illyria_rpg | Welcome to the Illyria!

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Welcome to the Illyria!

Stardate 58561.8: Day One

Now that you've all got your room assignments and communicators, it's time to explore this ship. Please check out the deck plans to figure out where you're going. You can read about some of the existing crew members you might run into here.

Even those of you who may feel right at home on a spaceship will find that the Illyria is definitely a bit... different. Mostly because she's kind of a wreck right now. Whatever it was that threw the ship all the way out here to wherever we are, it really did a number on the ship itself. There's a lot of damaged areas, and several of the ship's systems have been compromised. You'll find that the replicators don't always work right (I asked for hasperat and I got pok tar!?), the turbolifts are unusually persnickety (I said bridge, not engineering!), and the environmental controls in your quarters may not do as they're told (why is it snowing in Room 4J?). Several corridors are blocked by debris, and more often than not the lights are flickering if they're on at all.

So what will you do? Help clean up the mess in the hallways? Try some bizarre alien food in the mess hall? Try and infiltrate restricted areas to get a peek at the ship's systems? Feel free to make your own top level comment, and treat this as a big mingle. Get to know your new crewmates, explore your new home, make friends or enemies, and whatever you do, don't try the gagh. If you need the captain or the first officer, please let a mod know, but try and stick to threading with your fellow new recruits!

(Don't worry about the entry tags for the moment, they will be added shortly. Before we throw ourselves into missions on alien planets, we wanted everyone to have a chance to get to know one another, so please use this opening log as an opportunity to kick off some CR with crewmates and bunk buddies, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask a mod!)

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Luke walked through the halls of the ship, trying to get used to it. He was still a little out of sorts, his mind filled with a lot of questions that weren't necessarily easy to get answers to. He could still feel the Force, fortunately, and kept in close communication with it as he explored the vessel.

It looked as though it had once been state of the art, although the technology wasn't readily recognizable to him. Now, however, it reminded him a little of the Millenium Falcon-run down and with a lot of broken parts. He just hoped that all the necessary parts kept working to keep them all alive.

He kept alert for any of his fellow passengers-he might as well get to know them if they were going to be here a while. He already knew that no one from his family was here. He couldn't sense their presence. He did still feel his Force bond with Mara, and sometimes tried to send anything he could to her through their connection in hopes she would feel it, but he knew she was far away from here.

Luke kept an eye out for any of the ship's officers as well. He wasn't his father in terms of mechanical ability, that was certain-but he could still help to a fair degree. He could use a combination of the Force and his own innate skill to learn what he could and try to help with repairs if they wanted him to.

Near Sickbay

"-That's my property! You can't just steal it, I-" Disaché is ushered out into the hallway by the firm hand of Lieutenant Commander H'litaj Tis, and as soon as they clear the doorway, the door swishes shut behind them, cutting off any more scathing words he might have for the medical officer who decided she could simply confiscate his research materials.

"This is absurd!" he shouts, his mane fluffing progressively further out of order with his irritation. He jerks away from the grip on his shoulder - or tries to, ow, ow. Okay, so maybe some of the fluffing is a threat response. "Don't touch me! I can walk on my own."

The hand on his shoulder lifts, and Lt. Commander Tis continues in her duty to 'show Mister Amenone to his new quarters' (aka 'Get him out of my Sick Bay he's giving me a headache'). It's not a long walk from Sick Bay to room 4E, but it's enough to bump into someone, especially with debris in some of the corridors and the turbolifts misbehaving.

Room 4E

This is supposed to be his room? It's so... small. And sparse. And- wait, are those multiple beds? Stacked on top of each other? Is he supposed to be sharing these tiny quarters?

"This must be a mistake," he says out loud.

Later

Disaché sits sulkily at the computer console in his room, belligerently sending complaints to the command staff and demanding personal meetings. He refuses to be treated like- like- like someone unimportant. Never mind that the captain and her officers are probably busy dealing with the fact that the ship's a mess, lost in space, and picking up mysterious passengers.

