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pluviosa2024-02-14 09:13 pm
pluviosamods) wrote in pluviosa2024-02-14 09:13 pm
Entry tags:
GAME OPENING LOG
GAME OPENING
There's still dripping everywhere, and the gurgle of standing water shifting and draining to somewhere further down...
... But the sound of the rain outside has stopped. And you haven't heard the thunder in a while.
Take a moment. Look out the windows, the glass doors leading out to the balconies - the world beyond is lighting up. Mountains stand out against the distant eastern horizon, breaking up the first of the sunlight into scattered beams. The ship chases that light, running eastward towards the glow of dawn. Its motion is easier to bear now that the storm is over - the wind no longer tries to blow it off course.
You've survived the night - survived the storm. You get the feeling it won't be the last.
The storm abates over the course of the night - by midnight, it's dropped back enough that water and wind are no longer forcing their way through the bubble barriers, and by about an hour before sunrise - just when the sky is starting to get light - the rain has stopped completely. The clouds persist a bit longer, giving characters a spectacular sunrise to look at. When the first rays of the sun are visible over the mountains, any characters still affected by hallucinations feel their minds clear.
Fifteen minutes after dawn - about when it's getting to be a pain to look directly in the direction the ship is travelling because of the sun directly in the eyeballs - characters who are sensitive to electricity may sense the power kick back on. It's just in the wires and cables spread throughout the ship, however - the lights don't turn on, although the elevators do.
Five minutes after that, there's a crackle that is audible to all characters, from speakers spread throughout the hallways and rooms of the ship. Not every speaker is functional - some of them just continue to emit static instead of the message that follows - but enough of them are that every character will be able to hear a single piercing beep, followed by an artificial voice in an androgynous tenor:
"ALL PASSENGERS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE AFT LOUNGE ON DECK R-ZERO FOR A HEADCOUNT."
There's silence for a moment, and then another, quieter alert beep, and the same voice adds, almost as an afterthought,
"Please follow the emergency lighting in the hallways for guidance."
After that announcement, strips of lighting on the ceiling of the hallways - the lights are also on the floor, but even after the rain has washed so much dirt away, you're unlikely to see them anywhere except close enough to the stairs that you don't need them - light up. They begin to move in a pattern of diodes that leads characters to the staircases and elevators near the back of the ship, in the somewhat drier part of it that has more decks above the one where characters woke up.
The stairs are now navigable - even if there's still a decent amount of water flowing down them, not entirely contained by the channels cut into the outside of the turns of the staircase - and the elevators are now powered. Well, sort of. Although the elevators have power, the buttons inside do not - all of them are dark. Instead, the elevators automatically move characters upwards after they enter, depositing them on deck R0 for the indicated headcount.
Other than the increasingly large number of confused "passengers," however, there doesn't seem to be anything here. Some furniture in varying states of decay, sure, and puddles and debris from the storm's flooding, but no indication of humans or any other form of sapient life. The space is wide and open, and decently well-lit even with the overhead lights off, since the majority of the walls to either side appear to be made of glass.
Once everyone has assembled - or at least everyone who is willing to come, as nothing forces characters do follow instructions from a strange voice - there is another crackle of speaker feedback. At least there's no blaring alert tone to start this message.
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION."
The voice is the same as before - and anyone from a semi-modern world would be able to tell, from the pattern of speech, that this is a synthesized voice, not a real person, or at least not a real person willing to reveal themselves to be such. It speaks entirely in the language characters discovered knowing when they woke up here. The volume of the voice decreases somewhat after the initial announcement gets everyone's attention, but it is still audible to everyone.
"Please excuse the inadequate accommodations. Your arrival was unexpected. This ship has not entertained new passengers in 317 years, 6 months, and 19 days."
"We will do our best to prepare appropriate accommodations as quickly as possible. However, the immediate priority is to supply passengers with meals and other appropriate provisions. Please accept this with our sincerest apologies."
At the close of those words, the elevator doors to either side of the lounge area open, and self-propelled carts - the kind you might see in industrial kitchens - roll out. Their lower shelves are stacked with bowls, cups, and those plastic utensil holders filled with spoons, while the upper halves are full of food and drink. Specifically, the majority are full of cafeteria pans of oatmeal, the kind with the metal lids that keep the heat in. In addition to the oatmeal, there's a wide variety of raw fruits and vegetables, and some additional options for throwing in your oatmeal such as cinnamon, honey, both brown and white sugar, shaved almonds, and other things that can be made from plants and stored for a long time. There are also two carts at either end full of hot drinks - one of tea, one of coffee - and one each of cold drinks such as fruit juice. There do not appear to be any meat or dairy offerings, although there's both almond and soy milk for your coffee if you can tolerate the substitutes. (It tastes somewhat metallic, like it was dehydrated for a long time, but the coffee and tea themselves taste quite fresh.)
