nysalogs | the sky was made of amethyst ( & open )

Entry tags:

the sky was made of amethyst ( & open )

Who: James Tiberius Fullname (

willrevile) & other excellent individuals
What: a catch-all for june! also some in-betweeny thesa stuff in response to info in the plotting post!
When: june, some backdated may stuff too. time is a flat circle.
Where: various locations / thesa station
Warning(s): tba. i've put a dancing cupcake beneath the cut.

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[ All in all, between his hustle and experience with how to make the Wyver-to-Olympia trip in as little time as possible without dying from exhaustion, it only took Jim slightly longer than using the station's 24 hour transport cooldown would have taken him to get from one city to the other. But even if it had been twice as long, he thinks it was worth it; it looks better, him actually entering Olympia versus just appearing, and he's not keen on contributing to any unnecessary power drain at the station.

It's nice to be back up here, even with the state of things. He's most comfortable on Thesa, the feeling of displacement not so oppressive. He's in the mess hall, chugging some coffee, relaxed in the relative quiet as he waits for Dutch. (Relative, because there are still other people milling around, and though he's disabled the speakers in here, Darma's message is still audible as it echoes through other halls and pathways.) ]

[ Jim finally finds a place he can put himself up for the night last-minute, at a - an inn? Is this an inn? It's not a hotel, that's for sure. (Maybe a motel. There are horses posted outside, slurping contentedly from a trough, or dozing. He's got to invest in one of those versus renting; it'll make these trips easier.)

He texts Peggy the address, his room number, one of only a handful of quarters above a noisy but not explosive tavern. It's clean and comfortable, with little decorative notes to bend to the Olympian aesthetic, but outfitted with a narrow camp bed and an old table with two chairs. He lets the proprietor know he's having a guest coming, orders something to eat, and - fuck it, enough alcohol for the both of them. If Peggy doesn't want any, Jim'll just sleep really, really well. ]

[ At some point after the clinic open but before everything goes to shit (or, you know, just at some point, hopefully nothing is going to shit), Jim makes a point to drop in on Claire's new joint. Like all Starfleet officers he's up to date on his basic first responder training, but that's not why he's here.

If she's busy he'll kill a little time checking out the apothecary-like aesthetic - something alien to him, normally, but that seems more in line with what he's seen in Wyver.

When she's got a minute-- ]

Hey, Doc. Congratulations on opening the place up.

[ As promised, Jim's back up on Thesa soon enough - possibly for a long haul, depending on how things go, upstairs and down. He's really not sure how much use he can be against the threat of a massive dragon. Being an expert hand to hand combatant and carrying a phaser don't seem like things that'll make much of a dent, if everything goes to hell. Tactics... maybe? But that seems like a job for someone with ground warfare experience, not ship-to-ship combat.

Who knows.

Anyway, he seeks out Urbosa, and smiles when he finds her. ]

Hey, [ he greets, and holds up a takeout bag. (Or whatever is the steampunk dragontown equivalent of a takeout bag.) ] Thought you might want a hot meal.

[ In both senses; Wyver makes some really mouth-burny sandwich melts, somehow. ]

Edited 2018-06-11 04:03 (UTC)

SUDDENLY;

[ Jim's trying to coax a communications log to give him anything but inconclusive question marks or a big fat nothing, but while he can use these computers just fine, he can't shake the feeling that there's another layer of information he just can't get to - it can't be this empty. Maybe it just knows he's not one of the Natha. ]

They left their radars on, [ he's explaining to anyone who's come with him in here. ] Searching for something. Between that and the low-power mode, it's obvious we're not alone out here in this corner of space.

[ Typetype. Still nothing. He exhales, steps back to look at it, puzzling over the non-problem, and that eerie lack of static, somehow more eerie than its presence in the first place. ]

I wonder if they're just out of range, [ he says, and on the word range, the station suddenly switches into full-on, earsplitting, low-light red alert. ]

SEARCHING & ETC;

[ Jim knew the station was in low-power mode before, but it was nothing compared to this. He knows an emergency procedure when he sees it, and is somewhat on edge with the lack of evidence as to why. The only thing he can think of is that there's a timer on those barely-there static 'responses' from the Natha, and that this is a pre-programmed automatic reaction to a lack of them.

That, or somebody tried to get in somewhere they shouldn't have, which is why he's out and about with a flashlight bubble mounted on his shoulder. (Jeez louise, the quarters he'd been keeping are sealed and need to be recirculated-- well, he'll get to that in a minute.)

Find him anywhere tbh. ]

( ooc; this is just for futzing around before the plot log goes up this weekend! \o/ )

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dutch!

haayyyyyy miss carter

dr claire!