ataraxites: (Default)
axmods. ([personal profile] ataraxites) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2016-01-08 10:15 pm

ARRIVAL ▒ 005

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Basecamp, Medical and beyond.
WARNINGS: Implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: The Tranquility jumps again.
NOTES: Can be found at the bottom of the post.


T H E   C A M P   ( C U R R E N T   C H A R A C T E R S )
It's a beautiful morning when the alarms start, promising to continue on and on throughout much of the day. Most work and routine continues on tirelessly in the form of hunting and gathering, security patrols, stoking fires, and the latest efforts at building and barricading. As the alarms scream on, an awareness settles among the basecamp population. Waiting for that moment when they stop, and whatever the coming jump will bring with it this time. Some retreat to their shelters, others simply continue on with their day.

Some gather and stop to watch.

It's ten hours later when it happens. A tremble in the earth, shaking up through the trees. There's no cries from the wildlife, an eerie, unnatural silence in response to the disturbance. The wreck of the Tranquility begins to cord with lines of white light, threading across the hull like veins, some patches remaining dark, standing out against the vision like splotches burnt to the back of the eyelids. There's no great sound. In an instant, the ship is gone, a soft whomp, a feeling of air rushing past, the trees bending towards the site as if blown by a fierce wind. It's only a second. With a crack, the wreck returns, a rumble rolling through the air like thunder.

The earth shakes. The trees tremble. The ship groans, the sound echoing out like the cry of a wounded beast.

The jump has passed.

Before search and rescue can gather and see for themselves if anyone new was dragged from their homes, something strange happens. Some have seen it before, and more recent arrivals have not. A sporadic raining down of items has begun. Something cylindrical and two feet long plummets from where it had appeared in the sky, trailing fabric as it spins and unravels, slamming into a campfire and immediately going up in flames. There are several of these fabric bolts, some of them hidden in containers of black metal, some unravelling loose and worn from age. Up close, the fabric is stiff to touch and shining a metallic blue, and held to the light, an observer can detect a strange language of symbols printed on the fabric in the same colour, but with a different quality of reflection.

Among them are other objects, including glass-like spheres the size of a human head, shattering on impact, with whatever fluid within immediately evaporating into a steam that rises into nothing. Some manage safe landings, bouncing on tent tarp, landing in soft jungle brush, liquid inside shimmering as they roll still. Pieces of silver metal, cut into feather-like shapes, a hand's width and oddly delicate, rain down gentler, catching in the wind, spinning wildly before settling. They begin to blacken when touched.

The unusual rain of items, not only limited to the immediate camp area but the jungle beyond, ceases hardly a minute after it has begun.

M E D I C A L   ( N E W   A R R I V A L S )
You wake up, alone in the dark. There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Through the fog you can see shadows of movement, the muted sound of alarms crying. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're suddenly dropped several feet onto the opposite wall.

The impact is painful, winds you, and it takes several seconds to overcome and persuade uncooperative limbs to move. All around you is chaos: the sirens of alarms are shrieking in your ears, close and claustrophobic in the wreckage of the medical bay you've awoken in, lit dim and red. Around you, others are waking up, falling from other gravcouches, stumbling to their feet. Light catches your eye, and you look up to see a huge rend in the outer wall high above you, overhung by broken structural beams and damaged cabling.

Climbing up takes all the strength you have.

You emerge in a landscape painted orange by sunset, surrounded by an immense, vast jungle. As your vision clears, you realise you stand on the hull of a colossal spaceship, crashed on an unknown world, two moons hanging heavy in the sky above, visible as the sky begins to darken. In the distance, far out on a great swathe of torn up earth through the jungle are a clustered crowd of figures, moving towards the wreck.

Your welcome party, but are they friend or foe?
N O T E S
  • Anything remaining within a mile radius of the ship when it jumps will be irreparably damaged. Soft organics will be pulverised, while all trees and plants will initially appear fine but crumble to pieces within a day (or sooner if disturbed). Non-organic material will also be weakened, bending or falling apart when touched.
  • Newly arriving characters venturing through the medbay will discover their inventory items scattered beyond the ship. Feel free to find all of your inventory items, or lose as many as you like, as they will be randomly distributed around the jump radius. They will also be able to find jumpsuits and other standard clothing in the wreckage of medical.
  • The alarms will cut after two hours, a which point a looping audio message telling passengers to make their way to the blue lifts will be audible. The lifts, if investigated, will be missing, leaving only empty elevator shafts.
  • The wreck will show increased signs of instability for a few days after the jump, and will have seemed to have sunk further into the rock of the cliff than it was before.
  • As mentioned, items as described above will also rain down on camp and all areas beyond it. Feel free to find these in sporadic quantity.
  • If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to contact us via PM, the FAQ or Questions pages!
  • cannotforget: by arwen-aileon @ DW (I still find the worst in everyone)

