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

heyciri: (consider | that there’s only silence)

[personal profile] heyciri 2023-06-18 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
( He does look posed, and if he hadn't been glancing mostly to her and slightly to the side, his act would have been even more convincing. She doesn't comment on it, since it's pointless: she'd try to do the same if she couldn't see, and she has a feeling she'd be both sharper and less patient about it in uneven turns. )

That's me. ( Attempting to make it slightly upbeat in tone, and mostly managing that mark. ) The one and only, until someone else shows up called Ciri, and we get to fight for the titles we add on to our names.

( She makes her footsteps sound louder as she walks toward him, giving him a clear line in addition to her voice to track her. Things she's trained also to do the opposite of when it comes to survival. )

So, side effects can include losing senses for a while, huh?

( Assuming, for pointed reasons, it's not permanent. Thank you. )

Wanna head to the mess hall? I can escort you, very official like.

( Said as she's within general reaching distance, though she doesn't reach out to touch him first. The princess playing escort. Yeah, she does know how, huh? )
heyciri: (smile | just carry on and)

[personal profile] heyciri 2023-06-18 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
( She... peers around the maze of blanket fort, quirking up both brows. Sure, why not claim it as a whole space? It's not like she has a reason to argue, other than finding it an odd sort of situation she can't quite relate to.

(Though she should. Claiming spaces because they belonged to her grandmother, and thus also her, was something she'd certainly done at his apparent age.)
)

I'm Ciri.

( She glances to his wooden sword, reminded of the one Geralt had finally handed her when he'd accepted her request to learn to protect herself. Seeing the same here, in her mind, is... odd. It shouldn't be, she knows young children can start learning and tend to do so, but something just feels... odd. )

We meet when you're older, and in a different... dungeon?

( How is this a dungeon, where are the holding cells? She refrains from looking around, uncertain if doing so will manifest some, or saying so will inspire Finn into the manifesting of some. She's not actually fond of dungeons. Mildly fond of cold stone rooms, yes, but not dungeons. )

Called Ximilia.
peasant: (alina-ep2-13)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ a heartbeat of a pause stutters between them. alina resides at the very center of it, aimlessly lost, like — it's been so very long since she's thought of want at all that her compass has broken. her mouth opens, then slowly latches shut. because there is no answer — not one that matters in any form. the course of her life, in some part, has always been predetermined for her. that won't end until she does, or —

until ravka no longer needs her. whichever comes first.
]

That's never mattered. The world has made assumptions about me from the day I was born.

[ and they'll continue the day she leaves the world, too. a certain resignation tinges her words, but there's an evenness to it, too — as though she's had time to come to terms with that fate. in the end, it's not nearly so different from being the reviled half-shu orphan. her heritage has already solidified a version of herself in those too steeped in their prejudices, to begin with.

it's a better answer, still, than the alternative i don't know. even if such indecision is carved into the tight furl between her brows, carving confusion into the angles of her face.
]

But if I had a say ... I would want them to see me as different from who came before me. Someone capable of mending what's broken.

[ if kirigan had been seen as destruction, then — perhaps it's her turn to be seen as protection, as peace. everything he could not achieve. ]
jedied: (285)

sorry for the wait!

[personal profile] jedied 2023-06-18 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ It wasn't supposed to be like this, Rey thought with some trepidation as she slid into the pilot's seat, unable to quell her excitement even so. She'd flown before under more dire circumstances, of course, but that was before she knew what she was flying.

The Millennium Falcon. Han Solo's legendary ship, somehow still faster and more durable than it had any right to be -- and now somehow in her temporary possession. She'd asked Chewie to pilot, but he'd insisted on it being her. She'd earned it, he said. She wasn't sure of that, but she couldn't quite keep the grin off her face even as her fingers trembled with nerves as she ran through the startup sequence and lifted off the ground.

"Don't let me get used to this," she addressed her co-pilot, still beaming despite herself as the Falcon pulled up and leveled out as smoothly as a ship of its age was capable of. "I mean it. It's-- hey, did you hear something?"

