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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: ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
I'm right about most things when it comes to you.
[ and so humble about it, too. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
nothing about her should have invited that ease. she'd been pricklier than cactus spikes, and twice as guarded. but he'd persisted, regardless, despite her bristling. a long, slow blink stalls the moment further, as if she's stuttering through her brain's failure to fully process the sentiment. ]
Shouldn't you allow yourself to take more credit than that?
no subject
[He hums thoughtfully, considering it.]
I made the choice. But I made it because I felt comfortable with you.
[Certainly he'd had some opportunities to open up to others on the crew, but it hadn't felt as appealing. Things that had been easy to share with her had felt difficult with McCoy and Strange, for instance, so he'd avoided it.]
no subject
[ it's as he said — he had been the orchestrator of that choice. credit where credit is due. he's never given the impression of flimsy material that bends to another's will, that would break beneath a pestering interrogation.
but she isn't discounting the sentiment he's handing to her. perhaps she had made it simple. perhaps — she is the safe space she's always intended to be, for people like her. the misfits. the hated. those who have nowhere else to turn, just like her grisha.
she skims the blanket draped across them between her fingers, idle. a small, wistful smile cracks the corners of her mouth. ]
It mustn't have been that easy. I did make it an uphill battle for you, after all.
no subject
You didn't force me at all. That's why it was easy.
[He hadn't felt pressured to tell her anything. Even when she did ask questions it felt more like gentle prodding than demanding something he didn't want to share.]
I liked you so I wanted to.
no subject
a warm laugh breezes out of her, nearly nothing more than a wisp of a breath. ]
You don't like other people? Or you just happen to like me the best?
no subject
I like you best.
[That's easy to admit, and there’s no hesitation in it. He’d told her as much in his office on Naephus when she was suffering the effects of not using her power. That she was the favorite. But it was said playfully, so she probably hadn’t noticed the ring of truth in it.]
That’s new, too.
[Liking someone as much as he likes her, in the way that he likes her.]
no subject
a predicament that will only worsen, now that the shine of a crown on her head will attract carrion. it's no worry of hers, here; if anything, chishiya seems the type to be repelled by wealth and status, rather than drawn to it. maybe that should be her chief concern — how differently he might eye her, once it comes to light. losing her favored position in a fall from grace. but for now —
she reaches out, idly toying with the ends of his hair, tickled into warmth by his easy admission. ]
What's new? Having a favorite at all?
[ hard to say if the obliviousness is her usual brand of daftness, or an act — but all signs point to the former. ]
no subject
Mm. That's right.
[The closest was Kuina, but even that hadn't been like this. The feelings were different, and how he viewed himself and the world at the time were different, too.]
Feeling this way in general. Is that strange?
no subject
I'm afraid my opinion might be horribly influenced.
[ if it's strange, she finds she likes the oddity. it's enjoyment born from selfishness, she knows; there's no memory she must compete with for a prized spot, no competition — imaginary or otherwise — to contend against, in order to be the sole focus of his regard. not the way she'd been forgotten in the sea of chubby hands grabbing at ana kuya's skirts; not the way she'd been anther looked over face in the first army.
not the way she's been another conquest in the wake of the darkling's deconstruction, no better than land he had razed to get his way. ]
I don't think of it as strange, [ she murmurs, validating, after a lapsing pause. ] It's nice to be favored for a change.
[ — rather than detested, condemned. the grisha still have a long, winding path toward progress, but ... the people's love for her is indisputable. even then, public opinion is a far cry from this, more shallow in scope. built on flimsier, conditional foundations.
she tips her chin into the cup of his palm to regard him. ] Do you? Feel it's strange, I mean.
no subject
I don't mind if you're a little biased.
[He's biased, too, really. Something she's called him on a time or two. Objectivity has its place but it's not necessary here and now.
He considers her question as he strokes his thumb across her cheekbone.]
Not strange. Just new.
[New things can be strange, but everything he'd done with her he did because it felt right. Asking her to leave the fundraiser, buying her dinner, spending the night with her, the trip ti Nuhiri. None of it had felt strange. It had just been him following his instincts rather than overthinking, only scheming long enough to set aside a day to spend with her.]
I like how I feel when I'm with you.
[As it turns out, feeling positive emotions is nice, actually.]
no subject
it's not the first time he's confessed as much, how she's drawn him into her orbit, this warm sphere of comfort. but there's a gravity to it, still, like hearing it spoken for the first time — a weight that snares her undivided focus. a certain raptness sharpens her stare, adds a glint of clarity to her dark pupil. ]
Comfortable, [ she provides, filling in the blank spaces like this leaves behind. there's too much room for interpretation, in its vaguery, but she falls back on that one description he'd had for her. comfortable. a questioning lilt exists in it, all the same, at the end of its syllables — like it's a request for him to confirm or to deny, to elaborate however he chooses. ] You told me I'm comfortable to you, once. Is that still true?
no subject
Comfortable, yes. Accepted. [He watches the way she presses her cheek to his hand, seeking out his touch.] Wanted.
[Just a few of the words he can find to describe it.]
no subject
[ comfortable. accepted. wanted. perhaps it's the unwanted orphan that still lives within her that intends to pay it forward. gift what she had been deprived of, impoverished in every way a person could be.
her fingers stretch across the small wave of blankets between them to gather his, a loose clasp around their slim width. the slightest hint of a smile chips the corners of her expression, softness giving way to further sticky-sweet warmth. ]
And hopefully rested next.
no subject
I think it will be.
[He's already started to relax and let himself forget some of the stress of the last few days. At least for a moment.]
You know, it goes both ways. Or, I'd like it to.
[He slips an arm around her and pulls her a little closer, elaborating in a drowsy murmur:]
I accept you, too. And want you.
[Maybe both those things are obvious to her by now, but sometimes he still gets the impression she's worried about what he might think of her. And he knows she’s worried before that he might lose interest in her. So it seems like it might be worth speaking the words aloud.]
no subject
it's too late to rearrange it into neutrality. she gnaws at the corner of her mouth, half-unconvinced. ]
You don't know all of me yet.
[ not well enough to make such grand claims. it's only a matter of time before he stumbles across a skeleton in her closet, among all the baggage she's packed away inside, that's too terrible to accept. still, it's a feeble argument, pockmarked by meekness, as though fearing that drawing his attention to that fact will convince him to revoke the sentiment already. that's her curse, perhaps; skeptical as she is, she desperately wants for his words to remain true. ]
no subject
[There's acceptance in that, too, really. A respect for her need for privacy, wherever that need happens to come from. He knows there are things she hasn't wanted to talk about, pieces of her life she feels safer keeping tucked away. He doesn't begrudge her that, even if he does have a cat's insatiable curiosity.]
You can show me when you're ready, if you want to.
no subject
that lonely child, with her penchant for drowning in fantastical stories and imagined daydreams, wishes for it all the same, with the same naive hope one instills in shooting stars and passing comets in the night. she peels back to look at him, by only inches, eyes darting between his own as if seeking. questioning. ]
Does it not bother you?
[ how she seals her secrets in a vault. what might be lingering behind that door. it would bother her — because she knows what lurks in the depths of what's unspoken and unseen. if kirigan had looked her in the eye and spun silken lie after lie —
how can chishiya possibly trust she isn't hiding some grievous, awful sin? he hardly looks anything short of calm, patient with understanding. alina expects it to flicker and dissipate as all mirages do, the longer she tries to parse it. ]
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