eyemind | following the footsteps of a rag doll dance, we are entranced ...

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following the footsteps of a rag doll dance, we are entranced ...

WHO: OPEN to all passengers.
WHAT: General mingle log for the first part of the month, including new partner pairing stuff.
WHERE: Navi, all over.
WHEN: Now until the next event (Oct. 3-17).
WARNINGS: If things get messy and/or upsetting, please put warnings in your comment subject lines! And if you absolutely can't keep from strangling your new partner, please report it on the death page.

Hello, passengers! Today begins just like normal, but it’s far from an ordinary day. On this fine point in space-time, passengers will notice a little something different when it comes to the glyphs marked on the backs of their hands.

They're glowing. The light is a deep shade of blue, and it's slowly blinking on and off. Maybe it's searching for something? It's entirely possible, because affected passengers will also feel a gentle tugging sensation that stops once they've come face to face with their partners. The glyph will switch to glowing a steady blue once partners are synced with each other, and they'll be able to communicate telepathically with each other, too.

Have fun getting to know each other a little better! Or, you know. Yelling at each other. Just try to keep the murder to a minimum, OK?

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Clara's been trying not to notice the thing on her hand, as much because the whole idea of being meddled with while she wasn't conscious to know about it skeeves her out as because there's been plenty of other things to deal with besides that. So when it starts flickering, there's a part of her that panics, wonders if she should try and fly as far away from everyone as she can to prevent casualties. That plan gets waylaid when she sees someone else with the same flickering light, then another. And that is when...

Well, she's going to go into the kitchen and start making a crapload of pancakes. If they're all going to have to deal with... whatever this is? They should do it with a good breakfast in them

Max hasn't gotten to meet very many people since it seems he came after all of the hub-bub had occurred. As such, he's been staying out of the way, learning what he can about his new world, his new situation, and the people living here. He's also very curiously wondered about the markings on his hand, which as it turns out have decided to glow a lovely blue as of today. Well, a flickering blue, which is a very curious thing indeed, and he'll be walking around watching it, trying to figure out the reason for the flickering, if it goes faster or slower, if it's reacting to anything or anyone especially after he observes that the others are having a similar situation on their, ahem, hands.

He'll drop by the kitchen where apparently some kind soul has decided to furnish some sort of- well, he's not sure what this food is but it smells rather good. She tells him it's called pancakes, and he'll admit that he's somewhat delighted once he actually puts them in his mouth. He'll have a few pancakes, and then continue his usual routes around the ship to see what he can find out about this curious new twist in the fabric of his recently shifted reality.

[i. last plane out (Oct. 1, departure, locked to first responder)]

[Trevor is in good shape, but this much running is really not something he's used to. He's already out of breath when he arrives at the beach, pausing to look but not spotting any other path of retreat but the frankly terrifying building he'd found himself in when he'd woken up two weeks earlier, a building which is making all kinds of noise, and retracting that metal ramp, like a--

--like a ship. A strange ship made entirely of metal and GOD this is probably some weird occult vampire magic/technology hybrid and he's going to have regrets but he's definitely not staying here with the hell waiting behind him. So off he goes again, bolting full-speed for that retreating gangplank, waving his arms frantically and calling out:]

Wait!! Don't leave me here, I'm not even supposed to be here--

[ii. be pre-peared (Oct. 3, for Max but open to others to run into along the way!)]

[Trevor's spent most of his time in his cabin, trying to process everything he's heard, trying to figure out what the hell that strange box beeping at him from the table in his room is, what it does, trying to figure out where he is and how he can get back to Sypha and Alucard--and who ever thought he'd be trying to get back to Dracula's castle?? It's completely mad--but on this particular morning, he wakes up with that odd tattoo on his hand glowing.

He'd be more concerned if he hadn't seen magic sigils before, and honestly after the last few weeks, he's more curious and starved for some sort of action, so Trevor does what is perhaps a stupid thing: he follows that tugging. Slowly, wandering through the ship, with his arm held all the way out like a dowsing rod, turning slowly at corners and doors. In fact, he's got his eyes closed for half the trip so he can better focus on that tugging feeling, which means crewmates are just as likely to find themselves groped or smacked as they are greeted. Sorry about that, and about him.]