She turns around in her pilot's seat and blinks at the newcomer in her space. ]


How did you get in here?
singlelogbridge: (20)

Green

[personal profile] singlelogbridge 2023-06-18 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
[He's getting tired of invading the memories of other crew members like this. A least in Forsythe Heights this sort of intrusion only happened in the school, but here on the station, it's impossible to avoid. He isn't surprised when he walks into the Sunlight room and catches sight of a hint of shimmering green before he feels someone's memory pull him under, but he sighs all the same and waits to see whose memory he's been pulled into.]
deferences: dns (♪ tentative)

[personal profile] deferences 2023-06-18 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
[—the memory dissipates and sizhui's attention snaps toward itachi, eyebrows initially lifted in surprise, though his expression is quick to soften afterward once he realizes. other people might hurry to hide their sadness, flustered by the fact they've been caught in a compromising position, yet sizhui only briefly raises his hand higher and dabs his cheeks with the back of his sleeve before inclining his head.

of all the people he's met so far, however, itachi's someone he thinks won't judge him too harshly for becoming verklempt because he's reliving emotional moments that have happened throughout his life, especially something he'd experienced recently that still felt a bit new.
]

How? [he parrots, his voice croaking slightly. there's an answer, there always is, but maybe he's stalling for time, taking an extra moment or two to recover from what he saw and the fact someone else witnessed it too.

because of course, it was itachi of all people who happened across him during this. (which isn't a complaint, really, since it's actually someone he would prefer.)
]
singlelogbridge: (88)

V

[personal profile] singlelogbridge 2023-06-18 04:56 am (UTC)(link)
[He can't save her.

He can't save either of them.

It's a memory, the unchangeable events having already been etched into stone just like every other memory that's pulled him in. But this isn't like any of the other memories he's been pulled into. This one makes his blood boil and a scream curdles in his throat, echoing the screams already filling the air.

He'd known. She'd told him. But there's a difference between being told and seeing it for himself. In the dark of the humid summer night, Wei Wuxian's eyes bleed red with the anger and suffering of the dead that are always with him, but he doesn't call them out. All that power and he can do nothing. He can't save her.

Still.

Still. He's here, real or not, memory or not. He's here and he's never been any good at doing nothing. He pays no mind to the butchers themselves. They can't hurt him. Choosing between Ziggy and Cindy is as excruciating as it is easy, but he knows what Cindy would choose, because it's what she did choose.

He meets Cindy's eyes at the same time that he slips a hand into Ziggy's, whispering words that the real Cindy will never hear but that he's whispered into the universe more than once before.
]

I'll look after her, I promise.

[There is no time to see if the echoes of Cindy respond, his hand tightens around Ziggy's, and he pulls her into a run. He can't stop this, he knows that. It will always end the way it ends, but that doesn't mean he can't change it just a little, give her something different to remember.

He doesn't keep running. Once they have a little distance from their pursuers, Wei Wuxian comes to a stop and shoves something into Ziggy's arms—a bow and arrow—before taking her by the shoulders.
]

Listen to me, a-Xing. You're a fighter. [His hand smooths down the bloodied hair at her brow and he continues.] You're so strong, Ziggy. Show me what you've learned. Show me how it'll be when you change things. I'll be right here the whole time. No matter how this ends, I'll be here.
dispassioned: (pic#16314434)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
[He notices the way she pauses at the question, like she's not sure how to answer. He wonders if anyone has ever asked her that before.

Probably not, actually. No one ever asked him about the role he wanted to play in the system he was stuck in, either. No one asked if he wanted to save the lives of rich children over poor children. It hadn't mattered. Some things are just taken for granted.

He tilts his head slightly at her answer, when she finally gives it. That makes sense, too, given some of the things she said in the past. It suits her, he thinks, given what he's seen of her.]


Ah, fair enough. It seems like that should be possible.

