black_swimmer: (Default)


For the psychically sensitive among the Fleet, and for some of those just with open hearts and minds, the song comes in dreams and at idle, distracted moments. It creeps in at the edges of thought, the psychic echo of the whalesong bound up with loneliness and longing and fear. It's meant to call to someone, or something—father/teacher/elder/commander/god—but there is no response, and the singer casts the song out again and again over the course of hours and, intermittently, days.

One could try to reach out to that mental connection. In the surreality of dreams, the song edges into the earth and the sky, and the world becomes interjoined with a soft, shifting beach with whispering waves. Awake, the song becomes like a background chorus, and to let it in instead of pushing it away, the ocean and the glimmer of dawn on the water fill the corners of vision, as though waiting for another voice to call out.

More mundanely, one might triangulate, traveling from place to place to feel the strength of the song's psychic presence. It comes from an underlayer of the Teuberg's city, near the apartments for new arrivals. An equipment maintenance area has been retrofitted with a strange set of massive windowless metal tanks and pumps, churning through oxygenated pseudowater. In smaller but still rather large sets of glass tanks, fish and algae and crabs and snails and other marine creatures thrive in an ecosystem far too complex and robust to have developed in only a few days.
doesnotsimply: <user name=tyrmer> (One does not simply walk into Morder)
[[ooc: interested in both replies to his network query or in person replies in the park.

Since arriving, Boromir has been rather despondent.  The vastness of the Teuberg unnerves him and to get anywhere where he is told things are happening he has to take one of these metal carts that the natives call trollies.  The constant vibration makes him queasy and he does not find them at all pleasant.

While waiting for the powers that be to get back in touch with him regarding his application for military service, he's been filling his time with exercise and workouts.  He's become quite the fixture in his neighbourhood with daily runs, and today he's doing laps of the park at the renaissance centre.  Stopping by a water fountain for a drink, he ponders that though he's never been stronger or fitter (especially for a dead man, shudder), he hasn't engaged in proper combat practice or swordplay since arriving.  He takes out his communicator from a pouch and painstakingly taps out a message.

"Greetings, I am Boromir of Gondor.  Would anyone be interested in some sparring practice either with swords or unarmed?"  He beams with pride, sweat dripping off him from his run, he was at least getting the hang of the written messages on this piece of sorcerous machinery.
crux_mods: (Default)
Whatever your activities before, they're interrupted by a sudden lurching feeling, like someone's put a hook into the pit of your very being and yanked. There's a brief burst, a brilliantly twisting tunnel? And then silence. Stars fill your vision, along with bodies, machines, and not much else before everything mercifully goes black. The shock of it, more than the lack of air.

And then, there's sound. There's not much at first. Beeping. Lots of beeping. Some of it is irritatingly loud, and apparently it's the cause of a lot of excitement. When vision returns, the first thing to note would be alien writing blinking in your field of vision, displayed on a monitor or a clear bubble somewhere. Alien, but familiar enough for you to read "Awakening". Whatever that means, you're apparently not alone, as people in black and white uniforms are rushing through the large room you're in, the room filled with people hooked up to all kinds of machines. Of course, some of them don't look entirely like people.

All of a sudden, a haggered face fills your field of vision. "Great Shades of Elvis! Another one! Look, please remain calm." The poor nurse turns and starts to fiddle with some of the machines surrounding you. "There's been an accident, but you're okay. Try to stay quiet and don't disturb the other patients. Someone will be with you in a moment." They turn away to shout across the room, as if that wouldn't disturb anyone. "Hoi, Oglaf! Mark this one as alive so Security can take them for the briefing!" He gestures at some official looking people in red and black uniforms assisting other patients into wheelchairs. "Just flag one of them down, they'll take you to the briefing. We'll explain everything. Just don't panic, you're in good hands." He grins and pats your shin. "Welcome to the Fleet, eh? 'scume, someone else is starting to budge and I gotta make sure it's not some poor sot swallowed his tongue again." With that, he leaves you alone with your thoughts and the bright lights.

[Medical Arrival | Hangar Arrival | Briefing | Post-Briefing 1 | Post-Briefing 2]
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