[iii. a new routine (Oct. 4-planetfall, OTA)]

[Living on a ship in space is weird as hell, but honestly, he's survived weirder. At least there are no monsters, just a bunch of other humans (or at least things that look like humans). There's nothing trying to eat him, no inbred farmers with torches and pitchforks, and...well, honestly he's bored out of his mind. Which is why most days he's just trying to find something to occupy his time.

Trevor tends to be awake startlingly early, and you can find him from early morning until roughly noon in the gym, either trying to figure out how the treadmills work (a hilarious sight, honestly), lifting weights or doing some basic floor exercises, or practicing throwing knives or using his whip to disarm the training dummy of various threatening utensils he's "borrowed" from the kitchen and tied to its wrist with string. He'll respond positively to offers or invitations to spar, and possibly a bit negatively to suggestions to bathe or wash his clothes, even if they're well-earned.

After working off some energy trying to stay in form, it's off to the kitchen to eat whatever's been left out for crew (thank you, Clara, you genuine saint), then wandering the halls fiddling with his useless communicator or back to the exercise room.

Nights, and some rare days, one can also find him laying on his back in the observation room close to the glass, arms crossed under his head as he just...looks. There's so many stars up there, and he's distracted enough that people can probably sneak up on him, but don't be offended if his first impulse is still to reach for a weapon when surprised.]

Edited 2020-10-04 05:54 (UTC)

It's the smell that lures Trevor into the kitchen first, distracting him from his quest to figure out where his hand is leading him. Food is a very powerful motivator, and he hasn't eaten yet. In fact, he hasn't eaten during hours where he could run into other people at all just yet, so this may be the first time Clara's even seen the tall, mildly grubby brunette who makes his way through that door, inhaling deeply and making a pleased noise.

"What is that smell?"

Please tell him you'll share. Pretty please.

It has been noted to her, more than once, that she is a morning person and this is Terrible. It has not, however, *changed* the fact that she is a morning person. It might have something to do with being powered by the sun, or it might have to do with growing up on a farm, or it might just be the fact that the hours around dawn are some of the most peaceful for her.

What this boils down to, however, is that Trevor, despite whatever level of grubbiness or awakeness, is getting a positively brilliant smile from her.

"Just some pancakes. I thought everyone could use some breakfast. I could serve you up a plate if you like?"

The gentleman who walks towards him in return, who has obviously been following his own tugging, is dressed... well, not how he might have expected. There's a certain... clerical nature to the garments: a long blue tunic with a tall collar, a pair of neat trousers, and a pair of good leather boots. He is clean shaven, with some salt in that salt and pepper hair, a neat undercut, and a a friendly expression on his face as he sees Trevor.

"Ah, so you're what I've been trying to find. At least, according to this-" and he'll hold up his hand which has started to flutter a little more rapidly. Clearly something is happening.

"Any idea what this is about?"

While they were planet side things were certainly strange, yet familiar enough it was easy to adjust to. Day and night cycles, some form of civilization even if the beings were amphibious, weather patterns... things one began to take for granted until they were suddenly missing. Now that they were in space it was significantly more disorienting.

Which made it quite easy to quickly lose sense of anything resembling a schedule, particularly when one didn't require sleep. As such Murmur could be found out and about at really any hour, moving about the ship near silently. One of his favorite haunts was definitely the observation deck. Just staring out into the deep inky void of space, wondering how many worlds were out there among the innumerable stars.

Finding company there wasn't entirely unexpected, it was probably one of the best spots on the ship after all, but he had to wonder what the purpose of falling asleep there was. Weren't the beds in their quarters more comfortable? No matter, it wasn't his place to go ushering the mortals around like lost lambs. Trevor's being there wasn't going to stop him also looking out the window after all. So Murmur came to stand not... terribly close, out of immediate swinging range at the very least, but still probably a little too close for comfort for someone just to. Loom. Creepily.

