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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.
omg YESSS ❤️ i love csm TOOOOO 🥰
No, I'm not. Actually, I'm— ( There's a rough sigh of frustration that's laced inextricably with his panic. ) I think I'm—
( Dead? Dying?
Jesus, he just wanted to talk to his mother one last time. To square things away. Reze presents a much-needed distraction, however, before he can sink any further into The Pit of Despair™. )
Sorry, just... don't touch me, okay? I... I don't know if it'll transfer or—I don't know what the hell is happening to me. Please.
no subject
Aw, hey- it's gonna' be alright.
[ Or it could not be, but that's what you're supposed to say when someone is losing it. ]
What're you even worried about "transferring"? Do you have cooties or something?
[ she feigns discussed in a sort of cartoony way. ]
Grossss!
no subject
Predictably, he can't grasp it. Glancing up, Jonas checks to see if her reaction has changed. She's focused, that's for sure, and perhaps too acutely, but there is a hint of something in her expression. Worry?
Then why the animated behaviour? )
I don't think I'm contagious, but, like, I can't risk that. Just... Just... Just a sec. ( Inhaling and exhaling hard, wishing he had a paper fucking bag or something. ) Did you experience any of this?
no subject
Hey! Deep breaths! Also please don't like, puke on my shoes?
[ She glances down at the discarded glass, watching as it gets swept away and carried off, leaving no sign that he'd been here at all.
The unaffected glass is all the proof she needs; her hand reaches out for his arm and phases right through it, leaving a cold, prickly sensation in its wake. ]
Oh wow.
[ She does it one more time just to confirm it had been real. And then once more just because. ]
You're like those fish.
no subject
Recoiling from her won't help when being close to anyone is all he wants right now; however, it startles him each time she swings her hand through his body, and this manifests in full-body tensing. Shoulders hitch, limbs lock up, and fingers curl to form tight fists. )
Stop. Stop, I'm serious; would you just listen to me?
( While his voice is hoarse as it raises, it's quick to level out into something quieter. )
Don't touch me, I said. If this is, like, funny for you, or... or... or you're somehow inconvenienced by me freaking out, then leave. I'm not even kidding right now, I'm so sick of this bullcrap.
no subject
Clearly she's made a misstep. Whoops!
(But that doesn't prevent her from feeling guilt. They seemed to be close in age. Watching this sort of horror spread across such a young person's face almost feels like a mirror). ]
Sorry! I'm SO sorry! But look- I think I'm fine.
[ She feels fine.
Reze reaches out for one of the shiny little helper bugs zipping by. Her fingers smack its side a little harder than necessary, sending it tumbling in the air for a moment. She mouths 'Sorry' to it and hopes it can read lips. ]
You're not contagious at least. That's good, right?
no subject
She... She is fine. )
Yeah. ( Shuddering breaths slow as he processes the last minute and tracks the trajectory of the upsettedly bobbing beetleform, sniffing congestedly with a hard nod. ) Yeah, good. Sorry, I... I am in way over my head here.
... How are you so calm? Are you—Is this all familiar to you? Jesus, maybe you're just better at it than I am.
no subject
I guess I'm just happy it's not worse.
[ It is the barest amount of honesty offered in exchange for his. ]
Maybe you should sit? [ As if to prove her point a troop of silver bugs whizz past them just narrowly avoiding a collision.
Reze plops right onto the ground sitting cross-legged. She pats the spot next to her. ]
no subject
Yeah. God, me too... I'm pretty sure I hit max capacity for "worse" a while ago. ( He automatically does as she says, as he's lamenting their situation, and sits hard on in the grass beside her.
Except it's not hard. It feels like he's lighter than air. Good and bad, he supposes, still rattled by it. He chooses to focus on her instead, her ebulliance, her invitation to remain close. )
Sorry that I, like... raised my voice at you. That wasn't cool.
no subject
(She's still learning how to navigate being confronted with someone else's vulnerability. Empathy has been a dormant thing for so long- feeling for others would mean feeling for herself, and that was a terrible thing for a weapon to do) ]
Don't worry about it. [ She waves a hand, dismissive. ] Sorry for not taking you seriously. The ghost thing is freaky.
