redshiftlogs | october 2019. welcome to the void.

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october 2019. welcome to the void.

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Fourth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of October 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. sini express delivery service.

There's something odd rolling through Anchor. Whether they wake with it next to their beds or find it sitting neatly in some corridor as if placed there just for them, characters will start finding items that are distinct and unique enough that they have to belong to someone. But where are they coming from? And whose are they?

The easiest way to find out is probably to walk around with the item held high yelling "Does this belong to you?" but that's not a good way to cover a lot of ground.

Don't worry, though! There's someone (something?) to help you. Chiming in periodically from communicators or intercoms across Anchor comes a voice that might sound a little familiar to anyone who made it as far as that spaceship wreckage in the wasteland. Softly laughing and humming, this some-one-thing will cheerfully coax characters in the right direction, giving tips and offering little clues to anyone who might be confused about whose item they have.

Characters struggling with identifying whose item they got might hear a helpful voice whispering out of their device as they move around the city - "Warmer, waaaaarmer...oh no! COLD!" They might hear a laughing voice coming out of a nearby speaker, giving tips or riddles about the person the item belongs to - "Her eyes are grey!" or "What kind of spider is sweet as pie?" Sometimes, it'll just be amused giggling at the efforts of those trying to find their object's owner. That bubbly voice is everywhere, encouraging residents to solve the riddle because "It'll be wooooorth it. Pinky swear!"

And no matter what, it can't be turned off or muted, and it doesn't respond to any direct attempts to communicate in return.

b. flu season.

No one probably takes special notice, at first. It's a sniffle here, a cough or chill there. 'Tis the season in some universe, after all, and even the advanced decontamination process isn't completely flawless. But what starts as a tickle in the throat gets a little worse over the span of a week, or in some cases a lot worse.

Whether laid up for a few days or longer, afflicted characters can expect to feel a few consistent symptoms. Dizziness, lightheadedness, chills and fever, coughing and sneezing (that kind of sneezing that comes in annoyingly long bursts and makes you feel like you've shot your brain out of your nose).

Oh, and hallucinations. Mild ones! Nothing to write home about! (If you even could, anyway.) Hallucinations are the last stage of this mild interuniversal flu, an annoyance more than anything...

And it leaves some people immune, and some people even more susceptible to what might follow.

c. harvestival festival.

Something good is happening in the agricultural sector. Weird, right?

But lo, the whole place has started to bloom seemingly overnight. Tiny fruits become noticeable, then large. Edible vegetation is flourishing, and you can tell which vegetation is edible thanks to the flocks, gangs, and small herds of creatures that have emerged from the still-wild depths of the sector. None of these creatures are aggressive except as a means to protect themselves when scared. Unused to strangers as they are, they'll probably let you get pretty close! Which means you could hunt them, I guess, or try to lasso and bring home some critters to the farm and fenced areas.

The food varies wildly. From electric pink berries the size of a pinkie to giant purple melons nestled in beds of vines. The tastes are as exotic and strange as the fruits themselves. A few people might even recognize some kinds of fruit from home. The root vegetables, squash, and edible vegetation is as colorful as the fruit, though a little more weirdly shaped. Why does that carrot-seeming thing look like a coiled spring? Who knows? You can't judge its life.

The culinarily inclined can take harvested goods to the kitchen areas and start experimenting, but beware! Even plants that look like they could be from Earth or other areas that the residents of Anchor know probably taste a little weirder or more intense than normal. Your best bet for a good recipe is to taste a little bit of everything before you get started. The spicy, the melony, the crunchy, salty, and sweet. There are no available records of what any of these things are, so you'll have to make it up as you go! The only consistent thing across all the agricultural sector's bounty is that NONE of it is poisonous. And none of it will get you high, Klaus and Kabal, so don't get your hopes up.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A. DELIVERY [Closed to Cho & Annie]

[ Back in his own world, a lot of cryptic and inexplicable things happened to Reynir. He had visions and saw omens that made no sense - at least, not at first. But he has learned to accept them as part of being a mage, and to do his best to solve whatever mysteries the gods place before him.

So when he comes across a jacket and a sweater laid out just outside his bedroom door, he stands there blinking at them for a few moments, wondering. He tries praying a little, to see if that will yield any guidance; after a few seconds of that, though, he gets bored and takes a more direct approach, searching the clothing for any signs that might tell him what he's meant to do with them.

He jumps a little when a voice comes from the communication device he has been using in this place, telling him: ]

Someone is missing those!

[ That is all the prompting Reynir needs. He sets out into the more commonly-frequented areas of the Anchor, brandishing the garments and asking basically anyone who passes: ]

Do these look familiar to you?

