THE GOTTALA XES THER

[capemods]

WHO: ImPorts.
WHERE: Gottala Xes Ther of TíraFórsae.
WHEN: April 21st 2013 noon to April 25th 11:59 PM.
WARNINGS: Possible violence, gore. Possible invasion of privacy.
SUMMARY: Off-world adventure on EARTH KLADSUO834LKSFDLKJ8718=LAJD
FORMAT: Whatever.



[It translates roughly into the "storm lover", something you might pick up on if you're exposed to lower cant. And that's a fairly accurate description of this Gottala: the Xes Ther is smaller and swifter than your average city-ship, keeping never more than 374 individuals aboard. Its housing is clean but minimalistic, its gardens have no decorative value: only essential nutrients are grown. There is a heavier reliance on fishing upon this Gottala, and no sight of field-fed livestock that is common on others. No beef, no poultry, no pork.

Just fish.

And sprawls of laboratories.

Laboratories that connect like honeycombs: they octagon sprawl into each other, forming larger segments of the same structure. And in these labs? Storms are made. Or, more precisely: the effects of weather patterns are mimicked and induced. Xes Ther is a craftsman city-ship, and all of its members contribute to creating, controlling and selling weather-born energy.]

Comments

DAY 1

[capemods]

[If you're ported into the industrial yet meticulously clean XES THER, you'll have but a few immediate options:

1) You'll be immediately taken, quarantined, stripped, cleaned and probed.
2) You'll be injected with a "viral antiseptic" (though nothing of that will be explained to you), and that immediate side effect will cause you to lose all sense of balance for six hours.
3) You'll run like hell while Tiriseans in gasmasks come after you because what the deswirr.
4) All of the above.]

OPEN

[hackeralastair]

Holyfuckingshitballs RUN.

That was the only thing that passed through Alastair's mind within minutes of finding himself in this strange place out of nowhere. Weird creepy people in gas masks with the sorts of tools that made him think of every bad porn/scifi/porn cliche ever were pretty much not something he was going to stop and investigate. Run first, think later.

It was obvious how out of shape he was after just a little bit, but sheer terror kept him moving. He blundered past strangers and darted into alleyways, coat flapping around him (and he just had to wear it today like he was all cool or something), and when he just couldn't run anymore, he squeezed into a tiny gap between buildings to catch his breath.

Well, he thought to himself, this is exactly what I get for mocking the Porter. Looks like it's finally my turn to get fucked. Not literally, he hoped. As long as he could keep ahead of them, then. He hadn't run for cover like this since he was a scrawny little kid; much taller now, the instincts were the same. Just get away. Get under cover and only dash when the coast was clear. He could hear people moving around, but no shouting as of authorities coordinating a search. And then, he realized he could understand bits and pieces of conversations passing by his hiding place. Snatches drifted by on the wind, enough to know that they weren't speaking any known language. But his power kicked in, and he knew. He knew what they were saying. He would be able to hear his pursuers after all, when they closed in.

It was small comfort. Alastair slid down the wall into a crouch and buried his head in his hands. Karma had come to bite him in the ass in a big way. Shoot off his mouth, and now he was paying for it by being teleported from the City to who-the-fuck-knows-where. "Fuck," he breathed, or meant to breathe, but it came out "Deswirr..."

open;

[soulbonder]

What a dreadful way to greet somebody. Hopefully that isn't how these people normally say hello, because Astral couldn't handle being stabbed with yet another needle. What did it even do? Beside worsen his near-constant feeling of vertigo. He already has difficulty keeping his balance, he doesn't need help tripping over his legs.

Honestly, if the air didn't feel so wrong, he would have already transformed to save himself the humiliation of walking right into somebody. Which will likely happen several times in the six hours before whatever was present in the needle wears off, since he's paying far more attention to his feet and the ground he's walking on than who or what is in front of him.

DAY 2

[capemods]

["Empoortah." You might overhear one Tirisean say, if you're lurking through one of the pristine containment buildings that they've set you in -- for your own safety, of course.

"Fhegi, Im~Port," says another. The word is clumsy in his mouth, like a series of unshapely teeth. But he's trying.

"Ftee’baich’feeuh~ftee’dai’bem’feeuh’dess’ftee’barr’feeuh’eaye’bem~dai’dess~bsea’eyew’ftee~eaye’bsea’barr’foo’dess’dess," he continues.

"Baich’foo’bdubya?”

