MARCH ARRIVAL LOG;

[freezers]

⬡ WHO: Everyone!!
⬡ WHAT: Waking up in space, naked and... not actually that alone. Also, a hull breach, also, some fuckery in the AC room.
⬡ WHEN: Day 001 - 004
⬡ WHERE: Kostka IV, all over.
⬡ NOTES: WARNINGS: Body horror, scary monsters, creepy invisible things, rude naked people, Mass Effect Banshee Screech, 2% Cannibalism.

Please send all QUESTIONS here!

GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE

⬡ [ DAY 001 - 003 ] A spark of electricity convulses through your body, and you jolt awake - underwater. Or, at least, that's most peoples' first guess. The color is more vibrant than water should be, and heavier, your body feeling sluggish against the weight and drag of it. Or perhaps you're just slower to respond, distant, limbs and mind still drowsy and reeling. The bright fluid doesn't sting when you blink, if anything, it's soothing, healing, calming. Fortunate, that, because you're going to need it. As the pod-like chamber you're held in starts to drain of the liquid, your senses begin to flood back in. Awareness filters in like a window curtain holding back the morning sun, gradually easing away with each inch the water line lowers. There's something on your face - a mask, strapped around the back of your head, and other thinner tendrils against your cheeks, your ears, your neck. Narrow tubes are channeled through in your nostrils, and cables have slithered in through your ears, plugging into God knows what on the inside of your skull. There's a click that you feel more than hear, and the tension on them slacks, disconnected from somewhere inside you. Pull - up, back, to the side, whichever way you want - and they start to drag free. Far from the most pleasant feeling (likely leaves you wanting to crawl right out of your skin), but it doesn't quite hurt or burn, yet. That's for the inch wide tube shoved down your throat and held in place by the mask. It's also what's keeping you breathing underneath this blue space-goo though, so maybe don't go yanking it off until the lid of your pod opens. As the fluid drains, a voice crackles in over the sound of water oscillating around your ears. Not something played from a speaker anywhere, nothing projected on a screen, and whether the cables are still in your ears or not, you hear her all the same, as if she's more inside your head than she is broadcasting over a speaker inside the pod or coming muffled from outside. Even still, it's stuttered and interrupted, like the connection is weak, interference like static white noise buzzing through and covering up parts of sentences. ❝ I don’t have a lot of tim— RIP can’t spare the power to run this more t—, so pay attention. No one knows where it came fr— out of radio contact when it happened, whatever it w— Everything in its path. There is no fighting it. Only surviv— Droids handle most of the maintenance, but she’s getting wor— Take the load off. Whatever happe— just keep Ripley running. If the ship stops, we’re all dea— —’re bodies are new, still adjusting. You’ll be on unsteady legs for a while, so take it slo— might end up face-planting, and there’s only so many replacemen— Mess hall’s lock— so make do. The cryo pod fluid’s the most nutritious thing around, just don’t think about wh— —’s all I can tell you. Good luck. ❞ » » » READ MORE HERE « « « At the end of the long lines of cryo pods, the halls meet at a small medbay. It seems some merciful someone has left a stack of thin, cloth sheets on one of the medbay tables, so it's best you pick one up, towel off a bit, and then toga it, until you find something more durable. Hopefully, at some point, someone will discover a door leading to a storage room is unlocked. There, you'll find some very stylish, bright orange jumpsuits. With luck, you'll make it there before you freeze. [[ OOC CONTENT WARNING (2% Cannibalism): This is OOC knowledge only, but given the sketchy nature of this, we wanted to make sure you guys are aware of what's coming ahead of time, so if you'd like to avoid having to RP the fallout from it, you have that option. The blue goop in the cryo pods that the NPCs have been telling characters to eat in order to expedite their acclimation to their new bodies/get over their Bambi Legs syndrome? It's 2% people. That's actual people, not recycled HOST bodies. This 2% is largely what aids the organic part of HOST bodies to work seamlessly with the synthetic part, but drinking the goop is not actually necessary to HOST body survival after emerging from the pods. Foregoing it will leave your character in a weakened state for a longer period of time (think more like 1 - 2 weeks of varying states of bambi legs rather than 1-3 days), but do have another option for sustenance worked into the O2 Garden prompt below if you'd like to avoid dealing you character realizing they ate People Soup in the future. Again, this is OOC knowledge only. Definitely don't feel obligated to have your character eat People Soup if you don't want them to, but please come up with a reason for your character to seek alternate food sources rather than "you know, I think this might have people in it", as we don't want to go into info-modding territory. Thanks, homies!! ]] MAINTENANCE ⬡ [ DAY 001 - 003 ] We're hoping you had time to get over the Bambi legs and get your space legs under you (as well as some space pants onto your body), because Ripley expended a lot of processing power to waking you up. That means it's up to you to make up the difference and get to work cleaning this place up to make it habitable for you and your new crewmates. It's been nothing but RIP and her droids for the last who knows how long, so those things that need to be functioning for the continued survival of organic bodies need to get working. Here's the chores on the docket: ⬡ Water Filtration; Hydration - always a must for you squishy, fleshy things, isn't it? The canal that runs through the Ring atrium is a large part of the reserves, and at one dark innocuous end an uncomfortable grinding noise can be heard. Beneath the surface of the water where there should be wall, there is instead an enormous fan about ten feet in diameter. It's grinding so loud the sound escapes the water barrier, and the cause is pretty clear. There's something wedged between one of the fan blades and the circular housing it's contained in. Someone will need to dive down ten or twelve feet and unstick the human skull stopping the filtration system from running. Beware, though — the second it's free the fan blades will begin spinning, sucking gallons upon gallons of water down into the depths. Hope you can swim! ⬡ O2 Garden; Oxygen - another must. The up-side here is that the facility has been virtually untouched, yielding unchecked growth for the time no one's been tending to it, so there's no need to worry about a lack of oxygen for the time being. The bad part is more about the chaos that's left behind. The garden is nearly a jungle at this point, and if crew is to make their way around easily, manage the hydroponics, and set up the vegetable gardens again to provide food outside of the cryo soup, there's some major work to be done. It likely doesn't help that some of the more volatile samples have broken free from containment and mixed in with the rest of the garden. One hostile species will spit acidic venom at things wandering close to its roots while others just chomp down on anything that ventures within reach. Ripley advises boots and protective gear when taking on this task, but getting rid of those weeds is up to you. Here, crew can also find their alternate food sources here, if you're OOCly wanting to avoid dealing with the People Soup reveal later on. If crew can slay some of the hostile plants, then find a means to make a fire and fry them up, the weirdly chewy salad your left with won't taste great by any means, and you'll be left with Bambi Legs for more like a couple weeks rather than a couple days without the cryo soup, but you can keep yourself fed this way. We recommend the little bitey ones over the big, venomy ones (they give a bit of indigestion). Those that explore the garden may stumble upon what looks like a miniature altar placed carefully on the ground: a shoebox sized box, made of metal and encircled by a ring traced deep into the dirt. A hexagon marks the top of the box, and when touched it reads on the HUD as ‘EDIBLE’. Inside are what looks to be clear packets and packets of dead seeds. At the bottom, however, is an opaque packet that initially lets out a puff of white dust when opened. It might freak you out, but it will prove to be harmless-- and the reward might be worth the minor scare: the hexagon on the packet, acting like a QR code, similar to the one on the outside of the box, explains that these are seeds for genetically altered potatoes. They might not taste great, but with a little extra care they can grow within 2 weeks. There’s a hundred seeds at least, and most of them appear to be viable. ⬡ Assist the Droids; The won't talk, but they do beep and boop and shove things at your person to hold. If you're unwilling to help with anything else going on, you'll be assigned as a glorified pack-mule. Hold whatever the droids give you, hold it right there, hold it steady, and if you get shocked because you moved too much to the left, well, you really only have yourself to blame. Keep a mind to where your feet are falling as well - stepping on a droid zooming past will not only be likely to get you knocked on your ass, but probably earn you an short, sharp, electric shock from them as well. Good luck, have fun, try not to die because Ripley's exhausted from waking you up, and the droids suck at first aid— not to mention, very stiff bedside manner. SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS; ⬡ [ DAY 001 - 005 ] Currently, there is no access to any proper crew quarters or barracks. The Ring is likely the best place to sleep, given the space and the various park benches scattered around, though not the most comforting, as it’s large and shadowy, with unsettling echos bouncing off the walls and traveling all throughout. A VIIK spontaneously malfunctioning could jolt a person awake with violent screams, or invade their dreams with creeping, hissing whispers. If you happen to hear something tapping along in the dark corners of the massive Ring in the night, surely it’s just a droid going about its work, or another glitchy kiosk, right? Right. Ripley recommends returning to the cryo pods for sleep. They’re very ergonomic, well insulated, and perfectly out of the way of all foot and droid traffic. Just a little bit slimy, but as we’ve discussed, that slime is the most nutrient rich substance you’ll find on the ship. Easy midnight snack, right? If you happen to wake up in the middle of the night and think you spot a human-shaped shadow hovering over you through the glass lid of the pod, just blink hard a time or two, and it’ll be gone. No worries at all, safe and sound. Otherwise, find a nice little corner and curl up. GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM; ⬡ [ DAY 003 ] While Projection is not yet available, all HOST bodies share free access to a neural network through which they can communicate via text, audio, or video. One of the first things