Prismatic Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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prismaticrap2019-03-05 11:10 am
prismods) wrote in prismaticrap2019-03-05 11:10 am
Entry tags:
▶ TDM OVERFLOW .001
▶ Lisa Frank's LSD Fun House
anytime, anywhere on the moon Iris | top
Everything is darkness except for dim lights sparkling in the distance, a faint gleam that greets you as you start to unfurl from your dormant state. Your body is hemmed in by shards of crystals, gently sparkling and possibly pricking your skin. The surrounding landscape is dyed in the pinks and purples of the dusk filled with crystals protruding from the ground, some as large as a skyscraper. Throat parched and skin dry and aching, you grope your body in alarm to make sure your possessions are still in place. This is far from home— perhaps a dream? You pinch your skin and slap your cheeks, yet nothing seems to do the trick. Searching for answers only rewards you with an endless expanse of purple dust as far as the eye can see. You have four options: one, panic; two, soil yourself; three, admire it all then soil yourself; or four, go into survival mode. Eventually, you’ll realize that you’re not alone.
▶ Camp Nowhere
anytime, anywhere on the moon iris | top
Time moves strangely when you're trapped on a moon with no sun to guide you. Hours feel like days, and days feel like weeks. Travelling has rendered you weak and tired. Luckily, a few crystal formations in the shape of a cavern may offer you a small place refuge as you decide to nap. You notice a few artifacts left over from previous explorers.
▶ Interstellar Action Force Assemble
prisma, iris | top
Over a day has passed when a group of people find you worse for wear. Some are full of uncertainty and fear while some are full of curiosity and excitement. They claim that they are scientists from the planet Prismatica here to investigate the sudden appearances of rainbow crystals in the skies. That means you and the others they’ve located within the area. You are all a surprising find to them, and they are quick to load everyone in their transport vehicles for examination and questioning.
You all may have your usual inquiries — Where are we? Who are you? What's going on? Why are the pegasi so ill-tempered? — and the Prismals are almost too eager to answer. They do have questions on their own, so it’s only fair to trade. They tell you about their world as they poke and prod you, trying to understand what you are and how you came into their land. If they’re not trembling in fear, some of them may ask you odd and invasive questions in return, such as what the rate at which your body achieves thermoregulation is, how long your refractory period is, and if you would be willing to submit various kinds of body fluids to them. It's up to whether you wish to comply or protest.
▶ Wildcard
Lunatia, Prismatica | top
It only takes a couple hours for the ships to reach their home planet. The ships drop the characters off at the city of Lunatia, where they will be given their communication devices and a plastic card they can present to certain landlords at any residential district for their subsidized (read: absolutely free) lodging. Officials at Prisma instructed the newcomers to await further instructions from the government, but you have a lot of time to kill before then. Why not explore in the meantime? Learn the ins and outs of the world, get a job, transform under the full moon, and explore the many mysteries of planet Prismatica!
This is this TDM's overflow. Feel free to move your threads from there and continue tagging!
anytime, anywhere on the moon Iris | top
Everything is darkness except for dim lights sparkling in the distance, a faint gleam that greets you as you start to unfurl from your dormant state. Your body is hemmed in by shards of crystals, gently sparkling and possibly pricking your skin. The surrounding landscape is dyed in the pinks and purples of the dusk filled with crystals protruding from the ground, some as large as a skyscraper. Throat parched and skin dry and aching, you grope your body in alarm to make sure your possessions are still in place. This is far from home— perhaps a dream? You pinch your skin and slap your cheeks, yet nothing seems to do the trick. Searching for answers only rewards you with an endless expanse of purple dust as far as the eye can see. You have four options: one, panic; two, soil yourself; three, admire it all then soil yourself; or four, go into survival mode. Eventually, you’ll realize that you’re not alone.
A ⬤ As you traverse the near-barren landscape, you feel something sting your skin. It's small and subtle at first, then you finally catch sight of it: an elegant, crystalline mosquito buzzing around from the corner of your eye. However, a pest is still a pest. After a while, marks near your welts begin to form strange patterns on your skin, mimicking ancient runes. Each rune has with it a particular side-effect that may hinder you on your journey:✾ The Mark of the Enchanter: Hallucinations, hallucinations galore. Your character will see everything and anything their imagination can conjure and will have difficulty separating reality from fiction.
