THE AMAZING BASE.

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Welcome home, nerds.
WHEN? Outside time and space, in the aether between dimensions.
ANYTHING ELSE? There is also a fish. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

MYSTERY FISH;

question the mystery fish

DEPARTING GALLIPOLI

The order comes the day after the Marie Antoinette sets sail:

PACK UP AND GET READY TO MOVE OUT. WE'VE DONE ALL WE CAN HERE.

DEPLOYMENT: BASE.

WE NEED TO RESTOCK. BE PREPARED FOR MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.

STAY SAFE. TIME-STEP EXPECTED TO BEGIN WITHIN THE HOUR.

FOR THOSE OF YOU NEW TO COST: FIND A SECLUDED SPOT AND TRY NOT TO EAT ANYTHING BEFORE THE JUMP.

The Time-Step

The transfer begins like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, just a hum of sensation.

But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomenon as "the buzz". The feeling builds, not unlike standing near a great engine or the wind-rattled branches of a massive tree. There is a long moment of motion sickness and you can't be sure if the world is shaking you from the inside out or the outside in. It may be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea, as the world blurs out of focus.

A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Others say they feel a touch of the divine, that the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle and nothing more than the suggestion of sound. Or maybe it's only an illusion, brought on by the powerful technology grafted into your skin.

One thing is for sure: One moment you are here and the next you are not.

The shift takes you from whatever solitude you could find aboard the Marie Antoinette to the temperature-regulated hallway of what looks like a very poorly put together space station. Droids rush up and down the long hallway, fixing broken bits of machinery or just chattering with each other. A few crows sit on high ledges, looking down and watching. Someone mutters something about a centaur around the corner.

And you might just notice, provided you were in Gallipoli long enough to acquire stowaways, that the parasites lurking on your skin are mercifully gone.

For new arrivals who didn't experience Gallipoli: You, too, will appear in this long hallway, filled with droids and crows and humans (still filthy and clad in ANZAC uniforms, carrying battered equipment from the first World War). And you'll be wearing the minimal COST-issued athletic underwear and holding whatever one item you were allowed to bring. Surprise!

READ THE BASE INFOPAGE.

home away from home

Those who have been to BASE before may find a strangeness to it all: BASE seems...still. The windows show a verdant world instead of the usual aether (though with the typical paranoia), and the halls are bereft of all but a few crows. A man stands at the end of the long hallway you arrived in, waiting for you to get your bearings before he speaks.

Except, you know, he's not a man. He's a centaur.

"It's been barely a week since you left, by my reckoning. But for you, I'm sure, it's been much longer. Still, much has changed. You may have noticed we are...becalmed. This is due, it seems, to an error in our ways. We kept something that does not belong to us, several wild creatures that are meant to be free. They seem to have psychically called out to their home, and their home responded; we are now somewhat stranded.

"But let me explain—the Aether is the nexus between worlds and times, but it is not a dead thing. Creatures live in it. We have crashed onto the back of one such creature, a mighty beast, as large as a small country and entirely undiscovered. We have found why the creature has intercepted us: we have accidentally taken captive some of its children. Shapers, the wild creatures I mentioned, it seems they form a symbiotic bond with the creature, and live happily within its stomach."

He frowns, considering this.

"Shapers, I should mention, are creatures that briefly infested our fair BASE. The issue was dealt with, though we kept some for experimentation. The coelacanth took issue with this, it seems. It can speak, of course; we are stranded very near its head, and if you wish to ask it a question, I implore you to do so. The creature is older than creation—older than me—and only speaks once to any creature it encounters. It's said its wisdom brings kings to their knees."

His eyes crinkle in humor.

"My name is Chiron and I am the caretaker of this place, for those of you whom I have not had the pleasure of meeting. More importantly, I am a trainer and a teacher of some experience; if you wish training or schooling of any sort, do summon me. I will be happy to assist."

He's easy to contact, often found in the library, the training area, his capsule, or elsewhere in the station, attempting to fix what he understands and arguing with crows.

"We intended to spend this time exploring, for this is a rare opportunity to discover more of an entirely uncharted world. I hasten you to see if anything on the coelacanth can be of use, but be careful. Take only what you need, not what you may want. I intend to learn my lessons well; these creatures are not pets. Takes food, water, and any materials of use to us for our survival and perseverance, but no more. We task you with this: explore the coelacanth, and see what of it can be understood. Bring us back samples, but do try to interrupt the natural habitat as little as possible. We are guests here."