“Gvee’eyew’gell’bsea’eaye’dehn’eyew’dess,” he replies. His tone lingers darkly, like a smog in his throat.

“Eaye~bem’fwhy’ftee’baich!”

"Fhegi," he concludes, shaking his head. "Fhegi."

They pause their conversation. You think perhaps they've heard you. With all their syringes and electrical gear, you might begin to worry what would happen if they found you...]

Open

[heal_or_execute]

Mordin listens intently to his captors, trying to make some sense of what they're saying. His genius does not unfortunately extend to linguistics, although he's already been able to deduce a few words- 'Fhegi' for instance appears to mean 'no.' His brilliance and natural Salarian memory are not wasted here, though. Mordin memorizes every syllable he hears from the Tiriseans, and will be able to reproduce it later for anyone who does know what this means. It definitely sounds important.

Despite the pleasure of indulging his curiosity, Mordin is not happy right now. There doesn't appear to be any amphibian solidarity forthcoming from these sentients, despite their resemblance to Salarians in some respects. All his attempts to communicate have failed. It's unfortunate, since he has a few choice words for them about their conception of scientific ethics and probing techniques. What's worse is that the little he's seen of the energy research aboard this vessel has been fascinating, and they won't let him get a closer look at it!

All in all, Mordin is now sorrier than ever that he missed out on Metricog. At least the people there were friendly, from what he heard.

[hackeralastair]

The decontamination building was easy to slip into, Alastair managed to get in without being probed so long as he assured anyone he ran into that "someone else" had already scrubbed him down. Coming into contact with so many of the natives had his mind almost permanently geared into their language, and he spit it back at them effortlessly - something that surprised them, but at least he could communicate. And convince them that Bob in Sector Seven totally already decontaminated him, there was no need for another round.

Once free from molestation, he made himself scarce, hunting around the building looking for food, money, anything. He was ten years old again, scavenging to meet his needs, a refugee in a strange world this time. As he checked around a door jamb, he noticed someone that didn't look like the locals - or a human for that matter. But he was vaguely aware that they still had aliens lurking around the Import populace, and might have seen this guy before. The network, maybe. I don't think that's what the Skrulls looked like but hell if I know. Alastair had two choices, and right now, the need to rely on someone who might be smarter and stronger than him overrode his fear that he was about to reveal himself to the enemy. He hissed softly from the other side of the doorway, and then whispered, "baich'feeuh'fwhy~" before realizing he was still speaking the other language. With a hard shake of his head, he righted his thinking and went on in English. "You! Over here!"

[heal_or_execute]

"Hm?" Mordin perked up immediately at the sound of someone addressing him in a language he actually knew. Looking around for a moment to make sure no one was observing, he moved to the doorway and peered through to the other side.

"Another ImPort," Mordin observed, deducing that Alastair was most probably not anymore local to this universe than he was. "Excellent. Wait, not excellent. Implies abductions more widespread, not limited to self. More serious issue. Excellent due to new options opening up- possibility to gain new information, escape."

He paused to inhale. Having no one intelligible to talk to had left Mordin's mouth a little more wound up than usual. "You haven't been captured. Why?"

DAY 3

[capemods]

[If you are coming from DAUMADAAL, you are forced to submit to a three hour long decontamination. I hope you weren't real fond of your clothing, because it's been set on fire. But don't worry! You're provided with brand new monochromatic jumpsuits!

They're only fashionable on this Gottala.

If you're coming from CERB, then you're disdained. Anything you touch is immediately wiped clean by a hovering resident. Any food you obtained is probably exceedingly passive-aggressively given.

If you're coming from JELEBELLIOS, then people are at least vaguely polite to you. Some might even attempt communication, or show you their storm watch mechanisms. Their technology is sleek and, admittedly fascinating -- you might connect the precision of atomic detection, like how they locate electrons. You're allowed to stroll in the vegetable gardens, but not the fruit fields. That fruit is forbidden and if you try for it, you'll be thrown overboard.]

Open

[wisecracked]

[Kenzi struggles against being dragged off for decontamination. Sure a bath sounds great but she's not liking the way they're handling things. Of course, her protests mean little to them. They don't understand her and she doesn't understand them. Being forcibly stripped down is humiliating, at least they don't try to shave her head. And then the whole cleaning process? It takes forever.

By the end of it she feels like they scrubbed off most of her skin. Her skin is a curly mess and there's not much she can do about it. What makes it worse, however, is the clothing. Who the hell even wears something this ugly?

