capemods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
capemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2013-04-21 09:25 pm
capemods) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-04-21 09:25 pm
THE GOTTALA XES THER
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.]
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.]
DAY 1
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
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;
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.