goes through the motions of an explanation — this will prick, just relax your arms — alina only barely hears it, turned tinny in her eardrums, as she stares across at mal. the pain in her palm is a flaring thing as the shard of porcelain she'd collected stabs into her skin, tightening her fist behind her back. no one in the room spies the blood that drips down as it cuts a half-circle there, long enough to fool the examination into declaring her not grisha.

ordinary, like mal. it's a worthwhile pain to trade, just to stay by his side.

she smiles across the way at him in watery relief. in the room, an older version of herself absently traces the pink pucker of a scar it had left behind, a suffocating veil of wistfulness hanging heavy within the air.
]
Edited 2023-06-17 01:22 (UTC)
dispassioned: (pic#16308892)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-17 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
["They do if they're clever about it." Well, she's not wrong about that. He should know. He'd played Arisu and Usagi seamlessly to enact his plan to escape the Beach.

Not that it had been worth it in the end.

But instead of arguing the point, he focuses on what she says after, about being right about her at first. He raises an eyebrow.]


Which part?

[Because really, she never convinced him she wasn't bossy.]
hindsights: (17)

[personal profile] hindsights 2023-06-17 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
[ the memory fades into view slowly; innocuously enough from the point of an observer standing in the doorway. in a small room fitted with three beds, a small red-haired boy sits on a bed holding a disk carved out of stone. he's wearing cream-colored robes, his face is scrunched in concentration like he's focusing hard on something.

and, cal is.

it's never been something he's been able to control, is the thing. ever since he's been little, littler, cal's touched things and suddenly seen things he's not supposed to have seen.

he remembers, vaguely, his mother's trepidation and his father's annoyance when he'd asked questions about things he shouldn't have known. he hadn't known back then that they didn't like it, that it concerned them more than the floating toys and tricks he'd managed as a toddler. he knows now and that's why he's trying.

he is.

it's just hard. harder than all the other things that he's learned to control since coming to the Jedi temple, joining the ranks of younglings working their way toward the gathering and a kyber crystal. master yoda says that he needs to master this; to draw up a memory from a particular item when he wants to see it, not by accident. that's his current test.

but the slab of carved rock in his hand isn't giving him anything, no matter how much cal sits and concentrates on it, the cool material in his small hands. he's not sure what it is, actually. and. and he's a bit frustrated because if he can't do this than he can't continue, can't go to ilum and find his own kyber crystal, and then he can't ---

he huffs, setting the carved disk on his bed.

he's in the room he shares with two other younglings, but he's alone right now. trying to focus.

he stands up, huffs again and paces back and forth before stopping to take a deep breath as if he's going to meditate. instead, he speaks with determination.
] Trust in the Force.

[ then he picks up the disk again, this time his expression cool and collected before he gasps, dropping it to the bed. there's a moment of quiet before cal spins around, shock on his face but also excitement as he speaks to the empty room. ] That was-- I did it!!!

[ he grabs the disk off the bed, tucking it into his robes as he spins toward the door as if about to run off and tell someone of this achievement when he notices her. and, well, she doesn't look like she's supposed to be here. so cal stops, takes a step back. ] Who are you?
peasant: (alina-ep1-1)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-17 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ it irrationally grates that he doesn't instinctively know. for all of his preternatural penchant for perceptiveness, she's forced to spell it out for him, for clarity's sake. her lips fold into one another, rolling, as she debates the benefits of pretending to immediately doze off into oblivion. ]

When you accused me of having someone toy with my head.

[ there's a brittle quality to that confirmation that pulls her vocal cords tight, tense, stiff with unease beside him. a clear indication of the cost it requires of her to acknowledge it, let alone speak of it, as though it might invite the memory into the room with them.

he'd aimed too well, locked onto that target, and fired at an open wound. the only inaccuracy had been the assumption it had been in the past, and not kirigan's determination to crawl inside of her like an irremovable parasite once more, desperate to find an entry point.

her stare doesn't shift from drilling into the ceiling. it's not an excuse, now — merely an explanation presented for her own failure to part with her secrets so eagerly.
]

I don't know how you knew, but you did.
hindsights: (17)

obi-wan kenobi

[personal profile] hindsights 2023-06-17 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ archives aren't exactly cal's favorite place. he'd never entered the archives in the jedi temple and even following edo cordova's footsteps, he's never been in one. with good reason. he doesn't like sorting through boxes, doesn't find it interesting when there's no purpose. some might argue the preservation of information, of history, is a purpose but cal's more of a lightsaber swinging kind of guy.

but when he goes to the sleeping quarters and finds boxes that look like the sort of things you'd find in a storage archive, well, he has to look. he isn't impressed by what he finds, until--- until he sees the lute and the box next to it. something calls him closer, as if he's looking for the memory attached to it, and it's screaming back at him. it's like the force and psychometry crying out before, before he reaches out for that box and something happens. something else, something not like the familiar, plunge into the vastness of the force and energy all around him.

he opens the lid and there's a bright light-- then warmth? yeah, warmth.

when the rosey-hue fades, the world all around him and then--- and then when he remembers is clear in front of him.

the chatter of the crowd filters in all around, the smell of food and sweet flowers fills the air. the new year is approaching and with it comes a fete week; this one is cal's favorite, because it means the galactic fair is being held. the younglings and padawans who've returned to the jedi temple with their masters are supposed to remain training within the temples walls but--

for all the strictness that comes with being a youngling and calling the jedi temple on coruscant one's home, there is plenty of fun to be had. at least, with some of the teachers. master yoda is strict, yes, but he knows the value of what a handful of younglings can see at the fair with the right supervision.

so cal's beyond the walls under the gaze of mirye sunte, who's taken a group of younglings under master's yoda's wishes. they're meant to stay together but, well, cal's snuck away from the group. not because he wants to get in trouble but because the new padawan guiding the small group is leading them away from cal's favorite stall that sells baha and is always willing to give samples to a curious youngling. he's going to find it. he is.

and as he lets his senses lead him to the right spot, weaving through the crowd with a grin on his face (he knows it's not the right way to use the force but---), he can't help the giddiness he feels. at least until he takes a quick turn and finds himself running straight into someone making a turn with a crash. he drops back, lands on his behind with a very undignified sort of yelp.
] Sorry!
Edited 2023-06-17 01:30 (UTC)
hindsights: (24)

wei wuxian

[personal profile] hindsights 2023-06-17 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ unlike the sunlight room that cal's used to, this one's real. well, not a real simulation. the plants are real, the life around him is -- life.

that's more unsettling than it should be, as he walks through the foliage and notices a glint of green light.

that's what draws him closer and when he touches it, the world around him shifts. he's no longer surrounded by green leaves and plants but by stone carved in long forgotten symbols and the cold metal of the imperial base. second sister is there, waiting with her blade, her voice muffled by the inquisitors helmet. the battle is rough, far from evenly matched between a young man who'd barely had any training and an inquisitor training under lord vader. cal is forced to the ground a strike, tries to crawl back and push her away but when the red lightsaber is about to connect the fatal blow, a wall of red divides them.

it's beedee.

he's never been so grateful for the droid.

then second sister talks.

and when trilla walks away, cal finds himself standing glaring at that red force field and wanting to lash out. she's wrong.

he's barely contained, vibrating with the frustration and anger because --

because there's a chance she's right.

then the stone on the other side of the wall fades and instead cal's faint reflection in the force field grows more tangible. he stands there, looking at himself but no longer as the young man dressed in a scrapper's uniform but an inquisitor with yellow eyes that carry only anger.
]