He bows and the action shows a slight limp in one of his back legs.

"I would join you, but I am far too old for such activities. Still, do pepper me with any questions you should encounter. I am always available on the network, or in person, within this hulking mass we call home."

And then he leaves you to find your capsules and rest.

CAPSULE ASSIGNMENTS

Once you've found your room and settled in—perhaps taken a shower, collected clothes, and eaten—a droid will approach you with camping equipment and give you a brief explanation of how to access and use the database. It's time to get your gear and go.

Of course, you can decline. You can stay and tend to the fort, maybe try and clean up this patchwork jumble of metal and machinery. But seeing the sights on the back of a giant fish flying through non-space? Who can say no to that?


the undiscovered country.

BASE's airlocks open into a lush valley, vibrant with color and rustling with life that has thrived on the coelacanth's back for millennia. It's a striking shift from the rot and gunfire of Gallipoli, unmarked by shrapnel, bombshells, and never-fresh air.

No, the air here is clean in a way that can leave you breathless, untouched by pollutants and stirred into a gentle breeze. It's a marked departure for anyone used to a more modern Earth or rough equivalent; letting the air sit on your tongue leaves a crisp, unsullied taste behind. And the whole forest feels alive, in a way that reminds you of how small you really are.

A white crow perches in a tree near BASE's exit, too high up to properly engage but a stark contrast to the bright leaves around her. She merely watches recruits come and go with a shrewd eye, feathers fluffed against the light chill. There are other crows scattered throughout the wilderness, some easier to find than others as they flit through the trees, sit on camping equipment, or hitch rides on the hoverbikes.

Besides those brief flashes of black feathers, however, you're left unsupervised.

Try not to fuck up anything too badly.

EXPLORE:INFOPAGE|DATABASE
talk to a fish | destruction report

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

[northerndragon]

He stares at her for a long moment, narrow-eyed with mild displeasure.

"Fine. But I would still have rather that you'd told me. Should I assume in the future that if I'm with Chiron and away from you, he's watching my back? I would assume that anyway." He hesitates, then adds, "Wish I could talk to you with my mind."

That's really all this is about, isn't it? Who's sharing thoughts with whom.

"Did it weaken you?"

[dorzalta]

"I would hope you would watch each other's backs, honestly." With a quiet huff, she makes a face at him: a wrinkling of her nose, a pursing of her lips. "I do not command either of you. This agreement was strictly for his survival and nothing more."

That expression softens, and she's soon looping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

We've the mind ravens, my love. Every morning, every night, and all the moments in between.

"I've not felt a thing. He says this is the servant's responsibility, to protect their master, even with how much mana is utilized."

[northerndragon]

"We did."

His first reaction to her kiss is mild sulkiness -- no reaction at all -- but half a second later, he turns his head and kisses her mouth.

Not when you're being held. I saw everything we've ever planned or discussed turning to ashes while I was trying to barter for those men's lives.

It's good to see your face again.

"You know I can't tell you no -- or yes. You'll do as you will.

"We have to trust each other."

[dorzalta]

When I was held, none could communicate with me. I'd tried the BCE, I'd tried Chiron. Nothing worked. The contract was as useless as this stupid thing was.

A hand slips to his cheek; she keeps them close as she lengthens the duration of the kiss. Light little nips interspersed with affection, still so innocent, when usually, she'd have done something to intensify it.

You missed my face, did you?

When she pulls back, she bats her lashes at him. It's so silly and ridiculous, but she thinks he needs that.

"I trust you with my heart and my life, Jon. The contract is meant to be a temporary thing; if you'd rather me break the tie with him, I will."

[northerndragon]

If they weren't so exhausted, both of them, it would be easy to fall into those kisses, and when she pulls back and makes the simple gesture of fluttering her eyelashes at him, it strikes at his heart in a way he wouldn't have expected. He feels it low in his stomach.

In all, he thinks that their alliance may save everyone, but their love still sometimes frightens him, casts him adrift in something much bigger than he's used to. Even if it were a smaller thing, he still wouldn't be used to jealousy. Very little of the envy he'd ever felt before meeting her was related to a woman.

"I missed your face," he murmurs, not bothering with the mind ravens. "I missed you."

