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

jonas | oxenfree ii: lost signals

[coherer]

1 — IMBIBE

( Though hours have passed, it feels like moments to Jonas, and he drifts along as though entranced, clutching closely—and occasionally sipping—a bottled drink. He's not alone: Visions follow him closely, bound to him and his imaginings of the world around him. As is typical with a Cherry Cola!™, everything he looks at is duplicated for however long his mind lingers on it—because everything he looks at is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, including you.

When he looks at you, even briefly, a copy of you appears. It's not a perfect duplicate; your features are exaggerated slightly into Jonas' first impression of you. This is how you're seen to others, an idealized, perfect version. This is what you don't see when you look in the mirror. )

Hey, ( he begins, eyes wide and glassy. ) This feels... real. It is, isn't it? I mean... you are.

2 — INITIATE

( Dread sinks in his gut like a ship that's taken on water. It's a feeling that plunges him from surface understanding into a rapid descent into more profound knowing.

He's a ghost.

A fish brushed his hand, or should've, but it passed through him—like everything else now does. His pop bottle slips from his hand and breaks on the floor, scattering glass that the beetleform Hosts swarm in to clean up. Even they and the mess they clean up slides through his shoes as though they're not there at all.

His breath comes in shakes, imitating his hands, as he's terrified to move. )

I'm... I'm...

3 — FOREWORD

( Jonas, who's finally located his chill, walks through a line of spaceships with an armful of animal hosts. The snakeforms in particular are being abused in a never-ending hug, because the beetleforms are small enough to skate away, and a few of the grumpier catforms were pissed when he tried to pick them up.

They wriggle in his arms, happy to help. This is what they do now. They are his security blankets. This is their duty. This is what they've been reduced to. )

Is that one cool, boys? Not that the other ones aren't cool, but, like, this one's bigger than the other ones, right?

( "Yesss, Jonasss."

"Yesss."

"SSSuper big."

The chorus of forced agreement prompts him to bob his head in appreciation to all three of them. He can't imagine owning his own ship, or what kind of responsibility that entails, but he doesn't have to pilot it. It can just sit here and look sick. And it's the first thing he really owns since arriving.

A spaceship. )

Hey, which one did you pick? Let me guess...

( If you "look" nervous, temperamental, impatient, or any mix of the three, he will stereotype you as: ) ... that skinny, fast one, right? Like, the speed-demon-y, rocket-looking one? Of course, you did.

( If you "look" indecisive, quiet, or unimpressed, or any mix of the three, he will stereotype you as: ) ... the mid one with, like, zero personality? Jesus, way to straddle the line.

( If you "look" grouchy, bossy, or standoffish, or any mix of the three, he will stereotype you as: ) ... the badass one with maximum girth? Was there any other choice? Seriously.

4 — THEOREMNET, UN: WARD

Hi, where do I get cigarettes?

imbibe

[fessus]

Hey–

[ Coming to examine the food situation was a mistake. He's not even hungry enough to have justified the hassle, and the people he's met have either been just as uninformed as he is or incoherent thanks to some kind of shared delusion. He himself has been trapped in snippets of dream-like fog, caught in the gravity wells of people's memories, imaginings, or thoughts in the same push and pull he experienced upon his arrival.

He just wanted some chips.

So seeing Jonas, here, in the flesh, on the ship, is a relief, but the uncanny duplicated image projected back at him is a distraction almost great enough to cause him to miss that dazed expression. ]

Ah... yeah, real as anything here. Are you okay?

NOCTO!!!

[coherer]

( The duplicate does nothing more than emulate Noctis' expression, mimicking the action of talking, though slowly, as if it needs to buffer as Jonas' impression changes in real-time.

Seeing people is one thing. Hearing them speak directly to him is another. )

Yeah, I think—Well, actually, no, probably not. ( Seems like the obvious thing to say in this scenario, especially when he feels like an alien in his body. ) Right now, though... I guess I am.

( Noctis is given a protracted look. Processing takes a moment; he hasn't had to rush in a very long time. )

... Are you okay?

OPENS ARMS WIDE

[fessus]

[ Eyes flicker from Jonas to his doppelgänger and then back again, its shifting features leaving him disconcerted. Is it a reflection of something specific? Inner thoughts? They seem to be the theme of the day, but the figure is hovering around Jonas only.

