EVENT: BIA ▒ STERN

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: The stern areas of the ship
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, violence, psychological trauma, gore, etc.
SUMMARY: Characters have to fight to find their way back to each other from being increasingly isolated and plagued by their deepest fears and most hopeful dreams.
NOTES: May 27 onwards.

An echoing boom comes from deep in the middle of the ship, shakes its way through the trees and waters of the Oxygen Gardens, down into the maze of walkways and mechanics that make up the Engineering Complex. A sense of danger rolls through with it, enough to make you pause in your work, set down tools or supplies, ignore the thrumming pain in your head to find out what. Trapped far away from the comforts of beds and kitchens and slow approaching necessity of gravcouches, you only have each other to turn to. But soon that grows difficult, turnings leading you off path, door slamming shut behind you. In the increasing isolation panic swells like an infection up through your mind-- but then soothes. You find your way into an unexpected comfort, the company of a long-gone friend, an old home filled with happy memories. You linger, drift into contentment, and yet it still can't calm one deep nagging doubt: you aren't safe where you've found yourself.

Comments

Nowi- OTA

[nowi_wins]

[May 27th- Oxygen Garden]

[Waking up in the Oxygen garden isn't unusual for Nowi, she naps there a lot. But the echoing boom is certainly new. Her first thought is earthquake, so she jumps up with a start. And immediately regrets it as the headache hit her full force.]

Ow! Owieowieow....

[She rubs her head and looks around.]

Wh- what's going on? What the heck was that?



[Hallways-fear]

Stop it! Let me go!

[She told Chrom after they freed her that she would never go back to the auction block. Yet here she is, collar around her neck and hands bound behind her back, being dragged up the stairs in front of a crowd of potential buyers. The auctioneer is enthusiastic.]

'We have a rare one here, gentlemen! An actual dragon! The most exotic of pets! Who'll give me a thousand for this lovely creature?'

[The bids start climbing immediately. Nowi struggles in vain and watches with growing despair.]


[Hallways-comfort]

[Finally all that awful stuff is over. She woke up back in camp, being scolded by Robin for accidentally lighting her tent on fire again. Everyone had a good laugh at the crazy dream she had, the one about the space ship and the scary hallways. But now her life can get back to normal.

Right? Except she has this nagging feeling, this doubt. Something isn't right. But she tries to push it away. She's home, she's having fun with her friends, nothing is wrong.]

fear

[underthevines]

[ Too many things aren't what they should be. The hallways don't lead to their correct destinations, and here--

Here was a auction block and a struggling captive before a crowd. Valya hears dragon and pet, and she is back in the alienage with rumors of stolen elves to be kept as bed toys or torture practice. As a child, she could do nothing, and before this crowd, maybe she could do little, but she would not leave this girl to suffer. ]

Stop!

[ Her staff is held out before her, blue agate glowing with power. Valya is scared, but she will fight if forced. ]

She's not a pet!

rikku | ota

[klutziness]

28 MAY, ENGINEERING COMPLEX

[At first, Rikku doesn't realize anything is wrong. She'd heard the strange noises the day before, but the ship was always making some sound or other. And it wasn't the first time she'd spent the night in the engineering bay. No, she doesn't notice anything is amiss until she decides it's about time she sleeps in a bed instead of on a work bench. The route to the passenger quarters is... different. No, it's simply wrong.

Rikku slows her pace and looks around. Nothing is entirely familiar. A sense of foreboding creeps up her spine and she sighs, trying to keep her imminent freak-out at bay.]

Damn.

[Well, no use stopping now. It's what she tells herself as she begins to wander, hoping something or someone she recognizes turns up.]

[29 MAY, NEAR THE OXYGEN GARDENS]

This is totally freakin' stupid!

[She's sure she's been heading in the direction of the passengers' quarters this whole time, but she has yet to see anything even remotely like them. Rikku grumbles to herself, nervously fingering her Garment Grid for the millionth time since... how long has it been? She can't be sure. An entire day, maybe more. There's honestly no telling. If only she had some dressphere that came with an internal clock. Alas, such a thing doesn't exist--or Shinra hadn't discovered it yet, at least.

One corner, two, six, forty-three; eventually she loses track. Standing still is the worst thing she can do, she thinks. She might fall asleep, and then something could sneak up on her. What she thinks is corner seventy-six is when it happens. The shadows move, converge, and erupt into an enormous humbaba. Rikku screams, but the sound is strangled by her fear. She remembers acting all macho the last time she fought one, but she'd also been with Yuna and Paine. Now... now she's alone.

Rikku crouches, knowing it's already seen her but trying to hide anyway. Her heart races, catching in her throat. Thunder and big sharp claws. The worst combination. The thoughts come tumbling in and she can't stop them.

