edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:captain jack aubrey

The weather was perfect, warm and sunny with a clear, endless sky. You gain an appreciation for real sunlight, real wind after spending so much time within that carefully designed climate of a ship. There was work to be done, as always, but there were a few leisure hours to be had and Dolios seemed like a place designed to enjoy them.

Unlike many places, the docks weren't actually in the seediest, grimiest part of the city. A few minutes wander away from the ship's berth she'd found something that wouldn't look out of place as an Earth's sidewalk cafe. You could definitely see this place having a brunch menu. Kate managed to snag one of the tables outside and the local drink, something orange and tart and more than a little alcoholic.

With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back in her chair and looked around her. Kate liked the ship. She felt useful on the ship and being part of a team. But for a few hours, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Come across Kate enjoying the day while the ship is docked!

xiii_legion

Dolios

Population: 57,000
Area: Total 21.1 sq mi
Time Zone: GST +4
Demonym: Dolioso

Main export: Tourism
Main attractions: Municipal Casino, Dolios Music Festival, Melantho Castle, Medon Resort
Climate: Mild and warm most of the year round; a short, rainy winter season.

wise_ass

Docking in Dolios in 2 days, friends. If you haven't already given all your have-to-haves to Miss Forbes, come find me this afternoon.

It's been longer than usual since their last trip planetside, almost a month, which means Bert's afternoon and evening should be completely sewn up in orders.

So the shuttle door is open and Bert's inside, slouched in a threadbare damask easy chair with a cigarette burning steadily beside him in its tray. He's using one hand to prop up his tablet and using the other to punch numbers on an outmoded keypad. The room is filled with the smell of tobacco and the musty, slightly spicy smell of antiques and old books and something else that's harder to place, green and herby. This is what passes for the sitting area though there's only one real chair; the rest are metal crates draped in sackcloth and one aggressively saffron leather ottoman. There's a Frankenstein's monster of an apparently digital gramophone playing complacently on the bookshelf across the room, nearby a curtained door that leads to the cockpit.

Bert's frowning at the screen, fingers perched in midair as he considers some of the ingredients he's been asked to source for the sake of Mister Grauza.

"Offal," he mutters to himself, expression slightly curdled as he reluctantly adds it to the list, fingers clicking busily on the pad. "And people say there's no truth in advertising."

Just then, Bert looks up to find someone standing in the doorway.

highfunctioning

The void of space is momentarily interrupted by the presence of the spacecraft Persephone: a mid-sized ship on a mission of exploration, research, and interplanetary commerce and cultural exchange. She is operated by a crew of anywhere between 15 [skeleton] and 60 [full compliment] from all walks of life. She represents a Consortium of Planets, and her home port is Earth.

In addition to the crew, there is a lively contingent of passengers aboard at any given moment. One of the goals of the Consortium is to promote interplanetary exchange, and they view safe passage as a public service. Papers to travel with Persephone are easily obtained at your home world's embassy on any Consortium affiliated planet. There is a basic background check and standard set of physical examinations, of course, but nothing troubling or invasive.

They've been en route between planetary systems for three weeks now, and life is unremarkable. Routine. There is an air of purposeful contentment.

crocodilehunter

Say what you liked about the lower levels, they at least had food and drink and a refreshing lack of monstrous interlopers. Hook had detoured long enough to bathe and dress himself in something befitting a pirate captain before making a beeline for the nearest replicator and requisitioning the best booze he could find. After only a couple hours he had been rewarded by a large bottle full of amber liquid that was closer to rum than anything he had tasted in years and, being a sociable soul, he had brought it and a stack of glasses to the kitchen (where all good parties seemed to congregate at some point) to begin the process of meeting the neighbours.

sharpshooting

Since Pullo's party it had felt to John like the entire station was holding its breath. Waiting for what, he couldn't be sure, but he was certain the monsters hadn't been the end of whatever the station was building towards. He went about with that nagging sensation of having forgotten something, and he didn't think he was the only one. Everyone seemed subdued; not quite nervous, but never entirely relaxed.

Well, John had had quite enough of tiptoeing around. Back home it would be the height of summer-time, and it seemed stupid not to enjoy it. At this point even fake sunlight was better than none, and he said as much in his invitation. The arboretum provided more than enough space for everyone to gather, and it wasn't hard to enlist a few people to help put up a few tent poles and a sheet for a makeshift canopy. Tea, lemonade and a boozy punch of dubious colour (but refreshing taste) were set out, along with a very random assortment of biscuits which he hoped would be augmented by people bringing their own offerings.

Soon the space was buzzing with people, and John sat contentedly on the grass, sipping a glass of lemonade. It may have been a frivolous way to spend an afternoon, but there was an old saying (one almost as British as tea-time itself) about gathering rosebuds which John thought was all the justification he would ever need.

