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

Mm. I know what you mean... it's like a dream. Whether it's a good one, [head dips, shoulders lift, one hand turns over, who am I to say—]

Maybe something to ask if you wake up craving a lively debate among the passengers.

Or coax some of them into a crisis. I think not, thank you very much.

[Poor Volk. Claire's about to say something when she spots something, and instead gasps in surprise as she crouches down.]

Oh! Here, I've found some. The plant. A hell of a lot of it, actually. The Navarch said to be careful not to--

[Crush them. Which is exactly what she does when first trying to pluck one.]

Damn. Good thing there's a lot.

Oh— careful, they—

[They not only crush, they burst. He's sitting right up, turning to see,]

The red pollen, it... stains.

[Well, fuck. Claire grimaces, lifting her red fingers to wave at him. Then, she gives them a closer look, rubbing them together.

Nothing to be done about that now. Maybe something on the ship can help her clean up.]

Caught red handed.

[What a corny thing to say. Absolutely terrible. Of course it jerks at him, like a little nudge in the belly, tightens his mouth against what might escape.

He lifts his arm, the cuff already rolled up, and shows Claire his elbow: red. Like he leaned on someone's blush palette.]

Weeks, they said.

Very kind of you to tell me that after the fact, Viktor.

[Terribly rude! Not that Claire seems upset in the least. She flicks the remnants of the crushed flower in his direction, though it doesn't go very far. There's really nothing to do but wipe her hand on her shirt, leaving a red stain that may or may not be looked back upon as foreshadowing, one day.]

[It doesn't go far, but he leans from it anyway, gawky in the set of his shoulders.]

Sorry, [sounds too close to a laugh for that to be true.] I thought you knew. They're medicinal, so... maybe it will enhance your skills.

[Clowning aside, they're out here in all this sun for a reason, so he gathers himself up to join her.]

[He's not even sorry. It's fine. She'll remember that.]

Or if I feel like I want to dye my wardrobe red, I have the option.

[She's more careful pulling the next flower from the vine, standing up to show him the strange little bloom.]

It really does look like painted lips, doesn't it? Lover's Kiss. Fitting.

[Still dusting off his trousers, Viktor looks down at the little flower, neither reaching for it nor getting so close he can't escape any potential Revenge.

His mouth pulls crooked.]

Ehh, to be honest, I find them a little grotesque. You can keep that one.

[He's wise. Claire's not above turning him into Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, but he remains safe.]

Oh? So are you just here to keep me company then, Viktor?

Of course not, [he says, crisp. How dare you, madam.] I'm supervising.

[And still holding the official flower-carrying receptacle, which he extends to Claire now. With his gloved hand, of course.

All clowning aside—]

Actually, I, eh, I want to thank you for this. —Not the flower, I mean... you know. This.

[Smartass. Claire would say as much (fondly), but thinks better of it. He gets a look that says as much, smile warm even as she rolls her eyes. He can hold the receptacle. She does open it and pop the bloom inside, though. Teamwork.

As for his thanks, well. She thinks she knows what he means, and she nods.]

You're welcome. It's easier here with friends.

[—Oh. Oh, hell.

Viktor has never been particularly good at controlling his expressions, so when some unnamed thing in him shutters, it isn't subtle. His eyes move restlessly, his body becomes uneasy.]

I'm... getting tired. [The container is now less a helpful service than it is an offering: take this. Please.] I think I need to head back.

[Well, there's a trait they share in common. A glass face, they say about her. And she looks concerned, even as she takes the container.]

Are you tired, or did I say something? Did the f-word offend you?

No, I—

[Breath catches on the way out, frustrated. He's already on his feet, so it takes only the span of four and a half limping strides (with effort, elbows back, one of them red) to get to his crutch, barely a second to grasp and flick it up under his arm.]

I am, [he's nearly always tired,] I just... this isn't why I'm here. I'm sorry, [in particular, is neatly clipped.]

[And off he starts.]

[Okay. He's nicer than William about it, at least. Claire knows when to disengage, and now's one of those times.

Besides, there are flowers to collect. She turns back to the task with a frown, fingers stained red.]

PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

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