❪ event ❫ THE DESCENT: PART ONE.

[natha]

THE PROLOGUE     Your sleep on the night of the 15th is not a restful one, unfortunately. It’s unclear whether you are in a state of half-wakefulness, or dreaming. The voices you hear certainly sound very real. What is it, Sael? —Is everyone asleep?! Every one, yes. Sael, it appears you do not have good news to deliver...? N-No! I don’t know how it slipped past us, but there’s something powerful coming this way. Something hostile. I can barely keep the core systems online! ... I don't know what to do... I see... and we cannot protect Thesa and Alria in addition to transferring the Refugees to Olympia. This force, they waited for this moment. They knew I have been Intervening, and that I have become weak from such Interventions— ... We've been had. It cannot be helped. To save the Refugees on the Stations, we must eject the awoken unto El Nysa. My remaining energy shall go into shielding Thesa— left defenseless, every being we have saved on this station will perish... Sael, where is the ideal location for the landing? Hmm. There aren’t any people within a ten mile radius of The Outlook, and there shouldn’t be any for a few more days. I think that’s the best location right now. Very well. Instruct Zasere and Roman to begin preparations for an emergency eject. This is the only way we can save everyone. I am counting on you to ward off the enemy on the space front. The rest... is up to our Refugees. The alarms are blaring. It shouts against your eardrums, calling you to wake again. This time, you are in new pod, strapped down completely and cushioned tightly against the walls. In truth, you had no idea when you’d gone to sleep, but it is reminiscent of when you had been saved from the force of the Storm. A voice greets you when you come to, while the conversation between Darma and Sael is still fresh on your mind. Despite their voices playing like an old tune in your memory, you still know it is something that happened. Something has gone terribly wrong. You hear Darma speak, her voice loud in your head. Fellow Refugee, I wake you with regrettable news. A force equal to our own is attempting to engage Thesa, no doubt to steal the souls contained here. My energy is near depleted with this last Intervention, so I cannot send you to the grounds safely as originally intended. However, there is hope yet.This power shall instead shield Thesa and Alria — and believe in me when I swear no one shall be hurt. Your loved ones are safe with us. —Unfortunately, that is at your expense. Your descent will not be an easy one. This pod that contains you shall pierce through El Nysa's atmosphere and land you on an island west of Olympia, simply called The Outlook. Travel east. Find the West Outpost, then continue east until you find the Olympian North Gate. There is a method to this madness. You shall be sent in waves. The inhumanly strong shall be first. The parachute will soften the landing, but I am aware of all your capabilities. The first wave will survive the drop, and will work tirelessly to secure the others. Find your bearings, and ensure the safety of the second wave. They are the healers and medics. Catch their pods, ease their landings, make certain that they shall not be harmed, because you will need them for your wounds. The third wave are your strongmen. They shall help clear the debris and take people to safety, making way for the fourth wave, those can conjure magic to help. Bring everyone to a safe distance. A supply drop will follow soon after; it shall contain tents and tools that will be useful for the long night. The fifth and sixth waves are largely vulnerable humans. With your combined efforts, you shall survive this great misfortune. Forgive us, Refugee. Leave the Moons to us, my promise to you is still in tact— focus on what you can do for others like you. Helping at least two (2) Refugees will earn you one (1) Natha REP. Threads must be AC length to qualify, and can be submitted HERE by JULY 31st. THE DESCENT     FIRST WAVE. The instructions are clear. Those who are a part of the First Wave should be equipped with physical strength and fortitude to survive the drop or the power to regenerate and heal their own wounds. While the pods are already designed to cushion some of the impact, as this is the first group, it will likely to be the most jarring. In all of the waves, some of the pods will malfunction and offer no cushion at all. They will be expected to quickly find their bearings. Their mission isn’t simply just landing, after all. The first wave will be expected to help the next wave, and the wave after that. Whether through their abilities or brute strength, they will be expected to help soften the landing for those who are falling. They will also be expected to pry open hatches, carry people to safety, and to just... survive. It’s not always easy being first. SECOND WAVE. Within the next hour, it’s time for the Second Wave to make their descent. You were selected based upon your aptitude for healing and/or being able to administer first aid. Perhaps you can help the tired and weary. Maybe those who have landed have have strength, but no stamina. Either way, it may be unwise to exhaust all their abilities at once. The night is long, and you may want to conserve their energy for the next waves to come. At least you’ll have help in getting settled. THIRD WAVE. Akin to the First Wave, the Third Wave will possess some durability, and some manner of strength, making you a reliable ally. Especially in a time of crisis... Or so we hope. While the landing is tough, and some of you may need first aid. As soon as you’re all healed up, you’ll have no time to dawdle. Your help is required. “Please help those still trapped in pods. Carry those unconscious to safety. Lift debris, and rescue all you can.” May be a vague message still stuck in the back of your head. Something whispered to you while you were just waking. Well, might as well roll with it. It’s the best shot you have, after all. FOURTH WAVE. Those in the Fourth Wave, as Darma projects, were selected due to the versatility of their abilities. No one expects one man to do the same as the next. Rather, that’s precisely the point: to be different. To be able to accomplish something unique. While one individual may be blessed with powers that assist in putting out fires, another may have the ability to shield those from oncoming debris. Maybe one even has the ability to channel all of these. Regardless, it’s up to you and your quick wits to see what tasks are open. It’ll take some coordination, especially as there are more people mixing into the fray, but, you can do it, can’t you? FIFTH WAVE. If you are in the Fifth Wave it is likely that you have a specific power or ability. One that isn’t easily channeled or called upon. Or, perhaps, you were merely placed here for insurance. Whatever the case if, your expertise will presently be put to the test. Maybe you’re quite proficient in survival skills, and you’re already eyeing the supplies that were dropped between the Fourth Wave and now. Goods all ready to be salvaged. Okay, maybe some can’t, but as they say, “it’s the thought that counts.” Besides, the injured from earlier certainly need a space to rest, and camp isn’t going to make itself. Regardless, maybe you feel more comfortable joining in the efforts to assist those who still require it. Whatever it is, you are sure to find your place and use. Darma obviously held the same faith. FINAL WAVE. The Final Wave is fortunate in a variety of ways. With Thesa Station a bit more stabilized, Darma utilizes the last bit of her powers in insuring that these last remaining pods are met with the softest landing, right beside the fifth, that is. The fragility of life is nothing she is unfamiliar with, after all. Still, that isn’t to say nothing is expected of you. Most of the individuals that have dropped earlier will likely be exhausted. An hour stretched between each one, makes several hours for the first couple of waves. They'll need a place to relax. You will act as the final group of helpers. Settle into whatever role feels best for you. Are you an excellent cook? Great at rationing supplies? Perhaps, you have a secret skill in ______ that might come in handy here? Or, maybe, despite the gentler landing you still managed to get hurt. The sky's the limit, and you got this! Meanwhile, in the distant kingdom of Olympia, the Empress and her loyal subject discuss matters late into the night... I’ll have the results of that dragon toxin study ready for you soon, Your Highness. I just need a few helpers to— oh wow, is that a meteor shower? Oh yes, it appears so. How beautiful.. hehe. Let us thank Thesa for this blessing. GATHER YOUR BEARINGS     All in all, the descent lasts for nearly seven hours. After the deployment of the last wave of refugees, it’s only natural that you may be feeling pretty worn out. A. Within the remains of the pods, Refugees will find basic camping supplies such as small tents, sleeping bags, and compasses. Not all of the supplies remain intact, thanks to the impact of the crash. But, sharing resources will ensure there is enough for everyone to rest for the night. Can you really in good conscience leave that stranger next to you without shelter? B. Although you may be tired after such a life-threatening ordeal, there is still work to be done to ensure your survival. Fortunately, it works out because now there are plenty of empty hands. There are stray debris and metal parts that should be collected and disposed of. There's firewood that needs to be collected, and campfires to upkeep. The nights in the Outlook are particularly chilly, and so it will be imperative to keep warm! C. Your clothes are tattered or too bloodied to sleep on with comfortably. Fortunately, Darma thought ahead. There will be various types of clothing provided, mostly robes that resemble her own in earthy tones, all to help them camouflage you for your next big adventure. FINAL OOC NOTE     This INTRO event will be broken up into three parts! Please keep this in mind when plotting your threads/tag load. PART 2 will be posted on JULY 18TH and PART 3 on JULY 22ND, at 6 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. The NETWORK is currently down, as Sael must concentrate all of his efforts on warding off the invading force. Characters may still message each other's personal IC inboxes. Submit two (2) AC-eligible threads from this log for one (1) Natha Orbiter REP point here by JULY 31ST. Recommended Listening: Alex & TOKYO Rose QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

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prompto argentum / fifth wave

[punshots]

I. PLANETFALL.

[ "Largely vulnerable humans"...he's gonna try to not be insulted by that.