    [personal profile] cannotforget 2016-01-08 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
    [At first, Leo isn’t so startled as one would think. Sure, there he is scared, but he still has no idea that he’s in another world. After all, Hobbs’ and his men had captured him and his family. But the lights and those sounds... What was really going on? He doesn’t have much time to adjust to the situation though, as the fluid drains, the tube on his throat goes out and he falls to the floor. The fall leaves him gasping for breath and taking quite some time on getting his limbs to listen to them so he can stand up. He hears some other sounds around him, aside from the sirens, and one look around is enough to see that there are other people there but… none of them are Mia or Niska or Fred or Max. That only freaks him out more and he can’t help but think the worst had happened and Hobbs destroyed them…

    Leo shakes his head, trying to not think about it. He had to think that there was still a chance that they were around, somewhere. Once he managed to find the jumpsuit and gotten himself dressed, he follows the light exits through the big hole on the while. And when his eyes adjust to the light and he sees where he is, Leo simply sits down not only because of how tiring it was to stand up and walk towards there after his awakening but also because he went from being in the Hawkings’ house to a jungle. He was sure that he had just seen two moons, too. What did Hobbs just do to him…?]
    ryuuzaki: (fingertip nip - arty)

    [personal profile] ryuuzaki 2016-01-09 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
    [L had been prepared to freeze this time, prepared for any kind of fuss that might be made over him if he did, and prepared to clean up his face as well as possible and move on with his usual activities.

    None of that happened.

    A while after the jump, and after the bizarre rain of objects has landed and he's secreted a few away for later study, he makes his way to the jump site with a few fresh communicators.

    The first thing he sees is a man sitting in the mud. L still doesn't recognize absolutely every face of the members of the original crew -- it depends on if and how often their paths cross -- but the question of why someone from that population would be found sitting outside of the ship not long after a jump suggests that this man isn't one of them. He remains at a slight, reasonably safe distance, but bends to peer at the likely new arrival.]


    You woke up in there?

    [He gestures to the ship with his long hand.]

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    letmetakeaselfie: got no money in my pocket (✲ 156)

    [personal profile] letmetakeaselfie 2016-01-09 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
    [ tony is kind of meandering through the new people, and mostly checking out the stuff no one seems to be claiming. his hair is starting to look overgrown, but it's held back by ridiculously expensive sunglasses. and he's also wearing the right arm from the iron man suit on over his clothes (which look remarkably shabby by compare.) he vaguely registers leo as he stumbles past, but he seems quiet. in shock or maybe a returnee. hard to say and he has better shit to do.

    on a whim he throws out a greeting without looking up. why not, right? ]
    You get the rundown yet, kid?

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    foundafamily: (pic#7644682)

    [personal profile] foundafamily 2016-01-10 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Firo always pokes around the ship after the jumps to check out the new arrivals. And to make sure no one he knows has been dragged along, though he knows how slim that chance is. He sometimes has to remind himself that it's a good thing.

    He's making the usual rounds when he sees this stranger plopped down outside. He approaches, arms folded.
    ]

    Takin' a break already?

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    circumitus: its people like u that make people like me go to rehab. he has a lazy eye for christ sakes. (your girlfriend is a south jersey whore)

    headcount collecting

    [personal profile] circumitus 2016-01-08 11:50 pm (UTC)(link)
    At this point, Rey has come to expect things to happen with every jump.

    It comes as a relief that, this time, she isn't plagued by the same light that's clouded her vision, hours after having been frozen in time. The jump comes and passes, and things are back to the way they were, with the exception of the items falling from the sky. That's both new development and yet not, and still strange. But it's a strangeness that she can deal with later.

    Rather than lingering away from the population in her treehouse, Rey can be found at the camp or near the Tranquility crash site. She's spent her time prior to the jump getting ready to start on her headcounting project, as well as for the jungle expedition for later that night.

    Whether or not you plan to cooperate, she doesn't care. A scar-faced woman is approaching you with her deadpan tones and visage, asking for your name to jot down in a journal with a list of the current and new arrivals.

    If she already knows you, you can expect your name to already be in the headcount. Otherwise, if she doesn't get a name to add to her journal, she'll instead include a descriptor and maybe a crude nickname, because that's what you get for being a dick.
    cannotforget: by arwen-aileon @ DW (Feel it beat in your heart)

    [personal profile] cannotforget 2016-01-09 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
    It has certainly taken him a while, but once he manages to calm himself own enough, Leo starts to walk around what remains of the ship. He'd found one of his shirts earlier and the charger for his laptop, so he was set on seeing what else was there before somebody else took it from themselves. Just as he's kneeling down to pick his bag, Rey approaches him to ask his name. Maybe it's the tone or the way she asks, but it rubbs Leo the wrong way.

    "Why do you want to know?"

    Because really, arriving to a new place as strange as this is and then have someone come and ask for his name without any sort of introduction or reason? It leaves him wondering what she
    really
    wants.

