reverielogs | ( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

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( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

» WHO? everyone
» WHEN? may 1 onward
» WHERE? all over the station
» WHAT? introductory log feat. waking up, exploration, meeting over food and noises in the walls
» WARNINGS? potential for body horror, psychological horror, hallucinations, physical injury

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 2 ) LOOK AROUND

You've woken up — but where have you woken up? It may be time to explore your new home. Rifling through a crew quarter will make the room's terminal lock to the comms device you're carrying; the room becomes yours. That includes everything in it, from the additional jumpsuit to the two extra sets of underwear. In some quarters, you may find remnants of whoever was here before you: a book on the nightstand, a coffee mug still on the table, a lonely sock on the floor.

A look around the shared areas will reveal the bar, some of its bottles already open, the mess hall, observation deck and the gym area with its dirty pool. An even closer look around these areas might reveal basic first aid kits as well as basic tool kits and fire extinguishers. The kits are located near the fire extinguishers in compartments in the wall that are not immediately visible. Hopefully, nothing's on fire and no one needs first aid... but that tool kit might come in handy.

Every now and then, as you explore, you might find yourself standing before a door that is locked. Try as you might, you will not be able to get it open.

( ♪ )

( OOC: What items characters find of those who were there before them is up to players, but please limit it to a single item that is mundane and somewhat useless in nature. )

( 0 0 3 ) HAVE A BITE

Sooner or later, all characters will have to make their way to the mess hall if they want to eat. In the mess hall, here are a number of replicator-like devices that sometimes work and sometimes don't— but after a recent malfunction that some characters may have noticed, they seem to work just fine... or at least as well as ever: nothing is particularly palatable, but at least it's nourishment, right?

So why not sit down at a table, whether it's already occupied or not, and have a meal. Maybe use it as an opportunity to introduce yourself, or just to complain about what passes for coffee around here.

And if coffee isn't your preferred beverage, well. There's always the bar.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 4 ) NOISES IN THE WALLS

For some, it's been over a week on the station. For others, merely a day or two. For all, things are starting to change: maybe you were asleep or maybe you weren't, but surely the scream that reverberates through the station will startle you. Was it human? Whatever it was, it seems to be coming from the walls of the station. Banging, clanging, then more screams.

Are you going to chase the sounds? Hide away from them? Try to investigate?

If you follow the sound of screams through the station's corridors and halls, you might feel someone - or was it something? - grab you from behind and pull hard. But when you turn around or turn your head if you've fallen, there's nothing and no one there. If you investigate and perhaps put your ear to a wall to see if the noises really come from there, or bang on the wall, you might hear something other than screams and clanging. Strain your ears and you might hear nothing at all — or you might be able to make out a soft "help me". It's barely above a whisper. Did it sound familiar? If you try to take apart the wall, two things will happen: you'll feel uncharacteristically weak and lethargic all of the sudden, and you'll find nothing at all but wiring and more metal.

Whatever you do, you'll find that the noises stop after a while, with no discernible source other than "the walls". And then hours later, they'll start again. Stop again. Start again a day later— and then stop for good.

( ♪ )

( O O C ) ACTIONS

Hello Reverie Terminal Operators! Welcome to our inaugural event. We hope you'll enjoy it!

To help exploration and interaction with the station, we have put together ten (10) 'actions' that you can request. These actions range from very minor, such as receiving a small piece of information about the station, to major, which may be a more vital piece of information or something far less pleasant, and are completely opt-in. These actions can help get your character involved in the plot, jump into the plot and its mysteries, and have more of a personal prompt to jump off of if you so wish.

Please note if you would avoid particular kinds of consequences (for example, if you'd rather your character not be injured), and we'll try to accommodate that, but please be aware that heavy themes are in play and the actions may feature body horror, injury and hallucinations.

If you'd like to receive an action, please reply to this comment with the following:

In the future, actions such as these may be "bought" with bonus AC.

Please use content warning in your top-levels wherever necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

» AIRLOCK 2-009 ( CLOSED TO AMOS )

Apollo had worked his way along eight airlocks on deck two before arriving at this one. Each in its own way had been impossible to open thanks to a mixture of the general decay of the station and Apollo’s own complete ignorance as to how an airlock is supposed to work. He’d wrestled with each one, prodding the control panels or just beating his bare fists against the locks, but nothing had happened. The airlocks remained shut, clamped down and entirely immovable, every single one of them.

