Atrophy

Beyond the Storms

Robot role call.

Carvings of the Galaxy

@beyond visionsVery accurate.

_{And until I got to the body I actually believed it was a legit thing.}

Beyond the Storms

Skies above the Garrloch

Constance’s face flashed between both shock and disappointment when Krauss suggested she take any seat except for the one she had claimed for herself was, her lower lip drooping as if she couldn’t comprehend somebody telling her what to do. She expected that the man took her for a fool, and she told herself that she was fine with that. She’d rather be taken for an idiot than mistaken for a genius. There was less pressure in it, for starters, and when you proved them wrong it was much more pleasurable. She recovered almost as fast as she had come undone, closing her mouth into a tight smile as if to pretend to be amused by Krauss’s joke.

“What a grand idea. I’ve think I’ve had enough of seawater, Krauss, and I’ve been meaning to dry off anyways,” she said, abdicating her throne as she slipped back into the “hurricane seat”, pretending not to notice Edward’s look.

As Krauss went through his startup checks, Constance busied herself fumbling with straps and belts. Despite the good humor in his warning, she did believe the pilot when he said she could be flung out of the VTOL, and she had already met her quota for near death experiences for that day. Cinched tightly, she relaxed as best as she could in the stock chair, closing her eyes and trying to calm her pre-flight jitters. She still got anxious every time she was on a plane like she had been the first time she had flown, back when she had made her great change from mongrel to mogul by escaping from the Bottoms by stowing away on a cargo plane bound for Argos. Former suitors had found it endearing, and when she was in the air she was completely fine, her worries replaced with wonder, but she still found it embarrassing, and was thankful that the two in front seemed busy with the takeoff.

She felt her muscles relax as she heard the engine come to life, and slowly opened her eyes a few seconds after the craft had begun to shake and takeoff. Krauss hadn’t been lying, the view from the passenger seat was breathtaking. “Oh, wow,” she mumbled quietly, almost humbled by the vast world of blue that laid outside of the window. The view from the ship, now so far below them that it looked as if it were a bath toy, had been great, but it paled completely in comparison to this one. There was a quiet moment of contentment, disregarding the loud hum of the engines, as she leaned against the window, wide-eyed. Further away, she could she smears of brown and green splashed on the horizon, actual land that was not floating, and she swore she could make out the tip of the other obelisk, although perhaps this was just hopeful thinking.

And then it was down to business. She needed to know how fertile the land was, how ripe for colonization it would be, how feasible it could be to shuttle people from the floating isles to the new land. Then it would be all about creating the right businesses in the right places. A mining company for raw materials to ship back to the UINC would be the most profitable, obviously, and the tentative end goal, but to get there she need lodging, food, and entertainment for the workers. Even before that,she knew that she’d have to work out some sort of contracts and deeds with the United Isles to rightfully claim ownership of the new lands instead of being seen as some seceding threat. Her brow furrowed at the thought; red tape was always the most infuriating. It was a good thing that she planned to have someone else deal with all of that nonsense, although she was still deciding on who could handle such a task without outright stealing the thunder away from her.

As well, it was somewhat odd that she didn’t even consider the largest, most real problem to her grand plans as she daydreamed about the future. She was so confident that her minor hiccup would solve itself the minute she stepped foot onto one of those distant islands littered with silver and gold that, by the time word ever got out, it would be such a non-issue that nobody wouldn't even blink an eye at it. She smiled Only the extremely rich and the extremely poor knew how valuable money actually was; having been both in her life, she felt quite qualified in that regard.

Unintelligible words from the cockpit drew her out of her mind, their meaning drowned out by the hum of the engines. Reflexively, she assumed they were directed towards her, for obvious reasons, and she leaned forward. However, when her eyes finally spotted the camera in Edward’s hands, she recoiled back as if she had just stumbled upon a venomous snake. Violently, she shook her hands in front of herself. She shouted at the reporter, cupping her hands around her mouth. Surely, she could be louder than a plane engine.

_{“DON’T YOU DARE, EDDY! I’M A COMPLETE MESS! WE CAN DO A PHOTO SPREAD LATER! LATER!”}

Carvings of the Galaxy

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Owen Childs

---

"This is what's happening, Owen!"

Yeah. I can see that. Thanks.

However, truth be told, he almost didn’t believe it was happening, not until he felt himself bristle at the sight of Tahlia being slung from her chair, only to instantly back down and comply with the robot voice as a pair of freakishly blue eyes glared at him. Alien eyes. Actual alien eyes. Maybe he might’ve been a bit excited to have witnessed these Skullmen if they hadn’t been, apparently, arresting them for some form of treason. Instead, he was rightfully fearful and angry, yet also already becoming resinated. Of course they would, somehow, be the ones to discover aliens, and of course these aliens weren’t the fun, cute, eat Reese Piece’s kind of aliens.

