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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.
wildcarding it up
For now, she explores while avoiding any and all of the ship's denizens. But despite her best efforts Reze can't help but feel as if someone, something is always there, watching and waiting, seen briefly and only in the reflections of LED screens. Paranoia is already a constant, weaved into her neurons as if it is a biological condition and not a circumstance and occupational hazard. This new place, all of these unknowns and the shadows that seemed to mock her at every turn certainly don't help.
She's frozen in place, staring intently at a large digital screen that takes up most of the wall. Her gaze is unblinking, it's uncanny for a human; there aren't even any tears pooling at the corners of her eyes from her staring contest with the screen. She's lost herself in her skittish pursuits. So much so that she doesn't hear the footsteps approaching. When they're too close to ignore she almost jumps and on instinct whips around to kick whoever is behind her right in the head.
Except of course, this who is made of steel and god knows what else. Her kick does nothing except send a shockwave of pain ringing through her bones. ]
Ow, ow, OW!
[ The stony, emotionless expression from before is gone. She hops on one foot cradling the other with her hands. She is the picture of harmless, girlish misery, night and day from who she seemed to be just seconds ago.
no subject
What she isn't expecting is the kick aimed in her direction. By instinct, A2 lifts her arm to protect her head and the girl's blow connects with her forearm in a dull, metallic thump. A2 stumbles backward — in her current diminished state, she'd only barely been able to react (by her estimations, anyway). For a time she's still, her arm still half-lifted, watching the girl hop around in obvious pain without any visible reaction of her own.
Finally:]
Huh. So you just go around kicking people?
no subject
Technically! I wasn’t “going around” doing anything.
[ she tries (poorly) to mimic the woman’s lower register. It’s almost comical (or maybe it actually is funny and this stranger just never laughs). ]
I was just standing here.
[ until she wasn’t anyway. Reze sits with her back to the giant screen and pulls off her shoe, wincing all the way through it and while she pulls her sock off too.
As expected her toes are bleeding, the nails bruised and smushed from the velocity of her kick and then impact of her landing. Despite the pain Reze fiddles with her wound as if it’s nothing but a scab. ]
Sorry.. I guess I’m still a little jumpy.
[ she offers an embarrassed smile. ]
no subject
Her arm aches — another symptom of this dumb ship that took her sword away from her, she imagines. She doesn't let her discomfort show.
Instead, she watches the girl hunker down and inspect her foot. A2 approaches her cautiously lest she be kicked again, breathing out softly through her teeth at the sight of the injury.]
That looks pretty bad. [...] You need to go to the medbay.
[Bossy...]
CW for nail injury a la black swan
Aw it’s not that bad. Just a flesh wound.
[ on instinct she reaches for the pin attached to her neck, belatedly realizing that she can’t transform without destroying this whole ship.
She has yet to realize it’s not an option at all. Though she has noticed the weight of Bomb’s presence feels lighter here. ]
Nails gotta come off..
[ She mutters to herself assessing the wound.
And then without any hesitance or preamble she begins the work of finishing the job and peeling the damaged nails from her nail beds. It’s an ugly, arduous task but pain is such a constant in her life; she notices its absence more than its presence. ]
oh my god
Would you... what are you doing? Cut that shit out! [It's harried and sounds impatient, because she's worried. After a moment, her grip loosens a fraction.] C'mon, I'll — [a frustrated sigh.]
... I'll help you there.
no subject
Her ability to gauge just how much of her behavior can be tolerated is shot. This place is full of so many non-humans, all of them SO far removed from what she knows to be a benchmark for normal. There was no dossier for any of this and the lack of sleep certainly isn't helping! She feels trapped.]
Okay.
[ She gives in easily. Kindness is her greatest guilty pleasure. ]
Give me your hand, yeah?
[ With the woman's help she stands and picks her shoes up. Her foot is still kind of wretched to look at but she isn't writhing in pain at least. ]
no subject
The girl's easy agreement makes A2's brows knit in consternation. Now she feels out of her depth again.] Huh? Uh... sure.
[She holds out her hand obediently. Holding the hand of a human being... is she truly alive again? Dreaming? One last feverish delusion before her mind and body finally gave out at last. Wasn't death supposed to be silent though? Wasn't she meant to be reunited with her comrades?
...
