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

jiaoqiu | honkai: star rail

[flavourtown]

✘ ⸻ reflect

[ Jiaoqiu stands in front of the window, hands tucked neatly behind his back, but he does not gaze down at the view of the trading post beneath them. With a white blindfold fastened securely over his eyes, he instead pays attention to the sounds of the people around him, one vulpine ear cocked in the direction of the med bay.

After he'd arrived via portal, the medical drone -- Silverpoint's Last Bloom, if he recalls correctly -- had cheerfully noted that he was without sight, and had offered him a medical device. A small earpiece and a pinhole camera that clips to the side of his ear, which describes everything around him. So far, since being blinded, he'd been getting by with his enhanced hearing filling in where his sight could not, but ever since he stepped though that portal and onto this ship, his hearing is terribly muffled. Down to human levels, if he had to guess.

Thus, the earpiece is more useful than anticipated.

It's quietly murmuring to him a description of the view beyond the window; a medium-sized planet with green landmasses and pale grey clouds, the trading post is visible as a web of hexagonal structures. Accessing local shipping data: trading barge Crimson Wing is moving at an altitude of 4500 meters in an eastward direction. Scouting ship On Sunlit Wings is at an altitude of--

On second thought, perhaps it is a little too detailed.

Jiaoqiu turns to the other side of the hallway, where his earpiece busily describes the nebula outside. There is someone next to him in the hallway, pointed also in the direction of the nebula, though with his muffled hearing he cannot pick up any obvious emotional cues. Are they scared, after their journey through universes? Is he? Jiaoqiu hardly knows; emotionally, he seems to have accepted this with all of the deadened reactions he normally suffers. Rather than scared, or angry, he is merely mildly curious, and a little worried about leaving his people behind. But instead of fretting, he turns a mild, polite smile to the person next to him. ]

It must be a spectacular view. Do you suppose we're pointed directly at it for a reason?

✘ ⸻ imbibe

[ Ah, now here is far more familiar territory for Jiaoqiu. Being pulled through to another universe is not where his expertise lays. Food, however, very much is. He stalks between the food trucks with the discerning ear of a chef, stopping and starting suddenly when his earpiece frantically informs him of an imminent collision, frowning under his blindfold.

Delightfully, this place has ingredients and cultures he has never even heard of. He tries everything from spiced blackfin marrow soup, to five-tier beanflour pancakes. He gets into avid discussions with the Hosts serving these things, holding up lines and making an absolute nuisance of himself, at least before he remembers his manners.

And finally, he is sat at a table in the middle of the park, head tilted down as if to gaze at the potential masterpiece that lays before him. The (Maybe) Cake, which his earpiece informs him has a fish head sticking out of it, rainbow icing oozing from between the layers, candied balls, and a wafer-like criss-cross top layer. ]

Magnificent.

[ He exhales, fingers steepled in deep thought. And then addresses a nearby person: ]

Tell me; can you tell if the fish head is real, or a particularly finely wrought confection?

✘ ⸻ foreword

[ One docking bay is much like another, so Jiaoqiu does not need to see it to appreciate how vast it is: he can hear that well enough, the sounds of ships echoing through the cavernous space.

Starling's Lament's presentation is a curious thing, and at last provides some answers on what this exploratory mission is meant to be. They had said in the medbay that these Ascendants had rescued them from a fate of messily, accidentally appearing in the empty void of space, and that the mysterious Song they seek potentially has some means of sending them home. As with all things, Jiaoqiu is... doubtful, but willing to entertain the possibility. Now, they are being told that they are following scraps of legends, hoping to find the Song in the trailways of these Edicts.

As the presentation ends, Jiaoqiu stands in front of the tables laid out with exploratory gear, deep in thought. He cannot possibly make the decision to be in Medical. With his recent injuries, there are obstacles he has not yet learned to overcome -- and, if he's being ruthlessly honest with himself, may never be able to overcome. To sign up to the Medical Division would mean he'd be a weak link in the chain. A healer that cannot properly do his job.

Instead, he settles a hand on a pack for Support. If he cannot heal, he can certainly cook.

He slings the pack over his shoulder, and goes to inspect the nearby ships. His earpiece describes the nearest one, a bulky transport that focuses on heavy shielding and steady flight. An Iron Horizon, he is informed. In another life, Jiaoqiu might have been a pilot, like so many of his people. But he never felt that call to the sky the same way that many of his friends did, only a call to medical research, and later, to alchemy and healing. Still, the thought of his own ship...