[You know the drill; tag in, tag each other, tag everyone!]

Current Location: the arboretum

inhisnest

While Clint would prefer there not to be another invasion on the station, he can't deny the thrill he felt at actually being able to do something again. Even more important is the fact that he has his gear back. He's been a marksman as long as he can remember. A sniper without a gun or a bow is like being crippled and he swears he had some vague approximation of phantom limb syndrome until he had his bow back in hand again.

And now he doesn't let it out of his sight. It's stupid, probably, and he's sure the rest of the station thinks he's a little odd but Clint has never particularly cared what other people think of him. The ones who matter - they never seem to judge. His group of people that matter seem to be dwindling and he wonders what will happen when he's the only one left.

He has never minded his own company but that's on his terms.

Today, he's in the kitchen trying to get the replicator to give him coffee just the way he liked it back home - black, hot and strong. He's gotten several mugs of...not so good coffee, one that would have been okay if not for all the cream in it and he has hopes for this one.

"One cup of coffee. Just one."

And to think, he used to drink it by the carafe.

dr_lauren

[06/01]

Lauren, Bert and Jack head out to the corridors in search of more supplies. It doesn't go well. [x]

Separated from the others, Lauren gets rescued by an unlikely ally. [x]

Back in Sanctuary, Lauren seeks out some comfort and reassurance. [x]

xiii_legion

Once all the bodies are disposed of and the station is hammered (more or less) back into place Pullo figures it's time for a celebration. Everybody seems a bit down in the dumps, which is understandable - there's nothing left to kill, and that can make anyone a bit grumpy. But they had been stunningly successful at the killing they did do, and that deserves a party.

After a few days of preparation the hall is ready. The theme, if it could be said to have one, seems to be meat - there's a large variety of roasted and smoked meats threatening to buckle a table along with various other fruits, fish and breads, and enough scarves and tapestries adorning the walls to keep even Lady Troi happy. Most importantly, there's amphoras of wine all over the place as well as copious amounts of the harder spirits he liberated from some of the busted-open tavern rooms on the upper floors of the station. A makeshift altar to Fortuna stands along one wall - he has no idea how observant people are and whether they'll be smart enough to leave offerings to the goddess, but might as well give them the chance, eh?

Pullo was meant to be a legionary, there's no doubt about that. But as far as other careers go, party-planner wouldn't be the worst option... as long as you're happy with a bacchanal for every occasion.

good_cop

The Sanctuary was a more bustling and active place than it had been last time round by a country mile. Perhaps it was because they weren't locked in this time - thanks to Forge and Zoe's efforts with the doors they now had full control over them.

At least we have control over something around here, Sam mused grimly as she looked about herself at the people going back and forth. Some had insisted on returning to their quarters for various supplies - understandable she supposed, but dangerous. Unfortunately it had thus far been impossible to get people to agree to stick to given schedules, routes or buddy-systems, with several people she would much rather were hiding out in safety out stalking the corridors, variously armed and no doubt variously likely to return with all their limbs intact. But at the end of the day, she wasn't in a position to tell anyone what to do, so it was really just a case of hoping that people would check in regularly. It did make it impossible to say whether the people who weren't here were off on a scheduled jaunt or off lying in a pool of blood somewhere - a less than comforting thought, but short of the regular scouting missions that some were taking in between shifts on the informal guard roster, there wasn't much they could do about that - even their comms weren't entirely reliable right now, shifting in and out of range mysteriously at various points in the station as though some of the things that had escaped (or the damage they'd done) had somehow disrupted the communications relays.

She and Lauren had been able to bring only their emergency backpacks with them, otherwise completely laden with the various sizes and types of protective vests they'd managed to coax from the wardrobe room. She would have liked to to get proper body armour of the type Sharon wore, but it was too carefully tailored - there was just no time to get everyone customised kevlar suits, so simple vests, for those who'd wear them, would have to do.

They'd seen very little of the 'supers'. With a couple of notable exceptions, most had immediately grabbed their weapons and disappeared, returning only occasionally and often with half-healed wounds or covered in gore, some of which was definitely not their own.

But after the gathering of an impromptu crowd of the less combat-ready, someone - she didn't remember who - had brought up Sanctuary, and after a flurry of activity, gathering of emergency supplies (and some rather less emergency booze and cigarettes, she reckoned), and general preparation, they were setting up base in the newly hacked emergency bunker - and not before time, either, for a few hours later they were informed that floor one had joined floor two in darkness, the lights knocked out by some as yet unconfirmed enemy, though there were some popular theories - wilful vandalism by rabid cannibalistic space pirates, some said, accidental acid damage said others or - and Sam shuddered just at the thought - deliberate sabotage by the primary foes in a film franchise that Sam had very much enjoyed watching on screen but had no wish to see played out in front of her.

