TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire

[lamentus]

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!"

REFLECT

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.

IMBIBE

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?

RED BUFFALO SHANK WITH SPIKED LOTUS

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.

UPSIDE-DOWN PLUM SPARK-WINE

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.

GOLDEN BUNS WITH SPICED HONEY DRIZZLE

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.

CHERRY COLA!™

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.

A CAKE. MAYBE.

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.

INITIATE

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.

FOREWORD

"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.

(CODE)

Comments

Enjin | Gachiakuta

[shredder]

i. imbibe

[ A party is a familiar enough scene, even if this one is missing both drunk colleagues and bass-heavy music blasting in the background. Enjin ambles from truck to truck, peeking at the more popular options without actually grabbing anything for himself — for a time, at least. Far be it from him to turn down free food, though he's well aware that "free" is something of a misnomer; there's always a price to be paid, be it serving on the front lines or, as he observes during his wandering, babbling on about things that are better kept private. Won't be him, thanks...

But when Enjin finally chooses his meal, he settles for something boring before making a beeline for the nearest picnic table. The fact that it's already occupied doesn't bother him in the slightest; he's still dropping down at the far end, cracking open his small box — hexagonal, strangely — with tentative excitement. Pizza is one of the simplest things to make, right? Slap down some dough, spread out some sauce, finish with some universally agreed-upon toppings — ]

Seriously? Damn.

[ The top is quickly and unceremoniously flipped all the way back, revealing what appears, at first glance, to be your standard (albeit six-sided) pie: crisp crust, bubbly cheese, and generous helpings of — tentacles? Small, purple tentacles, curling in on themselves in-between a variety of other goodies. Give him a moment, please; he needs to tilt his head back and let out the world's longest, most disappointed sigh. Dawg, his 'za... ]

This is what I get for ordering the works. [ A beat, as his eyes crack open — and then slide to the side to meet his neighbor's. ] Anything about this look normal to you?

[ Maybe there's also a smattering of something recognizable from your world — or maybe it's just pepperoni and purple tentacles all the way down. Let's trade. ]

ii. paper lantern

a.

[ The mess hall is nice and all, what with its real grass (whoa!) and wide variety of culinary options, but there's something to be said for someplace a bit quieter — and, you know. With only a handful of Hosts watching your every move. Fellow explorers can find Enjin slumped over the center of the bar, his drinks — some sort of amber-colored liquid on the rocks, sitting beside an as-of-yet unopened bottle of Cherry Cola!™ — ignored in favor of the small, cylindrical object he holds up to the light: an e-cig, albeit one with many more buttons than is surely necessary.

A humanoid Host, polishing a glass somewhat off to the side, offers a helpful pointer about flavor combinations; Enjin slumps farther forward, his head coming dangerously close to hitting the bar. ]

No offense, man, but your taste in music's bad enough. [ Full offense, actually; this smooth jazz is trash, but as Enjin rolls his new e-cig between his fingers: ] I mean, custard? No way people go for that.

[ Does anyone know how to work alien technology and/or change the backing track? Come through, vape naysh. ]

b.

[ Or maybe his fellow explorers wander in a bit later, after the mysteries of the vape have been revealed? Enjin can still be found sitting at the bar, though every few seconds a small, multicolored cloud drifts upward to dissipate above his head. It's nothing like a real cigarette, even if the nicotine and/or mysterious chemicals contained within it do scratch that ever-present itch deep within his brain; he's simultaneously satisfied and unsatisfied, hence the quiet click of his tongue as he pulls it from his lips.

But before he can decide whether or not to take another drag, the nearest Host suddenly straightening behind the bar tells him that someone is approaching — and thus he tosses a quick glance back over his shoulder, expression easing as he spies a fellow Wayfarer. ]

Hey, some real company! Thought this place was gonna stay dead. [ If that aforementioned Host looks a bit bummed out by all of this, pay it no mind; focus, instead, on the vape that is soon dangled in front of the empty chair beside him: a clear invitation to sit. ] Need a hit?