...Wait, what the hell?

Prompto jolts awake violently, vision coming into focus just in time to make out the rapidly approaching ground. There's a red light blaring, but he can't even move to try and fix whatever's wrong. Not that he'd really have time to, anyway. His pod strikes the earth, throwing him against the restraints and jamming the hatch. Then it's completely silent, and Prompto shakes out a long breath that catches in a laugh at the end. ]

W-welcome to El Nysa...

[ He's just able to get his feet up against the hatch and force it open, fresh air flooding his lungs as he finally has some room to pull off the restraints and spill out onto the ground. He never thought he'd miss the smell of dirt this much. It's only a moment that he lies there, cataloging injuries and any possible broken bones. A few of his ribs are sore as hell, and there's a nice, fresh cut near his left eye. All in all? It could be much worse.

Then he picks himself up, torn and bloodied but very much alive, and that's all that counts right now. He jogs off to any nearby pods, even if he's wincing as he goes, because if his landing was that bad, how might it have gone for the others? ]

Hey - you alive?

[ Alternatively, if you have healing powers, please save him from himself. ]

II. THE OUTLOOK.

A. [ He has a gun. They need to catch game so there's enough food to go around. It only makes sense, right?

Except hunting game is preeeetty different from hunting monsters, as the former isn't likely to attack you if you aggravate it. See, this is why survival skills are Gladio's thing. Prompto can't track to save his life, and every time he gets lucky and does happen upon a wild animal, it's already aware of his presence and bolts away. So it's time for a different approach.

Find him out near the lagoon, observing a snare trap he jury-rigged to a tree from some fifty yards off. "Observing" is a generous term, however, as Prompto has taken to pacing around, checking over his shoulder every five seconds and drumming his fingers on his crossed arms. ]

This always takes waaaaay less time in cartoons.

B. [ Eventually, he decides gathering supplies and firewood are a better use of his time - neither are liable to scatter when approached, even though he's pretty damn exhausted. He's not about to let himself stop and take a break when there's still so much to do. So many people that need help.

He's sifting through the contents of one of the damaged supply pods when he pulls up something black and charred. ]

Alright, who wants to take bets on what this used to be?

[ Because he has no idea.]

III. CAMPING.

[ Turns out that no matter what world he's in, Prompto can't get away from camping. Lucky him.

For better or for worse, his familiarity with it means he quick when it come to set-up; pitching tents, building fires, picking through supplies, tending to all the little details that are so intimately familiar that it's easy for him to shut off his brain for awhile and fall into routine. It's a welcome change. Combined with the opportunity to help out other people, he's been going at it for much longer than he probably should have, and while it may look like he's just tending to the fire, it's a constant battle to keep his eyes open.

Not that he'll let a little thing like exhaustion stop him. Understandably, spirits seem a little...low, and he intends to do something about that. ]

So...anyone got a campfire song, or a spooky story, or...anything not related to what happened today?

[ Man, he's tired. If no one speaks up, he's liable to just doze off right here. ]

IV. WILDCARD.

[ Find Prompto literally anywhere taking pictures, or hit me up on Plurk at retroscape with any other ideas you might have! ]

jane smith . fifth wave

[dodgingbullets]

i : meet jane
[Phew, that was quite the landing. The pod is on its side and there is no sign of movement for a good 2 minutes before the door is met with a kick. Then another when it doesn't open, and that doesn't help much. But the next kick, the last kick, forces the pod open, releasing the sound of Jane's angry yell.

Third time's the charm, right?

She rolls herself out of the pod and coughs from the dust, her face scratched up and her right elbow bloodied.]

Agh, god damnit...

[Frankly, Jane isn't giving her trauma much attention. In this time, she needs to act now and ask questions later.]





ii : everyone has a job to do
[The evening air is cool and many have already secured as much warmth as they can by now. Jane isn't a skilled firestarter, but she's doing her part in collecting the dried fuel in the nearby woods. She doesn't go alone, and when she heads back with a decent amount of firewood, she catches a few too many splinters along the way, and she's visibly annoyed by this.]

I'll be joining the food hunting crew after this run. You coming?





iii : yes ma'am
[Jane chucks parts of her tent to the side and wears the frown of a scowling champion. Her landing was rough, and the impact it had on her tent is evidence of that. When she stands from her spot, she tightens her lips and sighs heavily through her nose. The frustration is real.]

Hey! [She marches toward a busier side of camp.]

If there is anyone here whose tents are useless from the crash, make yourselves known. We can't have anyone going without shelter.





iv : wildcard
(ooc: i can be reached over at plurk if need be ~ or just wing it!)

elena gilbert >> first wave

[otrazhenie]

>> descent

[ This isn't how things were supposed to be, but there's no helping it. Elena would rather have to tough out a harder journey to the planet and figuring things out on her own than risking the safety of everyone still in stasis on the station. She'll do anything to keep them safe, and if that means she to be the first down on the planet, helping out everyone who comes after, then that's what she'll do.

Her landing is anything but soft, though. For whatever reason, some malfunction or an uneasy entry, her pod rattles and shakes the whole way down, and metal shrieks and tears as she hits the ground. Something sharp pierces her leg, and as she uses all her strength to force the bent hatch open on her pod, the jagged metal tears through her jeans and skin, soaking down her left leg. Great. Once she's climbed out, it's easy enough to remove the metal shard, and she tosses it aside while her wound already begins to heal. Thankfully, it sounds like everyone else in this wave is... different, enhanced the way she is, so hopefully no one will notice while she hurries both to help anyone she finds in need and to try to locate Damon. ]

>> rescue

[ Whether it's a hatch that won't open or someone who's injured and needs assistance, Elena is there, moving quickly and efficiently. She has only limited first aid training, but she'll use every bit of knowledge and skill has to patch people up until someone else comes by to help. And if someone is severely injured -- Damon will yell at her for it if he finds out, but she bites her wrist and feeds that person her blood. It heals them almost immediately, leaving no sign of injury other than any blood on their skin or clothing. She just has to hope that those she helps won't be in further danger in the next 24 hours - if they were to die with her blood in their system, they would begin transitioning into a vampire, and they really don't need that complication right now. ]

>> wildcard

Let me know if you want something specifically! PM, taintedcrimson or taintedcrimson#0896.

[shashka]

i need... basic first aid

[ history has a way of repeating itself. just like his mother had once re-entered the Earth's atmosphere and emerged from a rather unsafe pod,
so too has Ocelot. he's got enough training in basic first aid to cover most minor wounds, but anything life-threatening would require an actual surgeon or healer.

still, he goes to work the best that he can, stopping to make sure each new arrival is safe, and offering his assistance in whatever way that he can. ]

You're going to be able to walk?

[ if you aren't, he'll help you find a better healer. ]

the (not-so) rugged survivalist

[ maybe you went foraging for your food. maybe, you pulled out something from your pack. but whatever it is, it makes Ocelot think of something, and now you have a middle-aged man looking at you with a rather matter-of-fact expression on his face.
]

Don't eat it. Trust me, if you do, you'll regret it.

[ no seriously, you'll definitely regret it. ]

the "perfect" temperature

[ the weather might be chilly to some, but to a Russian, it almost felt like home. not that he'd ever been one to be nostalgic... but now that it was gone, it was

he passes one of his blankets to the nearest person to him, hoping they can make better use of it. ]

Take it. I'm used to the cold.

[ isn't he a nice guy? ]

wildcard

( other ideas? hit me up by pm or at roflskate )

Sorey | third wave | ota!

[ofseraphim]

Descent: Group Three
[ No sooner than the ground rises up to meet them, the sense of urgency is there:

Help others. Carry them to safety.

Sorey really doesn’t even have to be asked -- that need would still be there, prominent and demanding as that unrelenting voice in his mind. Digging in with both hands, he starts pulling rubble off of the pods nearest to him, covering his face with his arm and coughing at the dust he blows away as soon as he’s able. ]

Can you hear me?

