returnjourneylogs | PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

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PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

Feb 11, 2022 – Feb 13, 2022
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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Was that absolutely necessar-- What are you doing?"

Waver didn't even have a chance to finish that first thought before Jack was up and headed his way. Her stance was enough for him to stumble back a few steps.

"This isn't-- You don't have to do this."

Left no option, Waver casts the fastest shield spell he can muster. While he's having a hard time moving his right shoulder at the moment, he winces through the pain to trace the circle in the air. Holding his hands out in front of him, there's a brief flash as the shield activates, maintaining a faint glow just a few inches in front of him. He keeps his back to the ATV, his eyes darting from Jack to the other inmates to make sure they're not getting any ideas.

The fire. If he can get to the fire, he should have enough in him to send up a signal flare, something to warn the other wardens. If they were nearby, that is. For all he knew they could be hours away, but he had to do something. But he had to get near that campfire first - it was the exact catalyst he needed.

[ When Rhys had said he was ready to camp under the stars to Volk, he hadn't actually meant it. He was hoping to be on a ride out of here by sundown, instead he's here sitting with his legs drawn up and mindlessly tossing bits of grass into the campfire. It's nostalgic, but he doesn't want to think about it that way.

And lucky for him, he doesn't have to because things are escalating suddenly and could get ugly fast. ]

Woah- hey! Relax, there's three of us and one of him, remember?

Travis just stays where he is, watching Jack menace her way over. His gaze is steely. Waver's problem, not his, and it looks like he's gonna try to defend himself anyway. Why shouldn't he see how Jack does things? Don't get to see women in this line of work often.

"Shut up, Rhys," Travis says. "Don't be a kiss-ass."

"You shut up. I just don't want blood on my shoes, okay?"

He also doesn't want to directly take part in a murder! He's not a look a man in the eyes while you kill him kinda guy.

"Just knock him out again and we'll leave him this time."

Jack has never fought without the use of her biotics, let alone killed anyone. Because she has never been without her biotics, period. She instinctively tries to activate a mass effect field, but just winds up feeling weirdly cockblocked, like she's trying to look at an optical illusion but can't get her brain to make the switch.

This all makes her very frustrated, as does the way Waver just pulls up his own barrier like it's no big deal. Fuck him! Fuck this whole system. It isn't fair.

"No fucking way," she says offhandedly to Rhys, not taking her eyes off Waver. "He's a liability. He'll go run and tattle to his little friends..."

She stops her advance then, as something dawns on her. The way he's looking at the fire. She looks from Waver to the fire and back again.

"What," she says slowly, "are you trying to do?"

Edited (fingers??) 2022-02-13 04:55 (UTC)

Shit. Caught already. Good thing Waver is a fast thinker. Now he only wished he was a fast mover.

No choice though. He has the shield, but it will only stay in front of him so long as he keeps his hands up, keeps the mana pumping. Once he lets go, if Jack gets a hold of him, he's not sure what will happen to him. One shot is all he gets.

To distract Jack, he dissipates the shield, causing a split-second flash of light. That's when he darts past her, heading to the camp fire. He never reaches for a his gun, or his cuffs. They're tucked away in the ATV, out of sight. No violence. He refused, no matter how violent they may have planned to get with him.

Waver slides in low like he was aiming for home base, feet first at the fire. His hands are already up, drawing something cryptic in the air as his shoulder screamed at him from being raised up. It was a quick, simple spell, nothing earth-shattering. The campfire burns blue for a moment, flames intensifying as one cinder shoots straight up, exploding a dozen yards overhead. Just enough to get someone's attention, if there was anyone out there to see it.

He lets out a shaky breath, bracing himself for whatever this trio might do to him next.

Travis is on his feet the minute Waver makes a break for it, and it's only the height of the flames that keeps him from just leaping the campfire and stomping the guy. For an instant he just looks up at it, the blue flames reflected in the lenses of his aviators.

There's a lot of ways he could play this, but that flicker of anger in him is undeniable.

So Travis moves, rounding the campfire with a few long steps. With a final lunge to close the distance between them, he puts a foot square in the middle of Waver's chest to shove him to the ground and pin him there.

"Big mistake, motherfucker." To Jack, even though his eyes don't leave Waver: "Wanna bet his little friends saw that?"

It's empty out here for miles. No way a convenient rock formation hid all of it.

Oh...that's bad.

Unlike Jack and probably Travis, Rhys has no interest in retaliating against Waver for what he just did. Not only cause he is a terrible fighter, but because that's a waste of time.

Instead, while the focus is on Waver Rhys is getting up and attempting to discreetly make his way back to the ATV.

She doesn't notice Rhys begin to slink away, too hyper focused on how Waver just screwed them—her, she reminds herself; there is no them—and quickly cycling through her options. They could leave him as a red smear on the terrain, but the other Wardens will be on their way by now. There isn't time.

