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middleofsomewhere2022-08-20 08:40 pm
voidtreckermods) wrote in middleofsomewhere2022-08-20 08:40 pm
Into the Unknown Part Two
On day twenty-five of the month of Symphony, everyone is gathered together, at least everyone who follows the request for a meeting to be held.
One of the head scientists - named Till - stands before the group, a look of excitement on their face.
The scientists stick around to reassure people and help them make their decisions. Those going to investigate are told to report to their craft in the morning.
One of the head scientists - named Till - stands before the group, a look of excitement on their face.
"We have found something, an anomaly in the void. We are not sure what it is exactly, but there is a lot of activity coming from its coordinates. More penitently, initial investigations have picked up readings that are constant with a void storm.
I believe from your own reports you have experienced void storms before, and you know they can be dangerous, but always fleeting, never lasting more than a few days. However, this storm seems to be static. It has not moved or changed since we first detected it.
We understand there may be people who do not want to venture into this storm, and we understand. The loops we have added to your tethers will allow you to stay on the base long enough for those investigating to return. You may experience some discomfort and disorientation during the time your craft is away, but it should only be mild and temporary.
For those investigating, we know little of what you will face. Every storm is different, and this one is already stranger than anything we have come across before."
The scientists stick around to reassure people and help them make their decisions. Those going to investigate are told to report to their craft in the morning.
INTO THE UNKNOWN: PART 2
SYMPHONY 26-29 ~ OOC POST ~ QUESTIONS ~ FIRST PART
JOURNEY INTO THE UNKNOWN
Those willing to go will leave on the Voidtrecker Express first thing the next day, with only warnings and well-wishes to be careful to go with them. There is an estimate for how long it'll take them to reach the anomaly, about half a day's travel by the train's clock, give or take. But there's no telling the true time it'll take, nor the effects of the void that will be waiting for them. Keeping away from the windows or putting up blinds is advised as a precaution, just in case, and to monitor each other's health.
"Warning: Approaching Voidstorm, please take precautions." The train warns as they arrive on the edges, all the usual train precautions have been taken, the lab cart has been shut down, the ovens in the kitchen are disconnected. The train begins to shake as it enters the first layer.
LAYER ONE: CHANGING SHADESThey first experience changes by sight - literally. Around them, objects start emitting an aura that's unique to each passenger, colouring it to match their mood towards that particular thing. Coffee machines? Amazing, paint that gold. A boring book? Ugh, the entire thing is turning grey.
It's a small effect at the start, yet objects aren't the only things being affected - so are the people on board. Their own moods are changing their hair colour, eyes, and skin, shifting more rapidly than the furniture's paint job. And as time goes on, passengers will be able to affect one another's colouration and aura, giving away how they may feel about that person at that moment, if their feelings are strong enough. Never noticed how fondly one feels about you? Now you do.
LAYER TWO: LOOSE LIPSGoing into the next layer, there's an itch that starts to gnaw at everyone - an itch to talk. To friends, to strangers, to anyone; you have a need to chatter, and it has to get out. Attempting to isolate yourself only makes the need worse, and you won't be able to sleep it away. It doesn't matter if you don't know what to talk about - you'll find something.
A good chat will subdue the need for a while, but it will eventually return. So while listening to others talk might help keep it at bay, it won't forever.
LAYER THREE: CONFESSION - I THINK YOU'RE OKThe changes become stronger, and with them the urges. Passengers will feel compelled to tell those they know their feelings for them, whether it's as simple as finding them okay, to having stronger inclinations of friendship, dislike, or even love.
These urges can be held back on for a time, but it's easy for it to slip out; and many may still be suffering from the previous layer, where they get the sudden need to talk.
LAYER FOUR: A CAKE FOR MY BELOVEDTalking is simply not good enough in this layer: actions speak louder than words. You want to create ways of expressing your desires, regardless of how creative you actually are. Building a shrine to your loved ones, challenging rivals to duels. You can't stay idle, and your hands and brain need to be at work! What can you manage on this train?
EYE OF THE STORM
Finally, all of it stops. The colours, the emotions, the compulsion of dramatics; their minds go from being caught in the storm to completely calm (or, as calm as they ever are). It is much like waking from a dream, or going from one very noisy overwhelming place to complete silence.
A second passes, and then another, and then... there's a feeling. Fear, terror - even those who normally have no ability to feel the emotions of others can feel it, emanating from the train itself.
With it comes an invitation. Hard to describe, but a tugging at their mind. They can push it away no problem, but if they accept...
They are looking out. The familiar colours of the Void are all around them, but they can't turn to look. Ahead is a hole where space should be, nothingness curving and spiralling out from a point deep within that wound in reality, tearing and tugging at the unfortunate observer. The chaotic nimbus at the edge of their vision spins inwards to meet it, and vanishes at the edge of the hole. A void within the Void. And within that terrifying chaotic darkness there are shapes.
The train rocks as energy rushes past it, tossing the craft from side to side. It spins, lurching out of control, the connection snapping as everyone is thrown back into their own awareness as the train starts vibrating to at full speed.
But the tell-tale signs of movement isn't there, and a creaking of metal can be heard. The train shakes more as the view outside the windows shows them inching forward towards where the hole had been, and parts of the roof start to bend inward, water pipes burst and the electricity fails in multiple carriages.
Until there's a rush, a shaking and twisting, and the void flashes violently in the windows. The ever distant choral singing becomes a roar as a kaleidoscope of colours fills the interior of the train itself.
Then there is stillness. It calms, and there is no storm, no terrifying darkness. Just the void, as it ever is, ever changing.
