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

[theroadpaved]

[Cas experiences his own supernova of affection at that obvious (to him) face journey. Dean never allows himself more than a few seconds of anything resembling joy, killing it as quickly as he can before the shame sets in. It's sobering as ever to see it in real time and Castiel knows, if he wanted to, he could make it a big deal. A sticking point. He could wield it like a pin and drive it through the very core of Dean's self-loathing, trapping him against the corkboard like the body of a butterfly long dead and dried.

But like every other time, Cas lets it go. His own affections win out again.

The ship doesn't look like a 'Wasabi' to him, but it's not really going to be his ship anyway. The bickering has run its natural course so he moves on, a silent surrender to acquiesce to the name at least somewhat.] ...what would the spirit of ketchup look like? [If Dean's going to claim that then he's going to provide supporting evidence.]

[imhilarious]

[ ZERO hesitation: ]

1950 Volkswagen Kombi. Duh.

[theroadpaved]

'Duh,' [Cas repeats, a little bit of that exasperated bitchiness still in his tone because a) he's annoyed that Dean is yet again referencing something he couldn't hope to understand and acting like he's a dumbass for not knowing and b) he knows that Dean finds it kinda funny when he's bitchy.] I meant of the vessels available to us here.

[imhilarious]

[ Dean does in fact think it's kinda funny. The smile that stretches across his face is in direct correlation with Being Annoying Enough to Make Cas Bitchy. But also, good thanks for playing with him :) ]

I knew that. [ In NO WAY knew that. All his condiment spirit thoughts, preexisting, are about cars.

Dean walks back a ways without breaking eye contact, so he can pat the side of one of the Iron Horizons. See? He was very selective, he took them all in and weighed the options before he picked their girl. ]

Ketchup. Solid, versatile, little bit sweet, good all-rounder. Kinda fun. [ Throws a wink in there for flavor. Plausibly to be more annoying. ] If that's what you're lookin' for.

[ He can do this all day. He'll name every ship here and try to steal more tools and then wonder how he got put in Engineering. smh. ]

[theroadpaved]

[Points at another ship, docked further down the line and dissimilar in appearance to both Dean's and 'Ketchup.'] That one.

[It's a silly little exercise. A pointless waste of time, even; nothing will be accomplished by discussing the associations of these vessels with condiments, but maybe he's...maybe it's nice. It's been a while, since Dean's looked at Castiel without a shred of suspicion or worry. It's been far too long, actually.]

[imhilarious]

[ Dean, for one, happens to think this pointless waste of time is a great waste of time. It's fun. Even back home, Sam was just saying-- and maybe something inside of Dean's ribcage fumbles over that thought, over his brother not being here and not knowing what happened, maybe it aches soft and sharp down into his bone marrow all at once, and he has to bite down on its neck until it stops moving.

Maybe he has to do that.

But his point stands. They were just saying. They just talked about it.

Having a little fun helps. (He wants it to help.) Starting with acknowledging the X-Wing looking spaceship in the room. Which he will even turn to look at, very obligingly. ]

Steak sauce. Sharp, tangy, simple. What you see is what you get. I got a feeling you take her out if you wanna get a little NASCAR with it.

[ Which does sound awesome in space. It's just Dean needs the living space so they can have their makeshift cheap motel room. A terrarium of the Wincesters' natural environment. ]

[theroadpaved]

[It's almost visible, the way Dean's soul stutters; his expression sags just slightly, as if losing color. If he had his angelic sight, Castiel's positive he'd notice the flicker in Dean's spirit, pick up on the stray wave of thought because Dean thinks so very, very loudly sometimes. Feels so intensely. There isn't much that can make Dean look like that and Castiel, who has used his considerable waking moments on Earth watching Dean, committing him and his behaviors to memory in order to emulate, can make a guess at what that is.

What it always is.

But he's moving on. And it feels only kind to let him.]