It's tempting. ]

Will you take one for yourself?

[ He asks the person closest, reaching out to place a curious hand against the cool metal of the ship's side. There must be a decal or a pattern, he can feel the ever-so-slight ridges under his fingertips. ]

Are they all like this one, or can you see other types? A discerning customer must of course see all of one's options before one chooses.

imbibe

[fatalis]

Uh. [ Jayce swallows and squeezes his eyes shut to fight the bubbling feeling in his stomach. Opening them, part of him had been hoping that the fish head in question might have disappeared in the interim, and yet there it is, still staring him in the face. ]

It looks real to me. [ Leaning in, Jayce sees his own reflection in the glazed eye and that's almost too much for him. ] Yeah, I think it's real.

[ A pause. Jayce's features twist up slightly into something comically upset. ] Are you going to eat it?

[flavourtown]

No, I am going to savor it.

[ Jiaoqiu lifts the plate with both hands, bringing it roughly face-height, all the better to be able to inhale deeply. ]

Ah, yes. Unless the chef has added a particularly cunning fake scent, the fish head is indeed real. Fascinating. What creativity. What a bold, deliberate ignorance of convention. This is a masterpiece. This is rebellion in food form.

[ While his earpiece busily informs him that his conversational companion's expression has contorted into expression identified!: upset, lightly disgusted, Jiaoqiu takes a fork, taps the plate until he finds the edge of the cake, and takes a small chunk from the waffle top layer. He pops it in his mouth, and chews thoughtfully. ]

Hmm. A veritable confluence of tastes. Would you like to try some?

[fatalis]

Savor.

[ Jayce repeats the word just to make sure he heard it right. There's nothing he can think is worth savoring about eyeballs, and he doesn't know if fish have teeth but he doesn't want to think about eating those either. Somehow that seems worse that the eyes. ]

Are you a chef? [ That's a safer question, Jayce thinks, than asking more about the fish head. Belatedly, he sees the tail poking out of the back and he watches in rapt attention as they take a bite of it.

Jayce hopes he doesn't look green when it's offered to him. ] ...Maybe. What does it taste like? [ Whether he's brave enough to try it will have to wait for that answer. ]

[flavourtown]

I am. What gave it away? The ecstatic rhapsodizing? Ah, I'm too obvious.

[ Jiaoqiu's tiny little smile is amused, though largely distracted by chewing. Finally, he swallows.

No. Of course. He had had some minor hope that perhaps traveling to a different universe altogether might rid him of nihility's plague, but he still cannot taste anything. The waffle top layer is perfectly fluffy on the inside and crisp on the outside, and it smells like sugar and savory batter, but his tongue is dead as always. For all he knows it might taste of the fish sticking out of the top of it.

His smile smooths into something placid and utterly inexpressive. ]

It needs something. Some spice. Would you care to help me search? I need to find a food truck that looks like it serves up something so spicy it would burn the tongue right out of your head.

[fatalis]

Just the way you talk about food. [ To Jayce, it's always just been something he's forgotten about, too focused on his work to think about it. It was by the grace of the people around him that he never wasted away inside his apartment or in the lab. ] It's interesting. [ Jayce chuckles wryly. ] And it makes me wonder if that's what I sound like when I talk about Hextech.

[ It probably is.

His own expression shifts when the other's does, his masking sometimes failing and turning into mirroring and he just looks at them, thinking back to what he'd just said. He perks back up, slightly, at the mention of spice. ]

Sure. I know spice. I grew up on it. [ Jayce is already looking around to see what's around them. Walking over to one of the other trucks, twisting the sauce bottles around and reading the labels. ] Just burn your tongue, or are we talking tears in the eyes and sweating? That changes the recommendation.

Reflect

[cometchaser]

She didn't spend long looking at the trading post. She's been to her fair share, knows what they tend to be like. That doesn't really hold her interest.

The nebula, on the other hand...well, it's been awhile since she's seen one this pretty. It's comforting, familiar. At this point, the vast emptiness of space is more at home to her than being stuck planetside. Space is infinite roads, pure possibility.

Planets tend to all have the same problems.