A few - Pullo, Cuthbert, Jack, Sharon, Peeta and Krista among them, all reassuringly competent souls - had stepped up to offer their services setting up defences and guard duty, and Steve Rogers had given up his gun to be used by those who didn't have their own weapons. Jack had shown himself to have quite the head for the defence aspect and was at present out with some of the others setting up some makeshift barriers in connecting corridors to help to create a 'safe zone' around the Sanctuary airlock.

Not long after Sam had taken the plunge and started throwing instructions around Mycroft had appeared at her side, lending his own quiet, well-considered opinions and advice and even 'getting his hands dirty' along with the rest of them as they all hauled as many useful supplies (including most of the kitchen's built-up pantry and all the emergency first aid kit they could find) as they could to the Sanctuary in one trip, sticking in groups with armed guards. Even then she was amazed they had made it mostly in one piece given the hell that seemed to have broken loose, but here they were, the next day, apparently all still alive, at least for now.

dr_lauren

"...and please, don't forget to take some vervain if you haven't already," Lauren finished, motioning towards a small test tube rack with a dozen labelled vials still resting within it. The security briefing with Sharon, Clint, Sam, Pullo and Cuthbert had been completed already, and with the general announcements about what to expect from the supers and the vervain Lauren figured her public safety duties had pretty much been completed. She glanced at Sam briefly as if seeking reassurance, and at the other woman's tiny smile and nod she took a deep breath, turning away to the first tray of waiting syringes.

***

The actual injections took very little time at all; with people monitoring just about every patient it meant that John and Lauren could concentrate on injecting the serum, confident that they would be alerted to any immediate issues by the others. She was cautiously optimistic that this would work, however, and indeed it wasn't long until the first stirrings and murmurs began to drift through the medbay, heralding the return to consciousness of the sleeping supers.

withmyshield

( Sharon finds some things in the vents & decides a new approach is in order. )

"You're going to kill me," Bert says as he walks up, supplies bundled under his arm. "But why are we doing this, again?"

“That’s exactly the point, Bert. Why.” She descends the ladder and sits on the lowest rung so they’re eye to eye. Eye to feverishly intent eye, possibly.

“Why haven’t we already done this? We’ve been so focused on keeping ourselves safe day to day that we’ve forgotten that we’re just not. We can’t just sit around and wait for this space station to decide it’s time to wipe us out and start over.”

This conversation is bringing up a lot of points in Cuthbert's mind that are definitely better left unexamined, or at least unsaid. His best guesses concerning the nature of the station and their captors are wildly misfigured, or so it would seem listening to the others talk. But still, what's he going to say to her as she stares him down?

To be honest, Sharon, I'm pretty sure that 'wiping us out and starting over' is just one of many little boxes left on the to-do list of the mad gods that trapped us here, mayhap along with 'deadly frost doxies' and 'innocuous-looking, pickle-flavored beer'.

But it doesn't seem like Sharon's looking for a philosophical debate or palaver and if crawling through a couple of dark tunnels is going to make her feel like she's in control again, she's come to the right idiot.

"I couldn't agree more; I've been wiped out once and I didn't care for it at all." He hands over the supplies, tucked into two nifty little pouches he’s found that strap conveniently about the waist, along with her water pack. He’s got the cable and the metal clips they’ll (hopefully?) use to secure it in a tight loop on his belt.

She doesn’t blink before strapping on the fanny pack, which says a lot about how anxious she is to get a move on: transplant New Yorker she might be, it’s never OK to look like a tourist.

All of that seems slightly less important compared to finally finding a way to break the stranglehold Proserpina’s had on them. If she has anything to say about it, they won’t stop until they find the computer mainframe, a climate control board, or someone stupid enough to admit to being in charge.

luckyjackaubrey

Jack's transportation out of the cell and into one of the largest rooms he'd ever encountered was no less disconcerting than his arrival in that cell twenty-four hours earlier. At least Jack's ability to sleep through anything and at any time had no failed him, and most of his confinement he had spent snoring with no notion of the time on waking which was just as well.

In any case, having no explanation for either arrival, Jack dismissed the question from his mind and set about examining the area. His footfalls echoed off the great empty chamber as he paced about, first in one direction and then the other, finding no clue at all as to the manner of his capture, for captured he surely had been.

"Discourteous of the buggers not to present themselves and state their intentions," he said softly to himself.

Finally, Jack stopped, facing down one of the long corridors, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ahoy!" he called in his booming ship's voice. "Hello!"

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Edge of Forever RPG

November 2013

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the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:captain jack aubrey

Planetside: Dolios

Docking Plot: Dolios

(no subject)

come sail away

Kitchen GP

like a tea-tray in the sky

(no subject)

backdated - Monster plot

Fors Fortuna (GP)

Sanctuary

Knockout: The End (GP)

Epic Vent Forays 5/19 to 5/27

Captain Jack Aubrey: Debut