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Entry tags:
- * dreamy,
- * npc: agent young,
- * npc: commander grothia,
- * npc: sergeant chiron,
- * setting: base,
- achilles [fate],
- akira kurusu [persona],
- arthur [inception],
- ashitaka [princess mononoke],
- daenerys targaryen [asoiaf],
- hei [darker than black],
- henry cooldown [no more heroes],
- keyleth [dungeons & dragons],
- kylar stern [the night angel trilogy],
- mordred [fate],
- noctis lucis caelum [final fantasy],
- ryuji sakamoto [persona],
- siegfried [fate],
- soldier 76 [overwatch],
- travis touchdown [no more heroes],
- yoshitsugu otani [samurai warriors]
all this energy calling me
WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Welcome home, nerds.
WHEN? Outside time and space, in the aether between dimensions.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.
WHAT? Welcome home, nerds.
WHEN? Outside time and space, in the aether between dimensions.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.
TOUCH BASE;
backfill armed services echelon
COST re-appropriated vehicle 854A-5.2
COST re-appropriated vehicle 854A-5.2
read the base setting infopage
DEPARTING FRANCE
The order comes out the second day after the Tuileries is sacked:
PACK UP, 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, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just 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. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine; the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle. Or maybe it's an illusion brought on by powerful technology grafted into your skin.
One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.
Nausea is commonly accompanied by this shift. One moment, you're in the cold of France. The next, you're in a temperature regulated hallway, looking not unlike 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. Crows sit on high ledges, looking down, watching.
(For those of you who just apped in and didn't participate in the TDM, you'll appear alongside your comrades now, standing in this long hallway filled with droids and crows and men and women in clothing from 18th century France. Of course, you'll be wearing the minimal COST athletic issued underwear, and holding whatever one item you were allowed to bring. Surprise!)
At the end of the hall is a long table with heaps of used clothing on it. The sizes and styles vary, along with color and detail (AKA none look exactly like the linked pics, they're just a baseline, use your ~imagination~). One thing's for certain, all the clothing has been used before, with holes darned and worn edges. They're all clean, though, and each bears a single patch with the words 'KNOW YOUR RIGHTS, THE FUTURE IS UNWRITTEN' and 'COST sewn into the side.
They're not exactly high fashion, but they might be more comfortable than the late 18th century digs you're still wearing, if you showed up in France. Or, you know, the underwear.
Meet the Drill Sergeant
There is the echoing sound of hooves, and a strange creature emerges from a nearby room: a centaur. He smiles kindly, happy to see you've arrived. He has a significant limp in his back left leg, causing his hoof-beats to pitch an irregular rhythm as he walks slowly through the hall.
"Hello, all!" His voice is kind, but it's pitched to carry. "You may know me as Sergeant-- I am in technicality a drill sergeant. You may call me Chiron, if you wish, though I'm to understand some may know others with the same name." He laughs, amused. "In any case, welcome home. It is not much, but we have tried to make it hospitable for you in your time here. Your room assignments have been uploaded onto your BCEs, along with some technological upgrades we've been testing out. There are a few prototypes and experiments you may find in your rooms as well. Our agents are..." He looks up at the crows. "We are a curious people."
He looks over to the table stacked with clothing. "Please pick out what suits you, and make adjustments as needed. If you have any complaints, and wish to change your rooming situation, your username, anything of that nature, please send me a request. I am also known in some capacity as a trainer-"
One of the crows caws, and it sounds almost sarcastic.
Sergeant Chiron ignores it. "Hm. If you wish for me to make a training regiment for you, to better your skill in this organization, please let me know. But for now: I am to understand your last mission was... tumultuous. Please, rest and acclimate yourself to BASE."
He turns to leave, before stopping-- "And please be kind to the crows. They remember slights."
The crows' cawing sounds like laughter.
HOTSPOTS
There's been some technical difficulty since the prognosticators had their little meltdown. Coolant is in short supply, and some of the corridors of BASE are a little warmer than others. Pleasantly warm. Comfortably so, like walking through a sunbeam. In these hotspots, it feels comfortable and snug.
Characters walking through them will feel the urge to lie down and rest, maybe take a quick little nap.
Sleeping in these spots will cause unsettling or confusing dreams, but not nightmares. Dreams in these hotspots-- and sleeping in these hotspots will never be dreamless-- will be hard to remember upon waking, but they seemed very... strange. Almost as though you were intruding on something important but private.
Yet you can't quite remember it when you wake.
If you're clever and watchful, you'll notice the crows avoid these areas, so you can avoid them as well before you're seized by the urge to lie down and nap.
Particularly watchful characters may notice the hotspots are growing in size and number as the days wear on.
