RPG Grove

Kyeera is impressed by the strange station up until the moment where she begins descending the boarding ramp into a sea of almost familiar faces. Its one of the few times anyone on the crew has seen her stop in her tracks, or noticed anything on her face that might vaguely resemble panic. Its for only the briefest of moments, however, as the captain runs some mental calculus and schools her expression back to being equal parts unimpressed and irritated.

She casts a glance at Xi'asz, a silent question of 'What in the hell is this?' clear in her eyes as she steps forward.

Uncertainty was not a feeling that Kyeera was used to. Her crew had seen her walk through hellfire with a smile on her face and a drink in her hand, mowing down enemies with the pistol in her other hand without so much as a flinch. But it wasn't often that she walked into a potentially hostile situation surrounded by those that she would very much prefer not to do bodily harm to. The conflict in her mind was palpable, despite her best efforts to contain it.

Still, she had to keep up appearances as the captain. Turning towards not Zimeon, she bowed her head in greeting. "Your welcome is graciously received. We put ourselves in your capable hands while we seek repairs, and hope that you will extend us your hospitality," she greets politely, not bothering to introduce herself as she imagine, based on many of the looks she was receiving, that everyone here was quite aware of who she was.

Once the physical damage assessment is complete and Xi'asz has taken over flight controls, Betua slips away to the Lofty Shrine. Kneeling at the altar, xe interfaces with the connective systems of the Siren, visualized as phloem in xer head. Gently testing the ruptured lines around the boarding pod's impact point, xe sections off that wound in the hull, redirecting the energy flows around it like a tree forming a knothole. Once repairs are complete, xe can see about gently teasing sensation back into the scar tissue.

Betua is never quite sure how important the Lofty Shrine actually is to the functioning of the ship, but it feels like xe has helped somehow. Perhaps that's my problem in a nutshell: valuing feeling helpful too much.

The other purpose for going there is to decompress following a stressful experience, which Betua does by playing several rounds of Ephemeral Shapes. The predictable motion of the shapes and the way they effervesce as xe assembles them into structures is tremendously soothing.
Betua fidgets with a clicky device as the Siren approaches the dock, which xe promptly drops, clanging down the ramp one jarring bounce after another, when xe sees who is waiting as they descend the ramp. Being left out of the mission had put Betua more in the orbit of those left behind, so xe knew some of the faces, but as someone who had wanted to be on the mission that had taken their loved ones, xe had found interacting with them and their grief... uncomfortably complicated. Xe hadn't kept in touch with any of them, really, in the years since.

So now, of course, Betua has no idea how to greet them. Do I wave? Do I nod? Make eye contact? The angle of the boarding ramp and Betua's height makes hiding impossible. Xe settles for looking everyone except at any of the people in the landing bay. A bit too distracted to process with Kyeera is saying but recognizing the contours of a greeting, Betua fills the subsequent vacuum of sound with "Hi."

Lav continued to stare out from the small window of the airlock, watching the empty space and absorbing the emptiness around it. Grayness swirled with a soft hue of the natural lavender in their auracels as the watched silently next to the Captain like the ghosts of something trying to reach out in the dying sea that stretched out endlessly before them. Even as the Captain pushed away and opened the comms, Lav remained and stared, their pulse slowed with a dulled mauve that faded into the grayness of their skin bleaching out other thoughts.

While the ship traveled, duties were completed. First, pieces of the attackers equipment - and some literal pieces that had detached at various points in their failed attempt on the Siren - were collected and disposed of where necessary. Extra munitions and rifles stored in the armory, security keys and comms equipment were examined for usefulness before being jettisoned to insure the Siren was not tracked further. A momentary stop in the ship's galley kitchen to retrieve a nutrient bar. And then...silence and waiting as the ship hobbled to wherever it was they were being taken.

*****

'Anger. Fear. Panic. Guilt. Nervousness. Worry. Scared. Tired. Shame. Regret. Confused...'