[ His voice is soft, but carrying concern as obviously as the brow knitted beneath brown fringe. There’s someone inside -- someone he needs to get to as quickly as he can -- but... just one small problem: ]

...How do I get this thing open?

[ (Treat it like an ancient ruin, Sorey; you’ll figure it out.) Once he does, the inhabitant inside will be greeted with a pair of wide, worrying green eyes and a white-gloved, outstretched hand. ]

Here, take my hand! Can you stand? If you can’t, don’t worry -- I can get us back to safety.

[ However far away that is. ]

After the Landing
i
[ Sorey isn’t the type to keep much of anything for himself. He’s used to fending for himself, (with or without company and/or assistance), and living off the land on his travels, so come what may, he’ll make do. That means that what he finds, he’s doling out to others less fortunate, offering assistance if not so much guidance, because... what is some of this stuff, anyway? ]

Did you need... [ there’s something he doesn’t recognize in one of his outstretched hands ] ...one of these? If you do, it’s yours!

ii
[ A campfire is certainly something he knows how to maintain! He’ll be out gathering twigs and branches, bringing them back by the armload until he’s told there’s no need for more. Once that happens -- and he’s assured there’s absolutely nothing else he can do to help -- he’ll let the adrenaline letdown hit fully, taking a seat in front of a large rock before the fire, exhaling deeply. ]

That should be enough to get us through the night, at least...

iii
[ All that digging has left his mostly-white clothes -- cloak and gloves especially -- covered in patches of dusty brown. So, until he can wash them in some body of water somewhere, he’ll discard them and accept a tan-colored, loose robe. He’s not about to discard his pants or boots, of course, but he’ll strip off his typical blue shirt and fumble with the robe’s closure for a moment as he loses it in the sheer size of the garment. It winds up still pretty baggy on him, at best.

Regardless, he’ll fold his usual wear neatly and loop it over an arm, aiming a sheepish expression at the next person he meets. ]

Don’t supposed you’d know where I can wash these off, would you?

Wildcard
[ have something you want, but don't see it here? hit me up! tandemthoughts! ]

[chaoticlootral]

[i. slow fall]

[Taako has some experience with being launched out of a moon base, and you know what? He’s over it. Done with this shit. Enough hard landings for one lifetime. Taako’s out! He’s managed to blast his way out and is choosing his own much cooler descent - Umbrastaff open and Slow Fall active, he’s gently descending to the ground with all the grace and mad chill attitude he can muster. It feels like there might be some sort of movie reference to make here. See if you can get to it? I trust you.

If you’re below him, watch the fuck out. If you’re in the air too by some stroke of extremely bad luck, you’re welcome to try and grab on for a smooth ride down.]

Hey, incoming! Clear the landing strip, muchacho!

[ii. third wave lifting boy]

[If your pod seem to be coming in for a hot landing, you might find yourself either suddenly surrounded by what appears to be a giant bubble or grabbed out of the air by a hand made of the earth itself reaching up to try and soften your fall. It’s not enough to completely stop you - but it’ll slow you down, and also, looks pretty goddamn dope if you’re in any position to appreciate it.

When you roll to a landing, you’ll be safe - maybe a little ill - but hey! You’re alive! A little gratitude would go a long way, thanks!]

[iii. spellslots]

[ Much later in the day, in the middle of all the hacked apart pods and panic, Taako seems to be much more concerned with whatever is happening with his . . . accessory? He’s chillaxin’ in the middle of all this mess, examining his umbrella: looking down the end of it like it might have jammed and holding it upside down and shaking it like he’s trying to get the last bit out of a ketchup bottle. If you approach, he’ll look up - waving you over for assistance.]

Listen, I know they all say this, but this hardly ever happens to me.

[ Seems like someone is outta spell slots sooner than they expected. Pretty good, it doesn’t seem. ]

[iv. camp]

[ You may or may not have noticed that someone at this camp seems to be taking it pretty easy. Taako has made an awfully big show of making it look like he’s trying to lift firewood until someone else took over for his weak wizard arms, and despite being apparently magical was seemingly fine with letting you like the fire while claiming to be completely magicked out, and while he’s happy enough to criticize your food making he hasn’t offered to help at all. What are you gonna do about it, punk. Force him to lift stuff? Make him light a fire? Ask him to prove he's actually better at cooking than you? ]

I’m only saying, I think Drew could win that fight pretty handily, but Jonathan’s got the wirey wild eyed look of a real scrapper. Could go either way.

[ Or just leave him to his own hypothetical conversation about which Property Brother would win in a fight. ]

[Wild card! Want a special starter? HMU either vyco or discord @ Morevna#4108!]

simon lewis | third wave

[bitesexual]

i. crash / third wave

[ He doesn't remember landing. Awareness skips from the terrifying PSA to the (also terrifying) front-row view of entering orbit to now, squinting up at the door of the pod and trying to work out why. The uncomfortable crawl of blood on his forehead makes him wince — habit, mostly — and then panic kicks back in.

Simon shouts, twice, belatedly remembers that he's a vampire with a hissed idiot, then kicks at the door hard. It swings off with a shrill metal whine, spiraling off into the dirt with a hollow thud. Simon's stumbling out of the pod before the door gets the chance to land, too quick for human eyes to really catch: it's just a blur of motion, instant, resolving into solid form as he abruptly slows and falls to his hands and knees.

Everything's loud. More metal slamming into earth, the overwhelming roar of what sounds like fires. Simon drags a hand across his face in a poor attempt at cleaning off the blood, realizing at roughly the same time that someone's close. Instinct has him on his feet within seconds, still just slightly unsteady and trying to play it off. ]

What— [ The points of his canines scrape against his lip and Simon stops, abruptly closes his mouth and narrowly resists the urge to cover it with his hand. Because sharp teeth is clearly the weirdest thing about this situation. He's still working out the logistics. ]

ii. rescue / third wave & forward

[ Superspeed and strength are apparently great for search and rescue. The enhanced hearing doesn't hurt, either. And while normally he'd be reluctant to use any of it in the open, the sight of a single pod careening into the earth makes quick work of his priorities.

The compromise is that the speed lets him get away with staying out of sight, technically. Anyone with normal eyesight wouldn't be able to pick him out of a line-up later, though there are plenty of moments where he's forced to slow down. This is one of those times: he breaks the handle on a door before yanking the entire thing off, and his getaway's delayed by the realization that the person inside is still dazed. There's half a second of indecision, then Simon reaches towards them with a hand that's — unfortunately — streaked with dirt and dried blood. ]

Take my hand.

[ ... "if you want to live" is 500% on the tip of his tongue, but you know. Seems a little gauche when non-fictional lives are at stake. ]

iii. camp / ota

[ When Simon first feels the cold creeping into his limbs, he doesn't think much of it. Everyone else is bundling up, complaining, trying to stick close to the fires. It isn't until his jaw starts to ache and his veins start to itch that he realizes he's a complete idiot.

Logic tells him there'd been fake blood on the station, so there must be some here. Reality dictates that he's surrounded by the scent of the real thing, and it doesn't really matter whether injuries are fresh or hours old when his own energy's tanking. When he accidentally slams into someone's shoulder on his way out of camp, he looks blatantly ill, skin pale and the promise of dark circles under his eyes. The way he backs away from them gives the distinct impression that he thinks he's about to puke on their shoes. ]

Sorry— I'm just— actually, do you know when we're moving camp?

[ Sudden thought, because that might be useful for not getting left behind while he's lurking out of earshot. Or upwind, maybe. ]

iv. wildcard

[ Feel free to catch him at any point in between/while lurking outside of camp, or hit me up at awarewolf to plot! ]

john watson . second wave . closed: starters in comments, read on if you would like one!