Once the carts have wheeled themselves out, the voice continues from the speakers.
"In order to better serve our passengers, we would like to ask you a few questions. First: What is your locale of origin? Second: Why have you come?"
For OOC questions about this event, please use the OOC Questions header in the comments below. To respond to the Ship's questions, or ask it some of your own, please use the Talk to the Ship header. Otherwise, this post is a mingle, and players are encouraged to post their own top-level comments for their characters and reply to each other.
Following this post, simple food will be available in this area during "active" hours, starting from around dawn to two hours after sunset (the ship's days, at least at present, are about evenly divided). At night, the food carts roll away into one of the restaurants around the edges of this area. Instead, wheeled dumpsters with grabbing attachments collect up the old furniture and cram it into themselves, and starting the second night, 'new' furniture takes its place, mostly dining tables and chairs of various sizes.
Characters now have theoretically full access to the ship; however, the elevators are only mostly functional as debris is cleared from them. The rear elevators go all the way up the residential levels, but only as far down as deck 3. The front elevators only move between decks R0, 0, and 1.
More information on the schedule of shipwide upgrades will be available on the event plotting post in a few days. Until then - at least it's dry weather and smooth sailing for a while?
... But the sound of the rain outside has stopped. And you haven't heard the thunder in a while.
Take a moment. Look out the windows, the glass doors leading out to the balconies - the world beyond is lighting up. Mountains stand out against the distant eastern horizon, breaking up the first of the sunlight into scattered beams. The ship chases that light, running eastward towards the glow of dawn. Its motion is easier to bear now that the storm is over - the wind no longer tries to blow it off course.
You've survived the night - survived the storm. You get the feeling it won't be the last.
The storm abates over the course of the night - by midnight, it's dropped back enough that water and wind are no longer forcing their way through the bubble barriers, and by about an hour before sunrise - just when the sky is starting to get light - the rain has stopped completely. The clouds persist a bit longer, giving characters a spectacular sunrise to look at. When the first rays of the sun are visible over the mountains, any characters still affected by hallucinations feel their minds clear.
Fifteen minutes after dawn - about when it's getting to be a pain to look directly in the direction the ship is travelling because of the sun directly in the eyeballs - characters who are sensitive to electricity may sense the power kick back on. It's just in the wires and cables spread throughout the ship, however - the lights don't turn on, although the elevators do.
Five minutes after that, there's a crackle that is audible to all characters, from speakers spread throughout the hallways and rooms of the ship. Not every speaker is functional - some of them just continue to emit static instead of the message that follows - but enough of them are that every character will be able to hear a single piercing beep, followed by an artificial voice in an androgynous tenor:
"ALL PASSENGERS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE AFT LOUNGE ON DECK R-ZERO FOR A HEADCOUNT."
There's silence for a moment, and then another, quieter alert beep, and the same voice adds, almost as an afterthought,
"Please follow the emergency lighting in the hallways for guidance."
After that announcement, strips of lighting on the ceiling of the hallways - the lights are also on the floor, but even after the rain has washed so much dirt away, you're unlikely to see them anywhere except close enough to the stairs that you don't need them - light up. They begin to move in a pattern of diodes that leads characters to the staircases and elevators near the back of the ship, in the somewhat drier part of it that has more decks above the one where characters woke up.
The stairs are now navigable - even if there's still a decent amount of water flowing down them, not entirely contained by the channels cut into the outside of the turns of the staircase - and the elevators are now powered. Well, sort of. Although the elevators have power, the buttons inside do not - all of them are dark. Instead, the elevators automatically move characters upwards after they enter, depositing them on deck R0 for the indicated headcount.
Other than the increasingly large number of confused "passengers," however, there doesn't seem to be anything here. Some furniture in varying states of decay, sure, and puddles and debris from the storm's flooding, but no indication of humans or any other form of sapient life. The space is wide and open, and decently well-lit even with the overhead lights off, since the majority of the walls to either side appear to be made of glass.
AT THE CAFETERIA
Once everyone has assembled - or at least everyone who is willing to come, as nothing forces characters do follow instructions from a strange voice - there is another crackle of speaker feedback. At least there's no blaring alert tone to start this message.
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION."
The voice is the same as before - and anyone from a semi-modern world would be able to tell, from the pattern of speech, that this is a synthesized voice, not a real person, or at least not a real person willing to reveal themselves to be such. It speaks entirely in the language characters discovered knowing when they woke up here. The volume of the voice decreases somewhat after the initial announcement gets everyone's attention, but it is still audible to everyone.
