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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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The question and the way it is asked are at once both clarifying and mystifying. Sunday frowns a little. There are any number of ways he could answer the question, from the deeply existential to the deliberately obtuse, but he settles for assuming this stranger is simply unfamiliar with his kind - which is fair enough; he can't speak for other universes, but they're certainly uncommon enough in his own outside of Family territory. But it's -- there's something else about the intonation, about the look in this stranger's eye that has Sunday wondering if there's some other layer to this question. Is he expecting something specific? Or is Sunday just letting his paranoia run away with him and wildly overthinking things? (And is this man always this abrupt and borderline rude or is it just the bizarre and stressful situation they've all found themselves in?)
In any case, he blinks and turns to face the man in a trench coat more directly. ]
I am a Halovian. [ Sunday almost leaves it at that, but he can't quite move past -- whatever it is about that look. ] ... why?
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But it isn't just that. It's the locked and smothered vibrations of his Grace, unreachable but still there as much as his mind, his memories are there. There's no recognition beyond instinctual.
Well. It can't hurt to be honest, right?] I was concerned you were a nephilim. [If there were any nephilim left in the universe, it would make sense that they'd get the hell away from Earth. This place, wherever it is, is definitely far enough.]
the amount of overthinking i have done about whether 'nephilim' might mean anything to him...
[ 'Concerned' is certainly an interesting way to word that, and it makes Sunday wonder what, exactly, a nephilim is to elicit concern. Is it simply personal bias from prior experiences this man may have had? Or are they something to be universally wary of? Even if by some happenstance, it turns out to be another universe's name for the same species, Sunday could still understand a degree of caution. His people enjoy a generally positive universal reputation, but it isn't difficult for him to imagine the very traits that see his people admired being a source of warning instead. The Harmony has many faces, after all.
Regardless, Sunday notes where the other's gaze drifts and from this can draw at least one conclusion. ]
I have never heard of nephilim before, but I take it I must bear some resemblance?
fam i have been praying to the "make shit up" gods for like 95% of my threads, don't even stress
Still, he finally breaks from staring at Sunday's wings and halo, turning to look back out at the nebula outside now that he's come to the...tentative conclusion that this young man isn't a nephilim, or at the very least isn't about to wreak havoc on the ship in a fit of overpowered rage. (Says the guy trying to start electrical fires in a few hours.)] I don't know how to explain it. You feel almost...celestial. [Or maybe an echo of it. It would be a lot easier to pinpoint what it is if he could just extend his grace and flood this room with is senses.]
flskjd fair and honestly the best way to do things
It is not uncommon for his people to be called angels and likened to divine beings, but it seems that what this man means by 'celestial' has nothing to do with appearances, in spite of the way he stared. Still, whatever blessings Halovians bear from Xipe, they are in the end as human as any other sentient species. Moreover, in this strange new universe, cut off from the Aeons and Paths he knows, Sunday has been grounded far more thoroughly than when he was imprisoned or even when he had willingly cast his halo aside for a time as he stumbled forth to clean up some of his messes and seek new purpose. Even then, his sensitivity to emotional frequencies and ability to manipulate them had only been temporarily dulled - not silenced like this. That enough traces linger for another to detect, if that is what the man even means, is interesting... Perhaps it might mean they are not so cut off from home as it seems?
If, however, it's something else that in truth has nothing to do with what he is and instead is perhaps some lingering remnant of his failed apotheosis... No, Sunday would rather not consider this as a possibility. Surely it is more likely to be some strange interaction with Path energy or something like that. ]
My people are seen as subjects of The Harmony, and our halos were a blessing bestowed upon us by THEM. Perhaps that is what you feel, though since waking up here I have been unable to make use of any of my abilities, and I find some of my senses blocked.
[If he thinks back, Sunday can recall snatches of... something in those moments before opening his eyes in the med bay. The impression of fathomless things that remind him vaguely of Aeons, but... none that he knows. And try as he might, he can find no imaginary energy to draw upon here. He frowns and shakes his head.]