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    hairrands: (Sad - Sick)

    Re: headcount collecting

    [personal profile] hairrands 2016-01-09 09:14 pm (UTC)(link)
    Somewhere just before she's getting ready for that expedition, Rey might stumble across a vaguely familiar manky twist of dark hair. AJ's had a full day to figure out where the hell she is and what it actually means, but it's too much for her overburdened mind to handle. At least she has discovered the efforts to build barricades around the camp and has allowed herself to be drafted into digging holes for the stockade logs to be wedged into, despite the fact that she is utterly exhausted before she manages more than a shallow extension of the already forming ditch.

    She's also got her back turned to most of the people here, refuses to respond to all but the most pointed conversation. Unless Rey's deadpan voice is projected straight at her, AJ's keeping her head down and straining to heave dirt and gravel and alien moss until she can't lift her shovel anymore or it disappears out of reality.

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    forgodssake: (pic#7114250)

    [personal profile] forgodssake 2016-01-11 01:06 pm (UTC)(link)
    I can't sense Tyke.
    It isn't often that Charles will drop an impromptu telepathic line. Or at least, not where Rey's concerned, but it's not out of the ordinary either. He doesn't need to be told what she's doing -- he cheats, frequently -- and so supplies this particular piece of information.

    Tyke won't be the only one gone, but it's the one he's noticed.

    He hasn't moved for the ship, having been amongst those retreating somewhere safe seeming in case the jump springs a nastier surprise. Slowly, he's cleaning up the broken glass after-- whatever it was shattered out the front of his tent, labrador ushered inside while he very carefully combs about for shards, using sticks to fastidiously prod at and overturn dirt as he goes.

    Meanwhile, observant. People he loves are accounted for. Not everyone he likes, though.

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    lovefornature: (The idea of life without company)

    [personal profile] lovefornature 2016-01-15 07:12 am (UTC)(link)
    Cassie has lingered near the wreckage of the ship, clutching a heavy textbook to her chest, eyes to the ground as she searches the immediate area for any other items that might possibly be hers. She's about to kneel down to inspect something in the dirt when someone's voice snaps her gaze upwards and over.

    She pauses, visibly hesitant, flicking a glance to the journal in the woman's hands. Giving out her name wouldn't hurt, would it? It's not like it would matter much here. "My name is Cassie." She cants her head to the side, slender eyebrows arching in question. "Are you looking for someone or something?"

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    dogbane: (side laugh)

    @rey's treehouse, lmk if need editing

    [personal profile] dogbane 2016-01-21 02:06 am (UTC)(link)
    [William is laying on some pillows. Spread-eagled, face-up, his expression quiescently blank, looking at the stretch of wood that forms the ceiling the woman had put together for herself. He thinks this is quite amazing, actually. If any argument can be made for getting him out of his hermit-like solitude, trapped in shapeshifts and eating seed pods in only the company of lackadaisical winged lizards, then it is probably this: pillows. What a luxury. A couple dozen more and she could make a pit, jump into it every morning, go swimming.

    He comes from a time when too much of the world is first world, subject to as many of the problems and pollutants as it is the luxuries, facilities, and conveniences that come with advanced technology. So sue him. He's missed it a little; he's missed things. And things are a lot easier to think about missing than people.]
    I've said it once. I'm going to say it again.

    You have excellent fucking taste in amenities, mate, [William says.] But I suppose we've also been faffing around long enough. [he turns his head, his smooth cheek settling against the pillow. He doesn't shave often, but nor does he grow much hair-- and it helps, too, that he spends most of his time not wearing the shape of a person, either. He'd actually smell considerably worse if he was. Nonetheless, the expression on William's face is all too human, as he looks toward the woman lying beside him. He knows she's been watching her comm device, and the clock over.] Fucking Jump.

    It's over, isn't it? [And without incident.]

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    starspangled: (pic#8879290)

    steve rogers | ota

    [personal profile] starspangled 2016-01-09 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
    [Steve pulls oxygen deep into his lungs after the grav couch spits him out. He doesn't know how long he was out, but with him it could've been awhile. He's just hoping it wasn't another seventy years. He gets on his feet, doesn't matter how much it hurts, or how heavy his limbs feel. That's not exactly an unfamiliar feeling for him either.

    He never thought he could hate anything more than tights, but then he's forced to wear one of the jumpsuits when he can't find anything else. It'll do, and Steve pulls it on before he continues to the wall of the broken ship, looking up at the orange sky above. Looks like it's time for a little climb, but not before he looks around for others. Steve shouts over those blasted sirens, offering to anyone who's in the same boat that he is.
    ]

    Need a boost?

    [The camp outside the wreck doesn't look much better - it looks like it's been through hell. Steve's thinking about that before his boots even hit the ground. Steve's seen plenty of hardship in his life - he grew up with a single mother, and sold newspapers with headlines about the Great Depression. But he gets the feeling that he's not seen what these people have.

