returnjourneylogs | PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

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

Don't do it to... himself?

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Travis replies, curtly. Having a grown man clutch at him that way feels more disturbing than the simple thought that he could kill the guy –– the latter was always a possibility, as predictable as the weather, but the former makes his lip curl. Don't you have any pride? Some guy has you in this position and you wanna appeal to their soul?

Travis reaches to peel Waver's hand off and pull himself away, getting to his feet none-too-gracefully. His hand is still wrapped around the handle of the pistol.

"Get up," he orders.

After a moment or two, Waver starts unsteadily get to his feet. The only time he takes his eyes off of Travis is to shoot a glance over to Rhys, to see what he's been doing this whole damn time. Thick as thieves, as they say.

"What's the plan. Eh? What is it. Jack took off with almost everything. Plan to start life over as a fishwife? Don't do this to yourselves."

He shoots another quick glance to Rhys. He might be the more reasonable one, but it was probably harder to be less reasonable than Travis.

[ Rhys momentarily meets Wavers eyes, brows furrowed and mouth in a tight line, before he turns his attention back to Travis. ]

If you kill him, we're totally screwed. But if he's alive and not hurt- uh. More hurt, there's a chance we can broker a deal with whoever's about to come and get us.

[ There's an urgency to his tone, Travis is a loose canon and this is their last shot at getting any kind of upper hand in this situation. ]

Travis lingers where he is, finger idly rubbing at the trigger; he knows it won't go off, but just the feel of it keeps the tempo up in his mind. He wants the fight so bad it feels momentarily blinding: how can these two not get it? His heart is hammering. It alone feels great.

"I don't want a fucking deal," he says. "The only plan is when they get here, I want a fight. A real one, with someone who will make it worth my fucking while!"

He takes a hard step towards Waver, holding the gun out in demonstration. His voice rises, intense, furious:

"So you tell me how to use this thing so that I can make it interesting, and then you can sit your ass down with Rhys here and wait for me to put on a fucking show!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Why is everything about fighting with this idiot? Rhys rakes a frustrated hand back through his hair, can feel the now dried blood that had gotten into it flake between his fingers. He is going to fucking lose it soon, but he's also bargained with bigger threats.

"We can make that part of the deal if you would just cuff him already instead of wasting time!"

Waver tenses up as Travis turns to him, straightening up to his full height.

He knew his answer would doom him, but at least it would spare the other wardens when they arrived. He knew Travis was never going to listen to Rhys. It was pointless to wait.

One simple word, quiet but sharp: "No."

Travis just pulls the cuffs from his pocket with his free hand and whips them, overhand, at Rhys.

"Get your deal yourself," he says, and he turns back to Waver. "You're lucky. This pussy isn't going to do it himself, and I'm not some sicko torturer."

Rhys stumbles to catch the cuffs, looking up sharply to glare at Travis once he's properly grasped them.

"I wasn't going to torture him, I'm not an animal like you."

Said as he finally makes his way over to the two of them (and assuming this stupid fight is over) to cuff Waver himself.

"Really. What exactly are you then, Travis."

Rhetorical statement. Waver looks at Rhys headed this way, locking eyes with him, and shaking his head slowly.

"He's as much on your side as he is mine. Don't do this."

"I'm an assassin," Travis replies, and he feels so pissed off about it all that he just turns on his heel and walks off to sit by the campfire again. Rhys can have his hostage.

Travis will wait until the cavalry comes.

"I know that, nobody's on any sides here but their own."

Which is why he has to do this, even though he has a kind of shitty feeling in his gut about it. Whatever, at least the dude's not dead. Rhys can be thanked for that much. Due diligence done.

"Sssso, hands behind your back?"

That's the thing you say, he guesses as he steps behind Waver, god he's tired. Tired and he can't get these stupid cuffs open.

"How do you..."

"Not true."

Not that they'd believe him, but Waver meant that. Rhys steps behind him, but Waver turns around to face him again.

"You can't use the gun, and you can use the cuffs."

The less details he gives about that, the better.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be."

For either of them.

"I could have just let you die so work with me here."

He turns the cuffs over in his hand. Can use them but not the gun, which means there's an accessible key...

PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject