![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lamentus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
it's too early for bottom cain, i whisper in panic
He's cute, is the next thought in Cain's head that gets jostled loose almost as immediately as it comes—
—because the ship lurches and makes a collision, almost toppling him over the edge of the open cockpit and down to the cold hard ground, likely breaking a bone or two if he landed wrong. Instead it's the guy's arm around him that keeps him in place, safely prevented an unlucky fall. Like he's some damsel in distress. That's his ship that just got knocked into another, raising the shields in a wash of cool, blue translucent color.
He stands stunned for a moment, then shoves away from Noctis, though only with enough force to separate them.]
Yebat tya v rot! [*russian swearing*] You crashed my ship!
[HIS BABY... HE'S ONLY HAD HER FOR 2 MINUTES...]
1/2, i think you mean he's arriving LATE
2/2
Hah?
Why the hell are you yelling at me for that? There's not even a scratch! And if you didn't want me to move it then you should've told me what to avoid when it was on!
no subject
Didn't think you'd be that clumsy!
[Though even this snarl strains, a little, when the blame turns to him. Being met with a temper to match his own is unexpected; maybe he thought this other guy would be a pushover. Ultimately, Noctis is right — there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage, and the shield drops naturally on its own. But they're still being stared at, and that's annoying as hell.]
Ugh... move, get up. [He's going to try hustling Noctis out of the pilot seat.] Lemme check.
no subject
[ How humiliating... and being watched is what tempts his frustrations to stay high, but it's with a final noise of agitation that he reluctantly gets up and out of that cockpit. All it does is leave him more exposed when he steps onto the body of the ship, shifting his weight with uneasy body language that screams his discomfort.
He messed up, huh... and yelling at Cain is likely to continue drawing more attention, so that's no solution. Ugh– ]
Whatever... I'll check the body of it. There's not gonna' be anything to see, but I'll prove it if I have to. [ He lowers himself to plant a palm to that ship's exterior before executing a bold swing of his body down, boots stamping against the ground with surprisingly little complaint from him despite the height of the drop. This is better... much more private as he moves forward to conduct that inspection, dodging the gaze of others. ]
Oi.... zero scratches – are you happy?
no subject
After a minute he climbs back up, eyes seeking out the other guy, following his voice to the ground. How did he get down so fast when he needed help getting up? Did he really jump...?]
Yeah, happy. Blyat— who are you looking at?
[Confusing at first, but he's not actually talking to Noctis: the question is thrown out to a couple of Hosts, Earth animals he doesn't recognize but are very clearly robot-gossiping in hushed, tinny voices nearby.]
Ugh, these guys are everywhere... Scram! [The Hosts thankfully take the cue and race off, darting toward the next aisle over. Cain swings his legs over the side of the open hatch, looking for the dark head below.] What's your name?
no subject
Another disaster is only barely averted after Cain again swears, however, a dark head of hair appearing when Noctis steps back to peer up at him only to realize that it isn't him the other man is focused on. Good. If he'd had to fight back again he would've, more for the sake of his own misplaced emotional release than because it's warranted.
Instead, he breathes. Arms cross as he pretends to survey the ship even when he's long done, only finally returning to view when he's addressed for real this time. Ah...
Cain deserves an actual answer, doesn't he? But just giving out his full name is inadvisable; even he realizes that. Luckily, this isn't the first time he's been asked here, and he has one ready. ]
Noct. [ A brief pause. ] N-o-c-t. Not... like "knocked" on a door. [ Since Jonas already traumatized him with that assumption. ]
Everything okay with it up there or are you going to come down here and challenge me to a real fight or something?
no subject
[The words are an echo, dubiously stated, wondering if he should say something about it. But he's heard enough weird names since waking up on the Theorem — what's one more? So he accepts it at face value, dark gaze assessing the young man.]
Noct. Yeah, I got it. No fight unless you ask me for it.
[His expression has some intensity, like he's almost hoping Noctis does. But if it isn't forthcoming, he'll begin to exit the ship, climbing down and only leaping to the ground once he's close. The hatch automatically shuts, locked. Cain slaps the side paneling where he comes to stand, clearly pleased to have this ship.]
