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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.
Dr. Rodney McKay | Stargate: Atlantis
Well, why would you tell me about it if I can't taste it? Rude.
[If Rodney is at all fascinated by the robots or the sight before him, he isn't showing it. Such is the life of someone who lives on an alien planet and has been in space multiple times (on a weekly basis, it seems). Sentient robots are usually a bad thing in his universe, and while this seems friendly enough, he's mostly disappointed by not being able to have a taste of Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream.
Admittedly, the nebula is gorgeous. For an astrophysicist, it's not only just beautiful, but it has its own story that he can read. He mumbles quietly to himself, but then turns to the nearest person to him without actually looking at them, just inclining his head as if he's used to chatting away with not caring who his audience is, just that he has an audience.]
The pink you're seeing is hydrogen, which is the element that makes up most of a nebula. All that gas you're seeing there? Hydrogen. It's what stars are formed out of, the stellar nursery, as it were. Purple's more ionized nitrogen, oxygen, other stuff, probably leftover from a supernova. Beautiful, isn't it? What secrets do the cosmos hold? I know a lot of it, really...
[He's about to go on (and on and on and on), but strangely (or maybe thankfully to anyone nearby) a memory flashes across his mind. He winces, a memory of Atlantis, the Ancient, snowflake-shaped city-ship careening through space, the shields failing, scant hours of air left, losing power, no planet nearby to land, certain death on the way--he scarcely notices when the a curl of the nebula takes on his visage, yelling about how doomed they are--]
IMBIBE
In my honor? I'm not surprised.
[Can the reputation of Rodney McKay supersede universes? He's pretty sure it can. Rodney plops himself down on a picnic seat and it's probably not a good thing that everything looks appetizing to him. He does, alas, take several large helpings for himself--]
A. Upside-Down Plum Wine -cw: mental health lows, anxiety, agoraphobia, depression
[It just happened to be bad luck--or good luck, depending on how you saw it, that he picked this fairly early on.]
I've had worse on weirder planets. [He coughs, eyes watering.] Little strong, that one.
B. Golden Buns - [Look, he likes sweets. The dripping pastries are made quick work of, and it seems to be the perfect way to end his meal. An excellent desert, as he licks off a bit of honey from his fingers and then--
A vision. Of Rodney, in a room by himself, scribbling equations on a chalkboard and...onto walls, and some of the floor. The room is messy, shabby, and he looks equally shabby, his cardigan frayed and there's the general air that he's not taking care of himself or the room. It's a small apartment, with boxes of dusty old books. A woman comes in the front door without knocking, she has a key--not a wife, but his sister, Jeannie.
I swear to God, Rodney, are you just gonna rot here for the rest of your life or life or get over the fact that you got fired by Stargate Command, why don't you get a job teaching, or publish something, you used to make fun of me for not publishing but nobody's heard from you in years, they call you a recluse, say that you're too afraid to go outside--
He seems to be ignoring her, or maybe this is just the same old song and dance they do every week when she checks on him. She throws a pile of mail down on his couch and goes up to his chalkboard, erasing an equation and scribbling down a correction. Only now does he look at her, incensed.
What the hell, Jeannie? Did I ask--you just made it worse--will you just leave me alone? Nobody's asking you to look after me, you just do it on account of your mindless familial guilt. Newsflash, Jeannie, coming over here won't fix shit, won't make your guilt go away, and certainly won't make me care. Now unless you want to vacuum my floor, get the hell out!
She looks at him, tears springing to her eyes.
You're an ass. Fine, I don't care. Be alone. You're the great Rodney McKay, your own best company. Enjoy your great accomplishments--everyone in your life leaving you.
She tosses a stack of papers at him, papers that he's never finished, and storms out the door.
INITIATE
[Rodney complains the entire time he's ushered to his seat and as he's strapping in.]
How can we be sure they have decent inertial dampeners? I get sick easily, and you know, I need to take Dramamine. My inner ears are very sensitive to fast movement, and I do not want to get vertigo because some heavy-footed ferry pilot decided to get froggy with the accelerator!
[As the acceleration, begins, Rodney yells louder about it, or mostly he's just yelling when he's shoved back.
It seems he's not able to stop talking.]
See!? See, this is what I was going on about, where did these guys get their space licenses, I want names, I want supervisors--
[As soon as he can get out of his seat, though, he does, admittedly the sight of the moon shuts him up for two seconds. He stares, open-mouthed, at the x'enuda, one of them phasing at him, then through him, swimming away gracefully. That's when Rodney notices his hand going through his seat.
His eyes widen.]
Is...that supposed to happen?
FOREWORD
[Rodney is just as insufferable when he's choosing his ship. It's probably worse that he actually does know what to look for, even with the alien design.
If you're lucky--or unlucky enough--to be near him as he's perusing through the rows, he'll point things out in a haughty, huffy tone.]
No, no, no, that one's going to be a pain in the ass. Look at the size of that exhaust. And that one next to it is no good either, you're gonna spend more time fixing that engine nacelle more than flying it. See how long it is and there's two hinges? Multiple points of failure. You do not want to get stuck going through a Stargate and have those things malfunction on you. Talking from terrifying and painful experience.
WILDCARD
Anything goes!
initiate
[The one-eyed woman's voice is flat, and she looks at the man, unamused. She's never heard of Dramamine in her life, but she didn't ask to be stuck on a ship with some bitchy man with a weak stomach. Nia didn't escape the Dark Sentencer for this.]
You think this is bad? [She's thrown back against her seat as much as he is, but her expression is mild--this is just another Tuesday, to her. This isn't a bad acceleration at all, what he's whining about utterly baffles her.]
What, is this your first time on a ship this big?
[It is for her. Before this, the biggest ship she can recall being on was a transport up to the Warden's Watchtower. And while that ship was large, it was also permanently docked on the Dark Sentencer, so it wasn't like it ever moved.]
Foreword
[Nog shakes his head at the sta5e of the ships. Still, it's nice to see that there's someone else around who's capable of being annoyed in a professional capacity.]
Lieutenant junior grade Nog. I take it you have some experience with engineering too?
Foreword
So pick something. Or don't. 'Cause unless you got a hold of every single manual here you don't know shit about fuck. [ Actually, that's an excellent idea. What's the equivalent of the globe compartment on these beauties? ]
imbibe a.
[ That would be the first thought this guy hears from Johnny, who's been observing him this entire time. The rocker boy is posted up against a nearby wall with a cig in between his frowning lips. While others were hootin' and hollerin' for food, he's been over here examining the spread with a look of disappointment.
Like, what the fuck is all this shit? While red buffalo stuff looks appetizing, Johnny can't get over those damn lotus spikes. Who the fuck wants a thorn through their tongue?
Geez, this place sucks already. ]
reflect
[ Dean's been standing here in his security gear with his arms crossed, very seriously, looking out over the vastness of space and the planet's surface and all. Contemplating. Considering. Pondering, even.
And look, there's a lot of crap to think about right now. There's a lot that doesn't make sense, there's a lot going on on Earth that he's already trying not to lose his mind thinking about. This goes without saying. But it's a little-known fact that you can get a hell of a long way by picking one (1) hill to die on at a time. And this is the easiest hill he's got. ]
I mean, is it a culinary jewel like "wear a suit, michelin star" or are we talkin' a neon light in the window that says "world's best burger"? 'cause I know exactly which one of those is gonna haunt me more.
[ And it's the metaphorical burger. ]