After isn't much better. She feels like everyone is judging her even if she's clean. Getting food difficult but somehow she manages to nab some when no one's looking and finds a place to eat. Even if anyone approaches her while she's busy stuffing her face she won't talk. Which, for anyone who knows Kenzi, is aware this is very out of character for her.]

Open

[governorkang]

The first chance he'd gotten, Kang had gotten the hell off of Jelebellios and headed for Xes Ther. He'd had a few of the locals try to talk to him and not understood more than a handful of words from it (he was slowly picking up the language) after getting a meal that didn't require physical affection of any kind to obtain, and currently, he was standing outside the window of one of the labs; he watched as lightning arced from a cloud and struck a metal pole, and said something to himself in Nerakese, only vaguely aware of any others that might be nearby.

[gevurah]

Kate looks worse for wear. The decontamination was exhausting and long and by the time she was let go of, all she had to "show" for it was an ugly jumpsuit. While she's got something on her back to wear, she's not exactly the happiest camper.

Still, now that she's gotten off one ship, she needs to see what else is around. She hasn't been able to pin where she is yet.

She spots Kang not too far ahead and overhears him muttering in a different language after the lightning strikes. "imPort?" she calls, to make sure he really is one.

[governorkang]

Kang recognized the woman immediately, and smiled at seeing someone familiar. "Kate, good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances, though."

open; from daumadaal

[dragony]

  [ ☣ ]
[ She hasn't felt this awful in months. Two and a half, to be exact, but in a completely different way. It's been days since she's ate, days since she's had anything to drink; sleep was uneasy and frequently interrupted, and despite not sustaining any injuries from the infected Tírisean criminals, she certainly feels like a zombie. (Even when familiar faces pass her proximity, she can't focus enough to seek them out.)

She intended to simply stick with familiar imPorts when they disembarked Daumadaal, but a sting, a tug pulls her elsewhere; this one, this is the Gottala she needs to embark. Once aboard, she's escorted to decontamination, and she's too exhausted to fight back against these Tírisean; they're a little on the serious side, she thinks, but they're so much more hospitable than the tenders of the dead. (Much more tolerable than the dead, for that matter.)

Losing her clothing—torn, stained with foul blood, and ruined in more ways than simple wear—is awkward, and she's more concerned about covering up her scars than anything else. it's when they take her eye patch that panic seizes her; she keeps one hand clamped over her left eye, and she pleads in a language they don't understand for some sort of covering for that side of her face. The one who tries taking the bracelet on her wrist gets two separate punches to the temple and a hoarse, terrified litany of threats.

The hours stretch, uncomfortable and exhausting; she wonders if this is because of what happened the first night, or the second. Are the others undergoing a similar treatment on their separated Gottalas? But, eventually, finally, she is released, "fashionable" in her new jumpsuit, her left eye covered in a much more utilitarian medical bandage.

Everything hurts; she has a hand clutching her right arm, and she wanders the compound in a daze. Maybe if she falls asleep, she'll wake up in her own bed, and it'll only be four am on Sunday, instead of... Tuesday? Wednesday? Hunger is really affecting how clearly she can think... Isn't there a reason she picked this one, in particular?

And what did a girl have to do to get something to drink around here, anyway? ]

[deformer]

[For two days, he'd felt the same sting - something tugging him towards her. And for two days, he was hit with the mind-numbing frustration of being able to do nothing about it. On Burodwhey and Jellebellios, he'd found the same eventual end. The end of the Gottala and nothing but water mocking him, making finding her an impossibility. He'd put up with it, though, hoping that she was safe in the meantime.

Another tug drags him towards a new Gottala at dawn. Here, he finds elation that is quickly replaced by an even worse frustration. She's here, but he can't get to her. He tries to. He tires to explain to them why he needs to see her now. He doesn't understand them and they don't understand him, big shocker. So he's left with startlingly few options except to wait.

Minutes stretch to hours, but Rua remains focused on his mark. It doesn't tell him much, but small fragments of his sister's emotional state leak through to him. It keeps him vigilant. He doesn't fully understand what she's been through, but he can hazard a guess as to where it falls on the "good" to "AUGH" scale. He remains vigilant and waits for something to change. Eventually, it does.

He's off after her like a shot once she's released. He's been so focused on his mark the past few hours it doesn't take him long to zero in on her. He fights the urge to scream out her name and latch on to her the second he sees her. Instead, a hand reaches out from behind her and grabs her right shoulder.]

...Hey!

