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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.

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There's something to be said about anyone who can switch from being a fish person to their original form (involuntarily) and still have enough wits about them to slip off a vehicle elegantly before summoning their weapons and proceeding to storm off without so much as a blink. Loki's certainly in his own category of competent. Bucky doesn't have much time to admire the Asgardian's mental fortitude though, realizing the severity of Loki's strides and hopping off the ATV to jog after him.

Malekith. He'd seen the name appear on the roster some days back, but it hadn't stood out as anything noteworthy aside from just another name to remember and perhaps someone to look into later when the prospect of sun and sea are no longer as tempting as they are. Apparently Loki's acquaintance?

Nonetheless, he follows. And he follows. And further still he follows. And after a point, it's difficult to excuse the patternless wandering combined with Loki's weapons being drawn. They're not mindless predators hunting prey. Loki's above this. He graduated. This isn't the way.

"Are you trying to get demoted?" are the words that finally slip from his lips. "You're gonna make a scene."

Yes, hello. Is that the rage of a tiny giant his ears doth hear? Practically ricocheted through the entire ship, but Malekith's not in any particular hurry to greet the other man. Surely with that tone, said man was coming to him and he's busy in the observatory memorizing stars, systems -- all the information available about them. Dare he say comfortable (enough, all things considered) for the first time in a long time. The doors whirl open to such a flood of holographic information and quite the tall figure amidst it all.

Whatever ruckus happened prior to this moment, Malekith was not privy to. He did, however, note the sound of two sets of footsteps. And though the elf doesn't turn to greet either of them he's quite aware of the potential immediate violence. So really, what could possibly be a better idea than to try and provoke it further?

Head tipping over a shoulder: "Enjoy your swim, Loki Laufeyson?"

There's only so many places Malekith could be. The chances of him leaving the ship are low, even with the rain. So he keeps searching, stalking forward despite Barnes' tailing him.

Loki growls out his response just as they turn the corner to the observatory: "He killed my mother. He doesn't deserve to be here."

Any further explanation is cut off by the sight of the elf silhouetted against the window. Loki stays still just long enough to hear that ridiculous jab before launching himself forward. It’s more or less only Barnes' reminder regarding demotion that keeps him from immediately going for a lethal blow. Instead he aims to throw his body weight at the elf in order to tackle him onto his back and restrain him, though he keeps the knives ready for any resistance (and truthfully doesn't bother to wield them all that cautiously).

The response is driven by emotion, and though Bucky could comment on it, he realizes the pointlessness of arguing with a man whose mind is made. Never made a difference when it came to Steve either. So he follows along, and to his dismay, they happen upon the man in question quite unfortunately before the soldier has time to formulate a proper distraction. The inmate eggs Loki on, to boot, and even Bucky has to brace himself as he expects the forthcoming retaliation.

He doesn't let Loki make contact, darting forward and throwing out his left hand to handle the force and weight of the Asgardian driving toward Malekith with the added counterweight of his own body. This is sure to get him on Loki's shit list, but he can't let this happen. Blade or no, attacking without good reason is abuse of his station.

"Loki," he warns lowly, eyes narrowed sternly as he throws a brief glance back. "Don't."

His eyes find Malekith's and only after he has does Bucky realizes the oddity in them, sclera black pitch with flecks of light glinting off his iris. What the hell?

"He is Odinson. Mind your manners."

Edited (i know english i swear) 2022-02-20 05:24 (UTC)

Clearly a response driven by emotion, and Malekith's not fully certain why its so visceral but he certainly is curious to find out. A slow turn, hearing those frantic footsteps being followed by another until the body that had been so ready to lash out was promptly stalled. Its silence for a few more measures. His eyes move from Loki to one of the blades that had been so carelessly eager and back again. Swim was good, then. Well, that's just lovely to hear. An amused (ever slight) rush of breath flares out.

Its not until Odinson was spoken that Malekith's gaze flickers over to Bucky for but a second. Odd indeed, irises so vivid blue they almost seem to glow like stars. Skin so pale, but not tones of flesh frequent to man. A sickly gray. More interesting: Odinson. Why lie? Though it was obvious this man hadn't been any average Jotun what with the not being blue and being small, why lie? Unless it wasn't a lie. Which gave even more interesting possibilities. Though this explains the reaction.

Malekith's chin dips down a touch, "Oh, is he?"

Edited 2022-02-21 02:28 (UTC)

It is only the split second of warning his peripheral vision gives him that slows Loki enough to not truly test his strength against Barnes'. As it is, he catches himself just in time to avoid having the wind knocked out of him, which allows him to snarl his annoyance at having been held back, though he doesn't even glance at Barnes once. His eyes are locked on Malekith, teeth bared.

"Frigga raised me. She was the only reason I was even there." He shook his head harshly, wet hair flying, eyes wild. "For that alone, you deserved your defeat. She was good."

Disappearing one knife, he takes hold of Barnes' arm and shoves it away harshly, stepping forward to stare up into Malekith's cold gaze. While he keeps one dagger in his right hand, ready, he leaves it aimed downward. Even if that takes such self-control he's trembling with it.

"And you're getting a second chance when she won't." His jaw goes tight, eyes shining. "What have you done to deserve better than her?"