(More information about these and the forthcoming December plot will be coming in an infopost on the 12th, but if you have any questions now, feel free to ask here!)
read the base setting infopage
no subject
I--
[ Okay wow, he wasn't expecting that at all. And he is flustered, honestly; how many people back in his world would ever speak to him like this? Especially women, already introverted and self-conscious and this isn't helping one bit. ]
I'm fine, I just haven't worked one of these before. Geeze, like it matters if you're a lady, what's wrong with liking a lot of blankets sometimes, the weight's good... [ All of this is muttered by him as he pushes his way inside, noting the similar layout that has him aiming for the stairs. Up to the kitchen we go. ]
no subject
Pick a topic and stick to it. [Her hearing isn't superhuman - she can't make out any real details - but she hears him muttering a few disjointed things and can make a guess that he's arguing back under his breath.
She follows him up the steps, short legs meaning she has to almost hop them.]
Unused to banter? Working in a unit, especially one with a few dozen people, is more social engineering than anything. Find a place in the group and convince others you belong there. You might want to practice debate, basically.
no subject
I'm used to banter, you just started saying all kinds of weird and unrelated stuff. I'm just here to do laundry. [ As he arrives in the kitchen, already dumping blankets onto the nearest countertop so he doesn't have to keep hauling them everywhere. Only then does he wheel on her. ]
Bantering's about insults or backhanded compliments... or bragging. Not that.
no subject
It doesn't count because I got under your skin, basically? You could always try learning to live with it. You might get insulted for things far more important than how many blankets you sleep with.
What are these blankets made of? Do you know? [She's reaching for one, thumbing over it to see if there's any sort of tag.]
no subject
... no. I don't. And I know all of that already, geeze... Those are the kinds of insults I'm used to anyway. [ He eyes her for a moment or two longer before relenting, glancing away again. ]
Let's start over. Can we start putting the blankets in first or what?
no subject
She turns the blankets over a few more times, grumbles when she can't find any sort of tag. Well, she can wing it.]
There should be detergent around. Screw the cap off, then pour a small amount of it into the cap. Until... hm... with this many blankets, we might as well do it in two loads. Pour the detergent in until the cap's halfway full.
You're used to insults? That's pitiable. You might want to find better company.
no subject
I already found the company I want. [ In a tone that leaves zero room for argument even as he starts rummaging for the detergent. Where, where... Ah. Here's some.
Dishwasher detergent. ] There isn't a cap.
no subject
She's almost thinking better of it, until he takes out the detergent for the dishwasher. She sighs.]
Unless you're planning to eat off the blankets, that isn't going to work. That's for dishes.
You didn't have any detergent when you were messing around in your room? What about fabric softener?
no subject
... [ Wait for it. ]
What's fabric softener?
no subject
[How does so much 'are you kidding me' fit into such a tiny body? Her stare is half glare, half stunned disbelief.]
I need you to tell me if you've ever washed anything in your entire life. Because I don't think you have.
no subject
... you mean clothes specifically? [ Fuck. ]
no subject
Were you well-off? Or did you just not need to for whatever reason?
no subject
Pots, pans. Camping stuff. We split a lot of the work.
no subject
[Lazily, Prelati swings her finger to the left, pointing to the detergent in the cabinet above the machines.]
And much harder to wash by hand. There are folds in the material, after all.
no subject
[ He knows... that fabric has folds in it. That's what he knows. Congrats to him. But with her help he's indeed seeking out the detergent, avoiding eye contact as he resolutely fills the cap halfway. ]
I'm just saying your guess was off... I've just never used one of these before, that's it.
no subject
[Just bluntly telling him that, yep. She shifts a little on the counter, hand in her chin.]
There should be a detergent drawer. A small compartment that pulls out into a few labeled... I suppose you'd call them cabinets. Feel around on the top left of the machine.
no subject
... oh.
Oh, okay, he has to manually-- right, he's got this. ]
Ah, got it. You could spend less time theorizing and more time giving more thorough instructions. [ Right, let him blame his dumbassery on another person. ]
no subject
Pour the detergent in, then close it. Try not to smash it, this time.
no subject
And then ends up dripping detergent onto his fingers when trying to re-cap the bottle, because we have literally all had this happen to us. ] Damn it.
no subject
Honestly. [She says it like a scolding mother - gently, she reaches out for his wrists, moves to pull his hands over to the sink.]
You don't want that getting into your mouth, if you were planning to eat anytime soon. Basically, wash it thoroughly.
no subject
Tch-- Okay, okay, I can do it. [ But it's... weirdly soft coming from her so he can't access the agitation that he might normally, his tone a little unconvincing as he rinses his hands. ]
... is that really all these is to it? One guy told me to wash everything on cold all the time.