The Return Journey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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returnjourneylogs2022-02-11 12:33 am
returnjourney) wrote in returnjourneylogs2022-02-11 12:33 am
Entry tags:
- !port,
- alex mercer (prototype),
- alice quinn (the magicians),
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- claire fraser (outlander),
- grace gibson (original),
- j. a. volkhov (original),
- jack (mass effect),
- loki odinson (mcu),
- lucifer morningstar (lucifer),
- malekith the accursed (mcu),
- rhys strongfork (borderlands),
- silco (arcane),
- theo crawford (original),
- theon greyjoy (a song of ice and fire),
- travis touchdown (no more heroes),
- viktor (arcane),
- waver velvet (fate),
- william (westworld)
PORT: MEODRIOTOPE
PORT: MEODRIOTOPE
Welcome to Meodriotope! (Try spelling that without double-checking. I double-dog dare you.) This is our first port. Ports are, as the name implies, a visit to "shore", which can be just about any planet in the Oos Galaxy. This time, the Peregrine is dropping in on a flower-gathering errand, but it's a good opportunity for characters to stretch their legs.
The full OOC write-up for the port is here. If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.
1. Disembarking
For some passengers, this will be the first time they've touched land in almost forty days. Is it unusual, stepping down onto solid ground and breathing cool, fresh air? Is it frightening, to look upon the sea of blue grass and pale sky and realize you have never been so far from home? Is it exciting? Awe-inspiring? Gross, because who likes the outdoors anyway?
Of course, not everyone will disembark. Inmates cannot leave the ship without a warden as escort, and wardens will be responsible for inmates in port — they don't have to be glued to each others' sides, of course, but it's harder to make trouble under a watchful eye.
2. Camp
There'd be a lot of walking without the ATVs, so the Navarch has deployed both vehicles to serve as transport and support for housing. The campsites, once set up, look very much like regular Earth camping — turns out at some point in human development, people pretty much perfected what a rapid set-up/rapid tear-down camp can be, give or take some aesthetic trappings. A sleeping bag is a sleeping bag. A camp stove is a camp stove. It's just cooler when it's made of sleek white metal with designer rounded edges and blue lighting, and all.
There are four tents set up, each sleeping 4-6 people, so even if everyone decided to camp, it won't be too crowded. They are equipped with a solar-air tube that can generate power from sunlight, so they are climate controlled and have built-in lighting. An additional tent serves as a mess tent, though you'll all be eating on little folding chairs. Plastic trunks store rations. Those who want a bit of local fare will have to work for it.
Wardens also have a locked toolbox containing a hatchet, a firestarter, and a pair of utility knives. Should be handy for setting up a campfire at night. Shame no one picked up marshmallows from the commissary; that would have been nice.
3. [Mis]adventuring
There's plenty to see out in the world of Meodriotope:
Burrowing holes — Beware your ankles: the fields are home to colonies of littari, rabbit-like creatures the size of labradors. They leave large holes that are easy to fall into, if you're not watching where you step. This time of year, they usually stay deep in their warrens, but occasionally they pop up to smell the wind and scavenge for edible plants in the thick grasses. They're largely harmless, preferring to flee when possible, but they may go for the calves with their large, blunt teeth when cornered or struck. (They also taste good with mint sauce.)
Lover's Kiss — These little plants can be difficult to find, as they thrive under the grasses' shade, but when you find one, you find a lot of them. Each vine has fifty or more bright, red blooms, pinched at the sides and bowed in the middle like a pair of juicy lips. The Navarch requests that they be harvested; they're used in medicines on a neighboring planet and the Admiralty has asked the Peregrine to pick some up while we're in the area. Be careful, though: if you pluck them too roughly, they'll explode, and the red markings take weeks to wear off skin, even with dutiful scrubbing.
The Fishwives' Village — Five hours west is a small village close to the shore, home to...well, who knows if they're wives, but they have fish heads and bodies with humanoid arms and legs, and they wear little robes. Kind of like reverse mermaids. They are quite small, barely reaching four feet tall, and they speak their own language, leaving communication to little gesticulations and gestures. They live in small stone huts, arranged in concentric circles with a small market in the middle, and barter roast seafood, handicrafts, crabgrass beer, and small tools for off-world goods. Most of their culture seems to revolve around fishing and goods made of woven grasses. The fishwives are fussy about outsiders and carry little fishing spears when they visit, just in case.
The Shoreline — Long, long, long coastlines looking out at the sea, with beaches made up of smooth stones. There are plenty of interesting sea creatures to see in the rocky tide pools, but try not to handle anything indiscriminately (many things bite and some of those things are venomous). You can walk a long way out before the water gets deep, but be careful and make sure you aren't too far out when the tide comes in.
Rock Formations — Weathered in fascinating shapes from centuries of storms and high winds, these formations curl across the southeastern plains. They make swooping sounds when the wind passes through them, like deep and echoing woodwinds. Suneoff, resembling cat-sized mudskippers, dwell in the formations' shadow, while the bat-like knassu nest in the better protected crannies.
4. A Very Wet Last Day
Looks like we didn't manage to miss the rain. The storm clouds on the horizon take their sweet time to arrive, but on the last full day before departure, wardens and inmates will wake to the sound of heavy rain on the roofs of their tents. For some, it may be a struggle to leave the warm, dry confines of the tent to venture into rain. It's the kind that comes down relentlessly, soaking you to the skin within minutes, and cold to boot.
To make matters worse, the rain has transformed the long grasses into a veritable slip-n-slide. Step too quickly and you might find yourself shooting down a sloping hill, or at the very least on your ass. Visibility drops to barely twenty feet ahead.