Observation

On Deck 7, Disaché has finally found something to not complain about. He stares silently out at the startlingly clear view of space. It's not a screen or a projection, but a legitimate window. He reaches out to touch the clear surface, and it feels... a lot like metal.

"Fascinating..."

IA ships don't have windows. The only human vessels he knows of with windows had thick blast shutters to protect them. There was nothing quite like this where he came from, and more than anything else - more than the talk of transporters, or nobody having heard of his species or the Istiff Alliance - this finally drives it home that he's, well, very very far from home.

Not that he really had any place he called home.

Armory

Yamato had not wasted time after waking up. She had simply wanted to check that her weapons and equipment were intact-they were after all as much a part of her as her arms and her legs. And then, this crew had tried to tell her she wasn't authorized. She had begun to speak to them slowly, patiently.

She was running out of patience, and her words were growing sharper. The hands that clenched her parasol were white-knuckled. Her smile, ever so fine, was just a bit hard around the edges. Maybe she would have more luck if her words didn't sound so insane. "I am a warship of the Japanese Empire. I do not recognize that you have any right to intern me or my equipment, under the Geneva conventions or any other laws of war. Which would not apply because there is no war here." Leave aside the Abyssals-they are hardly a thing you can be at war with. "I am hardly going to fire my guns inside your ship's hull."

Damaged areas

Damage control can help one to work off stress. That's Yamato's working theory anyways. Oddly though, there is no soft-wood wedges to hammer into holes or familiar patches to rivet over larger ones. The only thing Yamato trusts herself to do on this strange ship is to...walk and pick up pieces. Sometimes, she comes to a blockage and shoves the whole thing aside, but sometimes when she does that, her rudder heels punch new holes in the carpet and the floor. And she doesn't have any way to fix that so she just crouches next to the holes and tries vainly to fix them by hand. She's screwing up, she just knows it. Maybe she should ask if there's anything she can usefully do-but the answer would probably be no.

If she thinks nobody is around to watch, now might be a good time for a sniffle or a few tears.

Yamato...wasn't sure what the heck was up with these quarters. They were far too spacious. This ship was only a little shorter than Mogami, and twice as broad...and Mogami had nearly a thousand crew. How many had been here? Had they hot-bunked? The room was clean and pleasant, and she couldn't detect any odor in the sheets so they must be sticklers for such things. There were TABLES and DESKS wasting deck space and she was starting to wonder if these were officer's quarters or for VIPs.

She knew that comfort was not a priority on Japanese ships but...she had to know if this was normal elsewhere. She walked back into the hall and knocked tentatively on the first door she saw.

There's a long silent after the knock, as Disaché waits in vain for somebody who isn't around to answer the door instead of him. Finally, the door slides open, revealing a rather disgruntled looking fuzzy alien.

Even if it's just humans around, he hates taking visitors while he's looking awful - his mane is in a state of 'hastily finger-combed' due to his current lack of both proper grooming implements and someone to groom him.

"What," he asks flatly. This one doesn't have one of the crew uniforms, so it's unlikely that she's one of the command staff come to personally sort out his many issues with his accommodations.

She bowed at the waist, hands folded neatly against her legs as she bobbed down and then up to look him in the eye-and she started a bit, pulling back somewhat. "Goodness!" She swallowed the rest of her outburst but her hands flew up to her mouth. "I am sorry but I had meant to ask if you...if your quarters were quite so splendid as my own. I do not know the standards here, but these seem to be...too much."

She had lived in better since coming back as a ship-girl of course, but that was...well, that was on a base. And one she had spent no small amount of time improving.

One of Disaché's ears quirks back slightly at the startled look the - woman was it? The long hair makes her long a bit masculine to him, but enlarged mammaries are typically a female secondary sexual characteristic in humans if he recalls - the woman gives him. But he's pretty sure that bowing is a human sign of respect - he has his priorities when it comes to learning human traits - so his lips quirk into a bit of an indulging smile. He deserves respect after all.