Shaun has been keeping mainly to himself. It's not that he doesn't like people, but he is a little wary about crowds, and even moreso about the virus he carries with him everywhere he goes. It takes him a while to trust that he won't infect everyone he sees, but it turns out that there haven't been any zombie outbreaks on the ship, so... Maybe--somehow--he's not infectious here.

When his hand starts flashing like a bluetooth device trying to pair, he eventually leaves his cabin and starts looking around.

While Emet-Selch has noticed the strange new tattoo on his hand, he's been by and large inclined to pay it relatively little mind. It certainly hasn't seemed to do anything, and given his preference to gloves it's been almost trivial to have it out of sight (and thus out of mind. The blinking, however, is new. Still easily enough hidden under his customary gloves but it's harder to ignore entirely.

That said, it's the gentle tugging that has him more concerned. There shouldn't be anything on the ship capable of calling him that way, and yet... neither can he shake the feeling that there's somewhere he's supposed to be. Something he's supposed to do.

Naturally, he proceeds to largely ignore it. Or tries to, at least, making his way first to the observation deck and then in the general direction of the kitchen. And if he looks half-distracted and not completely thrilled as he makes his way from place to place... it's because he is.

Edited 2020-10-05 05:38 (UTC)

Having already questioned Navi on the nature of the modification Murmur had been satisfied enough to ignore it further. That is, until it started blinking, if he wanted to be bioluminescent he would be!

The blinking, however, wasn't the worst offense. Oh no, it was that pull, so alien and so horrifyingly familiar at the same time. It tugged close to the same longing ache that drove him to spend hours staring out at the sea listening for a sign. Yet different enough he knew the source wasn't what he'd initially thought it was. No, this was something else, and for that he was deeply annoyed. Murmur did not appreciate having his instincts hijacked by whatever this was.

So, he ignored it. Opting instead to make himself some tea. While he didn't technically require sustenance, over his long lifespan he had grown fond of enjoying a nice cup of tea whenever he could. It came as quite the surprise to find that insistent tug grow even more so just before Emet-Selch arrived in the kitchen, looking about as grimly irritated as Murmur felt.

"Ah, you look like you could do with a cup of tea yourself." He offered. Were they all suffering this bizarre alteration today?

Alex isn't someone who is good with sleep, and that's seemed even more clear as long as she's been on the ship. At first, sleep had been like those times when she'd stayed at hotel or had passed out on Strand's couch: because the shadows weren't familiar and she didn't know the inmate lines of them it had been easier to sleep. But now that she's more familiar with her cabin, Alex was sleeping less and less.

Missing the makeup that she would have used to hide the dark circles, Alex had stared at the mark on her wrist. Toddling out from her cabin and towards coffee (food is kinda secondary to that sweet, sweet triple caffeinated space coffee aboard) Alex just pauses to stop and ask every person that she sees. “Hey. Do you know what’s up with this?” As she extends her blinking glyph towards them.

Well, that's one thing at least they'd be able to agree on. Strange as that planet was, at least it had things like a daytime and a nighttime, natural gravity, trees, fresh air--all things missing on this ship, gliding through the emptiness with a lack of motion he found disconcerting at the best of times. Presumably he'd get used to it, eventually--he could get used to anything, it was one of a Belmont's most useful survival traits--but for now...now it was still strange. The air tasted strange. The only trees were smallish, in that garden down a few levels, and they weren't any sort of tree he'd ever seen. There was no grass. No windows to open.

No beer, which honestly may have been the worst part of all.

And now, there's no more solitude. Trevor's brow creases as a figure steps into view, ignoring him in favor of the stars outside, and it's a frown that only deepens as the other crew member shows no sign of moving. Finally, he sighs heavily, lifting a hand from under his head to gesture.

"Do you mind? Take two steps to your right, you're blocking my view." Look, it's almost polite. An achievement for Trevor.