the HOST platform will prompt the new mind housed inside it will be to set up a sequence of finger taps to open up the network HUD. The system is fairly intuitive, and all one need do is reach up a hand to touch the option they wish to select. For text, a keyboard overlay will appear in the HOST's visual perception, and, dy default, all messages will show: a name, a username, and an ID code. Feel free to make these up as you like. These can be adjusted, and a HOST can post anonymously to the network as well (no guarantees Ripley can't trace it back to the origin, but she's not going to tell). There are no real rules on the usage of this network, aside from don't try to hack your friends, or your not-friends (just don't hack anyone, okay, it's rude). Ripley does understand the human need to socialize, especially in trying and stressful circumstances, so have at it kids. On the third day, once everyone’s woken up, Ripley will be making one quick announcement that she will not be capable of replying to just yet - waking you jerks up took a lot out of her, so give her some time. The voice that you hear doesn't come through any speaker or intercom around you, nor is it originating from any of the bodies or droids nearby. You hear what sounds like a young girl speaking as if inside your head, and she sounds exhausted: ❝ ATTENTION ALL CREW: This is Ripley. While I realize abduction and consciousness displacement is frowned upon in many human societies, please understand this was an emergency protocol enacted at the last possible moment. You have questions. I will answer as best as I'm able, as much as I'm able, but much of the data you're looking for has suffered massive corruption, held in a type of quarantine. The most important thing you need to know is that you, and all organic life within the multiverse, are being hunted. The mission of this vessel is to protect and preserve what remains of that life. Take time to acclimate to your new platforms. We'll talk more later. Ripley out. ❞ BLOW OUT IN THE SHIP HULL (NOT A SPACE PORN TITLE (THIS TIME)); ⬡ [ DAY 004 ] Somewhere around three am (according to the time listed on your HUD, if you pull it up), an explosion rocks the ship, jolting the crew awake. A rapid, whooshing sound can be heard for a second or two, like wind whipping passed an open door, but it’s shut up quickly, with a metal door dropping down somewhere in the halls, a metallic thud echoing. Those choosing to sleep further into the ship, in the halls past the Ring, likely feel a sharp chill pass through the air around them, frigid. Seconds later, Ripley’s voice comes on through the network. ❝ EMERGENCY ALERT, ALL CREW: Hull breach detected in Level 16 Maintenance Hall Airlock. Droids in the area are... unresponsive. No external threat detected. Please report — ❞ Is that a tinge of fear and fatigue in her synthetic voice? Directions are given to the maintenance closet holding the gear for space walks, but every question directed to Ripley about the cause are only met with “inconclusive” and further repeated instruction to seal the breach for the safety of the ship. Questions about the droids will be redirected the the same answer: please check the hole in her side ASAP, Ripley currently has no eyes in that section of the ship. The closer crew gets to the damaged site, the colder the air seems to grow, and the more the shadows around everyone start to flicker, lights buzzing weakly overhead. The droids that initially responded to the threat all appear to be having some issues, either banging into walls or shut down entirely. Attempts to manually break into their system to get them functional will unintentionally force them into an internal security scan loop, which leaves them useless. Stop by the gear room, grab some pistol grip lasers (there will be a handful of these, enough if everyone buddies up) or the larger laser-saw and get ready to do some space welding. Something brushes past your shoulder in the dim light, and you glance to the side, expecting to see another crewmate there, only to find empty space. Maybe you were imagining things? Stepping out of the makeshift airlock Ripley has made out of the hall section just before the breach, gravity immediately shifts, first a vague suggestion, than nothing at all. The door opens, and you’re released into the open space surrounding the ship - coincidentally, your first real view outside of Kostka IV. Yep, sure is a lot of space. All the typical things you’d expect - blackness, distant stars, no planets of note nearby. No one will recognize the star patterns here, as they’re in a completely foreign dimension. There’s also no sign of whatever breached the original airlock. In fact, there’s no sign of the Level 16 Maintenance Hall Airlock at all: beyond the emergency doors of the hall that led to the airlock is nothing, as though the airlock never existed in the first place. Close examination will yield that the internal walls are now covered in the same metallic material as the outer shell, the whole area an almost perfectly shaped indent in the side of the ship. Almost. There are some cracks in the metal, enough to question the stability of the outer hull. Observant folks might notice that it looks like the damage blew outward rather than inward. If you followed the instructions in the gear room and were able to find a safety cable to secure to the makeshift airlock door. They should provide a lifeline back to the ship-- especially for those that swear they see another suit exiting an airlock from an upper level, about 80 meters away, their safety line hanging uselessly in the void, disconnected from the ship. You might point this out to whoever is close by, though there’s no guarantee that they see it too. Turn your head or blink and the figure is gone. Those unlucky enough to spot the lone spaceman will find their tethers suddenly snap, broken by some unseen force. If you’re especially unlucky, you’re not particularly close to the airlock when this happens. The suits do have small jets to aid in propelling yourself back to the ship, if you’re confident in how to use them without making the situation worse. Otherwise, it’s up to your crewmates to give you a hand. ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS HOSTILE TAKE-OVER; ⬡ [ DAY 004 ] While the breach in the hull is being repaired, things are going wrong elsewhere on the ship. Environmental Control has locked itself down, the room apparently empty of all crew at the time. Putting an ear to the door, you can hear something or someone moving around inside the room, feet shuffling, a clatter as they bump into tables, a tapping at the keyboards. There’s perhaps even mumbling, but it’s too indistinct to make out any words, or maybe you’re just imagining it? Regardless of who or what is on the other side of the door, the controls start to go awry. All through the ship, the temperature fluctuates, from a brisk chill to a deadly icy cold, or even a heat that feels like boiling. On top of that, air is thinning, starting to slowly suffocate the rest of the ship. You have roughly five hours to get that door open, deal with whatever’s inside, and right the control settings before people start to pass out. Ripley is entirely out of touch during this crisis, and the droids are unresponsive, caught in a loop of internal security checks. You’re on your own. There’s a few options here: 1) Climb through the vents. There is one that a small, skinny person or two could wiggle through that drops out from the east wall of the room. The problem here is the fans, which seem to be turning on and off irregularly. Disabling them is possibly by wedging something strong in between the blades, but you’ll have to carry enough for the four fans you’ll have to pass through by to get to the room. Each blast of air from them is powerful enough to knock anyone inside a few meters back and will greatly impede travel, if not completely toss you out of the vent. Fortunately, the pattern isn’t as irregular as it seems at first: anyone inside the vents should be able to count out a two minute interval between each blast that should allow them just enough time to get from one safe section of the vent to the next, squeezing past the fans while they are temporarily immobile. Should you miscalculate your time and end up stuck between two fans, you’ll end up caught in the blades of the fan behind you. While that may not kill you, there will most definitely be blood. 2) Override the keypad. ( CW: BODY HORROR ELEMENTS ) If anyone had been feeling chafed by Ripley cramping their techno-wiz style, now’s your time to shine. Break that bitch open and start fiddling. What you’ll find inside the keypad is… odd. The original, fairly mundanely designed wiring for the keypad is appears to be overgrown with what can only be described as a rat’s nest of extra wires that don’t seem to do anything in particular. You’ll have to cut past them to get to the wires that actually control the doors, but just like weeds, if you chop them off at the middle without pulling them from their roots, they’ll grow back with a vengeance - and in real time, and will start to overrun the keypad. They may even take a liking to your new body, latching on and trying to dig beneath your skin. While physically alarming, as far as you can tell they don’t do any damage to you. If you’re a patient and careful gardener, you should be able to eventually prune past the unruly wires and get to the actual controls beneath. 3) Lastly, you can try laser-sawing through the door. In the same gear storage room the space walk suits came from were all the tools used to repair the breach in the hull. Some of them are capable of cutting through the kind of steel the interior doors are made of, so it’s a matter of figuring out which ones. Try not to blow yourself up. This option will take the longest, nearly four hours, so maybe start early and use it as a back-up in case all other options fail. Regardless of which route gets you in, when the door is finally open, or you get a glimpse down through the vent grate, crew will spot a vague shadow of something humanoid hovering over a console, though distorted, as if blurred at the edges, or like pieces of it are fading in and out. Whether or not the observing crew has made their presence know, the shadow seems to realize they’re there, and its “head” jerks up, before letting out a piercing, inhuman sounding scream that’s somehow so loud and violent that characters have to cover their ears to protect against the pain of it, while their vision blurs, fading in and out for a small handful of seconds. Once blinking it clear, the shadow is no longer there, and the room is free. Get in there and put the settings back to default, please. THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING; ⬡ [ DAY 005 ] Ripley will be making an open network post that all characters will be able to respond to for questions, conversation, shooting the space shit, you know, whatever you fancy. She’s finally done being busy and has decided to pay attention to you squishy little fleshbag things. This will be done in a separate network post, not included on the intro log. We just wanted to let you guys know that it’s coming. Please send all QUESTIONS here! » NAVIGATION «