But the next thing she says drags him back to being thoughtful, and reluctant. He may not like another man being in her head, but he thinks of Chiron as more of a friend than not... a friend who'd needed help. A friend who had protected her in battle... but isn't holding her up now, and won't be sharing a bed with her. One who Irriella doesn't refer to as Lord Father.

"No. Do what you want." He sounds a little begrudging, but it's a conclusive statement on his part nonetheless. "Do what you think is right. If we can help each other... all of us... it's not too much to ask. Any more than that might be."

[dorzalta]

Her laugh is delighted, a girlish giggle over what he says. He missed her face. It's so ridiculous, and maybe she finds it funnier because she's so tired and it's so silly. But it's also sweet, and he's always been sweet. It's what she finds charming about him. It's what has her hugging him close, murmuring against his ear, "I missed you too."

She tucks her nose against the juncture of neck and shoulder, exhaling and closing her eyes. And with each passing moment, she relaxes further against him, until she forgets that her fingers are getting wrinkled, and that there is anything outside the two of them.

"He's a good man. I would like to help him with this, even if the magic I have is meager. He reminds me of ser Barristan, in some ways." She sounds sleepy now, mumbling against his skin. A span of time passes, one filled with steady breaths and heavy limbs. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, Jon."

[northerndragon]

There's another reason he's capitulated, and it's that he remembers what she said to him in the Dragonpit, something she herself can't possibly remember: A dragon is not a slave. Some people must follow orders as they're given, sometimes lives depend on it, but she isn't one of them outside of COST, and this isn't one of those situations. It would be wrong to try to assert himself here, under the circumstances. And given who each of them is, they'll never quite have all of each other. She'll always share him with the North. For as long as they're both alive, he'll share her with her people.

Still, some things are for them alone -- like this. She tucks herself against him, whispers sweet words into his ear, rests and breathes. She seems to be falling asleep, something that sounds possible here, where the walls of the stall are so close that they could almost hold the two of them up, then says she doesn't know if she'll be able to sleep.

"You sound as if you're half asleep now, love." He leans down to kiss her once, twice, then reaches over and shuts the water off.

[dorzalta]

Did she? "I think it's you.

"I keep expecting the light," she admits, after his kisses. It's not something she wishes to speak of--any of it, really, these weren't things to re-live or reimagine by giving voice to them. Yet he was truthful with her, and he's correct in saying they need to be honest with each other.

She doesn't always have to be strong around him, does she?

The water shuts off and she's left standing in the stall with him, still pressed close, unwilling to step those meager inches back. The steam or her exhaustion--she's not sure which, maybe both, maybe none--lends itself to a dreamlike quality in the space. Even as water drips from the ends of her hair and her lashes, even as droplets slide down his chest.

She chases one of the droplets with her thumb, then brushes the uppermost scar with surer fingers. It's like the peaks and valleys of his muscle, but more textured. She traces each rise and dip of his abdomen, as if she's seeing him for the first time. And maybe she is, in some ways. There hasn't ever truly been a moment where she's merely touched him for the sake of it, to learn more of him. Most of those moments have melted into heavier touches and heated kisses. But right now, she maps his torso out until the first chill of the room invades the stall.

[northerndragon]

"The light won't be coming tonight. We'll keep it dark. We'll keep Ghost there to guard us. You can sleep for as long as you want to. I'll get you your coffee in the morning."

His tiredness is not the same as her exhaustion, but the cadence of his phrases lends his words the same dreamlike quality. He watches her as she traces the lines of his abdomen, the muscles hard-won from training and fighting; the line of his mouth sets, briefly, when she touches the scar over his heart. His hands rest on her upper arms.

He doesn't know what to say to her now. Maybe she's not fully convinced that he's real.

[dorzalta]

Or maybe she's not fully convinced any of this is real, and Kebechet's spun a far more compelling illusion. To wander down that train of thought, however, is dangerous and likely subject to making her go mad. What if the Regency was the reason so many in her line succumbed to the madness? "The flip of a coin," she mutters under her breath.

The tips of her fingers are chasing another water droplet down between his clavicles when she hums. His hands are on her upper arms, steadying. She looks up at him with a faint smile.

"I forgot we could have coffee again." Palms smooth up his chest, until her fingers curve around his shoulders. She's looking up at him now, blue eyes flicking over his features. "I know you would protect me, raqiarzy. Let's go to bed."

