[OPEN] El destierro es redondo

[callada]

CHARACTERS: Rosinante and OPEN
LOCATION: Around, especially the simulation room
DATE: Within a few days of returning to the station
CONTENT: Catchall post-mission, plus the promised ship tour
WARNINGS: n/a

1. The night comes, your stars are missing

So they return again without time to even think about what they did. The mission was a success, and it had its costs, but they always do, don't they? That's simply the way of these things, because nothing is gained without a few things lost along the way. Rosinante was again prepared to kill if he had to in order to get that orb, but he's again grateful he didn't have to. Still, they left after toppling one of the largest forces in Braccia and nature always abhors a vacuum. He has little sympathy for the families, but he knows how those people work. They will fight each other to re-establish order and power among them, and innocent lives will be caught in the crossfire.

These are the thoughts that plague him while he sits in the sunlight room with a cup of tea between his hands, or while he peers out a window at the black void beyond the station. His injuries are cleaned and cared for, he's promised to Sabriel that he'll take it easy, and so he's left with little to do but think and wander and clean his pistol, and imagine that maybe next year, around this time, he and Law can celebrate the kid's birthday together rather than apart.

He's not much for conversation, but he's around if anyone needs him.

((Hey folks, consider this a catchall/wildcard option. Need to talk specifics? Hit me up at tinylongwing))


2. Ship tours

After taking a few days to rest up, bring up some concerns with Viveca, and toy with the simulation room's visuals to make sure it gets everything right, Rosinante puts out a short mention on the network that, as promised, he's got a tour of a sailing ship available for anyone who wants to come see one.

They'll enter to a long pier that stretches from a metal and wood platform in deep water. The landmass that must lie behind is obscured by clouds, but ahead, a ramp leads from the pier up to the top deck of an utterly immense sailing ship that looks large enough to carry a small city's worth of people. For any familiar with Earth's older ships, it might bring to mind a ship-of-the-line, right out of the eighteenth century, with its towering masts and arrays of cannons. The sails are furled while the ship rests anchored at the pier, but even so, the blue and white of the Marine insignia emblazoned on them is visible.

Such a massive ship easily dwarfs Rosinante, even with his height, but still, his silhouette is visible at a distance against the tower in the center of the upper deck where he's made himself comfortable. Should you make your way onto the ship, he'll meet you at the top of the ramp with a wave.

"Can't say I'm much of a tour guide," he admits with a smile, "But I'll do my best. Ever been on a sailing ship before?"

Comments

1.

[retributioning]

"Would be nice if we could see something out there."

Renfri, changed out of her Featherstone suit and back to her usual tunic and cloak combo, walks slowly next to him, eyes fixed on what's beyond the station's window.

"Everone waxes poetic about the stars... it's a shame we can't see any of them from here."

If it was, well, most others, she'd just have walked right past... but she knows Rosinante, and finding some company she's not terribly uncomfortable with is nice. Especially when the mission had put her out of her comfort zone.

[callada]

"Every now and then I think I see one," he says, but he doesn't exactly sound certain. Are they stars, or is he just imagining them, his mind filling in the blanks in the sky with what he feels ought to be there?

He's got an idea why they're gone, based on what Viveca said some time back. It's a complete guess, of course, and what the something is, who knows. But if the station isn't supposed to be found, then maybe all it takes is some black clouds between them and the stars for others to miss their existence entirely.

Anyway, small talk about stars is pretty trivial, and so he looks down at Renfri, giving her a once-over out of concern after how things went down just recently. "You come out of all that mess all right? That fight and then that deathtrap of a building?"

[retributioning]

She hums, more in acknowledgement than agreement — she doesn't think she's ever even thought of seeing one, but perhaps she's not as optimistic as him. Or hasn't looked hard enough.

A shrug is the first answer to his question, accompanied by a blithe,

"I'm alive, aren't I?" Which for her, qualifies as having come out of it alright. In the end, if by the end of the day you're alive, you've won.

"How about you? Did you ever make it to the top floor? I tried, but I got held back. I was still fighting when we got sent back here."

[callada]

Alive is good, he'd agree. Alive, actually, is pretty much his exact same standard. But then again, their lives likely have had a few things more in common than the others here, who come from some sort of far-off place they deem far in the future and far more advanced.

Which, that's been bothering him a bit lately, more than he'd care to admit, he realizes. Nice to have Renfri drop by and relieve some of that irritation.

"We needed people like you fighting everywhere, so don't feel too bad," he says. "I managed to push on ahead, though, yeah. Made it to the top just in time to give Kovacs the backup he needed. Shot that woman Cheri in the shoulder."

He says the last bit with just the smallest smirk. It's not that he takes joy or comfort in hurting people, but she pretty much deserved it. And, all right, he has some pride in his marksmanship.