"Please excuse the inadequate accommodations. Your arrival was unexpected. This ship has not entertained new passengers in 317 years, 6 months, and 19 days."
"We will do our best to prepare appropriate accommodations as quickly as possible. However, the immediate priority is to supply passengers with meals and other appropriate provisions. Please accept this with our sincerest apologies."
At the close of those words, the elevator doors to either side of the lounge area open, and self-propelled carts - the kind you might see in industrial kitchens - roll out. Their lower shelves are stacked with bowls, cups, and those plastic utensil holders filled with spoons, while the upper halves are full of food and drink. Specifically, the majority are full of cafeteria pans of oatmeal, the kind with the metal lids that keep the heat in. In addition to the oatmeal, there's a wide variety of raw fruits and vegetables, and some additional options for throwing in your oatmeal such as cinnamon, honey, both brown and white sugar, shaved almonds, and other things that can be made from plants and stored for a long time. There are also two carts at either end full of hot drinks - one of tea, one of coffee - and one each of cold drinks such as fruit juice. There do not appear to be any meat or dairy offerings, although there's both almond and soy milk for your coffee if you can tolerate the substitutes. (It tastes somewhat metallic, like it was dehydrated for a long time, but the coffee and tea themselves taste quite fresh.)
Once the carts have wheeled themselves out, the voice continues from the speakers.
"In order to better serve our passengers, we would like to ask you a few questions. First: What is your locale of origin? Second: Why have you come?"
OOC INFO
For OOC questions about this event, please use the OOC Questions header in the comments below. To respond to the Ship's questions, or ask it some of your own, please use the Talk to the Ship header. Otherwise, this post is a mingle, and players are encouraged to post their own top-level comments for their characters and reply to each other.
Following this post, simple food will be available in this area during "active" hours, starting from around dawn to two hours after sunset (the ship's days, at least at present, are about evenly divided). At night, the food carts roll away into one of the restaurants around the edges of this area. Instead, wheeled dumpsters with grabbing attachments collect up the old furniture and cram it into themselves, and starting the second night, 'new' furniture takes its place, mostly dining tables and chairs of various sizes.
Characters now have theoretically full access to the ship; however, the elevators are only mostly functional as debris is cleared from them. The rear elevators go all the way up the residential levels, but only as far down as deck 3. The front elevators only move between decks R0, 0, and 1.
More information on the schedule of shipwide upgrades will be available on the event plotting post in a few days. Until then - at least it's dry weather and smooth sailing for a while?
no subject
Anger, however, is familiar and easy.
"Huh?" Absolutely graceless, but there really hadn't been much in his
mini-tantrumshouting anyway, had there? "That..." Being caught and called on it—maybe in another scenario, he'd have pushed forward with it, remained angry, but this sets off a mantra in his head instead. The sound he makes next is a bit like clearing his throat, but it doesn't quite sound right. "As tempting as it is, it wouldn't make the explanation any more forthcoming." It's not really a regathering of the same energy, but it's forward momentum. "It doesn't seem to know either."Obviously.
no subject
"Come on, you'll feel better once you've eaten."
She makes her way over to the food cart, eyeing the porridge dubiously. It can't be worse than the rations they took with them to Garlemald. Surely. She scoops some into a bowl, wincing at the sound it makes, and piles some fruit and honey on top.
no subject
"Last I checked," he drawls, words curling like the fluttering tendrils at the ends of his robes with just a hint of something not entirely dissimilar to petulance that's quickly smothered (he has appearances to maintain to some extent!), "I don't." That said, he still follows after her for lack of anything better to do with himself. There's also something in him that does not want to be alone, but he hides it behind a curiosity about the fruit on the tray that isn't entirely feigned.
no subject
She takes a cautious bite of the oatmeal. It's nothing special, but it's surprisingly edible. Then again, growing up in the culinary anti-capital of the world will make one much more willing to try other foods than she might be otherwise. She'd had no idea exactly how much variety there existed in the world of food until she left Sharlayan.
"Where I come from," she says, not entirely above talking with her mouth full, "this would be nutritionally fortified so you'd never need to eat anything else. Good luck getting someone to add any flavor, though."
no subject
There's also an undercurrent of awkward in it all, for him.
...But. It's a small thing, stupid really, but imperfect manners and her cadence are... quieting. Familiar, set together. John makes a seat for himself out of the mass of limbs hidden and half-real under his robes instead of using the bench, still managing to sit about the same height.
