epidemiology | OPEN PLOT POINT LOG ★ THE GOOD SHIP LOLLIPOP

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OPEN PLOT POINT LOG ★ THE GOOD SHIP LOLLIPOP

May 4th; REPAIRS GALORE

Maybe you responded to the post on the network about the big discovery, or maybe someone you know roped you into helping- either way, so far it seems like this ship might be the only feasible way off the island. If you can get it up and running again. The controls and internal systems seem to have been largely preserved intact, but they'll need a bit of maintenance- you know, repairing corroded wires, unsticking the buttons, cleaning the screens, reattaching the power... and that's not to mention the outside. There's a large hole in the hull that needs to be repaired with metal salvaged from other places on the island, barnacles and rust that need removing, breeches that need putty...

A few recruits take charge to direct work flow, but people are encouraged to work on what they can! Even if you're not super strong there's still work you can do, and of course the volunteers need to be fed! There's a job for everyone... but this is going to take a few days at least.

May 11th; A BREAK IN THE STORM

There's just one problem. Even once they get the ship in questionably operating order... how in the world are they going to clear that fierce storm? The ship might be ready to sail, but it's definitely not ready to take another beating.

Though surely some recruits are doing their best coming up with ways to either make the ship sturdy enough to sail through or find a way to banish the unnatural storm, it seems like they might be stuck in dry dock... until the clouds disperse and the sun begins to shine. Wait- what just happened?

May 12th; BON VOYAGE

Now the storm has cleared, it looks like you all might just be able to get home! ... Well, not home, but. Back to Pu'ulai at least. The journey might get off to a bit of a rocky start, since they need to figure out A) how to use the strange touch screen steering apparatus on the warship and B) which direction to sail in, but at least this thing has a good radar, so hopefully they can avoid any "I'll never let go, Jack!" conclusions.

Thankfully it's a large vessel so quarters aren't cramped for the nearly 2 days it will take to get back to the others. Be nice, share your food, take shifts so people don't fall asleep at the proverbial wheel, all that jazz.

Try not to freak out when the shore of the island approaches and everyone realizes no one replaced the brakes on this thing. Brace for impact?

May 14th; REUNION TOUR

The marooned crew is back! All those messages you were trying to send to people in the other group that never got through? Watch out, because your inbox is about to get flooded. (Or not, if you're a grump no one messages.) A giant Dakal warship crashing into the beach is bound to attract native and ALASTAIR attention alike... and the older generation of Nalawi actually go for their weapons and pitchforks in a panic, ready to defend the beach against a foe they never thought to see again... but find themselves confused upon realizing the passengers are ALASTAIR recruits. This is the place for your teary "I thought you might be dead!" reunions as well as the more bro-esque "glad you're still alive, loser" type greetings.

You all have a lot of information to trade. What happened on that risen island? Sacrifices flayed open? Ryba is huh? Nalanni is wha? Kidnapped?! Woah, slow down. Wouldn't it be great if ALASTAIR would get in touch? (Shh, that's May 15th).

OOC NOTE;

This is a mod-sponsored plot point driven log for those marooned (and later, those who were left behind). If you'd like to do some OOC organization/plotting, feel free to utilize this thread! Please direct any questions there or to the mod plurk. The disappearance of the storm on the 11th is relevant to another player plot point soon to be revealed, so that is left a bit vague for that reason. Feel free to play out reunion stuff here if you'd like, though because of a few plot points left to be revealed, you may want to bookmark this and come back for srs threads once those go public. Thank you! ♥

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[ The voice doesn't ring many familiar bells, but some of the names do. Which is good news, because tiny footsteps pattering along the sand are too soft for him to hear. How do people live with such uselessly bad senses, honestly.

And so Lancer turns just in time to notice the little girl running ('running') straight into him. Not fast enough to stop her from... bouncing off his leg, but he manages to pinch her by the collar before she can fall. ]

Ah, geez, sorry— [ it's his fault for not being OP enough to dodge away ] Don't think I'm who you're looking for.

[Running, even in quotations, was a generous description of Sieglinde's movements- a semi-controlled series of stumbles in a decided direction, more like. Her feet, not much good for balance on a good day with solid ground, were practically useless on sand- but at least sand was mostly soft.

Lancer's leg was less so. She closed her eyes, used to this- to falling, throwing out her hands in front of her to catch the sting of sang grains and the jolt of impact on wrists and elbows, only... The sensation didn't come. A jerk at her dress collar did, though, and she instinctively sort of flailed weakly, long hair messy and salt crusted-ly stiff and preventing her from getting a good look at whoever had "caught" her.]

