ximilialog | [OPEN] El destierro es redondo

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[OPEN] El destierro es redondo

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?"

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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."

"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."

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."

"Maybe some things don't change too much after all," he says, amused. "Still. Space pirates." Awful.

"Here, you might be interested to see this, speaking of navigating unknown waters. You're a captain, you know the sort of equipment your navigators are used to using," he says as he heads toward the tower at the center of the deck. From the outside, it's visible that it has its own two levels, and yet at around twenty feet, the next level up is double the height Jim might be used to thinking of as a building's story. Again, though, Rosinante's own height probably goes far in explaining why that might be.

"So if you were to sail one of these as your own, this is probably where you'd spend a lot of your time," he says as he unlatches and then hauls open the massive door and gestures for Jim to enter. A curved bench along the wall holds empty logbooks and several large snails with antiquated telephone equipment attached to them. Another table holds a huge book of maps divided up according to which sea the charted islands are in, with shipping routes, patrol routes, and more labeled on each page. Mounted on a sturdy metal plate near the center of the room is what might look like a compass, but for its three needles, each enclosed in a dome of glass and pointing a different direction, one vibrating strongly, the other two mostly still.

And at the back of the tower, a staircase leads up to the second floor, but Rosinante doesn't indicate any interest in it. "I'm curious how much this resembles your own command center on your ship," he says.

Jim smiles a little. Some things might not change much, yes, particularly where people are concerned. Leaving known space tends to come with a lot of unknowns when it comes to meeting new people he's never interacted with before.

Anyway, he follows Rosinante further into the ship, finding some semblance of recognition in what he finds in the new area. A lot of it is very much unlike what he's used to— well, all of it actually, but it's not fair to compare a ship like this to something as heavily computerized as the ships in his reality. But it's interesting to see some of the parallels.

"Well, mine has a lot less paperwork," he remarks with amusement, still approaching the various stacks of papers, particularly interested in the maps. "All our information is stored in the ship's computers and PADDs, displayed on large holoscreens and other similar surfaces. But we have maps, radars, a communications station as well, navigation controls with two helmsmen, Captain's chair at the center, facing the viewscreen. It's... difficult to explain it in words. I can try to show you or draw it for you someday."

He eyes one of the snails in the room, nodding curiously. "Why is there a snail attacked to your, uh... telephone?" He doesn't sound too sure that that's the accurate word.

Some of Jim's comparison goes well over his head, but he expected that. Mostly he's pleased by what the man deems familiar enough, just because it's sort of fun to hear how much can be held in common across such vast distances and disparate cultures. "I'd like to see that," he comments - for it's hard for him to picture even though the description feels fairly complete.

But speaking of differences, the snails.

"Transponder snails," he says. "They're telepathic. With each other, I mean, not with us. So each has a unique number you can dial, and when you speak into the receiver, the snail can transmit your voice to the snail on the other end, which repeats it to whoever's listening. Facial expressions too, actually." Or the snail-versions of human facial expressions, but they've been bred long enough to be pretty damn accurate with that flexible skin of theirs, he thinks.

"Then next time, I'll take you to see my ship," he offers. Rosinante will actually find a lot of things there to be reminiscent of the very station they're in now, if maybe slightly more advanced in some aspects, or at the very least in much better condition. But for now, he's more interested in getting to see everything in Rosinante's ship, and he approaches the snails while he explains how they work.

"Huh... interesting," he hums, looking them over. He has... a lot of questions and a lot of opinions on using animals like this, but he also knows better than to go around preaching his beliefs or way of life to others, so. "Can we use them in here, in the simulation? Just to see how they work. I'm curious."

"I guess so, but dunno who you'd call. Mine, I guess, if the simulated ones can call mine. Or I can just take one of these down below," he says with a shrug, and reaches for one of the big yellow ones, nearly half the size of his own hand.

It's a simulation room, maybe they all just work if he wills them to. Hell, maybe he can dream up someone for Jim to call farther out over the imaginary distance, but he's not sure if he can stretch his brain enough to be that kind of creative.

"Well, can't I call you from one side of the room to the other without moving the snails? I'm just curious to see how they work and what they do."

Even the concept of old telephones is exciting to Jim, something like this is even more foreign. He can only begin to imagine how anyone even thought to pair such a device with a telepathic creature in this fashion. Ingenious.