Owen’s hands were twisted around his back and he felt one of the creatures slap a pair of handcuffs on him. It wasn’t the first time the man had been handcuffed in his life, and just like that other time it was also completely unjustified. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to have never been frozen in the first place. No, nevermind, obviously it would’ve been smarter to have never been frozen in the first place. At least a hundred years ago he wouldn’t have been abducted by freaking aliens; with real cops he could eventually talk his way out of getting in trouble for something he didn’t do.

Hold up…

Maybe he could try talking to the bot? It was a pretty stupid idea, he’d be the first to admit, but it did speak English—which was rather odd when he considered it, although he was sure that Echo or Yaz would have some kind of reasoning for that. At the very least, he’d figure out what it was that they had done, shine a little light onto the situation that was, otherwise, looking rather dark at the moment. Yet everything seemed to align against him questioning the robot, for a moment of panic set into him as he was held back from the women, and by the time he had calmed his mind another situation had arisen as he finally figured out what had happened to Benji.

He felt his jaw drop the same time Doc did from the vent, decommissioning the bot with a stab from something ripped straight from a big budget sci-fi flick. Unlike those kind of films, however, the next minute was not filled with Benji space-ninjaing his way through the hallway, deflecting bullets and slicing aliens with his energy sword before finally freeing Owen, who would then grab some kind of laser rifle and the two set off to rescue a trio of distressed damsels, murder a whole hive of aliens, and quip back and forth the entire time. Instead, it was filled with shouts and screams as Benji dropped to the ground almost instantaneously, his body shaking like a sapling in a hurricane as Owen was whisked away to join the others.

Owen took a moment to try and recuperate himself as he sunk to the ground.

But then he decided to just forget it and to start spilling his guts out.

“Jesus Christ, I think they just killed the Doc,” he whispered between heavy breaths, wide-eyed. “H-h-he took out their robot, and one of those freaky Skullmen blasted him with something. I don’t know what it was, but he was just shaking and then I heard him screaming, and them screaming, and, and, and holy crap, man.” He shook his head, trying to get the sound out. “If he isn’t dead than I’d bet that he wishes he was. Oh man, oh man. What are we going to do? I mean, what can we even do?”

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

is there anything better than hard liquor and narcotics?

@GinookazenoJinn

Happiness, lollipops, and sunshine?

Beyond the Storms

Thursday's my day off, I'll get a post up by then!

Carvings of the Galaxy

Heard that. Hopefully I'll find some time tonight or tomorrow to churn something up; I'm still trying to process how Owen's gonna react to aliens.

_{Probably poorly.}

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

It had happened once before. It was back when she was known as Joy, or rather, the first time she was known as Joy, a nickname created once to tease her for her hard, stoic nature by her peers. She was much younger then, but also much quicker in both her ability to neutralize a threat and to suck the mirth out of the atmosphere. She was famous then, too, in the way people are famous for stories that have been exaggerated and warped so much that they are more like fairy tales than reality. In the tales she was a beautiful swordswoman who would only find love and marry when a man was able to best her with his blade. In reality she was already wearing the hard, glum face that only grew more severe with age, and the only thing she was married to was her duty as a Kingsguard and to her country.

In that way, it could be said that she was the most devout wife. She never complained when she grew tired, she never wavered in carrying out her responsibilities, and she went out of her way to make sure that her charges would be able to protect themselves when she was not present. Most importantly, she did not ask questions, even when the orders given to her were questionable. Maybe if she raised her voice in disagreement when her King started his ill-fated march to the West, using the knowledge she had gained from devouring stratagems and military histories to point out the flaws in his plan, then perhaps things would have been different. Knowing Olain, however, she doubted he would listen. She doesn’t blame herself for not speaking up.

She blamed herself for not being there in time.

She could see her Queen, now, out of reach, beyond a sea of enemies. She could feel the weight on her body as it grew more and more tired with every swing, slash, and parry as she carved herself a path through crowd, the H’kelan sun beating down on her brow. It seemed almost hopeless; with every soldier she fell, another seemed to take his place. She kept pushing, pushing, pushing forward, men and women falling, falling, falling around her like autumn leaves. It didn’t matter that she was tired. It didn’t matter that her body ached. It didn’t matter that she was out of breath. She couldn’t let this happen again. She couldn’t fail again. She had to reach her. She had to reach her. She had to reach—

—Olain. The sun was gone, now, as was the H’kelan heat and the dry, oppressive air, replaced instead by an eternal darkness and a torrential downpour of rain that turned the ground into mud. She was in the West again, some fifteen years ago, and she could see herself fighting. She was fiercer back then, brutal even, perhaps second only to the Direwolf who was left back East. However, despite her fervor she was losing. They hadn’t anticipated the Gifted to put up such a strong resistance so soon after their battle with the God Kings, and they were paying for that. She had fought plenty of men before, but this had been like fighting monsters. It was beyond her abilities, and she knew it.