Wh- who is that, place me up at once- !

[ Oh... did he make it worse somehow.... He answers lightly, as though that might calm her. ]

Ah, nobody important. [ clearly so, if he didn't make her earlier list ] Name's Lancer.

[ He picks her up like a cat by its scruff, setting her straight on her feet. It's done delicately, though—his body's been turned mortal and soft again, but he's got his wits about him still. Doesn't take a heroic spirit to have noticed her shaky, bitty feet in the fall. Though the real gravitas of it is lost—the Celts saved mutilation for their enemies—he does her pride the courtesy of trying to stand on her own first.

But he does at least stick around, because he's helpful like that. ]

I'm just some guy standing around to trip you up, princess.

[Sieglinde was often torn in times like these. Part of her could recognize it after it happening so many times- that some people either wished to allow her the dignity of attempting to do things on her own, or did not wish to overstep a boundary. That sentiment was appreciated- but having been carried almost all her life by a manservant at her beck and call... Mostly she just wished people would pick her up and save her the trouble.

But she managed to stand at least, locking her knees and digging her oddly arched feet into the sand until they were half buried and gave her a bit of leverage. Her gown had been torn before the journey and it had only gotten worse, exposing her bandaged limbs and... Even more salt stiffness. What- they'd had trouble collecting enough pure water to drink, let alone bathe in! Saltwater it had to be.]

I am no princess, I am a lord-

[Corrected on instinct, a second before the name registered and she suddenly stopped looking all around him, (for Masamune, for Olivia, for Ban, for everyone she knew), looking up at him sharply, brow furrowed. She did not sense any magic coming from the man himself, but many of their number had been rendered without since the volcano...]

- then you know where I can find Archer?

[People didn't normally just... Call themselves things like that, did they?]

[ If the essence of 'ugh' could be concentrated in a singular expression, he's wearing it right now. Not over her sorry state of dress or the salt licks, but— ]

...I don't make a habit of knowing where he is.

[ The curse of the Fate naming system: being associated with Archers. Still, mild enough disdain to ruffle over quickly. ]

But I can help you look. [ He's school of hard knocks all the way, but what sort of asshole leaves a crippled girl to stagger her way along a soft beach alone? He offers her a hand. ] Friend of yours?

- Well, that is fine. I only wished to ascertain if you were a Servant or not.

[At least she answers glibly, lips pursed and nodding along. That face meant recognition, if not a good relationship. - Not that she expected them all to get along simply for being the same sort of being. After all, she'd seen Archer and Gilgamesh's conversations.

And Archer... of the people she knew who had not been marooned with her, he was one of the one's she was least concerned about. He was strong, and more level-headed than many.]

Still, I, Sieglinde Sullivan, the Green Witch, shall accept your escort!

[She takes his hand, grip as firm as a twelve year old can manage, using him to balance herself as she takes a few, steadier steps.

You've been recruited.]

[ He barks out a short laugh, trying for a withering look and failing. This little sneak. ]

Yep, you got me all figured out.

[ Ah well. Lancer still takes to his role of walking stick gracefully, weaving her away from an obnoxiously large conch in the sand as quickly (or slowly) as she can manage. ]

I'm not much of a Servant right now, but I'll do my best, your lordship. [ Said with enough sincerity to fill one whole thimble. ] What's your first order of business?

[Slowly, more than anything. But at least she doesn't stumble or trip so much when she has his hand to hold, her grip alternatively tightening and relaxing depending on when she had to use him for balance, each step with an unnaturally tiny foot careful.]

Hoho, then that will be most appreciated, Lancer.

[... Definitely used to being treated like a lord. Just because she'd learned how to survive without such treatment didn't mean she wouldn't take it when she could, though.]

If I cannot find Masamune, I shall need to find somewhere to eat and bathe- and...

[She looked up at him curiously.]

You have not seen my familiar, have you? He appears somewhat like a barghest...

[ This might be the first time someone's actually treated him like a... well, a servant. In life, Lancer was more used to being waited on, but his hand is calloused under her grip—he knows work. This much he can do without complaint. He'll even swing their arms a little, path meandering as he muses aloud. ]

Barghest...?

[ Missed his realm of myth by just a smidge, sadly. Still, ]

Don't think so, but I'm surprised you're summoning familiars already. Must not be called a witch for nothin'.