[ It's probably fine. ]

iii. initiate

[ Getting up close and personal with the fish flooding through(!) walls and windows alike isn't exactly Enjin's idea of fun; he'd much rather keep his distance and observe other people flailing about, both because it's funny (sorry, guys) and because there is the very real fear of, like, floating off into the great unknown — but when he spies someone genuinely panicking, well, what's a decent-ish guy to do? Leave them to sort themselves out?

...Tempting though it may be, on some level, Enjin chooses the opposite: he sets off toward them, doing his level best to duck and dodge every fish that he encounters along the way. ]

Whoa! Take it easy.

[ Which is probably easier said than done when you're caught between two separate floors, or when half of your body is stuck in another room entirely, but so it goes. At least he's here? Offering a hand, just in case it's grabbable — while also keeping an eye on the creatures still familiarizing themselves with every nook and cranny. ]

The more you struggle, the farther you'll go. Just breathe.

iv. wildcard

[ Hello! I'm open to anything! I don't have a Plurk, but feel free to PM me if you'd like to chat ideas and/or want me to write a more specialized (and less stupid) starter just for you. For reference, Enjin will be in the security division, and I'm thinking his Edict will be Tarnished Az-Mehet. ]

imbibe

[flavourtown]

[ Jiaoqiu is in his element among the foodtrucks.

He wishes he could see everything. Everybody is good enough at getting out of his way once they see the white blindfold about his eyes, and the earpiece that describes his surroundings, given to him by the Hosts, is useful enough. But the rest of his senses have been muffled too, leaving it difficult to explore.

Still, he's doing his best. Going from truck to truck to order whatever the serving Host recommends. Sometimes they recommend the most popular dish, other times they seem flustered by the question and just pick something random from the menu. He's worked his way through a few dishes when he decides to sit to savor the latest one--

And apparently his table partner is deeply dissatisfied by whatever he has chosen.

Jiaoqiu touches a hand to his chin, frowning thoughtfully. He can smell cheese and tomato sauce, and something meatier, but unidentifiable. ]

Describe it to me.

[ He says, with all the passion of a doctor about to academically dissect a particularly fascinating case. ]

[shredder]

[ It's far from the first time Enjin has spoken without thinking, but as he returns to an upright position, his eyes never leaving the sight that is that blindfold — ah. Well. A faux pas of this variety is enough to make anyone feel a bit awkward, though there's the notion that offering an unasked-for apology is not the move; his neighbor, for better or for worse, seems far more interested in the pie than the misstep, which isn't so much a get-out-of-jail-free card as it is an opportunity to recalibrate. Winning friends, influencing people, etc...

But as his gaze shifts from blindfold, to ears (wild), to the food in question: ]

What, the whole pizza? Or just the weird shit on top of it?

[ Of which there is plenty, to be sure, but give him a second here; the fact that he hasn't had a cigarette in hours means that his tone is a tad testier than he'd like it to be — and, you know. Those ears (again: wild!) beg the question: ]

You do know what a pizza is, right?

[ Listen, a man has to know whether or not to establish a baseline! ]

[flavourtown]

[ Covered or not, it's still rather obvious that Jiaoqiu rolls his eyes underneath his blindfold. ]

I know what a pizza is. I may be from a different universe, but we did manage to invent a circle of dough with melted cheese and tomato paste on top of it. I'm working on a theory that there seem to be certain universal food constants, and pizza is among them.

[ His own meal -- a couple of skewers laden with roast meat and vegetables, and a violently red sauce whose spice is detectable to the average nose from forty paces away -- is temporarily forgotten in the wake of the mystery pizza and its apparently offensive toppings. ]

Although the toppings certainly do vary by culture. What have they put on the pizza here that warrants such horror?

[ Jiaoqiu pauses, seems to consider an option that's frightening, and frowns dubiously. ]

It's not... coriander, is it?