    It makes him wish even more that he had his shield, and no sooner does the thought enter his mind than he spots it sticking out of the ground.
    ]

    Should've wished for the Dodgers to go back to Brooklyn.

    [Steve mutters under his breath, pulling his shield free and feeling less naked now than when he actually had been. He slides it onto his arm before taking a good look around. Where does he start?

    Maybe with the first person he sees.
    ]

    Mind if I ask you a few questions?

    [He's gonna do it anyway.]
    divaricate: sways @ dw (• what????)

    [personal profile] divaricate 2016-01-09 06:14 am (UTC)(link)
    [Wanda's not sure she actually registers Steve's question at first once he makes it to the camp and is looking for answers from anyone he finds; all she has is a question of her own for him once she heard the familiar voice speaking from behind her: ]

    Steve? [She turns to face him and asks, though she knows it's him -- even if there's another guy here she's met who resembles him. Steve's got his shield, that's a dead giveaway, too. She's glad to see him, even though his face is another from home that ... isn't Pietro. She'll keep hoping he'll show up eventually. This is what happens when you don't know your brother's dead.

    Also, oh right. About his question: ]


    Ask me any questions you want.

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    letmetakeaselfie: but don't ask why (✲ 176)

    [personal profile] letmetakeaselfie 2016-01-10 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
    [ he hears that voice and it starts him. he and bucky have been turning this place upside down since he freaking got here -- of course cap would just show up like it's no big thang. does he even remember being here before? ] You're still hung up on that, huh? [ he heard the dodgers remark, and he's faintly bemused honestly. but all that really reads in his expression is pure relief.

    he steps into steve's pathway as he goes for the shield, looking much less clean-pressed than the last time they'd seen one another. he's wearing blue shades, an already pretty worn jumpsuit and tq issue boots, the right gauntlet of his suit and when he turns there's a handgun sticking out of his pocket like he's a crazy gangster or something. which he kind of is, so. you know. hi buddy ]

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    lafautedevoltaire: (Default)

    Re: steve rogers | ota

    [personal profile] lafautedevoltaire 2016-01-10 04:42 am (UTC)(link)
    [Urchins are a well known source of exposition. Very popular activity, really. So Gavroch thinks it's perfectly natural to have asked him.]

    Of course, M'sieur. I know about as much as anyone does here.

    [Which is, admittedly, not as much as anyone would like.]

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    Hover for translation

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    fulminants: (99)

    [personal profile] fulminants 2016-01-11 12:16 pm (UTC)(link)
    Dude, that's never gonna happen.

    [ Dodgers going back to Brooklyn, of course. But someone's speaking Johnny's language -- sports is Johnny's language, no matter the type, although his heart belongs to the ones that will most decidedly kill him. The whole jump thing needs plenty of intense getting-used to, and it's something he's decided that he hates most.

    Johnny's rubbing his head, grimacing as he finds his footing, which would explain why it takes him a few seconds to register just what -- and whom -- he's seeing. A blonder, bigger version of himself, with a colorful shield that looked like Uncle Sam crapped patriotically over it. Johnny's very sure that he hadn't actually hit his head too hard, and he's very sure he isn't dreaming, which begs the question: ]


    Whoa, who're you?

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    coldshot: (001)

    [personal profile] coldshot 2016-01-13 01:37 am (UTC)(link)
    [ It's only as Bucky's heading back into camp, empty-handed again and plenty sore over it, that he catches sight of what he's been looking for. Just a glimpse from a distance, but it's enough to send him swerving into the underbrush for cover, shadowing the newcomer's steps. There's a guy running around here with Steve's face and somebody else's attitude, he knows, even if they haven't exactly met, and he's even started trying to get used to it, preparing to catch sight of an almost-familiar silhouette without getting his hopes up — but this isn't that. This isn't almost.

    He doesn't have to look for the headjack. The last time he saw Steve Rogers, he was a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, the way he looks in the snatches of memory Bucky's dredged up from the depths. The way he looks in the Real. Now? Bucky swallows, blanching, as he steps into view. ]


    Steve?

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    notyourutopian: Do not take! (Oh this is pretty nice.)

    Eleanor Lamb | open

    [personal profile] notyourutopian 2016-01-09 04:16 am (UTC)(link)
    Around Camp:

    Normally Eleanor headed for the ship after a jump, to see if anyone needed help or if anything had changed. But today was different, as bits of junk rained down around them.

    It was hard to say exactly why she felt the need to immediately start gathering up the strange things. A decent survival instinct, perhaps? Or more likely, a hoarding tendency she'd inherited from her 'father' back in Rapture, who picked up absolutely everything even if it was gross old food or useless trash.

    Yeah...

    Or maybe it was just that these seemed unusual, and she was curious. The stuff that felt typically looked like it belonged to someone, but the orbs and canisters didn't, not unless they'd received some very strange new arrivals. Which wouldn't have surprised her, at this point.