So while she's aware of the guy moving over close to her to look, she doesn't engage until he does, and she finally looks at him, and for a brief moment, she thinks about walking away, or just ignoring him. But...fuck it, if her recent experiences with a team, a team that's not here haven't left her feeling just a titch lonely.

Damn it. Not long ago that wouldn't have bothered her. She was never sentimental about leaving when she had to. Going back to Earth has thrown her off her game.

"Yeah, it's...it is beautiful." She says, turning back to the view, her voice altered and synthesized by the mask that has not come off since she woke up in the medbay, the smooth, shiny faceplate with the single red optic in the center.

She shrugs to herself. "Dunno about that. Need to ask one of those Ascendants, I guess."

[flavourtown]

Jiaoqiu turns just enough for his earpiece's camera to get a look at who he's speaking to, and the description he's given is interesting: it can't immediately identify a gender or an age, but gives a beautiful rendition of a grey steel mask with a smooth faceplate and no identifiable features, save for the single red optic in the center of it.

"I get the feeling that would be more difficult than anticipated," he hums, tone mild. Whoever these Ascendants are, they have no made themselves readily available for a conversation, because of course they haven't. Why bother answering questions when you pluck them out of a space-time rift and put them on an explorer's ship?

As he speaks, he hears the quiet clicking of a Host -- an insect of some kind, going by the number of legs impacting the metal -- climbing up the nearby wall and depositing something in his hand. A quick investigation reveals it is a wrapped candy. Jiaoqiu frowns, perplexed.

"Thank you?" The Host chirps happily, and skitters away. Jiaoqiu can only accept this as an eccentricity. "Perhaps we're pointed in this direction because the Hosts think it's beautiful. They're intellectually complex; surely they have a concept of beauty, as we do."

[cometchaser]

"Yeah. What's with that?" She slouches on the railing. "They can pull us from different worlds, build a ship of this size, robots like the Hosts...what do they need us for?" Of course there's an agenda here; everyone has a play, everyone wants something. That's just how it is. "It can't even be because we're expendable, because they've got the robots." An small bird-like Host further down the railing suddenly makes an electronic chirping at her, and the mask swings in its direction. "Sorry." She apologizes. It takes wing and flies away down the corridor. She turns her attention back to the nebula.

"...I dunno about that." She admits. "Maybe our course takes us through it. You heard anything about that?" The mask swings back towards Jiaoqiu. "Where exactly we're supposed to be going?"

[flavourtown]

It's an interesting point. They have all the technology they could ever need, but they couldn't find people in their own universe to embark on an exploratory mission? Surely not.

(Apparently, the Hosts are capable of being offended. That's adorable.)

"I assume we'll be given a briefing about our eventual destination," he hums. "That is, of course, if we are being treated well. If, on the other hand, they're of a mind to treat us like prisoners, we may very well find ourselves flying in darkness and being dumped onto the first planet they've marked."

Far from being overtly dour or jaded, his tone is practically cheerful, smooth and placid, one big verbal shrug.

"If the Hosts are as complicated technologically as I think they are, flesh is far more expendable -- and far cheaper -- than they are."

reflect

[greatestworks]

[ The end is, they say, the final word in some stories.

He isn't sure what to make of this, to turn the page and find there is so much more yet to say. Phainon has been wandering the ship like a boat cut adrift — affable, polite, agreeable, and utterly out of his element — and has stopped here because the view of the trading post below (or beyond? what are directions without firmament beneath one's feet?), like so much else, is unlike anything he's ever seen before. The nymphs-- droneforms are as informative as they are curious, but he finds much of what he's learning falls around his frayed attention like so much honey brew spilling over the lip of an overfilled cup. Retreating to the other side of the hallway offers a quieter, but no less breathtaking vista, its rosy hues prove more difficult to watch for long, when it casts his thoughts far, far back, to the sound of carefree laughter on the wheat-scented breeze, to a friend long gone, and then, to the names and faces his heart will always miss.