[northerndragon]

It's too close in this stall for him to have not caught what she said, but he doesn't respond to it, not sure that it was meant for his ears. Is that what she fears? It's not hard, when you're as drained of everything as she is, to feel like the world around you may be madness... he knows it himself, and he knows that old aphorism about her family. But he thinks she's only very tired.

After her fingers curve around his shoulders, he nods, firm and definite, then bends down in the cramped space to open the box and take her towel out. Handing it to her, he finds his own, then opens the door so there's room for each of them to dry off.

[dorzalta]

She's quick to step out of the shower stall, finding it to be too tight a space with him not there. A careless pat-down has her dry enough, so she wraps the towel around her and ducks back into the stall to retrieve her oversized shirt. She's half a mind to use it as a second towel for her hair, but decides against it; just because she's no issue with nakedness doesn't mean Jon feels the same.

When the shirt's pulled over her head, she pats her hair down, and will do so as they make their way back to his bed. Whoever was in the shower room with them is gone now. Just as well. The halls seem to be abandoned as well as they make their way through, and she wonders if most of their comrades have decided sleep is a far wiser option.

How can any of them sleep, she wonders, twining her hair into a haphazard single braid. It would be dealt with in the morning.

[northerndragon]

It would have been better if they had been able to bathe the way they would have at home, he decides. He's no maidservant, but he would have helped her into a tub or a hot pool, would have poured a basin of water over her hair, and she wouldn't have had to be on her feet.

They would be asleep by now if it hadn't been for the mask. He's not sure why it will be useful, or how, or why it had been so difficult to take off to begin with. It must have been easy to put on. And if it was hard for her to take off, it must also be hard for the troops it was designed for.

What does that say about the Regency?

Nothing good. Nothing he hasn't already begun to suspect. Why do their people fight for them? Xici had been an enthusiastic recruit, not a reluctant and forced one, though there must be ways of forcing any of them. But if the punishment for failure is as bad as not trying at all... what makes them do it?

He walks alongside her in the corridor, watches her braid her hair as they walk, and it's not long before they're back at his room, where he's left Ghost. The direwolf stands and sniffs him as he comes into the room.

"It's just soap, boy."

If Dany hadn't wanted to kiss him with bits of chicken in his beard, she definitely isn't going to want to sleep under a blanket befouled by those same bits. He moves to the wardrobe, first, and examines the pile of furs on the floor.

"I'm going to put these on the bed," he says to her, taking the blanket and shaking it out over Ghost's head.

[dorzalta]

There's a number of furs left for him. They look as soft as the furs lining his cloak had, and they must be warm. Heavy, as well?

As Jon reaches for the first, she extends her fingers toward Ghost, allowing the direwolf to sniff if he wishes. She'll await the creature's acceptance before reaching over to lift another fur, her intent to help clear, even if she's slugging and likely a hindrance when it comes to the speediness of it. One fur is enough, right now, to make her wish she were beneath it and asleep.

When the task is completed, she perches upon the edge of Jon's bed. The hem of her shirt rides up her thighs, exposing her legs to the light chill of the room. "Did you have furs up at the Wall?"

He obviously did at Winterfell. These are his, aren't they?

[northerndragon]

"Furs? I did, because I brought them. Some men didn't. Some men up from King's Landing came with nothing and could only use what the Watch had for them. They'd be cold for weeks, day and night, until they found something better. If a man died, other men would claim his things."

It strikes him then that she doesn't remember him holding her hand in the furs on his bed in his ship near Eastwatch.

He tosses the befouled blanket onto the floor -- they can clean it up tomorrow -- and helps her spread the furs over the bed.

"What did you sleep under in Essos?"

[OOC: There were some blanket-related crossed wires that are uncrossed in this tag.]

[dorzalta]

Did they claim Jon's things when he'd died? Did Jon take them back if they had?

"Quilts in Meereen. The fabrics were soft... made me want to press my face against it." There's that hint of a smile again, as she smoothes the furs. But it slips away moments later. "Furs with the Dothraki. Nothing quite as nice as these. Did you ever mention missing them or wanting them? I wonder how they know what to bring you from home."

pretend he DID put a shirt on after the shower, I just neglected to write it

[northerndragon]

"No. Maybe it just turns up and they know it's yours. I missed Ghost... I've been missing him for months, long before I'd ever heard of COST."

He hadn't expected that she'd take his ship away from him.

