TEST DRIVE :003

[onemind]

TEST DRIVE :003

     WELCOME to the test drive and thank you for your interest in Station 72! To allow players to experiment with game mechanics, flexibility and to account for the fact that our TDMs tend to span a number of months to make up for our low player turnover, we've put together a game-themes random scenario generator for you to play with. Mix and match prompts at will, pick your own broodmates, experiment with abilities and specializations, talk to each other and maybe make up some pre-established CR, and generally play around however you like.

This test drive is not game canon, so take this chance to go nuts! Current in game players are also welcome to make top levels here and aren't beholden to their in-game characterizations (so if it makes more sense to be a broodmates of a character test driving, feel free to do so for the sake of these threads).

For the full experience, we strongly encourage players to write up a short blurb about what their fellow characters might know about them either through shared time on the Station or through the Nest mental link. Handy links can be found at the bottom of this entry if you have any questions and APPLICATIONS are always open if you decide you'd like to jump into the game proper. If you're having trouble coming up with a symbiote ability for your character for use in either the TDM or for your application, we have an ability workshop post located HERE.

(Mix and match these prompts at will to create your own TDM scenario - there's no obligation to use something from every category. Feel free to make up anything that isn't covered in the prompt if it lends to your playing.)

     THE PLACE

1. STATION 72 consists of massive, alien sprawl. While large sections of the Station might be mistaken for a Station manufactured for use by humanoid beings - the hangar is relatively standard other than its massive size, the Life Support deck with its series of living quarters seems normal enough (if you ignore the part where none of the rooms have doors on them), and there's even a Jai Alai court -, beyond the most well trod paths the Station quickly cedes to the utterly bizarre. Corridors twist and loop back in on themselves, great verandas overlook massive empty rooms, ramps because stairs which lead to dead ends. It's easy to get lost if you don't have a destination in mind. Strangely enough, if you do know where you want to be, the Station's twisting paths will eventually get you there as long as you keep your goal firmly in mind. Knowing that is another thing entirely.

2. THE MELTED WORLD was once beautiful. Then again, maybe it's always been a toughened old rock, but at some point the planet called Ojan was glassed in the throes of a brutal war. The planet's entire surface has become a twisted, mirror-like substance by whatever super hot biological weapon was poured into it. The material isn't actually that horrible, consuming black; it perfectly reflects the empty, quiet space that surrounds Ojan: a foreboding testament to a war long forgotten. But what lies below the surface of the desolated world?

3. THE SCEPTRE is a fabulous building structure suspended from an asteroid in orbit around a planet. The Sceptre pierces down through the atmosphere of the planet below and over the course of the asteroid's orbit, The Sceptre has an opportunity to pass through every habitat and climate the world below it has to offer. The Sceptre is sleek and beautiful (or it is? Maybe it's fallen into disrepair and only ghosts remain) and its massive windows look out onto a varied, verdant world (or do they? What state is the planet below in, exactly? Has it been so thoroughly paved over that the atmosphere is the only place left to build?).

4. PENTARA PRIME is the ancient, meandering capital of the lush garden world of Pentara. Unlike most cities, it is a large, verdant sprawl, made up eighteen clustered centers - groups of low, elegant stone buildings, strung together by winding roads populated with quietly humming pods moving people from spoke to spoke. The capital is built around leisure, not production and there are far more gardens and orchards than there are buildings. The sun is heavy and low, and the air is still and buzzes with the sounds of fat-bodied insects. It’s so still, so calm. It seems empty and there is something unsettling in the quiet. --Or is it? Maybe it's bustling with energy, just as vibrant and delightful as it seems on the surface.

5. CHORIUS is not quite a planet. Not anymore. Once long ago it was, but over time it has changed - been stripped clean of every valuable mineral, every scrap of rare metal, and eventually even of atmosphere. The core has cooled perceptibly and now even its rotation period has slowed dramatically. Now it is a made up of shaped carbon and steel that bridge over the stripped surface of the planet, pulsing with energies, shielded from the harshness of the sun by a webbed dome that keeps the electric scented air from escaping into the space around it. Here nothing is wasted. Everything - everyone - is recycled and reconstituted into new forms. Every one of the cities changes daily, reformatted to meet new goals and new needs. It is a dead world filled with the living. But whether it is thriving or dying is hard to say - and what the newest change will bring with it is even more difficult to guess.

6. SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER. There's a lot of it in every direction.

     THE PEOPLE

1. THE OUTLANDERS consist of small bands of settlers and explorers who have quested out into the unknown, the remote, and the dessicated parts of this galaxy looking for either new opportunities or forgotten mysteries. They are mostly upright though only vaguely humanoid, remnants of a civilization driven from their own failing world, each group is bound only by their own codes and personal laws. They're traders and nomads, largely peaceful but wary of the harsh, dangerous environment and beings they've crossed paths with. Don't cross a deal with an Outlander - they'll make you regret it.

2. A VERITABLE MELTING POT, the beings of this metropolis are as vibrant and diverse as is imaginable. These are a people developed by a myriad of cultural influences, technological insights, overlapping interests and clashing societal norms shaken up and spit out into something that more or less works as long as there's a whole lot of bureaucracy to keep it in order. And boy is there a lot of that. Mind your p's and q's - someone might haul you in for questioning if you cause too much of an uproar.

3. A RUINED GHOST is all that remains of this ancient civilization. Once there were people here leading brilliant or lives, or quiet ones, but all that's left are their ruined structures, old half-functional consoles and signs of lives abruptly arrested. What destroyed these people is initially unclear, but their extinction appears to have been absolute. --Or was it?

4. THE COURT is elegant and beautiful and perfect. Every being is shrouded in delicate, gauzy fabrics layered so densely as to obscure their elongated squirming bodies from head to toe. Each step sounds like a bell ringing from the the small metal plates at the bottom of their soft slippers; every gloved finger glints with small golden threads. The queens sweep through their secret insect gardens and their royal technomancers walk the halls with the glitter of hologlyphs sparkling at their fingertips and in the wake of their sweeping robes.

5. THE GREAT MILITARY is larger even than it’s name suggests. Every member of their civilization plays some part in it, every person has a rank, every family an insignia. The structure is rigid and inflexible and all-encompassing, and it has made them into ferocious enemies. They have been at war for as long as they have been a people, and their battle will never end, because if it did, they would go with it. The harshness of their life is painted on the sharp planes of their grey faces, but there is an indomitability and a pride to them that is hidden by their stern, unchanging expressions.

6. SCUM ALWAYS LIVES at the edge of the universe. Beware the dark of the space and the seedier underbelly of cities or the shadows of forgotten planet - pirates make their living there and these are desperate times, friend.

     THE OBJECTIVE

1. GET UP from where you've fallen. Or get up from the nesting deck pod where you've just woken up on the Station. Or get up to Level 672 where there's a ship waiting for you. Or get up from the knee you've taken before this alien queen. Get up.

2. THE RESCUE might be saving a city from a disaster engineered by an enemy force, playing bodyguard for a government official, or liberating a rare artifact from a crumbling structure.

3. IT'S A RACE AGAINST TIME to collect the relic you've been sent to retrieve from the collapsing ruin. Or to make your way free of the military blockade. Or to make your escape from a crumbling world.

4. THE MASQUERADE is all a cover - for an assassination. For a heist. For a political coup.

5. INFILTRATE you know what you need. And you know who has it. With a little help you’ll be able to break into the place no one is supposed to go. You could sneak in… or smash in. Or maybe just talk your way past every little problem.

6. COME ON AND SLAM and welcome to the jam. It’s a ritual or maybe it’s just a pastime, but whichever it is there are rules and there is a goal. There’s probably even points. If you’re lucky, you just might score one. Avoid the spiky pits? Or maybe the thrown fruit. Or perhaps just the other team...

6. EXPLORE and uncover the secrets this place have to offer. There’s a mystery here if you know where to find it. And all you have to do is look.

7. DON'T DIE is easy to say and hard to do when you're under the guns of an armada. Or when you're trying to outwit spies. Or when the ground is literally crumbling under your feet.


     INSPIRATION

NAVIGATION • PREMISE • FAQ • RULES • GLOSSARY • APPLICATIONS • SYMBIOTIC SKILLS • ABILITY POINTS

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

November 11 || Darker Than Black || open

[justttkidding]

i. melted world

[ He doesn't expect the stillness. They've landed here to search for something. A relic? A temple? He's glanced at the brief and understands what he's supposed to do, but he distracted by the paved and glistening landscape. It's like an ocean of glass frozen over. Blackened by the sky and lack of atmosphere above. All that stares back is a reflection.

Carefully, he picks his way across the terrain, curiosity a dim spark in his mind. The smoothness of everything reminds him of the crater left behind in Heaven's Gate. A vast nothingness. Just an echo of what used to be there. Is this what it would transform into, years from now? ]

It's too still. I feel like something's just waiting to happen.

[ Do you feel it too? ]


ii. pentara prime

[ Now this, this is what he excels at. Parties, people, the disgusting opulence and wealth hanging in the trappings all around. The rich are not just rich, they're exorbitant. Gowns spun from silk and dripping with expensive jewels, suits lined in cloth gold, silver, platinums. He's watching the flurry of colors with a mild amusement, sipping on a green bubbly liquid that tastes like champagne (but hits you like 100 proof vodka).

Easily, he keeps track of their target– Soren Valaäd, Minister of Economics - it's hard to miss him after all. Soren is dressed to the nines, a mix of peacock colors spanning his longcoat in an intricate pattern. His heavy hands are laden with rings, glinting with every gesture he makes in conversation. November idly wonders how easy it might be to pickpocket him; a juvenile idea for a member of MI6, really, but something about Soren makes him want to. It doesn't matter though, soon they'll be rushing the minister out of the fray. There's a coup they're gently helping to incite and fortunately, Soren will need to be retained on in the aftermath.