This is bad news.]

commander shepard ; ota

[servator]

[ may 27 - halls between the gardens and secondary shuttle bay ]

[ She'd been investigating every day since the initial event. The enigmatic White Room haunts her waking and sleeping hours, borderlining an obsession. Shepard scowls into the shadows of the ship's corridors as she walks, knowing that her hunts and searches are fruitless. She won't find out what she's looking for by stalking the halls and allowing relentlessly pessimistic thoughts to break into her mind, but she can't help it. Without the support of her crew and with the mysteries of the Tranquility only growing, the Commander is getting less sleep and less answers than ever before in her life.

It's unsettling, to say the least, and it isn't improved when an enormous boom echoes around her. ]

Shit. [ She steadies herself, looking around quickly, but there isn't much to be seen. No monsters or other residents, even. The sound comes deep within the ship like thunder, shaking the ground briefly, then fading.

Find it. Her head throbs briefly, attacked again by external forces. She raises a hand to it, wincing, feeling blood leak from her nose and travel down to her chin in a crimson streak.

Not good. Not good. ]


[ may 29 - fear ]

[ She's all but unconscious on her feet, face sheet white, eyes bloodshot, head pounding. Shepard presses her back to one of the cold, metallic walls in a hallway that had seemed open, that she thought had led to Engineering, but had closed off inexplicably. The soldier grits her teeth and glances around the corner; nothing is there, she knows that, knows that they can't have possibly made it to the ship.

I took them down. So many people died for it. They can't--

But a series of horrifying sounds reverberate around her and she stiffens, hand wrapped around her weapon. They are here, somehow, had found her even within the confines of (likely) another universe. Shepard takes deep, shaky breaths, eyes wide and alert: too alert, too frenzied to be on point, but she's not been doing so well the past few days.

And then, when she takes another look around the bend, the husks are there to greet her. ]

Dammit! [ She shoots through a few of them, but they don't give. The ones that fall are replaced by their fellows, hulking figures that lunge toward her in droves. They don't speak or do much beside howl at her as they try and tear her apart, but she hears the voices of her friends, somehow drained and made into the undead slaves of her worst enemies.

You let us down, Shepard. You could've saved us. Where were you?

She has no choice but to bolt. ]

Oh I had to... hopefully not too late?

[shinywhitearmor]

May 27th

[The sudden explosion noise had Sebastian on edge. He'd imagined what had happened in Kirkwall far too many times for him to be happy about hearing something like that. He glanced around him, trying to work out where it had come from, and whether it was safe to carry on on his trip to the Gardens. Luckily, he had his bow with him, and it was drawn as he rounded a corner carefully, pausing as he spotted the other woman.

Concern for her wellbeing won out over anything else when he saw she was bleeding.]

Do you have anything to press against that?

Valya - OTA + possible elf groupthread

[underthevines]

May 27 - Oxygen Gardens

[ The first time the lift didn't respond, Valya assumed she had done something wrong. By the fourth time, she had started noticing the anxious looks around her, and started to catch on. It wasn't just her. And there was something wrong. The sound heard should have been enough of a hint--but after everything, Valya was trying to believe the safety of this place, despite all things otherwise.

There was nothing to do about it, though. She sat on the grass out of the way, the griffon hatchling asleep in her lap. She watched as people argued and discussed what was going on, and for the time being, was content enough to stay out of it.

Maybe it would just be temporary. ]

May 29 - Hallways: Fear

[ She had left to try to help find more resources; hadn't thought much of it, just went. But there was an idle weight to the air, something altogether unwanted and familiar. She ignored it--kept ignoring it. Even when the sounds around here became screams in the night, and the murmur of voices in the dark discussing freedoms.

As a creature doubly-cursed--an elf and a mage--Valya had never experienced freedom. She had gone from alienage to mages' tower to Wardens' keep, and each movement was preceded by a choice not her own. Other than the want to live. To keep living.

The screams were clearer now, the elf-girl shuddering from the sound. It was the sounds she imagined when they were told of the tower that had been slaughtered by the templars down to the last innocent child. It was the sounds she imagined would still wake her in the night. It was an echo of sounds, of screams, she had heard coming from the Harrowing chamber, and it was her own lonely voice as she denied the demons, over and over again.

The sound assaulted her, surrounded her. She closed her eyes against them, willing them far, far away. For a moment, she imagined silence.