    Still, by the time she was finished with her gathering, she had one of the long cylinders and the black case it had been housed in, half a dozen of the liquid-filled glass balls, and two small piles of the silver feathers (one of blackened ones, and one of them sitting on a piece of cloth, from after she'd realized touching them seemed to ruin them.) There was even a pile of the shattered glass orbs, well, the larger pieces that had survived, also resting on another cloth, which had a few flecks of blood on it too. Broken glass was not easy to pick up!

    The teen had even picked up some of the things that probably belonged to people, and they were in a smaller pile next to the rest, which was all lined up on the edge of her makeshift metal leanto.

    She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, one of the glass orbs in her hands, carefully turning it around as she peered through the liquid. Hmm.

    [ooc: Feel free to say Eleanor has your characters stuff! She'll give it back. Or complain she's hoarding the sky-junk, which she probably won't give back. Or just come say hi! Or whatever else!]
    Edited 2016-01-09 04:19 (UTC)
    thecoldshoulder: (To fall off the grid)

    +1 for game mechanic reference :']

    [personal profile] thecoldshoulder 2016-01-10 01:56 am (UTC)(link)
    It's been about two weeks since Algidus emerged from his ill-fated expedition into the wreckage of the Tranquility. Since then, he's had his injuries treated by a competent medic and soothed with a bit of healing magic, and he'd had food and water provided to him to help him get his strength back up. His recovery had been a slow one, and the level of kindness behind the gestures offered to him by the people looking out for him was baffling... which meant that the second he was able to get back to his feet and depart, he did. It was not that he didn't appreciate the help that he'd been given--a part of him did, even if he would never openly admit it--it was just that he was a reclusive creature, one who never wanted anyone to see him as anything but strong. His forced stay in the treehouse had impeded on all of that, and well... going on two weeks of being down and out would be enough to make anyone stir crazy.

    So now, Algidus is taking any opportunity to get out and get some fresh air. He doesn't often come into the base camp from the jungle, but the sound of an imminent jump is enough to draw his attention. He's not here to help people, however--he's here to scavenge, to gather up what he can and depart before any new arrivals can gawp at him or hound him with questions. It doesn't take him long to notice Eleanor is doing the same thing, gathering up all of the various items that have rained from the sky in neat little piles.

    "Quite the collection," the towering ice alien remarks, his eyes the objects she's gathered and not on her. He doesn't approach just yet, but then that's because he's trying to decide if he should attempt to... relieve her of some of the items and save himself some time.

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    starspangled: (pic#8178763)

    [personal profile] starspangled 2016-01-10 03:19 pm (UTC)(link)
    Steve's found enough of his things scattered about to know that there could be more. He's not hoping for anything in particular. The main one, his shield, was serendipitously at his feet after he climbed out of the wreckage. But then he found his file, a pair of khakis that he thinks are his - he had a pair just like 'em, anyway, and they're in his size.

    Now he thinks he spots his uniform, folded up, but the white star on the chest calling out to him like a beacon. Steve looks around for whoever's gathered these things up, and spots Eleanor sitting on the ground.

    "Excuse me." Steve nods to her in greeting, unsure of how this will go. What're the rules here? Do they have rules other than the classic finders, keepers? "I think you found something of mine."

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    cdrom: (#9884813)

    david levinson. ota.

    [personal profile] cdrom 2016-01-09 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ It's phenomenally unlikely what happens next, but so is this entire situation, so that's okay.

    But glass catches the dwindling light and David's attention lands on it in his dazed, loose-limbed wander across the pulverised earth. Stopping. He starts to bend down, but winds up on his knees in the dirt as he picks loose the pair of prescription glasses that he immediately recognises as his. Breathing shallow in his chest, and going slowly so as not to let his hands start shaking again, he cleans the glass of grit with his sleeve. Taking his time.

    Once done, more or less, he two-handedly slides the glasses back onto his face, looking out now with better clarity at the camp in the relative distance, and the people wandering around, some perusing the scattering of objects littering the ground, others with a more obvious course set for where he had come from.

    Speaking of which.

    Rather than stand up, David sort of lists to settle more firmly on the ground, twisting around to sit and look up at the hulking shadow of the crippled alien craft. ]


    That's different to the last one, [ he mutters, to no one in particular. There is still a thin film of gravcouch slime on his skin, slick in his hair. He is mildly in shock. ]
    muscovy: (from the east)

    [personal profile] muscovy 2016-01-09 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)
    It crashed into the ground.

    [That would make the ship different from most other spaceships that he has seen. Probably from all of them, because he isn't sure how often they manage to crash into a planet and stay as comparatively intact as this one did. He doesn't know much about space, but he has been told that suns are balls of fire and with how deep the fall has been he would have thought that it would have been more damaged. So if they were just exceptionally lucky and it isn't a thing about spaceships...

    The voice comes from a child looking to be human and about six years of age, carrying a backpack and standing behind him.]