[shredder]

[ This is what he gets for trying to be polite! Polite-ish. But while there's a lot to unpack here, especially for a guy who's gone his entire life without seeing the sky, there's something vaguely comforting about the idea of pizza being a sort of universal truth; if he truly is stuck here for the foreseeable future, it's good to know that there might be some common ground to build upon.

That said: coriander? He's making quite the impression here, he's sure, but as there's nothing for it: ]

Yeah, I'm gonna be real with you: I have no idea what that is.

[ Something green? A question he just barely stops himself from asking, honestly, as he tilts far enough forward to take another long look at his pie, because there's a healthy amount of garnishes scattered atop the mess of tentacles, and relatively normal-looking vegetables, and what appears to be a very juicy eyeball. Hmm. ]

If it's somethin' that crawls out of a trash heap, it's probably here. [ He's the expert in that particular matter, actually; he should know, but also: ] Hey, you know if the pizzas in your, uh, universe look like they could try to eat you? 'Cause this one does.

[flavourtown]

Good. Be glad that you're ignorant. It's an evil herb and should never be spoken of.

[ If Jiaoqiu were religious, he might have made some sort of sign of warding off evil. As it is, all he can do is barely manage to restrain his disgust at even having to say the word coriander.

Thankfully, intrigue brings him around.

He leans in instinctively, even though it's not going to help him see any better. It does, however, let him pick up some more distinct scents. He can't identify them, though. There are some vegetables in the mix, some cheese, but then something else, something meaty, savory, and quite frankly delicious smelling. The question makes him lift an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. ]

I've seen every pizza topping from olives to tiny fish with their bones still in, but carnivorous pizza would in fact be a new one for me. Does it have teeth?

[ God help you, he sounds eager. ]

[shredder]

[ Ignorant may be an accurate descriptor — on many levels, even — but that doesn't make it any less of a slight. And over an (allegedly evil) herb, of all things! That's every bit as bullyable as the way this guy tilts toward the pizza, though Enjin manages, somehow, to restrain himself. Buddy, where's your sense of self-preservation...

Mildly, then, as he tilts back a bit to free up some pizza-sniffing space: ]

You always go face-first like this? I mean, hey, it's your nose on the line.

[ No judgment, he says, like a liar, because who gets amped up at the thought of food biting back? A weirdo, that's who — and the world is made more interesting by weirdos, so even though he's fairly sure this pizza isn't alive, let him scan for anything white and pearly. ]

And luckily for it, I'm not seein' teeth. Wrigglers can't smell good, though.

[ Is that going to get him to sit back, or to lean even closer? Enjin is Watching. ]

[flavourtown]

Unfortunately, my excellent sense of smell is currently offline. So, going in face-first is a requirement.

[ Ugh, don't get him started. His nose sucks, his hearing sucks. He can't see, but that's not new. His senses have been reduced down to that of a regular human, unable to hear heartbeats, unable to smell pheromones, unable even to smell the intricacies of the pizza in front of him.

It is a little disappointing there's no teeth. That would have been interesting.

Jiaoqiu leans back, and whips out a pair of chopsticks. ]

May I? I'll just take one of the 'wrigglers'. Are they a full animal, or merely a part of one? I can tell they're made of meat.

[shredder]

[ So this guy is, in fact, a grade-A Freak — which isn't a bad thing, even if the thought of watching him dig into this particular pizza causes Enjin's stomach to do a neat little somersault. He isn't picky, per se — he can't always afford to be, where he's from — but the combination of being in a strange new place while processing a host of strange new things is so...

...Well, it's something. It's certainly something, though it's easily disguised with an amused sort of huff (You serious?) as he takes in those chopsticks. ]

Could be a tail? Looks more like a leg from something that has too many of 'em, but don't hold me to it. [ What is an octopus, anyway? A myth. ] Fifty-fifty chance you bite into that thing and it fights back.

