illyria_rpg | Welcome to the Illyria!

Entry tags:

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!)

Threaded | Flat

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.

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?"

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)

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.

Finding herself on another Starfleet vessel had been jarring, sure. But then, weird things tended to happen when you were stranded out in the middle of nowhere. She's just managed to find herself in the middle of a different nowhere. Without a single person she actually knew, and weird people showing up along with her. What the hell is going on?

B'Elanna didn't take much time to ponder that though. Not with everything going on and the ship being a wreck. It was just like when they had been flung across the galaxy. Both Voyager and the Val Jean had sustained quite a bit of damage. This was a situation she unfortunately knew all too well. So she hit the ground running.

Whether anyone wanted her to or not, B'Elanna had grabbed the first tool kit she found and got to work. She knew her way around a Starfleet ship well by now. In fact, this one was similar to Voyager at about half the size. Pushing herself into engineering and elbowing into repair there, she had gotten a couple cocked eyebrows from the Vulcans there. Another engineer had tried to give her a hard time for being in a restricted area but she was quick to snap at them.

"Your chief is dead, the ship is in pieces, and you want to argue about protocol? Either we can stand around debating this or you can get the hell out of my way and let me help."

Well. The argument hadn't lasted long to say the least.

The critical systems of course took priority, and then things could be worked on from there. Thus she could be at varying locations at different times all across the ship. In engineering, in Jeffries tubes, in the maintenance areas, in corridors. She even has the gall to walk onto the bridge to see to repairs. Not asking permission and not apologizing. If someone wanted to confront her, that was fine, but they will get a gruff rebuttal. In fact she will only get crankier the more time goes on as she burns the midnight oil, staying up at all hours to work.

Someone might even stumble upon her taking a quick cat nap in a weird location. She could probably use something to eat too, but that was luxury she didn't really have much time to indulge in. Especially with the replicators not working right.

Edited 2016-07-26 14:27 (UTC)

It's been an interesting day. He'd met his new roommate and even found someone to help him stop it snowing in his room. Obviously, as soon as he fixes the lighting in the same section of the ship.

For now, however, he's stood on the observation area on Deck 7, just staring out at the stars. Thinking.

He doesn't recognise any of these stars, any constellations, any combinations. It's like nothing he's seen before. He folds his arms, rubbing them to prevent the goosepimples from this realisation showing too much.

"This is too damn weird..."

Mess Hall
Food out of thin air, what a great invention! Axel could definitely get used to this. No more fighting over katsu bowls with Larxene, no more scrounging for munny in the cushions of the sofas of the lobby for the vending machines...

Now if only this replimabob would give him what he wanted he would be in good shape.

"Sea. Salt. Ice. Cream," he said again, slowly and deliberately. Why was this so hard?

"Please specify parameters," the machine said again, and Axel gave a grating sigh. He flowered baleful lyrics at the four bowls of ice cream in front of him in varying flavors that were not sea salt, and kneaded his forehead.

"Dammit, ship, I'm an assassin, not a dessert chef," he grumbled under his breath, and then gestured vaguely with his hand. "Okay, it's ice cream," he said, "but the flavor is sea salt. But it's not just sea salt, that was way too salty!"

He pushed aside the bowl of ice cream that had definitely only been made with salt, making a face.

"It's sweet, too!" he insisted. "And it's blue, not purple!"

he pushed aside the bowl of salty blueberry sorbet that he was sorry he had even dared to taste. Another bowl of ice cream shimmered into existence, this time a bright neon blue, and Axel let his head thunk against the front panel of the machine.

"Why is this so hard?" he whined.

Anyone brave enough to give him a hand?

Anywhere
[Literally anywhere you want.]
There was a whooshing sound, and then a bloom of black and silver smoke erupted into the air, a great gaping maw of purple and indigo opening up behind it.

Axel stepped out of the portal and dusted his sleeves off. The Corridors of Darkness were behaving a bit strangely: they wouldn't take him home, and every time he tried to go to some world he knew, he wound up somewhere else on this blasted broken spaceship.

"The hell am I now?" he asked wearily, and then glanced up when he saw he wasn't alone.

Room 4G; locked to The Doctor
He had figured he wouldn't have the room to himself forever, given how many beds there were. Pity, sleeping was going to be difficult with roommates (though he supposed no more difficult than it usually was anyway). Sprawled out on the top bunk, Axel stared at the ceiling, then rolled over when he heard the telltale sound of the door sliding open.

Oho, time to see who the new roommate was.

Mess Hall
Martha took a sip from the tea she had just ordered and promptly spit it back out. "Eugh... sorry," she replied to whomever just witnessed that. She turned back to the replicator. "I asked for earl gray tea. Not... not... I'm not even sure this is an Earthen beverage!"

[Corridors]
Martha worked her way through the corridors, moving things when she could, checking for wounded as possible. The latter didn't seem to be all that numerous though. She pushed her weight against a particularly large piece of wall that needed to be moved, grunting when it didn't budge. "A little help please?"

Hallway - Lights

Eames is walking down the hallway back to his quarters, his belly full. He feels like he's starting to get used to this, and even if he weren't, he'd be pretending he was. The lights go off with zero warning.

"Hello?"

He walks along as best as he can before-

"Oof. I do believe that's my stomach you just elbowed." Never mind that it's just as much his fault.

Hallway outside Room 4E - Environmental controls

It's hot as hell in this hallway. The temp controls must be going crazy, because it feels like a sauna. Or at least that's what Eames is using it as. He's in shorts and no shirt, spread out in a chair with his feet propped up on another. A book is in his hands, and he'd be wearing sunglasses if he'd brought some, just to complete the look. He's also blocking the way, so...

Threaded | Flat

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Disaché | OC | OTA

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