Lav stepped backward on the ramp behind the rest of the crew as they disembarked onto what Xi'asz had called 'Remnant Outpost.' They grit their teeth, rubbing their skull at the nauseating waves that scattered along their cels in a chaotic, violent mosaic. Negative emotions were always the most difficult, and the shock mixed with the overwhelming confluence of different reactions to the crews appearance felt like someone dragging heated metal across Lav's skin. The glow along the ridges of their skill shimmered with a rapid, stuttering cadence, micro-tremors rippling under the skin in fast, involuntary, desperate pulses while they tried to mute the waves. Eventually, all Lav could do was draw in a breath and hold it, and wonder if it might be better for them to stay on the ship rather than face all sides of this sudden reunion.

Just a quick trip inside. Something to numb. Then they can deal with this. Whatever this is.

The half step to turn, to return to the familiar emptiness of the Siren is stopped cold as they stared at the haggard man that looked so much like Zimeon. It wasn't him, but the familial resemblance was uncanny enough to wretch at Lav's stomach worse than any hangover they had experienced. For a brief moment their was a flicker of glassy maroon that punctuated through the mess of other muted colors along their skin before Lav broke their gaze from where Xi'asz, the man, and the Captain stood, trying to stare vacantly ahead at nothing rather than focus on any one person in the small group and risk feeling sick at their reaction. Nothing. You are nothing. Look at nothing. Their arms folded around their middle, pushing their shoulders straight, lips thinned into a neutral expression. They inhaled, held their breath. Held until they forgot to breath and then breathed again.

Then they walked forward, just behind the rest.

Tik, as they often do during travel downtime, dissociates from their projection and takes a few moments to rest mentally. They do enjoy the experience, the ability to be here with these entities that she has grown attached to, but having to maintain that projection all the time wears on their distant physical mind. Being able to let go for a time is helpful, restful. And lonely.

They haven't seen another of their people in a long time. The possibility that Tik is the only one of their species left has crossed their mind more than once. So while dissociating is restful for a little while, before long they crave the companionship of their crew once again and no matter whether they're fully rested or not, the silence in their head is too much.

Tik passes the remainder of the time moving from station to station, helping out with small tasks here and there, simply being present. There's an undeniable tension on the ship, they've noticed. It's not just the tension of all of them being back together. That was expected. Layered on top of that is the sense among all of them -- as far as Tik can tell -- that this is going to be their last mission. Last mission together, probably last mission period. Tik is going to take as much advantage of the time they have together as possible.

Xi'asz hadn't said much about where he was sending them, but Tik was hopeful there would be some more opportunity to spend time with their crewmates.


The entire station is a source of fascination to Tik and their background mental processes churn away at the engineering required to connect all these ships in such a way and have it remain durable and safe. They're all too happy to depart the ship where they might have a chance to study the mechanics a little, perhaps ask Xi'asz a few questions.

Then they see the greeting party and all interest in engineering disappears in a puff of quantum entanglement.

"Xi'asz!" says Tik brightly. "I had no idea you had taken up genetic engineering! Where did you get the tissue samples? This is remarkable work, being able to produce such uncanny simulacra! I would love to hear more about how you accomplished it." Tik cocks their head to one side, studying their hosts. "How did you solve the degradation issues? Or did you? Telomerase activators maybe?"

Suddenly, Tik straightens up, eyes going alarmingly wide. Too wide for a physical form, but possible in projection. For a moment, it seems like Tik has realized their error, but then they say, "I'm sorry. I'm being terribly rude aren't I? I'm Tikreta. It's lovely to meet you all." As an aside to Dr. Argent, they say sotto voce, "It's amazing enough Xi'asz was able to accomplish this much. I can only assume he didn't solve the transferance paradox and regenerate their memories as well."

The mix of reactions was pretty much exactly what Xi'asz expected and exactly why he hadn't said where they were headed. There would have been discussion and consideration and deliberation and then Hastur would've pulled rank and scuttled the plan.

They had time for precisely none of that, so he opted to just let things happen organically, fully prepared to deal with the fallout. He was, like always, ready for everyone's potential responses, save for Tik's uncanny ability to use Occam's Razor as a machete.