But when she opened her eyes, it was to her palms slit from blood magic, and to a templar heavy in power and armor bearing down on her from the opposite hall. Her scream echoed, staff flying up even as instinct told her not to fight, she would make things worse. But this was her death and she knew it, and frost fled from her staff, the blue agate glowing; shot down the hall in defense. ]

May 30 - Oxygen Gardens : CLOSED FOR ELF GROUP THREAD for whoever wants

[ She was still shivering from yesterday, still closed within herself and reaching. The griffon had been squeaking for a while now, wanting down but Valya wasn't letting it. She needed security, even if only to see those she knew. Or any deemed familiar. Heavy armor, rounded ears... All of these caused her to shy away. It was something else she sought out, out of no conscious act of her own. ]

fear

[storiesandknives]

[Oh you do not even. Mira seems to force her way in and when she realizes what's going on... Templar, not Evangeline or anyone on the ship. Something is terribly wrong here.

She still however rushes over the elvish mages side.]

Valya!

Elf group thread, let's get this party started

[inafadingcrown]

[Galadriel has been moving constantly, forcing her own thoughts, fears, and insecurities to the back of her mind and throwing herself whole-heartedly into her work as a healer. But there was only so long that even she could do this. Eventually, she had to rest.

And it was on one of these rare breaks that Valya found her. Still weary, still troubled, Galadriel could nonetheless see how shaken the younger elf was.]

You look much as I feel, my friend. [Gently, she placed a hand on her shoulder.] Come, let us find a quiet place to sit and talk.

The Warden | OTA

[storiesandknives]

[May 29th Hallways]

[Fear]

[She's dying, she can feel herself going. The taint is going to take her. She can barely hold the sword in her hand but it doesn't matter. She's failed already. The dead bodies of her friends lay at her feet, all killed before she could save them. They are surrounded by her family and her friends and more elves and oh Ma...no never him never again.....there are so many elven bodies here. Dalish and city elves and she failed them all.

She drops to her knees.]

"No. No. No. No."


[Comfort]

[The Sloth demon could take pointers from this place....is what she will think when she manages to snap out of it. But right now Mira is at peace. She's sitting in a camp around a fire with a group of people. Leaning up against Zevran, she smiles warmly at her group of friends. She seems to remember Wynne being dead but that can't be true because Wynne sits there rolling her eyes with amusement as Alistair and Anders....wait they never met....bicker.

The camp is larger then it should be and there are more people but she can't put her finger on why it would seem odd right now. Because she's happy here. They all want her to stay which of course she will. Why would she leave them. They're her family.]

fear

[underthevines]

[ There is a thickness in the air, and it's unfamiliar to her. Maybe she would know it if she had been through the Joining. Maybe she could have recognized it from Isseya's journal. However--

The bodies that cover the hall are so thick, and there's a voice murmuring no from somewhere ahead. Valya, never in combat but once, is horrified; taken aback. Even with everything right now, this is....

But that is Mira's voice, isn't it? And if the other elf needs help, Valya isn't going to sit still. Hand tightening on her staff, she wades through the dead, swallowing her bile back. To find the Warden-Commander amidst the dead.

All elves. There weren't this many elves on the Tranquility, where did they all...? When she's close, Valya hesitates, looking around in case of enemies before calling out. ]

Mira... You have to get up. We need to...

[ Do something. Get away from here. ]

elizabeth ; ota

[songburdened]

[ may 27 - outside the lift, in the halls ]

[ Another normal day in the life of a girl in space, or so she'd thought. When Elizabeth had left the gardens and moved to the lift, she found it uncharacteristically slow. Unused to the technology, she assumed it was some kind of error, or that they were broken, but that was soon rectified; another resident trying to access other parts of the ship quickly assured her that this wasn't normal.

A little shiver of fear creeps through her system, but she isn't so easily startled. She places a call to Booker DeWitt, her more or less guardian within the Tranquility, but the call is interrupted by bouts of static and hissing fuzz. Frustrated when she ends the call, Elizabeth has to make due with the fact that she's apparently stuck on this side of the ship for the foreseeable future.

Wonderful. Something about the hallways seems a touch darker today, but she won't think of her last two experiences in the corridors, won't allow herself to dwell on fear. There has to be a way around this, something that one or a number of the smart, technology-savvy people on board would figure out before too long.

She has to hope. ]


[ may 29 - oxygen gardens - comfort ]

[ There is a corner of the gardens where things don't appear to be the usual gardens at all. Anyone familiar with Elizabeth (or famous Earth structures) will recognize the scene, an almost dreamlike image of Paris. It's a little too vivid to be real; the air is sweet with wine and flowers, the voices of the people are happy and laughing and music fades in and out, distant and somehow unclear, as if a radio isn't quite in tune.

But its "creator" is thrilled. Elizabeth is seated at a table all alone with nothing in front of her, just taking in the sights with as relaxed an expression as she's perhaps ever worn. The brunette hums happily as she stares out at the landscape, occasionally chatting with people as they walk by, making conversation in fluent French and beaming throughout it all. ]

comfort

[toomuchtenacity]

[Chell meanwhile is super confused. This is not the ship this is not right. She stops when she sees Elizabeth sitting there.]