"Yeah, sure," he says with a shrug. "Just thought it might sound better if you're not hearing me talking at the same time as the snail, but doesn't matter to me, really."

After all, he knows how they work. But he's really not picky, and gestures to Jim to tell him to go on ahead and do as he'd like. The transponder snail nearest him is a pale gray-blue, and looks quite bored as they usually do when not transmitting calls, or at least that's the emotion Rosinante imagines they must feel with those half-closed eyes and something like a frown on what passes for a mouth. Maybe he's just anthropomorphizing, though.

"Probably, but I'm more interested in seeing them at work," he explains as he approaches one of the snails farthest from Rosinante's, hands hovering hesitantly for a moment before he picks up what he's guessing is the microphone he should speak into.

"Okay," he looks to both sides of the snail, then to Rosinante. "How do I get it to work?"

"Dial..." What number did his brain supply when he invented this place? He lifts the receiver briefly to look for the code imprinted on the rim. "21546".

On dialing, a few things happen. Jim's snail perks up at being actually put to use, and watches him attentively. Rosinante's snail also seems to wake up quickly, and begins to mutter a repetitive "Be-dip be-dip be-dip" staccato, which must pass for a ringtone of some sort.

Stranger is when Rosinante picks the receiver back up, connecting the call. "Hello. See, like that," he says, but simultaneously, his voice comes out of the snail, which quickly morphs its features. Rather than the bulbous round eyes it had a moment ago, they've flattened at the top, becoming more human and matching Rosinante's in shape. It even quirks the fold of skin at the front of its "face" that serves as some sort of mouth in adept mimicry of Rosinante's amused smile.

Jim nods and dials the number Rosinante indicates, his attention focused on the snail and how it reacts to the input of information. He kind of knows what to expect, since Rosinante did explain it to him, but it's still impressive in its own way to see it happen.

He lets out a soft little laugh at the change in the snail's features, smile wide as he glances up to Rosinante. "That's amazing," he admits, trying to peer at Rosinante's snail. If it's turned towards him, hopefully he can see his own features mirrored in it. "Yours does the same?"

"Yeah," he says, picking it up and holding it toward Jim so he can see his own face mirrored on the snail's. Somehow, even the eyes have tinted blue on this one as it tries its best to channel the voice coming through it.

"Cool, isn't it? We don't have the phones or movies or things I've seen you all have, but we've got this," he says as he sets the snail back down. "Just have to feed 'em, which is easy. They like kitchen scraps. Easier than worrying about things like keeping a phone powered up for weeks at sea."

Jim's expression brightens in surprise and delight. The use of animals aside, these creatures really are something incredible.

"It is. It's amazing that they even understand which snail to connect to," he watches the snail next to Rosinante speak with his face for a little while, then he hangs up the call, making his way over to him. "It works over very long distances, then? These are some really powerful snails."

"Yeah. Not all the way across the whole world, but pretty far," he says, watching as the snail he was speaking through a moment ago slowly crawls its way along the tabletop, looking somewhat aimless. "They get better at it as they get older, and some are always just a little bit better at transmitting farther. They can do other stuff too, with the right equipment attached, like sending documents instead of voices if you have one set up with a printer, or back at headquarters there are a couple we use for training classes and briefings that can look at something, like a map, with one eye and then project a bigger version onto a wall through their other eye."

Rosinante did not expect for his ship tour to turn into a talk about snails, and previous to arriving in Ximilia he can't say he ever would have been especially proud of them, since that's a bit like being proud of a clock, or a pen. But he's genuinely pleased that Jim thinks they're so fascinating, and can't help but share the enthusiasm now, at least for the moment.

"Oh, we had machines like that too, a while ago. They were called fax, I think. Earlier computers replaced them, but this is kind of like your own version of computers."

He leans down to inspect the snail. It seems harmless enough so he's not worried about getting close, but he also isn't poking it or anything, just observing. "It's more than anything we ever had during our age of sail. Back then, there was no way of communicating with a ship while it was out at sea. This entirely eliminates that issue. How ingenious."

He glances up at Rosi with a smile. "Are there any other impressive types of technology you could show me, here?"

"Uh, huh. I don't know what's impressive and what isn't, I guess. I didn't think these were anything unusual until people on the station here kept asking about them when they saw mine."

Because yeah, he does have his own personal one with him, but it's basically just a phone that can't call anything else and sometimes he has to remember to feed it, so nothing he'd call remarkable.

