❪ 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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[nineteenfortyfive]

Emotionally, Claire's sure no one is all right here. Most can muster up a brave face, or at least a convincing mask. This one? Not so much. Poor thing.

"Good. You're in one piece, and that's a start." An awkward start. Can't fault him for that. He can probably manage to scrounge up some firewood, carry it to the camp, but Claire instead motions to a half of a pod door.

"Sit. Have you had anything to drink?"

[cacoethical]

Dirk and brave faces have never precisely been bosom friends. He's never been particularly adept at mustering them, and they, for their part, seem to be disinclined to associate with him for any longer than is absolutely necessary. Generally about until he opens his mouth, actually. He's peculiarly, indeed absurdly grateful that the one Claire is wearing has stuck around, and he sets about immediately trying to pilfer some of her outward calm. Just... just skim a bit off the top.

He's not very good at this. He's not very good at a lot of things, actually. Normally that's... well, it's not fine, exactly, but serviceable. Or rather: whether or not it's fine or indeed serviceable is absolutely irrelevant, as whatever is going to happen has always simply happened anyway, and anyone standing in the way be damned. Dirk may be working with more information than most people, but with how thoroughly the signal is lost in the noise, even he can't always tell when he ought to get out of the way.

Having someone else take charge is, therefore, a relief, and he plunks down heavily when commanded. Even if... well, even if it leaves him feeling particularly useless at the moment. Even the hunches aren't helping, not that that's a surprise -- they never do. Not him, anyway, and there's far too much going on for him to be able to pluck out anything of use to anyone else either.

"I haven't." He wrings his hands together, worried fingers of one working over the knuckles of the other. "Do you ever feel as though there's something else you ought to be doing or somewhere else you ought to be, only you can't figure out what or where those things might be? Much less how to go about doing them, or getting there, or whatever -- and beyond the sort of usual low-grade existential ennui, I mean; that goes without saying. I suppose everyone feels that way sometimes, maybe feel is the wrong word."

He's drifted as he's speaking, gaze flicking away to something invisible in the middle distance, as though he's reading from a script only he can see. Abruptly, however, he gathers himself back together, looking back at Claire -- and then a rare moment of absolute, unguarded earnestness, an honest confession: "I want to help, only I don't know where to begin."

[nineteenfortyfive]

Whatever exasperation or annoyance there might have been at this young man floundering about melts away. He wants to help. Help these people, help whatever loved ones of his were asleep in their pods. Her hands aren't the cleanest right now, dirt and blood beneath the nails and stuck in the lines of her skin, but she does reach them out to take his hands. Stop him from wringing them, if he'll let her, and give him some reassurance that he so obviously and desperately needs.

"Right now, we're meant to be here, you and I. Understand?" She's not so sure that's true, but it's where they are. She knows she's meant to be with her husband and her family but this has to be some sort of stepping stone. A trial. There are always trials. "I'm going to get you some water, and then I want you to help me make sure other people have water as well."

Easy enough. Even a nervous, lost man can pass out what water they have, find anyone that looks thirsty or shell-shocked.

"What's your name? I'm Claire."

[cacoethical]

"Dirk. Dirk Gently." Which, yes, he's aware is a bit of an oxymoron. He doesn't particularly care, however, as he also loves it in the way a man can't help but love a name he's chosen for himself, and so he's pronounced it with as much relish as he can currently muster. More than one might expect, perhaps. Enthusiasm is a suit of armour; joy is a shield. It's lost a bit, though, under the way he's looking down at her hands on his with something that can only be interpreted as surprise.

It's a surprise for which he's deeply grateful, but it's only recently that he's known what it's like to have anyone around to offer any kind of comfort at all, and little of that tactile. Grasping for contact in times of duress isn't strange. Someone else reaching out not to take but to give is... peculiar, and that's peculiar in and of itself. It isn't an absence he'd fixated upon, because he'd quite simply never noticed it was something he was missing.

Maybe that's why he's not inclined to argue. Maybe it's weariness. Either way, the fact that it isn't that simple, has for him never in fact been that simple, isn't something he wants to state. It isn't even a thought he wants to entertain at this time: maybe for once in his life it actually can be that simple. Maybe he can trust that this is some kind of intended destination, rather than a stepping stone along the way.

"I can do that. I mean, probably. You'd be amazed how the simplest tasks can go completely awry when that's what they're meant to do." Still. He manages a tremulous smile. It feels better than the total overload of options, possibilities, threads he can only half-sense stretching out in an impossibly tangled web around him, everything thrumming together, too intertwined for him to pick the good threads from the bad. That's always, of course. The world is never simple. Nothing is ever simple. It's just so much more obvious now how useless he is at deciphering any of it.

[nineteenfortyfive]

"Mr. Gently," she repeats, though she supposes he's nervous enough that she can drop the formalities. "Dirk. It's a pleasure to meet you." Sort of, in a fashion. She's full nurse mode, all gentle tones and calming smile. It's a familiar pair of shoes.

"Unless you manage to somehow drown someone in a bottle of water, I think you'll be fine. And--if you do, I'll be impressed."

She gives his hands a firm squeeze before letting go.

"You stay right here. I'll be back in a minute."