Which quickly turns into a small frown of utter bafflement. "Splendid? Too much? Are you joking?"

Enlarged mammaries, wide hips, less hirsute...probably a woman. Perhaps he should ask to be certain though.

She frowned at his outburst and shook her head slightly. "I, Yamato, do not joke about such things. There is carpet on the floor. That is a fire-hazard and therefore a luxury item on such a ship as this. These rooms could sleep about thirty people, if one used hot-bunking and got rid of the tables and desks which are not used most of the time. There is an en-suite bathroom, instead of a communal one. In my fleet, these quarters would have been perhaps too grand for an admiral, save that they have a few extra occupants."

Never let it be said that Tony Stark couldn't deal with reality.

Sure, he did it with a highball in his hand, but still. His coping skills were excellent.

So it was absolutely understandable that Tony had suddenly decided to get this particular corridor up and running again, including clearing out debris and trying to rewire a lights panel - using nothing but his bare hands and a lot of very creative cursing. Well...okay. One bare hand, and one hand encased in a form-fitting, articulated metal gauntlet.

"Next time - ow - I decide to drink an entire bottle of Macallan at three in the - fuck - morning, I'm going to strap my ankle to the bed. And build an anti-teleporter. Why didn't I think of that? Simple. Obvious. Shit who wired this ship, Mr. Magoo?"

Alas, Disaché barely cares about the difference between men and women in his own species, let alone others. If he calls someone by the wrong gender, well... They can correct him but he won't really care.

His expression gets progressively more horrified as Yamato describes her expected accommodations. *Thirty people*. That's just wrong.

"I, Disaché," he begins, only a but mockingly, "Require my personal space. One roommate is already too much."

There was a somewhat familiar cast to the swearing, but Peggy paid it no mind. There was absolutely zero chance that there was anything familiar here in this 'star'ship, millions of kilometres from anything she knew.

Actually, no. There was one familiar thing - pain, and the hard work that came after destruction. Whether the cause of it was war, or whatever all this was, there were still injured people to comfort, and debris to shift, and since the medical bay was filled to bursting and she wasn't a doctor, Peggy was out shifting debris.

She worked her way towards the cursing man, gathering pieces of metal onto a sort of hover-board with a handle - convenient, that - but stopped when she saw the gauntlet. While amazing technology was par for the course, this particular thing was so colourful it stood out.

Well, they were both in the same corridor, might as well make conversation.

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't from around here?"

"Because ain't nobody here but us chickens?" he said, before looking up.

First impression: Really, really attractive woman with a killer bod and a chassis to die for. Second impression: Somehow hauntingly familiar. Third impression....fuck. Fuck.

"I'm not exactly in a New York state of mind, but we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. The crew is up to their nipples in shenanigans. So I might as well fix this one corridor. Agent Carter."

Various corridors

Being transported so far in both time and space was so surreal that Peggy still felt at times like she was walking in a dream. It seemed there was absolutely zero chance that there was anything familiar here in this 'star'ship, millions of kilometres from anything she knew.

Actually, no. There was one familiar thing - pain, and the hard work that came after destruction. Whether the cause of it was war, or whatever all this was, there were still injured people to comfort, and debris to shift, and since the medical bay was filled to bursting and she wasn't a doctor, Peggy was out shifting debris.

She worked her way down the corridor, gathering pieces of metal onto a sort of hover-board with a handle - convenient, that. If she ever saw Howard again, she thought she might give him a few ideas.

Room 4H- Closed to Martha Jones

After a long hard day, Peggy wanted nothing more but to go to a room where she felt safe and relax - perhaps take a bath. But there didn't seem to be baths available in this place - only a small room with a bathroom she had no idea how to use and six bunks.

She entered said bathroom cautiously and explored, almost afraid to press any buttons, but eventually she decided that it was unlikely that any of the buttons in the bathroom blew anything up, and pressed something at random.

The resulting blasts of air in the tiny shower cubicle sent her jerking back in shock, letting out a cry of surprise.