[ He isn't totally naive; he intends to ask anyone who answers 'yes' what is in the pockets, to confirm they aren't just lying to get a nice coat. Once he encounters a few people who tell him this has been happening, people receiving items that belong to others, the weird cryptic hints and encouragements from the laughing voice, he wonders if maybe someone has something he is missing, too.... ]

B. FLU

[ Reynir has always been fairly healthy. Of course he's gotten sick a few times in his life, but not often, and not very much. Mostly they were sore throats or sniffles that he ignored as he kept on working; farm labor doesn't stop for something as small as a runny nose.

But this illness begins differently. He just feels cold, and weak. It's difficult to notice at first. He thinks perhaps he just hasn't had enough to eat, or gotten enough sleep. It's the clumsiness he notices, first. Then the shivering, and trembling, and overall exhaustion. He keeps needing to sit down in between tasks, keeps thinking about how nice it would be to lay down on his bed and sleep, even though it's the middle of the day. He pulls on two more thick sweaters and keeps on with his day, tending to the crops he has planted, prepping the soil in a new area for more, going to the mess hall to clean up after anyone who hasn't cleaned up after themselves.

He doesn't quite realize how bad he looks, too-bright-eyed and flushed, buried in all those layers, shuffling around and just trying to get some dishes washed. The ache in his head comes on so slowly he hardly notices it, but a furrow of pain settles in to his brow, as he pushes on, just trying to get through the day so he can rest. ]

C. HARVESTIVAL

[ Reynir is delighted by the unexpected harvest. What better treat, after laying around in bed feeling useless and sick and miserable, than this bounty?

He wastes no time in making his way to the agricultural sector, picking what feel like a ripe sample of each of these new kinds of fruit and placing them all in a large basket. He finds a nice cozy spot, spreads a blanket on the ground and sits there, a little paring knife in hand if he needs it, just sampling the different fruits.

Once he has a good sense of how they taste, and how to gauge when they are or are not ripe, he gets to work. Fresh fruit is great, but so is not starving during the months and months that may come after this sudden bounty. For Reynir, drying, preserving, and/or canning vegetables and fruit is like second-nature. He is working with slightly different different tools, here, but he's adaptable and has no real trouble in getting himself set up in the kitchens, half a dozen pots bubbling away, jars and other containers spread out around him, working away for hours and hours to get as much of this important harvest stored safely as he can. ]

Edited 2019-10-12 11:50 (UTC)

[It's one thing that Onni and Reynir have in common, that probably most people from their world do, and that's not being sick often and tending to work through it when they are. He's been feeling a bit under the weather, mostly nauseous and a little too warm, but been ignoring it for most of the day. It isn't too bad, after all, and he has things that he needs to do.

Near the end of the day, he's heading toward the kitchen with a rabbit he'd hunted up in the Agriculture area, already skinned and cleaned, feeling a little overwarm and tired, but better, he thinks, than he had when he woke up that morning. Slipping into the kitchen, he narrows his eyes and looks around to see if anyone is there, and spots a familiar long red braid. Making a soft hum in his throat, he puts the rabbit down on one of the counters and starts looking for a the items he needs to prepare it in companionable silence.

At least until he looks at Reynir more closely and sees how slowly he's plodding through the dishes, how many sweaters he's wearing, the redness on his cheeks, the furrow in his brow - it's obvious he's sick, maybe feverish. Onni has seen that look before. Sighing, he puts the rabbit down on a cutting board and walks over to the younger man, frowning a little. Lifting a hand, he presses the backs of his knuckles against Reynir's forehead and makes a noise of disapproval in his throat.]

You're sick.

[He says it simply, just stating a fact, and he tugs at Reynir's sleeve.]

Sit down, if you're going to have a fever, you shouldn't be doing other people's dishes.

[ Reynir looks up when Onni walks in, then looks back down again as soon as he recognizes him without saying a word. Normally, he would be the first one to speak, would great Onni warmly. But talking seems like a lot of effort right now, and his usual good cheer is absent. The throbbing in his head keeps getting worse and worse, and his arms feel so heavy. Every plate seems to weigh twice as much as it should, and Reynir has gone into that kind of trance that settles over a person when they are exhausted and doing a repetitive task, just trying to get it over with, running on sheer momentum.

Dip the dish in the soapy water, scrub it clean, rinse, in the rack. And the next one. And the next one. Reynir can see Onni setting up, maybe to cook something, from the corner of his vision, but he doesn't notice Onni staring at him, or coming closer. His eyes are fixed on the plates, on the sudsy water, on the sponge. Just getting through it.

So he startles when he feels a cool pressure against his forehead, and even when he looks up it takes a moment to believe it's really Onni's hand. What is he doing?!

The answer comes in a moment when Onni declares him sick and tells him to sit down, but Reynir just gives a little shake of his head. He's standing up, and doing work. Therefore... ]

I don't have a fever. I'm fine.