NASCAR... [No idea what that could be. A portmanteau? Nasty Car?] You'll be sacrificing speed not going with Steak Sauce. [Dean likes the speed the Impala gives him, as unimpressive as that speed is to a creature that travels at the speed of light because that's what he is. To most other things, the Impala is fast. He can admit that much.]

[imhilarious]

[ Note to self, introduce Cas to NASCAR sometime. Well, maybe. It's kinda boring to watch a NASCAR race. Maybe one of those things that's supposed to be cooler in person. Hell if Dean knows.

It truly warms something in the cockles of his heart to have Cas yes-and his dumbass condiment ship names. To feel successful in not looking lame or vulnerable over his dumb feelings trying to escape captivity.

Nevertheless: Dean scoffs. ]

Okay, "sacrifice" is a strong word. It's not like I'm gonna lose sleep over this. [ It's still a free spaceship to attempt to steal and take home after they get out of this whole... situation. ] End of the day, Steak Sauce doesn't sleep two, buddy. Steak Sauce doesn't sleep anybody. She's all travel. And I mean, yeah, that's badass.

[ Look at her. That must be some absolutely insane speed to handle. ]

But you know what Wasabi gets us? Sleepin' room and durability. I could slam that thing through a brick wall and barely put a dent in her. Sturdy. That's our girl right there.

[ Not the motorcycle we crave but the minivan we need to be clingy with our very best friend. And she's beautiful anyway. ]

[theroadpaved]

That isn't true. The velocity with which you struck the wall, the compostion of the bricks, the age of the materials- stop that, [Cas interrupts himself when Dean mimes slumping against Steak Sauce, pretending to snore.] If the need arises, I can find my own vessel. I'm just saying that you don't have to settle if you'd prefer not to.

[imhilarious]

[ Cas always has to be so damn rude, Dean thinks like he hasn't known this guy and what he's like for actual years now. Is it actually rude to look at someone and say "hey, don't settle for my sake"? No. It just feels like that's rude to Dean specifically.

"You don't have to settle if you'd prefer not to"?

Dean got let loose to wander the lot and pick the ship, he picked the ship, he weighed the options. He weighed his priorities. Now there's all this "sacrifice" and "settle" talk? ]

Who the hell said I settled? I picked. [ If there's anything to be said about Cas's directness it's that he'd probably be like "Dean, I don't want to share that ~vessel~ with you" instead of using this avenue as a way to hint around that.

It's second-nature for Dean to wonder anyway, though. To read into it for whatever Cas might not be saying. ] You don't like the one I picked, the time to say so was when I pointed her out the first time. That's my baby's little sister now, Cas, have some freakin' respect.

[ It could not have been any clearer that Cas doesn't care any which way about the personal ships situation. Literally at all. He's been completely indifferent and without opinions while he checked out his little medical kit.

It's just like, why else would this even matter? Who gives a crap about if Dean settled or not? What's wrong with Wasabi??? Nothing's wrong with Wasabi, she's beautiful, fuck off. ]

[theroadpaved]

[And that's usually how it goes, isn't it?

Castiel says something to imply that Dean shouldn't feel it's his job to accommodate him, and Dean doubles down aggressively and implies he's insulted that Cas doesn't want to be accommodated. Immovable object vs. unstoppable force.

Castiel holds the stare for a few more moments, searching, trying to peel Dean apart for any other motive or shred of guilt that might have influenced his decision-

Before he turns, walking back over to Wasabi and reaching up to lay a hand on her hull and start chanting in that same dead language as before.]

[imhilarious]

[ To put it wholly, eloquently: ?

Dean feels like he won this standoff. He's almost positive he won this standoff, which didn't need to be a standoff at all. Cas is clearly gunning to get the last word in with this ancient language thing. Clearly.

Well, only fair to be supportive right back. So he sticks his hands in his pockets and kinda just like, stands there next to Cas while Cas is chanting it out. Looks back and forth between that super serious face and Wasabi a few times. Normal stuff, you know. Not like it's not interesting (or. or nice, you know) to watch. ]

That a christening?