"I know what counts as impressive in our world, but I don't know if it'll mean anything to you," he then says with a shrug. "Can't really see it, either, so I can't show it to you. But these battleships have seastone-lined hulls, which is a big deal for us. Means we can cross the calm belts without getting stalled out. Should be seastone cuffs down in the officers' cargo area, too."

Not that he wants to mess with them or demonstrate how they work. He's also pretty sure Jim won't even be able to make sense of anything he just said, but, well. The hull material is the most remarkable technological feature of the ship. Seastone isn't easy to get in large quantities, after all.

Jim smiles. "When you're used to things that are commonplace to us, it's difficult to imagine they might be a novelty to others." Especially here, where they deal with people from any kind of reality and point in time they can possibly imagine.

"Sounds interesting, too bad I can't really see it. I've never heard of seastone before, though. What is it, some kind of mineral or metal?" Naturally occurring, he assumes, given the name.

"Mineral, yeah. I can show you some, just not the hull lining, but it doesn't look like much. It's useful, though, since it has properties like ocean water does. It's camouflage, since it blocks the Sea Kings from sensing a ship that's passing through their territories, makes something this size with a seastone hull look just like more ocean to them. And, uh, it neutralizes a devil fruit user about the same as if you dropped them in water, which is why we've got cuffs made of it. And chains, and a few blunt weapons, and I know there's some work being done on making seastone bullets now too. It's hard stuff to come by, though, it mostly only comes from one island."

Some of that might make clearer why he's not that eager to go show a bunch of it off. This might all just be one big ship-sized illusion, but he's pretty sure even illusion seastone could knock him out. Right? Just like you probably couldn't kill someone in here with an illusion sword. ... Right?

"I would like to see it nevertheless," he says. Anything he can learn about other places, he'll absorb it all like a sponge. Some of what Rosi says does pique his interest, head tilting just so.

"Couple of follow-up questions, though: who are Sea Kings, and what's a devil fruit?" The former, he assumes, are pirates. The latter has him stumped, however.

Nevertheless, then, so Rosinante nods and waves for Jim to follow back out of the command tower and down the stairs a couple of decks. Leaves plenty of time to answer the other questions while they do so.

"Sea Kings are animals. Enormous, all different shapes, but generally lots of teeth. The Calm Belts on either side of the equatorial line are where most of them are found, since drifting ships that can't handle the dead currents and still air get stranded and make for easy food. And a devil fruit's a type of fruit that grows in our world that can modify a person's lineage factor when they eat one. As far as I know, all of them give special abilities, like how I can silence things. Some people can turn into animals, some people can control natural forces or elements."

Well, that was totally off mark, wasn't it? Jim can't help smile at his own wrong assumption.

"I see. We have old folklore tales like that, of huge marine monsters. Especially during our age of sail, many people actually believed those monsters existed, and that they were even the cause for some of the shipwrecks that happened."

It just sounds like it's more real in Rosi's world than his own.

Somehow the rest about the devil fruits isn't all that crazy, given what he knows about Rosi's world already. Seems to fall in line with everything else, honestly. "So you're a devil fruit user, too? And it's like a fruit that gives you power. Do you have to keep eating it to maintain that power, or is that a permanent change?"

"It's permanent," he answers. "Like I said, it changes your lineage factor. Your, uh. Genetics." Always a word he has to re-translate now that he's learned it, but hopefully that helps to clarify the nature of the change.

"I ate one as a kid. Happened to find it by chance, but it lets me sense and dampen or block sound waves. I don't know all the science behind it, admittedly, but it's not magic, I can tell you that much."

An important distinction in his mind, still, given he'd lived his whole life completely convinced that magic wasn't real, only to come here and find he was wrong after all.

"Ah," Jim nods. Indeed the clarification helps him understand it better, but it also makes him feel more reticent. He needs to remind himself that Rosi comes from a different place, with a different history when it comes to genetic augmentation. Clearly this one is... more natural, in a way? Assuming devil fruits occur naturally.

He also looks and acts nothing like what most Augments did, in his world. Which isn't to say there aren't exceptions, but... well, Jim will be the first to admit his own bias. But a war like the last one that devastated their planet tends to leave a pretty deep mark, even with future generations.

"Some would say magic is just another kind of science," he points out with a small smile. "But I'm not sure I agree. I've seen things here that the science I know of couldn't explain rationally."

[OPEN] El destierro es redondo

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