I am little more than an ordinary human here. [Extra appendages notwithstanding] And one who has quite forgotten his manners at that. [He turns his head again, offering a polite smile.] My name is Sunday, by the way.
cas like "i feel his celestial energy" that's just the catholic guilt, babe. like recognizes like
LMAO the way i choked on my drink reading that b/c it's true.
I won't hold it against you, mister-- [He trials off suggestively, hoping to prompt the giving of a name, but whether or not one is given, he continues on with the assurance:] It is prudent to be cautious even at the best of times, let alone in a strange new universe.
we all carry the weight of our sins here babey, it's part of the aesthetic
[Buddy here is right though; caution is probably more than due, and Castiel would do well to observe the advice. Too bad he's stupid, and will do some off the wall shit just a couple hours from now.] Do you believe that to be the case here? An alternate universe? [It's...possible, but gods generally try to stay in their lane. Cracking over to parallel dimensions takes mega juice and can really fuck things up, if the molecular vibrations even align for a proper transfer in the first place. He just assumed they were in a different section of the galaxy, or an entirely different one altogether. That'd be bad enough.]
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he did] -- claimed, and I haven't yet had a reason to disbelieve them. [Sunday regrets a bit having not spent more time studying this sort of thing in the past, as then maybe he could be more certain how plausible this really is.] Of course, I have not seen definitive proof either, so it's possible there could be something else at play here.[Sunday feels like after having spent so much of his life in a dream, he would have at least some kind of inkling if this were a simulation or an elaborate dreamscape, but... And even that aside, there are no end to strange anomalies out there of which he has scant knowledge.]
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Or maybe Castiel's just been primed to question higher powers, after everything. Maybe he's just a little too convinced of the fallibility of those with unchecked knowledge and strength.] ...I suppose there's no way to know for sure. [For now.]
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Either option - a different universe or the same - has its own terrible implications, and he is trying not to think too deeply about what some sort of anomaly occurring on the Express might mean for everything else that was happening at the time. He didn't see anyone else he knew among the others, but as people have been waking up in waves, he can't be sure no one else from home is here to compare notes with. And the thought of what if everyone else got pulled along, too, and is just out there, floating in space somewhere is -- he can't think about it. He just can't. Not right now.
So, at Castiel's conclusion, Sunday sighs, his wings drooping slightly. ] Indeed, at least until we have more evidence. Perhaps more answers about this 'Song' they seek. [Thinking about that brings him back to those impressions left behind from before he opened his eyes; if not for those lingering sensations, perhaps Sunday would be as skeptical as Castiel. He is no stranger to lying and being lied to in order to conceal terrible truths, after all, but...]
There was -- something that... [He starts and stops, changing his mind about how he wants to phrase this.] Before you woke up, do you remember seeing anything? Or sensing anything? Even a fragment of -- something.
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It's not a lot. In fact, it's probably useless; most likely everyone felt that way, if a 'quantum accident' really did seize everyone here through universal barriers. But it's more than that, more than just a pull. It felt...] And trapped.
[It's out before Castiel fully realizes that's what it was. Yes. Trapped. Pulled and trapped, held somewhere he didn't want to be. Or maybe- maybe he's not, thinking correctly. It feels wrong, for his memories to not line up with the passage of time. Maybe he's confusing himself for other times he's been pulled and trapped.] ...apologies. That might not be useful.
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I asked because it is what I saw that even on its own would leave me to wonder if we were in some sort of separate pocket reality, at least, even if we weren't in a separate universe altogether. [His wings flex and fold absently as he reflects.] I, too, remember a pull, but after that... [He shakes his head; finding the right words to describe it is difficult.] I saw glimpses of - something unfathomable. I suppose it reminded me of Aeons, but... none that I know.
[That Castiel does not seem to recall such a thing himself... Sunday is not inclined to chalk it up to merely a weird dream or hallucination on his part, but equally the trapped feeling on Castiel's must mean something, too. Sunday turns away from the window to look at Castiel again.]