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    hairrands: (Sad - Sick)

    AJ Harris | OC | New Arrival

    [personal profile] hairrands 2016-01-09 10:14 pm (UTC)(link)
    Around the Ship
    There's a feral young woman in the ship, being disgorged from the grav couches with the rest of the new arrivals, who is savvy to the process, but who is too far gone just now to think, let alone speak. Her movements are extremely erratic as she picks herself up to elbows and knees and then skitters along the wall to the nearest corner to watch others, to gauge what's safe. She's murmuring to herself in a low-grade mutter, or maybe a growl, that does not seem in the least bit approachable. Should anyone try to offer support or try to come close to question her--before or after she scuttles her way directly for the medical ward and the lockers there--she's just as likely to spit half-formed obscenities as puff her shoulders up and try to take a swing at them. She means business in the same way a stray, impounded cur means business when caged with a dozen other animals.

    She's a little better when she finally makes her way out of the ship, too exhausted to fight, because she's finally beginning to get her bearings. AJ does what it takes to clear the wreckage. She avoids those who are nearby by hitching her shoulders up, hitching the collar of her jumpsuit up, and allowing her sodden black hair to fall in front of her face. Rasps a warning "leave me alone" if she senses anyone trying to be helpful.

    When she heaves a look over either shoulder and confirms that she's alone in the shadow of the monolithic crash, she looks out over the jungle for a few minutes, breath heaving as she tries to fill her lungs completely with the hot, damp air of this planet, the better to wash away her memories of the antiseptic smells of the basement she'd been relegated to for months, and the horrible things she still feels creeping up behind her even now. Eventually she buries her face in her spidery hands as she curls into a ball, not moving or making any sound. She stays this way for some time.

    By the time she can be spotted around the ship in the dusty gravel of the earth in the jump-zone, AJ is more or less herself, but she stalks purposefully through the rubble of loose alien rugs and orbs and metal jars, picking through things and hissing at others who might want to lay claim. Then she finds it; it's not hers necessarily, given the spear came from this planet, but it's a weapon that she remembers her ally had brought to her with all the best intentions. Dropping everything else, AJ snags the weapon and looks wildly around for a flash of a moment.

    She needs to find somebody.

    [TL;DR: Angry combative possum woman will chase you away and mess up your day. Engage only for slap-fights or worse!]

    In Base Camp
    It's not until much later in the day that AJ actually becomes anything like useful. Despite her best intentions, coming across the relatively thriving camp after months of adrenaline-pitched isolation overwhelms her best senses. She'd found a tarp pitched up near somebody's tent and crashed under it, curled into another gangly coping ball with her back to a pile of chopped wood and her spear clutched desperately before her. It's the first sleep she feels she's had in weeks, though it's short and fraught with nightmares.

    As the sun begins to set and the smaller moon glares brightly down over their camp, the human clone emerges and begins to wander aimlessly, looking for a familiar face she knows will not be here. She is constantly looking beyond the edge of the basecamp, and eventually she makes her way out there, looking river-ward...

    But when she tries to leave, the wall of dark trees and undergrowth in the growing gloam of evening puts all of her hairs up and she finds herself rooted to the earth. She fidgets, antsy, before making her way back to the beginnings of the camp wall. She'll just... she'll just dig some holes out here, help with the effort, stay on the edge of the camp and in the light of the torches put up around its perimeter. Dealing with anyone is beyond her ken right now, and she hates herself for it. At the very least, it allows her to throw her all into digging out loam and pulling up rocks, for what her scrawny strength is worth. She even manages to bend a shovel out of thin air to help her... so at least she has not forgotten that little trick.
    thecoldshoulder: (Watchful.)

    HELLO FRIEND WE MISSED oh and also Base Camp

    [personal profile] thecoldshoulder 2016-01-09 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
    Algidus doesn't really know why he's come back to the base camp. He'd already done what scavenging he could earlier, after the jump had occurred and the strange assortment of items had rained down from the sky. Beyond that, as callous as it might seem, there wasn't much reason for him to hang around the site of the wreckage after a jump. He wasn't particularly invested in throwing himself into a throng of panicked and disoriented humans, especially not after his last expedition inside the ship had ended in such disaster. Someone else could deal with it.

    And yet, after he'd stowed away what he'd managed to collect, he couldn't stop looking back at that looming wreck. He couldn't stop feeling the strangest shard of hope left intact in him. Algidus was surprised and frustrated with himself; he'd thought he'd come to accept his current situation. He battled with this for awhile, tried to tell himself that he was going to be alone and it was going to be okay because that was how he'd always operated before, and yet he could not seem to convince himself. Snarling, the alien decided that he would put these foolish hopes to rest once and for all. He'd go back to the wreck and he would find nothing, and then he it would be over. He would move on.