[ And maybe that ups the appeal, even with its sad lack of teeth. There's no telling what a true gourmand is into, though as Enjin eyes the one (1) dish on this table that contains actual food, he's hoping that it's something edible. ]

Tell you what, man: I'll trade you as many wrigglers as you can eat for two of those sticks of yours.

[ Even if the sauce smells deadly, to put it mildly. One has to wonder if this guy went face-first into this offering, as well... ]

[flavourtown]

[ Whatever the part is, Jiaoqiu goes after it with gumption. He taps the tip of his chopsticks over the plate to find the pizza, and then the wriggling things atop it, neatly plucking one from the surface. There's slight resistance: cheese, he assumes.

It continues to wriggle in his chopstick' grip. ]

Hmm? Oh, be my guest. I'd already sampled this dish before; it was so good that I went back for seconds.

[ He nudges the plate across the table. The skewers really had been delicious. The char on the meat and vegetables had been perfectly caramelized, the tanginess of the vegetables meeting the savory notes of the meat. The spicy sauce had just been the metaphorical cherry on top. Not as spicy as he likes, but adequate. (Read: spicy enough to make any grown adult weep, but not quite to the levels of 'this may actually hospitalize someone' that Jiaoqiu prefers.)

Popping the wriggling thing into his mouth, he chews thoughtfully. Swallows. And then says: ]

Well, it's definitely from a sea animal, one from a saltier sea than I'm used to. It's not a leg, nor a tentacle. My best guess is that they're some sort of sensory feelers.

a. paper lantern

[rebelsamurai]

[ This renowned badass was hanging out near the bar when he overheard the comment regarding the music. Yeah, smooth jazz may not be everyone's cup of tea, but there's no reason to denigrate the classics. While Johnny is as much a metalhead as they come, he understands music on a much deeper level than genre. ]

Watch your fuckin' mouth, blondie.

[ Johnny chuckles as he takes a deep drag from his cigarette. Yes, he did get his hands on one of those expensive e-cigarettes. He accidentally smoked the rest of the pack he had with Vince. ]

Every genre has its place and smooth jazz best suits a bar like this.

[shredder]

[ Cannot believe Enjin is going to fight a stranger on his very first day, because blondie? Seriously? From around the e-cig that he continues to study, Enjin shoots this guy an unimpressed look — only for it to morph into open appraisal as he takes in that properly functioning e-cigarette. Must be nice to (presumably) smoke something that doesn't taste like cotton candy mixed with gasoline...

But as he props himself up a bit higher, deciding to temporarily trade his e-cig for his drink: ]

What sad bars have you been hanging around, old man? This one needs something to wake it up.

[ Not to lull it into an even deeper sleep. With that mild tit-for-tat out of the way, however: ]

You ever heard of Too Lily?

[rebelsamurai]

[’Old man?’ Johnny couldn’t help but scoff. This guy acts like he’s some fresh faced teenager. Jokes on him, though. Johnny can see crows feet all around those eyes. This choom doesn’t look like he slept in weeks.]

The type of bars where the drinks are smooth and the women are even smoother, choom.

[He states with a smirk before taking another long drag. The rocker purposely blows the smoke towards blondie’s direction out of sheer disrespect. Johnny knows he’s being an asshole, but he just can’t help himself. Thankfully, he reels back the assholeness long enough to answer the question.]

Can’t say that I have. I assume it’s a bar?

[shredder]

[ Choom sounds like something you'd order at a place that's more of a dump than a dive, but far be it from Enjin to get caught up in semantics? Especially when the smoke that drifts his way — incredibly rude! — lacks so much as a hint of something sugary. If he wasn't jonesing before, he's jonesing now; even as he lifts his drink to his lips, welcoming the sting that is something strong, one foot begins to tap atop the uppermost rung of his barstool. ]

A bar? [ Spoken, incredulously, over the rim of his lowering glass, though this bit of info isn't all that surprising; what would normally have him jumping out of his seat sends something twisting within his stomach. ] Damn, you really are behind the times.