It must be a spectacular view. Jiaoqiu's voice tears him from his reverie, and Phainon understands the speculative tone immediately when he turns his eyes to the man's comparatively delicate profile, the blindfold a telling indication. ]

Who knows? [ he says, a verbal shrug to accompany the rise and fall of his pauldroned shoulder. But it wouldn't do to give the stranger the brushoff, and he's more amenable to a conversation with another Wayfarer than endure the scrutiny of another droneform. His tone is rich with easy gregariousness, an affectation that belies the confusion he shares with many others, the wariness of waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of this still feels surreal and ephemeral, a feverdream conjured up as the last gasp of existence facing oblivion, as the bards sing. ] ...Would you like me to describe it to you?

[flavourtown]

[ Jiaoqiu cocks an ear so that his earpiece's camera can get a view of who he's speaking to. Before he was blinded, he had never given much thought to the appearance of other people -- now, it seems of the utmost importance, yet another visual detail he can internally devour and pine for.

His earpiece busily describes a man that, in descriptors, sounds like a mythical knight in shining armor. Tidy grey hair, blue eyes, a pauldron on one shoulder, a long jacket somewhat like a cloak, unknown golden sun-like motifs. At the offer, Jiaoqiu smiles wryly. ]

I would like that very much, if you'd be so kind.

[ His Host-given earpiece is useful for the basics, but it is not poetic. It doesn't describe a view in the way a blind man is hungry for. Jiaoqiu has come to terms with his new limitations, but that does not mean he doesn't feel frustrated sometimes. He folds his arms across his chest, the empty sleeves of his jacket dangling. ]

Nebulas and trading posts are both things I have seen plenty of before, admittedly. But the former is usually a spectacular sight, and the latter, if not always beautiful, is always interesting.

[greatestworks]

Think nothing of it.

[ Fortunately for Jiaoqiu, the frontierland from which he once hailed was good for more than its seas of golden wheat fields; its idyllic beauty inspired generations of sons and daughters with romantic and poetic hearts. Phainon is no exception. It helps that he was the apprentice to a leader who had excised her own sight in favor of the senses that suited the deliverance of their world better. ]

Since you've seen them before, [ presumes the stranger, with a self-conscious chuckle, ] I assume your mind still perceives color. That will make this easier.

[ Phainon's golden pupils contract as his attention strays, first to the top of his head, and then lower, behind him. The man's ears and bushy tail bring to mind the thieves and gamblers native to lost Dolos, but this close, he can see they're distinctly different than the feline features of a Dolosian.

Without drawing attention to his scrutiny, Phainon continues, lifting a hand that he expects Jiaoqiu won't see - for obvious reasons. ]

Shape may challenge my abilities as a storyteller, however. If it's no trouble, please lend me one of your hands, and I'll do my best to illustrate where language fails me.

[flavourtown]

[ It's an unexpected request, but one that Jiaoqiu is willing to indulge. Ever the pessimist, he does consider the notion that he may be about to be harmed -- that this generous, friendly stranger might be using this as a way to spring an attack on him, to steal, to kill, or simply to abuse for his own amusement -- but he fancies himself an accurate enough judge of character, and supposes the chance is low.

It's an interesting thought, though. What would happen if one Wayfarer attacked another? Surely it's an inevitability. Would the Hosts intervene?

Cautiously, though his smile never shifts from its polite, placid curve, Jiaoqiu extends one hand, loosely wrapped in black ribbon. He assumes the shapes will be traced on his palm; an inventive idea. ]

There is color, then? Some nebulas have none at all. [ There's a faint wistfulness to his tone that he cannot quite contain. ] It depends entirely on the kind of gasses and elements they are made of; how they interact, in what densities they are present, how the light reflects off them. Many nebulae are invisible, just clouds of colorless gas hanging inert in space, waiting to attempt to erode any ship that carelessly passes through them without proper shielding.

[ Not a problem for this ship, he assumes, if they are brazenly parked so close to one. ]

✘ ⸻ foreword

[precocity]

[ izaya is not in the business of being helpful without compensation, whether that be money, information or entertainment. that much hasn't changed regardless of the lessons ikebukuro left imprinted on his bones.

which ache as he shifts from one leg to the other, unused muscles cramping even from the briefest of walks. he should ask for help but right now the priority is gather information and find out as much as he can.

including the other arrivals. ] I'm afraid this is a little bit outside my skills but since you're asking so nicely, I'll tell you that there are different ones.

[flavourtown]

What a generous answer.

[ Jiaoqiu's reply is perfectly polite, airy, and casual, like he really does mean it. His sarcasm is just barely beneath the surface, only to be found by particularly clever individuals.