They could just stop now and try to play it off as a joke, but that sounds even worse. She knew going into this that it was a huge fucking risk, and she doesn't expect to just get a slap on the wrist for hijacking, kidnapping, assault...

Which leaves one last option.

Jack says nothing to Travis, just turns around and bolts for the ATV, ramming her shoulder into Rhys as she passes him. "The fuck outta my way!"

Waver knew he wouldn't have a chance to escape them, and he was right. Where would he go, anyway? He hears Jack make a break for the ATV as he struggles under Travis's foot. Waver wraps his arms around his leg and tries to shove him off, get him off balance. He can't fight worth a damn, but he wasn't going to sit back.

"Where are you going to go. There's nothing here! Strand yourselves with no supplies, nothing?"

"Hey-"

No, no he is not getting screwed over after he's gotten this far. Getting shouldered hurts, but not enough to distract him from realizing that Jack has had the same idea. She's stronger, and she's fast, but his legs are long and the ATV isn't that far, so he's able to keep up the pace with her as they aim for the same goal.

Edited 2022-02-15 01:56 (UTC)

"Let 'em go," Travis orders Waver, and he shifts his weight so that foot is closer to Waver's collarbone, pressing down harder. Harder to struggle when a foot's that close to your windpipe, when you can't sit forward. "They want out of this joint, let them."

He's not going.

He looks up to the sky to the drifting smoke where the flare had been. Who can say how long it'll take for the calvary to come? He's got time to get ready. Find something to arm himself with. Grab Waver's biotic pistol. Make this thing a real fight.

Except the gun is in the fucking ATV.

He looks over his shoulder to shout:

"Hey!! Leave me the fucking gun, you assholes, so I can hold them off!"

The adrenaline flooding Jack's veins is so strong that she has tunnel vision; she and Rhys reach the ATV at roughly the same time, but she is acting on such pure instinct that she doesn't miss a beat in cracking him across the face and flinging the door open at the same time.

She doesn't even bother to shut the door, just scrambles aboard. The engine roars to life and the ATV peels out, anything remotely Peregrine-related sailing out the window: Waver's communicator, his gun, her own communicator. Jack is OUTTIE.

NOT HIS FACE AGAIN OH MY GOD

Rhys reels back, this time stunned enough to falter and miss those precious seconds where he could have gotten any upper hand to get into the ATV first. And by the time he's focused again, it's too late.

As he feels the familiar warmth of blood pooling beneath his nose, he brings his hands up to his face and screams into them.

"Shit!!! Fuck!!!"

Waver grimaces as that foot presses down, taking in a choking breath. It hasn't stopped him from trying to push Travis's leg away. He just needed some time to think, if he did he could come up with a plan--

The ATV taking off and Rhys's screams cut off that train of thought. There was no time, he had to act.

Not that he had a lot of options in this position, but his proximity to the fire meant he could grab a handful of hot cinders and throw them at Travis to hopefully get him to let go. It was worth the risk of burning his hand.

Travis watches with his brow furrowed more than usual, but hey, there's the gun. Jack gets her trip, he gets the stuff, and he gets a fight. Bring it the fuck on.

When Waver goes for the cinders, Travis lets him go –– less because he's worried about getting burned and more because he wants that fucking gun. In that instant, he ignores Waver entirely. The distress call has already gone up. What is he gonna do? Run?

So while Rhys is screaming like the world's most punchable child, Travis heads right in and picks up the pistol. Guns are cheap, as far as he's concerned, but this is a special occasion: it's what he's got, and more importantly, it's a space gun.

"You gonna fight?" Travis asks Rhys, but he doesn't wait for an answer. He turns back to catch up with Waver.

The scream, more out of pure frustration than any physical pain (please, this is far from the worst head trauma he's suffered!) ends, and Rhys pushes his hands through his hair with a sharp exhale.

If there was ever a chance of him putting up a fight, it's gone with Travis taking the pistol. What's even the point? His ride is gone, and with it any chance of getting out of this place.

That said, he's not going to make any kind of concentrated effort to stop Travis either. Instead he bends down, picking up the abandoned commlink and cuffs, the latter of which he pockets.

Travis with the gun, Rhys with the cuffs. Bad all around. Travis can't use the gun, but he probably doesn't know that, or at least Waver hopes.

He has no time, no power, no residual energy in the area to keep him casting. But, there was a fire, and that was better than nothing. From inside his jacket he takes out, of all things, a cigar. Not time to cut it or light it properly - he just shoves it into the fire to set it alight. It might mean more burns in the process, but he'll deal with that later. With the cigar as his focus, he can probably get off one quick spell before Travis is back within striking range.

Travis is a moving target, but using the smoldering cigar, Waver casts the quickest, dirtiest Bounded Field he can manage. Without drawing the sigils on the ground, it won't hold for long, especially if Travis tries muscling his way through hard enough.
But it might just be enough to keep him stuck inside an invisible sphere for just a minute or two within a few foot radius.