[It's a heavy burden to carry, though. No wonder she acts like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders sometimes. Apparently she kind of does.]
peasant: (alina-ep1-1)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ the casual nature of his response immobilizes her again. eerie stillness takes over her, sculpture-esque in her unblinking stare. the truth is — she can't quite parse what he means. no, that isn't right. she can't quite parse how he means it to be taken. if it's unfounded faith in her, or ... a detail she's missed, somehow.

she makes a sound in her throat, not quite manifesting into a scoff. possible? undoubtedly. her hope sparks brighter than the embers it had once been. but it feels like an underestimation of the work ahead, when ravka is still so newly being nursed back to health. on most days, it gives alina the impression of a toddler — quick to undo all of their hard work with a sudden tantrum, or skinned knees.

temperamental. unpredictable. and still too young to learn to carry itself. suddenly, her features deepen into a pinch.
]

Does it? [ she doesn't wait for an answer. ] How are you so indifferent about all of this?
dispassioned: (pic#16296978)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
[The fact of the matter is, he has an unfortunate habit of appearing indifferent to a lot of things, whether he is or not.

However in this particular case, he's confused.]


Indifferent to what?

[He'd apologized for stumbling on to the memory in the first place, so he doesn't think she's talking about that. She'd also said herself that there were worse memories for him to see. There's nothing terrible in it, though he sympathizes with her apparent discomfort.]
Edited 2023-06-18 05:44 (UTC)
groupiedrifter: iconmunism @ tumblr (pic#14770939)

[personal profile] groupiedrifter 2023-06-18 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
[Newt feels strange. He swears he'd just been lying in a hospital bed, curled up next to Clara Oswald and crying his eyes out, but now — now he's here, feeling shaky-legged at the thought of what he'd seen all over again. It was a beautiful thing, having that many people willing to help him... willing to give him a chance to be Newt, and not the monsters that had ransacked his mind. But... to have to relive those dark, dark moments in his life, even if fleetingly...

He breathes in shakily, adjusting his glasses as he looks up.

His head feels kind of scattered; luckily, he isn't so lost in the memory that he doesn't recognize Joric.]


Until you're no longer in control? [A quiet curiosity. Tentative. He feels a little vulnerable, like he'd been flipped inside out to be perceived fully.] What do you mean? Like... possessed?

[Like him.

Though the possession was... complicated, admittedly.]
greenpower: (pic#16358886)

[personal profile] greenpower 2023-06-18 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.

[She's not great with people in the best times, and this isn't that.]

You two look like twins.

[Which doesn't really make it better, does it.]

What was that about plants?
peasant: (alina-ep6-3)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 06:04 am (UTC)(link)
Isn't it obvious? To — [ she throws her arms out around them, mildly frustrated that she has to point it out. ] — this.

[ his responses read, to her, as ... shockingly underwhelmed, like this is a normal tuesday for the two of them. some piece of her wonders if she shouldn't be offended at how quickly he's taken it with such an easy stride, as though he hadn't just uncovered something so monumental about the woman he's come to know. almost like he's really just a spectator, a stranger, looking at her from beyond a glass pane.

the other part only mirrors his obvious bafflement. should she be relieved? annoyed? concerned? hard to say, at this point.
]

You're being awfully cavalier about what you've just learned.
Edited 2023-06-18 06:05 (UTC)
dispassioned: (pic#16266115)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
[He was aiming for respectful, actually. But he supposes he does have an air about him.]

All I've learned is that you've been thrust into a role you're not entirely comfortable with. That you apparently saved your country and now you have to deal with the aftermath.

[It seems like a lot. He thought maybe it was better not to make a big deal of it when she is already aware that it's a big deal.]

But aside from your apparent stress, it wasn't a bad memory. You said that yourself.
groupiedrifter: iconmunism @ tumblr (pic#14770936)

[personal profile] groupiedrifter 2023-06-18 06:30 am (UTC)(link)
[Is it weird, that he doesn't quite question anything until the guy speaks his name? He actually kind of wonders if the guy is part of the kaiju worshippers with a look like that — not nearly enough red, but he's seen weirder — and then suddenly: Newton, focus. He clumsily pushes his glasses back on.]

Focus? At a time like this?!

[The man is familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on it. And frankly doesn't want to at the moment, what with the impending danger. He can feel her coming closer; he can see it, like some weird film over his vision that flickers in and out. Someone else other than Itachi says: Newton Geiszler, in a drawn-out, inhuman voice. She's coming, she's here. Turning sharply toward Itachi, he trembles with panic. One eye is severely bloodshot with its burst vessels.]