[ Old man! But there's no malice in Enjin's tone; if anything, he sounds a touch strained as he gestures toward that properly functioning e-cigarette. ]

Tell you what: I get a hit of that, and you get an education.

[ Please, gramps, he is Withering. ]

[rebelsamurai]

[ Ironically, there's a drink is named after that popular phrase. It's an energy drink that tastes like shit, blended with lemons and whatever chemicals make up sugar these days. Let's just say that drink is popular among drophers and deckheads.

But in any case, Johnny can’t help but look a bit amused by that “behind the times” comment. Not because it’s funny but rather because of how right Blondie is about him. After all, Johnny is technically 88 years old now.]

You have no idea how right you are.

[He admits with a wry grin. Yeah, he sees you eyeing his cig. Johnny already knew cigarettes would be this choom’s currency of choice. That’s why he wordlessly pulls out another disposable e-cig from his pockets. Yeah, he’s not telling this gonk who his plug is, at least not yet.]

I’ll do you one better. Tell me what “Too Lily” is, and you’ll get one of your own.

[shredder]

[ Enjin's weaknesses are glaringly obvious, for better or for worse — and thus he makes no attempt to disguise the hunger with which he eyes that second e-cig. Adjusting to a radically new environment is difficult enough; attempting to do so while your brain reminds you, constantly, of the one thing you can't seem to find is killer.

But here, at last, is a solution as opposed to a stopgap, which is enough to send him sitting up a tad straighter. What would he pay for something like back home? Too much, to be sure. Generosity is a rarity — and this guy could just be yanking his chain and/or expect something more down the road, but needs, must, etc. ]

And here I thought you were gonna be a real pain in my ass.

[ But okay, okay, don't even worry about that; after making sure that his drink is safely atop the bar, he's going to take one more look at that e-cig before getting right into it. ]

Imagine the sickest show of your life: crazy lighting, smoke everywhere, people losing their damn minds. And that's just the warm-up! 'Cause when the lights get low —

[ His free hands slams down atop the bar, causing the ice in his drink to clink against the side of his glass — and the poor Host to jump. It's nothing personal, bud; even while nursing a low-grade headache, his enthusiasm for this particular topic is all but impossible to contain. ]

— there she is, man! The Queen of Entertainment, right at center stage. Stacked. [ A brief pause for this very important detail — please savor it — and then: ] Singing, dancing, magic — there's nothing she can't do. And her music makes you feel, you know? Keeps you wide awake.

[ Unlike smooth jazz, but! So it goes. ]

That's Too Lily! The Too Lily. [ And then, as he abruptly twists just far enough to the side to point at that aforementioned Host: ] You listening?

[ It assures him, quite politely, that it is. ]

cw: brief mention of suicide

[rebelsamurai]

[ Actually, Johnny is a complete pain in the ass. Just ask all of his friends; this man is a certified asshole with a capital "A." However, he has his moments when he just wants to chill and this is one such moment. He can't be ranting and raving all the time about the evils of capitalism. No, that would just get old fast.

Nevertheless, he's actually kind of glad he asked about who "Too Lily" is, especially since she sounds a heck of a lot like the rockergirl who inspired him. That's why Johnny tosses over the e-cig without another thought.

Here's your reward, blondie. ]

Too Lily sounds like a reincarnation of Wendy O. Williams, the toughest rockergirl to ever hit the charts in Night City.

[He recalls with a grin the first Wendy O. concert he saw.]

She was the baddest bitch with two legs. Brave and rowdy, the type of girl who would hold a performance in the middle of a parking lot. She's the godmother of chromatic rock and the inspiration for my music.

[Johnny takes another drag from his cig before letting out a little sigh]

She died young, though, like most folks—suicide, I hear. Life back then was rough—hell, it still is, but the star that shines the brightest always burns out quick.