Elizabeth? What's going on?

hallways

[yardbird]

[When the lifts stopped working, Murphy knew better than to second guess what was going on. This has happened before. Numerous times, in fact.

[As he traverses the hallways, he tries more of the lifts, but no cigar. Even checking the stupid network doesn't seem to shed much light on the situation. Whatever's going on, it's keeping him from leaving the stern side of the ship. And that's just annoying.

[What more, he's not comforted by the fact that he hasn't seen another human face in several hours. His head hurts, and to say that he's annoyed would be a glorious understatement of the century.

[At some point, Elizabeth will hear the frustrated growl of Murphy Pendleton, frantically pushing the lift button to no avail.]

Fuckin' work, goddammit!

[june has its comforts too]

[coldhardy]

Elsa is in her father's study. It's her own study now, she supposes, with its warm fire and a model of a ship, and while it's not the only place she'd like to be, it's one of several favorites. She idly considers leaving the castle, heading into the hills, making herself another kind of paradise, but this is good for now. A pot of cocoa waits for her on the table, and she's sure that Anna must be on her way in.

Before Anna turns up, Elsa hears music from the hall. It's faint, behind a door, fading in and out, and she can't identify it. It doesn't sound like the kind of string quartet she'd hire for a party, nor can she place the tune. Going to the door and setting her ear against it doesn't help.

She opens the door.

It's not a hallway in her castle. It doesn't look like her castle at all, although it does bear a passing resemblance to the streets of Arendelle during a celebration. Other than that, it's bigger, and unfamiliar, and everything about it feels real -- she steps out and feels the air on her face and smells the scent of flowers. The music is louder, and while it's still inconsistent, she can hear it better.

The door closes behind her. Now it's just an ordinary door to one of the shops. It's puzzling, but she continues to look around, marking where it is.

It's as she scans the surrounding area that she notices a table set to the side, with someone familiar seated there.

"Elizabeth!" She smiles, amazed.

gardens

[bespectacle]

[Harry appears.

It is indeed actually that abrupt. There's no bang of apparation, nor an abrupt and dramatic descent astride a broom. Instead, the stretch of pavement and Parisian-blue sky, the very texture of the landscape, ripples slightly. It acknowledges a sudden seam, which slides over to divulge his long hand and white sleeve and then his bespectacled face. Harry pulls the invisibility cloak free entirely, scrunching it up into a shimmery ball of nothing in his hands.

He is a few yards away from her, but dead center of her view. Plain sight. Only far enough away to be considerate that she might startle, and possibly have some kind of heroine-protagonist defensive skills or powers that could cost him some reflexive hurts. He knows better than to sneak up on Hermione, too.]

Elizabeth!

[He's pale. There's a hideous purple-and-green bruise climbing over his jawbone, where he fought something in passing, mostly trying to make the length of the Tranquility's stern, toward the tiny tangible radar dot of her presence in his mind. He comes toward her now. He looks very out of place in France, less because of his garb or style or the like, and more because his face looks fraught. Worried.]

Galadriel | OTA

[inafadingcrown]

Does anybody need a healer?

[Galadriel’s immediate reaction to any crisis is to gather her healing supplies (and thank goodness that she keeps some of her own outside of medbay) and tend to the wounded. You can find her almost anywhere she is needed, though the Oxygen Gardens are her base of operations. Feel free to flag her down for help- or force her to take a rest. Overworking is a strong possibility.]

Hallways: Fears

[With shocking speed, the hallway turns cold- no, beyond cold. Freezing. The sort of cold that seeps into your bones and bites at your skin. The sort of cold that can and will kill.
Galadriel recognizes it immediately.

It was a terror from her past, a true horror, frightening enough on its own without the dark presence she had begun to sense. Her hand goes to her sword, tightening around the grip, as she steps forward, moving over the top of the snow and ice that had somehow appeared at her feet. And, just as she knew he would, Morgoth steps forward to greet her.

She draws her sword, holding it out threateningly, and he simply laughs.]

Hallways: Comfort

[Suddenly, Galadriel finds herself in a comfortable room- not one that she recognizes, but a comfortable one, nonetheless. It’s almost as if the two places dearest to her heart have melded into one- at times, she would swear the room was in Lórien. At others, it seemed to be more in the style of Valinor.

But where the room was ultimately didn’t matter; she had eyes only for the figures with in it. Two men and a woman sit together, chatting merrily. Three people who Galadriel longs to see.

And the figures seem equally affected by her presence. Celebrían, leaps to her feet immediately, kept from running to Galadriel only by a gentle look from Celeborn. There is decorum to be followed here, apparently. Not that that stops Celeborn from smiling broadly and casting Galadriel a few meaningful glances.

