epidemiology | EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

STATE OF THE PLANET

Efforts in convincing the Qorral to stop drilling have been tentatively successful. Longterm solutions have been brought to them and, perhaps most importantly for the immediate, the fracking fields have been destroyed. The entire field has collapsed in on itself, taking mining equipment with it and creating a barren wasteland. In effect, the Qorral can no longer drill for argecite here, which means they will be leaving earlier than expected now that there is no use for the mining colony. It also means that the planet has been saved from being hollowed out completely.

On the other hand, attempts at dealing with the Deemers have been a little shaky. By now, it's known that Miz Poppy is host to the Mother, the queen of this Taraxa hive. She remains elusive, slipping through the fingers of any who manage to find or capture her. Meanwhile, the infested Qorral have been dealt with in many ways: some opting for wholesale slaughter, some hoping to extract the Taraxa in the field, and some sending both extracted Taraxa and infested hosts back to Oska to be examined.

As varied as the Deemer solutions have been, they have all resulted in the Deemer population being decimated. The numbers have dwindled as their camps are hunted down by ALASTAIR recruits, and attacks on the town of Perdition's Rest halt.

But the Mother is still out there and free, and that's a problem . . .

THE INVASION (DAY 1)

In the morning, the ships come.

Visible from the ground are massive spaceships in the upper atmosphere, gently drifting clouds sometimes blocking them from view. The Qorral don't recognize the ships; they're neither from their homeworld nor from any species they know, friendly or otherwise. For a few hours, the ships just hang in space like looming, silent buzzards, waiting.

And then -- sparkling, metal objects start falling to the planet. It's difficult to tell what they are, as their scale is minuscule compared to the gigantic warships above, and their descent is strangely beautiful. But as the objects come closer to the surface, the details become clear: individual spacecraft. They're gleaming in gold and white metal, a triangle sigil painted on the sides, and cannons mounted on the bottom.

These are Zymandis fighter craft. And they are not here to make nice.

The fighter craft swoop down close and send a barrage of lasers down on Perdition's Rest, causing the local Qorral to scatter. But their fear doesn't last long: many immediately take up arms to fire back at the ships when they're low enough, including Sheriff Holladay, who shouts commands to anyone who will listen, Qorral and ALASTAIR alike: take cover, give 'em hell, and for sun's sake, don't be a hero. (Those who have been officially deputized may access the sheriff's armory, which includes all sorts of fun toys of the shooty variety.)

But some Qorral have something else in mind. A small pack of locals rides out to the farm of Amos Zephyr -- and if you're suspicious enough to follow, it'll pay off. Beneath Zephyr's farm is a hidden defense platform: earth slowly moves aside as a metal platform raises up, home to mounted anti-aircraft cannons and fighter craft of their own.

The Qorral fighter craft are intuitively designed, and the Qorral will also quickly give any curious ALASTAIR recruit a run-down on how to operate them. They're short-handed since so many of their number joined the Deemers, so they're very eager to allow anyone to try their hand at flying the two-man ships, which have their own mounted cannons and, of course, escape parachutes. The fighter craft are not meant for high altitudes, though, so your dreams of space travel will have to wait for another time.

Those who do not wish to take flight and aren't comfortable with projectile weapons may find luck searching the desert for prey: namely, Taraxa agents attempting to flee in Zymandis escape pods. It seems as though the fighter craft are a distraction from the real goal of Zymandis helping its agents flee the planet. The Zymandis agents who are not Taraxa are variously humanoid, all equipped with laser weapons (spears, rifles, whips) that they will not hesitate to use against any who interrupt their attempts at escape.

For those who aren't battle inclined, there are civilians who need to be ushered to safety, and quick repairs to weapons, equipment, horses, or even the Qorral fighter craft will be needed. This fight is going to be a long one.

THE AFTERMATH (DAY 2)

It's peaceful now. The Zymandis warships have fled into space with the surviving Taraxa agents in tow, the Mother presumably among them. The combined efforts of team Audentes and the Perdition's Rest colonists have successfully staved off the attack.

The destruction wrought by Zymandis (and, perhaps, by overeager recruits themselves) is visible across the planet: deep fissures and scars from the laser cannons, fighter craft wreckage from both sides, burned buildings and trees, perhaps a fire still raging in the scrub grass somewhere. The Qorral aren't quite sure what that was all about, but they're more concerned with ALASTAIR's efforts in helping than in pointing fingers.

Q-65 is no longer a suitable home, so the locals begin to pack up in preparation for the arrival of their homeworld's ships in the next few days. An old man puts his chess pieces away; a little girl clutches her robot pony doll, unwilling to put it in her suitcase; the stable owner and the blacksmith stand close together and talk in hushed, affectionate tones. Sheriff Holladay lets her deputies know they've served the colony well. It's bittersweet, but the Qorral always knew this settlement was never permanent.