[He sounds at once exhausted and elated. It's only been two days since he last saw her, but it feels like a lot longer.

There's a glass in his left hand. Somehow, he knew to bring some water.]

[dragony]

[ The physical contact has her jumping, momentarily terrified, and it's frozen on her face when she whirls on the person intruding into her physical space. fear trades for confusion, then to recognition. ]

... Rua?

[ and, recognition, in turn, is barreled over by relief, and the tension in her shoulders sags and breath comes shuddering out her mouth. up close, she looks like shit. she may be clean, but the ring under her visible eye looks close to black, her skin is splotchy red from the intensity of heat and the roughness of cleaning up.

on the other side, she is way too exhausted to notice much about the way he looks—but he's not in a jumpsuit like she is, she notices that. ]

Oh, Rua... Thank goodness it's you. Are you okay?

OPEN; from daumadaal

[aliveandticking]

[ Aradia has never cared much for fashion, and the loss of a t-shirt and jeans means nothing to her. They can tie her to the ceiling and throw bricks at her for all she cares, as long as she gets a meal afterwards. She knows she's mostly immortal, and after two days with no food or water had started to seriously contemplate what repeatedly starving to death would feel like.

They don't give her a meal afterwards, but they do release her, and she has never been so happy to see gardens in her life. Secure in the knowledge that accidentally eating poison isn't a heroic death, she steps over the utilitarian fence and starts casting around for anything that looks edible. ]

DAY 4

[capemods]

[Ape-like serpents attack. They're quite akin to mermaids, at least in idea, fitted with a queasy green-to-gray mesh of gills. They're no longer than three feet in length, but their lower half (the fin part) can split into two and walk upon land, much like legs. Their upper bodies are incredibly build, raw muscle pulsing over their thick skeletons. Their teeth are long and needle-thin, like an eel's.

They are completely hairless.

They fight for the interior of the ship, where the storm magnet labs are. Tiriseans scream for your help. Xes Ther is close enough to the known city-ship cluster to be seen. If you don't mind jumping ship and swimming a bit, you can come from ANY OTHER GOTTALA to help -- unless it's Daumadaal, then no. You can't.

One ape-eel just bit through someone's neck. Pale brown fluid splurts everywhere.

Beneath the deck there is a man who believes imPorts are related to an event that happened 300 years ago. He's terrified, he's desperate, but if you find him and protect him, he'll tell you as he shivers:

"Gvee’eyew’gell’bsea’eaye’dehn’eyew’dess~baich’eaye’dess~bdubya’feeuh’eaye’epee’foo’dehn’dai’ezed’feeuh’ddee~dai’bem’eaye’ggee’dai’dehn’eaye’barr’fwhy~ftee’dai’bem’feeuh."]

open;

[swordedpast]

[ Maybe being in a strange world brought out Archer's latent heroism, or maybe it was always there. In any case, he left Rin on Burodwhey an hour ago and swam over to investigate this mess and try to help out.

Fortunately, he's gotten a bit more of a grip on his powers by now, so when he attacks the ape-eels, he does it with his familiar two swords and his usual rough skill. He's also managed to figure out a bit of the language by now, so he can occasionally be heard shouting a short warning to some nearby Tirisean. ]

[out_of_time]

[Three days of meddling aboard a city-ship full of pirates has resulted in Jack making himself fairly unpopular, so when the alarm goes out for people to help defend another Gottala, he seizes the opportunity to make himself scarce before his luck runs out and someone shanks him aboard the Treifyu. Jamming a knife in his belt and steeling himself for what's to come, he dives into the oceans of another world and swims with powerful strokes toward the embattled Xes Ther. He hauls himself out of the water and loses no time plunging into the fray against-

-what the hell are these things? Repulsed, Jack draws the knife and slashes at the nearest mer-thing, backing toward the first familiar figure he spots.]

Archer? What the hell is happening?

OPEN

[hackeralastair]

Despite his distinct lack of fighting instincts, when things started attacking Alastair knew one thing - get out of the way. Get underground. Of course, being a ship, there was no ground, but there was something underneath the surface deck and he was going to go into it. Finding a way in wasn't so much an issue; finding his way to a safe space on the other hand...

He wandered for what felt like hours, shying away from any hatch or stairwell opening upwards from which the sounds of battle drifted down. At this rate, if someone caught him and tried to probe him, he would let them, because the alternative seemed to be being ripped to shreds by killer mermaids or whatever those were. At least it didn't take more than an overheard shout from a distance for his power to trigger, making it easy for him to communicate. "Baich'feeuh'gell'epee~!" he called out into the corridors ahead. Even if it was one of the locals, he could beg for someone to protect him.