Packing up in this? Ugh. We have to be back on the ship by nightfall! Anyone who isn't aboard gets left behind.
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The Iron Islands aren't the height of civilization; Theon knows this. They're dreary, cold and rocky, with the people to match. Any goods that can't be mined need to be imported or stolen--usually the latter, but as miserable as his homecoming had been, Theon's pride for being ironborn remains intact. The islands are his home, and some small part of Meodriotope reminds him of them.
Just not the fish people. ]
I come from a place like this.
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[This one is... maybe not outright hostile, but Claire's not sure how to read him. He clearly doesn't want her there, but he'll talk, and she hopes he'll continue to talk when prompted.]
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The Iron Islands.
[ He doesn’t know why he answers her. Some part of him is lonely, perhaps, or maybe it's just easier to talk about home than anything else. ]
There are seven of them. [ Thirty-one, really, but most of those smaller islands are too small and rocky to be inhabited, or they’re used for grazing sheep. It’s the larger ones that really matter anyway. ] The island I come from is called Pyke.
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What did you do there?
[Criminal or otherwise, she supposes.]
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What most children do.
[ And those are the memories he clings to—those of a child. The memories he romanticized for years until the islands pulled them right out from under his feet with a tepid homecoming. He wants to continue to think only of himself learning to sail, or shooting his first arrow, but those happy memories have been tainted by the reminder of his father, sister, and uncles all belittling and humiliating him.
He doesn’t know why he continues. He doesn’t know this woman and he doesn’t care to. But for just a moment, he lets his guard down. ]
I was taken from home when I was ten.
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Why?
[It's the only logical question.]
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[ A political maneuver, essentially, with a child at the center of it. And that’s just one of the many knives in his chest, one of the things that gnaws at his insides when he lays down to sleep at night. He’s been granted too much time to think here, and that allows his mind the opportunity to pick things apart. He’s begun to believe that his father didn’t care, and that Theon was merely a hindrance to his plans. Balon waited long enough for Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon to die, and that was the only grace he afforded his son.
Theon can’t help but wonder what might have happened if Robb had never sent him home. Would his father have sent for him, or forgotten his existence entirely?
His eyebrows knit together, betraying his mask for a fleeting moment. This is clearly upsetting to him. ]
Why do you care?
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Someone should.
[It's a simple response, and she shrugs a shoulder.]
I don't mean to presume, but I can't imagine that was pleasant for you. Then, or now.
[He's not a child, but not so far removed from that time.]
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No, it was wonderful.
[ He snorts, and a smile sneaks its way back in, just a little too sharp this time. It was obviously not wonderful. He doesn’t want to unload his childhood trauma onto a stranger, but he's sort of started now and can't completely stop himself. ]
Being the one to pay for your father's crimes is the most pleasant childhood I can imagine.
[ And he hasn't even gotten into the whole beheading thing. ]
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[And as what? Prisoner, servant? She can't tell by looking at him, or the way he carries himself--though the attitude he seems to carry wouldn't make for a good laborer, that's for sure.]
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No, he’s not a laborer. His father cold see that plain as day too. He can’t even recall the last time he saddled his horse for himself. He had tried to dress himself more plainly to please his father and to gain the respect of his crew, but he would drape himself in velvet right this very minute if he could. ]
Lord Eddard Stark.
[ There’s a pause. He isn’t in Westeros anymore, and these names might need a bit more of an explanation. ]
Warden of the North. I grew up alongside his children.
[ He knows it sounds like a perfectly decent upbringing, and in many ways, it was. He never lacked for anything--anything material, at least. But there was always a shadow looming over Theon in Winterfell. At some point, all the Stark children had to be told why he was there, and at some point, they all distanced themselves from him. Except Robb, but that goes without saying.
Whether Claire is judging him or not, Theon doesn’t truly know, but he can’t stand the creeping feeling that she might be, so he keeps talking, hoping to answer her questions before she can ask them. ]
No, they didn’t treat me cruelly. I wasn’t beaten or caged. I wasn’t starved. I learned and trained the same as his sons.
[ But I was never one of them. That’s what no one understands. ]
If my father should strike up another rebellion, it would be Lord Stark’s duty to take my head. Easier to do quickly when you're in the same kingdom, I'd wager.
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You were still used as leverage, even if treated well. You think any attachment or fondness this Eddard Stark has for you would come second to politics. Duty.
[Head always in the guillotine.]
I can only imagine how difficult that is.
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It’s almost as if you know him. Lord Stark was an honorable man. Immovably honorable.
[ Though Lord Stark had never been cruel, Theon’s view of him had never quite shifted beyond that of a frightened, ten year old child. Eddard forever remained the main who took him from home. If he had ever been fond of Theon, he never showed it, and Theon never wanted him to. He resisted all of the man’s attempts to play father to him, and he's not so sure he could have taken more than that. ]
He lost his head in the end.
[ And Theon…genuinely doesn’t care. He cared how it affected Robb, but not much beyond that. ]
Honor wasn’t enough to save him.
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[Married one, actually. It's a blessing and a curse. But she thinks even Jamie wouldn't be able to bring himself to kill a boy he raised among his own for politics.]
What happened to you, after he was gone? Could you go home?
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[ It seemed like a smart tactic at the time. Deliver Robb’s message in person, try to get Balon to join forces with Robb.
It isn’t my fault he refused. It isn’t my fault it all turned sour.
Theon seems hesitant to reveal more. His homecoming had been far from happy, and the outcome had been far from the neat little agreement he and Robb had hoped for. ]
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And then?
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And then I went home.
[ I was welcomed with open arms, everyone knew me, everyone had been waiting for me, is what he desperately wishes he could say. Even he isn't delusional enough to lie to himself like that. ]