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Dean Winchester | Supernatural

[righteously]

GOOD MORNING

[ Dean Winchester is, alarmingly, very calm when he wakes up within the cabled confines of a pod. He's horizontal instead of vertical, but being suspended in liquid sans gravity behind a glass case has become a routine experience. He's calm when the cables retract, calm when the liquid slowly trickles out, calm when he emerges from it stark naked with his hair plastered to his forehead and his body weak.

Calm, but confused. Fingers curl around the edge so he can haul himself up to seated, staring out and around at faces both familiar and unfamiliar, brow scrunched up and voice raspy.

He calls out to the first person he sees with a sharp, gruff: ]

Hey!

[ And then a jerk of his head. C'mere. Come over here. Yeah, you come on.

Blearily, the first question he asks: ]

When the hell'd we redecorate?

BLOW OUT

[ Dean's been chugging pod goo like it's his job. Straight up drinking it from a coffee mug everywhere he goes like his stomach is bottomless, and as a result his legs are more or less back in action by the time they get the alarm. He's not even asleep at the time, so it takes a grand total of five minutes before he's donning a suit and tethering himself up.

He's done this before. Welding, space walking, the whole nine. He knows first hand exactly how friggin' dangerous it can be to leave that big ass hole in the side of the ship unattended, so he doesn't even bother with the buddy system. He just goes, hooked up via eighty feet of steel cable to a chunk of floating metal in the middle of the blackness of a void.

He's got his welding gear in a pack on hand, scrap metal being passed over by a well-meaning droid, pumping jams through his HUD as he solders metal to metal like this is just another Tuesday.

He doesn't even notice his cable snap until the broken end slowly drifts by his face.

He freezes, and if anyone were around they might pick up the cursing muffled by his glass visor. A low, horrified: ]

...son of a bitch.

steve rogers | marvel cinematic universe

[accountability]

a. GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM; ( DAY 3 )

ATTENTION ALL CREW: This is Ripley-- [ He goes still, turning to face a voice that isn't there. Different than the last one

Two vague messages in three days. She's clearer, no distortion, which is something.

He's in the O2 garden, helping to dig small holes in the dirt around one of the areas partially cleared out of hostile plant forces. Space potatoes. Someone found seeds, so that's what they're planting. Not thrilled about another extended potato diet in his life, but they need a more stable food supply, and quick. He gave into the nutrient slime that first day, weighing the pros and cons of ingesting the stuff versus struggling with his limbs in an unknown environment. Chose option one. ]

Consciousness displacement, that's one word for it. [ He says under his breath to no one in particular, digging another small, deep hole in the dirt with gloved hands. ] Wouldn't mind talking more now--

[ Something rustles in the leaves at his 9 o'clock. His reflexes still aren't what they ought to be, his body sluggish. It throws off his response, and he only just catches the half dead chomper that'd been hiding in the nearby overgrowth as it lunges for him. His fingers catch some teeth, slicing through the gloves. It's fast but frail, and in his hand he hears a dry snap, despite his lack of exertion, and the head comes clean off it's stem. He frowns at it in his palm for a moment, crushed like a flower between pages (if that flower had a mouth full of teeth) and sets it gently in the dirt.

If they're gonna take the last two messages at face value, who knows, maybe these vicious weeds are the last of their kind. The thought has him looking somber as he inspects the bleeding cut on his hand. Red and coppery.

Take time to acclimate to your new platforms. ]

b. BLOW OUT IN THE SHIP HULL ( DAY 4, FIRST COME FIRST SERVE )

[ He's a light sleeper. Even if he wasn't, he's already awake when the alert goes off.

Never been in space before, but neither have most of the crew, far as he's been able to gather.

He straps into one of the suits provided for them, making sure to go over the instructions. There's a sense of urgency around him. The droids are eerily quiet, and the ones that aren't...