₪ The Mark of the Destroyer: Limbs start to cease their function, causing you to stumble or try and get around one-handed. Other certain body parts may be affected as well. Look at the bright side: you can stop worrying about jiggle physics and hiding your fear boner.
⍢ The Mark of the Sinner: Your hunger, your thirst, your fatigue and your desire are at an all-time high. Your impulses are rabid and uncontrollable. Maybe you experience only one of those symptoms. Maybe you experience them all. All you know is that you want relief now.
These effects will eventually clear up with a bit of accidental or purposeful physical contact with another person, making you wonder if there was anything wrong with you at all.
B ⬤ Hunger starts to gnaw at you vigorously. Perhaps you consider hunting the moon's creatures to sate your hunger. That's when you see it: a thick, meaty, juicy meal on legs.No, we're not talking about Alex Louis Armstrong. A wild silver-white pegasus runs across the purple landscape, its hair billowing in the wind as its hooves smack loudly against the ground. Try and shoot it, and you may find your efforts curtailed by its legendary rage. Eyes aglow and wings beating up a storm, this pegasus is no dainty horse. Two thousand pounds of pure muscle swoop down and charge at you, all blades and ammunition deflecting off its impenetrable skin. Taming appears impossible; it will buck anyone away and leave a sizable horn- or hoof-shaped hole in them for their efforts. Hunting it, however, should be easier. Relatively.
C ⬤ Or you may decide that you'd like to take a drink in the prismatic waters. A small pond can be found just a few miles away from where you first awoke, but gazing into it reflects what appears to be a window into your own world. You see the faces of loved ones or at least someone very close and familiar to you gathered around your prone body, shaking it frantically as though to try and rouse you, yet your image lies frozen and unresponsive, not even a whisper of life running through you. Did you die in your world? Is this your afterlife? The questions start to pile up along with the gnawing dread that you may never return home again.
▶ Camp Nowhere
anytime, anywhere on the moon iris | top
Time moves strangely when you're trapped on a moon with no sun to guide you. Hours feel like days, and days feel like weeks. Travelling has rendered you weak and tired. Luckily, a few crystal formations in the shape of a cavern may offer you a small place refuge as you decide to nap. You notice a few artifacts left over from previous explorers.
D ⬤ A comm unit abandoned within the cavern will display the former owner's idol obsession. As you tap the buttons indiscriminately, a holographic screen will appear, and you will see a fabulous recorded concert featuring three bubbly young ladies in animal print, singing to you about something called Cordis, a cat, and a bag of gems. Does this make any sense to you? Probably not, but the beat is catchy. You may even find yourself tapping a foot along to it. Don’t worry. We know it’s plastic love.
E ⬤ There's a small cooler-like container of preserved powdered food bags labeled with only the word “Edible” that can be safely consumed. Although the powder tastes as bland as you’d expect, it’s oddly filling, sating either hunger or thirst. But who will be the first — and the bravest — to try eating them?
F ⬤ A strange, pointed instrument is among the effects found in the cavern. It's silver, long, and thin with a curved end and a light. When you grip it with warm hands, it seems to vibrate enthusiastically and comes in three settings indicated by a frowny face, a neutral face, and a happy face. What could it mean exactly? No one knows, but you can fiddle with it to your heart's desire. Just don't ask yourself where it's been before. You don't want to know.
▶ Interstellar Action Force Assemble
prisma, iris | top
Over a day has passed when a group of people find you worse for wear. Some are full of uncertainty and fear while some are full of curiosity and excitement. They claim that they are scientists from the planet Prismatica here to investigate the sudden appearances of rainbow crystals in the skies. That means you and the others they’ve located within the area. You are all a surprising find to them, and they are quick to load everyone in their transport vehicles for examination and questioning.