He turns his head in the direction of the ships, but his earpiece proves... somewhat useless. All it says is: Void Runner model, Iron Horizon model, Void Runner model, Void Runner model, as it identifies each ship. No better description. Jiaoqiu wonders if he can look it up on the datapad he was provided. He lets his hand fall from the ship he's touching. ]

Do you think you will claim one yourself?

[precocity]

[ oh, the sarcasm offers a pleasant bite that appeals to izaya; but he has never been known to makes things easy. not for himself and certainly not for anyone he is interacting with.

so, instead he steps carefully—and even if not visible it would be noticeable by the stand of his steps being uneven, slow—towards the ship and pats the metal. ]

No, I don't think I will right now. There are only two options and neither one is super appealing, I mean, what kind of aesthetics are these?

'Void Runner' just looks tiny, like a very...hm a one-man ship. You can barely store anything in it from the looks of it.

[ is he being helpful in an asshole way? maybe. ]

[flavourtown]

Not that we have much in the way of belongings anyway.

[ Jiaoqiu is not especially bothered by being brought here with only the clothes on his back, his hairpin, and his jewelry. He always traveled light anyway, and had little in the way of sentimental items. It's the loss of his finely-tuned senses that truly annoys him -- his hearing and sense of smell had helped him compensate for his new blindness, but now he does not have those, either.

He's glad for the Support pack, though. If they're to be exploring planets, gear will be useful. He'll just have to requisition a cauldron, and better cooking utensils. ]

And the other options? Not tiny, one assumes.

reflect

[shitaidorobo]

[Perhaps even with the full range of his hearing, it wouldn't be immediately obvious for Jiaoqiu that there's something amiss with the young man he stops ahead of. After all, when he's out of sorts like this, he tends to go quiet -- perhaps an artifact of the boy whose body he's taken up residence in. Hikaru had been loud, after all. Brash, vibrant. The sort of person who lit up a room just by being in it.

The sort of person who wished for his passing not to hurt anyone, with his last breath. But he'd failed at granting that wish, hadn't he? What he sees in the nebula is a vision of him losing control, reaching out on instinct for Yoshiki's soul, nearly overwhelming and crushing it, even though hurting him is the last thing he ever wanted to do.

He hadn't meant to step into that corridor of stars, ether, but he's almost relieved. He was going to go away anyway, after all. He would've liked to have said goodbye, but it's not as though Yoshiki was able to say it with the real Hikaru, either. Maybe it's better this way. He can mourn his friend properly now, without having to make space for the monster that took his place.

The approach of a person goes nearly unnoticed, lost in his thoughts as he is. It's only at the question that he looks up at the newcomer, blinking owlishly.]

Huh? Ya think there's a reason, 'sides from lookin' cool?

[flavourtown]

I was just wondering if the Hosts had a sense of beauty, or if there was something more practical about the view.

[ Jiaoqiu is no engineer, nor has he ever worked with artificial intelligence, so truly, he has no idea. Are the Hosts capable of thinking something is pretty, and worth looking at? Do they even have vision that works like that, or do they see everything in individual pixels and pattern recognition?

He smiles wryly, then. ]

I guess it doesn't matter in the slightest, does it? We've got more important things to be thinking about.

[ Blind, Jiaoqiu doesn't notice part of the nebula changing, a tiny curl of gasses shaping themselves into a mirror of his face. Utterly blank, with eyes like a black hole. ]

Did you get the sense that you... saw something, when you passed through that portal to come here? Or am I deluding myself?

[shitaidorobo]

[Practical? 'Hikaru' can't begin to tell what practical purpose something like the nebula outside might have. It sounds like some kind of engineer stuff that would be wildly over his head even if it was something that got taught in high school. Despite his genuine enthusiasm and interest for going to school, compared to the boy who used to known this body, he still struggles to wrap his mind around what's even going on more often than not.]

Maybe ya can ask? All those robot guys seem real friendly, even if it ain't important.

[He shrugs, though, moving smoothly to the second question that Jiaoqiu had asked.]