There's also the matter of them obtaining information from a vault upstairs. He can't be too distracting to Mr. Valaäd. ]

(( Minister's in sight, 22:00 from the entrance. How goes the extraction? ))

[ It was weird at first, but he's really grown to love this whole mental communication system. So much easier. ]


iii. wildcard

[ Want to catch November on the station? Or maybe in another scenario? Go for it! ]

I

[wille]

[ It is a mistake to think of emptiness as the lack of existence when the very presence of nothingness can be heavier, more palpable even than a profusion of miscellany. It is a living, breathing thing that breathes down their necks and causes her to shiver and rub her arms. Even the laughter she lets out is chilled, emptied. ]

That's a bit paranoid, isn't it?

[ The wry, challenging smile she wears speaks the opposite to her words. Yes, of course, something's about to happen. ]

What do you think they're waiting for?

juno steel | the penumbra podcast

[iuno]

juno steel is a private detective with a sharpshooter's eyes — or eye, now, since he lost one to an ancient martian telepathic tumour when it burst inside his skull. he has a cybernetic replacement eye that he's still getting used to. he's your typical noir detective, from a distant future on mars; cynical, jaded, hardboiled. or he tries to be. mostly he's just self-loathing to the point of being a danger to himself, and desperate to make his city a better place, which isn't a pretty combination on a lady like him.

i. chorius — race against time

[ have you ever wanted to stop a murder with some good old-fashioned detective work? if not, then too bad. for whatever reason, you got dragged in by Juno's bad luck magnet today, and you might as well help out while you're here. or he seems to think so, anyway, if the way he's been ordering you around is any indication. ]

Come on, there's gotta be something here. [ he doesn't even look up from the desk he's digging through, but he calls out: ] Hey, go through that bookshelf back there, might be something they missed. We're looking for papers on anything suspicious — financial records, important-looking letters, a goddamn diary.

[ he's more jittery than usual, which is saying something. for someone who puts up such a stoic front, he's a restless sort, talking fast and drumming his fingers on any surface his hand touches. at least he knows what his problem is with this case: Chorius hits too close to home. the changing city just makes Juno think of Hyperion, of having to leave it behind the way he did, and it tugs too hard at that desperation he's always felt to make home just a little better than it was the day before. he has to help this city. it rattles around in his head like a beggar's bowl full of coins. ]

ii. pentara prime — masquerade

[ if there's one thing Juno Steel is bad at, it's going undercover. oh, he could probably pull it off, if he really tried. but the thing is that he... doesn't.

instead of engaging in any kind of schmoozing to ingratiate himself with the socialites here like he's supposed to, Juno is mostly just picking at food and deflecting anyone who tries to talk to him with cutting sarcasm. nobody finds it charming. he could not be trying less hard to make this work, and he really, really doesn't care. besides, his thoughts keep coming back to — to Duke Rose, that stupid card game and that stupid gamble on Juno being able to save the day. he doesn't want to think about this. ]

How long can these things drag on. [ could he save a little trouble for himself if he didn't communicate verbally? sure. he also refuses to give anyone any more reason to be in his head than he has to. ] You seen any drinks going around?

[ that might help this night pass quicker, if nothing else. ]

iii. wildcard

[ whatever you want! juno steel, private eye, is at your service. ]

i. - collides with this

[incinerates]

There's nothing here.

[ he's tired of inaction; all this scraping and scrambling to find proof, when all they've got to do is Handle That Shit? it's eating into their timeline, which is dwindling second after second that they waste in this room. while he might have his hands full of papers, thumbing through old financial records to match them off with another list - with the attention span of a volatile teenager ( which he is ), he's barely reading them. it's more of a courtesy, at this point. ]

You gotta' fucking stop, we're not gonna' find anything.

[ with that, he slaps a handful of papers down on the table and squares his shoulders, just in case he's gonna be FOUGHT on this ]

It's a waste of time, we should be tailing this gonna-be-victim and getting the drop on whoever wants to hurt 'em. What's a bunch of paperwork gonna do to stop the killer? What, we're gonna make a bulletproof vest out of it?

Matt Holt | Voltron: Legendary Defender

[theotherholt]

i. station 72

Stand up. Just get up off your hands and knees, get to your feet and start walking. It's easy. You've done it a million times before, even when it felt impossible, even when you thought the weight of what's happened to you, what's been done, would drive you down and down, into the dirt. Even though you've never been here before, even though you've just woken up in a place that's wrong, that feels strange and alien and terrifying, you're not going to let that stop you. You've always stood up and found your way. So do it.

Do it.

ii. chorius | scum always lives

The mask makes it easier for Matt, it always has. When he was younger he had the thick, wire-rimmed glasses as a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. Afterwards, he had the suit, the layers of cloaks, the mask to keep him hidden away from the world. It adds a note of legitimacy to his dealings with the scowling, silent back-alley pirates. It suggests that he knows what he's doing.

A suggestion reinforced by how he disdainfully tosses back the payment he's been given, scornful. "This isn't nearly enough."

A risky move, definitely, judging by how the pirates scowl and shift, wondering who this skinny upstart is. He might need...assistance pretty soon.

station because this is gonna be the most painful

[shiro2hero]

Because there's nothing much else to do but practice. Train himself for what might come, make himself stronger, more capable. And that's where he is now. Making sure his physical self is at its peak readiness.

Even if he doesn't know how to train his mind just yet. Not without throwing more people into chaos.

But... speaking of minds... the sense of someone new presses in. He can't tell specifics. But it's an unknown sense. Like the feeling of a room suddenly being occupied, where it was empty, before.

(Hello?)

Gently called out, across the link. From behind his usual mental barriers of stars and half-clouded skies. Meant to protect everyone else. To keep his thoughts locked down tight.

keith kogane \\ voltron \\ open (spoilers for season 4)

[berserking]

1-#-1 \\station 72, pre-mission, get up\\ [contains spoilers]

[Keith opens his eyes for the first time in what might be forever. His heart pounds in his chest as he blinks away the excess slime coating his lids. For someone who chose to be here, who chose to give his life, there's a resounding sense of defeat, disappointment.

Sliding from the pod is easy enough; the slime provides more than enough lubricant to keep his hood from catching. Facing the reality he now serves, though, weighs him down. Leaving in the middle of a fight, not knowing if his sacrifice did anything, drags down his soul, slows his feet as he stumbles towards what he hopes is a shower of some kind to wash himself off.

He gave up everything leaving the paladins, and now again. What is he supposed to do?]

3-3-6 \\sceptre-ghost-explore\\

[After a month on the station, his bones have lightened, his spirit lifted, and purpose renewed. They, as the Nest, have missions, to save innocents from the Enemy, just like Voltron and the Blades. That and he can work with Shiro and Pidge again, without needing to try and lead or be something he isn't. Instead of necessary friends-come-family, they have become his hubs to the rest of the Nest, his shelters, his true family among the spread of acquaintances.

The Sceptre lives up to its name, but in visuals only. For all its grandeur, there seems to be no one home. Cathaway wouldn't send them down to an abandoned planet for no reason, would she? Or maybe it's a data mining operation, but that didn't sound like the case. It sounded like some kind of rescue operation, but no one exists to rescue.

So, for now, he and a team have set to exploring some of the lower levels that don't glimmer as brightly, that perhaps hold more secrets in the dark.]

BODY SLAMS NUMBER 1

[shiro2hero]

[There's a lot of slime in this hallway. Which is a great realization when you step in it barefoot. Either Annie's been here or ... there's new arrivals around. He figures the latter, pulling the hoodie all the way on as he steps out of the alcove he'd been dozing in.]

[The sight of a dark figure a little ways down the hall gets his attention.]

Hey-!

[In greeting. Already slotting his brain away behind his walls, behind the stars. Because being new here means being raw and confused. No sense in making it harder.] Need a hand?

joshua bright | legend of heroes: trails in the sky

[whereabout]

i. the melted world: exploradora time
[ From the moment they touch down on the melted world, something about it doesn't sit well with Joshua. The landing itself was completely uneventful, the mission is (supposed to be, at least) a fairly low-risk one, and the idea of walking across an endless mirror, while odd, has its advantages, if he considers it. It's never been so easy to catch a subtle movement or a change in the atmosphere. Something as inconsequential as a minor shift in the light is that much easier to catch, when it plays across the ground beneath his feet.

(And as Loewe told him so many times, nothing is inconsequential, and to dismiss anything as such is to invite it to throw a wrench into your plans.)

It's the silence, he finally decides. The same kind of silence that engulfed Hamel, when he last returned - a silence that shouldn't be, but is, a silence that's only that much worse if one considers how many things they ought to be able to hear instead.

He's trying not to think about that too hard.

The mission is the kind that's so simple it loops around to become tricky again. Investigate. Find anything here that's worth knowing about, anything that deviates from the norm. And while there's nothing glaringly obvious to point to, that hardly means there's nothing to be found.

Nothing is inconsequential. The way the light falls, the echo of their footsteps, the breeze that -

- the breeze. ]

Do you feel that?


ii. pentara prime: let's rob a bank!
[ Complacency breeds carelessness, and it's on full display on Pentara Prime. Joshua can notice it as he makes his way through the city, pod to pod and road to road. There's little of the guarded, paranoid buzz he's found in so many cities before, nobody with the closed-off, quick stride that says they're watching over their shoulder lest they be mugged (or worse). The city breathes in a lazy kind of pace that puts him more in mind of Rolent - the pace of a people that are comfortable with what they have and have faith that none of it is going anywhere.

There's a pang of regret, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they're going to shatter it, but he forces that aside. The best thing he can do is to make sure it's as quick, clean, and and precise as possible. None of the natives need to be hurt, as long as the situation stays in hand.

The bank is at the edge of a small cluster of buildings, none more than two stories in height, flanked by gardens with more kinds of flowers than he ever knew existed...and nearly no trees. It's not a conducive place to sneaking around, even as careless as the citizens are.