But still Apollo remains grimly optimistic: one of them will open eventually. Surely. If he punches them hard enough, maybe.

Airlock number nine is the same as the rest. Apollo ties his hair back in a determined ponytail before throwing himself at the access wheel, muscles straining as he attempts once more to use brute force against a door that just will not open. It doesn’t occur to him until he hears approaching footsteps that maybe he should ask for help.

"Hey," He calls to the approaching figure. "Don’t suppose you know how to open these damn things?"

» EXTERIOR: EXPLORATION ( NARRATIVE )

With a hiss and a roar, the airlock depressurises and Apollo allows himself to be carried along with the explosive force, like a wave dragging him out to sea. Followed by – silence. Nothingness. The frigid well of space, the bleak and bottomless void. Terrible in its enormity and yet nearly exactly like every other meter square of space to be found anywhere across the galaxy. Familiarly terrible.

With his eyes closed, stripped of sound and breath and the forced gravity of the station, Apollo could pretend that he was on the cusp of Earth’s atmosphere. He could pretend that he was nearly home – suspended in the vacuum beyond the very edges of the exosphere, halfway between Earth and the Carrier. Just a whisper away from his team, his daughter, his husband.

But he opens his eyes and, no, there’s a planet he doesn’t know and a space station that definitely isn’t home. The star is as warm as the sun he loves, but it isn’t his. The sun, the station – they’re nothing like the solid memory of home, nothing but a weak substitute for everything he holds dear to his heart.

In a burst of sunlight and pure homesickness, Apollo glides smoothly away from the airlock, arcing away in a low curve as he puts some distance between him and the station. Out here the distance gives him a better view of their would-be home – or prison – and Apollo can only marvel at the size of it. It extends far beyond the bare handful of decks the passengers have access to and he twists his wrist to take a grainy photo of the station on his comms device. Something to share. Something that maybe someone might have some further insight on.

He spends the better part of an hour amid the stars, zooming around in lazy arcs around the station, trailing golden sunlight in his wake. In a fit of uncharacteristic gloominess, he sits for a while on the hull, cross-legged in an uninterrupted patch of pure solar energy, and mopes quietly to himself as he watches alien stormclouds ripple across the planet below.

But eventually loneliness – and a rational kick of 'no point sitting around feeling sorry for yourself' - gets the better of him. There’s nothing to be gained here, not when there’s a station full of civilians on the other side of the thick metal hull beneath his feet. In time, he slowly returns to the airlock, trailing an eerie path of golden light in his wake, and lets himself back in the way he came.

» INTERIOR: RETURNING TO BASE ( OPEN )

The observation deck is the closest thing to home on this station and it’s here that Apollo returns to after his short space flight. He’s fresh from the airlock, skin golden and glowing, as he enters the observation deck with his head bowed over his wrist. Apollo types furiously on his comms device as he keys in a quick message, attaches the image of the station, then hits send to all.

It’s only then that he looks up and realises that he’s not alone. Apollo flashes the stranger a small, breathless smile.

"Hi there." And then, because he can’t resist the urge to share what he’s seen (especially in the wake of his sudden bout of homesickness), he adds: "Want to see something mildly interesting?"

--
[ Apollo will share the image of the station on the network ICly on the same day he returns to base, but the post will go up tomorrow o7 ]

Amos, unlike most people, liked living in space. He didn't mind the close quarters, the vacuum right outside airlock doors, the potential of death, always so close. He liked feeling like he had a hand on his destiny. Most of the people he'd met since waking up on Reverie Station seemed to disagree - new to space, claustrophobic, freaking out.

So it was a nice change to see someone looking like he belonged, and that looked like he had an interest in the same things as Amos, aka: opening one of the goddamn airlock and take a walk outside. He strides over, looking over the door and the panel by its side.

"Maybe," he replies, turning back to the panel. It says 'locked' in huge red letters, which isn't surprising, but Amos doesn't really think it'll be an issue for long. "It'd be easier if I had a multitool."

He could just pop the lock with one. As is, the manual wheel for the airlock has to be locked down, and Amos taps on the panel until he gets to an override screen. Passlocked, but given some time, he could get through. He goes back to the main screen.