Whoever he is, this stranger is far too neat, clean, and friendly for Trevor's general liking; that is to say, he doesn't trust anyone who looks like they're wearing a uniform, especially when they're smiling. The expression on Trevor's face doesn't do much to hide that fact, either; he's clearly suspicious, sizing the other up with a look that starts at his boots, covers everything up to the haircut, then ends at that symbol on his hand, blinking rapidly--in time with the symbol on Trevor's own hand, as it turns out.

Any ideas? Well, he might have one or two. "Some kind of spell?" Look, this is just the world he's from. He's doing his best.

'Morning person' isn't a term Trevor's familiar with, but he'd conclude that despite his usually being up before most other people, he's not particularly one. But he's also not an afternoon person, or an evening person. In fact, he's not much of a person-person at all. But if Clara being a morning person means he gets pancakes?? He will absolutely laud the praises of morning people everywhere.

"I have no idea what a pan cake is, but I will absolutely have however many you will let me shove into my face." The answer is as honest as it is childish, and also happens to be true. He's a growing boy, after all! Never mind the fact that he's...already six feet tall and built like a brick wall and looks to be somewhere in his late twenties. He had a difficult adolescence. Not a single pancake in sight. Have pity on him.

It was fortunate that Murmur didn't technically need to breathe, or the air might have bothered him more as well. Of course he'd noticed the artificial flavor to it, most certainly, it just didn't trouble him the way it might one who relied on it for survival. The rest, however, was decidedly unnerving. And this coming from a being that spent very little time on any mortal plane.

Clearly Trevor will need to rectify the lack of alcohol on their next landing.

"Hm?" Murmur glanced down, as though he'd only just noticed Trevor was there acting as a road block. "My apologies." He offered in the flattest monotone one might easily mistake him for being sarcastic, save for the fact that he did shuffle away those couple steps as requested. Maybe he hadn't noticed? Maybe he was just really weird. "Is it not more comfortable to sleep in a bed?"

Oh, Murmur noticed the thing on his hand, he's just also making a point of ignoring it. If something desired his cooperation then it would have to go through the appropriate channels, and spontaneous bioluminescence wasn't one of them. Nor was the annoying mental pull, one which took considerably more effort to ignore than the glow. One he could disguise with gloves, after all.

As for the mental pull, perhaps something relaxing. Which is how Murmur ended up making his way toward the kitchen with intent to make some tea. It probably shouldn't have been surprising to catch Clara there, she had picked up a tendency to cook for the crew in general he'd noticed, and here she was again.

"Rough morning?" He offered, suspecting by the similar glow on her hand she was also dealing with a similar problem. Well, at least it wasn't a personally targeted annoyance.

Emet-Selch can't speak to any of the other inhabitants of the ship, for better or worse. Nor has he much bothered to try and look to see whether or not anyone else has blinking marks on the backs of their hands. For one, he has far better things to do. For another, he doesn't particular care, either.

(He has noticed a number of other people looking either displeased or confused. But he hasn't really felt much of a need to stop and ask about it either.)

"It certainly wouldn't go amiss."

He doesn't expect it'll entirely get rid of that faint tugging (which seems to have gotten less so, now). But it will give him something else to focus on, and right now, he'll take what he can get.

The tattoo on Jane's hand hasn't disappared regardless of who's fronting. Hammerhead took over immediately upon seeing it, Penny took over and panicked upon realizing she couldn't identify the flashing marking, and Lucy Fugue steps forward to figure out exactly what's causing this. She's level-headed but effective, if frightening; a safe choice for gauging intentions.

Dᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇᴀɴs? she asks as she holds her hand up, her voice metallic as blue electricity crackles under the skin of her throat. Wʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ?

Murmur had felt the spike in tension across the ship, a roiling undercurrent of distress that slithered like an illness through his senses. The change was no coincidence, all were suffering the effects of this unexpected occurrence. Not that Murmur was about to volunteer the truth of his heightened awareness.

"Have a seat, it will not be long. I am afraid the only available sweeteners seem dreadfully... artificial."

But he will offer them all the same, even if he isn't particularly fond. He had noticed that for a brief moment the annoying tug had lessened, if only for a moment. How very... interesting.