"Ended up with a cracked rib and some pretty nasty slices, but. Like you said. Made it out alive. Sabriel's the reason I'm not stuck in bed right now."

[retributioning]

She lets out an approving sound at hearing he managed to shoot Cheri — clearly, she thinks along the same lines, that if anyone out there deserved it, Cheri definitely did.

"Good," she adds. A furrow appears between her brows as he speaks of his injuries, clearly wondering how he seems so fine, but his immediate explanation clears that up.

"I'm glad her healing works on you. I've always thought being immune to magic is a good thing, but I wouldn't have minded her spells to have worked, this time."

She tilts her head to the side slightly, revealing bandages around her shoulder that disappear under her shirt.

"I got shot. Where I come from, we use swords and daggers to fight, not guns." So it had been a novel experience for her... and not one she's eager to repeat.

[callada]

On seeing the badges, he grimaces in sympathy. "Sorry about that. Getting shot's no fun, I've been there. You're lucky it wasn't in a lethal spot. Where'd you get hit?"

It must have been a real shock, he can surely imagine. Rosinante remembers the first time he was shot, and he knows he's lucky to have survived as many bullets as he has. The magic immunity admission comes as a surprise, but that's also incredibly helpful to know - for surely it will come in useful for her again. Both worlds they've been to had magical influences, after all.

1.

[firstroar]

It takes a few of those days to first of all wake, and second of all be strong enough to do more than lay trapped in an infirmary bed. Even then, strength to move, to walk freely...it comes at a premium, and the Mu called Blue doesn't have enough to pay that toll just yet.

That doesn't mean he can't roam - he just has to leave his body behind. It's why in the midst of some of that pensive gun-cleaning, the man trying to take it easy could easily spy something akin to a ghost passing through one of the sunlight room's walls, mimicking a steady walking pace that really isn't necessary considering...well. Floating is a thing that's happening.

All pale blue...save for some bright, red eyes. Certainly not the most common-looking visitor, especially since there had been little chance to investigate the station prior to the mission. It's why there's a hesitance to the way he moves and looks about, even if his focus inevitably draws to a thinking, feeling mind.

Red eyes fix and linger on him.

[callada]

When movement catches the corner of his vision, Rosinante pauses and looks up from his gun and cloth. His brow furrows briefly before his eyes go wide, and his lips part as if about to speak but unsure what to say.

A ghost? A vision? Do such things occur on the station outside the bounds of the simulation room?

"Hello?" he tries, for he's seen things here that remind him to be open-minded. Perhaps if magic is real, then ghosts are too.

[firstroar]

Confusion is better than horror - Blue will take it. That and the effort to communicate.

Hello, he echoes, his voice sounding in the stranger's head. Were you there, too? That planet...

[callada]

"The one with the three families, and the orb? Yeah," he replies aloud, not sure whether the figure's speech is truly directly to him or just part of their strange mental network. It's not something he knows how to distinguish, and he'd assume the latter if this person didn't look like an apparition.

"Yeah, I was. We all were, unless you just got here. Or.. Are you part of the ship?" Is that what this is, maybe? Can an AI look like this? And if so, would that actually be any more comforting than the idea of a ghost being on board? The others all seem to treat artificial intelligence like some fact of life, but if he's honest, it creeps him out just a little.

[firstroar]

I'm no machine.

There's a slight terseness to the thought, though Blue's expression remains placid - even a little remorseful for having projected in such a way. His bias against AI is still very strong, and he's only remotely aware of it.

I was there. And I'm here now. Only...my body is not strong enough to roam about...so I must learn about this place like this.

2

[winscenario]

Jim is pretty much speechless when he steps out onto the simulation. Sure, he figured the ship would be big, but it's another thing entirely to see it firsthand. It still doesn't compare to the size of the Enterprise, but a wooden ship designed to sail the seas is hardly the same as a metal alloy ship created to travel through space. In comparison, this one is equally impressive. It's even more impressive, if anything, considering the level of engineering required to build a ship of this size powered solely by sails, that somehow manages to cross stormy seas.

Somehow, Rosinante's size isn't as shocking once he's on board the ship proper. It still gives him a bit of pause, but then he's coming closer, greeting the man with a wave of his hand.

"Do small lake fishing boats count?" That's the best he's got, really. "It's fine, you can just show me around. No need to make a proper tour of it."

And at some point he'll bring up the whole thing with Newton, because he wants to know what that was about.

Re: 2

[callada]

"Sure," he says with a chuckle, waving for Jim to follow along. "Fishing boats do count, by the way. Everyone starts somewhere, right? Easier to get your sea legs on something this size, though, since it rocks less."