Unfortunate, since sneaking around is what he's best at. ]

( I don't know what it looks like on your end, but I'm feeling kind of exposed out here. )


iii. wildcard!
( Seriously, do whatever, I'll roll with it. )

[redheadcarrier]

[ There is something both foreboding and familiar about the blackened, glass-like landscape that surrounds them. In a way, it reminds her of the red sea and the empty beach she woke up on long ago. Not that she tries to remember that time very often or with much fondness. Still, her mind can't help but make the comparison. They're here to find... something. She's not sure what, but that's usually the case. Whatever it is, she hopes they find it and leave. She'd rather not spend longer on this dead world than she absolutely has to.

They've been walking in silence. She doesn't see a need to make conversation. And then- ]

Feel what...?

[ She glances at him, good eye sparking. ]

darlene || mr robot || open

[nastygram]

i. STATION 72 - get up.

"Come on."

It's dead quiet in this big empty room. That means Darlene's voice carries out, turns up the volume on her whisper. Her fingers tighten around her phone. Or whatever this is.

The wall behind her back rises up, neutral inoffensive white, same as the floor. There's not a joint between wall and floor. It swoops up, one continuous line, weirdly organic. Balconies stud the face of the wall, much higher up than she can either reach or see. She sucks at vertical jumping but she tried it anyways, because there's no way out of this room except the way that she came, a tangle of hallways she does not want to go back to.

The room is dark except the light spilling from the door, and the light that falls from the doors of each balcony just out of sight, a pleasant yellow glow. Like porchlights in the summer. Fireflies in Central Park. Darlene presses her wrist against her mouth and lets a breath go, sucks a breath back in again. Deliberate, slow. Fighting against this shitty feeling in her chest.

"Come on. Come on, come on--"

Back at her phone again. Scrolling, quickly, looking for-- something. A signal, a connection, a name, a network. Something fucking familiar. Something that makes sense. There is nothing to access but there is a weird prickle in the back of her head that makes her feel like she is being watched, picks raw the wire of her paranoia.

She shoves it all down when she hears footsteps in the hallway. Wary, angry, her breath caught in her chest.

"Hey. Asshole." Two seconds for someone to answer, to lean their head into the room, and when they don't, Darlene snaps, again, "I said, asshole. Come on, dude. I can hear you. Might as well give up and stop creeping."

ii. A RUINED GHOST - a race against time.

In the square, there's a crumbling dais with a console on it. It's the only thing left standing. The columns that supported the roof over the dais are toppled. Whole walls have crumbled away from the buildings built up around the square. So maybe it was superior construction that's kept the console anchored in place, or maybe someone protected it and made sure it kept standing--whatever, whatever, it doesn't actually matter, Darlene isn't here for a friggin' archaeology lesson.

She's crouched behind the console, floor level, with her hood up like it's some great protection. The panel in the side of the unit has been busted out and tossed aside, and Darlene is staring at the wiring inside with a critical eye. Then she reaches inside and pinches two wires between her thumb and forefinger, holds them together.

The sudden scrape of stone on stone makes her shoulders jump up, but when she turns around, she's already grinning. One of the rare walls that has been left standing has a split down the middle--and, slowly, the two halves are pulling away from each other.

Darlene shoves away from the console and slings her bag onto her back, jumps right off the dais once she's on her feet.

The little buzz of pleasure at her success will prickle at the mind of anyone within range--and maybe someone out of range, too. Blips on the edges of Darlene's mind, distant tangential awareness of other people. They're in this together, maybe, tracking down some shitty statute. Quick, stealthy, in and out.

And not that she actually gives a shit about earning brownie points or anything, but if she gets to claim full responsibility for this success? So much the better. That's the signal she's putting out, too--maybe enough to warn everyone else away--and that's why she slips in between the two halves of the wall before anyone else shows up. The luminescent screen of her phone is what she uses as a flashlight. Old habits die hard or whatever.

iii. WILDCARD ME.
Just, you know, whatever, man!

i.

[raw]

They don't, because upon hearing her voice Elliot froze.

There must be a synchronicity to it, when they're this close: his mouth goes dry, his stomach clenches, his ribs feels they're a band pulled tight around his lungs. The tips of his fingers tingle. Twinned Alderson anxiety, for very different reasons. All he'd been doing was chasing that twinge of distress and now he's its mirror.

A step forward. Then another. Rubber soles soft on the smooth pale floor. His pupils are huge and dark in his wide-eyes gaze.

"Darlene," he says, when he comes into view, empty hands kind of lifting a little, not quite raised in surrender but the idea of the motion is there, because she's trapped-animal angry. Because he's sorry, he left her behind, he figured either he was dead or everyone was, but the guilt had weighed so heavy it's a surprise she hadn't just —

"You're... real, right?" he asks, like that just occurred to him, that his mind might summon up his ghosts in the same way it has before, fully realized in front of him. But even if she's just a figment or another personality the rush of relief and gladness at seeing her is very real and his pace is quickening now, fast across the room to stand before her. He hovers just outside her personal space for a moment, breath held and teetering, before clutching her skinny body up into a hug.

Ronald Knox | Kuroshitsuji

[cutting_overtime]

[Cheerful and flirtatious and friendly, bright smiles and jokes. A little bit too sharp, too vicious, too prone to black humor. Distant in the way that no human could really be, neither confirms nor denies his own inhumanity but pretty bad at hiding he's got some kind of connection with death.]

i. Sceptre | The Court | Masquerade

[Latticework covers the windows, blocking the view of the decaying world below in a tangled web of bone-white geometry and multicolored panes of a material that probably is not glass.

Ronald Knox ducks through the crowds, dodging winding processionals and formal dances as he scans the crowds for a sign of their target. The masks and disguises don't help at all, but Ron smiles and chats and flirts his way through the crowd.]

ii. Pentara Prime | A Ruined Ghost | Explore

[Vines wind their way across root-cracked roads and clog the spouts of algae-filled fountains. The hum of insects and the occasional rustle of animals in the bushes is the only actual sound in the crumbled city as the crew searches through the wreckage.

That's not to say that there isn't a British voice coming through the mental link with a poem for everyone.]

( In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:—
"I am great Ozymandias," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,—
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder,—and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place. )

[No true Victoran can resist making excessive literary references.]

iii. Melted World | Outlanders | Come On and Slam

[Here they are in the worst sink-hole Ron's ever seen (and in his afterlife, he's seen a fair bit of the dregs of humanity), and now they're breaking lances with the locals.

He doesn't understand the rules of the game at all, but it's the crew against the locals and the stakes are... high. Deathly high.]

Do we want to play this game or just bang it out?

[Ron isn't going to shy away from an all-out brawl if it comes to that.]

babydoll | sucker punch

[paracosmic]

( station: ｇｅｔ ｕｐ )

[babydoll's first breath of air is a heave, as though waking from a nightmare. immediately, she knows she's escaped what had been inevitable, her lobotomy, her sacrifice. the pod makes her feel heavy, her mind weighing her down just as much. there are suggestions, perhaps, or a constant hiss that she's never had before. the asylum never made her feel like this.

but she has to push her confusion aside for now. she pulls herself away from the pod, looking around as she does so. she's petite, standing at 5'1", and she refuses to let her body weigh her down to the floor. she feels so sluggish, as though injected with some kind of narcotic. she swallows her nausea. she has to get used to whatever this is, and she does. she fights it, just as she fought at home. nothing will stop her from reaching her goal, no matter how small it may seem at the time.

by the time she feels confident, she is already halfway down a hallway she doesn't recognize, yet she knows she wants to go there, wherever there is. something is calling here there. she walks quietly, each step giving her more confidence than the last. she will find it. and maybe it's you.]

( ｔｈｅ ｒｅｓｃｕｅ )

[she's been here a month, maybe more, but her skills let her help and protect people more than she's ever dreamed of. she has the iota skillset, and the people that have come to know her will see that she is no laughing matter. in her old world, her mind took her places she needed to go in order to cope, in order to survive. she fought as much there as she will soon fight here. her fist packs a punch, and her chosen weapon is a katana, for the most part, alongside a specialized handgun.]

Hey! You got what you needed -- [babydoll is interrupted by a surprise attack, and she wastes no time to grab the person in front of her by the shoulder, pulling them back so she stands in front of them. as she does so, she fires her gun several times at the enemy, dire hits, but the shots will only hold it back temporarily.]

We have to go. Let's move! I know a way out.

[and she's off, sending one last bullet off toward the enemy, leading the rescued away from danger.]

( ｗｉｌｄｃａｒｄ )

( feel free to make up your own scenario! babydoll is a quiet, gentle person, but don't let that fool you! her iota skills are not to be trifled with, along with her leadership skills. and she has a slight distrust of men due to her past. but that doesn't mean she won't give them a chance c: she makes a great listener too, due to her nature. any questions? PM me! )

myfanwy thomas | the checquy files

[deskjob]

[ myfanwy thomas already has the ability to manipulate organic matter (human bodies, for example, so she can make anyone stab themselves, shut down pain receptors, tc), so i'm playing with the idea of giving her something like (low-level) empathy to complement it. any mindlink with her will probably come with a sense of a blank slate, few memories, but a sense of determination. ]

I. THE STATION

[ myfanwy may not remember anything of her (thomas') life but what thomas had told her in the letters, but she's pretty sure that while it featured the supernatural, it hadn't featured aliens. still, it doesn't seem like much of a stretch, all things considered. if there are people with weird abilities like hers, if vampires are real, why shouldn't aliens be?

she hadn't expected to end up in space, but her life hasn't ever gone the way she'd expected. she doesn't have a basis for expectations, does she? so there's that.

to recap: she's in space. there are aliens. everything is weird, which is really quite normal. she is also very, very lost. this corridor looks loopy, and she's not sure she hasn't walked it before, but she's also not sure that she has, and she's definitely sure that she has no idea which direction she should be going. ]

Uhm. [ there doesn't seem to be anyone around, but that doesn't ever mean no one is, or that no one can hear her, does it? ] A little help here? [ after a moment, she adds - ] Please.