He turns suddenly, poor timing after such a question, to glance after a shadow moving in the corner of his eye. It isn't the first time today that instinct has led to nothing. ]

Me? Guess you mean other than being stuck here... Yeah, I'm good. [ There was never going to be any other answer. ]

Do you need some help?

4 — UN: SHINIGAMI

[mikoshi]

[ Yeah, he and Johnny have to get in this racket ASAP. ] Answer my riddles three

the GALL of this man

[coherer]

Oh god
Are any of the answers "an egg," "nothing," or "your age"?
Maybe "a towel"???
Mercy please I literally just need 1 cigarette

4, un: reliant

[blyat]

you don't

[coherer]

Are you just screwing with me like that Shiny Gami guy or are you being totally straight with me rn

4; un: umbreaker... all the smokers converging is sending me

[shredder]

idk man but the hosts are a dead end
don't ask unless you want a lecture
bird crying in the night or w/e telling you it's bad for your lungs

[ Like that isn't half the fun??? ]

SAME, they need regular support meetings fr.....

[coherer]

I am trying to be serious but you calling it "bird crying in the night" is pretty much ruining anything cool I had to say

( he needed that laugh, jesus christ )

I'm gonna make an obvious statement you're sure to agree with instead:
My body, my choice
Isn't letting us kill ourselves with tar the least they can do here

UN: SHINIGAMI

[mikoshi]

[ Because 1) he's amused at all these men jonesing for their nicotine fix and 2) daddy needs funds to trick out his ship: ] Working on it. You're all so damn lucky I got farming experience [ And that vaping pisses him off. It's like sucking on a bottle. For babies. ]

[ OOC: So sorry, replying keeps erroring out for me. ]

1

[hyompora]

[The mess hall proves to be a mixed bag as a place to hang out, at least as long as this welcoming party continues on. She could do without the mental hazards the foods seem to throw at them every which way imaginable, but she's all too willing to put up with it because she enjoys being where the people are a little too much. That, and the grassy little picnic area they've dressed it up as is charming as all get out.

It's in the midst of enjoying that little spot of greenery that the copy of her decides to crop up, and it stops her in her tracks with a serious double-take. She hadn't been able to summon a single water clone since waking up here, and it would have required actual intent, besides. But... wait, no. It's a little off. Same pointed ears, sure, but a teeny bit too tall and with a smile that actually reaches her eyes... No, she's far too practiced at it for errors like this.

Her attention only deviates from the strange copy at the sound of someone nearby addressing her; her gaze searches him out, meeting those glassy eyes of his with clear and sharp amber ones of her own.]

As real as can be.

[She flashes him a smile with a tilt of her head and the little flourish in the wave of a hand.]

Speaking for myself, at least. What, can't tell the real deal from a fake? [Said with a lingering glance at that copy of herself.]

an angel.........

[coherer]

( Now he's experienced everything: An elven woman, pretty as can be and straight from the set of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, is addressing him directly.

She's confidently herself, it seems, and that makes him reconfigure his appearance as though he should emulate some of that energy. So, while he squares up with her, there's still a practiced slouch to his shoulders that indicates he'd prefer to be much smaller and far more insignificant. )

I... thought I was hallucinating, ( Jonas admits, uncertain if that's more perplexing or somewhat of a relief. Can it be both? he wonders, eyes wide. ) Not sure what you mean, though. Do they, uh... Do they look different?

( Her comment makes him study them closer, but the only difference he spies in the doppelgänger is its soft glow. As though this copy of Muelsyse is lit from within. )

Everything I look at seems to just, like, multiply like this. I don't know. It's not happening to you?

4; UN: idklol

[precocity]

bro.....

[coherer]

......... Yeah??

foreword

[alytos]

[ Considering he's standing around with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed in deep concentration? He definitely fits the image of "standoffish." His height, rigid posture, and obvious muscle doesn't help, either.

He kind of wishes whoever this was put it a different way, but he looks over anyway and tilts his head to the side. ]

I haven't decided. [ There's a lot to consider. While his frame makes squeezing into the fastest vessel unappealing, the cumbersome body of the largest vessel comes with its own set of problems. The middle option is the best of both worlds, yet he still hesitates in the face of it.

None of this he actually says, though. Instead, he just looks back at the ships, lips pulled into a line as he ponders. ]

Did you already choose?

please forgive me mydei🙈

[coherer]

( Turning his head, Jonas beholds the Man he's started up a conversation with. And good Lord above, he is absolutely yolked. Momentarily stricken with envy and awe in equal measure, he holds the silently periscoping snake's tighter against his chest.