    He grumbled to himself the whole time as he made the trip back to the base camp, and he was immediately filled with distaste at the new faces he could see. All human, all reminders of how separated from his own he was. They were probably all taking each others' presence for granted, too. It's enough to make him want to turn on his heel and just storm away... but he's not going to leave until he is absolutely sure (funny, that's what his trip into the ship was supposed to be for). Algidus puts a hand over the scrap of dark-colored fabric that he uses to conceal the dressing for a lingering wound, stubborn in its healing, and presses forward.

    Ironically, it's only when all hope seems lost yet again and he's about to leave the base camp that he sees a familiar form outlined against the light of the torches lined up around the camp's perimeter. That his chest suddenly feels tight has nothing to do with the old injury he's still carrying with him, and despite the fact that the past months have been spent wanting nothing but for her to return to him, he suddenly can't believe that he might have found her. Just--just like this? Just milling around the base camp? It almost seems too damn simple despite everything he's endured. Algidus stops up short, half-revealed by the glow of the torches, and lowers his head.

    "Is it you..." his voice is a low rumble and now he pauses; they've been apart for so long that using her name even feels odd, "...AJ?"

    Re: We don't talk about that!!

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    around the ship

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    Ohhhhhh and so it gets goin!

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    8U

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    >:u Ughghghg, hobo bandit!!

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    base camp

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    Re: base camp

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    base camp

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    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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    base camp

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    sleepallthewayhome: (Playing with Casey)

    Newt | Open | Base Camp

    [personal profile] sleepallthewayhome 2016-01-10 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
    Things are falling from the sky. Clearly this means they're valuable and should be collected.

    Which is why Newt can be found running around the camp with one or two of the strange objects in her arms. Collecting them in a pile at the tent she shares with Wash.

    Mostly the strange metal, she seems to be avoiding the spheres for some reason.
    dino_zarf: (Default)

    Re: Newt | Open | Base Camp

    [personal profile] dino_zarf 2016-01-11 05:10 am (UTC)(link)
    Wash looks over the metal. It's definitely weird how fast it tarnishes. Maybe it wasn't meant for this atmosphere. Last time it had been gas masks, after all. "Quite the collection you have there."

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    lovefornature: (I won't waste time)

    cassie | the ship

    [personal profile] lovefornature 2016-01-10 10:35 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ The initial impact sweeps away the fog that clouds Cassie's mind and she gasps for lungfuls of air, wheezing, adrenaline surging through her limbs. As the shrill squeal of sirens fills the room, coarse gray fur crawls across her arms -- by now, morphing has become an unconscious, instinctive reaction to danger. And everything about this situation screams danger.

    For years, Cassie's nightmares have blurred into reality. For years, she's found herself waking up from a cold sweat, flailing, screaming, unable to tell what was actually real and what were horrible monsters just conjured up by terrible memories. And curled on the Med Bay floor, she's halfway between wolf and human when a slow mixture of caution and clarity finally settles in.

    This isn't a dream, this is real. And she doesn't know where she is.

    As the changes swiftly reverse, Cassie shakily climbs to her feet. She battles to keep her heart from pounding, to ease the panicked choke for air, her hand braced against the nearest wall. A minute passes before she's able to stumble -- this time with more confidence, but still not much grace -- toward the streak of light that advertises an escape from this chaos.

    Eventually, dressed in jumpsuit she'd found earlier, Cassie makes her way out of the ship. And standing on the hull, she can't help the tension that worms its way into her gut. It's been three years since the war, three years since her biggest concerns were tracking poachers and finding time to study for her exams. She'd settled into a comfortable routine, carved out a life that was as close to normal as she could have. So this made no sense. The only explanation she could think of was that the Ellimist had brought her here, for whatever reason. But she'd thought the Ellimist was done playing games by now.

    Calmer, steadier on her feet, Cassie approaches the first person that's around, throwing on a friendly smile and waving to grab their attention. Information. She needs to figure out what's going on. ]


    Hey! I'm, uh. A little lost. Could you tell me where I am?
    foundafamily: (3.3)

    [personal profile] foundafamily 2016-01-10 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
    [It’s been years since the jump that brought him here, but Firo still remembers how damn confusing it was to wind up on a spaceship out of the blue. That and the fact that he’s not a complete asshole motivate him to check out the ship for newbies after every jump. He watches those around the wreckage closely, keeping his eyes open for anyone who looks particularly rattled or confused.

    Sometimes they find him, though, and he turns when he hears Cassie’s voice.
    ]

    Lost?

    [That’s an awfully hopeful way to describe waking up on an alien planet.]

    Where exactly do you think you’re gonna get to from here?

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    culver: ringo @ dw (shelter)

    nill | open | base camp

    [personal profile] culver 2016-01-11 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
    [Hoarding had never been something Nill considered doing until she had boarded the Tranquility. Even then, it had only been things she thought of as potentially useful--matches, clothing, cigarettes, really anything that could be traded or used for herself or her friends. But since crashing, her hoarding habits had increased exponentially. Almost anything made it to her small stash nowadays because there was no telling what someone would need tomorrow.