A2 turns her attention away from the girl, staring straight ahead. She leads her to the medbay in contemplative silence, retreating inside her own head again now that she has a task to perform.]
no subject
Her gaze swivels back and forth, to the side, then towards this woman, again and again until she finds her voice. ]
I’m sorry for making you deal with all of this. I’m still getting my.. sea legs? Whatever the space version of that is.
no subject
It's fine. [She turns away again.] Didn't have anything better to do.
no subject
[ Reze still isn't quite sure what this woman is. She isn't made of flesh and bone and she is pretty in a way that feels too perfect to be human.
But she has enough empathy to grimace at another's pain, to go out of her way to help for no reason at all- perhaps she can be this way precisely because she isn't human at all. ]
You didn't introduce yourself- how am I supposed to thank you properly?
no subject
She gently pulls her hand away. Retreating some, unsure of her footing again. She allows her face to slacken into blank neutrality to hide it. Even though she had completed her mission... it felt wrong to indulge in what her allies, far greater than her in every respect, had died without even a glimpse of. It was wrong. She shouldn't even be alive.
...]
A2. [A bit awkwardly:] I don't need thanks. The mission requires we work as a team.
no subject
[ She mumbles mostly to herself. What an odd concept after living and working in solitude practically since birth. It almost feels like shedding one skin and donning another.
But she doesn't hate the idea of it.
Reze steps around A2 so she can walk backwards in front of her. ]
My name's Reze.
[ She lifts her hand and offers a salute. ]
Nice to meet you comrade. And since we're teammates now you can't stop me from doing something for you eventually. Cause I'll just be doing my job, right?
[ Reze points at her eyes with two fingers before pointing them back at A2. ]
Better watch your back A2!
no subject
[A2 stands there in awkward silence in the wake of this cheery and enthusiastic introduction. It's like she's at a complete loss on what to do with it. How long had it been since anyone talked to her like this?
(no. 4?)
...
No. She wouldn't think about it. Stupid thoughts, pointless thoughts. Just move forward. Keep moving forward. Focus on the new mission. Complete the mission. Sleep. She steps forward, breezing by Reze in somber quiet.
Eventually, she does say something.]
Med bay's close. [...] You should get a move on. Figure they're gonna brief us soon.
no subject
She picks up the pace so they're side by side again. ]
Is A2 really your name? .. Who gave it to you?
no subject
... It's a designation. [Not a name. Names are prohibited. It's old habit for the rule to pass through her mind, even though it was as ironclad as air. Ultimately, it was as pointless as everything else had been.
Don't think about it. Focus on the mission.] YoRHa Type Attacker, No. 2. No one "gave" it to me. It's what I am.
no subject
Everyone’s more than what they’re called. You’re A2, sure. But you’re also super strong, really nice and really pretty.
[ With each thing she lists she counts off a finger. ]
Like.. a daisy! Its designation is technically whatever Latin science-y mumbo jumbo some nerds in lab coats made up, but that’s not what I think when I picture one.
It can live just about anywhere and loves the sun. But none of its labels tell me any of that. What’s in a name, yknow?
[ she realizes her genius reference may be missed if they’re not from the same world, so she adds: ]
Shakespeare said that!
no subject
...]
Who's Shakespeare...
[The rest of it, she's too baffled about to touch. For now, anyway. Eventually she'll have to disabuse the girl of the notion that she's "nice." She would protect the humans here, but she didn't want any of them to get too attached to her. It was better that they didn't.]
1/3
He's a really famous poet in my world! He wrote about love, tragedy, family.. a lot of stuff.
[ Works she'd used to understand those very concepts, at least in an abstract sense.
Again, Reze cuts around A2 so she's standing in front of her and walking backwards.
She places a hand on her heart. ]
no subject
[ She stops suddenly. ]
no subject
[ She take a sweeping bow. Still bent over, she looks up at A2 with a smile. ]
That's one of my favorite things he's everrr written.
no subject
But this spirited, good-natured humor reminds her so much of No. 4.
...
She frowns. Huffs under her breath, flicks her hair over her shoulder like the irritated twitching of a cat's tail before it pounces.] I'm here to complete the mission. I don't need to know about [a scoff.] poetry.
[She stomps ahead, announcing gruffly:] C'mon. Stop goofing off. We're almost there.