You all may have your usual inquiries — Where are we? Who are you? What's going on? Why are the pegasi so ill-tempered? — and the Prismals are almost too eager to answer. They do have questions on their own, so it’s only fair to trade. They tell you about their world as they poke and prod you, trying to understand what you are and how you came into their land. If they’re not trembling in fear, some of them may ask you odd and invasive questions in return, such as what the rate at which your body achieves thermoregulation is, how long your refractory period is, and if you would be willing to submit various kinds of body fluids to them. It's up to whether you wish to comply or protest.
G ⬤ If you react violently, you will be restrained and nerfed with a specialized neurotransmitting gun that releases a numbing agent through the top of your spine. They came prepared, so have fun with that! In any case, conscious or not, you’ll be brought into one of the transport vehicles. If you choose to peacefully cooperate, you’ll be provided any necessary first aid and a refreshing drink to help you recuperate after the rough time you had for the past few days. Each transport vehicle has a few small rooms to rest in, but due to the limited space, you’ll have to snuggle up with someone else on that bunk bed. Unfortunately, the moonshine fruit the ship is also carrying in its cargo has an extremely sweet smell that’s been permeating through certain areas of the ventilation system… Taking a whiff of it may inebriate you for the rest of the trip.
H ⬤ It’s a bumpy ride as terrain vehicles draw over various crystal formations until you see a large dome-like structure up ahead. Within its confines lies the seat of the Prismatica's government, Prisma. It’s a bureaucratic wet dream: skyscrapers practically touch the upper surface of the dome, windows glimmer with a prismatic sheen as daylight hits them, and small ships can be seen flying to and from its spaceport. The scientists, members of the Lunar Scientia, usher you into their facilities for tests. Arrivals are likely to twitch, tremble, and panic as Lunar Scientia fellows take and broadcast every embarrassing, unfiltered detail about you — height, weight, age, strange odors, estimated frequency of sexual activity —- to one another. These scientists will ask you politely to undress, too, but understand if you don't want to. They're especially fascinated by the readings of pure Chroma inside you, whispering among one another excitedly about the possibility of the new arrivals being a new moon species. What should they call them? Moonborne? Moonblessed?
I ⬤ At long last, the questions and physical examinations are done. They’ve decided to call the arrivals as the Moonblessed. They’ll take you under their care until they understand more about you. You're allowed a very refreshing hot shower and a warm meal for your efforts. Don’t worry, the meal was imported from their planet. “Planet?” you might ask, but you won’t need to wonder for too long. The ships are preparing for their next destination: the nearby planet Prismatica, where you will be dwelling for the time being. You're free to explore the government center until then.
▶ Wildcard
Lunatia, Prismatica | top
It only takes a couple hours for the ships to reach their home planet. The ships drop the characters off at the city of Lunatia, where they will be given their communication devices and a plastic card they can present to certain landlords at any residential district for their subsidized (read: absolutely free) lodging. Officials at Prisma instructed the newcomers to await further instructions from the government, but you have a lot of time to kill before then. Why not explore in the meantime? Learn the ins and outs of the world, get a job, transform under the full moon, and explore the many mysteries of planet Prismatica!
This is this TDM's overflow. Feel free to move your threads from there and continue tagging!
damn u right tho (omg hi how did you know I loved joe macmillan are you a rad 80s psychic)
It tastes like aloe water and it's deeply hydrating, and she's hiding out from the cloying smell of wine in the air— he happens to have found one of the least-affected corners, and she's too exhausted for things like propriety when it comes time to ask someone if she can share a cot.
It takes him a moment to seemingly come back around, and the loose waves about her face contrast the tight fit of the black undersuit— she must look like someone familiar, to him, with the way that sorrow creases his face and his brows pinch. Her own mirror it, concerned and apologetic. )
Oh, no, I'm sorry— my name is Angela.
( But as he surmises, her syllables curl at the ends with a Germanic accent and she's not nearly so tall and svelte. She moves to set the bag containing all the armor and her wings down so she can reach in for another one of those hydration pouches to offer up, tipping her head with a little smile. He's already pressing himself back against the wall so she leaves her bag where it is, taking a ginger seat on the edge and nearly slumping in relief. She asked and he offered, so it'd be rude to hesitate. )
I can promise I don't smell like wine. Probably more dust than vanilla at this point, but I think I managed to clean most of it off.