... he dodges out of the way of one of them as it slams into the wall at his left.

He can smell his own sweat as the airlock door opens for the first time, and he gets a look at all that wide, open darkness.

For whoever partners up with him, he'll either stay near the airlock with an eye forward, keeping watch for whatever set off the alert, or he'll be wielding the welding laser. Learning on the job. ]

c. WILD CARD

(what it says on the tin, hmu with whatever!)

( OOC: Here is my TDM top level. I'm happy to keep or continue any threads there or on this log! For the BLOW OUT IN THE SHIP HULL option, I left it open so whoever wants to partner with him can either do the welding or the investigating, and start at the beginning or middle of the spooky space times, so fill in the blanks however works best for your character. )

wilde carde

[freightcars]

[ By the time the general population is stabilized and up to speed, by the time the world has calmed down from chaos and they find themselves "off duty", Barnes is exhausted. Everyone is, he thinks, thanks to what he's been mentally calling "pod fatigue" in the privacy of his own head. People pair off if they're fortunate enough to have a friend to rely on, small groups form around the ring as people bundle up with fresh sheets and rolled up jumpsuits for pillows where they can.

Bucky has absolutely not been hovering around Steve. It might seem that way given the fact that he's rarely gone out of eye sight, considering he silently takes to creating a bedroll not five or ten feet from where Steve seems to be setting up his own, but he'll fight tooth and nail saying he's not hovering.

It's unrelated.
Coincidence.
Practical.
It's for safety.
It's space, he can't be blamed for it, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the tightness in his chest gripping at his heart and his lungs every time he catches sight of the guy out of the corner of his eye. They haven't talked, they haven't finished their discussion, and he begs off of it for a little while longer. Stalling, maybe, but it's a talk that'll take a few hours. More mental energy than he's got when he tucks in.

He's out like a light as soon as he slings a flesh arm over his eyes.

It doesn't even feel like he fell asleep, feels like it's been less than ten minutes when he springs up abruptly, hairs on the back of his neck standing up, eyes wide and alert, adrenaline coursing and body sweating.

It's an almost wild panic, convinced that there's a threat without knowing why until he hears for a second time what must have woken him up the first- a tapping, or a clicking, almost like fingernails on the wall. Or maybe like heels. Claws. He doesn't know, can't place it, but his eyes dart to Steve the instant he hears it again. ]

Will Graham | Hannibal

[ex_this_ismydesign36]

[ooc: Keeping these prompts for Will's initial waking up as well as maintenance.

Waking up is wrapped but the maintenance prompt is still open! ]

SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS;

[ Nothing short of physical force was going to get Will back into that damn cryo pod. For the first night at least, the benches in the Ring seemed like the best option. They were off the floor and not a cryo pod.

Safe bet right?

Will was deep asleep when the first whispers began. His mind was quick to morph the whispers into physical shapes, the ash like figures of Hobbs and other victims of both the Ripper and Will himself. Hidden deep in shadows they hissed softly, which was odd because usually Will could understand -all too well- what they were saying.

But in this dream all he could hear was the unintelligible breath of whispers. When he tried to get closer, the figures faded back into deep shadows and a sharp clicking sound kept Will from trying to go any further.

On the bench, Will flinched and twitched. Nothing particularly violent, at least not until the VIIK malfunctioned. In his dream the whispers from the shadows suddenly switched to screams as the ash figures crowded around him, trapping him. Above them all reared the familiar head of the Wendigo, horns clicking with bones dangling from them.

Will himself didn't scream. He never screamed coming out of his nightmares. But he did startle awake with a sharp gasp and threw himself off the bench as he tried to escape the dream visions that were all too real; even awake.

He wasn't on his feet, but he definitely might have become a trip hazard in the low light. ]

ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS HOSTILE TAKE-OVER

[ He didn't even own a tablet back on Earth. Trying to muck around with alien computer technology was not something Will was interested in attempting.

However, though he may be computer inept, he was both small and relatively skinny while also being fit enough to scurry through the vents. At least he thought he was fit enough.

For the second time in as many attempts Will was tumbled back out of the vent when the fan kicked over and blasted him clear of the entrance. He'd been holding his position, trying to discern if he was right in the assumption that there was a pattern to the on and off of the fan, when the fan had kicked on and Will went tumbling.

He spilled out of the mouth of the vent and went sprawling across the decking. It was a rough landing, enough to briefly knock the wind out of him, but he avoided hitting his head.

Small mercies. ]

I'd really like to wake up now.

Wildcard!

[OOC: Want to poke at something that isn't in one of the prompts above? Hit me!

ETA Another plug for Will's Opt-In/Permission post.]

Nikolai Lantsov (Sturmhond) | Grishaverse

[sturmhond]

i. Wake up in the Morning with a Head like What You Done

---

[ It's like dying.

No, like being dead, and waking up again. The opposite of dying. Maybe it's like birth? Who knows. At any rate, it's like dying, but in reverse, and comes with that awful sensation of drowning. No doubt it's frightening, to some people. Most people. But then, most people don't experience it on a daily basis.

The mask is new, though. And then there's that message. That's what tells him something is really wrong.

Nikolai's emergence from the tank is relatively peaceful. Getting the mask off - and out of - him generates a lot of coughing and spluttering, and maybe the occasional ungentlemanly curse word. But he's fine. This is fine. He clambers out of the tank, covered in slime, and almost falls back down again. He clutches the edge of it, and that's when he sees his hands. The black lines are gone. ]

It's...gone?

[ Saints, his voice sounds terrible. He coughs, and looks down at his chest. The star-shaped scar over his heart is still there. The scar on his palm is still there, too, and the one on his thigh. All star-shaped stab marks. All present and accounted for, but the black ones on his fingers are gone. And the feeling of darkness inside of him... ]

Gone. [ He actually laughs. Then he laughs some more, and tries to haul himself upright. His legs aren't ready to cooperate yet. He's also still entirely naked, and he only really starts to care about that once he realises he's not alone in the room. Then there's a scramble to cover himself, and he falls to the floor altogether. Damn. He looks up, awkward smiles all around. ]

Believe me, I'm usually much more graceful. Terrible first impression. I don't suppose any of you might pass me a towel?

ii. These Aren't The Droids You're Looking For

---

[ He's on the floor. Cross-legged, dressed in the horrific orange jumpsuit which clashes horribly with his hair, he is hard at work. There's a droid in his grasp, struggling to get away from him while he pins his legs around it and tries to get its top off. That's the scene for approximately three seconds, before it lets off a small EMP to knock him flat to the ground. Then it darts off, thoroughly glad to be rid of him.

He's twenty-something, attractive if you enjoy the golden blond, chiseled cheekbones, improbably tidy despite being sprawled on the floor, sort of look. He's entirely still for a few brief moments, and then with a gasp, he's waking up. He looks around in confusion, then clambers to his feet, sharp hazel eyes scouring the corridor. ]

Blasted thing. [ Despite that, he sounds delighted. And he's grinning. ] I almost had its head off.

[ This is the third time today. One might imagine Nikolai would learn from these experiences, and he has. He has learned that the little brats are faster than they've any right to be, and also that this new body has vulnerabilities his old one did not. It's still an upgrade, given his circumstances, but still. He flicks dust off his shoulder. ]

Which way did it go?

iii. Music of the Night

---

[ It's difficult to tell the difference between night and day on this ship. Nikolai is not new to that particular phenomenon, and he's not pleased about experiencing it again. At least this time his body seems to know time is passing; he gets hungry, he gets tired, he gets at least somewhat nourished by the slime, and the vegetables in the garden.