[ Where's the bottle of wine. They always huck a wine bottle at it in the movies. ]

[theroadpaved]

[Castiel finishes the verse before he answers, his hand still on the hull.] Of a sort.

[He starts walking slowly around the ship, keeping his hand on it, squinting like he would see her inner workings if he could just access his grace. Which he would, if he could.] The Impala has spent decades soaking in ambient blessings; this vessel has none of those protections.

[He strokes a hand over Wasabi's hull searchingly. So frustrating. It's unlikely any of the spells or enchantments he tries to cast will stick without utilizing his power, but he may as well try. Maybe he'll get Dean to try later and see if that works better. Maybe do a output bloodletting, that's always helpful.]

[imhilarious]

[ Hmm. Acceptable. ]

'Ambient blessings,' huh? [ There's a fondness in Dean's tone-mimicking. Gentleness, even, for lack of a better word.

It's a nice way to put it. Decades of soaking it in. Blood and sweat and tears and love and fights and inside jokes. More than one rebuild. Steady and reliable as anything could be. As close to a home as he and Sam ever really got. Ambient blessings. Yeah, that's his Baby, alright.

Car that saved the world.

Still. Dean lays a palm flat to the ship's paneling, around where Cas first got started. Looks up at that weird maybe-a-flower maybe-a-skull design stenciled onto it, considering. ]

Well, let's not count Wasabi out just yet. She had to come from somewhere. And they damn sure kept her together. [ A little sweep of his thumb, like he'll also be able to manifest some extra spells or enchantments or whatever through sheer willpower. ] Somethin' like that, I think it means she comes pre-blessed.

[ This horse will WIN the big race and SAVE their ragtag summer camp, etc. ]

[theroadpaved]

Or pre-cursed, depending on the origins. [A little sassy. Cas can just tell that Dean isn't taking him as seriously as he is.

Dean loves his car, anybody who has known him longer than a day knows that, but the Impala has some serious passive protections laid into its frame. Objects, places, vessels are always like that; most of the passive magic they soak up is ephemeral, dissipating as they sit unused or empty, changing hands and intentions. The Impala, though much younger than most passively enchanted things, has been steeped in the Winchesters' blood and prayers and tears- well, maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's because she is of the Winchesters. They've always been special.

Maybe Dean does understand, even if he couldn't see what Castiel could. Riding in vehicles sucked, but with the Impala it sucked far less, simply because of the power of protection and care that had thrummed through her entire frame.]

...I'm keeping the name I came up with for her, [Cas declares as he completes his circuit around Wasabi's hull,] but Wasabi can be her nickname.

[imhilarious]

[ Scoffs. Pointedly scoffs!!!

If she's pre-cursed, then she'll fit right into this family anyway. That's not gonna scare him.

~Wasabi can be her nickname.~ Pf. The audacity of this angel and his like 2 minute long deadass language name. Girl please. ]

Gee, Cas, thanks for bein' so generous about it.

[ Dean's not gonna put up an entire fight because he secretly likes that Cas is invested in naming a ship, but still. He's gonna bitch about it. ]

[theroadpaved]

[And of course, Dean gets the standard,] You're welcome, [as Castiel finally ascends the steps up into the ship proper to check out the interior. Bye bitch]

[imhilarious]

[ Why is Cas SO weird and annoying.

And why does Dean need to write in a diary about how annoying he is and how he'd die for him AND kill for him, in glitter gel pen. Questions with no answers.

Or pathetic answers that aren't worth even thinking about. Too mushy. Too weird.

Damn, he's missed Cas, though.

Well. At least if Dean smiles to himself about anything out here for a few seconds, Cas can't see him do it. :) Shut up go admire the awesome ship he picked out he actually doesn't even care what you do, etc etc etc. ]