[shredder]

[ It's fine, Enjin is used to dealing with all sorts of (younger, admittedly) troublemakers — and anyone who offers up a prize without making his life too difficult can't be too bad. Something for him to keep in mind, perhaps, as he shifts far enough to the side to catch that e-cig with ease, looking slightly more invigorated now that flavor-free nicotine is but a button-click away. A thanks is surely in order —

— but it will have to wait, because Enjin wastes no time in putting his new goodie to use. All it takes is one long, greedy drag to send him slumping against the bar, eyes briefly drifting closed even as he listens to his benefactor offer up a story of his own. Night City, chromatic rock — new information to sort through at a later time, when his brain is fully functioning. A shame he doesn't have Zanka around to take these sorts of mental notes in his stead... but for now, as he absorbs that downer ending: ]

Yeah? [ Hmm. Sobering! ] World's really got it out for the people trying to shake it up. Always a shame to lose 'em.

[ And that's why he does his best to protect the ones he knows, but so it goes! So it goes. The Host on bartender duty is still loitering nearby; Enjin catches its eye(?), motioning for two more of what he's having: top-shelf scotch on the rocks. ]

Bet she put on one hell of a show. You go to any?

paper lantern, b.

[fisteacuffs]

[ how kind of the guy, to offer him a drag. alas, wriothesley raises one hand, head shaking once. ]

Thanks, but I'll pass.

[ mysterious chemicals aren't exactly his cup of tea, even if he does eye the colorful smoke with no small amount of curiosity. they have pipes back in fontaine, sure, but nothing quite so sleek or eye-catching as this one.

despite the refusal he takes a seat nonetheless, motioning for their deflated bartender to get him a glass of whatever happens to be the house - ship? - special. what better way to learn about a place than to learn about its preferences and features? ]

Not a fan of our mechanical overlords?

[ behind the bar, their host deflates again. ]

[shredder]

[ Abstaining from this particular habit is probably a smart move, hence Enjin's easy shrug — no skin off his back! — as he pulls his hand back into his own space. It's not like sharing comes naturally to him, anyway; if he wasn't looking to make some connections in the hopes of gathering some information, this e-cig would be hoarded every bit as jealously as a beat-up pack of cigarettes.

But needs, must, etc — and it pays off? Any company is better than none, but interesting company is better than most; Enjin watches the sag of the Host's shoulders as it sets about prepping this new drink. ]

Conversation needs some work, [ he says, easily, before taking another drag of his godawful vape. ] But hey, at least they're generous with the pours.

[ Among other things. There's no such thing as a free and/or easy ride; the search for the Song remains heavy in Enjin's mind, but as the Host shuffles closer to chip away at some ice: a small smile, along with a sidelong glance. ]

Could be worse, right?

[fisteacuffs]

[ easy-going, relaxed. not a whit of panic on this man's face as he continues inhaling smoke. not for the first time, wriothesley wonders if there'd been any rhyme or reason as to why their motley crew had been brought here. 'an accident', the host had said, divined and intervened by the gracious mercy of the ascendants (whoever and whatever they are).

he might not know much about this place, but if there's one thing he does know like the back of his hand, it's the fact that nothing in life ever comes for free. ]

Could be worse. [ he agrees, head nodding up and down once. ] A roof over our heads, food served at regular hours, a bed to kick back on at night....that's more than a lot of people can lay claim to.

[ a lot more than he'd had for awhile. ]

Though if you don't mind me saying, you don't seem like the kind of guy that struggles at keeping a conversation going.

[ bold claim when they've exchanged all of two sentences. ]

[shredder]

[ If living in a post-apocalyptic hellscape has taught Enjin anything, it is, without a doubt, the importance of rolling with the punches. He's out of his depth here, and he's well aware of it; everything, from the contents of this ship to the stars through which it sails, would have seemed a drunken dream a day or so before — but now he's stuck smackdab in the center of it, bereft of both his treasure and his team. Better to lay low, for a time, than to attract undue attention, for the first bill is surely just around the corner.