II. INFILTRATE

[ even before myfanwy had woken up after thomas has closed her eyes, the same person and not, a stranger in this body, she's been learning. she's learned how to fake being a rook of the checquy. she's learned how to use her (thomas') ability, and better than thomas ever had. she's come to understand the structure of the checquy, she's uncovered the plot against thomas and found the traitor within the ancient organisation thomas had held in such high regard. she's done things thomas would never have dreamt of doing and the bureaucratic things thomas prided herself in doing well.

she's never done undercover work.

there's a steady stream of don't fuck up, don't fuck this up, don't fuck up going through her mind, but she's still holding her head up high and putting one foot in front of the other. it's not as easy as it seems in these high heels and this dress, it really isn't.

hopefully this won't end the same way the last time she'd worn a dangerous dress had, with treason and stabbing. myfanwy glances at her partner for the evening. oh, i really hope you have more experience with this kind of thing, she thinks, and maybe that's something her partner overhears, or maybe it isn't. maybe it was meant to be heard. ]

infiltration;

[raw]

( Shit. )

[ Elliot glances across at her, probably the first time he's even looked at her since the assignation, since he's not really an eye contact kind of guy. He explains that deadpan curse: ]

( I was just thinking the same thing about you. )

[ Because he's feeling out of place in the James Bond tuxedo and shiny shoes, even if he looks pretty good in them. Give him a black hoodie any day of the week. More importantly, his experience with this shit is limited to strictly social engineering, usually as part of a hack, and even then his cover story was usually better tailored to fit his introverted, difficult personality. Social media millionaire, eccentric agoraphobe, that kind of thing. ]

( This is my first infiltration mission. Sorry, I guess. )

spartacus | spartacus : blood and sand

[thracia]

( spartacus was a former thracian who made a pact with romans ( not a great idea tbh ) to irradiate invaders, the getae, from his homeland. when the romans turned from the pact they had made, the romans deciding that their own pursuits were more important than ridding thrace of it's invaders, spartacus deserted from the roman auxiliary in an attempt to protect his own village with his own hands. when he arrived his village was already taken by the getae, though he was able to save his wife, sura— only for the legatus of rome to come upon them and condemn them both to slavery.

spartacus was sent to capua to train as a gladiator, and become a champion.

for tdm purposes spartacus will have an iota based skill set, that basically serves as a 'beserker' mode. )

( ᴘᴇɴᴛᴀʀᴀ ᴘʀɪᴍᴇ | sᴄᴜᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟɪᴠᴇs )

[ it reminds him of the pits, the darkest underbelly of capua filled with undesirables hollering for both blood and contest. while above the planet speaks of leisure, the underground speaks of baser pleasures. those who have an abundance of coin coming below to spend it on the games. contests between men, brawls with no other purpose than to satisfy the crowd which has grown restless without spectacle to occupy their minds. the makeshift ring is surrounded by patrons, already sizing the worth of the two of them against the rival pair on the other side of the ring. two large men, bloodthirsty or particularly eager for coin he cannot tell.

he finishes wrapping his hands with a strip fabric, tests the binding by flexing his hands. ] I am no stranger to these types of games. [ said calmly, as he looks to his companion, who is to be his ally in this. ] Stay behind me and I will see you from harm.

( ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀsǫᴜᴇʀᴀᴅᴇ )

[ though there is nothing in his stance that speaks anything of nerves, that says that he feels uncomfortable among those attending the masquerade. three women in a group, all wearing dresses of light sheer material look upon him and laugh to eachother. one gives him a smile that reads coquettish and intent, she breezes past him in all her finery, and he only nods in return. not returning attention, though not spurning it. he is used to such things, rich roman women coming to the house of batiatus to gaze upon the finest champions in capua. he being one of the main attractions. spartacus : the slayer of the shadow of death, the bringer of rain favored by the heavens.

though here, he is no longer slave. no longer subject to the will of his dominus, or the threat of whip against back.

there is a prickle of anger at the back of his consciousness, one that threatens to grow from ember, and reveal all of the nest hidden here in masks to retrieve information from the locals.

it seems his anger has drawn a companion, one that has sensed it.. ] Apologies. I did not seek to drive you from purpose.

pentara prime

[memita]

[ Controlled is the word that Luv's presence in the nest likely brings to mind. Not constant, nothing so passive as her similarly synthetic broodmate K, but the active effort to encase in glass, to seal off and compartmentalize. To exhibit tranquility. She is efficient. She does her job. She only occasionally tries to put her broodmate through a wall.

At Spartacus's reassurance, her head tilts a few delicate degrees. Oh. He means to defend her. It still surprises her at times, that some of the more primitive humans don't seem to fully comprehend what she is. (Expendable, to most of humanity; better is the word Mr. Wallace would use.) ]

That won't be necessary.

[ She gives a placid smile. Her tracksuit is white, her boots well shined, and she looks not concerned in the least about sullying either as she steps up to square off beside him. ]

Could you explain what constitutes success, please?

[ Because she intends to. Succeed. She could kill these men, or incapacitate them, permanently or temporarily, quickly or slowly -- but which of those combinations will please a crowd isn't her area of expertise. It seems to be his. ]

k / blade runner 2049

[interlinked]

the melted world

Take these out, they said, and arrange the tripods here, here, and here, with the lenses pointed down. There's something interesting down there, and we're going to find out just what it is. But it'll take a while to get a proper read, they said, something about refraction, that it can't be left alone, that the monitor must be patient. Then many of the eyes in the cabin pointed to K, and the collective mirth lapped at him like warm bathwater, so he raised his hand.

So here he is, out on the flats, just him and the boys, and by boys we mean the tripods and the data station that came with them. By the look of it—from a distance, anyway, all that glass like a silent sea—he's got patience for days, and a real appetite for science. Or it's just that while he stands there with his arms folded and his chin tilted down, ostensibly watching figures move on the screen, he's really slipped away, up and wandered off into his own head. Gaze gone soft and breathing slow.

By and by, he closes his eyes, and listens. The rhythmic purring of the equipment, the breathless moaning of a distant wind finding its way between frozen sprays of glass. His coat brushing against his legs. Little blips on his psychic radar, moving, each one of them a person. He wonders what his own blip looks like.

It could be a minute or an hour before one of those blips becomes more distinct than the rest. When he cracks his eyelids, the data crawl doesn't look much different than it did before he went away. It's obvious the approach of another body has nudged him back into action, but he plays it casual nonetheless, leans to touch the display like it was his plan all along. Still accustomed to the analog flavour of his own place and time, he presses it a little more firmly than necessary, leaving blobby fingerprints of liquid crystal, or whatever this is—he didn't ask—and watches as they fade. The approaching body, and the mind attached to it, space bug and all, may catch a ripple of surprise on the otherwise calm surface of his mood. He leaves another rainbow smudge with his thumb, this time just to see it.

His eyebrows are still frowning when he looks up, but the rest of his face is open enough to look friendly. As much as it ever looks like anything.

Choose your own adventure:

— "What's this?" Soft pops of curiosity like fireflies as K takes the container.

— The approach grows K's awareness, tells him something's amiss; his sudden vigilance feels ready, like a closing fist. ( What? What happened? )

— K's silence is expectant. The present stillness of his mind is calming—even comforting. You end up talking first, as usual.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It shouldn't be at all surprising that it's Rogue who wanders slowly toward him, taking her time across the strange stone that makes up this world. It should bother her that this world was destroyed in a war, much like her own was, but there's a beauty in this stone that is so far removed from the crumbling ruins of the Earth she'd once called home. With an absence of outward signs of civilization here, she can simply appreciate the crystalline solitude surrounding them as she approaches K, her mind still and quiet.

Years of training at keeping the minds within her own contained has helped immensely when it comes to being among the Nest. Her shields take the form of a large southern plantation home, shutters open and curtains waving in the wind or locked up tight as if preparing for a storm. Today those curtains flutter in a nonexistent breeze, and she reaches out to gently greet K with a brush of her mind against his.

She doesn't say anything as she finally reaches him, taking a look at the readings the equipment has given, and she doesn't push for him to say anything. That stillness of his mind is more than comforting — it's something she can never have, her own quiet nothing more than a facade to cover the chaos that comes from the hundreds of psyches crammed into her head.

But after a few minutes she finally turns to him, a pleasant expression on her face, and asks with genuine curiosity in her smooth southern drawal, "Do you mind it, sugar? Always being asked to do jobs like this?"

caroline forbes ; the vampire diaries

[persevere]

Station 72: Explore

[She feels like she's been doing this for hours.

Caroline's sense of direction has never been particularly impressive by any standpoint, but this was getting a bit ridiculous. Maybe part of the problem was that she didn't entirely know what she was even looking for; this had started as a simple 'getting a feel for the place' had suddenly turned into a 'where the hell am I' situation.

She doesn't use her naturally enhanced speed just yet; she hasn't gotten that desperate, and she doesn't want to look like a total freak right off the bat (not as freaky as the rest of this freak show, anyway), but as she heads down the thousandth hallway of the hour, she hits a dead end and groans loudly.]

Seriously, what is wrong with this place? Who came up with this floor plan!?

Scum Always Lives: Don't Die

[When she'd started chatting with mister tall, dark and handsome while getting a drink in the city they'd recently arrived in, she hadn't expected to suddenly have a knife in her back when they went out to get some fresh air.

It turned out that Caroline had seemed like quite the little and naive target. Too bad they didn't know that her bite was worse than, well, anything else about her.

Still, as she left the scumbag's now very dead corpse in the alleyway and moved out into the busier street, she knew she wasn't exactly looking very inconspicuous with her bloody clothes and the hole in her back. She pressed a hand against the wound; it would take a little while to close with how deep it was, and it still hurt like a bitch.

At least she'd managed to wipe her mouth clean first.]