Edited 2016-07-26 05:17 (UTC)

Amazingly, she got that reference. But she didn't actually say anything about it - she had latched hard onto the surprising fact that this random man who wasn't wearing a uniform - seemed to know her name. And she wasn't certain he was happy about it, either.

"Indeed," she said archly, looking him up and down with curiosity. "That's one way of putting it. You appear to have me at a disadvantage, Mr...?"

"Stark."

And he smiled a slim smile that didn't meet his eyes. This was a hot mess, above and beyond his own kidnapping to this dimension. Suddenly he had to deal with Howard's side piece, impossibly young and impossibly here. After everything he knew, this was another kick in the nuts he didn't really need.

"Anthony Edward Stark. I heard that if I was a girl, I would have been named Natasha. Which freaks me out totally in context of my current life."

Edited 2016-07-26 05:21 (UTC)

Peggy prided herself on being able to keep her poise in nearly any situation. Whether it was shooting Nazis or clocking a Black Widow in the face with her hand bag, she was pretty much unruffled outwardly even when she was freaking out on the inside.

This made her freeze, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening almost comically with shock. The resemblance was uncanny, and her mind immediately jumped to the most obvious conclusion.

"Stark?" No, it couldn't be. And they were hundreds of years in the future - there were any number of explanations. "How...are you related to Howard Stark?"

"Oh. You mean dear old dad."

He snorted a little laugh, and shook his head as he turned back to his project.

"Howard and Maria Stark. Married in 1967. Gave birth to their only son, Anthony Edward. May 29th, 1970. Mom had an easy pregnancy and a difficult birth, from what I've been told. And then they shunted him off to nannies, butlers, and boarding schools. Lots of boarding schools. Three, to be exact."

He turned away from her, digging into the wiring of the corridor, determined to pretend this wasn't happening.

"And then I got into MIT before most kids grew out of Clearasil. So. Be honest with me. How many times were you and my dad fucking behind my mother's back?"

Various corridors

For the first half hour or so as he explored the ship, Bucky managed to keep to himself. He avoided corridors where others were gathering, stuck to the back halls and damaged areas. He wanted to find every bolt hole and escape route he could so he'd stop feeling so trapped in this maze of a ship.

In the end, though, he couldn't quite make himself ignore the desperate plight of the ship and its people. When he came across a green-skinned woman desperately trying to free herself from beneath a fallen girder, he used his inhuman strength and the metal arm to haul it off her. From there it was a short step to prying open a damaged door that had trapped three of the crew in their quarters.

He kept his head down, his eyes averted, and said very little when spoken to, but he kept working diligently. At least for once he was helping people, not hurting them.

Room 4J - Closed to Mack

Given his druthers, Bucky would have found a secure corner to hole up in and stayed there. As far away from other people as possible, preferably somewhere it would be difficult for others to get to.

Actually, he was going to do that. There was no way in hell he was sleeping in a tiny space with people he didn't know. But he figured he ought to at least try to play along and not draw too much attention from the Powers That Be, and that meant living in the assigned quarters, if not sleeping in them.

He'd been in the Army. He knew what grunt quarters were like. Hell, having an actual room with actual beds was a step up from what he'd had through most of the war. From what he'd had through most of his time with HYDRA, come to that.

So he'd expected the space to be tight. He'd expected the narrow beds crammed in together. He'd expected the minimal storage and utilitarian uniformity.

What he hadn't expected was for it to be snowing.

It was fucking snowing. In his room. It was like Siberia all over again.

Howard got married.

Howard got married?!

Peggy would have said something like that out loud, but she was saved from gaping like a buffoon and repeating inane phrases by the incandescent rage that instantly crawled right up her throat at his accusation.

"I beg your pardon?"

Her voice was low, clear, and extremely even. Her accent had likely ratcheted up a few notches.

Upon hearing her tone, Steve would have probably gotten behind his shield. The Howling Commandos would have simply run screaming for cover.

Tony, probably had no idea he should be concerned.