"Is survival difficult there?" Because that makes sense to him. Desperation and survival breed innovation—or a distinct habit of eating canned food once in a blue moon, and nothing else, unless fortune smiles.
no subject
“Not as such, we’re simply a nation of scholars more concerned with nutrition than flavor.” She takes another bite, hunger overriding her vague distaste at the texture. The fruit is surprisingly fresh-tasting too, and she’s rapidly developing more questions about where this food comes from. Maybe she ought to ask the ship, though she doubts it will be forthcoming. “I don’t want to be rude, but do you…eat?”
no subject
Probably a good thing he doesn't recognize it, though. One world spared.
Her question startles him out of that thought, the fringes of his robes curling up like a cat coming to attention, but after a soft "huh?", he lifts a wrapped hand to tap a single, clawed (tipped? taloned?) finger against the blank, smooth space where a mouth might be on a human face.
It's not admitting to the fact this is a mask—one rather like those his (no avoiding it even in his own thoughts) cultists have worn. He'd just rather not have that conversation at the moment.
"Not last I checked." Though he isn't sure if that's going to change, since he isn't an insensible, intangible entity here... That'd be novel.
no subject
And he doesn't eat. She hopes he won't find her rude for eating in front of him, but hunger is taking precedence over manners at the moment.
Now that she thinks about it, she can't see the movement of a jaw or chin when he speaks. What even is he? She'll have to trust that he won't take offense to her curiosity and do something unpleasant. (Then again, she's seen beings arguably much stranger than him, beings that had long since given up their flesh and blood to become something more than what they were. And though they didn't see eye-to-metaphorical-eye in the end, they'd been easy enough to communicate with)
"You could always try? Or I suppose I could tell you what it tastes like." She doesn't want to make him feel left out.
no subject
It's also somehow less of an issue when he's not acting as the eater's eyes. Still, though.
John's halfway to forming an answer about trying (and there's... more than a few reasons why that's ill-advised), but he's stopped short by the offer that follows. It's a welling feeling, something pooling in his chest, but what comes out of his mouth is something awkward and unsure, half-strangled in his throat—so soft, it's easily missed. A few... what almost look like black tendrils creep out from the depths of his hood and pull it a little lower over his masked face. Oh, conversation with anyone is still going to need a lot of adjusting to.
"That isn't a sense I'd," well, "have thought to want explained." It isn't like he's ever been interested in food, complaining about having to watch Arthur eat more than once. Maybe mildly curious at best. And, after a beat: "I am my... friend's eyes." Because I stole his sight when he opened my book like a fucking idiot goes unsaid, but there's no reason to divulge that, anyway. ...Arthur could manage without him. Probably.
no subject
"We met a...race of people, once, who gave up their bodies to become immortal. They were fascinated by how we ate." A little too fascinated, if she's honest. "I don't know if it would be the same for you."
She's still hung up on the "friend" comment.
no subject
But her story has him attentive, head tipped towards a shoulder and studying her. A people who gave up their bodies for immortality...?
"They willingly gave up means to interact with the world?" There's a scathing, disbelieving curl at the edge of his words, something sharp and disparaging. That sounds like hell, to him (and has been).
no subject
"I didn't understand all of it, but...yes. It was the only way they could think of to live forever. But by the time we met them, there was barely anything left." Many of them had faded entirely, and some had seemingly gone mad. She shudders a little at the memory of a voice long past reason or communication, responding to her probably on instinct. "They knew they would live to see the end of the universe. I can't even imagine."
He's very attentive now, but she realizes this isn't exactly lighthearted conversational fare for breakfast. "I suppose I've just been thinking about it."
no subject
"...There are faults to a long life," he murmurs. "Forgotten meaning. Forgotten truths. Forgotten selves, if sufficiently severed." He exhales, long and slow. "But I think we're a long way off from the end of the universe. Madness would take most first, giving so much up for... what, exactly?" A some point as he speaks, he's started fidgeting with his left hand, plucking at the tattered edge of a sleeve or the tail end of the scarf-like wrap hidden beneath his hood, hanging down before his shoulders. Maybe it seems like heavy breakfast conversation to her, but to John? This feels... fairly normal.
no subject
"You sound like you've dealt with this before," she observes. It might be overstepping, but so far he hasn't walked away. He's let her lead him around much more than she expected. Maybe he really is all bluster when he's upset. She suspects she'll find out sooner rather than later.
no subject
"...In a way." He's not prepared to broach the topic in full, but madness is something he's... intimately familiar with. The way it spreads, the things seen. So is living too long without one's full senses. A shudder traces down his spine. It does have him fall quiet, though, trying to wrest his thoughts away from that particular flavour of unpleasantness.
Distraction, keep her from asking about it further.
"What... led to you finding these people?"