[enarms]

ＴＨＥ ＴＲＡＶＥＬＬＩＮＧ ＤＯＣ，

[ John Watson, wandering doctor, makes himself a presence wherever he's needed: he's made a point to make himself known to a few people across most duties to give them at least one name and face to search for if they come across anyone in need. he's easily accessible, his phone close at hand at all times, and will come as quickly as he can to the aid of anyone who calls (or texts, or screams).

later on, he'll be checking in on patients, doing his best not to get in the way, and pretending not to be displaying intense signs of fatigue until his body can no longer stand to remain up and operational.

all in a day's evacuation disaster! ]





[ ooc: I'm mainly going to be tagging out and writing specific starters for people! my plan is to make use of IC INBOX COMMUNICATION as much as possible to create an in for action threads, so if you'd like to play with some assumed CR (or handwave somebody giving your character John's name to set up a private message without a previous meeting if you want to call him over for a med thread etc!) in inboxes with or without the aim being to lead towards an action thread later, head on over!

there's a plotting comment over here! original plotting comment for what he's going to be focusing on is here! (I'm also perfectly happy to just whip up a starter without previous inbox threads!)

if you've got a top-level you'd appreciate a doctor/john in general at pls do drop it as a reply to one of the plotting comments

my plurk is miscreates for all your extra plotting & chatting needs! ]

lena "tracer" oxton | overwatch.

[quevalry]

i - fourth wave.

[ Everything happened so fast that it's just a blur in Lena's mind right now. Falling out of the sky isn't a familiar feeling for her because being such a great former pilot meant she always had control over her ships. The second she's out of the pod is the second she feels like she can breathe peacefully again, but that doesn't last very long because there's work to do. Thankfully, despite a rough landing, she's all in one piece.

The chronal accelerator is a charged up and Lena's ready to be on the move. There's a lot to do before the next wave comes through such as getting people out and making sure that they get to safety. Most of the people already here should be fine from what she remembers Darma telling them. Blinking around the area, checking out all the pods, she'll come up to a few people if they look distressed or are just wondering around. ]

Need a hand, love?

ii - supplies.

[ It's safe to go back to her pod now that nobody else is falling out of the sky. People had talked about how there are supplies in there and Lena wants to make sure to get all of hers out. The more they have, the better it will be for everyone. However, it looks like some of the items didn't survive the landing. Pulling out a tent, she eye's how most of the rods are broken.

Lena sighs heavily. ] I suppose nobody around here knows how to fix these, do they?

[ She takes a step back and shows off the supposed tent in her hands. The sleeping bag is intact at least so worst comes to worse, Lena's going to be sleeping under the stars tonight. That won't be much of a problem for her because at least she has some experience with that and it's not like the weather is horrible right now. ]

iii - camping.

[ There's no time to rest, not yet, not until someone actually drags Lena down and make her sit at the campfire. She keeps zipping back and forth between places, bringing firewood to different sections of their camp so she knows everyone stays warm. Unfortunately, Lena's juice does run out right in the middle of her transporting more wood.

Say hi to either the wood she had been holding or herself, because she doesn't jump far enough to get out of the way of people. If she doesn't land on someone, Lena's going to land face first into the ground with a loud thump. It would have happened sooner or later given how she's barely allowed her accelerator time to charge and now she's buying the price for it.

And so has the person that was closest to her at the time, possibly. ]

Kazuhira Miller | Metal Gear

[b0mbshell]

2nd Wave
[Hearing a voice in one's head? Not something he can get used to easily. He wakes to it in the pod, feels the shuddering, the vague panic of being contained. He struggles against the secure walls and binds even as he's being reassured because it's not exactly a comfortable situation to come around to consciousness in. Kaz really wishes they would tell him before starting one of these things. Or maybe that it's that he's spoiled as a base commander to always be in the know. Or maybe karma is finally getting to him for some of his side ventures.]

[He supposes it doesn't matter because the landing jolts him so hard that he blacks out again.]

[He's just going to have to wait for someone to come pry him out of this thing. Luckily most of the wait will be spent with him unconcious. It makes the work easier?]


First Aid
[Once Miller is finally out and feeling a little bit more himself, he starts doing some dirty work. First aid is easy. He's good enough in it that he can stitch wounds and bandage someone up, set and stabilize broken bones, apply antisceptic, administer pain-relievers. It's not good enough for surgeries but it can help out, keep someone together and in less pain until a more permenant healing solution can be found.]

[He's quick to check on new pods when they arrive, look over people who let him, and suss through and drag out supplies to help cobble together their loose camp.]

'Regrettable news' she says. Who the hell is attacking anyway? [He mutters as he moves in to check on someone.]

You doing alright there? No organs falling out or broken toes or anything? [The words are said with that sort of exhausted humor that comes with a situation that is so far beyond one's ken they only know how to do this one mundane task to deal with it.]


Seeking Shelter
[It's actually been a while since Kaz had to deal with a night this cold.]

[He's lived in Central America for years now. Colombia, Nicaragua, Costa Rica. It's always been warm, every place they've roamed to. The Caribbean is a lovely place and balmy and even nights are humid at their most chill. Here? It's not that he can't deal with the cold, but it's going to take some adjustment.]

[Getting into a tent might help.]

Mind if I share your tent with you? I promise I won't leave my clothes all over the floor and I'll do my own dishes. [He asks as he settles down beside of someone.]

peggy carter | mcu

[revlon]

I. LANDING

[ It happens far more quickly than she anticipated, even with the word of warning. It's disorienting, and claustrophobic, being jolted awake so abruptly and in such confined quarters with just the echo of an explanation ringing in her ears. There's no way out, that much is clear, so Peggy has no choice but to take what comes next and make heads or tails of it as soon as she can. First: she needs to brace for impact.

It's far from gentle. She's been thrown around the inside of a C-47 in the past, plummeted to earth with a parachute that was almost a hair too slow in deploying, but this is nothing she's ever experienced before. The landing is a rough, bone-shaking jolt — she's strapped in tightly enough that she doesn't injury herself too gravely, although her head does slam against the side of the pod, which earns her a fresh cut that looks far worse than it is. ]

Bloody hell.

[ She's grumbling, snappish, dizzy. She's in the second wave, she's been tasked to see to the others who come after her, and she's already got blood on her brow — which she swipes away and out of her eye with some impatience. Peggy makes quick work of her harness, getting unbuckled, kicking her pod door open with a few swift kicks (it takes both feet), and finally she's pulling herself out into the open air of her — their — new home. TS Eliot has the wrong of it: the world didn't end with a whimper, but with a bang. Here's the proof, falling from the skies above and scattered across the ground around her.

Peggy pulls herself clear of her pod and immediately takes stock of her surroundings. The moment she spots someone who needs her help, needs hauling free, needs tending: she's at their side to support them, her grip far stronger than she looks. ]

You're all right. I've got you.

II. BEARINGS | A - C

[ Peggy's kept busy throughout the landings and she's no stranger to physical labour, but with the way her pod landed and the work that followed, she aches in a way she hasn't since the war. She's helped set up tents, fired off orders to the able-bodied (to find wood and set up fires where people can warm and relax themselves, to get help, to do what needs doing), circled through a makeshift triage to offer what she can in the way of stitching, bandaging, splinting. Her training as an intelligence operative means knowing how to keep alive with the barest of necessities where help is often nowhere to be found — behind enemy lines, surrounded on all sides, in relatively unknown territory. This reminds her of France, a little. Her first few missions. The uncertainty of it, despite all the training that reminds her she's more than capable of handling whatever is thrown at her.

She's taken on a role that is second-nature to her: take charge, as necessary. Help, as necessary. The work is a distraction, and as night falls and people start to settle in, she finds herself pausing on the edge of the encampment to take a few moments to herself. Peggy takes a deep breath and exhales, looking up at the starry sky above: she recognises no constellations, she cannot pinpoint where in the world they are. It's unsettling. But it's what it is. She turns at the sound of someone approaching — or, perhaps, she turns to simply head for the nearest fire to settle alongside it for some warmth; the night has gotten cold, and with the adrenaline fading, she's starting to feel the chill.

God, it's been a long day. And she could do with a bloody cigarette or a drink to take the edge off of it. ]

III. WILDCARD

[ As mentioned above, Peggy will be anywhere and everywhere! She can help you get out of your pod, she's got enough medical know-how to tend to minor to moderate injuries, and she sure as hell knows how to keep a cool head in a crisis and get shit organised. If the prompts above don't suit your fancy, you're welcome to throw one of your own my way! ]

rogue >> fourth wave

[theycalledmeacurse]

>> descent

[ Rogue's descent to the planet is easier than most, the parachute doing its job, her landing smooth as can be and the hatch opening as expected. What she finds when she emerges, though -- it will haunt her for days because of all the memories it brings up. Destruction, chaos, people rushing around trying to help the injured while clearing the way for the next wave. But despite the way those memories make her shake, the way they stir up the psyches in her mind and rattle her mental shields, she still hurries forward to the next pod over, and the one after that, checking on anyone still inside to make sure they're not hurt. Years on the battlefield has her more than a little proficient in first aid, and she doesn't hesitate to do whatever has to be done, whether it be wrapping wounds or popping bones back into place. ]

>> borrowing for aid

[ Someone's struggling to lift a pod off the top of another, or move a crate of supplies. Be it with flight or super strength or telekinesis, it's crystal clear that they're going to fail if she doesn't step in to help. It takes only a few seconds of debate before she moves to their side, a hint of fear in her expression but determination overriding it.