( One thing no one will ever call Angela Ziegler, however, is shy. She twists and there's just enough room if she presses back against his side, so her knees aren't hanging off the bed enough to tip her right back out. The effect is immediate, just being horizontal with someone's warmth at her back, and she all but melts into the shoddy little mattress as her legs stretch back out. Maybe it's ruder to have her back to him, so she tries to twist just a little to at least look over her shoulder. )
Thank you; the smell wasn't as bad over here and everyone else has already piled into the available cots. Is this all right...? I can sit up on the other end if you need more room. I don't want you uncomfortable just to accommodate me.
(maybe??? shoutout to the ten of swords babey)
Joe. Joe MacMillan.
[ He sounds for all the world like she's supposed to recognise that name, or at least like he's accustomed to people knowing it. The melting when Angela settles in, however, is mutual, and the flash of arrogance is dropped in exchange for contact. For some reason Joe doesn't give that as much thought as he should. He just knows it's warm, and he's tired, and even this stuffy situation is infinitely more bearable, the less personal space he has. ]
That's what they think vanilla smells like?
[ He almost sounds derisive, but languor beats it into his tone by just a notch. As soon as she's against him, he in turn squirms onto his side both to make room and as an excuse to get closer; it takes conscious effort not to sling an arm and a leg across her. He's not an animal. ]
I guess I have a talent for sniffing out the premium in everything, then. Maybe I should charge for it.
[ The muffled chuckle should tip her off to the joke, though. He sounds sleepy enough to be talking out his ass anyway, even if he doesn't feel tired now that the conditions he wanted for a nap a minute ago are met. ]
You're fine where you are, Angela.
[ And it's a little weird the way his timbre in saying her name sounds like they're already friends, or more. Maybe it's just the close quarters. Besides, he isn't making a move on a stranger, not even in a weird dream like this. ]
(but is it upright or reversed, have u hit betray or are you here to heal my soul)
Mr. Joe MacMillan, then. Thank you for sharing your corner with me.
( She doesn't expect him to turn over and press right up against her, but she can't find it in her to mind with the exhaustion heavy in her limbs and the finally-clean feeling of even just being able to freshen up with whatever strange little soap they'd given her on request with a sink and a washcloth.
As he surmises, it was sweet, but it was certainly not vanilla. She had been especially helpful and willing in their prodding, and they had tried to accommodate her. They just had no idea what she was describing. His pointed remark makes her laugh quietly, shoulders shaking where they press back against his chest and she tries to maintain some semblance of eye contact. Her temple bumps to his brow and part of her says too close, so she tries to shift just a bit to give him an inch of breathing space, but he'll be able to see the amused crinkle of her nose with his derision. He's warmer than she is, which doesn't surprise her, and there aren't exactly any blankets. She gladly soaks it up— that and the sense that he's comfortable laying beside a stranger, not cramming himself into a pretzel against the wall. )
I'm much the same. We could start a service. ( If only she knew. Besides, that warm breath of his laugh in her hair feels nice. Just speaking gives her away as some snobby European with her Germanic accent curling her syllables, playful and soft, even if she's perfectly humble in accepting whatever is available. ) They tried very earnestly to find what I described, but what they came away with was simply "sweet like a baked good". Certainly none I've ever had. May I steal your arm?
( Over her waist or ribs, she means, her own arm shifting to indicate. It can't be comfortable for him to keep it along his side or wedged between them, and she wouldn't mind the bit of extra contact when it meant they could insulate warmth just that little bit more. Everything about her is accommodating, wanting those around her to be at ease more than anything.
Her name sounds nice on his lips, easy and familiar when they're anything but, and it's so very tempting to drift to the sound of it. He has a lovely voice— low and easy and just for her with how he pitches it quietly. Just laying here together is far beyond a first meeting, so why can't they be friends? They've already shared a bed.