Name's Cain. From the Bible or whatever — that's what I keep hearing.
no subject
He's seen it in opponents like Gladio, back when he was a child and still getting his ass kicked by an older teen who was almost twice his size. But he's also seen it in his future brother-in-law, Ravus, who had a serious desire to challenge him for reasons not fully known. This guy... is either holding a grudge about his ship still, or he's pent up. ]
The Bible, huh. Let me guess... that's on Earth? [ Arms cross as Noctis sizes him up, their now more obvious height difference proving only moderately irksome now that he's standing before him on level ground. ] If you don't know it then at least that makes two of us.
... you still gonna' show me how to fly the ships later when people stop staring or are you staying pissed?
no subject
[It doesn't bother him to be so far out of his depth as it concerns Earth; he's so used to it, by now, it's nothing new. Pretty much every single person he's encountered has been from Earth — even those who claim not even to be human, he's learned. So he takes it in stride.
More surprising, then, is to find out this guy isn't.]
I'm not pissed. [A shrug, but there's so much tension in his shoulders the movement is jerky.] Look, I was pissed when it happened, but I'm over it. You didn't know what you were doing. Yeah, I'll help — let's just practice with yours instead of mine.
... Did you pick one out yet?
no subject
Getting punched and having an excuse to punch back would feel pretty good right now. ]
Ah, more or less... It's easy to find. Some guy already carved his initial into the side of it.
[ The optics of this are lost on him, and it's even less defensible without him really feeling like explaining his initial mistake that led to this happening in the first place. ] Same kind as yours, not one of the big ones.
None of the Hosts told you when we'd be cleared to actually fly them, huh?
no subject
Actually, carving initials into his ship sounds like a good idea. Maybe he should steal that idea.]
Good. Then it'll be easy to teach you. [Not that he couldn't pilot one of the bigger, clunkier ships, but they might have different controls. He'll have to check. Either way, there's no denying the Void Runner is much more familiar.] ... No. Figured we're gonna have to get closer to our destination first, unless they want us practicing out here in deep space.
Wait, some guy put his initial on your ship? Doesn't that piss you off?
no subject
[ Yeah, we're going there. Immediately. ]
Guess that rules out lessons for the guy that did the vandalizing. Either way... it's just a ship. And it's not like I had it yesterday. [ In other words Noctis doesn't place a high value on material items. Maybe he's just practical.
Or... maybe he's too used to having them. ]
We doing the lessons now or you need a break?
no subject
Sure I could. Just said it's easier that we got the same one.
[Not "just a ship" in Cain's mind, but for someone out of their element, maybe that's a more expected reaction. But it's clear that he disagrees with Noctis' dismissive statement about the privilege of owning a vehicle by the roll of his eyes.]
Do you need a break?
[... are they going to fight in this thread too, help]
no subject
[ Reason battles emotion for a long, tense moment, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Cain's. No chance of them flying yet, that's what he made clear. And right now he's running on next to no sleep and a depressingly empty stomach, on top of the current stressors of their new circumstances. ]
... but maybe we should take one anyway.
You check out the rooms yet or did you come straight here?
no subject
[He just assumes they'll be like every other room he's had — cramped, minimal, shared. And he's not that excited by the prospect, given historical experience. Given what he's left behind.]
Why, did you? [Sarcastically:] Worth writing home about?
no subject
[ That sarcasm is heartily agreed with, because while the majority of his anger is the misdirected kind a fair amount of it still manages to hit one of its marks: the fact that he's here, on this ship, against his will. And it's not that the amenities have been lacking, but more that he's waiting for the few pluses to turn to negatives. ]
One of the Hosts told me we get our own bathrooms. Does that count? I was gonna' scope it out if you feel like ditching the crowd.
/fin
The promise of a private bathroom is appealing, but he decides that he'd rather explore it on his own.]
... Maybe next time. I got some stuff I still wanna do here. [A casual shrug.] See you.
[He turns, heading back in the other direction.]