But sleeping is an issue. It would help if there were more comfortable arrangements. He'd returned to the pods, but his eyes had barely been closed before he'd seen a shadow looming over him. After that happened the third time, he'd given up on the notion of sleep. Now he's wandering the corridors, feeling the worse for wear and lamenting his missing eiderdown. He is careful not to disturb anyone who's actually managed to sleep, but since he's given up hope of it, he settles beside a panel that the droids have recently been working on. He doesn't actually know what he's doing with these wires, but experimentation tends to yield results. It's not long before he gets engrossed in it. Don't mind him. A few sparks might fly from what he's doing every so often, but that only seems to please him more. ]

So this one is live. Now if I could find how it connects--

iv. Star Trekkin Across the Universe

---

[ This isn't going to plan.

Of course, the moment the opportunity to walk in space was offered, he was going to take it. He's been desperate to get outside ever since he knew they were here. Besides that, he considers himself skilled enough to be somewhat useful in repairing the damage, even though it's evident to him that there must be danger on the ship. He's ready to work, but he also takes a brief, passing moment to look at the stars all around them. They're really here. He's really among those stars.

And then he's too much among them, because he's floating free, and that hadn't been part of the plan at all. ]

Saints. [ He mutters, and casts around, only to see that the others are floating as well. Danger on the ship. He should have dealt with that first. Still, he's not actually panicking; it's hardly the first time he's found himself adrift at sea. He doesn't let himself panic, and instead finds the controls for the little thrusters in his suit. This, happily, gets him moving - though it also sends him in a tailspin towards one of his floating comrades.

Oops. ]

I have you! [ He announces, as if this was the intention all along. Heroism is edifying. No doubt they'll all be glad of it later. ] Now, homeward bound.

[ And they skitter off in the opposite direction. Don't worry. Any minute now, he'll get the hang of this. ]

v. CREATE YOUR OWN

---

[ Prompt Nikolai! I'm available on plurk for plotting at halfbloodly ]

I'm making my own wild card, also get your 4th walling

[accountability]

[ There's at least one guy at the get go who seems to be comfortable wielding the welding laser. Steve's been watching him from a slight distance for a few minutes, his own hands empty, sticking to watching the backs of those who are working rather than getting busy himself. There's only so many of the tools to go around, and for now he figures they're better left in the hands of those who know what they're doing.

He steps closer, into Dean's view but no so close that he's in the laser's path. ]

Mind giving me a few pointers?

[ The audio will likely get beamed directly into Dean's head, which he'd apologize for if they had any other options. Four days in and he still doesn't appreciate the concept.

But, if Dean's willing to do some narrating while he works, Steve would appreciate the knowledge. ]

ayyyy

[righteously]

[ He's roughly balls deep in the zone by the time Steve makes his way over, head noticeably bobbing along with Robert Plant within the rounded glass of his helmet, full-on lip-syncing. So absorbed is he that even the laser welder has little zig-zag shapes that match the beat, and he nearly welds his own thumb to the hull of the ship when he jerks, startled, at a sudden voice and presence in his General Area. ]

Jesus-

[ Crackles over Steve's earpiece along with about ten seconds of Zeppelin before he can mentally recover enough to shut it off.

For about two seconds he looks annoyed, startled, affronted, and then it slides off into recognition, then disbelief. ]

Holy Snowpiercer, Batman. Captain Friggin' America almost gave me a space-embolism.

Adrien Arbuckal | Original Character

[prorenataa]

GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE

[ Over the years Adrien Arbuckal had experienced many rude and confusing awakenings. Some he expected to be challenging, others came as not so pleasant surprise. But there had been hundreds of them.

So when he finally pulled himself free of the tube down his throat and the wires attached to his body, he exited his cryo pod with calm grace and dignity.

Naaaahhh

He was experienced enough with the control of his own body that he recognized the need to not fling himself out of the pod, were his legs even awake yet?? Otherwise he sat up, looked around the unfamiliar cryo bay with an annoyed glare, took in his naked state, and then shouted out. ]

What fresh fucking Fates is this shit?!? I mean really, not even a Fates damned paper gown?!?


MAINTENANCE - O2 Garden

[ Well. This was standard operating procedure. In so far as it was a fucked up situation with mostly unknowns rather than knowns. Which meant first things first.

Take stock of what they had, what they needed and what they could make work for them in this fuck hole.

Adrien had initially considered tackling the medical bay, it was habit by now, but a quick review of their food, water and shelter situations redirected his attention. As there were people on this rust bucket who appeared to be on the ball and taking care of the water situation, Adrien decided to go and investigate the gardens.

The enormity of the overgrowth caused him to stand in the doorway with his arms crossed, glowering. He missed Courser, not the least for which he could have used the tracker's keen nose to work out what sort of plants they might have in here.

Well there was nothing for it but to inventory the place the hard way.

Grumbling Adrien began to work his way methodically through the space. For the most part he was a small thundercloud of 'fuck off' but when a squat pinkies plant tried to take a bite out of his ankle, he drew back and actually smiled. ]

Aren't you an adorable little shit. [ Rather than drawing back, Adrien hunkered down on his heels for a closer look. ] What's the point of you, hmm? You remind me of Smiles. Would you like to be called Smiles Jr?

[ The plant, sensing movement as the air shifted, gave another eager snap, causing the taciturn -until now- man to actually laugh. ]

BLOW OUT IN THE SHIP HULL

[ Adrien was on his feet and heading in the direction of the explosion before his conscious brain fully caught up with his kinetic muscle memory. He listened attentively to Ripley's disembodied voice, taking a moment to orient himself and then continuing a hard run towards Level 16.

The cold didn't bother him, beyond making note of its presence, but Adrien did slow down when he spied the droids. They were annoying little devices but they were efficient. Seeing them tumble about was discordant enough to catch and hold his attention for a couple precious seconds.

He felt the brush against his shoulder, assumed it was a crew member and began to run towards the gear room without bothering to look back and confirm who was -or wasn't- there. As he surveyed the equipment on hand, Adrien's hands began to reach for the larger laser saw. ]

Any of you assholes certified on this equipment or are we all faking it?

[ He reached to tug on the larger saw and ... yeah, that felt like it was going to definitely be a two person job.

ooc: Adrien will see the crew member floating away, which means his line will snap. He is actually space jet certified at this point, and could walk other 'snapped line' crew members back to the ship if anyone would like? Just give me a heads up in the tag comment! ]

Wildcard:
[OOC: Want an encounter that doesn't fit into any of the above prompts? I'd love one also, come at me! ]

[accountability]

[ The music-- the volume of it combined with the crackling comms anyway, has him wincing, his gaze scanning the guy's thumb to make sure it's still attached. And he's ready to apologize right off the bat, except that the guy starts exclaiming about something entirely different- ]

Sorry about that. [ There's not much body language to read from him in the suit. Getting recognized is hardly a shock at this point, he's only surprised it took so many days when there's so few of them. ]

Just Steve is fine. [ If they weren't floating out in the middle of space trying to weld the ship back together, he'd probably be open to an extended conversation on the topic of where Dean's from and how he recognized Steve. But as it stands... ] If it's not too much trouble-- ?