"Either I pop this panel open and override the lock, or we can try forcing the lock off the wheel. I'll have to check the pressure first, though."

It makes sense that the airlocks can't be open by just about anyone; the way that the other man taps away at the screen makes Apollo feel a little bit better about the fact that he'd struggled. Apollo sidesteps, giving him room to investigate, but hovers over his shoulder as he keenly watches him work.

"I think the pressure's okay," He replies uncertainly, eyes flicking over the locked door as he realises maybe, just maybe, he'd been stupid enough to try and open a depressurised airlock. The kind of thing that would kill everyone on this deck if he'd been successful in opening it. And in a rather dramatic way.

"But uh - maybe let's assume that it isn't, just to be on the safe side?"

Neither of them have any way of telling if the pressure on the other side matches theirs, or that of the vacuum of space beyond it, but Amos doesn't reply, just smirks. He goes back to the panel, which isn't exactly set like most command panels he's used to, but without enough major differences that he can't make sense of it.

An airlock panel will always be just that, and there's only so much to be done. Going through menus, Amos finds the pressure gauges and settings, flicking it over to match the station's atmosphere, hearing an alarm start inside the airlock.

"Okay, here goes. Which do you prefer, hotwiring, or brute strength?"

Apollo is used to a sentient ship, the kind of ship where he can just ask sweetly for doors to open and, hey presto, his wish is the Carrier's command (usually). But this is so far beyond what he's used to that he can only watch in pensive, expectant silence as the other man works his magic.

At the sound of the pressure equalising on the other side of the door, Apollo's expression transforms in to one of impressed delight.

"Normally I'm a 'brute force' kind of guy," He replies happily as the sirens blare. The other man is built like he knows how to punch something (mechanical or otherwise) in to submission and Apollo can relate to that. But what impresses him is the fact that this guy can clearly back up his firepower with brainpower too.

"But seeing as that didn't get me very far before... let's say hotwiring."

Not that much brainpower, honestly. If it's away from machines and some electronics, Amos is useless. Violence above all, because it is all that he knows. He's trying, though - even harder now than he was before, because Naomi isn't here to guide him. Help him. And Prax isn't, either, which feels like a different kind of loss.

"What if there are no vac suits in there?"

Amos asks as he pops the panel open - at least, they're still making that easy. He fingers through the wires, following their circuit and making a few deductions.

"There's a chance doing this will put everything on complete shutdown mode, by the way," he says, just as he pulls at a wire, taking it out of its fitting, the ends sparking once dying out. Then another, and he brushes them together, inwardly crossing his fingers...

The door lets out a whine, long and creaky, before disengaging the lock. "Bingo."

"Vac suits aren't a problem," Apollo assures the other man distractedly as he watches him work. It's a good thing that Amos doesn't mention the minor issue of a possible complete shutdown earlier; Apollo opens his mouth to protest but the shower of sparks shuts him up.

"Good work," He says approvingly as the lock pops noisily and he leans on the wheel. It spins freely, deceptively easily given how much work had gone in to opening it, and the heavy airlock door slowly gives way.

"So you're a mechanic, right? What's your name?"

Vac suits aren't a problem, the guy says, and Amos's spine immediately stiffen. The hell does that mean? The last creature he's seen in the vacuum of space without a suit was not good news.

But, again, he has to take stock. Maybe, under other circumstances, Amos would immediately go on the attack - but. The protomolecule hybrid had not made conversation. It had not looked anywhere near human, or coherent, apart from its one mission. The protomolecule needed a biomass, energy, tons of it. That was what Cortazar talked about - it wasn't intelligent, it was a set of instructions.

So. Amos wipes the back of his hand under his nose. "How are vac suits not a problem? You're planning to go outside, right?"

The door is still whining as it opens, punctuating the conversation.

"Amos. Mechanic, engineer, depends on who you ask."

Letting himself in to the airlock is easy now; artificial light floods the little chamber as Apollo steps in, feeling the temperature drop significantly as he leaves the station proper. He half-turns at Amos's question and throws him a glittering smile.

"Vac suits are only a problem if you need to breathe," Apollo replies easily, knowing with a faint flash of sympathy that it must sound absolutely mad to your every day human.

"And I'm Apollo, by the way," He adds as he turns his attention to the inside of the airlock now, searching out the control panel that will empty him out in to space once the access door is locked behind him again.

