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theorememes2025-11-03 08:07 am
TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire
BUFF
Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.
DEBUFF
For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.
At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.
And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.
All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.
As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.
Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"
They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.
"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"
When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.
On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.
"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."
You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.
It's beautiful, except—
The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.
Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.
Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.
Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).
Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.
And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?
Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?
This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.
It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.
Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.
This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.
Eventually, it comes time to launch.
The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.
As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.
Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.
To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.
They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.
"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"
As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.
Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.
As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.
This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.
There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.
If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.
Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.
Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.
no subject
[It's a quick answer, unburdened by any kind of shame, because it isn't some secret as a fighter that has never left the colonies, never seen greenery at all that wasn't some grayscale image on a shitty screen.]
Never been to Earth before. But this place's got a lot of high tech stuff, so maybe it's fooling us too. [He sprawls a little, one leg out.] Guess we can just pretend.
Who're you?
no subject
Blades of green are dusted over the back of Cain's hand as Jonas obeys an impulsive decision to underhand some at him. Imagine: Never getting a grass stain. Never playing a tune on a wide stalk of it. Never smelling it after it's cut.
This may be one of the last times he'll ever experience any of it, and that thought makes him squeeze his eyes shut. )
Sounds like bullcrap, but I'll believe anything these days. If you're not from Earth, then... where are you from?
no subject
[It's a dry tone, gaze cutting down at the tickle of uprooted grass deposited across his knuckles; his fingers twitch, hand reflexively turning over so he can gather it in an open palm.
There really isn't a reason to lie about this, so he follows the remark up shortly.]
... Mars. So not that far away. [Wherever it is on Earth J might come from — it'll be foreign, wholly unknown to him. Feels like a whole universe apart.] No clue where we are now, though. Not a star system I've ever heard of.
no subject
( He should at least be pretending to think it's crazy, but this is his new normal now. While he's grateful for the Theorem's quick work snapping him up out of the wormhole, his brain is already fried.
There's not much more that's going to shock him today. All he has to do is nod. )
I'll bet we're about a billion trillion gazillion light-years or something away from home base. Who are you?
no subject
Just another soldier. Guess that's why they brought me here.
[It's the only thing he can think of. All his worth, really.]
Name's Cain. [...] You tried any of the food yet? What's Earth food like?
no subject
( Cain looks contemplative. Or at least quietly disappointed with something. Their displacement to wherever-the-fuck? His lot in life back home? This place is making them think, and he doesn't want to, maybe Cain doesn't either. So, he throws more grass at him in hopes of adding some levity to that self-criticism.
"Just another soldier." Damn. )
What do you eat, like, shitty MREs or something? You gotta have an American cheeseburger, dude.
no subject
[The correct response there might have been rabbit, but he's working with limited knowledge of Earth fauna, okay.
A face full of grass is proven distracting — Cain's hand comes up to ward it off, but some those torn-up blades graze off his cheek, and his nose crinkles in the corner like he's trying to hold something back. A laugh, maybe.]
Dunno what either of those are. [He leans onto one hand, scooping up his own grass-ball with the other and throwing it, very childishly, back at J's face. Hah.] Supposed to be kitchens somewhere we could make our own stuff, but I haven't found 'em yet. Can you cook?
no subject
That's more like it. Ptoo. )
Uh, I can grill up a decent burg for sure, but cooking? ( Half of the phrase is slurred as he picks greenery off of his tongue. ) I'd say I'm on the better side of "okayish."
Burgers, though... Two buns, a slab of meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, cheese. And all the condiments you can stand, honestly. Mustard, mayo, ketchup, relish—I've seen 'em all.
( Motions out the order all of this shit is meant to go in almost like he's cartoonishly shuffling cards. )
And aiolis? Jesus Christ. I haven't had garlic aioli in like a billion years.
no subject
[Some sneezing in exchange for Earth grass? Hell yeah. But now he's more distracted by the delicious description, not quite grasping the nuance to how that kind of preparation differs from cooking, but certainly understanding the point. And that point: to eat.]
Garlic aioli sounds like a fancy disease. I mean, I know what garlic is, but not that other word. Sure you didn't make it up?
[Separate ingredients are one thing. He doesn't seem ashamed for his lack of knowledge, though — just states it as a fact.]
What the hell are you doing with your hands?
no subject
( I'll tell you when you get older, sweetie. )
Aioli, though... it's, like... Well, it is pretty fancy. Places always charge, like, an extra two dollars—that's Earth money—for aiolis.
( While pulling up more grass to probably stuff down the back of Cain's neck, he looks up for a moment, wondering. Is aioli already plural, or is the pural aiolis?
Garlic aiolis.