Certainly while docked, anyway. The gentle little waves of the imagined sea can't really make it budge. And he's not about to start by dropping them in some Grand Line storm, not without a full crew.

"This is a Marine battleship," he says as he starts toward the bow. "They carry up to a thousand men and women at a time, so they can cover conflict at sea as well as drop off units on land. Three artillery arrays on the top deck, twenty-four cannons on the next two decks down. I..." There's a brief pause, a sheepish look on his face when he glances down at Jim before continuing with that thought.

"I know I didn't really say what I do before, other than sailing. You didn't sound too fond of your world's military."

[winscenario]

A small boat on a lake doesn't rock all that much either, from what Jim remembers, but being so much smaller does make it easier to sway around with even the slightest movement from one of the people in it. This is something else entirely, and vastly more impressive.

He follows alongside Rosinante, looking around and admiring each detail that he's pointed out, glancing up to the sails before his eyes go back to his guide. He lets out a soft laugh at the last observation, shaking his head.

"We don't have a military anymore. I don't think the traditional concept would suit the kind of world I'm from, but I wouldn't say I dislike it. This is— if you'll excuse the comparison— very reminiscent of Earth's Navy some five or six centuries ago."

[callada]

"You're not the first to have said something like that," he says, doing his best not to sound bothered by it and mostly succeeding. It's not that he's insulted, but it does start to wear on a person after a while when everyone seems to be so far ahead of him and all he can do is make an effort to keep up. If anything, he just sounds... tired. A little.

But he shrugs and waves it off, cigarette in hand. "Must be a hell of a thing, living in a world that doesn't need a military anymore. Sounds like paradise," he says as he leads Jim to the bow. The sea seems very, very far below from up here, and in this simulated ocean it stretches on forever. But, of course, that's the sort of view he's accustomed to, with landmasses weeks and months of sailing apart. "The only place that shares that name, where I'm from, was named by pirates. 'Paradise' because it's easier for them to travel in, I guess. For us, it's a constant headache."

[winscenario]

Jim offers a vague smile. He's not going to apologize for the world he comes from, but he can understand getting tired or frustrated after hearing the same thing over and over. Still, Rosinante asked, and he's nothing if not honest. Willing to share, too.

"'Paradise' is a strong word— I guess my planet in particular is very peaceful. For those of us who make a career out of space travel, though, it can get more complicated than that. There are many other species out there, and not all of them are eager to make friends. It's like navigating unknown waters, having no idea what kind of place you'll find next, or how many storms you might get caught in along the way."

He further adds, "And believe it or not, sometimes we do find space pirates. Rare though they are, smuggling can still be a way of life for many people outside of the Federation."

2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[coordination]

"I actually haven't."

Yzak gazes up at the ship, more awed by its design than anything. He's used to seeing ships like this in pictures in history books, not in person like this. And the ships that mainly exist where he's from don't look like this at all.

"I've traveled some of the Earth's waters, but that was in a submarine."

[callada]

"A submarine!" he exclaims as he gestures for Yzak to follow along onto the upper deck. "Sounds terrifying. I love the ocean, but I'm under no illusions that it loves any of us back," he says, laughing.

"Think I'll stay above water as much as I can. Easy to do on a ship like this one, though, these battleships are awfully hard to sink. Plus, there's a bunch of lifeboats back at the aft," he says, gesturing behind them. "Only seen those need to be used a handful of times, thankfully."

[coordination]

"Terrifying?"

He considers.

"I don't know if I'd consider it that." Though honestly, his time down there was some of the worst he experienced during the war. And he wasn't even doing much. Simply wallowing in his raging grief of his comrades all being torn away from him, being left completely alone and simply letting those feeling fester within him.

Ugh.

"But I agree that I much prefer being above water. Being so hard to sink, what kind of weapons do you tend to fight with where you come from, anyway?"

[callada]

"You mean on the ship? Here-" Yzak obviously doesn't mean his pistol, as he's likely seen that already, but the first artillery gun is mounted not far from the ramp and he walks toward it, then points at its two twins as he talks.

"Three of these sets of artillery guns for targeting people, sea kings, anything in the air, anything that needs precision, basically. You can see the others at the bow and over on the starboard side. And then below us is one bank of six cannons. Four of those in total, two at fore and two at aft, so twenty-four for dealing with ship-to-ship offense. Plus whoever's on the deck is usually armed with rifles if they don't have a devil fruit power they can use offensively. Here, come down here," he says as he heads for the stairs at the center of the deck. Can't see the cannons so well from here, but down below, their bulk dominates the second and third decks in a way he found especially impressive as a kid since they towered over him so dramatically.

[coordination]

"I'm just asking because whenever something appears that's hard to take down, it usually results in the enemy developing something that can. It's how our own mobile suits evolved, though in the end the true power relies on the team and how they work together.