This is not how I wanted to spend my evening.

[otrazhenie]

[ The Station takes some getting used to. How long that process takes exactly, Elena isn't sure - she's still in the middle of it herself. Her first day on the Station hadn't exactly yielded much time for exploring (she'd been too busy hiding from her murderous broodmate), but now that they've returned from the mission on Hyrypia, she's finally had the chance for a good look around. As such, it comes as no surprise when she feels a sense of frustration come from a nearby Nestmate.

Rounding the corner to peer at the unfortunate party, she has to stop herself from breaking out into a massive grin, working extra hard on keeping a calm, cool expression, her own emotions pulled back under her watery shields. ]

I'm pretty sure it was aliens, actually.

kate fuller | from dusk till dawn

[forgive]

( ooc: playing around with the idea that kate is an iota type with soul/life-energy absorption - with manipulation/reverse part of that not being capable until higher ranks, so sticking with just a little leeching. she's not good with being selfish, so hoorah! :<)

INFILTRATE / CHORIUS

[ Distract, break in, grab and go. It shouldn't be that hard. How many times had she followed the exact same formula? And how many plans did she have to improvise when a lock was jammed or extra security showed up? Well, that was Mexico and this is alien. Literally.

This place — Chorius they called it — to the eye is a garbage heap but inside is where the real treasure can be found. Hidden beneath all of its shapes and steel is a piece of important technology. A key to unlock the secrets this planet holds. What it will actually do once they retrieve it, she isn't sure, but that's how most of these things go. Though she was reassured no damage would be done, she still had her concerns. 

More concerning is that the city before her now is laid out completely different than what they'd been briefed on. They did more than change a building or two; the city completely restructured itself. She peers through a smeared recycled window, out into the patchwork landscape. This was not going to be as easy peasy as she thought. ]

This was not part of the plan...

GET UP / A RUINED GHOST

[ There’s nothing to explore here, nothing but rumble and ruins. Like walking through a graveyard, impossibly quiet and still. Whatever (whoever) had been here was wiped out completely and abruptly. But there had to be more to the story, otherwise they wouldn’t be here, if not for a good reason.

Maybe to find life was the reason. For Kate, the feeling it stirred in her, knowing life was ripped away so suddenly, was a haunting one. Like a memory she was forced to confront, manifesting physically. She found herself hoping, needing, to save anyone who might have survived or been left behind.

As she steps out one of the crumbling buildings, a blurred figure passes by. Maybe it was an actual person, or maybe it was only a figment.

Either way, in her haze, and suddenly startled, she jumps back and stumbles over a piece of fallen debris. She falls to the ground hard on her tailbone and then back, dirt and dust rising up around her. Groaning, she rolls over to her hands and knees, face to face with the remnants of destruction and death beneath her. Flashes of red, blood, mocking laughter enter her mind — frozen by a demon she still can’t escape. ]

( Get up. It wasn’t you. )

[ The words are repeated, not realizing who she might be projecting onto nearby. ]

WILDCARD

[ Have a starter idea for Kate? Hit me with any scenario! ]

[detestable]

Plans don't mean shit around here.

[ Here is a general thing, loosely accusatory. It's not the planet; it's the collection of people and the missions in general. They're always scrambling. And they set out to scramble, as far as Seth can tell. It's a shitty outfit. They hadn't really needed a whole planet to get in on the act, but the show has to go on.

Kate isn't the only one thinking of Mexico. Seth's irritation is set against a backdrop of indistinct heat and dust-clogged roads. ]

Still, we get in, grab the shit, and then we get out. Easy.

[ Seth's promised easy before. It's as unlikely now as it has been every other time. ]

leo fitz | aos

[technologist]

( OOC: Fitz has a Hydra AU timeline crammed into his head, meaning lots of conflicting thoughts and information. He also suffered brain damage that he's adapted to externally, but it'll show in the way he strings thoughts together — lots of word association, tangents and consciously picking through language before he gets to the final product. )

ONE

So much for the Prime Directive.

[ The mission itself was bad enough: stealing an important relic that may or may not be a powerful weapon, because that's obviously not an overrused trope. Bringing down an entire underground temple in the process hadn't been on the official statement, but they're already well on their way to that one.

It takes a few cool seconds for the dust to settle in the wake of the corridor's collapse. Fitz dusts off his sleeve as he straightens up, then gives the flashlight in his hand a few taps with his palm as it starts to flicker. A few rapid-fire flashes of light and a few near-inaudible electric pops, then it blinks out. The darkness is as solid as it is abrupt.

There's a mild stirring of discomfort in the mental link, long-suffering. ]

What'd you say your ability was?

[ Please be a human flashlight. ]

TWO

[ There's something very rote about copying files onto a hard drive while someone watches the door. Fitz has done it a billion times, and that experience translates to a sort of calm, steady focus as he watches the screen and waits for it to finish, the edges of his cool only slightly ruffled by the fact that he's maybe half sure what he's looking at. Completion bars aren't multiversal concepts, apparently. ]

What's the— [ He speaks out of habit, stops, switches over. There's a delay in the process that feels like a hard wall, opaque silence followed by a less certain voice. ]

( What's the time? )

[ The ten minute count had started as soon as they'd rigged the door to open. The high-tech lock pick is still attached to the panel, red lights ticking down, a bit too far for him to make out clearly. ]

THREE

[ Wildcard stuff on the station, mental link, whatever! ]

one

[memita]

I can help you focus.

[ ...is one way of putting it. That's how Luv thinks of it, though. Helping. She's designed to be helpful. She smooths the dust from her ponytail with a thwip in the dark. ]

The next doorway is three steps forward and one to your left. [ A flash of memory, clean and crisp as a photograph, accompanies the direction, though pushing it through their mental link isn't nearly so clear cut a process. The result is fleeting and distorted, but, well. She's trying. ] I was also built with more precise spatial awareness than a human being, [ she adds like an apology. So sorry for being inherently superior to you in every way. ]

May I ask what the Prime Directive is, please?

Sam Anders | Battlestar Galactica | OTA

[frakkincylons]

[[ ooc; Sam here would be a re-app coming in, and I already have his info post set up from before, so feel free to dig through that for an idea of what his brain space is like. ]]

[ A ] GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE;

[ Sam's mind comes back to his body in an explosion of mental storm, a cacophony of sound and thought and being. like the fire and smoke that billows out from the engines of a spaceship, a high functioning machine coming back online like breaking out of a cage. those that had been in the hive before, when castor was whole - any that had been unfortunate enough to be close to Sam while he did his hybrid thing - will remember this feeling acutely. those that weren't, well, sorry for the headache. sam's kind of loud.

immediately, it crumbles inward, even as he's reaching out - Jessica, Anakin, Ren, Steve, Ilde. he's only barely able to brush against one of them, and the emptiness in contrast is so, so cold. a cavern collapses in his chest, threatening to pull all of him in, under the current. pieces of his soul, broken or silent, and the pain of the four of them lost only echoing between one point and another - him and ilde, wherever she is in the universe. maybe not even close, even on the same ship. he clamors like a small, blind baby bird, hands slapping against the walls of his pod, reaching to the base of his skull, and letting out a sharp yelp as it pulls free. it takes an immense amount of effort to remember how to breathe, hand clutched against his chest, but sam's main focus is scrambling his way down the pod, until his bare feet brush the cool metal of the ladder. down he goes, half falling, half climbing, until he can peer into the other pods clustered around his.

Jessica, asleep, with all the knick knacks they'd planted around her, bottles of liquor in case she woke up thirsty, which they were sure she would. Steve, small and brittle seeming, but so strong and so brave, a beckon among them. Ren, with the dark hollows under his eyes, even in his sleep he still doesn't seem at peace. And the one left empty - Anakin. His death replayed in the back of their minds, every second of their waking hours, and in their dreams. ]

I'm sorry. [ Sam murmurs quietly, as he catches his breath, not sure if he's talking to them, to the hive, or to the only one of his family left. He'd gone under, and they'd lost all the rest of them while he was gone. ] Gods, I'm so, so sorry.

[ B ] PENTARA PRIME - INFILTRATE;

[ this world is impossibly beautiful, seemingly perfect, and sam hates it that it just can't frakking be true for once in a mission. of course there's something sketchy going on, because they wouldn't be here if there wasn't. ]

( When do you figure we'll get the galactic cruise ship mission where the problem is just an excess of alcohol that needs dealing with?) [ sam's broadcasting out from the ventilation shaft he's squirming his huge, basketball-rugby player body through, on his way to the server room for pentara prime's archival building. basically just talking to whoever's willing to listen, because he's sam anders and that's what he does. ]

( Or the Too Many Forever-Kittens world, where we just have to take a bunch back to the Station with us?) [ he wouldn't mind kittens. maybe if they were bowel functionless kittens. litter boxes don't seem great. anyway, back to that really important job he was up to. ] ( Any progress on those laser defenses, by the way? And just calling it now - I volunteer Pidge for next mission where we shove the tech into claustrophobic hamster death tunnels.)

[ C ] WILDCARD;

[ idefk, come at me. ]

B

[earthborn]

( You kidding? If the boredom didn't kill me, the smalltalk would. Suck it up, princess, we got a job to finish. )

[Shepard's amused only because she has something to do with her hands, to distract her from the annoyance. Annoyance being her default state, after all-- though most of her attention is focused on the hacking interface of her omni-tool. The software is probably months out of date, but Tali'Zorah never did anything by halves when it came to Shepard's gear.]

( Seconded on the hamster tunnels, though; you're the slowest infiltrator I ever worked with. So far so good on my end, just waiting for you to get there. )

Station 72

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's a common theme in the Nest, inability to sleep, nightmares. One of the downsides of sharing a mental link with a couple of dozen people, especially when your connection is strong - if you didn't have nightmares before, you're probably gonna pick up a few here.

And with the kind of lives it seems most of the people who end up here had before, well, most of them already have a few of their own.