Speaking quickly in her smooth southern drawl, she explains: ] I can help you. I can borrow your ability, just for a few minutes, and we can do this together.

[ If they'll let her. She's not sure she would if she were in their shoes. ]

>> setting up camp

[ The last time Rogue had to pitch a tent was before the Sentinels began destroying entire cities to find them. After the mansion had to be evacuated, they'd hidden in the wilderness of Canada for a few weeks, getting their bearings and coming to terms with what all the changes in the world meant for their lives and their mission. They'd had to stay under the radar, cooking over an open fire and battling the cold nights of fall.

Despite the years that have passed, she still remembers how to assemble the pieces, even if this model isn't exactly the same as the ones they'd used back then. Seeing someone struggling with their tent, she offers: ] Let me help you with that, sugar.

>> campfire

[ It's been years since Rogue's been outside under an open sky, and now that things have calmed down a little, it's a bit overwhelming. Wrapped in unzipped sleeping bag like it's a blanket, she's settled in front of a small fire a bit set apart from the others. The day has worn down her shields and with the stress of the memories of the war, she's finding it hard to get things back to where they need to be. If she looks on edge, it's because she is, the pressure of all the minds within her own growing into an ache that's difficult to ignore. But should anyone approach, she'll still offer them a smile and look them over to see that they're okay. Despite all she's been through in life, it's simply not in her nature to assume the worst of people. ]

>> wildcard

[ Want something different? Let me know via PM, taintedcrimson or taintedcrimson#0896! ]

clarke griffin | second wave

[romancekiller]

descent;

[clarke still refused to accept the fact the world ended again and the fact that all of her people are in the stasis pods, she can't seem to settle her suspicions about this place especially when she finds herself abruptly waking up to alarms blaring, hearing the voices in her head along with another warning message while strapped inside of a pod. it is yet another thing that gives her an unwanted sense of deja vu and this time it was of being on the dropship and crash landing on earth.

it was all too familiar except the only difference was that she was sent down in a singular unit this time. her pod breaks through the atmosphere and roughly crash lands on the ground causing a bit of wreckage to the pod upon impact. clarke cringes from the unpleasant landing but the cushioning of the pod seems to help minimize any injuries she would have otherwise gained. she unstraps herself and immediately tries to push open the hatch to escape the pod but if anyone is nearby and saw her landing, she may need a hand with that] Hello? Is anyone out there?

first aid and rescue;

[after emerging from the pod, clarke does what she does best and as the hours pass and more waves starts to come down. she made it down in the pod in fairly good shape but she has noticed that other people weren't as lucky. she might not be familiar with most of the people coming down but she couldn't help but want to help them. it didn't hurt that she could put her medical knowledge to use and was actually good with working with limited resources to patch people up while they were on the ground but fortunately for those injured, she found that the pod had basic first supplies she could use.

she watches as people either just come of their pods, trying to settle in or trying to deal with their injuries on their own but either way she goes to approach them] Hey. How are you holding up? Are you doing okay?

camping and supply gathering;

[clarke is all too used to the conditions they are in right now because of the living conditions she had to deal with back on the ground. she works on setting up camp for herself or eventually wandering around gathering more firewood and other supplies while approaching people if they need a hand. it is really just routine for her and it's easy for anyone she's definitely experienced with this.

more hours start to pass and eventually she starts to make a campfire and settle down, while staring up at the night sky. it's been a long day and she can feel the exhaustion but clarke pushes through it because she can't afford to get too settled, not when her friends still could be in danger. she lets out a sigh and tries to warm herself up near the campfire for a bit before making her rounds to check on people again] I wonder if they really are still okay? This seriously feels like it's part of a test.

wildcard;

[choose your own adventure! i will go with it or just shoot me a message if you want a closed starter]

hal emmerich | fifth wave.

[codecs]

descent.

[ "Largely vulnerable humans." That stings, but it's the truth— put him in the middle of an apocalyptic situation, and Hal knows that the best he can do is hide and try not to step on toes.

The descent is terrifying for him— claustrophobic and unpredictable— but he manages not to smash his face against the pod wall when it grinds down onto 'earth' (or, alternately, the jolt when someone catches it), with his chin tucked inwards and his arms around the only thing he has left of his homeworld: his laptop.

This is how someone would find him, really. Scrambling in his half-broken pod, opening up his computer to make sure that it's functional (really, Hal), or pacing in front of his now-useless escape vehicle and trying, with shaking hands, to see if there's anything he can dismantle and salvage.

Either way, if he's approached, he'll jump noticeably. Pale-faced and half-panicked, sweating through his shirt. Keeping his calm as best as he can. ]

R-right. We should be moving... [ He laughs, voice hiking up thanks to his nerves. ] Okay. I just— maybe there's something we can still do with these pods, though.

camp.

[ This is where Hal feels patently more useless than before: in a group of people who all seem to know what the heck they're doing with their decidedly non-tech related skills. His field knowledge is extremely limited— he doesn't even really know basic first aid— and he can't cook worth shit. Making fires? Salvaging debris for useful camp items? He doesn't know the first thing about any of that, and it shows.

He's on the outskirts looking in, laptop still clutched at his side, before he approaches the nearest person doing whatever they're doing. He's tentative, but there's still a measure of resolute determination somewhere under his rumpled, tousled exterior. ]

Hey— um. Do you mind teaching me whatever it is that you're doing? [ He pushes up his glasses with his free hand, dispelling his nerves. ] Or if I give you a hand?

wildcard.

(( ooc: what it says on the tin! PM me and i can set something more specific up for you, homie. ♥ ))

Zelda | fourth wave

[hylights]

a. descent, fourth wave

[Zelda feels her breath catch in her throat as she wakens to the violent shuddering and turbulence of the pod. Darma's words sink in and she feels a pang of deja vu - things are going wrong, despite best laid plans. She's not unfamiliar. There's a wrench in her heart knowing that she has to abandon Link in his sleeping pod, trust only that he'll be all right. But with the ground rushing up there's little time for that.

Her pod thumps into the ground and rolls, and she shrieks with panic in her restraints. It's only when it comes to a stop that she manages to catch her breath, battered all over and ears ringing. After she fumbles her way out of the straps she heaves at the pod door, the hinges creaking ominously before she finally gets it open. She tumbles out and just lies on the ground for a few moments, letting the touch of the earth confirm that she's out. She's safe.

But others aren't. When she gets to her feet, she looks around and sees another pod crash into the grass only a few metres away. Gasping, she runs over and pounds on the door.]

Are you all right? I'm going to get the door open!

b. rally point - later waves

[It's pandemonium out here, and the darkness isn't helping matters. Zelda has been to and fro over the landing grounds, pulling people from their pods and yanking supplies from the wreckage. She doesn't need to imagine what it's like for those still landing, confused and vulnerable in the dark. Darma's words echo in her head - those who can conjure magic to help - and with a frustrated noise she thinks her magic isn't much use for this. Except... she stops in her tracks, realisation dawning on her face, then turns and runs for higher ground.

Scrambling to the top of a little hill, she holds her right hand aloft in the air, and sends a prayer to the Goddess. It isn't what her power is for, she knows, but that purpose is already served. She must help how she can. And light is more useful than darkness.

Light blooms around Zelda, a beacon in the night as the golden triangles on the back of her hand flare to life. She calls out across the chaotic landing zones.]

Please - if you are lost or need to catch your bearings, come to me.

[She'll be there for as long as she can manage, calling out every so often. Anyone approaching Zelda will get a welcoming smile as her hair drifts in her bubble of light.]

c. camping

[She's exhausted after using her power and the events of the night, but she still needs to set up this tent. Of course, she's never assembled something quite like this herself - those few times she slept outdoors, her knight or her guards had always done it for her.