Once cast, Waver turns to Rhys, desperate, but calling up every last ounce of authority he can muster, which is actually a pretty impressive amount.

"Rhys! The cuffs! Now!"

A fucking force field. Travis bounces off it and catches himself on a heel before pushing forward again, testing it. His first instinct is to marvel, and then, a heartbeat later, to be annoyed. Somehow the reality of this kind of thing is twice as annoying as it is in video games –– why do game designers want to make players feel impotent, anyway? Who likes having control taken from them in the middle of something cooler, and even if only for a few seconds?

"Real cute," Travis calls, voice dipping into something baiting. "He's not going to do your dirty work."

If Rhys wants to get away, Travis knows taking on Waver is about the only distraction Rhys will have left, after all. He thinks if Rhys wants to sabotage that, well, he's fucking petty on top of stupid. His call.

In the meantime, Travis shoulders the forcefield again. In most games, if you hit it hard enough, and for long enough, it'll collapse. Why shouldn't it work that way here, too? He wails on it from the inside, alternating kicking, punching, and slamming on it with the butt of the pistol. If anything, it only gets him more amped up.

Countdown's on, everyone.

For the moments it takes him to make a decision, time slows.

If this was a videogame there'd be lots of emphasis on choice right now, maybe a little bar indicating his time limit on the bottom.

Rhys holds the cuffs in a loose grip. On one hand, he holds no loyalty to Waver and is actively fighting to get out of the system he serves. If he helps Waver out now they're as good as caught, and he'll have Travis on his ass soon as they're back unless they stick him in solitary forever, an outcome unlikely enough that it's not worth betting on.

On the other hand...he doesn't really want to see a guy who he has no beef with get shot in cold blood. And more importantly he doesn't want to deal with what'll happen to him if they get caught after.

He's fucked either way to some extent, but the less in either direction the better. He looks between Travis and Waver and makes the choice he thinks is going to go best for him.

WAIT- Okayokay don't-

He throws throws the cuffs to Travis.

"Don't kill him."

Ever watch a man's life flash before his eyes? That's what happens when Rhys throws those cuffs at Travis. The color completely drains from Waver's face.

"Oh dear God."

He could go for those cuffs, but risks the Field coming down as he does and Travis being able to get his hands on him immediately. Or he could continue blowing through his meager manna and reinforce the Field, though there probably isn't time.

Waver gives a quick look around. No sign of any Wardens on the way. They could be hours away. They might not even have seen the flare.

This... This was probably it, wasn't it. What an embarrassing way to go. Of course he couldn't help but think how disappointed Iskandar would be in him.

Instead of the field or the cuffs, Waver begins to cast again, eyes leveled at Travis with renewed determination. The flare worked as intended, but instead of casting it upwards, it's aimed at Travis for when that shield comes down. He hated resorting to this, truly. But this was life or death now.

When the cuffs hit the force field and land near him, Travis glances at them and thinks Rhys has got to be joking with a request like that. This is a warden. Half measures feel like disrespect.

If there’s any reason to let the guy live, it’s to make him realize how close he came to losing it all and wait for him to fight harder next time. That’d be satisfying. Juicier.

“Noted,” he tells Rhys.

Travis keeps working at the barrier, gaze fixed dead ahead on Waver. The guy’s casting, and Travis doesn’t know what magic is headed his way, but he knows it’s not gonna snare him again. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice—

When the barrier comes down, he banks left, scooping up the cuffs and, diving into a smooth shoulder roll to dodge.

The fire behind Waver roars up again, burning bright blue, and the flare that shoots towards Travis just barely misses him. Waver had aimed low, trying not to hit Travis in the chest or face. Maybe he should have.

No time to cast another one. No time to set up another shield. Countdown over, time was up.

All he could do now was dart around to the other side of the fire. Try to keep it between him and Travis, try to keep those blue flames up high.

Travis is up on his feet again in an instant, the heat of the near miss sending a rush up his spine. Fire, fire and more fire. He pockets the cuffs and keeps moving forward, around the fire. Like kids running in circles around a table ––someone's gotta give eventually, and Travis is sure it won't be him.

"Fireball lessons starting now, huh?" he calls, baiting, and he aims the gun.

"Yeah. This is what you wanted, eh?"

Waver had very few options left, but one last idea sprung to mind. As Travis aimed the gun, instead of backing off, Waver barreled toward him. The gun wouldn't fire in the hands of an inmate.

He's casting again as he does, cigar still in hand, a golden glow forming ahead of him just like when Jack had charged him. Knock Travis down and keep him pinned until -- Until what? Travis gave up? Help arrived? Waver ran out of mana? The latter was the likely outcome. Waver wasn't giving up though. He might not have much, but he'll still give it everything he's got.

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