EVENT: FIRST CONTACT ▒ DIPLOMACY ▒ JANUARY 18

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Clarke Griffin, Eleanor Lamb, Bail Organa, Fenris, Rey
LOCATION: Basecamp.
WARNINGS: TBA.
SUMMARY: A group of volunteers accept an offer to meet.
NOTES: Second event log for the January modplot!

J A N U A R Y   1 8 It's dark by the time the intrepid group of would-be diplomats reach the camp hidden out in the jungle, which makes it only more easily seen through the thick tree trunks. Cooking fires, fire pits, fire on torches staked into the ground all work to illuminate the clearing the strangers have claimed for themselves, splashing firelight up the sides of the three tent structures that have been erected. Two large figures loom in the southernmost perimeter of their campsite, standing at an easy eight-foot tall and clad in armor that covers them head to toe, with exception to long tails that lash back and forth. Decoration in the form of paint makes cruder designs on streamlined, if battered, aged technology. One of them, with what looks to be a yellow, six-fingered hand-print on their armored chest, takes the lead in approach, quiet, bearing a long spear of simple, efficient design. There is no real way to tell with they're looking directly at anyone, save for the subtle shifts of head movement, but in a few moments, they gesture towards their partner, with a sharp, insectile clicking sound slightly muffled behind their visor. Five necklaces for five representatives, all accounted for.

Comments

[ataraxites]

From there, the Tranquility passengers are led deeper into the makeshift camp. Among the campsite, and in the trees above, other strangers look on. Occasionally, a rustle of something that could be conversation murmurs through them, akin to a chorus of summer crickets.

Their destination is obvious and central -- a large open space beneath the shelter of the larger tent. Set aside are stacks of what could be more gifts -- more fruit, more pelts, more sundry survival supplies that do not seem to match the sophistication of their armoring, or the occasional shape of a rifle kept discreetly at the backs of some of those patrolling the camp site's border. Although no one is breaking rank to greet them or begin the process, the passengers are gently herded towards this open area.

[bailedontheempire]

Bail enters the camp, noting his surroundings. Trying to guess what any of what he sees means about their culture. So far, there's clearly a mixture of technology levels. That implies quite a bit of history, or possibly outside trading.

But this is what he does. Not generally first contact, but finding peaceful solutions among different cultures. He is, to his core, a diplomat. And that makes the first question obvious. "Can you understand us?"

Hopefully there's a plan in place on that front. Or this will be... a considerable challenge.

[circumitus]

Rey has been silent the whole trek through the jungle, more attentive towards their surroundings than any effort at conversation. If this turns out to be a trap or an ambush (or both), she would rather be ready for it.

So far there have been no attempts made on their lives, and what few people have disappeared since their coming here have returned relatively unharmed. However, for all they know these people could have the others who are missing, thus Rey remains guarded before making any judgments on their integrity.

The gifts within the shelter are almost enough to banish any notion of an attack. Unless they plan on using poison or disease to infect them, but the logic doesn't exactly add up, all things considered.

"Have a feeling that we're going to have a bit of a language barrier on our hands," Rey finally says, noting the sounds that their hosts were making under their helmets.

[notyourutopian]

Eleanor could guess why she'd been picked for this outing. Even finding the nicest clothing she she (a pretty blouse and a long skirt) she was still short of her age, and far too thin, and basically entirely non-threatening. Which was completely wrong, if it came down to actually having to fight their way out.

That, and she was genuinely interested in meeting these people.

But she hung to the back of the little group, her dark eyes studying everything they passed, and only spoke up after the others did. "They wouldn't have asked us here if they didn't have some way of talking to us, though. Or perhaps not talking. ...Communicating?"

[romancekiller]

Clarke had immediately volunteered and not just because of Octavia's encouragement but it was because she felt a bit more familiar to her. Being placed in diplomatic situation like this was something that happened all too often back home with how the Grounders saw her as the leader of the Sky people.