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What do you mean by eons? [Given its use, Castiel's not sure the word means the same to both of them. Is this person (creature) as old as he is? Older? Is "Halovian" another universe's term for an angel, is that 'them' of before their God? The idea of there being another angel here isn't exactly a comforting one, but it's the difference between being surrounded by weapons known versus unknown.
(Maybe there's something more to it. Maybe he won't get into that right now.)]
the tragic comedy of homophones
Aeons are vast, divine entities that govern and embody the Paths of the universe. THEY are the ultimate embodiment of philosophy, and THEY are, in essence, most easily understood as gods.
[That seems straightforward enough, he thinks, but if Castiel has questions, Sunday will elaborate further. Normally he would fall back on analogy - and even calling THEM embodiments of philosophy is itself already leaning that way it makes it seem like anyone truly understands what the Aeons really are - but without knowing much about Castiel's own life, he doesn't have any points of comparison to draw on. Do Paths even exist for him or -- is it possible to have a universe where creation is not so bound? Or perhaps it is bound in a different way?]
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Castiel nods along like this is all normal, because it is.] If you and I are both familiar with gods and unfamiliar with the powers that drew us here, then perhaps they're not lying. This could be another universe. [Shit. That makes things...very complicated. Just ditching his vessel and flying back isn't going to be an option, even if he wanted to avoid that one anyhow.]
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Exactly. What that means for us and what we left behind, I don't know. [He lets all his breath out in a heavy sigh, trying once again not to think about that too hard. What he says next is more a reminder for himself than anything else:] Regardless, we are here, now, so I suppose we shall have to make the best of it.
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Agreed. [And, a little tentative, Cas glances at Sunday from the corner of his eye. Not quite an ally, still not sure he can be trusted, but he's been more than forthcoming so far. Maybe they can work together for the common goal.] If I recall anything useful, I'll let you know.
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[ Sunday doesn't yet know enough about Castiel to trust him further than he could throw him (which isn't far - Sunday is not physically that strong) - but he's spent enough time navigating politics on his erstwhile home planet to know well the value of allies and potential sources of information. To common goals, it is.
He is tempted to use this as a convenient exit point, aware that they've been dallying here in this hallway for quite a while - or at least he had been, before Castiel joined him - and that it would be wise to explore more of -- wherever the hell this is. But impulsive curiosity gets the better of him before he can quite stop himself.]
By the way - and I hope you'll forgive me my impertinence in turn - might I ask what you are, then? Outside of this place, I mean. [It's the way Castiel said, "We're all ordinary humans right now, I think," that tugs at Sunday's mind -- and, well, it's only fair he gets an answer, too, right?]
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Hands in the pockets of his rumpled trenchcoat, trying to see if the horrific entity in the nebula over there is going to make faces at him again. Let's go, man, give him his powers back and he'll fight you.]
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An angel. [He repeats it, not quite incredulous - at least, not in a disbelieving way (what a wild thing this would be to lie about - and in any case, nothing about Castiel's demeanor gives Sunday any reason not to believe him). More a bit bewildered. It feels like a wild coincidence? If it could be called that. Maybe it isn't one - who knows what other kinds of people were brought here. (It makes him wonder again just what a 'nephilim' is.)]
Heh. I see. [Castiel would be forgiven for thinking Sunday is laughing at him, but it's only the strangeness of everything about -- all of this.] Thank you for telling me, Mr. Castiel.
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Before he decides it's not important. Not right now, anyway. Either he'll be gone in a few days flying back home, or they'll be stuck here for quite a while and will have opportunity to satisfy curiosity later.
Maybe it's rude, but that hasn't stopped him yet (if he's even been aware), so Castiel just turns away from the window and starts down the hall without so much as a proper goodbye. He's got a ship to explore and potentially a one-man mutiny to kick off.]
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Right. He's done enough standing around and getting lost in thought already. Castiel has the right idea. With a final glance out at the nebula, Sunday too turns and follows.]
((ooc: i think they're done but i like to imagine sunday awkwardly following like 10 feet back in silence as they continue to go the same direction for like three more hallways until finally there is a split where they can go different ways--))
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