But she couldn’t run, because her King needed her. She could see him in the distance, squaring off with the Void Lord himself, outmatched and out of her reach. She kept throwing herself against the other bodies, not carrying of whom her sword ran through as long as it meant she got closer to Olain. She had to reach him. She had to protect him. It was her duty. It was her everything. She saw the Void Lord raise his hand, could feel the energy crackle in the air. She wouldn’t make it in time. She failed, she failed, she failed. She felt her legs buckle, the exhaustion of battle finally overcoming her, and she collapsed to her knees, waiting and watching through the swarm of soldiers around her for the end. The hand went down, and—

—She was back in H’kela. Again, on her knees. Again, defeated. Again, failing in her duties. She watched, petrified, through misty gray eyes as the amalgamation formed itself into being. Once more she was met with an opponent that she had no hope of reaching, let alone even being capable of defeating. Her head fell as the creation lunged at the Queen. She didn’t need to watch to know what happened next. The screams, the crunch, the laughter of a mad man, all of it painted a picture well enough. She felt the will to fight escape her body as she folded into herself, not caring if she was to be trampled, cutdown, or devoured. She heard the continued yelling, screaming, could hear the people around her try and put up a fight. Why were they bothering? It was over.

Through the corner of her eyes, she could see the red glow. Lifting her head—

—She saw a red explosion turn the night sky into day from where Olain had been fighting the Void Lord. Forcing herself up to her feet, she saw Olain collapse to the ground, gravely wounded, as company of his guards rushed to flank him and form a barrier between him and the Void Lord. The Void Lord did not fall back, but the guards were quick enough to pull Olain onto a horse and retreat him from the frontline. The rest of the Barcean forces followed, all except her. The rebels pulled back, having successfully defended their homelands, and she was left alone in an ocean of death, drowning. She had failed to save him, and although he wasn’t yet dead, she already knew that she would not be spared. Back then, things were harsher. And back then, she still wanted to live.

So she ran.

Some things never—

—Change. She forced herself up to her feet, slashing at the soldier that was prepared to deliver the coup de grace on the fallen woman and smashing another into the ground with her scabbard. The Guratans had broken through and given them a way out, and she was determined to make it out with them. Yes, she had failed. Yes, they had been defeated. Yes, the Queen was dead, and the pain that brought would perhaps never heal. But she had lived and she would run because she wanted to keep on living, because if she lived then she could fight another day. So, despite the darkness and despair that she now felt, she knew that someday she’d make it right, and even as she ran with tears running freely down her cheeks, she couldn’t help but feel a slight warmth in her chest. Because, in the time that she had been Vesta, she had learned that even in the darkest of moments, hidden underneath the sadness and death and destruction, was Joy.

And she would never, ever desert them again.

Joy

Joy had busied herself ever since they had arrived at the camp. She knew her vices well enough that if she took the time to mourn Kori that inevitably she would start blaming herself for her death, and would find solace for her guilt in the bottom of a bottle of rye. That was the old woman, the crippled woman, who did that. She had to be better than that person, or any of the other people she had been in her life before, if she wanted things to come out right. And she really, truly, wanted to make things right. So she began organizing the injured, assigning healers here and there while Diane took care of Ayano, and then proceeded to deal with the quartermasters, finding where they were on supplies and how many they needed.

But as she worked herself to exhaustion, rushing to and fro amongst the Sentinels and the Guratans, acting as a mix between a messenger and a general, there was one thing that she knew she had to deal with. Or rather, one person: Cyril. The person running around, organizing the troops, giving relief where they could, should be him, not her. She was just a swordswoman, a great swordswoman, but a swordswoman all the same. She had never been a good leader, and she accepted that, but she had been a decent mentor.The Direwolf sure as hell hadn’t taught Cyril how to fight, or the poor Prince would’ve been covered in head to toe with scars.

Yet she knew that, if anyone did, then he deserved the time to grieve. It wasn’t a weakness, not as long as he did begin blaming himself for the death of his sister, and she had also been vigilant in her efforts of pushing away anybody that had tried to bother Cyril in his time of mourning. However, as unfortunate as it was, she knew that time was the last thing any of them had. Gartian and the Advisor would use this opportunity to strike at them when they seemed the weakest. She had to make sure that when they struck, they struck against unbreakable iron and steel, but to do that the allied forces needed a leader.