The mission complete, Audentes should expect to arrive back at Oska shortly. Use the time to say goodbye and finish up your business. Or, if you'd like, drink some of the booze that someone just found in the cellar beneath the burned-out saloon. It doesn't keep during interstellar travel, and no one will begrudge you a little celebration.

OOC NOTES

This log wraps up the Perdition's Rest mission! The log will last two IC days, after which characters will immediately return to Oska via dimensional rift (on 21 December in OOC time).

Mission epilogue details will go up at a later date, but for now, Audentes can rest easy knowing that the mission has been a success. We will be posting an OOC post-mission assessment on 14 December so we can discuss how the mission went and talk about the state of the game in general.

There is a new bounty on the Oska Bounty Board! Perdition's Rest bounties remain open until 21 December, at which point you will no longer be able to turn them in. You can also request bounty missions at any time.

Please direct all questions pertaining to the mission to the dossier page to keep questions and responses in one place for easy player reference. General game questions should be directed to the FAQ. To submit a player plot or future mission idea, please go to the Suggestions post.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Thanks to Olivia, Urahara's wounds from the fight with the whip-wielding Zymandis operative have been healed, though he's still holding his arm in a sling- the broken bones were knit, but as it's the worst of his injuries, he's not really willing to leave anything to chance. That's his sword arm, after all.

He should've known not to push himself this hard- especially in his gigai. He got so caught up in everything...

He's too restless to just leave himself to sleep this off, and his right arm will be useless for another day or so, so he's just taken to pacing around, checking the damage, and trying to be presence, even if it's just to counteract his boredom.

At least Sieglinde has the right idea...

He takes a seat beside her, pulling a bottle he swiped himself during his wanderings out of his kimono and waves it above her head.] You know, it's a very sad thing to drink alone, Sieglinde-san~

[For all his exhaustion and quiet beating himself up, he can at least keep that lilt in his voice.]

[Urahara is a vague presence, floating like a leaf in through her peripheral and then sitting down and removing himself from her field of vision once more. A good ally, this one... he could take steps as if he wore hundred league boots, he could fight, and he could research... a good teammate.

She laughs a short, aborted chuckle at her own joke before she sighs again even more dramatically, waving her hand... though it's hard to tell if it's in greeting or a dismissal...]

If that is the custom of the world from whence you came, then I shall allow you partake of my company, good sir...

[The more she drank the more she reverted back to her native tongue, and the more formal and stylized her speech went along with it, not even assuming at all the comment could be a reference to her own habits. Bad habits, maybe, she thought she might be a bit disgraceful looking at the moment.

What would Wolfram say? (She would never know, perhaps. Ever.)]

Well, that's appreciated. I'm getting tired of pacing the town.

[he sits, folding his legs underneath him and works the cork out of the bottle with his teeth, which is as indelicate as they come and making them a fit pair right now- polite in tone and word choice and disgraceful in everything else.

the still-smoldering township lays a little ways in front of them, a monument to their successes and failures on this mission. mockingly, Urahara raises his bottle to it and takes a swig.]

I predicted it might get this bad, but it was a worst-case scenario. Just once I would like my best-case scenarios to come true.

[It was best to be realistic, wasn't it? Though Urahara sat down, (she heard it, she was pretty sure), she couldn't bring herself to bend at the waist or knees, to haul herself up into a semi-respectable sit. Her body was heavy, still bone-deep tired from all the magic she had used the previous day, let alone the physical healing she had done to compliment, bandaging, brewing, stitching...]

In my worst-case scenario everyone was killed.

[Others might find it disconcerting to hear from her such frankness, the same sort who didn't seem to think she was old enough or mature enough by the standards of their world for things, but Sieglinde had come to expect a certain amount of respect from Urahara in that regard. Despite his apparent penchant for flippancy and teases.

She had seen enough of violence and death, of duty and sacrifice, even before her recruitment, let alone after. Despite how physically young she was, that didn't change.]

Therefore, I sanction this "celebration" as well warranted.

I suppose that would have been worse. [he wouldn't have permitted it, of course. he would have found a way, and all of that is why he's presently nursing a healing broken arm, isn't it? he pushed too hard trying to get a desired result and got careless.

that's why you don't perform your experiments on yourself. that's why the scientist is the observer and why the chess player doesn't get down on the level of his pawns.

ah yes, frankness is deserved in such a situation- from Sieglinde as well as himself. the impartial observers trying to remain distanced but guided by a desire to do well and be appreciated for it. in that regard, they succeeded and any failings on their parts shall be cast aside... in time, at least. Urahara will return to Oska nursing his wounded pride long after the last of his remaining wounds heal and his reiatsu pools have been restored to full.]

