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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.
no subject
Oh. Sorry. [ Lowering her hand too... ] I was just surprised, that's all.
[ She thinks about the first time she touched Yoru, or tried to. "You can't touch me. Your brain is seeing me as a hallucination." Even so, even while watching her hand literally go straight through the other girl, looking back, she swears she felt something. ]
... I know someone a little like you. We can't actually touch each other, but it still sort of feels like we are. [ It's all about perception. ] Wanna see if it works?
no subject
Oh... Sure. We won't know what it's like until we try.
[ Here, at least. Back there, back in that school that was his whole world, he knew for a fact what it was like. What it would be like for any living matter that he came into contact with.
Shion holds out another hand, palm facing upward. His smile disappears into something more neutral. ]
...I've already done some testing by touching other things. Nothing bad has happened so far, so you shouldn't be at any risk of harm. [ He wouldn't have agreed in the first place if he thought it could. ] But if it's too hot for you, then pull away. Immediately.
[ Should she touch it or come near him or his hand, she'll feel an unmistakable warmth. The warmth pulses gently, like that of a space heater mixed with the slow beating of a heart. Hemoanima—cryptoglobin—is a power strongly connected to the mindset and emotions of the user, and right now, he holds nothing but good will towards everyone here, her included. Even the people with less-than-stellar attitudes, because...he's sure they're just scared. Vulnerable. Concerned. ]
no subject
No pain, only— ]
Oh, [ she says, sounding surprised. ] You're warm...
[ Not warm like a regular human. Warm like a hug. Warm like her mother's arms around her back. She'll be properly mortified in a minute, but she raises her other hand to more fully encompass his; to better feel the slow and steady pulse of his not-quite-heart. It's exactly what she needs right now, and not just because of the x'enuda's influence, either. She stares at their hands like it's a revelation, almost forgetting about the boy it's attached to. Sorry. She's having a moment. ]
no subject
[ Clearly not, if she's doing this. He says nothing as she brings her other hand to cover his, and a smile makes its way onto his face once more, this time one of relief. Relief that a moment like this can even happen in the first place, that holding ("holding") his hand isn't bringing her searing pain, but what seems to be comfort instead. He gives her hand a feather-light squeeze in return, the intensity of the hemoanima flames that construct his current body no harsher than a hearth at the perfect distance.
Shion remains still otherwise, effortlessly maintaining the same soft ebb and flow of the warmth as long as needed, like a silent "take your time". It's natural to want to cling to something when you're more than a bit out of sorts. ]
no subject
[ She wouldn't normally be so honest, but it feels like he deserves it. She isn't immune to his earnestness, and when she finally glances up at his face Asa finds herself smiling as well. A rarity. "He's cute," she thinks. "Even if he is a sort-of ghost." Good thing nobody asked for her opinion. ]
Definitely weird. [ Quietly; meaning the situation as a whole, but way to undermine things. Louder: ] So, do you normally burn people when you touch them? Is that something I need to be worried about next time?
[ It's a (poor attempt at a) joke. Enough that she doesn't even realize the "next time" implication. ]
no subject
Oh, uh... Only if I don't adjust my temperature beforehand, and I always try to be careful about that when it comes to living matter.
[ Robots and the like are fine, though. Guess what he was raised by. ]
...Besides, I don't think I can burn anything here even if I wanted to. [ Which he doesn't! ] My flames aren't strong enough.
[ While most others would understandably take the power loss as a negative thing, it's been more of a blessing for him than a curse. ]
no subject
[ Which she's fully aware is stupid of her even as it leaves her mouth. Everyone she's ever trusted has ended up dead, tried to kill her, or both. Trust shouldn't even be an option, especially not for a complete stranger. Maybe he'll say just kidding! and set her on fire. Maybe he'll turn out to be a serial killer. Maybe the whole ship will explode in the next five seconds, and it'll be over so fast she at least won't have to feel what it's like to die a second time.
That's a future-Asa problem. All present-Asa knows is that this is the most normal she's felt in a long time, even though she's holding hands with a boy who or may not be not be literally made of flames (but definitely still qualifies as a ghost, she's decided).
She honestly doesn't want to, but she forces herself to let go of his hand, because any longer and things will go from "awkward" to "really awkward". She's already blushing up a storm; if Shion knows what's good for him, he won't comment on it. ]
Thanks. I needed that. [ And now she gets to... stand here just as awkwardly, only without the warm physical contact as a plus. Great. ] Um, sorry — what was your name again? I must have missed it.
[ Because the alternative is she held hands with a boy
before marriagewithout even asking his name first, and that's just crazy. ]no subject
He admittedly feels a twinge of disappointment at her letting go, but, well, personal space, so he lets his hand rest by his side. Besides, just hearing someone else say that they trust him, with the gratitude and relief that trails behind, is more than enough to buoy his mood for what he thinks will be a while. ]
My name is Shion.
[ No family name, just aster tataricus. One of the very few things that he can lay claim to with what pride rests in his chest. ]
And yours?
no subject
[ She'd have to see it written to know the meaning, but that's still a distinctly Japanese name. Knowing her luck, he's probably from some planet named Napaj instead, and they actually have nothing in common, but it's a potential connection — and she's feeling VERY short on those right now. ]
Asa Mitaka. [ ... ] Weird question, but you don't have things called "devils" where you're from, do you?
[ For his sake, she hopes not. For her sake... well, she'd feel less insane having someone else around who gets it (little does she know), but she'd rather know if his odd state is because of a devil contract or not. ]
no subject
Nevertheless, he brings a curled finger to his chin for a moment, furrowed brow as he tries to remember Sirei's audio lessons about the lives of the people he was told were his. ]
Those are...evil spirits, right? People in the Tokyo Residential Complex have all sorts of stories and folk tales about them.
[ This is where he'd say "and they don't believe they're real either", but he's literally the last person who should be bringing something like that up. ]