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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.
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Look, you know I like where your head's at. Distraction's always a solid bet. [ It's the best possible way to give someone a chance to start crawling around in the walls looking for sigils or runes or... anti-angel crystals or whatever bullshit people are into out here.
Fire? Usually a pretty damn safe bet for distracting a lot of people at once. Usually. Love a little bit of fire now and then. ]
You kick off a molotov cocktail and we're both probably gonna get vented out to meet that 'unfathomably old cosmic creature' [ yes he mimics the voice, of course he mimics the voice, ] by the fire suppression system. This is a freakin' starship, Cas, they make a pretty big deal outta that.
[ At least according to his fictional blorbos. ]
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Is trying very ineffectually to tear off a piece of his shirt with his hands to use as a wick for this molotov cocktail that won't work probably because the wine isn't a high enough proof, despite having a multi-tool right there that undoubtedly has some kind of attachment that can cut cloth.]
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To think that this is someone Dean would die for in a heartbeat. Less than a heartbeat. Zero hesitation and zero regret. Who he will run towards again and again like a loyal dog despite everything, every betrayal and mistake and miscommunication in the book, because of the sheer amount of care he has in his heart for them.
Makes a guy feel real fuckin' dumb sometimes.
He holds out a hand and makes a very impatient grabby motion. Hand him one of those things you're holding, you absolute freak of nature. ]
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Anyway, Dean hucks that shit over his shoulder as hard as he can the very second the bottle is in his grasp. Doesn't even break stride for it. ]
You think they've got a holodeck on this rig?
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What is a holodeck.
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Simulation room. [ Look, he even already knew how he was gonna explain it. Play with him. Multitask with him. ] You tell the computer what you want, it makes it, boom. Gone when you leave. Anything. Showdown at the OK Corral. Metallica concert. Whatever.
[ Maybe he doesn't wanna be Kirk, maybe he'll be Will Riker. Riker kicks ass AND he has a beautiful half-alien situationship. Dean wonders if those two crazy kids ever actually got back together. Kinda lost track. ]
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Damn that makes sense, actually.
No one wants to have fun anymore, due to the circumstances. They don't even understand that you can have fun to cope (to further repress). ]
We're gonna have a hell of a lot harder time with that if we get ganked or put in the brig for arson, Cas. And I can speak from experience on that one.
[ You couldn't swing a cat in a room full of Situations without hitting one that Team Free Will has lived. ]
So slow your roll.
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Castiel just stalks beside Dean, annoyed at being told to slow his roll and knowing that it's probably a good idea for him to slow his roll, but unwilling to admit to considering slowing his roll and also refusing to slow his roll. It's a prickly position to be in. Maybe starting a fire would also be cathartic. But, also, catharsis is useless and he should be taking Action and seeking solutions and solving problems and getting Dean (and himself) back home to Earth. Will begin vibrating at glass-shattering frequencies soon.]
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This is why they're in dire straights without Sam. That boy has the patience of a saint and they have almost none most of the time.
Dean lets Cas have some quiet time walking, with all that frustration and agitation rolling off of him in waves. It doesn't seem to get all that much better as they go along. Who could've guessed? ]
You ready to talk to me yet?
[ Literally just tell him what's up so that it doesn't have to fester... as much. Probably still gonna be a lot of festering.
But still. Talk to him. ]
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He loves his friends, he does (he thinks), inasmuch as a creature like him is capable of love, but he's accustomed to solving problems on his own. It's a bad thing, maybe, sometimes. He thinks maybe it's a bad thing, but one great benefit to it is that he doesn't have to look at all the things here that would maybe kill him, an immortal wavelength, and acknowledge, oh yeah, that would definitely kill Dean so fast. Which, again, is kind of normal anyway, but at least then Castiel has his wings and his power and his healing, for fuck's sake. He is an old, starving, declawed cat and his most beloved friend is walking down a hallway lined with swinging axes and whistling to himself.
This was easier when Castiel was looking out the window and wondering if his vessel freezing in the vacuum of space would eliminate the block on his Grace enough for him to start the flight back to Earth, unconcerned about everybody else here.
...Dean is tolerating this constipated silence very patiently. Much more so than Castiel thought he would.]
None of the plans I'm coming up with will work, [he finally admits, because that's kind of the crux of it without making it sound like, if you weren't so mortal this wouldn't be so difficult. It's not Dean's fault and him being human is too important to trade off for anything.]
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If that was the case, you know, he'd have to be pissed about Cas being pissed at him purely on principle. But all's well that ends well (AKA nobody being mad at Dean, Specifically, Right Now). It's... situational. That's fair.
Cas is used to having a lot more weight to throw around than he does right now. ]
Yeah, I had a hunch it was somethin' like that. [ No he did not. He is a liar. ] Considering my plan is a staring contest with Cosmic Dickbag back there [ thumb jerked over his shoulder for emphasis ], I think you're still comin' out ahead.