Tikreta wrote: ↑Wed Apr 16, 2025 4:10 am "Xi'asz!" says Tik brightly. "I had no idea you had taken up genetic engineering! Where did you get the tissue samples? This is remarkable work, being able to produce such uncanny simulacra! I would love to hear more about how you accomplished it." Tik cocks their head to one side, studying their hosts. "How did you solve the degradation issues? Or did you? Telomerase activators maybe?"

Suddenly, Tik straightens up, eyes going alarmingly wide. Too wide for a physical form, but possible in projection. For a moment, it seems like Tik has realized their error, but then they say, "I'm sorry. I'm being terribly rude aren't I? I'm Tikreta. It's lovely to meet you all." As an aside to Dr. Argent, they say sotto voce, "It's amazing enough Xi'asz was able to accomplish this much. I can only assume he didn't solve the transferance paradox and regenerate their memories as well."

Xi'asz closed his eyes, swallowed once, and let out a clipped sigh. He gave Bracken's shoulder a comforting squeeze and looked at the crew.

"I solved the degeneration issues by not cloning anyone. This is Bracken, Zimeon's younger brother, operations coordinator here. And over there, that's Soltrice's twin sibling Saraia," he said gesturing to the being with coarse purple and orange fur bristling over a heavily muscled body. "Once it was done, once word got out, they weren't safe because of their familial association with...what happened. I took my cut and got them all out. There's a few dozen here, all their family members. I've been picking up work here and there to funnel back into the outpost here."

He glanced over to Maren — they'd been Wylo's partner — and saw little Swid's face peeking out from behind his parent's thigh. A sad smile pulled at the corner of Xi'asz's mouth as he locked eyes with Hastur.

"It's not enough, but it's something anyway. Now, how about some dinner before we get to work on the Siren?"

He glanced over to Maren — they'd been Wylo's partner — and saw little Swid's face peeking out from behind his parent's thigh. A sad smile pulled at the corner of Xi'asz's mouth as he locked eyes with Hastur.

"It's not enough, but it's something anyway. Now, how about some dinner before we get to work on the Siren?"

Kyeera meets Xi'asz's gaze, a mixture of mild betrayal with hints of something akin to guilt gleaming in her eyes. She knew very well why he had elected not to share where they were heading. The burning, oppressive panic building in her chest wouldn't have allowed her to land the Siren here had she known in advance, but that he had hid the existence of this station completely.

She would have helped, she told herself. She would have done anything to ensure that the legacy of her fallen comrades was preserved. But as she thinks more deeply on it, perhaps he had been right.

For one, she was the captain of the Siren. Had she been involved in this, someone might have found out, and their efforts would have been for naught. Additionally, she was prone to... extreme solutions. Tik's tirade about cloning only mirrored ideas Kyeera had thrown out in one of her inebriated stupors. Had she known all of these people were in one place, there was no telling how long it'd be before she used her resources to transform this place from a bastion of protection into a testing chamber to bring the dead back to life.

No... Xi'asz had it right. She couldn't be trusted with... with something like this.

"Of course," Kyeera agreed, hiding her inner turmoil from sight as she turned to the welcoming party. "Is there a communal mess, or dining hall? If we can all migrate there, then perhaps we can all settle down and get to know each other better."


Being such an accomplished captain, especially after their exploits, she wasn't unaccustomed to wining and dining, or acting diplomatically when the situation arose. But she worried, in this instance at least, about coming off as unnatural. She tried to loosen up and chatter with the others while they walked, but the air was still tense with mistrust and accusation. But she tried her best.

She was still aware of everyone around her. That sense of danger surrounding her hadn't dissipated, even with Xi'asz's silent assurances, so she could plainly sense the immense discomfort coming from Lav. As they all filed into the mess hall, and Xi'asz disappeared into the nearby kitchen to begin crafting the evening's meal, Kyeera stopped her distressed crew-mate.

"Why don't you help Xi'asz in the kitchen? You can take your meal in there too. I'll make sure you aren't disturbed. Once you're finished, feel free to join us," To others, the short barrage of statements might sound like orders to stay away from the others and out of sight, but she was doing her best to offer a life-line to Lav. She had noticed that she no longer partook in communal meals on board the Siren, and if she did not wish to join such a small and intimate gathering, then this one would probably be too much for her.