The only difference is she knows this isn't a dream. She's met too many people she could never bring to mind on her own, reunions with those who were in her life over six years ago and otherwise disappeared, still feels the ache of her ankle after something as outlandish as falling off a pegasus— so sure, this is real. She doesn't know what to do with the reality beyond that. One day at a time, she supposes. She has a life to get back to and things to do, people to save. It isn't something she's ready to think about. 37 years old and she needs a nap before tackling the world again. )
(ALL OF THE ABOVE i mean cmon fam, joe can apply to both. but i'll be nice and say reversed :P)
His response to that is little more than a quick exhale, but it isn't so much out of shock or surprise as an instinctive reaction, evidenced by the 'little more' - tilting his head to meet her cheek, but stopping just short of the grazing kiss he was used to doing with Sara. Or... with Cam, the few times she'd ever let their thing go as far as an afterglow.
This isn't either of them. Nor is it real, but damned if it doesn't feel real. He's on his way to giving in and letting himself believe it.
Thankfully, the curtailed moment is easily smoothed over by the woman's pleasant ramble, and a detached side thought wonders where she's from. Her accent isn't like most of those he's heard in this sim/trip so far, and he swears he's heard something like it before. At CERN, maybe, or one of IBM's overseas offices a long while ago now. He likes the familiarity of it, even if it isn't American.
And despite his restraint, he can't help a sniff at the hair brushing over his face when he reconnects to the here-and-now conversation, grinning against a curl and revelling in how it tickles his lips. ]
Mmm. Yeah, I can imagine a snickerdoodle in that, like a secret exotic kind of variation of one. A Greek grandmother's secret Mediterranean snickerdoodle recipe, maybe.
[ After scratching his ear with a little agitation - the crew here assured him it wasn't a rash when he asked for ointment that clearly isn't working - he tucks his arm around her waist when asked. He hasn't yet picked up on a sense of altruism from her, but... oh, Angie. This is entirely the wrong person to want to accommodate. Spin doctors and trend chasers always are.
Fortunately for her at the moment, how to use her is the farthest thing from his mind. Sort of. Of course it strays around the edges of inappropriate imagery, but he's human and active back home, and there's no denying that she's attractive, especially when she bears a faint resemblance to someone already close to his heart (despite being far too agreeable to make a realistic comparison).
At least, being not too far ahead of her in age, tamping down any outward indication of that is easy enough. The arm his own head is resting on, though, can't resist bending a little to toy with a blond wave feathered over his nose. ]
So where are you from, Angela? I can guess European, but whatever strain of E I'm on is messing with my memory a little, so I hope you'll forgive me if I can't put my finger on it.
[ It's too bad charm is a warning sign only certain people would catch. Maybe she's one of them, if she's lucky. ]
(this is true enough but that bruised lil heart of his is sort of in the right place sometimes)
That is, if she could ever manage to fall asleep. She's too social a person and he seems intent to continue rumbling low between them, and really, they need all the connections they can get in this place, don't they? She's glad he hadn't tried to kiss her, but she's equally glad they're continuing to chat. It sets her mind at ease, being around others and having the chance to connect. The loose waves of her hair, having dampened and dried back out again twice over by now, are the only things holding any real vestige of real vanilla. The earthy, woody kind fresh-scraped out of a pod, from some expensive designer perfume that was soft enough not to offend any noses sick or otherwise, just enough to cut the smell of antiseptic and sterile gauze from her. To make her comforting and warm and not just another cold presence holding a stethoscope to the bend of one's arm and telling you to suck it up, or the surgeon too busy to give you a second glance. But he's referring to it as some sort of exotic, strange snickerdoodle and it gets another little laugh out of her, turning her face down just enough to have a sniff at her wrist. )
You're right, it's almost something like cinnamon. A little astringent, a little plastic, maybe a bit of... citrus? ( Distracted, in part to the way he scratches at his ear, and he has her professional attention. ) Are you all right, Joe?
( Even as he lowers his arm to drape over her waist and hers rests against it the same, giving his hand a little pat before resting still. It helped. It kept them closer even if his legs are too long to really fit under her knees and keep them back to front, but that's why they stretch out, isn't it?