Finally, with a formality befitting a High King, Arafinwë rises and makes his way to Galadriel. Gently, lovingly, he takes her hands in his own.

She is far too stunned to offer any protest. She’s not sure she wants to. ]

My daughter, you have joined us at last.

[This was not real. This was an illusion. Galadriel knew that to be true. But oh what a cruelty it was to place this before her. Her only answer to the figure- to this not-father of hers- is a strained sob. Right now she can manage no more.]

fear!

[muscovy]

[Cold. It is cold. It's as cold as it only becomes in the worst winters and he doesn't like it one bit.

He's not sure why - it wasn't cold a minute ago, and he is almost certain that it isn't cold behind him, but... but. There is laughter behind that corner that sounds terrible, truly terrible, and while that should be just another reason to retreat, he also came down this corridor with a purpose, to find someone, and what if that person is behind the corner and in trouble... he may not be strong, but he can be of help with the cold, now. And maybe that will help. He won't let someone die if he can help it.

His fingers tighten around one of the toy soldiers in his pocket before he pokes his head around the corner to see what is going on there.]

Bahorel | Closed to Jehan

[daringwaistcoats]

O2 GARDENS

[The loud boom caused Bahorel to instinctively flinch, that it sounded an awful lot like cannons off in the distance. He set his spiderplant down, whom he'd brought along with him on her periodic walks through "real" sunlight. Accompanied by Jehan this time, a protective hand would hover around the other's shoulder as he looked up as the sound rumbled through the large room.]

What in hell... What do you think that was?

[vivelavenir]

Hm...?

[That it was difficult to focus would be an understatement. How long ago had Feuilly and the others seemed to disappear...? He couldn't be sure. Being with Ambrose at the time, it was almost as if he'd melted away also, and that he was in danger of melting away always, if he gave into the temptation to stare at something fuzzy perpetually at the corner of his eye.

The hand that hovered his shoulder was grounding.]

Oh, the noise. Yes.

[Coming to a bit, glancing over at him.]

I don't know. Shall we go look for it? A canon, perhaps.

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Gardens]

[Once it's obvious that they're not getting back to their quarters or kitchens, it's a pretty easy leap to setting up camp in the gardens. They've done it before, and it's a hell of a lot safer than out in the hallways. She takes a leaf out of Ned's book, tries to keep herself from worrying by working so much she doesn't have time to panic, and it's simple enough to raid the storage sheds for whatever they have to keep people safe and bring up cartloads of produce to keep people fed. England's a goddamn gift for getting things set up functionally and as comfortably as possible, and by the time they're done it's actually pretty nice. If you ignore the terrifying circumstances that make it necessary.

It's a good distraction. Keeping everything organized, making sure everybody's got food and somewhere to get some rest, doling out busy work to people who look lost or scared or like they're going to pull some dumbass shit like lighting a fire. The breaks she has to take to find somewhere quiet and try to muffle her crying while she tries to get messages through to Takeshi and William are pretty infrequent.]

[Hallways – comfort]

[Near the end, her communicator all but shits itself entirely. Can't get through to Takeshi, can't get through to anyone else about how he is, and not knowing drives her to a new degree of crazy. She fills time running, of all things – listening to the thump of her feet and the drag of her breath until she's too tired to tear herself to bits with worry. It's on one of the runs that she sees the blanket fort – intricately constructed, clearly not the work of a child (or at least a child alone) and she's set to ignore it until she hears that laugh. Bright, happy, and heart-achingly familiar.

“He's tickling me!”

She stops running so abruptly she almost falls, drops to crawl inside. And there's Takeshi, Lodewijk scooped close to his chest and licking frantically at his round cheeks, whiskers delivering the aforementioned tickling. Netherlands with the kind of smile he usually tries to scrub away with the back of his hand, except it's busy holding boy and bunny secure in his lap. And Heather's face blanches white and then flushes red, before she yells Why didn't you call me?!? and startles all three of them.

“Knew you'd find us,” Netherlands rumbles easily, and she can't argue. It's an asshole thing to say, but – well, he was right. Here she is, and here they are.

“Jerk,” she mutters, crawling closer, and Takeshi's eyes widen.

“Dad's not a jerk! He's a good guy! You should say you're sorry!”

And she does, but it's to Takeshi. Sweet and warm, and she presses kisses into the fluff of his dark hair as she nests against Ned's side and curls her free arm around their son.]

comfort!

[muscovy]

[He is absolutely sure that Takeshi shouldn't be here, and that is what draws Muscovy closer to the blanket fort. He might still have been drawn towards it just for how out of place and nice it looks, but...

yeah, as it is he crouches down outside of the entrance and peers inside. What is going on here?]