He lets Loki push his arm away, expecting the insistence to come eventually. There's likely catharsis in arguing, however brief. The soldier can't deny he's considered what he might say to some of his captors had he the forethought in the past. But he also knows his personal journey has come far further along than most others around him have even considered, at least that Steve never quite realized even up to the end. He doesn't think of those things anymore.

Loki spits fire, and Bucky lets his gaze wander, making sure they haven't an audience. Eyes flick back after a moment, catching the tremor in Loki's hand. Damn. Loki's mother must have meant the world to him. Stepping over under the guise of mediation, the metal fingers under the leather glove are what silently find the blade to still it. He doesn't bother looking, though who knows if Malekith might notice it anyway. Bucky can only do so much here.

Lo, the wrath of someone whose never lost things which were important to them before. What privilege befitting only of someone truly raised as Asgardian. Sitting upon their holy throne, conquering and oppressing under a flag of peace. Torn asunder all that dare raise against. Rivers of blood so plentiful they could create galaxies out of it. To be so blindly entitled.

He'll meet that gaze gladly, hold it, give it all the attention it demands. That explains the similar magick, and for a split second he'd considered a connection not knowing Jotun to have such magick but the detail seemed irrelevant at the time. He'd retrieved the aether. Hadn't thought of it since until now. Curious though why he was a prisoner within their dungeons. Enemy to Asgard, still? Just not to Frigga. Well, whatever the reasons were:

"Good dies, child. Often earlier than its counterpart." It's factual and undisturbed but there's something in the statement. A suggestion, perhaps, of similar experiences. Though such sentiment wasn't intentional, simply existing. He knows this pain. The rage that shakes that grip and threatens to tear every inch of air from one's body. Scream until there was nothing left to scream. Welcome, Loki, to the lives of many under your family's rule of 'peace'.

"You assume she won't appear some time or that she is not in a similar place elsewhere," a stunted 'hm' resonating in Malekith's chest, eyes diverting to make a point before returning to the man. "Startling faith you have in your late mother."

Loki feels Barnes' hand on his and it's only what thin self control he has left that keeps him from turning and driving that knife into the man's shoulder. He doesn't need the-- the backup or pacifying or comfort or whatever bloody thing it is that he thinks he's doing. The knife vanishes from his hand if only to make him let go.

Not that any of this truly distracts him from Malekith, and so he snarls back instantly, "You dare speak of her as if you know a damned thing about her? She was an obstacle to your hateful quest that came centuries too late, and yet you pretend to treat her with greater respect?" His jaw snaps shut, breath coming harsh and hot before he can grind out: "You haven't the slightest idea what it is to have faith in your people. You were blind to their existence beyond their use as tools for your own ends."

Loki's eyes narrow as he lifts his chin, as if he might look down on Malekith even as he cranes his neck upward. "Frigga found peace despite you. I'm sure of that."

He steps back, finally, eyes still locked on Malekith as he creates space between them again.

"Perhaps you will earn your place here. But I will have nothing to do with it, monster."

Better gone than withheld. Leather of his glove cut through, his fist can only remain closed to keep the vibranium from showing. Thankfully, Loki does manage to back away, but not without reminding Bucky of the self-righteous tone and posture held by Tony as he tried to justify violence to answer violence. His throat burns.

Teeth clamp the inside of his cheek, and he steps to the side, trying to maintain an even distance between them. As long as Loki doesn't do something stupid, then that's enough. The soldier doesn't want the work put into his graduation to go to waste. And anyway, being loathed is nothing new.

He listens. Keenly, too. Decoding the nuances of these accusations, his eyes immobile in their match with the sharp blues reflecting back at him. It's hardly the first time people claimed assumptions as facts and he was no stranger to the history of their people from the perspective of other realms, particularly Asgard. To be fair, it wasn't all fiction. These accusations, though, come from a different place of emotion he'd wager. From grief.

It urges a sound from his throat--amused. One single note puffed out. Let the other man snarl and thrash about, it bothered Malekith none. Call it ego, call it blindness or refusal to accept the few truths buried deep within Loki's words, call it whatever you like--he didn't waver. Not a flinch.

And there could be much to address here. That history only paints the tales of those who conquered or that he really didn't care whether Frigga did or did not find peace; that wasn't the point of his actions. That his words were observable truths and he didn't care to pretend to know her much deeper or at all. He certainly isn't beside himself over Loki having no desire to partake in the generic handwave of this place. Though he was getting the reactions he wanted. Riled up, emotional discharge was useful in getting to know someone.

Anyway, back to this. Still entertained: "Do you think it was Frigga who I wished to cause harm?"

No, Loki. How you kill someone is not in the death of their body, it's in the death of their heart. A life for a life, nothing more. He intended from the start to kill her whether or not she chose to give up the Aether's location. Perhaps she was a good woman. Perhaps she was great. He didn't care.

Loki spits back, instantly, "I think you were too blinded by your selfishness to want anything beyond that fucking stone."

He hates this. Hates that he could be talking about himself, about his own mistakes. Hates that Malekith keeps his cool where even Odin had the decency to rise to the bait, to shout and rage back at him when the situation warranted it.

After a few harsh breaths, he finally concludes, "Consider that, while you're here. See if it does you any good."

And he turns, stalking away, his usual graceful gait stiff with the pure fury he's forced to suppress. It isn't wise, to turn his back on an enemy like this, but perhaps it can be misconstrued as brave.

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PORT: MEODRIOTOPE

c. and now, back to the show

Lets gooooo

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