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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.
kim dokja | omniscient reader's viewpoint
01. reflect
02. imbibe
03. foreword
04. wildcard
foreword
And as this guy seems to fit the bill, thanks to that assertion that may or may not have been meant for his own benefit: ]
So let's see it.
[ If this was meant to be a solo mission, Enjin clearly didn't get the memo — because here he is, sidling right up to this stranger like they're old pals. ]
You're not one of those careful drivers, right? Just 'cause we're coming back doesn't mean we can't enjoy the ride.
no subject
[ Dokja asks with a playful smile, then waves his hand dismissively. ]
I mean, of course we're coming back.
[ Does he say that because they're about to get access to one of the ships from a staff member? It is a mystery. Despite getting A Look, Dokja doesn't seem bothered. Before the staff member can get any second thoughts, he heads toward the ship and beckons Enjin to follow. ]
You sure you don't want to try?
[ Notice how he never answered the careful drivers question... he's confident in his skills. It's going to be alright. ]
no subject
But toward the ship they go, Enjin ambling a half-step behind just to take in the sheer size of it. Wild, and yet: ]
Nah, [ he says, like he isn't the type of person who normally refuses to ride shotgun. ] Think I'll sit back and watch the expert do his thing.
[ Lmao. Go ahead and take your rightful spot as captain, Mr. Expert, as the Host warily ushers them both up the gangway and into the cockpit; Enjin's not only making a beeline for the co-captain's seat, but falling right into it with an impressed whistle. ]
Damn, you seein' this legroom?
[ Priorities!!! ]
no subject
I feel like I'm back at the company.
[ Dokja brought this on himself, it's fine. And Enjin's priorities are in the right place. To be fair, Dokja almost whistles himself. If he can figure out whether there's some kind of an autopilot, he could just chill in the driver's—captain's seat. ]
Here goes nothing...
[ Nothing in this case is their ship bumping into a wall within the first minute. ]
no subject
Or: Enjin knows fuck all, but he's readying himself for anything — except for the ship suddenly angling toward the wall? Oh, now he's sitting up straight. ]
Whoa, whoa, whoa —
[ Shielded wall, meet shielded ship. The resulting bump is jarring, but not, like, enough to send them hurtling out of their seats; Enjin's head just kind of thumps back against the cushioned headrest, which is still more than enough to send him clicking his tongue. If he'd been smoking a cigarette, it would've been wasted... ]
Seriously, man? Thought we agreed this wasn't a suicide mission. [ Or, well. It was spoken aloud, at the very least. ] You always hit the curb?
[ Tbf so does he, but... ]
no subject
[ He does the same as he speaks; bumping into that wall didn't go nearly as smoothly as he'd hoped, especially if another unfortunate accident happens. And to be fair, the real unfortunate accident might be waiting just outside in the form of an asteroid or something equally annoying.
Dokja sighs softly. Dying on the first day would be so embarrassing. Time to lock in. ]
Beginnings are always rough, don't you know that? Let me try again.
[ See, he even manages to back the ship up before getting back on the path leading out of the docking bay. ]
foreward. sighs. plays uno reverse card.
[Suyeong socks him on the shoulder... which is a pretty sad hit without the Star Stream backing her stats up. She's back to being a normal ordinary beautiful genius girl, which she Does Not Like. Hopefully he's feeling up to enduring some pummeling as she works through those feelings.]
[Well, that, and her deep-seated concern for their current circumstances. Kim Dokja should not be here. That he is, well, it doesn't suggest anything good about anything, and no way can she just relax.]
How about we try finding someone who knows anything about this sort of thing?
no subject
I'm not making it into a suicide mission. [ Doubt. ] Or we can just watch a tutorial?
[ He's oddly optimistic about piloting a ship. No amount of games he tested back in Mino Soft could prepare him for this, and yet he acts like the opposite. ]
no subject
The Lie Detection skill has detected you are lying.
[His odd optimism is exactly why she's actually worried and not just teasing him. In ordinary times she'd interpret it as him knowing something she doesn't, but these aren't ordinary times. What's his angle?]