Bahorel | OTA

[daringwaistcoats]

HALLWAYS

[Bahorel would be wandering the halls, carrying a relatively well-sized spiderplant in tow, having lost his way as well as his friend on the way back from the O2 Gardens. A mixture of concern and on edge, that the headache was starting to kill...]

fenris | ota + closed

[judex]

hallways for bucky barnes

[ This is what Fenris was made for. His skin was layered with lyrium, like a runed sword, so he would be able to hold his own against magic. He's a triumph of ingenuity. A slave capable of making magisters shake with fear. Danarius' pet widowmaker. And now he has a gun.

But Danarius—this version of him, whatever it's made of—has something else. He has the ship. Fenris runs out of bullets bringing him down, turning corners and finding him again, robes clean and face unmarred. He leaves a dagger buried in his neck to the same effect. His head pounds. His eyes bleed. After a day of cat and mouse he's exhausted, cornered, and desperate enough that when he has the sense—inexplicably—that someone may be nearby, he latches onto it. ]

There now, [ Danarius says. The leather-and-chain collar in his hands isn't for decoration. The Qunari know how to shut down a mage, and it works just as well on Fenris. ] Be still, lad. We can fix this.

[ When he's close enough, Fenris bites his arm. ]


oxygen gardens for anyone

[ Other elves—not naming names, but the other ones, you know—might look more at home in the oxygen gardens. They might enjoy the smell of dirt. They might know what any of the plants are called. They might not mind the bugs, or at least coexist with them peacefully, instead of considering every bug that gets too close a personal enemy. That might be why Fenris doesn't get along with other elves.

Or it might be for the same reasons he doesn't get along with most everyone else: he's standoffish, even now, even knowing it could hurt him. He stands as far from the makeshift camp as he can without losing sight of it, beside a thick patch of trees and vines that keeps him shaded from the fluorescent lights. It helps, but not enough. There's still the humidity. He ends up with his jumpsuit unfastened, top half hanging lose like a sweatshirt tied around his waist (with a tank top underneath, no one get excited), covering the daggers and handgun hanging from either hip.

He keeps his eyes shut most of the time and holds very still unless he's twitching his nose or one ear to frighten a bug. When that won't stop the tickling, he checks for blood. ]

Fenris, my old friend...

[shinywhitearmor]

[He'd spotted Fenris close to the camp, but not all that close. Prickly, lonesome Fenris. The place might be going to hell, but some things never changed.

Sebastian was similarly dressed, it being too hot even for his Free Marcher sensibility. He was struggling, fears about the future coming to the forefront. Always fear about mages, and what they could do. Fear about his path, unknown as it was.

Being around people helped, barely.]

Fenris. [No point asking if he was alright, he wouldn't get an answer from his friend.]

( ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ) ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛs

[rhyfelgri]

( turn a corner and everything changes.

in spite of the size of the room, the cathedral ceiling and stone walls, it's immediately so much warmer; the lower part of the split-level library is dominated by a fireplace, beside which a dark haired man is asleep in an armchair, slouched down low. snoring, it's worth noting, like there is something in his nasal passage he's actively trying to murder. he's a note of modernity in a largely archaic space, rich reds and browns to the decor, wall-sconces lighting the room with yellow flame, rows upon rows of leather-bound books and display cases holding brutally antique weaponry kept in suspiciously good nick.

a closer examination makes it clear that while this space has been designed to look and feel a certain way, it isn't that someone has moved into a castle, refurbished it, no; this is purpose-built, custom designed, a modern space designed to resemble something harkening back to simpler times that enfys, who is sitting on a table in the middle of the room cross-legged and poring over a book, sometimes feels she might've better suited.

gareth is an architect. he built their house, but it was his house.

this is not his house. )

[lostsoldier]

[ It feels a little like walking on holy ground, an intrusion on something private and obliquely sacred. Half at a run from the room he's just escaped, his footfalls slow and quiet to muffle the impact, but jump suit and combat boots are ill suited to the environment. Not quiet enough.

His gun drops to his side as he approaches her, sparing a wary glance at the sleeping figure. Is this a lure, or another nightmare made flesh? ]

Hey. [ Quiet, as if the fact that they're in a library matters, or maybe he just doesn't want to wake the nearby sleeper and find out which side of the fence he falls on. But he doesn't want to jar her, either. She's new. 'You're seeing shit that isn't there' isn't the easier message to buy outright. ] Nice place.

dorian pavus | ota

[sparkler]

[may 27th - oxygen gardens]

[It is, at least, not the most unpleasant place to be trapped. Dorian doesn't know what's happened, but he doesn't like it in the least - even less so thanks to the creeping anxiety he feels crawling up his spine. It's foolish, there's nothing to be anxious about. Strange things have happened here before. This is only the newest. Dorian can handle it.