[ It's not meant to sound insulting, teasing at worst; whether or not it actually comes off that way is another story. Though hopefully that's mitigated by what she offers next. ]
When I got here I was totally out of it. [ Her gaze shifts from him to somewhere far in front of her, brows creased in frustrated concentration.
And then she laughs.
A likely inappropriate reaction but her amusement is honest. Some people cry, and some people .. do something else. ]
Hah- actually it's so funny, I don't even remember what I did for those first few hours. So spooky.
you've got this, YOU GO GIRL
That laugh may be inappropriate, but Jonas stares at her while he does as though he's seeing a human being for the first time. It's a coping mechanism, the same as his ill-timed jokes back on Earth when everything seemed FUBAR—and it works. He smiles a little, arms encircling his tucked-up knees, a little bit calmer.
And a little bit goes a long way. )
Are things starting to come back to you, or... is it, like, gone-gone? ( Reaching out a little ways in front of her, he tries to touch the grass there, steeling himself for when his fingers dip through the blades. ) Jesus, it wasn't anything worth remembering—an orientation, kind of. Then... nothing, really. Walking. Looking.
Oh, and crying a lot, ( he adds self-deprecatingly, trying to help her lighten the mood. ) Where did you come from?
DEBATABLE...
That's not a bad thing y'know. Girls love a man who's in touch with his emotions.
[ She almost reaches over to nudge him with her elbow but pulls back once she's half-way there. She's a touchy-feely person, physical gestures are easier than spoken words. ]
If it helps I kicked someone in the face when I got here. Totally messed up my foot. She was nice about it though!
[ Even if Reze had practically mutilated herself in front of her. But she doesn't share that part, his stomach probably wouldn't want to hear this kinda' thing when he's already stressed out. ]
I've moved around a lot but I was born in the Soviet Union. [ Vague enough, she supposes. At least enough that she can answer easily. ] Name's Reze-
[ She reaches out and right before she reaches him she mimics shaking his hand. ]
no subject
Oh, and I'm a mama's boy, too, so... remember to tack that on there, ( he adds to keep the joke going, pointing in her direction as though she's dictating his thoughts on paper for him.
Becoming more comfortable in her presence—especially when she obeys his boundaries by consciously stopping herself from touching him—Jonas rests his head on the arms he's propped up on his knees and looks at her sidelong. A small smile appears for the air handshake, but it's replaced quickly by a thoughtful frown. )
I'm J.
First off, totally normal reaction, and she should've had her face clear out of kicking distance, but... is your foot better now? Or—Wait, I see how it is. ( He hums an accusatory little ditty that sounds suspiciously like, "Mmm-hmmm." ) We're sitting in the grass for you, aren't we? You just blamed needing to rest on the panicking guy. I'm onto you, Reze.
no subject
[ If he's joking about it so easily she can only assume he is? was? close to his mother. It must be sad to leave behind the people you love, especially in the case of family. Reze doesn't have anything close to that but finds herself aching all the same when confronted with the reality that she would never see the one person who mattered ever again.
(But then again, it's not as if that would happen even if she was on earth. She's a coward through and through and she knows that). ]
You got me.
[ She grabs her foot and twists her leg up, flexible in a way that speaks to her athleticism. ]
Robo docs patched me right up. But actually..
[ She looks at him clearly pondering something. ]
Maybe we should go see them about... um- your condition.
sorry this is old as balls, i'm chaos incarnate on this tdm, lmk if you'd ever like to handwave!!
In death, it's becoming a badge worn with honour.
Startled by the deep bend of Reze's body, he lifts his hands as if to shake them violently to get her to stop. On clarification that she's been healed, they're lowered back into the grass, gripping the stalks at the root. My God, she's flexible. )
Are you, like, a gymnast or something? Get that leg down. ( An unserious order, briefly—dramatically—covering his eyes. A gentleman.
He peeks through his fingers at her. )
Anyway, thanks for the thought. This isn't something anybody can cure... except for maybe a therapist. If I go see them every day for the rest of forever.
... I'm glad you're alright, though. That they at least got you moving again. It would've been awful to have to hobble around this big a ship while also, like... missing home. You know?