Sam's no exception, though these days his own are mostly under control. Still, he's awake, padding around in one of the little kitchen areas on the Station and stir frying some vegetables that look pretty much nothing like anything on Earth.

Neither does the four winged, six-eyed blueish grey bird perched on the back of one of the chairs, but Sam's talking to it affectionately anyway, at least until he can feel the presence of another Host nearby. Then he focuses his attention on her, both mentally and physically. ]

Hey. Can't sleep either, huh. [ He gestures at her with a spatula. ] Hungry?

newt | the maze runner (films)

[limped]

( Playing Newt from the films as opposed to the books. I'm playing with the idea of him having environmental adaption/control, so like bringing the environment of the Scorch with him (dry and lightning-y) etc. )

Station 72

[ Newt's dreams were never as kind as he'd like them to be, more so now, after experiencing grievers, or the crank that nearly ripped his face off with his teeth. There was a lot to have nightmare about. Tonight, it seems, the lightning is what gets him, the same lightning that had struck Minho and gone out of its way to strike them too, like they'd angered some vengeful god by existing. It's the loud sound of an electrical strike that has him awake immediately and to his feet. Who knows how many times it's happened already, Newt doesn't have the ability to really tell, as his dream was full of lightning.

The air is dry and tense as wide brown eyes scan around him in an attempt to find his attacker. Panic and fear race through him. Nothing happens. He swallows hard, throat almost too dry for even saliva to help. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms are standing up, and he needs to clear his mind.

His limp isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, but after sleeping, his ankle's a bit cramped up and it's obvious in the way he walks. He doesn't seem bothered by it, he can walk easier and faster than he could in a long time. He probably looks like a crazy person, blond hair sticking every which way, brown eyes flickering over things a bit too quickly. He scratches at his scalp, and it's not the same odd occasional itch that felt more like it was in his brain than his skin. ]

The Rescue

[ The city is foreign to him, though, to be fair, most would be. What isn't foreign to him is herding people away from the sound of gun fire -- well, if guns where energy weapons. He's holding onto the hand of a small child as he runs, urging people to go this way and that. It reminds him of the Maze. It reminds him of the Scorch.

His limp isn't as bad as it used to be, but he can't run fast at all dragging a child behind him. He can hear familiar voices yelling ahead of him, and most of them are saying to hurry up. Newt stops and scoops the smaller being up, running far easier now.

It isn't until a shot passes right by him that he decides he needs to make a sharp left turn, ducking behind a building and nearly bumping into someone. ]

Wildcard

[ Hit me with your best shot??? ]

station 72

[shuckit]

[ Bad dreams are hardly anything new to Thomas, or to Newt, but being awake and experiencing it second hand through a freaky, sci-fi mental bond? Yeah, that's new. They've been holing up in the same room together, unwilling to split apart. They both remember being held at the WICKED compound, how they were split up and tortured. How they refused to be forced into anything else, and plotted their way out in the room they caged them in together, after.

Regardless of what hell they're put in, corny as it sounds, as long as they stick together they can figure or fight their way out. And Thomas absolutely refuses to lose Newt again, not for so much as a second. His mind hasn't been able to shut down for a single second since they woke up in this place, running through ideas over and over, unable to stop trying to solve the puzzle. Thankfully Newt's been able to block him out enough to get some sleep, even if disturbed by memories of the hell they struggled through in the Scorch.

The first crack of lightning is purely in his head, but Thomas jumps nonetheless, hair on the back of his neck standing up, and heart pounding with adrenaline, as if it made any kind of sense that a freak storm could break out here and now, in the middle of space, indoors. Once he realizes it's only Newt's nightmare, he watches his best friend's curled up body in the bed across the small room, wondering if he should wake him up or let him get sleep, even if it's bad sleep. Thomas tries to just stomach it, hope it'll pass on its own, and Newt will find peace again.

And then an actual freak storm breaks out, here, now, in the middle of space, indoors. Thankfully the bolt goes into the floor between their beds, rather than directly into Thomas face, but that doesn't stop him from slamming himself back against the wall, yelping in surprise. Even still, he rushes over to Newt's side, practically leaping from one bed to the other, and is ready to shake him awake before he rouses on his own. ]

Newt, NewtNewt, it's okay, man, slim it. [ Thomas's hands are at his shoulders, squeezing. ] You alright?

Thomas | The Maze Runner (novels)

[shuckit]

[[ OOC; so thomas is a traumatized teenager from the pandemic future that's been basically tortured for science to find a cure and he's pissed and jumpy/neurotic as fuck now. while he's from the books rather than the movies, the films do give a really good vibe and feel for the world so a quick idea of what kind of crap is in thomas's head, so here's the first movie trailer and the second movie trailer. For the power, I'm playing with the idea of Biokinesis for now. ]]

［Ａ］ ＳＴＡＴＩＯＮ ７２ － ＥＸＰＬＯＲＩＮＧ；

[ The mud and chalky, charcoal debris from explosions still clinging to his old, worm boots leaves a small but stark trail behind Thomas against the pure, clinical white of the Station hallways, and his footsteps seem to echo eerily as he wanders the halls. Honestly, he wishes it were louder, enough to cover up the incessant murmur in the back of his head - his brood, the rest of the nest, whatever else Thomas is sure was shoved into his brain while he was asleep. A story that's far, far too familiar to him, enough it makes him sick.

Puking isn't productive, though, and it isn't going to help him get out of here and back to the others. He was an idiot to follow that woman here, but that's already done and finished. Time to focus on the present - figuring out where the hell he is and getting out of here. That's what takes him through the twists and turns of the station, through the gardens and the training rooms, and finally to the rec room, where he heads for the small library, glancing a moment at the other hosts lingering, before he starts to page through things. Eventually, he speaks up. ]

Has anyone actually seen this Enemy they're talking about us having to fight? [ He's half speaking to the others in the room, and half just muttering it to himself, at least that first part. ] Is there any proof, besides what those two tell us of anything?

[ The next, he looks up from the book in his hands to glance back at the others, voice more clear and eyes darting from one to the other. ] What about the symbiote? They say removing it from our heads will kill us, but has anyone tried it?

［Ｂ］ ＴＨＥ ＳＣＥＰＴＲＥ ＋ ＭＡＳＱＵＥＲＡＤＥ；

[ It's his first mission, first time away from the Station, and Thomas only barely came along for the ride, mostly because sitting at the Station clearly wasn't going to get him anywhere as far as progress towards going home goes. But all of this sets a deep rift of unease in him. It's a political coup they're supposed to be subverting here, at this beautiful party, in a city that seems peaceful and prosperous, healthy, from the few days he's been here. Of course, that's only been just a few days, and they haven't seen deeper yet. It doesn't stop his mind from running wild, though. ]

( They're inside our heads, how're we supposed to trust anything we hear or see or feel or think? ) [ Of course, Thomas doesn't really intend for this stream of consciousness to leak out to everyone else, but that's the problem with Thomas's brain - it's always on doubletime, and it's loud. Still fresh into the Nest, he hasn't quite learned how to control it. Or maybe he's only meaning this to go to one person, but it ends up broadcast through all of them. Great, Tommy, shut the hell up. ]

( Maybe we're helping these people, yeah, but maybe we're massacring them. You know? ) [ He goes on, as he moves through the Masquerade, elegant mask obscuring his face but making him feel suffocated in the process, eyes darting, jittery, from door to door. ] ( How do we know we're not the actual Enemy here, and whatever we're fighting is just trying to stop the symbiote from spreading through the rest of the universe? )

[ Maybe this political coup needs to happen. The last time he'd seen one, he'd been leading it, after all, and for a damn good reason. ]

［Ｃ］ ＳＣＵＭ ＡＬＷＡＹＳ ＬＩＶＥＳ；

[ A native they've just ran down and captured had done something truly horrific, maybe set of a bomb in a crowded building, filled with innocent people. Maybe they were refugees in this scum hole of a planet, and someone was trying to make a statement. Unfortunately for them, Thomas is an incredibly good runner, and he's the first to catch the fleeing culprit, tackling them down, with hands digging into the alien's shoulders, grappling with his arms.

He's shouting, and it would've been clear long before he'd taken off after the bomber that Thomas is Upset. Losing it kind of upset, ready to murder kind of upset, and regardless of whatever's being screamed in his head from broodmates or the rest of the Nest, he's dead to it. He's screaming at this criminal, things like why would you and all those people and they were just trying to survive. He's near dead to what's happening as well - where Thomas's hands are touching the bomber's skin, blackness spreads out through their veins, spidery and deathly. The criminal is writhing and yelping, and Thomas doesn't so much as notice until he spits up a fountain of black, inky liquid, eyes bloodshot and skin sickly pale. Thankfully, someone pulls Thomas off, and it shakes him enough to notice what he's doing. ]

I'm-- I'm sorry. [ He sputters out, after a long few moments of shaking with rage, looking over their prisoner in horror. He jerks, moving away from whoever'd pulled him up, and holds his hands together against his chest, like he's trying to control them there, keep them far from anyone else. ] God, I'm so sorry. Shuck, I can't touch them again, somebody else --

[ Apparently his Biokinesis is too deeply rooted in his emotions, so letting Thomas touch this person again means executing them, probably. ]

c

[limped]

[ What Thomas had been doing to the alien, made Newt's blood run cold, and there was screaming, from Thomas, from other people in their heads -- from the criminal. Newt had seen what Thomas was doing before, seen it back from where he was from. Seen person after person with thick black veins, and wild bloodshot eyes, chomping teeth leaking black ink everywhere. Hell, Newt had been terrified he was going to be one of those creatures, get bitten and turn...