They needed their King.

Carvings of the Galaxy

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Owen Childs

---

After changing, Owen found himself drawn to the infirmary. He wasn’t completely aware of his true intentions as his polished shoes clacked down the hallway and paused in front of the doorway. Was he looking for Benji in hopes of catching the doctor alone to give him a piece of his mind? Unlikely. He didn’t want to open up that can of worms now, knowing himself well enough that he’d start flinging accusations at the skittish doctor that would be more harmful for the man’s already fragile psyche. Tahlia, then? No, he didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. Not now, at least. Maybe he was hoping to find Yaz? After his talk with Echo, he was quickly becoming convinced that she might be the only other person on board that classified as whatever his definition of normal meant, if being normal was even possible. But what would they even talk about?

When the door slid open with a soft whoosh and a weight came off of Owen’s shoulders when he saw Rend, strapped down but breathing (thanks to the very kind of machines the man seemed to hate), he knew why he had come. He had wanted to make sure that the man was still alive, that in his absence Doc or Tahlia hadn’t done something horrible. Although, would it be horrible to silently end the old man’s life? After all, he had cheated his way onto the ship, he had acted irrationally, he had pulled the gun, he had intended to hurt or even kill Tahlia. What did he add to the crew except danger and uncertainty? What would he offer to a new world? What value did he—Owen shook his head. He didn’t have the right to assign value to a person; that was something Rend would do. He stood over Rend now, his arms folded over his chest as his eyes studied the catatonic man.

Something a leader would do, he thought with a thin smirk on his face, his mind drifting back to his conversation with Echo. Probably why this jerk pulled a gun. He knew right away how worthless it is to put any effort in this stupid charade.

“It’s going to come up sooner or later,” he said, looking the ventilator up and down. “Of what we should do with you, I mean. Obviously, we can’t just let bygones be bygones. We aren’t idiots. I like to think that we aren’t idiots. We could just lock you up somewhere. Give you three hots and a cot until you croak from old age. Although, knowing you, you’d probably live to be a hundred or something. The mean ones always do. We’d probably run out of food by then.”

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his glasses bobbing up and down as he did so. “We could freeze you again.”

Could they? From his talks with Echo, it sounded like the freezing process was more dangerous than any of them had been told. Likewise, didn’t it require some kind of micro-bio-whatever pills to work? And assuming they even had those lying around (which he doubted), why shouldn’t they just let the computer run its course and the five of them, minus Rend, jump back in the ice lockers? Because then we’d still be killing you, even if it was just by negligence.

He looked at the ventilator again. How easy it would be to just unplug it. Wasn’t leadership doing the things that nobody else wanted to do, but that had to be done? He eyed the machine,not knowing what to look for but knowing that if he pulled and pushed enough things on it that eventually it’d stop working. Nobody would have to worry about these decisions. He stepped around the bed to get a closer look at the machine. Nobody would know. He reached out and placed his hand on top of it, only to pull away as if he had been burned. He could never do that. He’d know. That’s all that mattered.

“I should just learn to keep my mouth shut, he said, turning away from the old man.

He had made it to the doorway when Tahlia’s voice came to life over the intercom and informed them all of their possible end. He felt his heart sink into his stomach as he chuckled to himself, realizing that he had been right all along when he had half-joked about some kind of space junk smashing them into oblivion. So mankind would be doomed after all despite their efforts. Well, of course that’s how it would be. Of course. A random, pointless end to a random, pointless footnote in the annuals of life. Fitting that he’d die in a room with somebody he hated, on a ship with four other people who were still virtually strangers. You got a messed up sense of humor, big guy, he thought as he leaned against the wall, ready for some big-budget impact to completely obliterate him in a slow, fiery explosion over a score written in the minor key played.

None of that happened. A slight shift, a twist in his stomach, a pop in his ear, and then Tahlia’s voice came back over the intercom. Owen let go of a breath he hadn’t realized that he had been holding as a wave of relief overcame him. His first thought was that it had all been some cruel, sick joke by Tahlia, but he knew that was impossible. First of all, he had felt something—the bizarre discomfort wasn’t only something he had whipped up with his imagination. Secondly, he knew that Tahlia wasn’t the kind to play practical jokes. He jammed his finger on the button to the door and pushed out of it, almost running, as he made his way to the cockpit.

“Tahlia, what’s happening?” he demanded as he walked into the room. Yaz and Echo were there; Benji was not. He frowned. As bizarre of an idea that it was, he couldn't shake the feeling that whenever Benji wasn’t around things often went from bad to worse. “And where’s Doc?”

Carvings of the Galaxy

@TheMadAsshatterShould I wait for your post then? I've got one in the chamber.