"You can press your face against these." He smiles at her sleepily, takes off the shirt he'd put on after the shower. "I was cold sometimes in Paris, and at Gallipoli, but I can't remember ever bringing them up."

meh! it's fine lol these tags of mine are riddled with typos

[dorzalta]

She'd rather press her face against him. His smile's returned as she crawls up from the base of the bed, debating whether she should leave the shirt on or take it off.

By the time she's reached the pillows--gods, the furs are soft--she's left the fabric be. It rides up as she wiggles her way beneath them, but it doesn't matter much.

Almost instantly, she's frowning at her place between Jon and the wall. "Maybe they knew. They knew much more about us than we'd initially thought. Switch with me? I don't want to be near the wall."

It's too close, she doesn't say, but she thinks he'll understand.

[northerndragon]

He gives her a long look, and dismay creeps into it as the reason she doesn't want to sleep near the wall becomes apparent to him.

"All right. All right." Of course she wants an open space. She'll have him on one side and Ghost on the other. There are four walls, but none of them will be so close to her. He crawls over her and puts his own body nearer the wall, then finds the side of the furs and pulls them over himself.

Their hair is wet against the pillows. He feels his clinging to his head like a hood, and knows that because he hasn't combed it, it will be a nest of curls in the morning. It doesn't matter very much. He tries to let her settle in.

"If something happens in the night..."

[dorzalta]

She doesn't glare at him, not for the look he gives her as realization dawns upon him, but she's grumbling like a disgruntled cat--and promptly settles on her side, facing the door.

"I'm not frightened," she's quick to say, "I'm tired of looking at walls."

Shifting walls that made being in one place like this impossible. Little cracks which shone light brightly into her closed eyes.

For however much she's not frightened, it doesn't take her long to scoot back so she's pressed against his front.

[northerndragon]

It's not like her to admit weakness. And he doesn't think it's pride: it's that she's accustomed to a need to show her strength. She is strong, but so is he, and they're getting used to being softer for each other than for the people they lead. When she settles in against his front, he drapes an arm over her midsection.

"If there's a wall you don't want to look at," he says, starting over, "look at me instead. I'll be right here. Or look at Ghost: he'll be on the floor beside you. Don't step on him in the night, though. He won't take kindly to it."

Pressing the flat of his hand high on her belly, he adds, "Gods, I've missed this."

[dorzalta]

His arm draping around her middle banishes any remnants of tension. She settles on a long exhale, bum snugged against his groin, back to his chest. She insinuated herself so close, there is no space between them, and she prefers it that way. He's warmth against her back, warmth against her belly as he splays his fingers against her, earning a contented hum.

"The pillow doesn't smell like you," she mumbles. "If I look at you, I won't sleep. You're too handsome and distracting."

Settling, settling, her fingers trace along the back of his hand before she settles her palm over his. If she were pregnant, would he place his hand here? Would he rub her belly in hopes of comforting their child? The thought warms her.

"Did you ever step on him?"

[northerndragon]

"You smell like you," he points out. Her wet braid is between them; his face is almost against her damp hair. "I smell like me. I meant that you could look at me if you wake in the night."

Something in his heart does a little flip at her comment about him being handsome and distracting. He should be used to it, but he's never used to it. From time to time, the knowledge that someone loves him like this, that they've made plans for the future, that their love is clean and honorable and possible, is arresting.

But she's asked him a question. He looks down past her at where Ghost is curled on the floor, and sees the tip of the direwolf's ear, one of his haunches. "No. But he was only a little pup when I found him. As small as Irriella was when she could ride in your hair."

[dorzalta]

"You always smell good." (Granted, she hasn't met him when he's smelled of wet dog.) Her eyes slip closed the more he speaks.

And then she blinks them open again with a sharp inhale, blearily looking for a bright light. Her heart hammers in her chest. There is none. Just the dark room, a mirror image of hers. How long had she dozed?

Not long, if he's talking of Irriella. So she forces herself to settle again.

"Has anyone ever stepped on him?"

[northerndragon]

He feels a strange, slight shift under his hand.

"I don't know. Might be that they lost a foot if they did. I've seen him take men out in battle... he goes for the throat." He realizes what he's said, in the haze of half-awareness with her warmth pressed all against him, and amends, "But not you. I don't think he could ever hurt you."

Ghost has shown a distinct lack of agitation, other than his initial enthusiasm about his reunion with Jon.