Anyone coming across Zelda will find her sitting amongst a pile of tent pieces, holding two rods together and frowning at them.]

These ought to fit... maybe they were damaged in the fall? I wonder if I can work around them.

d. wildcard

[Zelda can be found flitting all over the place, helping with supplies or offering kind words to anyone who seems anxious. Feel free to come up with your own prompt or hit me up at dudemeister.]

Norba Shino | Final Wave

[galaxycannon]

I. WAKE UP CALL

[ Free fall doesn't feel good to him. Even with a soft landing, he still feels as sore as he did the day that screaming Gjallarhorn soldier had thrashed him and the Turbines into the ground in Edmonton. His head hurts and he's rubbing dripping blood from a shallow cut out of his eyes when he emerges out of his pod.

He sits down immediately, head in his hands for several minutes, calming down.

He just has to breathe. He's fine. The others are fine. They're on the ground. This is just like landing on earth the first time.

He's fine... he's fine... it's just the shock and suddenness of it all that's got to him. He just needs to breathe through it. There's things to do, right? And he needs to find the other three before he does anything. They all got separated again. Maybe that's why he feels so immediately shaken with memories. He's good at pushing it all off if they're nearby.

If someone comes by, he'll reassure them quickly: ]

Y-Yeah, yeah, fine just... catching my breath, heh.

II. MR MUSCLES

[ With his deck back together, Shino's taking clean up duty to heart. He doesn't like being called vulnerable! He worked hard to get to a point where he could throw down and protect anyone he cares for... so if it's clean up work, he's gonna do all he can to use his arms for good.

Including helping others. Struggling to lift up metal scraps? Not able to pull that tent's anchoring rope tight enough? ]

Heeey, here, lemme get it for you!

III. WOLF PACK [closed to tekkas]

[ Cold nights?

That's pretty much nothing to the naked kids of Tekkadan. Martians knew nothing but cold nights in scrappy clothing and bad bedding. It's pretty much their standard. So with his crew gathered shamelessly together, hoarding a little more than they should out of survivalist instincts, he's bringing whatever bland and boiled drink he can over to their small isolationist camp, grinning. ]

Here, drink this! If your piss gets too cold your underwear'll stick to your dicks, you guys, so warm up. Hahaha!

IV. WILDCARD

[ pm me or hmu on discord! ]

Dirk Gently | Final Wave

[cacoethical]

A – Descent

There are probably worse ways to wake up. It's a rather large, weighty probably, and one Dirk is having difficulty getting his arms around while also trying to swallow down his heart as it tries to beat its way out of his chest – a task itself rendered only more difficult by the fact that his mouth has gone entirely dry.

It felt, for a few incoherent moments after he'd first awakened, like Black Wing. The instant before freefall is spent trying to assess whether or not the reality is worse. Everything after that seems to compartmentalise itself with a wonderful lack of effort on his part, burning itself into an independent and freshly-discovered part of his brain which he wraps up and refuses to address the instant he's on the ground, thrumming and trembling with adrenaline, throat inexplicably raw.

Or maybe not so inexplicably. He hopes it wasn't too unbecoming a scream.

His hands are numb as he grapples with the door of the pod, breathing still coming far too fast, the already tight space seeming to shrink about him. His brain feels fuzzy, fried, a bit like he's just come out of an encounter with the Rowdies – like, therefore, someone has been digging about in his synapses, picking through his neurotransmitters, tasting them, and putting them back in entirely the wrong order.

When the door of the pod flies open – whether through the intervention of merciful fate or an interloper he can't at the moment determine – Dirk flounders out of it, falling with a sad, limp flop to the ground. Maybe... maybe he'll just lay here a moment with the smell of the dirt and the alarming taste of bile in the back of his throat. None of that, thank you. Whatever's in his stomach can stay right where it is – he's having a bit of trouble remembering at the moment, but presumably he put it there for a reason.

“Oh, thank you,” he breathes weakly to nobody and nothing in particular, patting the ground with a clammy hand.

B – Gathering Bearings, Bearing Gatherings

i.
He's still shaking. All over, full-body trembling, teeth chattering. It's probably, he recognises, shock, and that's probably something nobody can afford to entertain at the moment. After all, there are bound to be people here who are actually hurt, actually in trouble, and the very possibility terrifies him deeply. It's a lot of responsibility to be setting on his shoulders, for one, even if he does seem to be one of the last arrivals.

Stumbling his way through the aftermath, the debris and the abandoned pods, feels strangely familiar, tickles at some memory stored in his animal brain: it has the unreality of the escape, his first few days on the other side of the cell door, of the razorwire. That, presumably, is why he feels pursued. Not the thought of what's going on elsewhere. Not the fact that he might be.

He needs to be... well, useful might be too much to ask, and he knows it, but knowing it doesn't stop him from approaching the first person who looks as though they know where they're going and what they're going to do when they get there.

“How can I help?” His voice shakes as much as his hands are, but his eyes are wide, as earnest as the worried furrow of his brow.

ii.
Dirk has slept in a lot of strange places. That's a vaguely reassuring bit of knowledge he rolls around in his mouth as he looks over the supplies he was dropped with, but it's not exactly helpful knowledge. He's slept in a skip. On park benches. In Marriott hotels. One thing he's never done is assemble a tent.

He is, moreover, not particularly adept at assembling anything. His old flat in London had been populated with flatpack furniture which had had a notable tendency to revert to simply being flat (unpacked), largely due to his own difficulties with interpreting the frankly inscrutable assembly instructions. This time he's not even blessed with that much. That is, primarily, why he's sat with various tent-related accoutrements spread on the ground before him, reaching out occasionally to pick up an item – tent peg, stake – and turn it over in his hands before setting it back down, gingerly but with a thoughtful hum, as though he knows precisely what to do with everything here but is simply deliberating over whether or not he can't improve upon the usual method. This is, of course, inaccurate. If anything, he feels rather as though he's trying to reinvent the wheel.

Dirk spies on similarly-occupied neighbours and passers-by askance, rubbing thoughtfully at his cheek – leaving behind a smear of dirt – and looking not entirely unlike a student trying to cheat on an exam and failing utterly to be subtle about it. Also not entirely unlike a student trying to cheat on an exam and failing utterly to be subtle about it, he looks faintly as though he might cry.

((ooc note: If you prefer actionspam, feel free to use it! I'll happily switch.))

bucky barnes, MCU. (FIRST WAVE)

[foes]

【 DESCENT — WITH (ONE) ARM WIDE OPEN.mp3 】

[ ‘Your descent will not be an easy one.’

Bucky chuffs drily to himself, listening on; when has it ever been easy? He supposes he’d be more concerned if they had a smooth ride from start to finish. Too suspicious—plenty of the passengers had seemed comfortable, even excited for this new adventure—but amidst the murmurings of warring factions circling their ultimate destination? Pure lack of disruption on the station itself had set him on edge. It was about time something went wrong.

After all, he’s no dreamer. He knows better than to think they’d been benevolently rescued from countless worlds merely to have a second chance at life.

They’ve been harvested.

Now’s a good a time as any to test the fruits of their labors, to reap what they’ve sown. Who will survive this first round? Who will prove themselves assets to the Olympians in the future… or to someone else entirely?

Bucky braces for the impact of revelation as much as he does the crash landing. First thing’s first:

Survive. Save. Scout. ]

…Mmff— god damn it.

[ With one (serum-powered, but still human) arm, he’s less useful than he would have been a month or so prior to rescue. And at first, that one arm is pinned painfully between flattened titanium sheets, crushed pieces of his pod; it’d had a rough landing, as predicted despite the parachutes. He ignores the cool trickles of blood making their way down his temple, his working shoulder, and concentrates.

Two boots pivot themselves up against the glass shield, and with a reserve of strength most men his size wouldn’t possess, he kicks it loose… hears it shatter as it slides to the red earth covered in waves of earth-like wild grass. He’s sideways, almost pointed toward the ground, and with another kick he lets gravity do most of the work…

…finally free of the pod and rolling out past the shards of glass as best he can, landing on his back to breathe. ]

Christ.

[ Despite expectations, the sight around him is still jarring. Pods are streaming down to the planet’s surface all around him in halos of fire, losing outer material as they descend faster and closer to the earth than they were built for, clearly.