She's going to wait for a confirmation before she even begins to move to go fetch that water.

[cacoethical]

"A pleasure to meet you too, Claire." In spite of himself, there's this habit. Be polite, smile, use someone's name whenever possible but not to excess. He learned his manners at the seat of the best: the deeply unmannerly, from whom he needed something. From whom, in fact, he'd needed everything, and for a very long time. It's easy to break it out under duress, even now.

That isn't, of course, to say that the phrase is hollow: it isn't. He's plenty glad to meet her. The fact that he can summon more than a quantum of charm, even given how frightened he clearly is, probably says more about him than he intends it to, however. This does not, of course, occur to him -- he nods his blessing and watches her go, thumbs tracing over the places her hands had touched his as though he suspects himself somehow changed.

He waits, too -- with a minimum of fidgeting, even, perched obediently in the same spot in which she left him when she does return.

"You know, I've accomplished a lot of unfortunately impressive things in my life. Not sure I'd put it past myself. Impressively unfortunate?" He sketches a little gesture in the air with his forefinger, back and forth, and furrows his brow. What's the best order here? Both options are their own sort of true, really. "Although I confess that in spite of an astonishing penchant for making only mistakes it's all worked out rather well so far."

His attention slips back to the here and now and where he's sitting and who he's talking to and he has the good decency to look faintly sheepish. "More or less."

[nineteenfortyfive]

Water fetched and placed beside him, Claire's glad to see that there's a beside him to place it. He seems like a frightened little bird, and she'd half expected him to flutter off if not for that desire to help. A strong desire, enough to root him to the spot. Good.

"You're in one piece and the majority seem to have fared just as well, so I would count that as impressively lucky. Unfortunate luck had to come into play, but best not to question it now." Or much of anything. The whole situation still makes her head spin as much as going through the stones and finding herself two hundred years in the past.

[cacoethical]

"Yes, well, that is my preferred method of investigation -- and living, really. It's just that I have quite a lot of questions, actually." Some of them even relevant to the situation at hand, but he's speaking rather generally again. People, he's found, have quite a lot of questions for him, and he in turn has quite a lot of questions for the world. Worlds?

The prospect of their being many is terrifying, if not exactly new: he's been to others before, and that's even discounting the idea of alternate universes, which there absolutely must be, in his opinion -- and regardless of his opinion on the matter, the greater the number of worlds, the greater his number of questions. He exists, that is to say, in a state of being nearly perpetually off-kilter, so much so that he's nearly mastered the art of seeming even-keel when not under particularly intense duress.

This, however, very much is particularly intense. Dirk doesn't like having to be levelheaded: it's not at all his forté. "Why, for instance, did I of all people have to be so abysmally lucky?"

[nineteenfortyfive]

"Best not to dwell on that too much. You're not the only person I've heard ask that, and there's no real answer."

She shakes her head a little. A question she's wondered herself. Why her, here, and not Jamie? He'd be a better fit. A leader. Calming the people, making them believe all would be well. And she's heard it long ago, in a war distant and yet to happen, depending on the time. Many bedsides she sat at were that of men wondering the same thing.

"What you need to focus on is what you can do right now."

[cacoethical]

Dirk nods, expression at first earnest, though the earnestness fades into a quiet, introspective weariness as his gaze lowers to the ground, where for a few moments it remains. Probably he isn't the only person to have asked this, no. Probably he means something a bit different by it than most do, though. Probably it's best not to address that, or dwell on it, or even think about it at all.

It isn't, after all, just this: it's everything. Cats and corpses. Twelve years old, and his own mother is afraid of him. Twelve years old and we can help you.

It's all nonsense, and this isn't his first crisis of faith -- so he smiles. Not at the ground, at Claire. It's bright, it's warm, it's genuine.

"Thank you. You're very good at this, you know."

[nineteenfortyfive]

"There we go. That's much better." It's a smile that makes her smile a little easier, some of the stress of the situation put on the back burner for the moment. She can't put out every fire here, but she can at least make sure this young man is all right and on his feet.

She even laughs a little. "Well, I'd be a terrible nurse if I couldn't put you at ease, even just somewhat."

[cacoethical]

He doesn't say it aloud, but Dirk's expression turns briefly dubious, says without him needing to voice it that he suspects he's met a lot of terrible nurses, if that's the case. But that uncharitable thought fades swiftly to guilt and then his expression smooths out again.

"Well then I'd say this is proof positive you're not. So... thank you." He pauses, head taking on a thoughtful tilt.

"No, I mean: you're more than what you do, so thank you. It's still you." People don't always recognise that. In fact, in Dirk's experience, they almost never do -- so this is him projecting, but there are worse things to project and worse things to say. Better things too, probably, but he doesn't know what they are. He's trying. He's making do.

On that note, and with that goal in mind, he should probably... well. Do. Do what he said he wanted to. Get to helping. Stop wasting her time. He doesn't want to, quite selfishly. She's kind. Even if it is just her job, she's kind, and not a lot of people are.

Dirk smiles again, this time a little weary, a little wan. He pushes himself to his feet.

"Well. I suppose I ought to..." He gives a vague gesture of the hand about him. Get to work.