It was very kind of them to leave us their alcohol, though not I'm not sure how far it's going to go. [he takes another determined swig. it'll take more than this to get him soused, but that's probably for the best. he doesn't have anyone here who could comprehend the amount of trouble he gets into when he's drunk enough to function but not drunk enough to consider the ramifications of his actions.] But, like everything else, we'll make do, and add it to our collection of bittersweet victories.

Making do is a requirement here, as I am sure you know.

[Maybe you could argue it was a requirement most anywhere, but as lofty as she spoke in her cups, (as lofty as she usually spoke), Sieglinde wasn't actually terribly interested in nor manually prepared for a deep debate on that topic. Instead, she messily tries to take a drink while still lying down, a delicate, sipping feat that would likely end in stains, but. Sitting up was an effort beyond her at the moment.]

I have had- I have seen six victories now under ALASTAIR's banner. Six.

[Victories had never seemed the right word for what they did and how it ended, but that was what they were called. Success. Victory.]

I'm afraid that's not limited to here. [he entered into this arrangement with the bittersweet victory that took a century to win hanging over his head. he had believed that this could assuage some of his guilt- give him an opportunity to make good without breaking something else to achieve a victory.

that, unfortunately, is impossible. he can no more change his nature than Sieglinde can drink from that up without spilling in her current state.

and, honestly, he's not interested in a debate about the inevitability of some form of defeat you have to deal with as you move forward. so he presses forward.]

And I'm sure all of them end with this kind of celebration. [well Zeta-12 didn't, but he has no faith in the majority.] And maybe the smell of something burning. We should just embrace this and start toasting marshmallows in the destruction.

[he's joking, of course- it's a little too morbid, a little too tongue-in-cheek, but you have to find the humor in it somewhere.]

[She's more than willing to let him move past that, let that sort of thing lie... like she was lying in the dirt, (like she lied all the time, with words).

Especially when there was a more pressing question.]

What is a "marshmallow"?

Hm? [he turns his head slowly, uncertain if she's asking because she's soused and words aren't making sense anymore, or if she's legitimately asking. upon coming to the conclusion that she's far too intelligent for the former, he bursts out laughing.]

They're little puffy confections. You toast them over fire or the stove and they get soft and gooey. But they're best when they're used to make candy.

[Sieglinde's gaze narrows when her brow furrows in consternation to be laughed at, not exactly jolly or particularly charitable when she was in her cups.]

Do they taste particularly good or some such?

Mmhmm. The candy ones, especially. They were always very popular at my shop.

[new life goals: give Sieglinde some marshmallow candy.] And they come in different flavors and shapes.

Your shop?

[Sieglinde makes an attempt at sitting up- well, perhaps that was an attempt. She moves slightly, at least.]

Simply because I am not at my sharpest does not mean I shall be easily fooled. A candy shop...

[he laughs a bit in faux-embarrassment.] It's more of a general store, I suppose...

And you generally sold... ?

[Don't say "candy".]

[is the fan coming out... is it??? yes, it is. behold, his fan.]

Well, I do order specialty items for my frequent customers. And there's a wide variety of household items... and candy, of course.

[he peers over his fan at her.] You seem surprised.

[Was he... a dancer? So far Sieglinde's experience with fans has been largely in an artistic capacity, so... she's just going to shelve that.]

By specialty items I assume you mean your inventions?

[She raises a brow, even though she has no fan to hide behind.]

You simply did not seem the type to squander your talents on... candy.

[no, he's just weird. and if he's pleased by her compliment, it doesn't show- for once he doesn't actually feign the embarrassment, rather choosing the more confident approach. Sieglinde is intelligent- too intelligent to believe in false humility.]

Oh not usually. Maybe a minor one here or there, but to be honest, I don't trust most people to be able to use my inventions well or wisely. And I have to turn a profit somehow if I'm going to be able to fund my projects.

Ah...

[That made enough sense for her, in the semi-drunken state she was in. She was nodding, at least, and waves a hand grandly.]

It is best to use one's inventions oneself, it is true... people are often too foolish.

[The burdens of genius.]

[foolish or powermongering bastards- the latter he worries more about, because watching his hogyoku being used like that by Aizen had stung. he was guilty of creating that monster, and maybe Aizen would have found some other way to liken himself to God without it, but it wouldn't have been as easy.

to chase this thought away, he takes another long swig.] Plus I like the simplicity of it- keeping a shop running. [being a complete shyster, etc.] I don't think I could ever give up being a scientist, of course, but... [he shrugs one shoulder] There's something almost pleasant in a job that doesn't involve trying to make everyone's problems yours to solve.