She was one of the few people who had been taken to the other camp as well so with that bit of knowledge, she felt her presence was vital and she really did want to know more about these people, if they knew what happened to the others who were missing and more importantly if there was any sort of alliance they could form much like she had to do back home. Clarke didn't know the others who volunteered as well but she waited for a moment before joining the conversation. "I feel like it was more telepathically? At least that's how we learned about the gifts they wanted to bring with us and their intentions for taking us the few of us who disappeared"

[judex]

Fenris has been here long enough that telepathic isn't gibberish, but it might be better if it was. He looks sharply at Clarke--sharp in the speed and snappiness of his head swivel, not in expression. His face stays calm.

But he doesn't want anyone in his head. Not something he feels strongly enough about that he'll start a fight, when he knows they're here to avoid that, but it makes his shoulders stiffen and his bare feet jab into the ground a little more viciously while he walks.

"You feel or you know?" he says, voice deep and flat but as quiet as he can make it, and raises his watchful gaze to the figures in the trees above them.

[ataraxites]

The being that led them to the central location, with their hand-shaped smear of yellow paint across their chest, appears to communicate to others around them with clicks and chirps. They move obediently, with some moving fire torches to better illuminate and define the area, others disappearing into the shadows. The yellow hand-printed being moves closer, seeming to track the course of conversation between each person, before settling their attention on Clarke.

They put out a hand, spreading six fingers, and Clarke will feel a thought intrude through her mind -- it isn't a coherent action or word, so much as a texture, bright and yellow in her mind. This thought ripples out through the group, blooming in Bail's mind, in Fenris' and Eleanor's and Rey's. The being draws their hand back in a gesture to themself.

In Bail's mind, a second idea unfurls: Yes, but with a glimmer of qualifying uncertainty.

It remains to be seen how well this will go.

Another figure comes up beside the first, red-painted streaks decorating their visor. On their arm is another who is ostensibly of their kind, but lacking the same amount of armor -- in fact, they are almost completely bare, save for a decorative loin cloth with feathers, glowing beads, and bone, and then a more high-tech gasmask covering the lower of their face, and a bandage wrapped where the eyes would be. Their skin is a brilliant pattern of green and brilliant turquoise, leanly muscled, but oddly frail overall. Spiny, feathery growths bloom off their shoulders and down their back, matching the plumage on their long tail.

They seem to lean on the arm of the red-streaked being as they are led before the five passengers, but are settled into a comfortable crouch rather than seated, peering bandaged eyes up towards the group. Long arms spread out in what can universally be taken to mean a greeting.

Less gentle than the bloom of yellow from before, but not exactly rough, an image alights in their minds: a scattering of glowing blue points on deep black, an abstract impression of a nebula.

[bailedontheempire]

"I guess that's the answer to that," he says to Clarke.

It's almost like something he'd heard the Jedi describe. How they perceive things through the Force. Images and feelings, rather than words. A strange sort of communication, but certainly better than resorting to pantomime. And at least what they were saying is coming across, even if the responses required some interpretation. Their species is unfamiliar, but no stranger looking than anything he's seen before.

He spreads his hands. Hopefully mirroring the gesture is appropriate. At the very least, it indicates that he's unarmed. That was important to make clear. The nebula is a harder to interpret, if that's what it is. Something with stars, at least. "Are you asking about where we came from?"

[circumitus]

There's a brief reaction when Rey senses the telepathic connection between them, but it slowly dwindled when she finds that these creatures mean no harm. Or, at least, they don't right now.

Warily, she places her hands out, mimicking their posture along with Bail as a show of respect. It seems that there isn't as much of a language barrier as she would've thought.

After Bail receives his answer, Rey will have her own questions.

[notyourutopian]

Eleanor took a half-step back in surprise at that...idea? Thought? She wasn't even sure what to call it as it flared into her head. She didn't feel threatened, exactly...but she wasn't fond the idea (heh) of someone being able to just...push into her mind like that.