"They don't make this easy, do they? Which button do you think I need to press?"

Well, Amos could not disagree more with that.

"Huh, do you also not need to keep your core temperature from dropping? Do you not need thrusters and magboots?"

What the fuck was this guy made of? Obviously he wasn't protomolecule adjacent - even if the timelines were being played with, Amos couldn't quite believe that Mao, or anyone for that matter, would bother with making their hybrids that pretty, or well-spoken. He could be wrong, he could always be wrong, but that didn't seem likely.

So, instead, what?

"I should be able to let you out from this side," he replies at Apollo's question, turning back to the panel to close the airlock door again, tapping around to get back to the pressure gauges. "I'll depressurize, now."

"No, I guess I don't," Apollo replies mildly in response to Amos's questions. There are probably an awful lot of things he should have been worried about, that first time way back in the past when he threw himself in to the Bleed. But there's an element of act now, think later that Apollo has stuck to and it has served him well so far. Space doesn't hold any horrors for him, not when he spends hours upon hours basking in the sun's photosphere.

So instead he gives Amos a little wave goodbye and a sunny smile.

"Thanks for your help, Amos. I owe you a drink."

He pauses, nodding at the vast expanse of space on the other side of the external-airlock behind him.

"When I get back."

Because this isn't an escape. Apollo does plan on coming back.

Jupiter had been watching Apollo out of the observation deck for a while as he messed around in space, intrigued by his powers, what he was doing, what he must be thinking. But then he'd disappeared for a while, so she'd returned to staring at the stars above her, her many additional hands absentmindedly exploring the room around her, touching and stroking and hitting and petting. It's with a bit of a startle that she sits up and turns around as Apollo enters, marveling at his appearance up close, all glowy and such — it reminded her of Venus, but she was biased and thought Venus was much more ethereal and breathtaking in comparison.

She's surprised when he addresses her, and Jupiter tilts her head just a tad as he tacks on that last bit. "Uh, sure??" she responds, a touch hesitant — not really because he'd done anything or warranted any hesitation beyond being a stranger, but mostly because being a devil was still so fresh, so new, and there was still the tiny little inkling left of her that worried what adults would think of a bad kid like her, especially one who had become literally one of the worst girls of all time. She was proud to be a devil and had no regrets, don't get her wrong, but... something felt different here. Like she wasn't as entirely devilish as she had once been, and it stripped away a bit of the confidence she'd gained with her transformation.

Apollo himself may be able to sense a little bit of what gave away she was no longer human — surrounding them on the observation deck were many many hands emanating from Jupiter herself, having an obvious sort of presence to them despite not being visible. With enough thought, it's possible to pinpoint the feeling as it specifically being hands surrounding him, but since she wasn't very upset at the moment, the weight of them was very casual, nonchalant. Nothing to be too concerned about.

She's young, younger than Apollo had realised when he first spoke up, and he almost gives her a double take. She reminds him of Jenny, once upon a time, except now the weight of the 21st century made his daughter older beyond her handful of years in ways Apollo can't begin to understand. Still, he corrects his surprise and gives the girl a beaming grin; Apollo is happy to share what he's seen, especially with anyone who reminds him of his distant daughter.

Buoyed, he begins to cross the room in a few long strides but gradually slows to a mystified halt when he realises... something. Something in the room that isn't quite right. He casts a suspicious look around the room, hesitating for just a second, before giving the girl a quizzical look.

"...Can you feel that?"

Well, he certainly seemed nice enough. She smiles back, much more subdued in comparison to his big grin, and clasps her hands together in front of her, thumb hooked under the hairband around her opposite wrist, playing with it a little. Jupiter wasn't snapping it, she had no reason to, but it still was relaxing to fiddle around with it.

She lets out a "hm?" at his question though, looking confused and contemplative before it seemed to visibly dawn on her what he meant. At first she looks sheepish, but then she straightens her back, looking more confident, when she moves to respond.

"Ah, that's probably me."

That's probably me. Apollo turns a bewildered look upon the girl; as far as Apollo can see she's doing nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, he can still feel something - a strange presence that he can't quite put his finger on. It's quiet and gentle, strange but not threatening. Apollo cants his head.

"You?" He checks, mystified. Slowly Apollo approaches, curious and not at all judgemental as he asks:

"How so?"