Besides, he'll likely find it difficult to use her when she offers him most anything she can regardless. She's a doctor— a surgeon, really— and she will know where to draw a line or where to dote a little extra. There are only so many skills he can abuse beyond a caring hand, after all. If it went beyond that, however... well. He's quite handsome as well, and she's a little head-over-heels for his voice and his easy acceptance of her presence. It wouldn't be the worst thing to happen, down the road. (Though he doesn't look like anyone she knows.) She feels the tingle at her scalp as he toys with a lock of her hair and this, too, she doesn't much mind. It's harmless. )
—Oh, you're correct on that. I'm from Switzerland. Though I had been stationed in Iraq, last I recall. And yourself? ( Wait, "strain of E"? Again, the gap of time between their years hinders communication. She has no idea what that could mean. Perhaps something to do with his ear? Some sort of virus, or cold... She'd already asked, and her confusion at the term is clear enough, looking for elaboration.
Angela gives others the benefit of the doubt, charming or no, but she knows how to protect herself if need be. Where to draw the line and where to stop giving in. He can be perfectly charming, but now she's only worried there's something wrong with him and it isn't fear of catching it that has her turning around in full, under the drape of his arm. So she can face him properly, sitting up just enough on the prop of her other arm to have a look at him. )
I'm a doctor, if there's anything I can do...
( She doesn't have a clue on how to put her duty aside and rest, can you tell? )
(he tries! he's just bad at being good, lol. UNLIKE SOMEONE IN THE VICINITY WE COULD MENTION)
[ He still sounds relaxed and a smidgen playful, but there's no good way to say something as weird as "I think I'm turning into an iridescent towel". That's the last thing a sane potential friend would ever want to hear. He'll let it go. She's wearing something akin to a reindeer headband herself, so maybe it's an avatar customisation feature for this sim, kind of like... well, yeah. Letting go.
The quizzical expression he can half-see with the awkward angles of their faces elicits an (almost) genuine smile once he figures out what has her stumped. ]
E. Ecstasy, it's a drug that recently went recreational. Hard to describe the effects, but the name probably does a good enough job. But see? I knew your accent sounded familiar. I've been to Switzerland. Beautiful country and great people. Unfortunately, I wasn't there for pleasure at the time. I'm from... Texas is probably my best bet. Long story. I'm currently heading some pretty revolutionary software advancement in California.
[ He props himself up on one arm to look down at her, much more coherent somehow than he was when she first approached. The hand across her waist rests comfortably once she stills, heavier with confidence but still respectful. There's a word she said that nags faintly at the back of his mind, and it instantly reminds him of his father, but thankfully that bit of caution stays far beneath the surface of his expression - well hidden from years of practice. ]
Stationed... so you're military?
wink wonk 👼
( She's already reaching up to see if she can brush it off him, rising just enough to get a look once she's twisted around. It was dim enough back here and the wine fumes weren't much helping for awareness, though there's enough light to catch the glimmer of white spots along her cheekbones that echoed elsewhere on her body, beneath the bodysuit where they're not visible. Shoulders and lower back, trailing back up her spine.
But that smile looks good on him; sincere(-ish), matching the relaxed timbre of his voice as he begins to describe— right, recreational drugs. There's only a shade of disapproval in the way her brows furrow, easily skipped over as he drops a hook in the water with very tempting bait, for someone like her. Tech talk. Even as her thumb smooths out along the shape of his ear, rubbing any moondust out so it doesn't irritate him. )
I'm not terribly familiar, I'm sorry, but you're right that it explains itself. What part of Switzerland were you in? I'm from Zurich, myself. I'm glad you enjoyed it. ( Then, with another little crinkle of her nose: ) You certainly don't sound Texan, and long stories are my favorite. Another time. You have to tell me about your software.
( Talk about strange pillowtalk. )
But no, I'm not military. I worked with a group of other doctors and volunteers and we traveled wherever we were needed. I just happen to work alongside militias and the military because of my specialties. I do prosthetics, cybernetics, and reconstructive surgery.
no subject
[ Joe turns his head to let her give it a shot. He already checked as much of himself as he could in the small mirror they had available when they were grilling him and found nothing that looked or felt gritty (so he's a little vain - it's not like he has no reason to be), but this conversation is going well so far and he can tell she's warming up to him beyond the casual proximity of their situation, so it's worth giving in on something easy for potentially great future returns.