He's not in Kansas anymore. )

Uh... Was it no-shirt power-hour and I missed the memo? Jesus. Cool tats, though...

( Incredibly smooth recovery. Back it up. )

Anyway... There's no rush or anything. Operating on pure vibes, I obviously chose the biggest one, and, like, I hear it has ample storage space. For all my hobbies.

( What fucking hobbies? Why is he trying to be cool right now?

If the three snakes could do anything but hang there and stare into the middle distance, they'd be rolling their eyes in their sockets. )

High defence, too. I need to take a tour to be one hundred percent sure though, you know? "Try before you buy."

2 also ❤️ oxenfree

[bombdevil]

[ Her better judgement and general, always present lack of trust tells her she should simply walk past whatever psychotic breakdown (at least, that's what she assumes it is) seems to be taking up a good portion of the hallway. But Reze has discovered that once you unlock the concept of guilt it's difficult to rid your brain of it.

She steps around the cute metal bugs who are making quick work of cleaning up glass and soda.

Hands folded behind her back she cranes her head to look up at him. ]

Helloooo-

[ She seems rather chipper even in the face of this stranger's distress.

Wouldn't be helpful if they were BOTH freaked out, now would it? ]

You doing okay over there little guy?

[ It's a joke. Because he's way taller than her.

:) ]

omg YESSS ❤️ i love csm TOOOOO 🥰

[coherer]

( Jonas watches his hands, still held abortedly in the air, as a small woman sidles up to him. Her presence startles him as much as the fish's did, even when he saw the unfocused shape of her approaching through his spread, shaking fingers. With a jump in his shoulders at her chipper hello, he takes two small steps away. )

No, I'm not. Actually, I'm— ( There's a rough sigh of frustration that's laced inextricably with his panic. ) I think I'm—

( Dead? Dying?

Jesus, he just wanted to talk to his mother one last time. To square things away. Reze presents a much-needed distraction, however, before he can sink any further into The Pit of Despair™. )

Sorry, just... don't touch me, okay? I... I don't know if it'll transfer or—I don't know what the hell is happening to me. Please.

Theoremnet. un: magnificence

[the_ego_has_landed]

Surely there are more efficient ways of giving yourself cancer?

[coherer]

No actually this is the fastest way I know of
Earthling circa 2016, so like
Barring flashing myself with radiation or gently spritzing myself with a bunch of chemicals, I got nothing

Surely there are more efficient ways of proving you're a douche?
Wait no
Having the username "magnificence" and asking passive-aggressive questions online was honestly pretty effective
Bravo

4 >> UN: no

[justamobster]

[ The audio picks up the last of a robotic voice reading the question out loud. Whoever this is, they appear to be using some kind of text-to-speech function to read things off the network. ]

Hah. Ain't you heard? S'bad for us l'il spacefarers, accordin' to the fuckin' talkin' toasters.

audio, +1 to the smokers support group😭

[coherer]

Oh. Oh, wow... They snatched you up right off the set of The Godfather, huh?

Tough luck, pal, ( Jonas adds, trying to put on The Accent before instantly regretting doing so. ) I don't know about you, but I'm, like, way past crapping all over my health.

Do you think begging them would help?

2.

[muddlefudge]

[Huh, space fish. Reminds him a little of the Hotel Reverie, and not entirely in a good way, but you know what? Pretty. And real, apparently, which is a big step up in his opinion. A school of them swim towards him, and he just bends himself backwards to avoid them like he's doing the limbo because why would he just step back like a normal person?

But that shattering of glass draws his attention. It only takes a moment for him to figure out where it came from.]

Hey, kid. You good? Ya look like you seen a ghost.

[...Yeah. Probably not the best time.]

[coherer]

( The limboing cyborg in chaps is somehow stranger to see than the fish and his own spectral arm. It startles Jonas, whose rough breaths are sucked back on a sharp inhale, forced to take a rocky step back to keep his jelly legs from giving out beneath him.

Then he's talked to. Asked after. And his eyes well up at the novelty of it. )

You're... You can see me. You can, right? ( Repetition smacks of desperation, as does his stammering; he's scared, and Boothill is human enough to respond to that. ) I'm... I'm lost, I don't know where I am. And the fish—Can you help me? Please.