Only a second later he thinks to add, "If you don't mind me asking..."

"Yep, me." She doesn't mind the question — being true and open and showing off her devil-self is important, right? A continuous fuck you to those who ever treated her lesser, as someone who was bad, and to the heavens above for closing its doors to a girl like her.

"Sure." The hands become slightly visible, enough that you could define their shape, yet still see-through and incorporeal to the touch. They filled up the room, floating gently around her and fiddling a bit with some of the objects and materials that were spread throughout the room, but they gave Apollo a wide berth out of respect.

"See?"

'Sure,' she says and yes Apollo sees. He gazes in mystified silence at the multitude of hands as they gently prod and poke and fiddle with the entire room; it's like nothing he's ever seen before in his life, and Apollo prides himself on seeing a hell of a lot of stuff in his time. Whatever it was he wanted to share is completely forgotten as he marvels quietly at the room full of... hands.

"Huh," He says eventually. A frown begins to pinch at his brow - not a bad frown, just one of gentle confusion. This isn't something you see every day after all.

Stretching out a hand, tough and broad and tanned but perfectly gentle, he reaches out curiously towards the nearest hand.

"You're controlling them? All of them?"

The hand he reaches for retreats a bit at his attempt at touching it, but after a clear moment of hesitation, it gently reaches out and gives him a high five before quickly retracting once again. Touch was something a little, no pun intended, touchy for her, but she was trying to get better at it.

"Yep, all of them." Jupiter nods, crossing her flesh and blood arms over her chest. The rest of the hands cease their poking and prodding and pull back a bit, lurking around behind her.

Apollo isn't sure what he expected to feel when he reached out, but a high five was definitely not it. He laughs abruptly, both at the cheeky gesture and the fact that it caught him so sharply by surprise.

"Amazing," Apollo breathes, turning to beam a bright smile at the young girl. The wonders on this station never cease to amaze him. "Is it magic? Or a superpower?"

The laugh and his dazzling smile makes a grin cross her face, posture relaxing just a tad. Though, the answer to his question would potentially be a rather loaded one, depending on whether or not he was from the same kind of world she was from... she steels herself for potential rejection, which would be a shame, because Apollo seemed nice enough.

"You know that one thing at Summer Scouts you're not supposed to do? Well, I did it." She looks and sounds just the teeniest bit defensive, the grin softening down.

"Yeah? As someone who's never been to Summer Scouts, I have no idea what you're referring to," Apollo confesses as his smile turns sheepish. It's not like he has any childhood that he can remember and his daughter's wasn't exactly straightforward either. He squints and hazards a guess instead:

"You... were visited by the hand fairy?"

She laughs, pressing a hand against her mouth to contain the giggles. Oh, Apollo...

"Oh, sorry. I forgot that apparently everyone around here is from all sorts of different places?" Oh, that'd make this either much easier or much worse, she isn't sure. Well, time to just... go for it, she guesses?

"I let the devil in — I'm a devil. It's like, the worst thing you can do where I'm from."

A look of understanding slowly dawns across Apollo's expression as he realises now what's going on. Venus had mentioned friends - girls like her, from the same camp - possibly being on board. Apollo nods slowly.

"Ah, I get it now. You're a friend of Venus's, aren't you? With the wings and the eyes?"

Naoya had been in full exploration mode the minute he had awaken. From the terrible tasting food to just visiting the decks to see what he could find, he couldn't help but peek everywhere.

"Hi." The youth isn't all that tall especially compared to the other - somewhat scrawny even in the suit, the black hair looking like he'd just stepped out of waking up, a single black earring on his left earlobe.

"Sure. What type of interesting are we talking about?"

"The interesting type," he insists nonsensically as he crosses the room, drawing closer to the young man. Apollo can feel the sun's energy within him still, powering in ways that food and water and air never can, energised and strengthened by his exploration beyond the airlock. It makes him relaxed, comfortable; he smiles with an easy brightness and radiates a subtle, golden glow.

"Here. Take a look." Apollo extends his wrist, showing his communications device and the grainy picture of the space station.

"This is where we are. That's what this place looks like from the outside."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

apollo

airlock

i started in prose by default but if you wanna change to action at any point GO FOR IT M8

it's all good!!

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Returning to base

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