[ He looks like a determined breeze could knock him over, but self-delusion is surprisingly powerful, and Reynir really does think he's just feeling a little bit chilly today and maybe sleep-deprived. ]

[When Reynir protests that he doesn't have a fever and is actually fine, Onni sighs deeply and shakes his head. Having taken care of Tuuri and Lalli as long as he has, he's no stranger to people who are stubborn about being sick and won't admit when they are. So his face is determined as he ducks his head a bit to meet Reynir's eyes.]

Don't be stubborn. I can feel it for myself. Go sit down, I'm making stew so I'll finish these while it simmers.

[Tilting his head, he holds eye contact with the younger man, his expression stubborn and maybe just a touch judgmental as he waits for Reynir to acknowledge his request. Once Reynir has finished drying his hands and starts moving over to the chairs by the big counter near where Onni will be preparing the rabbit, he keeps a hand against Reynir's elbow in case he loses his balance, and when Reynir gets himself seated, Onni slips off his thick fur cloak and fastens it around Reynir's narrow shoulders, pushing the hood of it up over his head.]

Rest for a bit. I'll give you some of the stew once it's done, then we can go back to the room.

[ Reynir opens his mouth to object, but then he sees that look on Onni's face and deflates. Reynir's shoulders slump and he sets a half-washed plate down in the sink. Arguing with Onni just seems... exhausting. His jaw is set and those pale blue eyes seem accusatory and unflinching.

So Reynir nods, slowly, pulls a towel from the counter and wipes his hands dry. He can take a break at least and give Onni space at the counter if that's what he wants. But he wobbles halfway to a seat, and is grateful for Onni's hand on his arm. Maybe Onni does have a point, after all.

He curls forward in the chair, huddling under the warmth of Onni's cloak. His body heat is still clinging to it and Reynir can't help noticing it smells like Onni, just faintly. Or maybe the smell he associates with Onni is the smell of his cloak that he always wears. Reynir pulls it tight around his shoulders and, as soon as Onni's back is turned, lets himself just huddle and shiver without worrying about how it will look.

If nothing else, Reynir's uncharacteristic silence would be sign enough of how unhealthy he is. Normally, if the two of them are in the same space, and Onni is not talking, Reynir will chatter away, fill the silence, or even just hum. But now, he isn't making a sound; he isn't fidgeting, either, just stays curled forward in that chair, under Onni's cloak, half-hidden by his hood, eyes shut against the bright lights of the kitchen. Everything sounds so loud, and for a moment or two Reynir even dozes off sitting there, moving in and out of awareness, listening to the sounds of Onni cooking.

At one point he does speak, not even opening his eyes or sitting up to ask: ]

Are you sure you don't want any help?

[ Reynir. Look at yourself. ]

[Onni doesn't miss it, how quiet Reynir is, or the wobble in his step that forces Onni to steady him before he can sit down. Once the cloak is around him, the younger man seems to huddle in on himself, the hood over his head still, not moving or talking or even humming. Definitely sick, then, and hopefully the redhead will be more open to admitting it after this, because even the stubborn Icelander has to admit that he's sick after actually falling asleep with his head on a table in the mess hall.

Leaving him be for the moment, Onni starts preparing the rabbit, removing the bones and some of the organs, chopping some root vegetables and mixing all of it together with broth. What he's making is a lower-effort version of the meal his mother used to make, the one he could prepare in his sleep after how many times he'd seen her make it as a child, then helped her make it as he got older. The ingredients can vary wildly, but he still spices it the way she had, with bay leaves and salt and pepper and allspice.

He's just finishing off adding all the ingredients to the big pot and placing it on the stove to simmer when Reynir asks if he's sure he doesn't want any help, and when he looks over to see that Reynir hasn't even sat up or opened his eyes, that he's just mumbling it out. Probably out of a feeling of obligation - Onni knows very well how much Reynir likes to help. Snorting a bit, he makes a soft hum in his throat.]

I've made this a thousand times by myself, I can do it again.

[His voice is light, a little amused, and he walks over to Reynir after he's put the heat on under the stew. Sliding his hand into the space between Reynir's forehead and the fur on the inside of his cloak's hood, he feels the heat that's built up under it, feels how much heat Reynir's body is giving off. It would probably be better to cool him off, but for now he looks a little less miserable than he had before, and so Onni leaves him with the cloak, just carefully pulls a few strands of long red hair away from Reynir's sweaty skin.]

Sleep, if you can. I'll wake you when the food is ready.

[Carefully, he slides his fingers into Reynir's hair and pushes it back, a gesture that's completely intended to be comforting, the same way he would've done it for Tuuri when she was younger. Onni has been sharing an apartment with Reynir for nearly two months now, and he has no particular hesitation to do that kind of thing; he knows Reynir well enough to know he won't mind, as well. There's more heat trapped under the thickness of Reynir's braid at the back of his head, and Onni winces slightly at the feeling of it before withdrawing his hand again.