But it's strange, really. The gardens are usually - not crowded, but not empty. There are always plenty of people who crave the closest thing the ship has to a planet. But right now, Dorian doesn't see anyone, and it feels... lonely. Like he might be the only one in the gardens. The only one on the ship.

That's impossible, and so he straightens up, breathing in deeply. He'll find whoever's around and they'll work things out. Everything will be fine, eventually. A quick nod of his head to reassure himself, and he's off looking for whoever might be found.]

If anyone's around, do shout and let me know. And I hope you have wine, this situation clearly demands it.


[may 29th - hallways: fear]

[Someone who doesn't know Dorian well - which, to be fair, is most people - might see this and think it a comforting vision. It certainly looks comfortable, even lavish. A well-appointed room, lush fabrics, elaborate pieces of art. A carafe of fine wine on an ornately carved desk, with a jeweled goblet waiting next to it. An attractive young elf with pointed ears, eyes downcast, ready to pour the wine, quiet and polite as a slave should be. All manner of luxuries, exactly the sort of thing one would expect Dorian to enjoy. The sort of things that Dorian claims to enjoy.

Only Dorian is frozen by the door he only just walked through, eyes wide and face pale. The room is perhaps a little too familiar, though he himself never sat behind that desk. Only now it's waiting for him, and the slave next to it looks up and speaking with a subservient tone, welcoming him back.

"Magister Pavus. You've finally returned."

Dorian retreats, back hitting the wall, fear momentarily naked on his face.]

No.

[It's not a response to the slave, it's a refutation of this room and everything in it, the possibility of Dorian becoming - his father. No.]

May 27th- Oxygen Gardens

[nowi_wins]

[Well, he did say 'anyone' and honestly Nowi is relieved to have found someone else too. She's still gonna pout though. If you ask her, the situation demands that way more than wine.]

I don't wanna shout, my head hurts.

[She's pretty sure yelling a lot will just make that worse.]

( CLOSED )

[puppydogeyes]

( MAY 30 | ALLISON )

[It's somewhere between the gardens and engineering that she gets caught out. She holds that fact as tightly in her mind as she can, some sense of location, place on the ship where all she's been left with is four metal walls. An equipment room, she thinks - she'd never been here before, had only stepped in to check no one else had gotten lost behind the open doorway.

It isn't the shelves of agricultural equipment that pose a threat, though. Even the close quarters wouldn't bother her too much, despite the dislike of being trapped, the encroaching dangers of thirst and hunger and the jump. It's the fact she's been cut off from her dogs. It's the fear for them. It's the blood dripping from her nose, the pounding pain in her temples. And it's the flickers appearing in the edges of her vision, increasingly as the hours go by: a figure stood just out of sight, half in shadow. There and gone again, too quickly, but an impression has been catching and growing each time, building piece by piece.

It's her.

She checks another shelf for anything useful, anything to get her out of here, and there's another flicker, a sensation of cold right at her back. She startles, ice clenching in her gut, but anger follows closely on the feet of fear. She snarls, grabbing the nearest heavy object, turning and hurling it at the figure behind her. It flies through empty space, hits the opposite shelf and falls to the floor with a loud clang. There's no one there, but Taylor feels it still, like they're close. Waiting.]

( JUNE 1 | DEREK )

[Camping in the gardens is starting to become a habit, one that Taylor doesn't particularly like repeating: it usually means something bad is going on. There's still something familiar in the gathering of people and resources, the setting of spaces to cook food, sleep. It would be easy to get immersed in the atmosphere of community bred by it, if there wasn't the slow feeling of dread hanging over everything. The jump is approaching. They still haven't found a way back.

She finds Derek where she'd left him, and there's some relief in that - the chances of getting lost are still there, despite how they've all gathered now. She reaches a hand out to him immediately as she approaches, the food she'd fetched for them balanced in the other. Physical contact seems to be necessary to keep the headaches away, and she doesn't like seeing him bleed.]

It's stuffed mushrooms tonight. [She says, about the food.] I'm starting to really miss meat.

[overdraws]

[ Tyke isn't the kind of person to just up and vanish, not without telling someone where she was going and when Allison notices that Tyke's missing, it sends her into high alert. Tyke had said she would be back—but that was days ago. So she's grabbed a knife and headed off into the corridors.

Allison doesn't know how long she's out there, hours maybe, before she hears a noise. She stops, turns, and calls out Tyke's name a couple of times, but Tyke doesn't answer and Allison starts heading back the way she came, calling out Tyke's name every few moments.