I might've? I mostly just thought it were a dream.

imbibe - because the stargazer cake remains my second favorite penacony food crime

[weekending]

[ Sunday is busy spacing out - (finding himself in a new universe entirely has given him much to think about, after all, and when better to do so than over a meal? Even if the end result is him only sort of vaguely picking at his food while he stares off at the dancing fairy lights as though in a trance) - when he is addressed, and as such he almost doesn't respond at all. But, slightly delayed though the reaction is, his head wings twitch, and he blinks several times, tearing his eyes away from the lights to look over. ]

--Hm?

[ A beat to process the question ] - ? [ and then another to stare at the cake in question. His eyes widen in recognition, as he leans forward. ] Oh!

[ Unless he's very much mistaken, he knows this cake -- or, well, something much like it. What a strange coincidence - he almost wonders if somehow a recipe or two transcended universes too? Or perhaps someone else from Penacony is or was here? He'll have to seek out wherever this came from-- though... then again, given his recent history, perhaps that is less than wise. Still, it's a somewhat welcome little oasis of lurid familiarity. ]

If it is anything like the stargazer cakes with which I am familiar, it's quite real. It is truly an... unforgettable flavor experience.

[ By tone alone, whether he means that positively or negatively is entirely ambiguous - but Sunday is smiling with a faint nostalgic wistfulness. ]

if only jiaoqiu could recognize him as a halovian, rip lol

[flavourtown]

[ Jiaoqiu very visibly perks -- both in ears and tail, and eyebrows alike -- at his new company putting a name to the cake. It had been distressingly unnamed when he had gotten it, described only as "cake", and the mystery had been enough to intrigue him.

Stargazer cake, though. He doesn't recognize the name, more's the pity. ]

The fish head is real? Fascinating. I hadn't quite been able to tell, without first digging in, if it was candy with a fake scent, or real.

[ He taps his fork over the cake, finding the fish head again, and then the waffle-like top layer of the cake. He takes a few flakes of fish from the bottom of the head, a chunk of cake, and some of the icing, and proceeds to pop it into his mouth. He chews. Swallows. At length, he says contemplatively: ]

Hmm. An experience I am compelled to think about in great depth before I formulate an opinion.

[ Anyway: ]

You're familiar with the type of cake? How interesting; it's certainly a unique one. Perhaps they pulled the recipe from your world?

aha right?one can only imagine how helpful the earpiece is in picking out useful identifying details

[weekending]

Yes, though if you go digging, you'll find it's more than just the head: the entire fish is baked whole into the cake.

[ Sunday abandons any pretense of eating any more of his own meal to watch in anticipation -- and then covers his mouth with his headwings to muffle his laugh at the carefully worded deferral. Really, he's impressed the man (foxian, Sunday thinks based on appearances, though trait recognition hardly means anything given the infinite universes they may have been drawn from) managed to swallow it at all. Many a dreamchaser has given up before even this first hurdle - or immediately spit it out again. ]

I am, though I haven't had any myself in many years. If they have, and it's not a wild and uncanny coincidence, then I am all the more impressed, as it's only made and served inside a dream.

it's not helpful at all, but that's the funny part lmao

[flavourtown]

[ Really? The cake baked around the fish? How ingenious.

Jiaoqiu takes another bite, this time getting a chunk of the internal fish, and one of the candied globes on top. He chews. He'd hoped against all reason that the trip between universes might sort of... shock his taste buds back online. But, no. He still cannot taste anything. He can feel the texture of the hard candy's outer shell and soft innards, the flaky softness of the fish, the spongy cake. And he can smell that they all smell about correct, the chocolate sweet and the fish more savory. But his foxian senses are largely offline, reduced down to a human's level, just to add to his misery.

So, Jiaoqiu takes a bottle of hot sauce that he'd had stashed near him, and proceeds to drizzle it artfully over the cake. ]

A dream? Is that a twist of poetic phrasing, or are you being quite literal? I suppose the latter would make sense: only a bizarre dream, or a twisted genius, could conceive of this cake.

[ He takes a third, now hot-sauce-laden bite. His earpiece has described his conversational companion as humanoid, of medium height for a humanoid, as unhelpful as it has proven thus far, so there are no clues about this dreamworld there. Luckily, the hot sauce improves the cake: it's not as hot as prefers, but it's hot enough that it hurts, forcing his tastebuds to catch a glimpse of the taste he's trying to experience. ]

This is a work of rebellious art. A scream against standard norms. Genius. Or the product of an utterly demented mind, I cannot quite decide.