ARRIVAL ▒ 002

[ataraxites]

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 ) Clouds have rolled in, obscuring the high noon in grey shadow when the alarms start. Wailing through the air, not as keenly as it had when base camp still huddled in its shadow, but still loud enough to turn heads and give people pause. It sends a shiver of nervous energy throughout camp. They were out of range the last time, and there is no sudden scrambling attempt at retreat, but the crowd does begin to thin. Some pick up and go, just to put distance between themselves and the inevitable, because you never know. Others stay behind, for whatever that reason might be. Those who were closer towards the ship emerge from the treeline in a hurry. It's ten hours later when it happens. A tremble in the earth, shaking up through the trees, sending the jungle's wildlife into distressed flocks of movement and alarmed cries. Under the shrouded sun 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. A gas mask, old fashioned and heavy, round-eyed, with a filter like a muzzle at the mouth, lands in the packed earth at someone's feet. With a clatter of plastic and metal, something that was once a radio receiver apparently plummets from the air, shattering on impact when it strikes the metal framework of a communal tent, and another lands in softer earth, intact. Tin cans of food, earthenware bottles of water, candles wrapped in paper and tied in string, a box of matches, a set of well-used playing cards with roughed up corners, a rough woollen blanket, a pillow, a gas lamp all hit the ground throughout camp, or are discovered in the jungle beyond. This unusual rain of items 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 claustrophic 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 bleak, grey sunlight, surrounded by an immense, vast jungle. As your vision clears, you realize you stand on the hull of a colossal spaceship, crashed on an unknown world, two moons hanging heavy in the sky above. 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 irreperably 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 somewhere in the heavily damaged locker banks. They will also be able to find jumpsuits and other standard clothing in the wreckage. 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!

Comments

[culver]

[Max is just that lucky, isn't he? Did he even check to see what was in the can? It could have been something super awesome. But that is neither here nor there right now. Instead, Nill looks up sharply when she hears someone approaching--someone who sounds none too happy. But upon seeing who it is, her face lights with that smile once again.

She's seen him around the camp a few times, but hasn't really stopped to chat. Or, well, stand in silence together. It isn't as if she has much to contribute in the first place. Nill raises one hand to wave briefly, and then holds the candles out with the other. Look what she's found!]

[theroadwarrior]

[Ah. He glances down at the candles for a moment, one hand pressing his scarf to the sad cut on his hairline. Candles, though, really? It makes his sour expression loosen up. It certainly doesn't help that she's smiling like she's actually happy to see him. It's not a usual thing for him. Haltingly, he reaches out and takes the candles, smoothly examining them after, like a scavenger through buzzards and trash.

These are nice. He offers them back.]

Mm. Should keep these handy. Never know when power goes out all over again.

[He puts his scarf back around his neck, tucking it in and completely fine with the new patch of dark blood on it.]

Find yourself any paper?

[culver]

[Blue eyes flick to where the scarf presses, but she puts it on the backburner of her mind for right now. She can always check up on him in a bit. For now, though, she wants to share the happiness of these candles. It's a small happiness, but it's still something. She sees how careful he is with the candles, and her smile only grows. He's a big softie on the inside, she knew it.

Nill cups the candles back in her hands like a precious gift, and shakes her head. Except for the paper around the candles themselves, there hasn't been anything. Even if she had found some, she hasn't seen any sign of a writing utensil.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Hmmm. That's no good. His mouth curls down into a look, like it might as well have drizzled a sloppy rain on the only paper in camp. Suffice to say, yes, under all those layers of grime, rudeness, social ineptitude, and penchant for focusing on his own survival — ... yes, yes, he's a big softy. It's becoming a prominent problem, he's thinking.

Her silence takes him to an idea, which takes him to a dark place in his head full of good memories that he doesn't like to visit. But it reminds him of curly brown hair and frustration with words, because even back when he talked he was awful at saying the right thing. He remembers the way his wife made up a language on the fly, memorized it so easily. He liked the memory challenge, himself.

He carefully holds up his hands.]

Could make up signs. Teach 'em to people you care to talk to.

[He points at her, then rubs his knuckles together, motions to his own chest and makes a kabloom motion with his hands after.]

Mm, this used to be — "You're pissing me off."

[And — Jessie used it on good occasion.

He feels hot up the back of his neck and on his ears, and his heart stammers at the thought of those curly brown locks, and then belatedly realized he's embarrassed.

Umm.

Hrmmph.

Too much.]

[culver]

[Her wings perk up at the mention of signs. Yes, she remembers some of her own and he knows some, too. That's definitely a place to start. She watches him carefully, awkwardly motioning the way he is after a second's delay. And then after a brief moment, she repeats the gesture (almost) perfectly. She's been a quick learner at signs since--someone had taught her. She can't remember who, but she hopes she can soon. She hopes she can thank them properly, if she hadn't already.

How could she not notice his ears suddenly reddening? But Nill doesn't think anything of it, instead raising her hands to sign my name is before spelling her name. She doesn't know if he'll know what she's said, but she hopes he'll get the gist: that she already knows a set of signs. And she's willing to teach them.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He blinks.

Not exactly a sign reader, this one; he's good at learning well enough, but guessing them has never been his strong suit. He used to try to guess anyway, but made-up signs are about as easy to read as Chinese characters. That said? He definitely gets the gist.]

You've got some of your own.

[culver]

[For a moment, she's worried that he won't understand what she's getting at. But his realization and acceptance relieves her. Maybe... maybe she'll be able to teach him. Then she'd really have someone to talk to. Sort of.

Nill nods, and gestures to him questioningly. Would he like to learn? She wants to know.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He feels something sour in his head, spoils like milk — he sees a woman in a hospital bed, mauled by the wheels of motorcycles; he could hardly stand to see it and think of what the comatose patient used to be. She signed a lot. He hears her now, sees the hesitance followed by the fluency in the way she motions with her fingers. The quick bend of her wrists and how he could see her smile in his peripheral, when he studied her motions.

He doesn't like this. Remembering. The ghosts poke and prod at him like wild little gnats, and part of him almost motions to swat them away. Just as swiftly as he had been alright, showing Nill his own signs given to him from someone else, he's suddenly closed off and prepared to walk away.]

No.

[He says it, determined and sure.

He doesn't want to learn it again.

And he doesn't want to learn it from you.

He shouldn't be staying stationary like this; he should be leaving. Should have already left. Which direction to go? North, West, East, South, they're all with their invisible walls and confinements. If he could just - go. Get away, so far away that he couldn't second guess and return. If he wandered enough miles, there wouldn't be enough guzzoline in the world to carry him back. He would have no choice but to push forward and leave people like Nill in his rearview mirror.

He stares at her for a moment, blinks, then turns his head away to look anywhere but at her. She can't speak, but he reads people well enough. And he doesn't want to see her disappointed, because then it'll usher in that part of Max that actually bothers with the society around him.

He shakes his head again, bothered.]

No, don't need 'em. Teach them to the others.