What he didn't expect was immediately loving the attention in a way he isn't accustomed to. Affection is easy, and normal in situations that call for it, but Angela's fingertips against the cup of his ear draw a visceral pleasure that he can't even rightfully describe as sexual or even romantic. That would be a short and easy jump in logic to make; he doesn't care. Even the itching subsides, or at least he can ignore it for a while.
He hums from the base of his throat for a moment, leaning into her palm and letting his head loll to actively rub against the touch until he remembers they were talking. And then he notices that he closed his eyes at some point, and rectifies that. ]
Mm? Geneva. Or rather, a little west, northwest - Meyrin, to be exact. I was attending an event at CERN for the company I was working for at the time. So I was a little ways away, but it sounds like I could have dropped by for a visit if we'd known each other back then. A missed opportunity, but hey, better late than never.
[ It feels good, and he doesn't know why it emboldens him, but it does. He tilts his head further, still maintaining contact with her hand, and reaches between them to brush a knuckle gently against what he can only describe in his mind right now as a puff of stardust scattered across her cheeks. How did he not see that before?
It probably doesn't help, either, that her explanation puts his caution back in check. Of course she isn't like his dad. What an absurd fear. ]
So you're something of a field medic, but with extra credentials? Then I'll swap with you - I'll give you the investor's tour lecture of MacMillan Utility, if you tell me more about your specialties. I've always been interested in the idea of cybernetics, especially the experimental forays into assistive bionics.
no subject
It's almost like petting a dog. (A cat, actually.) Massaging the base of their ears and giving them a good rub. When he opens his eyes again she's grinning, spots glittering along her cheekbones. )
That must have felt nice. Take care of the itch? ( But then he's describing CERN and pinning himself down in Geneva, and the look on her face is already nearly an eyeroll. A good-natured one, however. ) That is down on the French side. Zurich is the German side. They're very different worlds. But it is only a three hour drive, so... Next time you're in town in 2076, you let me know. I can try to make the trip home for a friend. And did you get to see the particle accelerators?
( ...Which weren't built until 1989, in Geneva. Oops. Angela continues rubbing at his ear, nails sifting back through his hair to keep massaging the itchy ear between her side and the side of her hand, and when he reaches up to brush a knuckle along her spots, he'll find them just a touch velvety, just like peach fuzz. It explains the glimmer. She doesn't so much as flinch. )
A fair amount of extra credentials, yes. I was with a peacekeeping organization before that. And that sounds like a fair swap. But first— ( And a well-timed yawn she doesn't have the hands to shield, so she fights to keep her teeth clenched as her chest swells with the breath, slipping back out through her teeth. Her breath still smells of the aloe water. ) ...First we should get some rest.
There's no telling what waits at the other end of the trip.
no subject
Her reaction to CERN is met with a chuckle. He'd be far from offended even if he were met with open scoffing, but he likes that she appears to know about the place he's referring to. Figuring out how to impress people is fun and he's good at it, but sometimes nothing beats a conversation that everyone involved can naturally keep up with. His expression goes distant for a split second as he remembers, of course, Gordon and their old dynamic, especially when they could really make the fire under the both of them work to their advantage.
That look is gone before the span of a blink, and maybe later on he can blame the momentary woolgathering for not fully grasping the implication of "2076". Of course that's a nonsense year that probably belongs in a Tanith Lee novel, but at least he can appreciate the humour of it in context, and even kind of expect it. ]
America's a lot like that too, the way you can cross a state line and suddenly feel like you're on another planet. I love that about places in general. And distance isn't that big a deal when you have time on your hands and a goal worth pursuing. I'd travel pretty far to see a friend.
[ He's done it before, too. Even if "friend" is probably a term used incredibly loosely most of the time. ]
The accelerators weren't quite my forte though, and I didn't have a lot of time outside the panels I attended. But do I like physics as a whole, and most of its premises I've come across in discussion are exciting. I'm looking forward to the day laymen like me can grasp it on a more casual level.
[ His tone is a little sardonic toward the end, but not viciously so - about the level of her eyeroll.