Still. No one else seemed to be reacting that way, and Bail had already begun speaking, so the teen forced herself not to say anything, just looking around at the other people gathered near them.

[ataraxites]

[ ooc ; just an interjection, carry on with tag order! ]

The creature focuses on Bail, giving him the distinct impression he is being looked at, despite the ragged bandages that hide their eyes, or where one would approximate eyes to be, seeing as their helmeted kin give little away as to the specifics of their anatomy.

Extending a six-fingered hand, they pointed with two digits, and Bail receives a vision: lightning, colourful against a dark sky; thunder; the sensation of being knocked off your feet, although not so vivid that he might feel anything worse than a little mild unbalance. The lightning may seem familiar, its colours, its intensity, as the same lightning storm they witnessed the night they first emerged from the crippled Tranquility.

The others around Bail receive a hint of this vision, as if experiencing its echo. And the distinct feeling that they know enough about where they come from.

Patient, the creature tries again. Arms wide. The vision of a nebula. Beside them, the yellow hand-printed being clicks and chirps a quiet aside, and the central 'speaker' tries again: the nebula, vivid in the front of their minds, and then a gesture, hands curling inwards to their own bare chest.

The being with the red streaks across their visor suddenly lets out a burst of chirping, and makes to leave, shoulderchecking the yellow handprint on their way out. They move with purpose and authority, and while the yellow handprint seems to watch them leave, the unarmored speaker pays them no mind.

[romancekiller]

Clarke wasn't really sure how else to refer to this other than telepathy really but when the creatures start communicating, it's familiar if only because that's how they communicated their message across last time. She isn't as caught off guard by it this time around though it's still a strange feeling to have someone enter her thoughts like that. She can understand bits and pieces but the only thing she can piece together is that they know about the Tranquility through the echo of the vision. It's clear enough they are aware of the fact they came from there but Clarke doesn't say anything just yet until she's able to puzzle out the rest of it more clearly.

[judex]

"That's its name," Fenris offers—a statement, but a quiet one, not quite certain. He's speaking to the other Tranquility passengers, and he's watching warily after the red-streaked creature as it stalks away, but after a moment he looks back at the speaker and inclines his head to one side, curious. "Or title."

[ataraxites]

The one marked in yellow seems torn between watching the proceedings as well as keeping track of the direction the red-streaked visor had disappeared to, but ultimately stays in place.

The speaker, as much as any of this can be called that, continues to chirp and click, and now more images are blossoming in their minds. Some are crisp images, like a flower opening, or a waterfall, or a flash of a figure with the same shape and colourations as the speaker, running through the forest. Other images are vague impressions of colour, texture, shape, and all of which flicker too fast through their minds. The buzz of a fresh headache is quick to settle.

Meanwhile, those watching on beginning to shift with impatience, as if sensing the uncertainty of the diplomats, although the speaker seems nonplussed, happy to continue trying, when suddenly, a flurry of noise and activity snags attention.

The red-streaked visor has returned, approaching the meeting with a flaming torch in hand, unshy about using it to broaden their path through the gathering with an impatience wave of their arm. In the other hand, they drag something heavy on the end of a chain. A few of the other cricket beings flank them with nervous, excited energy, but disperse by the time red-streaked visor enters the meeting circle. On the end of the chain is a closed trap of some kind, locked in around the ankle of a long-dead jungle animal, the smell of early decay abruptly thick in the air, insects buzzing.

It's one of those described as 'dinobears', with mutations of sharp bone growing out of its flesh, its muzzle distorted with too many teeth. The place where its small eyes exist have been gauged and clawed at.

The red-visor thrusts the flaming torch at the diplomats, a flurry of chirps preceding a very clear image that mimics the shapes on its helmet -- three bright, red streaks -- and then nothing, just muffled clicking from where its mouth is hidden. They use the torch to then gesture at the animal, the fire sputtering on the end of the torch.

The yellow handprint has moved to help the speaker to their feet, and handing them off to others with gentle ushering and low clicks.