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ximilialog2023-06-01 06:40 pm
- ! event log,
- adventure time: finn mertens,
- adventure time: jake the dog,
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- lockwood & co: anthony lockwood,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- red vs blue: felix,
- star trek aos: james t. kirk,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- the old guard: andromache,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER
● ● ● M I S S I O N 1 4 . 0
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:
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.
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.
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.
Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.
F Y I
• 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: ♪ ♪ ♪
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He covers her hand with his.]
I want to.
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she has to stop expecting the same from others. but even as she thinks it, she buries the line of thought away. shifts her focus from his face to the sad excuse for a hospital bed. her fingers come up to draw the curtain back around them, for no other reason than the illusion of privacy. ]
You first.
[ lithe as he is, he takes up more space. tucking herself into the tight, narrow spaces left behind will be infinitely easier for a woman with too much experience in forcing herself to become small once upon a time, for the comfort of others. ]
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[He releases her hand and slips out of his shoes--still the heeled boots from the gala--and gets into the bed, scooting to the side to make room for her, propping himself up on an elbow.]
There might be some extra blankets in the cabinet, if you want.
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one by one, she shucks her tightly bound shoes off and crawls over him with much less grace. a knobby elbow wedges into his side briefly before she flops onto one side, half-sprawled across both him and the bed, liquefying into the space. ]
Sorry.
[ her lips pull back in a grimace as she corrects her position, tangling one leg across his own before her wriggling seems to cease. ]
Comfortable?
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It's cramped like she predicted, but it's also cozy. Comforting, in a way, the way the curtain seems to block out the rest of the station for the time being, even if it's only a temporary illusion.]
I am. Are you?
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[ a shocking discovery. woman who clings like koala bear is comfortable by having minimal space to move. she takes that winding arm as invitation to pillow her head near his shoulder, a fog of deja vu clouding her senses like a dreamy film.
it's been a long time since they've shared this. it hasn't been that long at all. it feels like slipping back into a well-worn sweater, familiar and warm, content to find she hasn't outgrown it. ]
Now you've no excuse but to sleep.
[ blatant diabolical genius right here. ]
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The corner of his mouth twitches upward.]
Ah. Is that what you were up to?
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[ the quirk of her mouth betrays her innocent air, a deliberate slip in her disguise. concern isn't so shameful a thing to feel, even if her methods are less than ... professional. ]
You looked like you needed the rest.
[ the latent anxiety is nearly pouring off of him, a vibrating energy she can't avoid noting. not that she has make room to speak; the thrum of her own lays dormant within her, waiting for a volcanic reaction.
but for now, she strokes her thumb under one dark circle he's gained, underlining her point. ]
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It’s also endearing, that she was sneaky about it. He hums softly, leaning his cheek into her touch.]
I appreciate it.
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[ she wouldn't have the reservoir of energy needed to fight him on it, if he had resisted. it works in both their favors, in that regard — though there's a back-up plan in how she's coiled herself around him, into his space. a constricting boa, in a sense, if he had given any thought to rebelling.
perhaps he would have been inclined to disrupt his own sleep. but disturbing hers by extension had sounded like the ideal way to persuade him to stay in bed, at the time. she rubs her thumb down his cheek, in lazy and absent strokes, head growing heavier by the second. some of the pins are still an irritant at the back of her skull, poking and prodding, but — those can be dealt with later. ]
I've always heard doctors make for terrible patients. I was preparing myself to deal with a much worse reaction.
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It depends on who's tending to me.
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You have a whole unit of caretakers, do you?
[ amusement flickers between the spaces in her words. she has to press x to doubt on that. he seems more the type to crawl away and hide like a wounded animal tending to itself, if he has the choice. ]
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No, because I'm usually a terrible patient.
[And also tends to prefer to let people live with their bad impressions of him, even encouraging it sometimes. Something she's likely well aware of by now.]
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[ it would seem so, at any rate. he will undoubtedly dispute the nomer, as he has before — as though friend is a boggling title to dish out to anyone — but taking a bullet wound meant for another is no simple sacrifice to make. of course a favor of that caliber would be repaid by tending to his wounds, but the point doesn't change. they'd found him worthy of keeping alive.
she looks nonchalantly assured, in the wake of that assessment. almost dripping with the stubborn smugness of believing she's right, no matter how vehemently he might protest it. ]
Maybe you're not so terrible of a patient, after all. You only like pretending you're troublesome.
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He hums a little.]
Well, they did hide me behind a car. That was something.
[It kept him out of the path of the King of Spades, at least. He hadn't been inclined to ask for more than that. They had other things to deal with, and he'd made his choice.]
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well. she's accepting it as a subtle concession. within the limits of borderland's rules, it must be a merciful act — shouldn't it? her eyebrows draw together before she forces them into some calm semblance of an expression, faltering in her attempt to hide how shockingly baffling his world always manages to sound. ]
No matter your pestering, it seems some people have a difficult time leaving you for dead.
[ it's pointed. you know, like usagi — and, more significantly, alina herself. ]
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You're right about that.
[Baffling as it is. Though he'd give more credit to Kuzuryu than Usagi. Nothing against her, really, but Kuzuryu had literally died so Chishiya could live. It's hard to deny the significance of that, no matter how cynical Chishiya can be.]
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I'm right about most things when it comes to you.
[ and so humble about it, too. ]
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Well, that makes me wonder what other observations you've made.
[Though he doesn't push for her to answer if she doesn't want to. She seems to be in the mood to be mysterious, and he's not inclined to object. He's more focused on enjoying her company and taking down her hair.
He sets the pins aside carefully, noticing that they appear to be significantly more valuable than your average bobby pin.]
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Well.
[ the one word stalls for time as she rakes a hand through her loose hair, across her tense scalp. a sigh breezes out of her as she shakes curls loose, bright in its relief — not unlike stepping inside after a chilly day, or falling into bed after a tiresome one.
you didn't look so happy to see me back, at first, she could say. it sounds like ruining a good moment with heaviness, now that she's settled in. and so, instead, because it feels like he's genuinely issued a challenge she has to meet: ]
You don't usually go outside of what's comfortable for you. Which makes me think you're a perfectionist at what you know you're good at, and more hesitant to try what you haven't mastered yet.
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Hm. That’s true.
[That he’s a perfectionist. He likes to be good at things. He likes feeling smart. On the other hand, he’s not unwilling to take risks, if there’s incentive. The trip to Nuhiri was something he didn’t hesitate to try once he saw a reason to.]
I like trying new things but…motivation can be a factor.
[She's called him on his apathy before, so he doubts that will come as a surprise. ]
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when she finds her voice, it's laden and syrupy with pleased drowsiness. ]
So you need to be bribed.
[ teasing oozes into the words, as caramel-warm as the drooping shift she does into his chest. she knows well it isn't as he'd meant it; his indifference had kept him isolated in that apartment on naephus, before he'd found reason to test outside his usual boundaries. after another groggy moment drifts by, she manages, curious: ]
Do I count as a new thing?
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Or inspired.
[It sounds nicer than bribed. And it might be a little more accurate, too, in the end.
He hums a little at her next question, as he runs his fingers through her hair.]
You could look at it that way.
[He suspects that answer might seem too vague for her liking, so he elaborates:]
I opened up to you.
[Let his guard down a little bit, made an attempt to be honest and let himself feel things.]
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[ 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.
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[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.]
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