His grip on the other Glader is strong, he's manhandled Thomas before, trying to pull him out of danger. The difference this time is that Thomas is the danger. When the shuckiest shuck calms down just a fraction, he's spitting out an apology and all but yanking away. Newt doesn't care, he's dealt with worse behaviour. Despite the space Thomas tries to put between them, Newt reaches out and pats his shoulder, before moving closer to the bomber, worry and curiosity both fighting for dominance. ] Bloody hell, ya nearly killed them, shuckface. But they're still breathin'. [ It's said to at least confirm the alien's life, and to cow Thomas just the slightest bit.

Newt grabs the Alien's arm, grip strong but not nearly as devastating as what Thomas had done. He doesn't want to have to fun after them again if they try to make another break for it. He doesn't want to admit it, but it scares him. ] What are we supposed to do with 'em? [ Obviously not kill them, but Newt had just chased after Thomas on instinct alone, he wasn't really sure what the etiquette is in this situation. It was probably a good thing he used to be one of the better Runners, or things might have been a lot worse. Warm brown eyes are on his friend, watching him carefully. Sure the slinthead deserved to die, but it isn't up to them. ]

Sidon | Zelda | motivation sushi man

[fishounen]

[ooc: mental power -- inspire courage. If necessary, Sidon can cheer you on, and buff up your ability. Or make you feel braver or generally better about yourself. He'll cheer you on and the world will feel okay! For a while.]

THE STATION ; POOL
[There's something swimming in your pool, everyone. Something very big. And bright red. Occasionally a fin breaks the surface, a very shark-like fin. Either way, it's swimming in speedy circles. Almost building a whirlpool.]

[Once the whole of the pool swirls around at a frantic pace, the pool's occupant leaps up, doing a backflip and landing in a perfect dive.]

[Then its head pops up.]

[And the ... person?? Creature?? Smiles at you. The mental imagery from them is like looking into a sunlit pool. Bright, glittering, and deep. Almost painfully cheerful.]

Hello! How wonderful to see someone else here! Did you come to enjoy the pool as well?



WILDCARD ; create your own adventure
[Anything on the missions you want to do??]

matou sakura | fate/stay night

[springtimeshadow]

[ matou sakura at first glance seems soft-spoken and timid, but beneath her mild veneer lies a depth of emotion she fears showing to others. sakura believes herself to be unworthy of love and is inherently fearful of disagreeing with others or putting her trust in them. as a result, she often puts up a mask of forced agreeableness in all but the most stressful of circumstances-- an excellent way to keep people at arm's length without seeming to at all. it's not uncommon for what she says and what she feels to not match up, or for her to try to shut people out. her symbiote ability she keeps well-hidden, afraid of the consequences.

any character who can sense life force or magic would be able to feel an uncomprehendingly large amount of it emanating from her, to the point that it should feel a little horrorterror-ish-- impossible and terrifying and nonsensical. ]


i. STATION 72 - get up

[ There are not one but three separate moments you might run into Sakura when she first arrives on the station.

The first is when silent tears well up in Sakura's eyes as she wakes up in the nesting pod, simultaneously aware of her situation and yet unwilling to process it. One hand stretches out in front of her automatically, as if reaching for something that isn't there anymore. Her eyes fall on the back of her outstretched hand, and though she's utterly silent on the outside, her mind is nothing but one long, loud scream.

The second is not long after waking. The next hour sees Sakura running frantically up and down the hallways of the station, out of breath and peering into every room as if looking for something specific. Maybe she peers into your room, or maybe she just runs past you in a dash. Her mind just feels like barely-suppressed panic. If your ears (or mind) are particularly attuned, you may be able to hear her mumbling-- ]

Chicken-- I need... a chicken... or an animal... a-anything...

[ The third is only shortly after that. Spoiler alert, we both know that Sakura isn't going to find any livestock on the station. Nevertheless, perhaps you find yourself drawn to a large emotional spike of distress sometime later. Which is to say, if you follow it, you'll find Sakura in an abandoned and out of the way room, covered in blood and kneeling over what looks like a large and intricate magic circle and crying. She does not want to get up. Not at all. ]

ii. PENTARA PRIME - exploring the marketplace

[ Sakura is as Sakura does, which means eventually she will settle in and adapt. And the first step to adapting, she knows, is settling in to a familiar routine. Stress cooking is very much a thing for her, but there aren't a lot of fresh ingredients to be had on the station, which means trips to the marketplace to see what she can bargain for. Of course, her first trip will find her absolutely swindled and talked into buying everything her small hands can possibly hold. It's not entirely her fault-- the food here is alien to her, she doesn't know what half these things even taste like, what their worth is, or even what food group they belong to, in some cases.

Perhaps you find her being hassled by a vendor trying to pressure her into buying some strange alien product while she unsuccessfully tries to find a graceful way to say no without being rude. "Oh, I don't know," she hedges awkwardly, trying desperately to catch someone's eye in the crowd to give her an out.

Or perhaps you find her staring with confusion at another stall, picking up all sorts of different products and then putting them down again, overwhelmed by all the strangeness. A vendor probably tells her off at one point for touching too many things, or perhaps you hear her wondering aloud what something tastes like. At some point she probably mumbles under her breath something like, "I just want to find some rice..."

Or perhaps you find her later on in the day, struggling to carry all her purchases, a truly staggering number of grocery bags hanging off each arm. Sakura is stronger than she looks. ]

iii. wildcard [ got an idea? have at it! if you want to hit me up or plot together you can find me at exclamationmarks on plurk or emiri#3333 on discord! ]

station, the third.

[quotemark]

「 Hey, Sakura. Sakura, that's certainly a lot of blood. That's so much blood.

What are you thinking, making a mess of this room? It's such an inconvenience. What were you hoping to accomplish, hm? 」

[ She's crying, and it's right that a girl like her is crying. After all, they're two peas in a pod - two negatively-driven creatures who've found their way to a strange place, full to bursting with strange people. Even this is a form of suffering, terrible and suitable for a Minus and -- well, her. Not quite a Minus, she's too likely to try and deny that of herself. But, he sees it in her, the same as he'd see it with any scum-of-the-earth child with a miserable fate. She's like him, if only she'd see that. Things wouldn't be better for them, but they'd be tolerable. ]

「 You see. It's just that if someone other than me were to see you like this -- they might think poorly of you. But, I won't. Nobody could think more poorly of you than you already do, I can tell. It's the only way to think. So, that is. Would you like some help? Is it the blood? I could bleed for you, if you don't have enough. It's the most a guy like me could do for a beautiful girl. 」

[ HE IS ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE THAT TALKS FOREVER YIKES MAKE HIM STOP ]

johan liebert | monster

[ungetuem]

( ooc; Johan comes off as calm, collected, and charismatic in an unassuming way. He smiles often and, probing deeper, seems to genuinely have very little ill will towards others. However, there's no good will there, either, not really, which likely leaves a weird mental aftertaste. Overall, that "nothingness", that lack is most apparent. In moments of heightened emotion, one might detect an obsession with death and a desire for destruction, on a micro- and macrocosmic scale. For the purposes of this test drive, his specialization is darkness manipulation.]

i. pentara prime

It's beautiful. Don't you think?

[This despite the echoing nothingness of it all, or maybe because of that. The subtle hum of sentient life's presence has always been easy for Johan to sense, and there's none of that here. Rather than being frightened, he's curious, his chin tipped up like he's trying to scent out the reason.]

[There's so much nothing here. He could walk for years, he thinks, and still not find everything there is to find. There's some kind of poetic serenity to that.]

[When he turns back, he's smiling. Beatific.]

Where do you think they all went?

ii. the court

[The beings here don't seem to mind outsiders too much. In fact, everyone's been invited to the court, whose finery seems to be a day-to-day occurrence in this place. Every day, they have been told, we live as though it is our last day.]

[More than one person has pointed out in stage whispers that that's probably why this planet is such a wreck. Living day to day does not promote effective long-term planning. Still, it would've been unwise to turn this invitation down. There's nothing like observation to understand the way people work, and that understanding is something they don't yet have. Most everyone is baffled.]

[Most everyone agrees--some reluctantly, some not--that Johan is a good candidate for fact-finding missions; he gets into people's confidence quickly, snuggles under their skin quickly. As long as he's not alone, it's probably fine. So: here he is, and here you are. Ridiculous as these clothes are, he acts like he's been wearing them since he was a child and nothing could be more normal. He's pulling it off. Hopefully you are, too.]

[Somehow, you've been invited to the queens' gardens. He sits on a bench, legs crossed at the ankles, and observes. His mind bubbles with laughter at all of this--the excess, the ritualism. With a glance your way, he opens his mind and offers the joke he's discovered, a thank-you gift for watching over him.]

( They don't even need to go to war. They'll neglect themselves into extinction. )

iii. rescue

[A nearly-vacant planet at the back-end of the galaxy. It's mostly desert, hot at the equator and frozen near the poles. Bandit country, or bandit planet, rather. They're not numerous, and they're not strong, but they just happened to have spies in the last place the nest was sent, and--okay. Sometimes mistakes happen. Sometimes hostages are taken.]

[Johan volunteered, not out of any sense of duty or fellowship but because it seemed the quickest solution. And maybe--maybe he thought being far enough away might cut off the link, that if he wasn't in such close proximity, or was perhaps in terrible, excruciating pain for a while, it would shut off.]

[This didn't happen. He has been in excruciating pain, thrown in a bare-metal freezing prison almost at the north pole. He's been beaten badly enough that his right eye is swollen up and he's pretty sure at least one rib is broken. It could be worse, though; the bandits quickly became impatient with him due to his total lack of response in the face of torture. It's just pain, he said, and shrugged against his probably-broken rib, and they left in disgust.]

[He thinks they might be dead now. He can feel the connection again, which is vexing; it's been coming closer, and now it's here, just in the next room, and he heard thumps and grunts and . . . ah. And that's the door opening.]

What are you doing here?

iv. wildcard

[Hit me with anything! I'm flexible.]

rescue.

[quotemark]

「 I'm a fellow hostage, can't you tell? 」

[ He looks nothing like a hostage, and everything like a pathetic, too-skinny savior.