    So when spheres and feathers start falling, Nill quickens her pace to try to get her hands on... well, whatever they really are.

    She first stumbles upon a bolt of fabric, strange and so degraded-looking that she wonders if it's worth keeping at all. But upon closer inspection, she notices something in the pattern of the cloth, and decides that maybe she should take at least a bit. Naoto's knife makes quick work of cutting out a small section, roughly a square foot, just to keep. It looks cool, anyway.

    The first few orbs she finds are broken, shattered by impact, but soon enough she nearly trips over an intact one. The blonde cocks her head at it, crouching to gently touch it. It's smooth, and she can see some kind of liquid inside. This is definitely something important, she thinks. Nill peels off her outer tank top, leaving her in a camisole she's had almost since arriving, and uses it as a sling to carry the orb and the cloth.

    She stands, looking around. She wonders how many new people are here, and decides that now would be a good time to check up on them--it's been a bit since the jump, and at least some of them should have overcome the head-spinning nausea from a broken jump. Hefting her makeshift pack, she moves towards the medical tents, eyes peeled for anything else to pick up along the way.]
    mothergoose: (Passport)

    [personal profile] mothergoose 2016-01-12 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Tenenbaum is at the medical tents. It's where she spends much of her time. It's where she can be useful, especially after a jump.]

    Is there something I can help you with?

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    baggy: (▹ traumatised)

    Jesse Pinkman | OTA

    [personal profile] baggy 2016-01-11 12:10 pm (UTC)(link)
    i.
    [ Jesse is convinced he must be tweaking. Hardcore. He must be tweaking. Hit the pipe too hard. Snorted too much glass. Who the fuck knows, but he's gotta be tweaking because what the fuck.

    The alarm is blaring in his head like white noise. There's an oozing cut on his palm and a bloodied gash on his shin, the pants leg of his overalls (which is way too big for his skinny, scrawny frame) torn from scrambling up the wall and cutting himself on a jagged piece of metal, and Jesus, had he scrambled. All clumsy, frantic limbs and blind terror, grunting so hard under the strain of trying to pull himself up to what seemed like the only way out that veins had protruded on his forehead and sweat is now beaded all across his forehead.

    He's staring at the alien landscape all around him, wild-eyed and disoriented. And when he sees someone approaching him, Jesse does the first thing that his gut instinct tells him to do: run. So, that's what he starts doing: with a final terrified look at the person, he's turning and legging it, panic making him ungainly as his feet frantically stumble over uneven ground. ]

    ii.
    [ Jesus, when is this goddamn hallucination gonna end, man? When is it gonna fucking end? It's the worst goddamn trip he's ever experienced. Terror is coiled up so tight in his chest that he almost can't breathe while he edges his way towards… wherever. It's not like he knows where the hell he's going or what the hell to do or where the hell he is. His shin is still oozing blood and there's drying blood smeared across his forehead from wiping sweat away with his cut hand earlier.

    Gotta still be rolling hard from bumping crystal, that's the only explanation for all this shit, right? Gakked off his fucking head, right? Suddenly someone behind him speaks - to him, perhaps? - and Jesse whips around like a startled and terrified animal. He looks like he's gakked off his head: dark bags under his eyes, sallow skin, his eyes wide and terror-stricken, twitchier than a goddamn rabbit that's been cornered by a predator. ]


    Don't-- don't come any fucking closer! [ Trying to sound tough and scary but, seriously, listen to that nearly shrill panic in his voice. ] I will seriously mess you up, bitch!

    [ And he balls his hands into fists as though he's got every intention of taking a wild swing at the person to defend himself, except - really, look at him: he looks way more likely to suddenly turn tail and run. ]
    Edited 2016-01-11 12:11 (UTC)
    forgodssake: (#8271968)

    ii.

    [personal profile] forgodssake 2016-01-11 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ It's getting dark, swiftly, and as much as Xavier might have normally sent someone slightly more, you know, durable, certainly taller, to go and shepherd the wandering mind he can sense beyond the territory of the basecamp, there's something about this one that motivates him to get off his arse and go himself. The younger man hadn't gotten too far, after all.

    But the things that go bump in the night are coming closer every day.

    When Jesse turns and sees him, it'll only take a few hard blinks and an adjustment to this configuration of shadows for him to see that he isn't dealing with any kind of immediately obvious physical threat. They match in height, and Charles lets his hands go up. One empty white palm and the other is holding a canteen of some kind, but he doesn't flinch at the sight of coiled fist. ]


    Easy, [ he says. Suggests. He's stopped walking, at any rate.

    He's dressed in the jumpsuit that a lot of them are wearing, although months of jungle wear and tear have faded hard black to wishywashy grey in places. Rolled sleeves hide fraying. He's wearing a watch that doesn't work. ]


    I know you're frightened. [ His accent is very neat. In another life, so was he. ] We all went through the same.

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