She hears the clatter of metal hitting the floor and Allison quickens her pace, all but skidding to a stop in the doorway.

She's both relieved and worried to see Tyke, and she steps inside the room carefully, glancing around. Nothing seemed poised to attack either of them.

Yet. ] Tyke? Are you in here? Are you okay?

closed - for fitz

[lostsoldier]

Go ahead, Buck.

[ He can't move. Somewhere very far away from all this, some part of him thinks that's almost funny. Three-quarters of a century of the highest quality military training the world had to offer, but three words out of Steve Roger's mouth and he's sixteen again, struck mute and dumb in the shadow of those red, white, and blues. ]

Finish it.

[ There's too much red. From abdomen to boot tips, wide white stripes are swallowed in crimson. Dark, wet footprints drag across concrete floors at the apparition shuffles close. This isn't real — Steve isn't here, his Steve has never been here, he's lost in the halls again (in isolation again) and his head is playing tricks on him, only he hasn't seen anybody for days, there's no Erik to interrupt or stranger to save— and there's so much red— ]

Bucky, please.

[ Blood-slicked fingers wrap around the muzzle of the soldier's gun. Press to the wet spot. Drag up to his chest, over the heart. The soldier's face buckles, but he can't move— ]

If you don't know me, then just do it.

[ But I do. The words don't come, but the thought drops like an anchor. He does remember. Nineteen months he's been trying to remember, but he's not frozen in time here in the fallout shelter any longer; he's on the Tranquility, he's had help, he's helped other people. He's not alone. ]

Bucky, please. Just do it.

[ His chest heaves. The gun rattles in his shaking fingers. He can't move, but he doesn't have to listen. He's not alone in this. He tries, desperately, to hold onto that thought. He's not alone. ]

I'M SORRY I'M SO SCATTERBRAINED

[technologist]

[ The door sounds loud behind him. Fitz turns on his heels to try leaving the way he came, but by the time he does, he isn't even sure which way that is; the corridors have lost all sense of logic. He gives the door a frustrated, open-palmed hit before another sound registers.

Whatever familiarity he finds in Steve Roger's voice is undercut by the tone, raw and cold at the same time. Fitz's mouth falls open in slack-jawed confusion for a beat as he watches the figure advance, slow and wounded. Has to force himself to pay attention to the other man standing in the room, with the face he recognizes and a name he knows; the connection hadn't been there before, but it begins to hit now, forcing itself into place. ]

Hey.

[ Still sounding startled, out of breath, but Fitz moves forward as he says it, gaze skipping between the apparition and Monroe. Bucky. Whatever the hell he's supposed to call him, now. One hand's outstretched in a halting gesture; or maybe he's preparing to reach out, take the gun, take Bucky by the shoulder, physically intervene. Not yet. ] Hey, just— look at me.

Carlisle Longinmouth | | May 30th | [closed to Elsa]

[tongueamok]

[It had been a mistake to come to the gardens.

Carlisle had come to that conclusion the moment he'd discovered the lifts had stopped working. It wasn't just for him, either -- everyone else who'd ventured there was trapped on that side of the ship, as well. He'd come to the gardens to clear his head, thinking that a place so green would feel a little like home.

However, it was too much like home, and growing more so with every passing day. Though there were a few faces he recognized trapped on that side of the ship with him, he felt intolerably lonely, unable to connect with anyone. It wasn't all that different from Bear Den, where people knew his name and who he was, but they didn't really know him. They knew his family. They knew what he was supposed to be, and what he wasn't. They knew he'd never live up to the reputation his father and uncles had left behind.

The longer he thought about it, the more his head ached and the worse he felt. Though he'd been warned to stay near the others -- something about physical contact and a membrane and far more than he could be bothered to process -- he couldn't help but wander away, at least for a little while. He needed some privacy to mull over things, and to try to talk himself out of his guilt.

With his eyes on the ground and his head throbbing as painfully as ever, Carlisle didn't see just how much the woods around him changed around him, the light fading as the trees grew taller, older. Fog wrapped around his legs with each step, wispy tendrils drawing him toward the trees, inviting him into the shadows like an old friend. As he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear whispers in the dark, and someone calling his name.

No, no wait. He really could hear that. That was not his imagination at work.

He opened his eyes and looked around, suddenly realizing that this was not the Oxygen Gardens. It was too dark, too ominous, and far too secluded. He wiped at his nose, feeling blood trail from it -- he hadn't wandered that far, had he? Was he lost?

He kicked himself inwardly for his foolishness. No, he wasn't lost. There were only so many places on a ship that he could be, and he was still within walking distance of the others. He had to be. He was letting his nerves get the better of him.

He heard that voice again, but it was one he only vaguely recognized from the depths of his memory. Who was that?]

Hello? Is someone there?