They're gonna take me. They want to get me...!

[Then, a sudden boom above them, as the ceiling shakes. Newt recoils back, looking up at the ceiling. Frozen like a deer in the headlights, even as something very, very big slams into the earth above them again. The bunker quakes, dust and debris raining on their heads.]
peasant: (alina-ep5-5)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ "all". he makes it sound so utterly compact, like a single footnote on a page. her frown lines cut creases around the corners of her mouth, the base of her chin. ]

I don't have to deal with the aftermath. I agreed to deal with the aftermath.

[ she doesn't know why she feels the impulse to dispute the nuances. perhaps — it's mal's sudden departure, the diverging paths in the road, and knowing fully well she had chosen to walk forward without him. it's a sacrifice that cannot be undermined.

a shake of her head clears the jumble from her mind, the only sign she seems to realize it's not the point. pedantry solves nothing, other than quick clarification he never requested in the first place. she switches tack, opting for bluntness.
]

You don't have anything you want to say to me?
groupiedrifter: <user name=bushyeyebrows> (pic#15004587)

Re: almost a baby kaiju meal

[personal profile] groupiedrifter 2023-06-18 06:38 am (UTC)(link)
[Newt turns toward Vash, eyes a bit bugged out. Probably because he had just revisited a time where he was nearly eaten, huh? It seems like he has a habit of nearly getting murdered, Vash; sometimes you're just destined with not-so-great purpose, like evading being a chew toy every so often.]

U-uh!

Oh — Hannibal Chau? Right, Chau, uh.

Black market dealer who sold kaiju parts. Super dead now. He stuck a switchblade up my nose once.

[He glances to the dead kaiju baby, feeling something in his chest twist up. Maybe lingering memories of Otachi? Some sort of maternal instinct that tugs at his heart? He's not sure how to ever measure the drift bleed these creatures had left him with.]

He was kind of an asshole, but... Sucks to go out that way.
dispassioned: (pic#16300068)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 06:49 am (UTC)(link)
[She agreed to, so now she has to, he thinks, but the distinction seems to mean something to her, so he lets it go.

However, he can’t help but note, this is the second time she’s prompted him to say something.]


What is it you’re expecting me to say?

[It seems there’s something specific she’s bracing herself for. He thinks back on the last conversation they had, where she seemed certain he’d change is mind about her for some reason. He saw no criminal behavior in the memory, but he supposes she might be concerned he’d mock her for the new position she’s in.]

If you think this changes how I feel about you, it doesn’t. I just regret that I invaded your privacy.

[The whole memory sharing business is awkward, he’s trying not to be weird about it. But maybe there’s no way not to be weird about it.]
groupiedrifter: <user name=sways> (pic#15728656)

[personal profile] groupiedrifter 2023-06-18 06:55 am (UTC)(link)
[Newt's tentative response:]

That being, in the sphere.

[He watches them with his usual adoring stare, the kind of stare he can't help but have when he meets a new kind of alien lifeform; it's kind of an unconscious reaction, honestly. Like breathing when you're asleep.]

What species are they? Do they have a name?
peasant: (alina-ep1-13)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 07:09 am (UTC)(link)
You haven't been shy about your feelings toward people in my position.

[ the overall consensus? glaringly negative, and rightfully so. he has every reason to disdain the prestige that orbits her, follows her as surely as the sky trails the sun. perhaps he's right; perhaps she's inviting that disdain, in some small part, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

latching onto old, rotten coping mechanisms has always spared her the full brunt of a strike. if you prepare for the pain, it's far less likely to shock your system. she can't deny that every muscle is lined with that anticipation, a fighting stance of another kind entirely, but —
]

I only thought you must've had some questions.