You really think spaceship piloting can be taught with a video tutorial? If it can, I don't trust the spaceship!
no subject
I see that Abyssal Black Flame Dragon has already corrupted your mind... [ Dokja says it as if he wouldn't have done the exact same thing if he'd thought of it first. ] I think we don't have a choice but to learn. We should get out of here and go back.
[ The alternative is to wait for another portal to pop up and hope it'll take them home which sounds utterly ridiculous. ]
no subject
[Reflexive threats against his life aside, though, his next words give her pause. She's not sure what to say to 'get out of here and go back', because that is one incredibly loaded concept. Nor is she entirely sure... she wants to achieve that. What worldline would they return to? What point in it? Does another one exist that has the pair of them in it, despite all evidence to the contrary thus far? And if not, how the hell does she explain him anyway?]
[Sigh. This wouldn't be the first time her skeptical nature ruined something potentially good...]
Even if you're right, I'm not going to be happy about it.
》imbibe
Maybe that's still true. The demonic-looking version of the man next to him is unsettling, but at least it isn't speaking or trying to attack them.]
Is-? [Oh. He'd been so interested studying the fascimile next to them, he hadn't looked for his own. Castiel swallows his bite and turns to look at- well, it definitely looks like him. ... exactly like him. His vessel, at least. Its back is to them so most of what's visible is Jimmy's black hair, that long rumpled trenchcoat, the black business slacks. Castiel puts down three remainder of his meal and gets up to circle around the vision, pulling up suddenly short.
Comes back to the bench, picks up his food, and crumples the rest of it in its wrappings to be thrown away.] Thank you for trying to warn me, [Castiel says tersely. Hey where are the trash cans in all this dark. Could these hallucinations fuck off so they can avoid littering.]
no subject
Too little, too late.
[ How much Dokja wishes that the hallucination looked just like him without the demonic appendages. He'd rather deal with the implications that he's already on the worst possible path already than explain, well, this.
While Dokja's demonic counterpart isn't hostile and his worst offense is a cocky smile, his presence sticks out like a sore thumb. ]
I guess there's no point in taking honey bun visions seriously. I'm more concerned about the food having weird effects. I'd take it if it was a strength boost, but this...
[ This isn't ideal, to say the least. ]
no subject
no subject
I've never been a good person, so maybe that's just the worst I can become.
[ Being dismissive might not help, but that's why Dokja follows his words up with an observation of his own. ]
You, on the other hand, look pretty much the same...?
no subject
If Dokja's evil vision disturbs Castiel at all, it isn't obvious.] If it's of any comfort to you, it's usually people who call themselves good who are the furthest from it.
no subject
[ He can't help but smile sheepishly. ]
I can't believe this is happening over some buns.
[ It's so ridiculous that Dokja doesn't want to just smile, but laugh. ]
no subject
imbibe (cw: blood, body)
Mydei swallows, and the world seems to lurch, snapping his attention from the man at his side to the floor. There's silence — and then, a heavy, resounding drip that breaks it. He takes in the golden ichor pooling on the ground, the blood as thick as magma.
It's his own feet next to the drops, but before he can properly look up to see the blood dripping from his face, the body falls forward. The grisly hole in his double's chest is enough to tell him what happened — and who left the mark. Another vision follows the first, this time of an unfamiliar being with red horns and wide black wings.
Stunned as he is, his expression quickly sobers.
...So, it wasn't honey curd. ]
Yes. [ He lets out a curt exhale. There's not much to explain, though, so he focuses on the winged man. It's obviously the man next to him, but he might as well ask to make sure. ] And the other one?
no subject
That might be the strangest thing they could ever bond over, so he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. ]
If I said that it's not me, would you believe it?
[ It's worth a shot, even if the chances are nearly zero. ]
This... has this happened already, or is it yet to happen?
[ The question might reveal more than he'd like to share, but he can't help asking. ]
no subject
However, since he's being asked in such a roundabout way? It's difficult to imagine this is someone else. The stranger and this demon are likely one and the same, more-over... the stranger recognizes the form. So, he gives the honest answer. ]
I would have. [ Now, it's far more dubious. As for the question aimed at him, the answer is an unfortunate one. Regrettably — ]
It's already happened. [ His reaction must've given him away, anyway. Still, his voice is somewhat stilted. He isn't entire surely how to continue, either. ] That guise — it seems different from the one you wear now. What is it?