[ Does that help. Is that comforting. He sure hopes so. ]
Look, this ain't our usual playing field by a long shot, Cas. I don't think solving this thing and savin' all these folks day one was ever on the table. I mean, I wish it was. Don't get me wrong.
[ ... mostly. You can objectively wish for something and emotionally wish the bullshit your family got pulled into was more cool and fun like this at the same time. ]
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...ah. [Savin' all these folks. There's another oversight; Castiel was more than prepared to fuck entirely off and leave the rest of the schmucks on this ship to fend for themselves. Why wouldn't he? He doesn't really know them and he had to find a way home, hopefully before Sam and Dean died of old age.
Of course, Dean Winchester would find himself in a situation like this and not only adapt, but already expand his survival instincts to include every other person on this ship. Castiel's expression softens. Dean won't leave without helping them, not if he has a choice.
That...does change things.]
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"Ah"?
[ Insert petty care to elaborate? hand gesture. tf you mean Ah. ]
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For lack of a better term: keep him human.] I just...see your point.
[Anyway. Aren't they trying to find a holodeck? Why are we standing around yapping.
Castiel turns on the spot until he spies a large projection board with arrows and names. Oh look, there is something called a "Holo Deck," that must be what Dean wants. Castiel points.] That must be it.
1/2
Dean steps over to squint at this board because he assumes Cas means "that must be it, one of the wards we've been looking for" but he doesn't see anything--
anyway the GASP that Dean GUSPS... ]
Holy crap, they have a holodeck. Cas, [ said while literally pulling on Cas's sleeve like Cas is not the one who actively pointed to it. ] Cas, they have a holodeck.
[ AND HE'S THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO UNDERSTANDS HOW AWESOME THAT IS... IT'S NOT FAIR.
Come with him right now immediately we're making a beeline to do something stupid in a simulated reality-- ]
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We were doing work here. Dean was giving like a pep talk about playing the long game that he thinks accidentally flopped. ]
I thought we were canvassing for wards.
[ Gestures to like, the ceiling. For example, if there had been a ward on that ceiling, they would have found it.
It would've been way cooler if they were just looking for Star Trek shit the whole time. ]
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[So. Gestures down the hall. To the Holo Deck.]
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Being stuck in this whole-- Edicts, song, yanked away from home, etc etc etc situation is bad. Goes without saying. Dean's pissed off and worried and freaked out. He's aging prematurely about it as they speak, for many reasons. They've got work. Probably world-saving work, again, and he's out here thinking about having a fun space vacation before the new horrors start marching in.
But Dean is fantastic at playing through the pain. Hell, sometimes that's the only thing that gets you through the day. A drink, some junk food, sex, fight, being in a really cool LARP battle... so many options. You get it. Sam was starting to get it, too. ]
Let's go do something awesome.
[ Yay, yippee! Enrichment! And it's not optional for Cas either so Dean's gonna drag him that way by the arm even though he's coming willingly. ]
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There's no reason to drag him around by the arm but Dean initiates prolonged touch so rarely that Castiel will let Dean do it when he does, assuming there's some reason for it (whether or not he understands what that reason is). He's not being yanked off his feet so it's not a problem.
The problem, however, is once they get to the infamous Holo Deck, the only pre-programmed settings in it are for just that: settings. Environments, little more than set-dressing. There are a couple of combat simulation programs that imitate enemy fire for the sake of learning battlefield navigation. It makes sense to Castiel, who had zero expectations for the Holo Deck, but for Dean this is tantamount to going to an ice cream parlor only to find they have chocolate, vanilla, and bupkis.]
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Never meet your heroes. Never holo your decks.
There okay. He takes his hand off of his face and holds it out towards the program panels and stuff, for emphasis. ]
This thing doesn't speak for the actually-awesome holodecks. I wanna make that clear.
[ What is he supposed to do, learn how to "program" this shit? Him?
Plenty of... pretty settings. Beautiful stuff. They don't get a lot of that back home. But Cas ain't much of a behold-the-beauty guy, and probably even less of one for fake beauty. And Dean-- eh.
It is kinda pointless to scope out set dressing just to look at a fake field or aurora or whatever. ]
Guess it's more training than a good time in these parts.
[ The combat stuff does sound... a little bit Purgatory-lite. Which he can admit to himself, and only to himself, deep deep down in his heart, would be nice to have. Simple.
So he doesn't regret knowing where it is or anything. It's just like if you go to Disney and Space Mountain is closed (he assumes). ]
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Objectively, yeah. Hell yeah. But Dean will always die on the hill of principle. ]
Doesn't matter. [ Because he's cool. This is what he gets for getting excited, probably. Now he's gotta cover his ass.
With the Gossip Lean. ] These things are always breakin' on TV, anyway. Takes a whole damn episode to get it back to normal. So y'know.
[ You know. ]
Probably a crew safety thing.
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cas in his mind: wow my favorite human is so smart and so sharp wow wowowow
waow (basedbasedbasedbased) dot jpeg
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