Oh, clearly. If he knew anything at all about distilleries, he'd consider looking for the equipment to make one. As it is, he's just going to settle for the hardest, cheapest liquor he can find, and maybe a keg or two of beer. Just to help him sleep at night, because this is weird.

Speaking of weird--that response. Or at least the way it was offered. Reminded him a little of Alucard, though it wasn't quite as sharp-edged. Trevor squints up at him a little suspiciously at the question, not quite sure if he should take that as sarcasm or not. "I've slept on worse," he answers, almost begrudgingly. "At least it's not cold, wet, or rocky. But I'm not sleeping, anyway. Just came up to look out there." Here he gestures with his chin towards the window, and everything outside it.

Trevor would likely become the most popular individual on the ship if he could discover a way to bring a sufficient quantity of alcohol aboard. Likely he won't be the only one considering imbibing to put themselves to sleep in the future. Hopefully the mortals can be convinced to continue stockpiling food and not just alcohol for future ventures.

If it was, Murmur wasn't watching him for a reaction so he'd certainly have missed out on the fun of being sarcastic. "That does sound more unpleasant than the floor," He agrees. And, well, Trevor wasn't exactly in the way. Wasn't like this area was high traffic, so he could probably safely stay. Ah, well, that is something they can both agree is worth watching. Murmur reached out to briefly set a gloved hand on the glass. "Remarkable, isn't it? Seeing it up close like this. Relatively speaking anyway." The key difference being the lack of an atmosphere between them and the stars beyond. Creation truly was beautiful. "You have good taste, this is the best view on the ship."

Like many people, the flashing glyph and the strange tug had lured Isaac out of his cabin and he'd been warily following that very tug when the smell of pancakes had lured him to the kitchen instead. Isaac was not very good at eating regularly, so the loud grumbling of his stomach had decided for him to take the detour.

He finds he isn't the only one, so after thanking Clara for making the pancakes and grabbing himself a few, he'll wander over to Max and drop into a seat. At first he's silent, focusing on shoveling the pancakes into his mouth (and he's adding these to his list of 'surprisingly excellent hangover cures' for definite), but after his first couple he stops long enough to actually speak.

"Hey. Guess I should start making some friends around here. I'm Isaac."

Edited (spacing) 2020-10-07 23:42 (UTC)

After he's finished eating pancakes, the tug of the glyph seems to be more insistent - or maybe it's just because the hunger pangs aren't on his mind anymore - so he takes to wandering around the ship in search of whatever might be trying to lure him. He's a little suspicious of it, truth be told, but he doesn't seem to be the only one affected which is at least marginally reassuring.

He'll happily stop to talk to anybody he runs into, just in case they know any more about what's going on than he does, and because he wasn't wrong in what he said to Max - he should start making at least acquaintances if he was going to be stuck with these people. He isn't intending on letting anybody get all that close, but shallow and personable? That he can do.

There isn't much that truly frightens Jack; she herself is the stuff of nightmares, literally, and when you're on the giving end of fears, it's a little harder to end up on the receiving side. Still, the electricity is unexpected, and she takes a step back when Lucy approaches her. Not because she's scared of her, of course - just because she'd like to avoid an electrocution. She can't imagine that would be fun.

"It's the partnering thing," she answers, because she paid attention to what the kid on the video screen told people that first day, after the crash. "It's like Bluetooth pairing - once you connect with your partner you'll stop flashing." She holds up her own hand, and what do you know - it stops blinking and glows a nice solid blue.

At least Lucy Fugue's not one who attempts to intimidate, unlike some of the others. Not if there's no calculated reason to fight, at least, and as of now there isn't. She doesn't share Jane's strong opinions about Jack yet. She needs more information to analyze before drawing any conclusions.

Wʜᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛʜɪs? It seems Jane either hadn't taken careful notice of the orientation or hadn't passed the information on. Both were equally likely, Lucy figures. She observes the change in the glyphs with interest. Wʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇs ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ ᴇɴᴛᴀɪʟ?

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following the footsteps of a rag doll dance, we are entranced ...

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good with prose or brackets! hit with whichever and I'll respond in kind

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kitchen

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