OOC NOTES
NOTES: They will be in the storm for three days, each layer takes about half a day.
no subject
He's not sure what Rezo means by interesting-- or what he (they?) are looking at exactly, but he figures there's no need to prod. Even though curiosity burns across his lips brighter than a beacon, he holds it back as Rezo slips along to other subjects. He takes a breath to speak when his friend moves things along, and Esteban blinks at the mention-- made something.
For him?
It's a small, handful of fluff that gets passed down into his hand, a little grey pocket that of awkwardly sewn fabric. There are stars and flowers patterned across the tiny toy, and two button eyes of different sizes and garish colours. Felt makes up uncertain limbs, in bright blues that clash or compliment the grey quite well-- Esteban isn't quite sure-- and the tail puffs out in a feathery fluff.
"Oh that's gorgeous!" He can't help it. It could be the ugliest thing he's ever seen-- actually, he's really not even sure what it's supposed to be-- but there is... there is such a treasure to this.
Rezo made this for him. Rezo made this for him. There's something strung tight between his ribs at this, and he plucks the small toy in both hands, running a thumb along its clumsy seams and fluffy, bright-aqua tail. His smile doubles, as impossible as that might be.
"So soft! Y' got such great fabrics!" It feels so nice. Esteban isn't much for material things-- not really. But there is something about this tiny gift, this little thing, that makes him all the more touched by it. Maybe it's the way it's so clearly cobbled together clumsily. Maybe it's just because it was made for him specifically. He doesn't know how to--
"Thanks!" It falls too short. "I love it!" A bit closer, but it still doesn't-- words are so hard for him. He can't help squeezing, turning the little gift over in his palms, the brushed yarn tail trailing across his wrists in fluttery caresses. Esteban makes a note to attach a strap to it, so he won't lose it. He doesn't ever want to lose it.
If his words fall short, his limbs, however, do not, and there's a fluster of movement from the moment he spots the little toy, wings rustling in his excitement, tail tapping and darting in short, eager bursts, scuffing against the stone. Rezo is never in danger of being smacked, but the wing behind him is possibly the loudest, short lithe bursts of sound as the leather flutters endlessly just behind him.
no subject
Clearly, Rezo is better at sewing than he thought.
He lets out a laugh that is only a little embarrassed. Esteban is so… sincere. Rezo can’t help but appreciate that, despite his own insincere nature.
“You’re welcome,” he says, pitching a little louder than usual so that he can be heard over Esteban’s fluttering. “Dolls are such interesting creations, don’t you think? There are few objects that exist for the purpose of receiving love, particularly in the way that dolls are.”
Which isn’t the only reason that dolls and similar toys interest him, but it’s one of the things that draws him to collecting them, when he has the time and space for such things.
“If you love it,” he continues, “Then it must be serving its purpose well. I’m happy if that’s the case.”
no subject
"'f course I do!" he's quick to add. "Perfect pocket-size for travellin', an' ev'rythin' 'bout it's so soft!" If he has a bit of a accent in his regular days; this is far worse, joy lilting along with vanishing syllables as he speaks. "An' y' made it y'rself!" He snickers. "That's already more th'n I'd ever manage!"
Though, well, to be fair... Rezo's skills aren't much better than Esteban. And yet he's not disappointed? Of all things, it just makes the gift all the more heartfelt, he thinks. Maybe he should try his hand at it himself.
"I don't have somethin' for you though," he realizes, feeling a little bad at the lack of reciprocity. "Small finicky stuff isn't... easy 'cause of my hands. Don't have the dexterity in 'em, an' their calloused weird 'cause of the spinnin'." Which made some tasks a bit harder, especially with fine, delicate works.
"I can cook an' bake a bit though!" He's getting better at that, and it's a bit of an offer too. "I could make you somethin'? T' say 'thank you'!" He's already said it, but it doesn't mean Esteban doesn't feel it still falls short. "What would you like?!"
Clearly, he's not about to take 'no, thank you' as an answer.
no subject
“You don’t need to give me anything,” Rezo says, automatically reassuring. It’s not as if he had thought about getting anything in return, or much other than ‘people who are nice to me deserve cuddly chinchilla dolls.’ And he supposes handling fire on a regular basis makes for palms and fingers that are resilient rather than dextrous.
But Esteban is not deterred- handicrafts may be out but food, apparently, isn’t. Which gives Rezo pause.
“Things I like?”
Rezo appreciates being given food though that is a bit of a problem as truthfully, he’s never been remotely picky about food. Esteban could serve him a boiled turnip and Rezo would probably eat it without bothering to ask for butter. But he does have preferences, if he tries to think about it. He drums his fingertips against the bench.
“Hot pot…” he muses, after a moment’s thought. “Curry… Cottage pie… Things like that, mostly.”
(Basically: Comfort food.)
no subject
It does help that the mage is cooperative at least, seeing as Esteban might have gotten a little overenthusiastic into finding something --anything-- if he didn't have a lead first. But he is surprised at the content; warm, hearty meals best eaten against cold nights. It brightens the half-dragon even more.
"Oh! I love those too!" His voice rises in an eager lilt, amused as he shares. "I make stuff like that for supper all the time!"
Rezo might even had gotten some if he ate late enough himself-- past the early sleepers, and when the kitchen wound down for the night. Esteban tends to take over it when it's mostly empty after all, and leftovers are always up for grabs for anyone who likes them. He'd never consider himself a fancy chef, but he has enough experience to make it tasty at the very least!
"How spicy d'you like it?" There's undeniable mischief in his voice as the half-elf leans forwards, his weight heavy on a precarious perch set on his ankle. Toothy grin and reckless amusement pour from him like the warmth that surrounds them, warmth blanketing them both from the wings that hover, far enough not to be in the way. Close enough to bring a bit of shelter, the way a bird might shepherd a flock close.