... Hm... )
I've got no idea what's actually in it, though. Tastes like garlic, mayo, and herbs—crap like that.
no subject
[Though he sounds unconvinced, he's more than intrigued. Sounds like a fancy mixture of things he suspects, together, might taste pretty good. He wasn't raised learning how to cook — and, admittedly, he didn't used to be that interested — but it became to some extent necessity when he was younger. And he's just never had access to fresh ingredients.]
You wanna try making 'em right now? They've got kitchens. Wait, you said you didn't want food.
[Cain's nose scrunches. A shift on the grass and he brings his legs back in, sitting crisscross with debris of torn grass around him. One hand brushes some blades off his knee.]
You just not hungry or something?
cw: emetophobia for those who hate that
( Shockingly? None of it got on him.
... Crushes the grass into a ball small enough to hide in his fist. )
I could watch you cook it. I don't know, maybe I'll feel better about eating when I actually see something edible. Yes, I am dunking on the food trucks.
... Your outfit's cool, by the way. You look used to all of this. Like, not this exact situation, but... you know.
no subject
His brow hikes at the compliment, drawn away from weird existential thoughts.]
Thanks. [dude....] Yeah, I'm used to being in space, if that's what you mean. Not my first time. You get sick of it, I promise.
[Decision made, Cain starts climbing to his feet, less interested in the greenery now than he is the prospect of making something to eat.]
C'mon, let's go find a kitchen.
no subject
Glad there's an expert around, though. I'm more familiar with the "Wow, the night sky looked so charming, but the majority of it really is all just black and empty!" part now. Looking out the med bay window almost gave me a fucking heart attack.
Oh, here—
( Rambling initiated, as they begin to walk, Jonas reaches forward to attempt to tuck the ball of grass in his fist into the back of Cain's collar. It'd be so much better if it were a snowball, but this'll work. )
More for the road.
no subject
Did you just put grass down my shirt?!
[Ticklish and prickly, he can't ignore it, attempting a reach-around with one hand to dig it out of his collar. But his movement only allows the ball of grass to slide down under the fabric; he starts shaking out the bottom of his hoodie with frantic annoyance.]
What are you, a kid? Fuck.
no subject
Dude, I could be, like, eighty and I'd still do this. Age is not a factor here; your reaction is.
( Picks some of the green confetti off of his shoulder, then proceeds ahead with an outward sweep of his arms. )
This is the whole grass experience. It's nice and soft to sit and lie down in, and then you get it everywhere, and you suddenly hate it. Next, I'll push you down into it so you can get green stains on your knees.
no subject
Is that what it's like with grass? Huh, Earth boy?
[Okay, maybe a little more rough-play as his arm comes around Jonas' shoulders in a tight grip. Then he pushes, like he's trying to rock him off balance if Jonas isn't quick-footed enough.]
If I push you down first, do I win?
no subject
Jesus, what a poor sport. Look at this harassment! Woah—
( Jonas, with decidedly average balance, is easily ragdolled by a Fighter. Unsure footing in the grass from Cain's unexpected latch-on gets an extremely manly "Nooo" out of him as he prepares to go down knees-and-elbows-first.
But at least he's in a good position to hook an arm around Cain. If he's going down, this asshole's coming with him. )
Ah, help, I'm being bullied! Help!
no subject
Maybe it's the mood he's in. The only playful touchiness he had indulged lately was with Abel, and he would be lying if the man hasn't been on his mind all day, a constant stress alleviated minimally by the distraction of everything else. Either way, when Jonas gets the arm around him and forces their momentum down — a warm, physical tumble of limbs that pumps blood a little hotter in his system — he sort of freezes up at the landing, then shoves Jonas away.
There's a near-frantic scramble to put distance between them, getting to his feet in a spring of athleticism.]
Uh, hey. I need to go.
no subject
He smiles up at Cain who has him momentarily pinned, but it fades as quickly as Cain stands. )
Whoa, hey! ( Jonas squawks indignantly, wide-eyed and breathless. He shuffles limbs that got tangled in the shove, but stays seated to seem like less of a threat. ) Of... Of course you can go, but... Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?
Seriously, are you alright?
no subject
[It's short and clipped, woefully inadequate to the concern in Jonas's voice as he sits there on the grass, looking up at Cain. If he was a better person he would try to say more, to explain — but he can barely handle the dark tangle of his own thoughts. They're too heavy, oppressive, smothering any sense of rationality.
So he shakes his head, like he's shaking it all off.]
Just... nothing. You didn't do anything. I just want to be alone.
no subject
( Getting to his feet unsteadily, he gives Cain a shier once-over. )
I'll, uh... probably see you later then. Big ship, but, uh... not compared to the rest of the universe, right?
no subject
Cain jerks his head in a small nod.]
Yeah. Later.
[Then he turns and leaves.]