It only brought him more trouble. Someone found him, all right, but it was someone just as scared as he was, if not more so. The Tirisean raced up to him and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, clinging to him and babbling in his face. Alastair tried to shove him off to no avail, and then became conscious of what he was rambling about. It wasn't hard for any native to ping Alastair for an Import, but this was a reaction he wasn't expecting. What did he know about that? Alastair gestured to try to calm the crazy fuck down and vaguely agreed to protect him, although how he was going to do that, he didn't know. His Oricalchos cards didn't come with him, he didn't even know if the power worked without them or if anything on this crazy world had a soul he could take. But the guy seemed to think his Import status meant he had a way of saving them, so Alastair shrugged and went for it. He asked where they could go to find a safe hiding place, and followed the Tirisean's lead.

[incywincyhero]

Marooned on an alien planet or not, Spider-Man was still a superhero, so when he saw the commotion erupting on one of the smaller gottalas he wasted no time in jumping into the water and swimming over. By some miracle -- or maybe, the single-minded focus of the ape-fish on their goal -- he went unmolested right up until he pulled himself on board and threw himself into the fight.

For long minutes it was nothing but chaos, as Spidey pummelled, kicked, and webbed his way through the fray, bodily throwing Tiriseans out of harm's way when necessary. The ape-fish weren't as fast as he was, but they were meaner and not at all concerned about collateral damage. One scored a gash on his arm; another lunged for his leg, and without Peter's spider-sense it would've ripped into his femoral artery.

Finally, he found a clear space and a momentary absence of opponents to catch a breather and patch his wounds. But he'd only just finished applying the last of his slap-dash web-bandages when he saw one of the creatures slip down a hatch belowdecks.

Cursing to himself, he bounded after, slapping new cartridges into his web-shooters as he went.

Open

[dragonlordbight]

[Bight had been working through the night, having been attempting to bring his magic back under control, relearning methods to do just that now that he had wrapped his mind around the concept, requiring a different way of thinking of his magic. He had just managed to get a partial translation of the text he had copied two days before. Before he could fully translate it the alarm had gone out.

Stuffing the note into his pocket he had made his way rapidly to the edge of the Vessel, upon the sight of the other vessel under attack. Slipping into the water and out of sight he dove deeper to obscure the bright light that soon shone from his form, from human to one hundred and fourty feet of dragon he shifted rapidly.

With a roar he swept from the ocean at the edge of the vessel from the side of the serpents attacks, landing amongst them, crushing a number beneath his claws before bringing his tail around with careful aim to sweep a dozen of the attackers off the ship.]

Get to safety, I will deal with these!

[He called to any nearby natives, before snatching up one of the serpents that had been about to attack one of the natives.]

DAY 5

[capemods]

[Captive lightning exploded in the middle of the Gottala. No one seems to know how. Fifteen people are killed instantly, but the ship is catching fire -- flames roar, metal molts and wood cinders.]

Open

[heal_or_execute]

The explosion breaches the containment unit Mordin has been held in the past few days. He is happy to be free. He is not happy to be surrounded by dead people, injured people, smoke and fire.

Despite his captivity, one of the first things he does after escaping is beginning to drag unconscious crew members away from the flames. It's hard work- he's an old Salarian, and the 'hospitality' of the Xes Ther has weakened him somewhat. Still, it's his duty as a doctor to help the injured, and his duty as a scientist to preserve possible sources of information, so he does his best.

He also arms himself with the first weapons he comes across, of course. If any members of the crew he's trying to help attempt to recapture him, he won't hesitate to kill them.

[xxii_thefool]

"Mabufudyne. Mabufudyne." Not too far away, the spreading flames are abruptly smothered in a series of massive blocks of ice that coalesce out of thin air in the space of seconds. "Panta Rhei." A rush of wind sweeps some of the smoke from the air. It won't last, but for the moment, at least, there's a clear path.

Minako is in the middle of it, although she's looking a little different from usual - rather than wielding her Persona as she's accustomed to doing, it's more like she's wearing Orpheus Telos instead, her body overlaid by the transparent red and white and gold shape of the Persona in a manner not unlike some kind of projected tech armor.

"Professor Solus!" she cries out when she recognizes Mordin in the midst of the chaos.