The stars are screaming as they fall.

Screaming… there’s a scream coming from a pod nearby, also aflame, and he heaves himself up and over, squinting through the clouds of smoke.

He pounds on the glass with his one good arm, shouting, ]

—Hey! Hey, can you hear me in there? Hang on—I’m gonna get you out!

【 WOULD YOU RATHER — HUNT AND GATHER. 】

[ Hours have gone by. He’s done the needful, including a headcount: touched base with Steve, Peggy, Wanda… all accounted for. More survivors overall than he anticipated, frankly. Triage stations are set up across the field, and he’s taken a fair few there (ignoring the overtures to have his own right arm looked at, even his head—why go through the same speech about accelerated healing twenty times over when he can be reticent and stubborn).

Night has begun to fall, and although the moons provide good light, there’s no time to waste. Camps not only need to be set up, but sustenance acquired. Not all the supplies made it in the descent; from the looks of things, they’re down by about a third of what was likely meant to last them for only a week, two at most.

He speaks with a few stationary organizers, quietly advises to include a plan of rationing in the instructions to their subgroups, then separates from the crowd again.

Knife strapped to his belt and rifle (with silencer) slung across his good shoulder, he heads east as far as he can. He wants to smell the air where it’s less clogged with smoke.

He wants to listen.

It pays off, too—that is absolutely the sound of running water in the near distance, just past a grove of strange trees. Bucky is about to make a move for it, when he hears a twig snap just behind and to his right. Fellow passenger? Hostile? Alien deer?

He pauses. Cranes his neck, slow, measured. Offers lowly, ]

Come on out. Surely three hands are better than one.

[ As his good hand slides up to his knife. Nothing to worry about here. ]

【 WILDCARD — DEALER’S CHOICE. 】

( ooc: I’m totally flexible for whatever! OOC plot post is HERE, or PM me, or hit me up at aescapes eyyyy!)

Kara Danvers • DCTV • OTA

[clobbers]

DESCENT
( What sleep she's induced to have is fitful, as the unfamiliar voices she'd heard echo in her mind. This is the only way we can save everyone. Her heart drops straight down to the pit of her stomach. Vaguely, she can think one thing: not again. That thought sticks as the familiar drag of gravity and smell of acrid smoke fills her nostrils. This isn't the first time she's shot straight down into another planet. And she's seen it happen once more since.

The scenery is obscured by smoke and the blinding speed at which her pod descends. There's no way to remove the straps, no way to stop it until she's already crashed, and the scrapes and bruises are already beginning to heal. But she wastes no time, winded or not; her hands tear at the straps buckling her down, and pry the roof of the pod away, to be tossed aside.

Blearily, she looks around, her heart sinking once more. )

Not again.

( Repeating that, for the moment, is all she can do while she's stunned. )


RESCUE
( Thankfully, the worst of the numbness and disoriented feeling brought on by the shock has begun to fade. She's just gathered what cargo there was packed in when she spots A pod coming in some distance away, flames spewing from its thrusters. Kara pulls off her (new) pair of glasses and pockets them before taking off at a sprint to gain momentum enough to launch herself into the air.

Whoever is in said pod will hear a thunk sound as her grip digs into the undercarriage of the vehicle so that she can easily heft it over her shoulders. Their descent will be markedly smoother, as she'll set them down away from the wreckage.

Afterward, off goes the hatch, and a pair of concerned blue eyes will lock gazes with the occupant intently. )

It's all right. You're safe.


CLEANUP
( After more rescues than she can count, her shoulders have begun to ache. It's hard not to be dispirited. But Mon-El's out there somewhere, and if he's woken up, he'd lay into her for going back on what she'd said on Maaldoria if she were to give in now. Even when one has no powers, they persevere. That's precisely what she does, meager possessions slung over one shoulder as she weaves herself among the wreckage.

If a pod is on fire, she'll put it out with her freeze breath. And if people are still trapped, she'll lift them free.

It's not until much later that she sidles up to someone having trouble starting a fire. With a quick glow of her fire, a sharp beam of blue light hits the kindling, sparking to life. She'll nod, and either stay or move on. If it's the latter, she'll eventually collapse next to a fire of her own making, a pile of kindling high in the middle of what seems to have become the makeshift camp area for them.

By now her glasses will be on, and she'll be utterly indistinguishable from the girl with the incredible strength who'd done so much earlier. )

Hey. There's room here for two at least if you want to sit down.

( She'll say to a passerby. )

edmund pevensie | fifth wave.

[exonerated]

LANDING —
[ His landing goes much smoothly, thanks to a young girl with flying boots, though it's not to say that feels luckier to have escaped the inevitable crash of the pod he'd been in. After landing a safe distance away and parting ways with his saviour, Edmund does the obvious and runs to the crash site, heading straight to closest pod. The promised supplies have dropped from the sky, and he is all for doing his part in making sure that everything is secure.

He'll be helping others in hauling those supplies to the closest clearing, where several of the previous waves have probably already secured camp, or just about to do it.

He is also there to make sure that there's no one left in the pods. He is right beside those people, helping in any way he can.

Still, it doesn't mean that his — or really, anyone else's — situation is safe. It is a crash site, after all, and there are several pods left falling from the sky, as well as debris here and there. ]

BEARINGS: A —
[ He makes quick work inside, helping lead the charge in collecting all the supplies available to them, sorting them out between what they need immediately and what they can save for later. There are several useless packages, torn apart by their graceless fall, but there's still enough for them to share between themselves.

He turns to the person closest to him, one who seems to have been with him from the start. ]

If that is the last of the pods, then it should be safer for us to travel to them and gather more supplies from the last wave. Form a hunting party ones it's over. A forest will always have game.

[ Then, he turns to a second person, whoever they are: ] We must gather everyone and see that we know our numbers, for food or shelter. Not all tents seem to be working. Sharing is a must, at least for whoever long we remain here.

[ Then, to a third: ] Do you know how to use a compass?

[ After that, the rest becomes a variation of are you safe and will you help and let me show you what we've planned so far. This is the part that he thrives in — the planning, and execution of them. He may not be a king here, but he still knows that he has a duty. ]

BEARINGS: B + C —
[ He won't be in the camp itself much, is the thing. After planning with the group of people that seem to be certain of their duties now that the worst is over, he's off and running just about everywhere. He'll be hunting with those who've agreed to join the team, then as day turns to night, he'll help in the efforts to collect firewood, create camp fire, and distribute clothing and sleeping bags to those who need it.

You may think that he's running himself ragged, but he definitely has a different train of thought that you. ]

BEARINGS: B + C —
( wildcard! tag me here with anything you have in mind <3 if you wanna plot with me first, pm me here or vortigern )

Jughead Jones | Open | Final wave

[drivein]

the return of the final wave | closed to soldier: 76

[ it doesn't feel real. it feels like he's crawling out of a movie, pulling himself from the tape and trying to find a solid foot on the ground and not quite managing to hit his mark. instead he's free falling through space, burning up in the atmosphere, and making an impact on whatever lonely island that was streamlined through his brain (he's still not used to that—he hopes he's never used to that).

when the descend finally comes with the impact, he's not sure exactly the hows of bracing himself, and his pulse thumps in his temples and his head races of thoughts of Archie and Better and Jellybean and then

that's it.

the next thing he remembers he's caught in the tight walls of the pod, his body jerking against the insides. it takes him a moment to find his voice, and at first it comes out as a wheeze. ] Hey ... [ the second time it comes out louder. ] Hey! [ he raises a fist to bang it against the inside of the pod. ] Let me out! Can someone hear me? Anyone? Let me out!!

i. some kind of rescue

[ despite not being able to do much of anything, he takes to his feet after he's rescued, remembering how to walk after hurdling tens of thousands of feet from above. while his body screams for rest, his mind screams for the people that he knows are here: Archie, Cheryl, and Veronica. before he can take a breather—before he can do anything—he makes it his first and foremost goal to find them.

just because he has a goal in mind doesn't mean that he's not willing to lend a helping hand, even if he doesn't look like the friendliest type of fragile. ] Hey. Wild ride, huh? [ he says it in such a way that it was very obviously More Than That.