But that's something I'm sure you're already familiar with."

Still! He's listening and he's looking. A ship in the sea, a ship in the air, a ship in space. All vastly different and requiring different things, but so similar in many regards, too.

"Also, what the hell is devil fruit power?" Yzak adds as they move toward the stairs.

2

[unclesam]

That... that sure is a ship. Color Sam impressed. He's brought sunglasses so he won't have to permanently shade his eyes as he takes the sight in. It's goddamn impressive, is what it is.

"Show off."

It's said with no real heat, and a grin blooming on his face. Yeah, this is pretty awesome.

"Here I thought you'd show me a nice, humble boat. Instead you go and upstage me like that. Not cool, man."

He's just kidding, of course. Sam looks relaxed in this simulation in ways he so rarely is on Ximilia Station - and it's subtle, but the thing a spy might pick up on. Sam is really good at pretending to be casual and relaxed - but the difference becomes stark when one sees him here, actually relaxed. The difference between pretending there's no tension in his shoulders, and between the tension actually ebbing away.

"Ain't ever been on anything this caliber, nah. Guide away."

[callada]

Rosinante can swear he hears it in the man's voice, too. And he understands completely - for him, it's the ability to detach from the pressures of the Ximilia and the missions, and especially for him the ability to escape to someplace that feels a little more like home than a space station does. Plus, he and Sam have something shared, now - some token of understanding gained when he learned about Sam's home and told Sam something about himself and his occupation in turn.

He's happy to wave Sam aboard with a grin, and leads him along the top deck while he talks. "I'll admit this ship isn't mine. But when people wanted to see something I'd worked on, I figured why not go big. So, this is a Marine battleship. Artillery, cannons, command center and all. Seastone-reinforced hull too, but I can't show that off too easily here since there's no Grand Line to cross," he says with a shrug. "This is the sort of ship an Admiral might command in wartime or for other major operations."

Sam is a guy with a cool armored suit and wings and a... what did he call that little robot? A drone? So maybe he's not interested in the curtains of rigging and pulleys, and the immense gunpowder-fired weaponry, but then again it's a strange mix of historical and otherworldly. If nothing else, maybe the navigation center will interest him with its maps, or maybe he'd like a look at how a crew of a thousand manages belowdecks. They can loop around to the stairs after he's gotten a good view of the vast expanse of wood and rope and furled canvas.

[unclesam]

By contrast to his concern, Rosinante will find Sam more than interested, and appreciative to boot. His tech is state of the art even for his own world, but there's something in Sam that has a love for this, too. Perhaps it's because he practically grew up on fishing boats, in a community that to this day makes do with the scraps of its own past. They might not use sail boats anymore, but their tech is far from modern. In Delacroix, you still get further if you know how to tie a good knot than if you can program a computer - that is a skill that typically leads people to leaving and finding their fortune elsewhere. It's a small community, theirs, but a good one.

On the tour, Sam's full of questions, full of a vibrant energy in basically anything he can put his hand on. From the navigation center with its maps - those get particular interest, he wants to see how different this world is from his - to the rigging and pulleys, to the gunpowder weaponry. If Rosinante thinks Sam will be disinterested in any of it, or bore of the tour at any point, he'll be tragically mistaken. For as much as Sam sometimes calls Bucky a nerd, he is one too, and this is one of his highly specific interests.

There's a certain glee and giddiness that sets into him, makes Sam seem younger than a 40 year old man, lighter than a man who has seen war and loss and carries grief etched so deep into him.

[callada]

It's nice to have someone with the knowledge and background to actually appreciate a ship like this. Showing it off to Sam is different from showing it off to those people who soar through space with their robots, he finds quickly.

At Sam's interest in the maps, he happily rearranges some across a large table in the command room while the transponder snails look on boredly. "Here, see, I know I've talked about our world being mostly water but this way you can really see it. Everyone keeps telling me Earth has a ton of land."

He'll have to talk his way into getting a map of that place, but this way Sam can really understand just how much water there is. Aside from one long, narrow continent that looks absurdly placed in a ring around the planet, the whole thing really is ocean. The divisions into North, South, East, and West Blue, the various seas, are based on their respective location to the equatorial currents more than anything else. Thousands of tiny islands dot those seas, connected by dashed lines marking trade and patrol routes. A handful of islands here and there, including a cluster labeled Wano Country near the equator, have no such connections.

"Isolationists," he says with a shrug. "Everyone else pays tax to the government, their leaders participate in a global summit every four years, and the Marines help protect their lands from pirates. I grew up in the north, and these days I split my time between there and here," he says, pointing at a crescent-shaped island labeled Marineford where so many of those lines converge. It sits just west of where the equator contacts that strange ring-shaped continent.