Then he turns to the dishes, washes them up quickly and efficiently, alternating placing them in the rack and checking the stew. It takes a while for the meat to finish cooking, the vegetables to soften, and it will taste better the longer it's allowed to simmer, but for now it's safe to eat. Onni scoops himself a serving, and then puts a smaller amount into a smaller bowl, anticipating that Reynir won't have much appetite, and heads over to the table to sit down beside the younger man.

Instead of elbowing him or shaking his arm like he might usually do, Onni puts the bowls down and squeezes Reynir's shoulder, speaking quietly.]

Reynir. Reynir, wake up. I have some stew for you.

[ Onni's hands feel so cool and wonderful against his skin, and Reynir leans into the touch just a little, without even meaning to, when Onni tucks the sweaty hair away from his face. Later, when he's feeling better, he is going to be embarrassed by this. By how pathetic he had let himself be, by forcing Onni to take care of him. He might be younger, but he's not a kid.

But he's too tired for now, and when Onni tells him he can sleep, it's only a few moments later that he slips back to sleep, though he at least makes the effort to move closer to the table and drape himself across it, forehead resting against the cool surface, hidden under the hood of Onni's cloak.

He has no idea how long it's been when Onni is touching his shoulder, waking him up. It feels like no time at all, except that when he opens his mouth to say thank you, all that emerges is a raspy squeak. Somehow, in that small space of time, his voice has just - vanished. Reynir clears his throat, tries again: ]

Thank you.

[ Again, the words are hoarse, barely audible. Reynir touches his fingers to his throat, his Adam's apple, swallowing, which... hurts a lot more than he'd expected it to. But he sits up straight, pushing the hood back off his head, not even caring what a mess his hair must be. Reluctantly, he touches the cloak around his shoulders, and manages: ]

Do you- want it back?

[ The words really are only just comprehensible, and saying them leaves his throat stinging. The little bowl of soup in front of him smells amazing, and Reynir inhales deeply, reaching for a spoon. Everything in his head feels too bright and strange and distorted and he wants to close his eyes again, but Onni had worked so hard on the stew... ]

[While Onni doesn't think of Reynir as a child, even though he's younger, the way he's behaving toward him is definitely familiar from how he would've treated Lalli and Tuuri when they were sick as children. He can feel the way Reynir leans into his touch and how warm his forehead feels, and sees how easily he falls back to sleep after Onni says he can.

Onni isn't feeling particularly well himself, and by the time he's settled with his bowl of stew, he's uncertain if he'll be able to eat it himself, because the thought of it sends his stomach twisting with a bit of nausea. As Reynir wakes up, he thanks Onni for the food and asks if he wants his cloak back, and both things are said in a raspy voice, accompanied by a wince as the younger man swallows, and Onni's brows raise.]

Keep the cloak for now. I'm feeling a bit too warm, myself.

[Without another word, Onni slips off his own chair and goes over to the stove, heats some water while he looks around for the makings of tea, finds chamomile and brews it in the largest mug he can find once the water has heated up, and adds a generous amount of honey. Still stirring it, he walks back over to the table and puts the cup down in front of Reynir.]

Drink that, it'll help with your throat. It's best if you drink all of it, and eat as much of the stew as you can. You'll need the nourishment. Once you're done we can go back to the apartment.

[Reynir has pushed the hood of the cloak back, and his hair is a sweaty, staticky mess. Onni reaches out to smooth a bit of it down, his expression just a little soft as he looks at Reynir.]

You're definitely running a fever. We'll have to cool your face and head once we're back there.

[ Reynir watches as Onni goes back to the stove, heating water, pulling things from cabinets. He drops his gaze back to the stew, poking at it with the spoon and trying a single bit of carrot. It's warm and soft and flavorful, and he gets it down with less effort than he'd expected.

Then Onni is returning, with tea that smells wonderful; Reynir holds it between both his hands, inhaling the sweet and fragrant steam, as if he could breathe the whole thing in. Onni touches his hair again, neatening it, and Reynir feels a pang of embarrassment and gratitude. ]

You should go.

[ His voice cracks badly on the words, and he blows on the tea, taking a sip of is to help him get out the rest of what he needs to say: ]

You're right. I guess. I'm sick after all. So... you should go. I can sleep somewhere else for. A few days.

[ Reynir could find some corner or empty room or closet to curl up in with a blanket and he would tuck himself away, small and miserable until all this passes. He doesn't want Onni suffering, too. Not when he's already done so much.

He lifts his green eyes to meet Onni's, expression worried; had he already passed the sickness on? Should he have left the moment Onni came into the room, admitted he wasn't feeling well and put himself in some kind of soft quarantine, for a little while? What kind of friend is he, letting Onni tend to him when he ought to be staying far away? ]

Reynir Árnason | Mostly Open

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