[ He leaves a pause there for the guy to give him his name before he asks his question again. ]

[righteously]

[ You know what? It's okay, it's not even remotely his first time being accosted by a comic book superhero; his best friend in the multiverse was Robin. As in Batman and Robin. Granted, he was from the shitty Nolanverse movies, but still.

He recovers with an assessing, scrutinizing gaze. Spends a second running through what he knows of the Captain America movies (and... admittedly, some of the comics, shut up Sam) trying to decide whether or not he should shove a laser into the guy's space suit gloves. ]

What, you can't just give the hole a nice stern talking-to and get it to close up?

[ Sorry, if he could control the quips he'd have taken maybe 30% fewer punches to the face. They're out before he can stop 'em, it's like breathing.

He doesn't expect a real answer, though, and he plows on in a heartbeat. ]

You ever welded anything before?

[ Gotta know where to start. Weenie hut or weenie hut junior. Welding for dummies? ]

natasha romanoff | mcu

[lie]

—DAY 02 / SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS (0624HRS)

[ First full day in space. Natasha might have ruminated on that for a little while, if she'd felt like spending energy on it. Instead, she's been carving out time for snatches of sleep; an hour here and an hour there, enough to be functional, too risky to remain still for extended periods of time in a place so empty and large and foreign. The scalpel she'd pocketed sits tucked into her boot. It's less comforting than she'd thought it would be, which is annoying. She already misses her tac-suit.

The Ring is expansive, large, and an infinitely better place to sleep than back in the cryogenics deck. The air is cool and strange here, like the murky-dark of the water's expanded up and out into even the oxygen. Natasha's taken up a spot a floor or two up from the main platform. It must have been some sort of viewing level; there's thin tendrils of some sort of dormant ivory that's wound its way across the balcony's retaining wall, framed by skinny, overgrown trees and a VIIK display that glitches, painting half of it in an eerie blue light. Natasha takes in a deep breath and stares down at her mug, which is blue and goopy and decidedly cold.

Nearby, there's a catch of movement. Someone startling awake, maybe. Natasha knows the feeling. ]

Hey.

[ She calls out. Her tone's mild, voice loud enough to carry a little but not too much in a place this expansive. ] Breakfast? [ There's a spare mug, balanced on top of the balcony wall. It might be more appetizing if it looked hot and smelled like coffee, but hey. Space. ]

—DAY 04 / ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS

[ The lights are flickering, and the cold's starting to bite through the jumpsuit. There's already a few laser-marks in the door that have barely burned through; a few wires dangle lifelessly from a corner of the keypad, evidence of attempts but no successes. Natasha's shoulders are tight, drawn in, her energy diverted into assessing the situation rather than keeping herself measured, arms folded across her chest. Efficiency, now, overrides her overwhelming sense of paranoia. Both have their dues, and both have kept her alive this far.

Her eyes turn blue for a quick second, fingers tapping and crossing over the other, and then the glow of her irises fades. She tips her head up, clocking the vent nearby. Frowns at that, too, doing some kind of mental math she's not intent on sharing.

There's a long beat of silence. She hears footsteps, doesn't bother turning. Mildly, ]

Thoughts?

—WILDCARD

[ Your plotting option! Feel free to PM, discord, or pp me, especially if we discussed something; I can make you a subthread to get some things kickstarted if you want 'em. For reference, the waking up portion of her arrival is located here at the TDM. ]

[accountability]

[ Oh c'mon- that gets an eyebrow raise and a twist of his mouth, though he'll take the quips as part of the trade off. Consider him focused right now.

Besides, he's got some experience with motor mouths. ]

Not on purpose. [ To answer the welding question with a quip right back, without a pause. Then, more seriously: ] But I'm usually a quick study.

[ Usually. Space feels like an extra complication, with added safety hazards he'd rather not think too hard about and just try to avoid. ]

DAY 04

[freightcars]

Looks like you might already be a step ahead of me.

[ He points out, flicking his eyes up to the vent she'd just been clocking herself. It spans about an inch wider than the length of her shoulders, plenty of room for her to get in. A glance down at his own metal left arm silently points out that he sure as hell ain't gonna fit, probably wouldn't even if they detached it. What is he, maybe two of her as far as shoulder width goes? More?

He crosses his arms over the white t-shirt he's got exposed, jumpsuit sleeves tied around his waist, left sleeve torn completely off the shirt because it keeps snagging on the metal. She's freezing, but he feels like he's burning the hell up. ]

They got the vent mapped out. If you're up to it I can talk you through it.

tommy boi (thomas) | puzzle hell 3: friendship is agony (the maze runner)

[shuckit]

GOOD MORNING;

[ his first instinct is panic - thomas's still limbs wanting to jerk and thrash and pound at the glass above his head - but that isn't the first action. he's rigid, eyes wide in the tinted fluid as they skim from one side to the other. fear screams through his mind, but if thomas has learned anything in the three or four months worth of memory he has, it's that losing it always makes it worse. the woman speaks up inside his head, and thomas pays rapt attention as the fluid drains, trying to memorize every syllable of it. it'll be important later.

they always start like this. they make you bleary, confused, and afraid, and throw you out into hell to see if you're one of the ones that can get their wits around them, adapt and recover quick enough to survive. anger burns in thomas, hot and fierce, because he'd told them - that's enough, no more, and yet, here he is.

But Ripley? They never added in sob stories before. not really, not so directly.

the pod cracks open, and thomas goes from still to near punching it the rest of the way open, yanking at cables and the mask on his face, gagging as it comes up his throat (maybe throwing up a little, ew). there's not much room for dignity here, and thomas doesn't seek it, going straight into attempts to walk, only to have his knees go out and face-plant onto the floor again. somewhere down a long hall, he can see a brighter light, and people milling around.

so, here's this bare-assed teenager, army crawling his lame ass across a gross, fluid slick floor, calling out in a raspy voice: ]

Pen— [ for a writing utensil. ] Anybody got a pen?

[ he has needs, and they're called data integrity. he'll only remember that message he heard for so long, and he needs to get it written down before it's gone, someone get him a goddamn pen and some paper. or, you know, a sheet. to cover up his naked ass while he worms across the floor.]

SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS;

[ like hell he's going back in those pods. no offense, ripley and droids and dimitri, you guys all seem very well meaning despite how probably space crazy you are, but frankly: fuck that noise.

with a scalpel curled one first and a crowbar leaned against his chest like a teddy bear, thomas has curled himself up into a small, huddled ball of a teenage boy in the corner inside the storage vault, at a vantage point where he could pretty easily skim the room around him just by blinking his eyes open. should anyone come in behind him and switch off the lights he left on (emergency power, so it's dim, but at least it's light), it'll near immediately wake him, and thomas will let out an annoyed huff before pushing himself up, pacing back to the light switch, and turning it back on. between the glade and the scorch, he's become and incredibly light sleeper, not only for the hyper-awareness, but the fact his subconscious doesn't let rest too deeply.

even still, eyes closed and features neutral, no movement in his frame, there's horrors playing on the backs of his eyelids. the grievers, the sickening squelch and screeching of them. jack in the scorch, in the lightening storm, can't even hear his voice over the wind, but he can see where his legs end, the darkness where his eyes used to be in his sockets. the haunting buzz of a saw close by his ear. something spurns him, and thomas wakes with a violent jerk, legs kicking out, body going from lax to rigid and sitting up straight, eyes peering wide around the room. ]

The hell? [ he heard something. he could've sworn he heard something. glancing around, he looks to the closest person that seems somewhat (maybe) awake. ] Hey. Did you see anything?