[ Most mages just didn't stack up these days. ]

[After what had happened in her own world, Sieglinde had decided not to trust so easily any longer. Not to open herself up to believing, when so much of what she had blithely believed had been the foulest of lies. But even deciding that... It was hard to be mistrustful when you had to rely on others for the simplest act of just going somewhere, anywhere. So she told herself it was fine- she would still be slow to trust, but.

This had to be different. If she couldn't trust people enough to hold their hand or take their arm, to raise hers to be picked up and carried... She would never be able to see things, do things- and it wasn't fair. So she trusted Lancer enough to lead, not watching his path so much as her own, occasionally fumbling but catching herself on him, grumbling in antiquated German about accursed trap sands.]

Large canine? Face is sort of... Skeletal? Glowing eyes?

[She's used to giving a follow up explanation of that term, at least, gesturing with her free hand to her face. If Isengrim were about she could lean on him, or even ride astride, considering how tiny she was. After all, she wasn't exaggerating when she said "large canine". More wolf than dog, but not quite that either.]

Well, I did not summon him on my own, I must admit, but-

[As tempting as it was to take the credit, she couldn't- though she is quick to make up for it.]

But rest assured the Green Witch is more than capable! ... My line simply specializes in healing, rather than summoning.

[Those little white lies roll easily off her tongue, though. Things were just easier that way.]

[ That's a pretty freaky sounding dog, Sieglinde. Why not... a husky. Lancer chalks it up to mages being weird (Servants themselves were technically familiars, and probably odd-looking), keeping an eye out and his hand steady, slowing down minutely at stumbles. Whether or not he's worth trusting is too early to say. But at the very least, he wouldn't let her fall. ]

Is that so... [ he sounds very convinced, way to go ] Well, that's not a bad place to start.

[ He seems gentle enough now, lifting her over some driftwood. But his methods often involve subtleties like explosions or maybe giant wooden animatronics made of fire. Magic was dull enough already—not really helped along by a cleric's duties, useful as they are. ]

Kinda boring though, isn't it?

[Because huskies are boring, Lancer, that's why. Why go husky when you can go skull-faced dog from potentially the mouth of hell? No one would, that's silly.

He's quite good at escorting though, she would give him that. The driftwood maneuver was quite smooth.]

There is very little "boring" when you are the only person standing between a man and his grave with moments to lose.

[Says the twelve year old. But even a second or two after she says it she regrets doing so flippantly, expression clouding over slightly. How many patients had she treated since Anwick? How many did she lose in Chantes? If she had been minutes slower she wouldn't have been able to save Masamune's arm, and there had been Gilgamesh's wounds and Alice's stomach, and-]

... Besides. A healer ought be happiest when times are dull.

[ That's pretty heavy shit for a preteen. But he's met children bolder and greater than grown men claiming to be soldiers, kings—could she carry that sorta weight? Sure.

Should she have to? No. If only kids didn't. His expression softens unconsciously. ]

Like a warrior should be happiest at peace, huh...?

[ ... ]

Anyway, I wouldn't really know. [ He waves vaguely with his free hand. ] I'm only any good at wrecking things. [ Killing, fighting, what have you. A weapon, through and through.

Still, he smiles. The sand starts to part to slick silt and mud where some water's flooded, and that's enough pride for now. He picks her up in one easy scoop, setting her on his shoulder as he trods forward, heedless to the dirt caking his boots. ]

Guess people like you are the only reason I survived as long as I did.

Ideally.

[She knows it for that- an ideal. Not something that was necessarily realistic. Just as she imagined there were healers who thrived on that life and death struggle keeping patients alive, she knew that there were warriors who didn't fight for justice or a goal, only for the thrill of fighting or a love of bloodshed. ... A type of person who wouldn't appreciate peace at all. As to whether he would, though,]

Simply because it is an aged tree does not mean it cannot be bent, you know. At least you are not so proud as to admit it, like-

[Her version of old dogs, new tricks. (Sorry, if you're a Servant she marks you down as Old.) But then he picked her up in a single easy movement and suddenly she's on his shoulder, (a quite nice, steady and muscular shoulder), and she blushes slightly without meaning to as she anxiously put a hand on the top of his head for balance, glad to be off her feet but not wanting to say it in words.]

Like some people...

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OPEN PLOT POINT LOG ★ THE GOOD SHIP LOLLIPOP

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