[ she would, in his place. but now the absurdity of his calmness, his nonchalance, pours over her like an ice bucket raining down on her head. it feels good that he doesn't care. it feels — awful that he doesn't care. maybe he's hoping to ignore it, set it aside on a shelf, the way she had once wished she could — but she can't separate these pieces of herself. not anymore.

her lips thin as the realization creeps over her. she's only strained this further, pushed into awkward territory. she slides a step back, and then another.
]

I was wrong. Now I'm the one making assumptions. [ yes, she is absolutely aiming to save face and make an exit. ] We can forget any of this happened.
peasant: (Default)

yes pls you are always free w/ liberties!! go ham i'm chill

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 07:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ a clipped tap of a heeled boot echoes down the aisle. another, in a staccato rhythm that speaks to tentativeness, like every step forward requires a toll on her courage.

the dark swing of hair curtaining over one shoulder announces her, first, peeking out for a flash of a glimpse. when she fully emerges around the corner, it's with the same caution of animal peeking around its den, assuring itself there's no snapping teeth awaiting them just outside the boundaries of safety.

because that's what this is, in truth. the towering shelves radiate a sense of peaceful comfort that bleeds with familiarity. they nearly seem larger than life, in presence alone if not size — labyrinthine, meant for losing herself within. isolated, moreso. carrying loneliness, for all that it's designed to seal her away.

she plucks a tome from its nearby resting place, curled within her arms as a shield. curious, her eyes sweep over him. there's nothing identifiable about this man — itachi. no kefta. no colorful threads spun through his clothing that might allow her a hint of his identity. that might explain the strange recognition that clouds over her like deja vu.

it'd be insanity to claim she'd seen him in a dream once. it's more insane to realize it wouldn't be so outlandish, with all that her sleep contains lately. he has that look about him, surely — like a figment pulled from a waking dream. phantom-like, in her remembrance of him, down to the billowing shadow of his sleeves.

her brows crease.
]

You shouldn't be wearing that. [ it's certainly ... a fashion statement. and almost a provocation, really, to wear what's blacker than black in the home of the black general. she snorts, a burst of impertinence that temporarily cleaves through her uncertainty. ] That's his color.
dispassioned: (pic#16302413)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 07:22 am (UTC)(link)
[His brows draw together at that. She hasn’t been shy about sharing her opinions on nobility, either.]

It’s not the position or status that’s the problem, it’s how people use it. You just said yourself you wanted to mend what was broken.

[The sad fact of the matter is that in order to fix problems you need to have power and status, it’s just that it’s rare that people with the drive to fix things actually find themselves in the position to do anything about it. Alina has.]
bindsthedead: (art-breath)

[personal profile] bindsthedead 2023-06-18 07:41 am (UTC)(link)
[Sabriel just holds up her hands, not contesting Alina's words.]

Alina- you know what I am, don't you?

[Sabriel has never made it a secret that she's a necromancer. She has even admitted to resurrecting the dead. So when she sees what Alina's done.... She's in no position to judge. Sabriel knows the pain of loss, and knowing that you could just force the world to make it not happen. And if there was a risk, it was often one that ]

I have done the same... And they do call it a miracle when it works. Perhaps that's for the best

[People like miracles, and they don't expect them to repeat.]
peasant: (alina46091)

[personal profile] peasant 2023-06-18 07:50 am (UTC)(link)
Alright.

[ he makes it sound so simple, so void of resentment. and it's true enough, at any rate; hadn't she subscribed to the same philosophy, where nikolai is involved? it costs her little to make the choice to believe him, and to relinquish the discussion in turn. a deceptive amount of neutral diplomacy makes a home in her voice accordingly. a civil agreeability that would make even nikolai lantsov proud as she smiles, fadingly. ]

Then there's nothing else that needs to be said.

[ she can't force him to have more to say, if more doesn't exist. she treads another step back, then pivots on the sole of her shoe to move from the room. it's the only method of diffusing this that she can think of — to say nothing of the fragments that still wait beyond, waiting to be pieced back together again. ]
Edited 2023-06-18 07:52 (UTC)
dispassioned: (pic#16373535)

[personal profile] dispassioned 2023-06-18 08:02 am (UTC)(link)
[He still feels a little like he said the wrong thing. Maybe there is no right way to respond to these things. He thought giving her space was the better option, but maybe she really had wanted him to ask questions and his hesitancy had felt like rejection.

It's honestly impressive how often she manages to puzzle him.]


Alina, wait--

[He moves to follow her, as she leaves the room, hurrying to catch up.]