[ were you even awake before the kid next to you starting jerking around in his almost-sleep? ]

ENVIRONMENT CONTROL (VENTS);

[ once it's clear the door isn't coming open, and the keypad looks like it'll take some time, thomas is off, pacing around, running a hand along the dirty walls in the hall that surrounds the control room, peering up and down, up and down - there it is. a vent. it takes some prying and some teamwork to get it open, but he and whoever else had the same idea manage it.

of course, once it's open, it takes about ten seconds of thomas peering in, glancing one way and the other, before he's just crawling right the hell in.

because he's a dumbass.

he's also a scrawny teenager, so he fits pretty nicely, and he'd assumed no one else was feeling thrilled about digging around in the creepy spaceship's guts, so yeah, fine, he'll do it. get it over with, before they start boiling, right? and maybe, just maybe, it's a little bit about rampant, insatiable curiosity, but we're not going to mention that part right now. thomas is already pretty sure most of this crew either thinks he's a useless infant in shock, or completely whacked in the head for as calm as he's been the entire stay on Kostka IV so far. ]

I can hear something like... fans? [ it's an audio message that's sent out to anyone that'd been standing outside the vents (or crawling in after him), acting weirdly like telepathy. that he's also... weirdly comfortable with. he's just kind of a weird kid all around, okay? ] Do you see any controls anywhere?

[ it is possible this is not his first time crawling around in vent shafts. ]

WILD CARD;

[ hit me with whatever, fam, i'm easy ]

[righteously]

[ Steve's got experience with motor mouths, Dean's got experience with motors, and that's why he's the one holding the tools right now. His nose wrinkles a little at not on purpose; he doesn't remember that part of the movies.

But, whatever. Sure. Two hands are better than one, if they can get Chris Evans here trained in the art of sticking metal on metal right they'll get this bitch patched up twice as fast. He shrugs in concession, head dipping, space suit shifting on his frame. ]

Alright, cowboy. You asked for it.

[ A gloved hand presses down on the flat surface before him, and he uses it to move himself six or eight inches to the left to make room. It's like guiding himself through the deep end of a pool using the sides, except it takes no kicking and no effort to stay bobbing in place. He plants his palm flat to steady himself, then holds out the tool.

Takes it back within a second before Steve can grab it. ]

Don't-... Turn it on yet.

[ And then he offers it over properly. ]

Just so you know, you accidentally poke a little hole in your space condom and you're dead in ten seconds flat. Don't say I didn't warn you.

iii.

[accountability]

How's it looking in there?

[ The question is called out from one of the many men on the ship dressed in an jumpsuit. This one is bearded, his hair a little long, the figure under all that orange athletic. He's walking down the corridor toward the younger man and his work, eyeing the sparks coming out of the panel with a combination of genuine curiosity and caution in his sharp gaze.

Sleep's not easy. ]

jacklyn benette (jack benjamin) | bible gays (kings)

[cicatrize]

WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND PEOPLE SOUP;

[ some people may rouse gradually, coming into awareness gently, keeping their calm about the mask on their face, the fluid around them, and the enclosed space they’re held in.

Jack Benjamin is not one of those people.

He freaks pretty much immediately, once underwater registers, only made worse and worse with the passing of mask, and peaking with hands lifting to slap violently against the plexi-glass sides of the pod when closed, coffin-like space sinks in. it’s not okay. None of it is okay, and this isn’t really Duplicity’s style, but considering he just watched them execute and torture some people the last week or so? It’s hard to say for certain what is anymore.

The cables and nodes pull from his face and torso as he arches up when the pod lid finally gives, the fluid about halfway drained, and Jack lets out a muffled gag when he tries to leap from the device, only to be pulled back by the tube still lodged down his throat. Pulling it free is a mess of croaking, wailing sounds, leaving him a coughing, hacking mess, but free from the tentacle monster of a space-tube he’d just been buried alive in. hauling himself over the edge of the pod, he hits the ground like a newborn foal - ungraceful, covered in nasty fluids, flailing, and severely unhappy to conscious right now.

A droid hovers by, and Jack stretches out an open palm towards it, as if he’s expecting the droid to just... levitate on over to him. When nothing happens, he frowns, shakes his hand, tries it again. Nothing? Nothing. He's broke. ]

That’s fine. That’s great. [ he’ll just lay right here, thanks. Flopping his head back, Jack breathes out slowly, before calling out louder, voice raspy from the tube: ] Management should be informed: this is not the best way to encourage oral.

HULL BREACH FUCKERY;

« There's nothing out here. »

[ jack's first brilliant observation, his voice cracking through the audio filtered into the hull breach teams' HUDs as they secure their safety cables and apprehensively step/float out into the great abyss of nothingness surrounding the ship. he's clinging pretty aggressively to the severed edges of the hull, inspecting them as he goes, murmuring behind the mask of his suit into the open comm link between the lot of them. ]

« How does an entire wall rip off the side of a ship all by itse— »

[ that's when he sees it - another figure, in the same type of suit jack's wearing now, floating through dark space some eighty or so meters away, come from an airlock that's an entirely closed off part of the ship. it sends a chill up jack's spine, the possible implications of it running through his head, wreaking havoc. did the AI lie about their being others on the ship? why can't they talk to them? if they're that's the only other person out here, did they blow out the side of the ship, and if so, how? and why? ]

« We don't have access to that side of the ship. Who is that? »

[ of course, while jack's busy being thoroughly freaked the ever loving fuck out, his safety cable has snapped, and he's gradually, senselessly, floating further and further towards a figure maybe only he sees. ]

ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS (commentary from a distance);

[ jack's only barely dragged himself back inside of the ship (fuck space, okay, fuck space) when the others working on getting access to the Environmental Control room finally crack the egg and get inside, only to trigger that unholy shriek that rips through the ship, jack feeling his very skin crawl.

immediately, he sends out a blast audio message, chiming in on everyone's HUDs like telepathy, or one of those horrible MySpace profiles that used to automatically play loud, obnoxious music as soon as the page loaded. hi, it's jack, and by the way, what the fuck? ]

« Did someone rip open a portal to Hell over there? What the fuck was that sound? »

BONUS SHENANIGANS (salvage thievery, for moonshine);

[ maybe you're working on something in the Ring, or getting some supplies out of the storage vault, maybe you're exploring or having a nice stroll, maybe you're just admiring the scenery. at some point, rudely interrupting your peaceful, quiet time, a fellow crewmate, dressed in the same jail-orange as you are, comes sprinting past you, with what looks like a metal pot or bucket, and a section of coiled piping, possibly shoulder-checking you hard as he bolts past. no apology attempted: jack's not that polite on a normal day.

even less so when he's being chased by a small army of droids.

which he is.

a few yards behind him will come the rest of the parade - about five or six droids beeping and booping furiously, with their little zapping appendages wielded and ready to zap, clearly displeased with the thieving of their salvage parts. but jack has a mission. a mission he knows fuck all about, actually (he's working on that, okay, supplies first (at least he has a vague notion of what a still looks like)). ]

The ship won't break apart because you're missing one bucket - calm down!

WILD CARD;

[ hit me with ya best shooooot ]

3

[dimitri6]

[ A toddling little droid behind Nik's back will stick out a little arm and give him a nice, firm shock to the lower back. At the same time, a rather unpleasant face will pop up on Nik's HUD. ]

Excuse me, do I give you colonoscopies while you sleep? Kindly refrain from rewiring the ship, thank you.