[ah. that was surprisingly candid, and he won't even blame the wine. it's a sentiment he figures she'll understand, anyway.]

[Isn't that the truth?

Isn't a lot of what he's saying the truth?]

I do not think I have ever imagined such a thing.

[An attempt to sit up fails and she only succeeds at rolling onto her side, mumbling more than actually speaking.]

Living simply. It is not in the stars for one such as I.

[Or they?]

[he supposes a respectable adult would tell her she's too young to think her life should be scripted and planned, and that she should have a little more faith in her ability to break the cycle.

but she's a girl who believes in tradition, and that's one thing. the other thing is that he's been this way since the moment he discovered cleverness made you invaluable, and if he's been thriving on variations of that same concept for centuries, it would be unfair to expect her to do what he never found reason to do in the short span of a human life.]

Well, that can't be helped. [it's as close to admittance as he wants to get. he would like to retire and live simply, now that his debts have been clear... but they haven't, have they? there's still Ichigo, and he's enduring ALASTAIR's employ to buy himself time to fix that problem.]

Pretending never hurt anyone, but inevitably you end up in the same position you were in to start with. [he chuckles quietly, barely perceptible beyond the rise and fall of his shoulders] Problems won't stop just because you solved one or two- ALASTAIR's entire agenda is proof of that. And if I really wanted to live simply... I wouldn't be enduring any of this. I would be doing everything in my power to leave.

[It wasn't in the stars, she says, but more accurately... it was in her mind. She has not yet reached that point in her own world, when she will be given the choice. The choice between living quietly in the country, a simple doctor amongst simple people, or the chance to discard any hope of a calm and uneventful life in favor of countless riches to fund her research, a study that could go on as long as she lived and there were things yet to know.

But she already knew which answer she would choose. Perhaps it was the stars that had given her such a lust for learning- perhaps they are to blame.]

I like problems.

[Not... having them... solving them. But she's a bit too drunk to be articulate, and a bit too experienced with this sort of drunk, with melancholy, to shut her mouth.]

You must also like problems.

[Like recognized like, in some ways.]

What is a Green Witch without problems?

[she is very much in her cups, and he isn't, though the rate at which he's drinking this Qorral wine suggests he plans to get there inasmuch as he's comfortable with soon enough.

he considers her words carefully, debating between candor (fair is fair) and well-thought out omissions or borderline lies. in the end, candor wins.] I think I must, considering how often I make new ones for myself.

[he finds them, and he makes them. every solution comes with its new set of problems. it's a neverending cycle. he's efficient. if he really wanted to, he could solve problems without creating more loose ends to tie up, but science isn't neat and orderly and accounting for every variable doesn't mean things won't turn out bittersweet.

Ichigo's sacrifice could have been just that, but Urahara won't let it go. it gnaws at him.]

It seems like a Green Witch has a lot to shoulder- sacrificing her feet to the wolves and requiring problems to solve.

[it's said mildly, because as much as he sees quite a bit of his own demons in her, they deal with them very differently. she's rooted deeply in her tradition. he decided long before his exile that tradition shouldn't be everything.]

[In the stars, she had said... and maybe that is what it was. The stars, destiny, whichever... they were good enough explanations for the things one could not control.

Being born to a woman who had been mad and desperate enough to do what she had to her own daughter. Being raised ignorant to the outside world. ... Maybe even making SuLIN.

But they aren't excuses for what happens after, even she knows that.]

What has been sacrificed...

[Her feet. The ones she had unbound attempting to be less of a burden. The ones she regretted unbinding even now, when she was at her lowest, when she found herself undeserving of attempting to forget what she had done in her own world.]

How little it seems to matter sometimes. Here.

[But it mattered to her. Even if no one else could understand. Even if they shouldn't even be required to.]

[there are no wolves here, he had told her, having been one of those who didn't understand. her response had been enough to get him to back down from that line of thinking, because, in the end, who she is and why she's that way is all her own doing.

his "I know best always" attitude only applies to the bigger picture.]

People are self-involved. It's nothing against them- in this situation, I think most would have reason to be. But we're all here, being pawns in whatever game ALASTAIR is playing, because something mattered to us enough to agree to the cause, instead of going against it.

It all matters, even if not everyone understands or comprehends the reasons, because it feeds into why we're fighting at all. [he pauses, canting his head slightly, and offering her a tiny, sympathetic smirk] Some of us just... try so hard to believe that we're all fighting for the same reasons, and that our scars are relics from the places we came from.

And that's how we get arguments like the ones Achilles-san sparked.

Edited 2016-12-18 23:52 (UTC)

EVENT ★ COWBOYS VS. ALIENS

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