agogelogs | THE AMAZING BASE.

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THE AMAZING BASE.

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?

"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.]

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."

"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."

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.

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..."

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.

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."

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?"

"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."

Edited 2018-03-25 23:52 (UTC)

"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?"

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.

That has her softly snorting. She could imagine the same's happened with a number of direwolves and those strange to them. She'd take care not to step on the one in here. "It's rude to step on them. Likely deserved that lost foot."

His breath is warm against the back of her neck. Everything is warm with the furs and Jon wrapped around her. She's safe, she's safe.

"Why not? He's only just met me."

"Because I know you, and he knows me. He and I are part of each other. You and I are part of each other too, but not in the same way." It's hard to describe this, hard to explain it, hard to be sure it will be understood or taken seriously when he says it. "Because I love you. Maybe he doesn't love you yet, maybe he doesn't love at all... he's a beast... but he'll know that I wouldn't want you hurt."

Edited 2018-03-26 00:50 (UTC)

She may not understand it as intimately as he, but she does understand. It tugs a sleepy smile to her lips, eyes growing heavier by the moment as she listens to the familiar purr of his voice.

"I love you too."

It's not long after that where she'll fall asleep.

He sleeps heavily for the first time in weeks. There are vivid dreams, dreams where he needs to do something or find something, running down endless roofless tunnels where the arms of dead men reach out to try to snag at his clothes, and no one can answer him when he looks for a dragon or a wolf. He cuts down countless false wolves in their masks.

But his limbs are leaden, and the dreams don't make him thrash, and the dragon is warm and slumbering in his arms.

He doesn't know how early or late it is when he first wakes up. He lays there for a while, dozing.

There are dreams for her as well, flashes of scenes she forgets moments later, all a hazy fog in her mind by the time she comes to. Her body is heavy and slow, uncooperative when she wishes to move, so she mumbles something incoherent and nods back off.

This process occurs two more times: a faint awareness, like popping one's head above the water's surface, then dipping back beneath its depths and floating. Two more times, and then she awakens to the sound of... absolutely nothing. Usually, Kylo and Mordred would be arguing. If there's silence--

With a light groan, she shifts, blearily opening her eyes. Expecting to see shifting cubes. Instead, Dany spies a patch of white. She feels heat all around her--behind her, above her, before her. Its siren's call is strong, nearly coaxing her to settle. She does wiggle back against the source of heat.

The way she shifts and wiggles back against him pulls him more awake, and he stretches and yawns, and there's an echoing yawn and a soft whine from the floor.

Ghost, he remembers. The great wolf will need food and a corner to piss in... or he can go out into the wilderness that they've been assured is around BASE this time, but Jon is reluctant to let him go. The dangers out there might be different from the ones at home; it might not be any place for a wolf, even a brave one. And it hasn't even been a day since they were reunited.

He presses his hand against Daenerys's belly, not sure whether or not she's still asleep.

"Good morning."

"Not yet," she mumbles, chasing after those last few wisps of sleep as if they'd pull her back under. Her eyes feel weighted shut, like someone tied rocks to her eyelashes. Everything about her is warm and comfortable--he's comfortable. To the point where she's sighing and leaning back further against him.

"I like your hands on me," she eventually tells him, still hovering between consciousness and sleep, though leaning closer to the former. "Is he all right?"

"He is," Jon says, craning his neck to look past her to the floor. "But he can't stay in here forever."

His voice sounds as thick with sleep as hers does, and he makes a point of looking at something like the time.

They've been asleep for twelve hours.

He slides back down, pulling her in closer, slipping his free arm under her.

"What about you? Are you all right?"

No, he can't. None of them could, though part of her wishes it possible... and it's that part which grows louder and louder the longer they spend time together. They've spun a world and life together, here. One without so many of the duties and responsibilities of their lives back home.

And yet those duties and responsibilities seem doubled, in some ways.

"Better." She shifts to grant him some ease in slipping his arm beneath her.

It seems as if she could fall asleep once more like this, but moving and Ghost and being so near to him tugs her awake, until she's gazing ahead, bleary-eyed. Soon, she's twisting in his arms, hooking a leg over his hips, ignoring how her shirt rides indecently high (for there is no such thing around him). It's not as comfortable as him wrapped around her, but this new position allows her to lean closer to kiss him.

THE AMAZING BASE.

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

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

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i apologize to anyone who reads this tag.

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