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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
[Sweets are far less likely to be seafood flavored than savory snacks. And he might have a stash of cookies back on the regular Ximilia, actually.
What she says about Ravka is about what he expected based on what she's said in the past. He smiles faintly ar her reassurance.]
I appreciate your faith in me.
[He says it reference to cooking, but it's true in a broader sense, as well.]
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Don't make me regret it.
[ and though the smile remains affixed to her face, as if finding a permanent home there — she means it, truly. there's enough of that going around, lately. ]
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I won't.
[Or at least, he doesn't plan to. He had made the decision not to fuck up with her again when she accepted the mochi he'd offered her in apology.]
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alina has the decency not to say so aloud. but he would hardly be the first to promise her transparency and honesty, only to be disappointed by the fabrication it had all been. how deceptively disarming human nature can truly be. ]
Good.
[ she says, instead, like it could truly ever be so easy. like an agreed upon contract could hold him to those terms. she rearranges her mouth back into an impression of a smile, forcing levity into the air, lest they suffocate beneath the weight of what goes unspoken. ]
I hardly need to suffer a bout of food poisoning after days of eating nothing but paste.
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He wishes he could reassure her, but he honestly can’t blame her. He understands too well that it’s not something words can help with. He can’t do anything but continue on as he has been.
He huffs a rueful chuckle.]
Food poisoning isn’t something you need to worry about.
[He might not be an expert chef, but he is a doctor and understands the basics of food safety, at least.
He pauses, rubbing her back thoughtfully before speaking again.]
You know, if you ever need a place to hide in the future you’re always welcome to come to me.
[She's made a number of comments about hiding since he’s known her, and she seems to be carrying even more on her shoulders now than she did before. He knows her sense of responsibility won’t let her run away from it altogether, but if she ever needs a moment of respite…well, he’s good at hiding.]
no subject
[ making room for her to hide. operating as a sanctuary, of sorts. her scars and scabs won't allow her brain to fully recognize him as safe, yet — but she hasn't discounted the comfort that's come, like hiding beneath a snug banket, in their quieter moments. some piece of rest and relaxation that's often denied to her.
her eyelids loll, by a faint fraction, a soothed flutter as his fingertips glide down her spine in a stroking rhythm — as if even her own senses want to drive the point home. she smiles through it, a hazy uptick at the corners of her mouth. ]
I'll keep it in mind, [ she murmurs, soft. ] Though I'm not sure we'll get much of an opportunity for that here. Not as we did on Nuhiri.
no subject
Not here, no.
[This moment here in the foliage or napping behind a curtain in the infirmary might be the best they can do on this particular version of the Ximilia.]
But once we’re back when and where we belong I at least have a room to myself. And I’ve been thinking about getting a kotatsu. [He realizes after a beat that might be another word that doesn’t mean much to her, so he adds:] A heated table.
[Or at least checking to see if it’s possible. He's been doing a little brainstorming about how to make his living space a little more comfortable, at least.]
no subject
[ more significantly, it sounds ... homey. a sign he's taken the steps to tailor his space to himself, lived-in rather than any barren sterility. she flashes him a knowing look, delaying her impulse to tease him over it. ]
How does it work?
[ she's learned her lesson in assuming what any modern invention does. any conclusion she concocts would undoubtedly seem absurd, given they're rarely as simple as their naming conventions would imply. ]
no subject
They used to make use of a sunken hearth in the floor, but now they have an electric heater attached to the underside and there’s usually a blanket attached to the table frame. If you put a futon under it you can nap there.
[Basically, it’s peak cat furniture. A warm place to sleep and eat.]
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his definition sounds, by far, more appealing. but there's one distinct commonality between all of his preferences she can't help but to point out, with wry amusement, ]
Ah. So it's another place for you to sleep.
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[But he's kind of missing all the naps he was able to get on the last mission. It's hard to sleep normally in these conditions, even if dozing with Alina in the infirmary had helped.]
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[ — that isn't, you know, appealing to indulgent cats in its purpose. she arcs a brow, endearingly entertained, if not a smidgen curious. arguably, its two purposes might be the best function of <>any objection. ]
Aside from eating, of course.
no subject
Anything you might use a table for. Writing, reading, drawing.
[Just table things.]
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You've taken up drawing?
[ difficult to imagine, with how painstakingly she had had to extract his interpretations of artwork. a creative-minded man, shuntaro chishiya is not. ]
no subject
Well, no. That was hypothetical.
[And possibly inspired more by her interest in art than his own, actually.]
no subject
[ oh, she says, like she's accepted the theoretical nature of it. like it's perfectly logical to suggest a table for art with no plans for the table to be utilized for art. she hums, a faux-thoughtful cadence, and then: ]
So, hypothetically, you don't want me using the table for art?
[ is she doing this on purpose? yes. yes, absolutely. there's something entertaining in putting him through his paces a little, just to be exasperating. ]
no subject
She's playing him. He wonders, vaguely, if this is his influence, or if she's always been a bit of a troll.
Not that he's complaining, really. He likes her like this.]
That's not what I said.
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Then it's not hypothetical?
[ like steve rogers, she can do this all day. ]
no subject
Hypothetical for me, not for you.
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[ presumably. chishiya has a studious acumen — though she can't envision anything he may want to write, beyond notes tucked away into his reading. even envisioning him as a poet threatens to fracture her facade with an upturn of her lips. ]
Is it?
no subject
Well, no, probably not.
[As soon as he says "probably" he knows he'll be called out on it.]
Not that I have anything in particular to read right now.
[He hasn't had a chance to collect many books yet. When it comes down to it he hasn't spent a lot of time on the Ximilia itself, so aside from clothing, which he prioritized collecting from the supply drop after he arrived, he doesn't have many possessions. Most of the stuff he bought for himself on Naephus got left behind.]
no subject
[ unless he enjoys reading the sunlight room's metrics over and over again, simply to keep himself sane enough to stave off boredom. her eyes scan, pointedly, across the strange plot of shrubbery encasing them. ]
But there's a cache of books onboard some wouldn't mind sharing.
[ notably, she doesn't volunteer her own collection. chishiya seems too level-headed for the windswept, whimsical nature of romances to spin him away. her stash of adventure books and ther heroism are likely to ping his cynicism. she tips her head, eyes narrowed in a quick, assessing study of him. no, shuntaro seems the type to indulge in the novels she actively avoids leafing through — mysteries. if there's any fictional pursuit he has in mind, it's one that would challenge his intellect.
but she's had quite enough of uncovering pages of secrets to relish them just the same. ]
Leonard must have medical tomes somewhere. And you could always ask Kovacs for reading material if you're feeling ... lonely.
[ still running with the narrative of blaming kovacs for her smut books? yes. always. ]
no subject
But that's not what he chooses to focus on. No, he's focusing on her suggestion he read smut. He quirks an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement.]
Ah, do you think I should? Would you like me to take notes?
[He told her once there are things to be learned from smutty books, after all.]
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anything more, she imagines, would be a reward for his usual behavior. casually, obnoxiously, sidestepping it is the only option for her in this little war of attrition. she shrugs an unbothered shoulder, almost too casually unbothered. ]
Do I think you should study Leonard's books? Well, if you believe notes will help you practice in the infirmary, I don't see why not.
[ being purposefully and obnoxiously obtuse, it seems, has ts benefits. ]
no subject
Would he have been equally delighted if he'd flustered her? Maybe. But who doesn't enjoy a win-win situation.
He huffs softly, canting his head to the side in something like acknowledgement. ]
Well, he is a few centuries ahead of me. It couldn't hurt.
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