[accountability]

[ For him, it's been roughly two years of sparse contact. Steve's not about to complain about some practical hovering. He's no less guilty of wanting to do the same damn thing, so it's more like a relief when he turns around to ask Bucky where he's planning on setting up camp, only to find him and his makeshift bed already half set up right next door. He's quick to turn away and continue putting together his sheet pillow, a warm smiling tugging at his lips.

There's also that conversation they haven't had yet.

He waits. Figures Bucky'll bring it up.

When that doesn't happen immediately, he spends about ten minutes working himself up to broaching the subject on his own.

And just like before, he turns around to say something only to shut his mouth closed: Bucky's already out like a light.

They shared on apartment after his ma died. Bucky'd come home from a shift and pass out on the couch sometimes, same exact pose. Steve sketched him more than a couple of times like that.

He's got no sketchbook or paper here, and hasn't picked up charcoal in something like a decade of his waking life.

First watch. That's what he ends up calling it when he can't fall asleep as easily. After about an hour of silently processing his day he starts craving the taste of a cigarette (he'd clocked the lack of the scent clinging to Bucky's uniform, that first time in forever they'd gotten close enough for Steve to notice).

He tries not to live in the past. Been doing a pretty good job, all things considered.

The only sound in the ring that he's able to pick up are the light sounds of Bucky's breathing and a slight whirring of the ventilation system. The tapping, when it happens, sounds deceptively close, every muscle in his body going tense.He'd already been upright, now settled into a defensive crouch. His gaze darts to Bucky, first and foremost (you heard that?), before immediately sweeping the room for signs of movement. ]

[freightcars]

[ There were a few days (weeks) in duplicity where things got so bad he picked up chain smoking again; not because he's capable of nicotine addiction anymore, but because it was something mechanical to do with his hands. Because it was something to fixate on, like knitting or bouncing his leg. Something to do, sitting there by the kitchen window blowing smoke out trying to process the next round of lives he took before he got the words stripped out of his head. Jack joined him sometimes, Steve joined him sometimes.

After he got it together, he retired the habit again. Now, he kind of wouldn't mind a pack. Is smoking on spaceships against the rules, like smoking on airplanes?

He heard it. They both did. It's a silent conversation, takes no words to come to that mutual understanding. Just a few seconds after the second noise he's pushing up, rising silently to his feet — still bare, boots abandoned by the wall because they're uncomfortable as hell to sleep in. He doesn't take the time to pull them on.

The second round of whirring comes from his arm, like the electronic equivalent of muscles going tense.

Around them are sleeping bodies dozing none the wiser, five or six familiar faces clustered close enough to him that he keeps his mouth shut so as not to wake them on the off chance.

Another tapping, three or four in a row sort of like a ball bearing bouncing along the floor with gravity bringing it down faster every following bounce, halving the time it takes and then halving it again and then again. It sounds maybe a dozen yards off, and he glances back at Steve just the once before he starts pacing toward it, bare feet padding almost soundlessly, the whites of his eyes showing.

When he reaches about where he heard it coming from he slows to a stop, shoulders drawn, waiting.

Silence. Stillness. ]

wild card; tdm cont'd

[accountability]

previously on...

[ As reluctant as he is to give the kid the more dangerous job, he stifles any argument he might be able to muster in the face of plain and simple physics. As Thomas prepares himself, Steve zips back into his jumpsuit and checks the traction on his boots. With nothing else to stabilize or brace himself against, he'll have to plant himself like a tree. He scuffs the heels against the the floor a few times. Inspects the rope for any damage after that-- and when he's satisfied of its condition he knots it around his waist. The slack gets held in his hands. ]

Got it. [ His answer comes without an ounce of patronizing tone. The kid looks light enough. No telling how hard the fan'll pull, but then, losing a tug of war with the suction isn't an option. He can do it. ]

if i somehow forget that they are in zero grav again, please eject me

[accountability]

[ Having stayed largely stationary so far he watches how Dean uses careful, purposeful motions to maneuver the empty space before imitating him, guiding his own way into the open spot at Dean's right. His hand slowly lifts from his side, reaching for the offered tool--

yeah, should've seen that coming. His hand floats there in empty air until the laser is handed over, for real this time. No comment. He'd gotten a closer look at the tools while they were inside. Compared to earlier his gloved hand feels clumsy, and he tightens his grip. The last thing he wants is to lose it, watch the laser float off into the endless void. ]

Point taken. [ 99% earnest. Aim the burning part away from the suit, his and his current partner's. Means he ends up treating it like a loaded gun, carefully, while replicating Dean's form as he'd seen before Steve had interrupted. ] Like that?

[accountability]

[ Steve never even kicked his boots off.

Muscle memory guides him through the hobbled functionality of his limbs. His steps land heavier against the floor thanks to the boots. He meets Bucky's wild gaze with slightly narrowed eyes, a brush of concern in what he sees-- or thinks he sees from that brief glance. He pushes it back down, following a few paces behind. On a cloudy night, against the backdrop of a battered countryside, he might be his shadow.

The seconds drag into minutes.

If he were alone, he would've called this hair trigger. Even now, he's doubting they heard anything more than a droid dropping a tool. The robots have been everywhere, buzzing up and down the halls like worker bees, carrying scraps from one section to another. The ship's mostly derelict.

His posture starts to shift, less defensive now. Still alert. His tone is hushed, he's close enough to Bucky that they could brush shoulders, though he faces away. ]

Hate to think we've got rats too.

[ Could be nothing, could be something, he seems to say. The words fail to draw any confirmation from the shadows. No tapping of nails, no echoing of metal against metal. ]

[lie]

[ They stand there together for a beat, one sure, equalized line parallel to the door. There's a scalpel tucked into her boot, still. Natasha's eyes cut to his profile once and only once, a brief glimpse of something like surprise shuttering away into that quick up-and-down look she uses as shorthand for mid-mission greetings. The cold feels like it's reaching into her bones, diminishing her still-recovering muscle memory. Her reflections are usually a little less on the nose.

And better yet, temperature variation. Different bodies. He's hot, she's cold; sure, why the fuck not. Space is an inconvenience she's already tired of making allowances for. ]

Sure.

[ Like it's easy, or she hadn't shown some distant echo of surprise at the offer at all. The job needs to get done, anyway.

Natasha nods to the vent, halfway through crossing one arm over the other in a simple stretch. ]

Mind giving me a boost?

ii.

[lie]

[ Bambi legs. Natasha tries not to take it personally, the sudden betrayal of her body and limbs. They've served her well so far, in so much as that it is her body, apparently. Philosophy and metaphysics are subjects outside of both her wheelhouse and interest, anyway, so it's a moot point. She carries on.

Finding people brave enough to poke around a droid's insides isn't that rare. It's a little different for someone to look so ecstatic about it. Natasha's been lingering for the last five, maybe ten minutes, leaning against a perpendicular wall a short distance away, mildly observing while she stretches out a small cramp in her calf.

Action, reaction. By the time he's up again, talking, her mouth curls a little, cut with a subtle amusement in response. ]

That way, [ She confirms, nodding to gesture down the hall, though it's all with an arched brow. ] You don't think it's a little early for masochism?

[ It's one way to react to being shocked unconscious, that's for sure. ]