His skin isn't quite at the stage of hers around her spots; while an odd and faint sheen is spreading over him from points hidden under his clothes, it's still smooth. Maybe the sprite features he's earning are more android-like, who knows. But he does like how her cheek feels to his fingertips, and instead of a verbal response to her common sense, he agrees by lying back down and pulling her with him, curling around her from behind and nuzzling into her hair. One finger continues to trace across her face until, either by her suggestion or his own ignored exhaustion, his body relaxes into sleep.
Over an hour later, a jolt of turbulence through the ship wakes him rather suddenly. He feels somewhat refreshed and his body seems to have graduated from itching to some kind of prickling heat, but he isn't ready to pay attention to that yet. Nobody else in the vicinity sounds alarmed, and he hears no screams or shouting from anywhere else nearby, so they're probably not in danger.
He squints at faint shadows of people bustling in the corridor beyond the door to this room, and then down at Angela. Maybe the plane is taxiing to land, for want of a relatable metaphor. He touches her shoulder, bending over her the best he can to see if she's asleep. The weird thing is that as soon as he sees the profile of her face, he's... hungry again. And needy again. And he doesn't like the underlying helplessness being the foundation of either of those. This simulation is starting to take its toll, he supposes. ]
Angela, you awake? I think we're almost there.
[ His voice is sleep-tinted, a little scratchier than before, and a little hoarse. ]
no subject
Mm, I've been— and scientists do try, you know, to make knowledge accessible.
( But it's as far as she gets, because he's drawing her back down with him and his nose is in her hair as she drapes partway on him, legs lacing and tucking in against him wherever she can fit for his warmth.
Angela falls asleep well before he does to the brush of his fingertips over velvet spots, by virtue of medical necessity. Any sort of medical staff used to working long shifts had to know how to fall asleep anywhere and wake just as easily, alert and ready to jump into surgery. (They're on her sign's moon, after all; it only makes sense her markings have appeared on arrival and stuck around, even as she sleeps.)
And she sleeps well. Warm with her company, relaxed in someone's arms, idly touches getting soft little sighs out of her even in her sleep. But when that turbulence jolts the ship, he doesn't even need to say her name.
She was awake and listening to what was around them, she just hadn't moved to disturb him. And while she regrets having to pull away, he's right about the observation when an announcement comes over the speaker system and bending to get a look at her face shows bright blue eyes blinking away the sleep. It's slow, but she begins to extricate herself from him with a pleased little hum as she stretches, using the momentum of the motion to get herself twisted over and sitting up, still sitting up against his stomach. )
Yeah... Yeah. God, that feels so much better. How are you feeling, Joe?
( He sounds like he needs something to drink, at the very least, so she's already bending forward to start rifling through her bag and pull out the last of those pouches to offer him. )
no subject
Surprisingly good. Sleeping in a sim is an intriguing experience. I'm looking forward to seeing the stats.
[ Once Angela leans away, Joe takes that opportunity to straighten up enough to scoot to the edge as well and stand, letting a good stretch chase off the lie; now he does feel a lot better, even if he hits the ceiling before his arms can get all the way up. He hums at the faint rumble in his belly while stretching, as if to hush it, before facing his bedfellow again with a renewed radiance in his smile. ]
You can have it. I'm saving my appetite for bad habits like coffee and donuts. What about you, what's your vice?
no subject
You think this is a simulation?
( It's hard not to smile when he stretches and his knuckles bump into the ceiling, arms bending, but he can stretch those down behind his back. The important thing was the spacing between the vertebrae as he lengths his back and lets the long muscles reaching down his spine do the hard job, there.
What she doesn't miss is the sound his stomach makes, which has her producing a chocolate caloriemate package. It isn't "coffee and donuts", but it was... well, a shoddy form of sweet. )
Coffee would be amazing. That is usually my vice. Doctor and all. Though I also have a weakness for sipping chocolate. And apple pastries. Anything with cream. What are your favorite donuts?
( She will put her things away if he isn't interested; maybe they will be able to find something to eat or drink, but she isn't so sure. She stands as well to stretch, fingertips in no danger of reaching the ceiling, and she seems to test her weight on her ankle before deciding it is well and truly healed. Good. )