For the first half hour or so as he explored the ship, Bucky managed to keep to himself. He avoided corridors where others were gathering, stuck to the back halls and damaged areas. He wanted to find every bolt hole and escape route he could so he'd stop feeling so trapped in this maze of a ship.

In the end, though, he couldn't quite make himself ignore the desperate plight of the ship and its people. When he came across a green-skinned woman desperately trying to free herself from beneath a fallen girder, he used his inhuman strength and the metal arm to haul it off her. From there it was a short step to prying open a damaged door that had trapped three of the crew in their quarters.

He kept his head down, his eyes averted, and said very little when spoken to, but he kept working diligently. At least for once he was helping people, not hurting them.

Then he heard something tantalizingly familiar, coming from around the curve of a corridor. A voice. A woman's voice. It teased at the edges of his shattered memories, causing a few new fragments to drift to the surface of his mind.

He knew her. He wasn't sure how yet, or who she was, but he knew her. How could that be possible, in this place? Warily, Bucky crept along the corridor, trying to get a better look without drawing notice.

When he saw her, he got another jolt of memories, and his hand itched for his journal. He'd have to start a new one, as soon as possible. She was familiar. Every time he blinked he kept expecting to see her suddenly wearing an Army uniform. How could he possibly know someone here?

He trailed her for a while, using as much cover as the damaged corridors provided to stay hidden while he observed.

Tony was used to Pepper. When Pepper used that tone, he bought her a new diamond tennis bracelet, or gave her the reigns of the most powerful company in the world.

But Peggy Carter...well. This was thirty plus years of deep resentment, trauma, and irrational hatred. If she went at him, she'd find out what the repulsor in his palm could do.

"You heard me. You. Howard. Doing the horizontal bop under my mother's nose. I mean, that's the only rational conclusion. You stole him away from the house at every hour of the day, and calling it SSR business. The security of the nation is all well and good....but every other day? You're shameless, woman."

Peggy moved through the corridors, pushing her floating trolley of debris and stopping to clear out doorways and do what she could to comfort those she encountered who were injured. Slowly, though, she moved away from others and finally found herself in a completely isolated corridor.

There, she paused, resting her hand on her load of debris. Not incidentally, her hand was near a fist sized piece of metal, but she wasn't actually picking it up. Not yet.

"Now then. Who are you and why are you following me?" she asked in a quiet, even voice.

The fact that she'd been heading into more and more isolated areas hadn't escaped Bucky's notice, and he'd been trying to decide what to do about it. There was no sign she'd noticed him, and it was entirely possible she was simply chasing more of the debris she was cleaning up, not intentionally moving away from others at all.

Then she spoke, and he froze. Damn it. Granted, he hadn't been using all his skill to stay hidden, but a normal person would never have noticed him ghosting along behind her.

Of course, those vague memories that kept teasing at him said she was anything but a normal dame.

He stayed in the shadows, mostly hidden behind a collapsed wall panel, studying her. When he spoke his voice was hoarse, rusty from years of disuse. "I know you."

Her inclination was to punch him right in the nose. She was fuming so hard that she imagined steam was rising from her hair. But something held her back - and it was the gauntlet he wore on his hand. Something about it seemed dangerous, and she didn't want to just haul off on him - even if he was being an absolute jackass - without knowing what it was.

"Yes," she said in a clipped tone, after a moment of physically swallowing her rage. "Yes, I can see the family resemblance. Howard could be an absolute childish twat when it suited him as well." She drew herself up. "I could deny it, but of course you'll simply assume I'm the lying whore you already think I am. I can only hope that Howard never knew what you thought of him, because he didn't deserve that level of disrespect from anyone, let alone his son."

Peggy curled her fingers around the piece of metal, hiding the motion as she turned around and keeping the improvised weapon hidden by the bulk of the hovering trolley. Her eyes searched the shadows, seeking in vain a glimpse of her stalker.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "Come out where I can see you."

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Welcome to the Illyria!

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Disaché | OC | OTA

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Deck 4 hallway buddies

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