stepping through debris, he looks into empty pods, takes a good glance at those he can find (some of which get disappointed puffy sigh if he doesn't recognize them), and wards off exhaustion for the next couple hours. ]

ii. the revenge of camping

[ the clothing that he removed was dirty, sweaty, and in bad need of a wash. it takes him about a day and a terrible nap before he decides to change (his clothing is a relic from a world lost, color him hesitant to remove it) into the clothing provided. straightening the lapels of the robes, he fits his beanie on his head, holding it from the back as he crosses his arms over his chest and settles in to a makeshift camping area that took everyone way too long to get presentable. it's like the summer that he and Archie never had—the one, coincidentally, that he was ditched for—and here they are.

there's a variety of people making camp around him, cooking food and hunting, neither a skill that he acquired. very horribly and suddenly, he misses Pop's, and he very desperately wants a burger. so, in order to keep the feeling from sinking in too far, he just turns to look at the person next to him. ]

You gonna eat all that?

iii. wildcard

[ Jughead's around and also painfully human. please feel free to call him out. if you need me for plotting purposes, I have a comment here, or you can grab me at hadal! ]

Daenerys Targaryen • Game of Thrones • OTA

[jelmazmo]

ARRIVAL
( She has flown many times since that day in the fighting pit when she'd recklessly climbed upon Drogon's back and urged him out of harm's way. But not a single instance has been so swift nor as jarring as this. Her landing is softer than those of many others, that is true. But her ears ring, and she hurts places where she is certain there will be bruises before break of day. Casting her blue gaze about, she feels disoriented for a long stretch of time. It takes her a while to process that this is the very same wilderness shown in the training simulations aboard the station.

Fleetingly, she wonders what happened to the bearers of the voices she'd heard in her mind. The woman must surely be dead. And that brings her no joy.

Sacrifice has once again paid for life. Bought and paid for like currency, and it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. She holds belief in no gods, and so will have to carry the memory of this day with her instead. It shouldn't be forgotten.

There's some supplies in this strange contraption she'd been ushered into, some familiar and others not. Dany gathers them close to her breast, and then begins to pick her way through wreckage, intact pods and people. When she comes across one who appears capable, she holds up a hand to give them pause. )

I would like some assistance if you might offer it.


WRECKAGE
( Dany can't put out fires, but she can provide a kind word and compassion to her fellow refugees. When she comes across someone who is hurt, she will put an arm about their shoulders and help bear their weight until she can locate a medic.

This effort in particular strikes a chord in her, because she's never been able to look upon the faces of those in need and do nothing. The denizens of the newly dubbed Bay of Dragons might have attested to that once. Before the end. Now, the survivors find themselves part of what might be a new beginning. )

Don't worry. I won't leave you until we find someone to see to that wound.

( Her smile is small, but warm. Earnest, where typically she is stoic. )


WILDCARD
( Neither of these work? Leave a starter if you like! I'll match whatever style is used. )

Marian Hawke | Dragon Age (second wave)

[otiosity]

The descent

[Hawke hits the ground with a stumble, using her momentum to keep herself upright even though it's completely awkward and inelegant. Another day in the life for the champion of Kirkwall.

She pulls out her staff and looks around, there are people on the ground but not many, which seems to indicate she's in only the second or third wave. Great.]

So I can heal but I'm not exactly an expert at it. It's not too late to be reassigned, is it? I'm more of a charge in and kill as many people as possible with lots of cool flames and lightning before they kill me. Is that a wave? Or am I sort of being a bit of a special snowflake here.

[No answer from above which is pretty much what she expected. YOU might want to answer thought. Otherwise, she'll look around and see someone who looks worse for wear.]

Do you... need healing? Is that how this works? Or I could kill whatever hurt you, that might work out better.

Gather your bearings

A [Hawke finds the nearest tent or sleeping bag she can find, strips off her armor, drops down her staff and collapses onto it face first. Was it claimed? Were you using it? Too bad. She is so tired she can't even imagine moving. Using magic here is unusally exhausting and she isn't handling that well. All of it makes her feel rather cross. If you try to lecture her or be cross at her she'll just turn slightly to glance up at you.]

Look at me, I was in the second wave and exhausted? Don't you think I've earned this? Or I suppose if I'm going to try and fight you for it... hmm, something like "I've claimed this for me, go find your own." You know, those sorts of petty threats.

B

[Whatever she manages to grab for a bed, Hawke awakens a few hours later shivering from head to toe. Thedas is a southern country and Kirkwall is by the sea, she is not prepared for cold like this. She sits up, trembling, and blows into her frigid hands to keep them warm as people do.

Except she actually seems to breathe out fire that she then cups in her hands and holds to her chest like some sort of funny heating device.]

You know, I really think if they want to drop us into the middle of chaos, they ought to have given us jackets. Team jackets! Then we could be stylish and warm. Clearly, they ought to promote more creative thinkers to the top. But that's never how it goes with these things.

gaelio bauduin | gundam ibo

[kimaris]

( spoiler post! )

ONE. (WAVE 5)

[ The drop is similar enough to entering atmosphere in a mobile suit that Gaelio spends the entire ride down being concerned about his family in the pods. What the hell did that even mean?? Terrible things, apparently, and now they're raining down refugees onto the surface world.

For a moment, he feels like a sitting duck, and he doesn't know why.

Outside of the pod, he's now standing on top of it with a hand shading his eyes. There's a bit of blood on his flight suit, but not enough to cause alarm or... have him even notice it.

And now, he's talking down to you: ]

Are you injured?

TWO.

[ It's buckling down time. Gaelio's already spent a good two hours cleaning up, and he's barely made a dent in the mess they've caused.

As it is, he's successfull put a tent with relative ease, but he hasn't even started the attempt on fire. He knows the basics, and is competent enough to figure out the rest, but... he hasn't gotten there yet. He's picked out a sleeping bag and has it settled neatly down to his newly established settlement. Right now he's sitting on top of the folded sleeping bag, looking down at where he's about to attempt this whole campfire thing.

Alternatively, come jack a spot in his tent when he decides to change out of his flight suit and into something that doesn't look like it's been played tug-o-war with. The required giant man's abs option, I guess. ]

WILDCARD.

[ Did his pod land on your ass? Are you kicking his hatch shut like an butthead? Or literally anything else, man let's go?? Honestly just give me a blank and I'll do a starter for your character. ]

You Watanabe | Final Wave

[ayes]

[The Descent]

[No way. This isn't happening. She isn't strapped securely in a rocket pod and being told she's ejecting from a space station.

Then again, this is just the last in a long litany of impossible things that has happened to her lately, so she supposes it's all par for the course. It doesn't mean she's not going to squeeze her eyes shut and repeat calming mantras to herself as she feels herself start to drop. She's actually falling from orbit. This is crazy. This is crazy.

The pod shakes and rattles as it enters the atmosphere, and You is glad that there's nobody else in the pod with her because she's pretty sure she screams a little. Just a little.

Then, all of a sudden, the pod slows, the G-forces pushing her into the padding like the world's fastest elevator coming to a stop. There's a sharp jolt, a rumble, and suddenly the pod is still. She's landed.

The door opens, and You stumbles out, her face pale; her legs immediately give way beneath her thanks to the shock from her descent. She falls unceremoniously on her rear.] Ow, ow! [Sorry, she's going to just sit there for a minute as she tries to process everything.]

[A]

[You is so tired. She feels like she could fall asleep in an instant. She's gotten her small tent set up, she's changed into one of the robes, she's put a sleeping bag inside. It's starting to get chilly.

She's about to crawl inside when she sees someone who looks like they're looking for a place to crash, too.]

[I: Your character is female.]

Hey! Do you need someplace to sleep? It's starting to get pretty chilly, huh?

[II: Your character is male.]

[You flashes a tired, sympathetic smile.] It's starting to get kinda cold, isn't it. I didn't think it'd get this chilly at night!

Did you get a tent set up?

[B]

[Okay. Okay, this food is just a little different from what she's used to, being completely alien and all. But even if the ingredients aren't what she's familiar with, the principles of cooking are still the same, right? Complimentary tastes are complimentary tastes.

You commandeers one of the fires and a large iron saucepot, carefully slicing off little bits of the ingredients and tasting them before adding them to what effectively becomes a large stew-slash-curry hybrid. In another, smaller pot, she's cooking a strange grain that kind of looks and tastes like wild rice. Because you need rice with curry, right?]

It's ready! Come get some! [She says at last, ready to ladle a heap of her stew-curry and rice into someone's bowl.]