The splatter of foreign blood on his face and hands, a baton clutched between his fingers that shows the wear and tear of an instrument used repeatedly on a number of very hard, very thick skulls. It's tossed to the side, useless now that he's found his "fellow hostage". The baton clatters, loud and metallic, across the floor, immediately lost in the depths of some corner of the room. Possibly down the nearest grate, never to be seen again, because he is just so unfortunately unlucky like that. It's a marvel he was even able to reach Johan, as unlucky as he is.

He bridges the gap between the door, bracing himself between the sliding panels to keep it propped open, dark eyes fixated on the battered form before him. ]

「 This is the worst. This is all wrong. You're the clever one, how come a degenerate like me gets to be your salvation?

Oh, wow. Are you missing any teeth? I can fix that - er, I think I can still fix that. 」

steve rogers | marvel cinematic universe

[fossils]

( post-civil war canon point. feel free to assume pre-established cr or shared brood! steve's general mental state is steady and straightforward, and he is cautiously aligned with the hive's mission statement. he is a visual thinker, pictures may come a half second before words. testing out his symbiote ability as touch-based cryokinesis. option i is straight up from frank herbert's dune, gonna be adding more options as I have time!)

[fossils]

i. stranded (the desert and the worm)

[ You aimed to get as close as possible to an outcrop of sun baked rocks as you fell from the sky. Your ship wasn't the only one damaged, and your pursuers decided to retreat to the safety of space rather than risk a few hours in the deep desert waiting for rescue. The mission briefing explained why, and gave you reason to quickly run for those rocks: not long after you stumbled out of the ship (a softer landing than you hoped for meant you didn't need to tear yourselves from a wreckage) the ground began to tremble, the bone dry air crackling with electricity. You haven't reached the rocks yet when the desert tears itself apart behind you. The sandworm is so large that looking at it is dizzying, its gaping maw a neverending void of teeth. Lightning crackles in the dark dust kicked up by the creature as it emerges fully, reaching for the sky...

Ten minutes later and large dip in the sand about two hundred meters out is the only sign left of the crashed Hive ship and the monster that ate it.

Steve can feel the heat of the rocks even through his suit, the tubes of his breather itching his nostrils. Better to itch than dehydrate - the suits are specially designed for keeping moisture in. The mission briefing provided all the gory details of what bodily functions it relied on to keep the human body going in unrelenting heat. There are few things as precious and coveted as water on this planet. He stops himself from pulling the mask off, solely relying on the mental connection between Hosts to communicate. ]

( Any luck reaching someone? ) [ He's newer to the Hive, his range limited. There should be other pairs on the ground - somewhere, locating and gathering a resource more precious than water to the people of this empire.

A noise draws his attention, the near silent steps of a mouse-like creature. It stands on both legs, drawing up to full height as it stares back with beady eyes glinting in the sun. A moment later it turns away, hopping down the side of the rock. ]

philip jennings | the americans

[medved]

i. choose your own spy adventure; (or leave the details open and i'll fill them in for each thread.)

[ 'Philip Jennings' is solid presence in the Nest. Even-tempered, reliable, even sensitive to and supportive of the rest of their number. Their work isn't easy, and he seems to know that better than most, to feel the exhaustion of it bone-deep — and to take steps, however small they may be, to alleviate that pressure for the others when he can. But touching his mind always feels like putting your feet down on one side of a prism — fully formed as you need it to be, but still only part of a complicated whole.

Appropriate, then, that his symbiote seems to have granted him the ability to change shape. That fact, and his training before this (CIA, he says, with his after-school-special Dad accent, and maybe that isn't true, maybe he's just making himself believe it when he says it, but what's the difference?) have made him ideal for infiltration, missions he insists on taking less out of a lack of confidence in anyone else's ability and more out of a dogged need to spare anyone else this.

But not every mission can be a solo mission. Maybe with you, he doesn't even mind — or maybe he minds more. Either way, there's a goal they need to accomplish, and the best way to do that is these two people undercover — as colleagues, as friends, as a married couple, as family. ]

So how much experience do you have with this sort of thing? [ he asks, casual, while they put the finishing touches on their disguises. Here, put on this ratty coat, this ridiculous heel, this godforsaken mullet wig. Outside this room, they'll need to be these elaborate fictions. But first they'll need to create them. ]

ii. wildcard;

[ do you need a spy dad somewhere, just say the word. ]

[nadezda]

[ How like him to nurture and cajole, smoothen the rough edges to make lying seem palatable to these people who grew up thinking truth was a virtue. Sometimes he could even make their missions seem just a game, harmless in every way, nobody really dies and no harm would ever come to them and theirs. How she envies him for it, when fear turns her hands cold and her breathing erratic each time, how it takes such effort from her.

Her voice is low, but sharp. She jerks her feet into her boots with the certainty it takes to break a man's neck. ]

We don't need them. They're just going to slow us down.

KENZO TENMA | MONSTER

[byodo]

[ Tenma is a doctor, this is no secret, his impulse to care for any physical ailments is as instinctive as the biological imperative to breathe. So is his habit of telling you to stop at one drink, or to quit smoking, or to eat an apple. He is never insistent, timid rather, soft-spoken and unassuming, occasionally morose, the kind of man who blends too easily into the background. But any who ventures into his mind would know he abides with a terrifying sort of intense vigilance, an acute gaze upon the self, and an obsessive diligence to mundane trivialities. He would never forget your name, for one, or how much sugar you take in your coffee, or how you passingly said you miss the scent of daisies — which he then embarked upon great trial and effort to procure a humble bouquet to bring to you many, many weeks later. ]

I. SCUM ALWAYS LIVES.

[ The negotiation has gone badly. It seemed simple on paper, painfully obvious in hindsight. A quick and previously agreed upon transaction: a bag of stones from Chorius in exchange for a memory drive that the interstellar scavengers scoured from a mysterious (read: Nest-linked) wreckage. But the bounty hunters never wanted a bag of stones (who would?), and the real quarry was the messengers themselves. That is, Tenma and your good self. 

Immediately, he places a detailed memory of an escape plan into your mind: the path through a narrow hallway hidden behind the single exit, the combination that serves as the key, then stepping out the door at the end will bring you to an expanse dotted with crystal spires reaching through the clouds. Farther out, to the east, lies the shuttle and reinforcement. ]

( At the count of three, you run for the door. Don’t look back. )

[ Then, he shifts his attention to the palms of his hand placed under the table, quietly ready to flip it toward the negotiator. ]

II. PENTARA PRIME.

[ Tenma is — setting out a picnic. 

It's early in the mission, with the guardians having told them to rest while they can, though the way he meticulously fusses over the rug and arranges the sandwich-proxies and maybe-muffins and the thermoses hardly qualifies as restful. To each their own. When he finally notices you, he flashes a smile, surprised yet bashful at being found, before clearing his throat. ]

The weather’s nice, isn’t it? [ He reaches over the spread to offer you an empty cup. ] Here. It’s days like these that make me glad to be alive.

III. WILDCARD!

[ I’ll roll with whatever you throw at me or you can PM me with ideas! ]

ii.

[singapores]

[ assholes make for good character development. once upon a time, her cup had ran full of them, and she'd been put to the task of reacting appropriately. yes, faye owes every bit of her streetwise and cunning to all those who'd rather guzzle a barrel of their own piss than share a meal with her. so excuse her tangible disappointment, when the man tenders a cup for her taking. it's all very mild-mannered, no offense. not her choice of a good time.

hell she'll turn down food - so excuse her as she hankers down to her knees, squirreling over what he'd packed with too much analysis to be decent. ]

Hmmmmmm... [ faye drips intense underwhelment from every gratuitous 'm'. offhand, preoccupied with sniffing the open thermos in her hand: ] You know what makes me glad to be alive? Alcohol.

[ for added dramatics, she tips over the bag holding the remainder of his foodstuffs. her jesus at the marketplace. ] Sheesh; you could've packed us a single beer.

Asellus | SaGa Frontier | OTA pls

[roseinpromenade]

[OOC: Asellus is circumspect and cautious in this new environment, though there is a sharp and brilliant stroke of excitement behind all of that careful observation-- she wants to explore! To meet new people! To that end, she's trying to simultaneously project a sense of open friendliness and also 'I am completely under control, honest'. It's... not really working out. She feels a lot like a puppy, really-- energetic and above all, charming.]

I. Exploring Pentara Prime

It feels a lot like home, this garden-- all these strange and new flora with the same humid, warm feeling that the rose gardens back home did. There's a strange sense of nostalgia that Asellus is only learning now to come to terms with as she gains the understanding that she won't see the Chateau or the people within it for an indeterminate amount of time, and it lends a slight tone of melancholy to her thoughts as she (perhaps ill-advisedly) runs her fingertips over the leaves and petals of the plants before her. She's perfectly content to be lost in her own thoughts, which is probably why she either ignores or completely misses the sense of someone else joining her in this place until her ears catch the sound of motion within the sea of leaves.

And of course, her gut assumption is that she's overstepped her boundaries, and she leaps back from the flora.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't doing anything, I'll get going right away!"

She doesn't even register how these statements, taken in sequence, might not give the impression of truthfulness.

II. Wildcard

[OOC: I am bad at choices. Please feel free to suggest better options if your character might have run into Asellus, assumed CR or no. I am very flexible, I promise!]

I

[whereabout]

Despite the many times back home when Estelle accused him of being the fun police, Joshua is not actually looking to get anyone into trouble, and he blinks at the response - exactly the kind of enthusiastic denial that he'd gotten so used to seeing in Estelle, the kind that said she was definitely not being straight with him.

"It's...not a problem, honestly."

They don't have much of a formal organizational structure among themselves, after all. (Which is probably why they often have such a hard time getting on the same page to get things done, to his chagrin.) Most of the nest is bad at taking orders, and only a few go to the trouble of trying to give them.

Actually, what he's more worried about is -

"Don't touch the purple ones."