And besides, he'd meant it: things really could be worse, even if the smoke he tilts his head back to release turns out to be a sickening shade of green. ]

What, that code for "you look like you waste a lot of time in places like this?" [ Bars, that is. Anyplace where strangers converge. A beat, as he watches his cloud fade into nothingness, and then: ] 'Cause you'd be right.

[ Observation accepted, and with continued good humor. He's a barfly when he can get away with it — and, you know. When he can't. But as he places his e-cig on the bar, for the time being, trading it for his drink: ]

But I still keep hitting dead end after dead end with these guys. You know smoking's bad for you? Only heard that about a thousand times.

[ The Host, still dutifully crafting the perfect sphere of ice, decides to (respectfully) chime in: There are healthier alternatives, Mr. Enjin. ]

first meeting and she's already having to cut the crusts off his sammiches smfh

[selfannihilate]

[ Questionable surroundings, questionable people, an opaque mission, and not an inkling as to why she's here: for Acheron, this is a normal Tuesday.

So she takes it all in stride. A party of any sort for someone like her should be met with suspicion, but the fine print under the someone like her title means that there isn't much that would elicits alarm. For her own safety, at least. As if she's a tourist taking in the sights, she takes her time wandering the halls. A motley bunch inhabits this ship, but she's only just departed from Penacony, the land of dreams: she finds her surroundings unremarkable in comparison.

By the time she settles, she's made idle note of all the relevant details of her surroundings - that is to say, someone has gone through a great deal of trouble to wipe the mess hall clean of intrigue. The bottle of Cherry Cola in her grasp is cracked at the neck where she'd flicked it open with a little too much force. ]

Perfectly. If you find the twitching unsavory, slitting the nerves should put an end to that.

[ is her soft response to the newcomer's distress. Tentacles are eaten fairly commonly across the galaxy, for some reason. Convergent evolution of tentacled beasts no matter the makeup of the seed from whence life emerged. ]

Shall I?

[ She sets her untouched cola down, shifting slightly to reveal the sword sheathed at her hip. ]

m...mo... no, i'm not saying it

[shredder]

[ This is what Enjin gets for being more interested in his pizza than his tablemate — though truth be told, playing the fool is a small price to pay for this kind of company. He's a dog? It's one reason why, as she makes a point of showing him her weapon, his eyes linger on its hilt a tad longer than is absolutely necessary. Excellent. The weapon, that is, though some part of him can't help but to wonder if — and how — it's been put to use for more than pizza-carving duty.

But as he returns to an upright position, trading his dramatics for what he hopes is an easy smile: ]

Depends. [ How much will a sliced-up picnic table cost him in the long run — no, no, but let him lift both hands just in case. ] The twitching — you into that? 'Cause I'm happy to share.

[ Far be it from him to judge, uh, unique tastes, even if the thought of choking down a twitching tentacle is sooooo... ]

[selfannihilate]

[ She wonders, belatedly, if the conditions placed upon her continued use of her sword will affect its use as a weapon, but worse comes to worst, even if they have managed to blunt its edge, she can still bash the hell out of a tentacle or five well enough. Were this her true sword, she'd be able to shatter hallucinogenic effect and twitching nerve remnants both, but, alas, she too has been fettered.

This man could have done the same, if he wished, but she's not one to judge others for their squeamishness. ]

No, thank you.

[ She studies him for a moment, her expression smooth as glass, before offering a smile of her own. Ah, no matter where she goes, there are always those who press too closely too quickly. She doesn't mind. A polite society is a dull one. ]

The offerings here are laced with some type of collective or symbiotic psychogenic substance, and the effects of this one [ she gestures towards her bottle of cola ] - hit my limits. Were you aware?

[ Perhaps his squeamishness should be lauded, if not. Sometimes the hindbrain speaks truest. ]