With a firm pat on the shoulder, she turns and enters the dining hall. Again, she had to mentally argue with Xi'asz's choices. Given his utilitarian nature, it made sense that such a place would be designed similarly to military outpost's mess hall, but that also meant that there was no head table for Kyeera to claim as her seat. But again, the inner voice of Xi'asz that seemed to have wormed its way in upon landing in this strange place explained that that was by design.


Taking a deep breath, Kyeera took a seat nearby that had some space. Unfortunately, the others at that table included Bracken, and the eldest son of their head of Maintenance, Chrix. He introduced himself as Khal, holding out a chitinous hand in greeting, which Kyeera gratefully took.

As meals were served and drinks were poured, Kyeera found herself in better spirits. Standing from her table, she lifted her glass to address the others in the room.

"Your hospitality and generosity are felt deeply and wholly," she began, her authoritative voice ringing out. "My heart is heavy with the memories of the fallen, but to see their faces and their souls living on in each and every one of you gives me some measure of hope and peace, as I hope it does for you. So I raise my glass to their memories. May they live on forever in our memories. To Chrix, and Wylo. To Soltrice, and Lyantha. To Zimeon. To all."

She'd be standing there all day if she listed off everyone who sacrificed their life for her pursuits, but to say their names, to offer remembrance, to some, she would take the time. As she raised her glass in toast, she wondered if the outpost has a memorial of some sort, and if they didn't, if they would mind if she established one. But as she sat once more and began to partake in Xi'asz's meal, a tug at her sleeve diverted her attention.

Looking down, she sees the small, ruddy face of Swid looking up at her. His four, tiny eyes blink at her in wonder, mirroring her own blinks of confusion. They stare at each other for a time, one trying to overcome their shyness, and the other, truly dumbfounded on how to address the tiny life form.

"Can I help you?" Kyeera asks, looking down at the child and then at the others present at the table, silently crying out for help.

Xi’asz Séalgair wrote: ↑Sat Apr 19, 2025 3:29 pm "It's not enough, but it's something anyway. Now, how about some dinner before we get to work on the Siren?"

Lav hung back on the in the landing bay, watching the large group, and crew, begin to make their way following Xi'asz. There was a tug in their stomach: follow the group. But following meant diving further into the miasma of negative emotions lingering over just about every creature on the station. Guilt. Discomfort. Tikerta was the lone empty spot. Not empty: muddled. Their connection. That and the small child. But it would look very odd for a grown Veyari to hover near a small creature like that. Particularly one like Lav, prone to bad decisions.

Kyeera Hastur wrote: ↑Mon Apr 21, 2025 2:24 pm "Why don't you help Xi'asz in the kitchen? You can take your meal in there too. I'll make sure you aren't disturbed. Once you're finished, feel free to join us," To others, the short barrage of statements might sound like orders to stay away from the others and out of sight, but she was doing her best to offer a life-line to Lav. She had noticed that she no longer partook in communal meals on board the Siren, and if she did not wish to join such a small and intimate gathering, then this one would probably be too much for her.

Honestly, Lav would rather have taken the opportunity to disappear back into the ship. Perhaps dig out an inhaler capsule, hopefully one with an anesthetic, climb into the maintenance ducts and pass out for a few cycles. They had to still have something in their things. If not..perhaps they could just explain to the Diagnostic Response Unit Zeta. DR-Zee could be convinced Lav simply had head pain..that it required an very high dose to mend.

But no..kitchen duty. Kitchen duty with Xi'asz. Cooking a communal meal for ghosts and memories. And that immense sense of guilt that came with it. Deep, bruised indigo that made Lav's stomach just feel heavier. It throbbed through their auracels like a trembling vein, too overwhelming to tell who's guilt they were feeling. "Yes, Captain Kyeera.." they intoned, resigned to their fate.

Still they took their time to arrive to their duty, making sure to avoid any sort of small talk or potential pitfall that could arise from speaking too long with one of the denizens of Remainder. This meant, of course, that Xi'asz had already arrived in the kitchen, was busy checking stocks for some unclear meal plan.

'Fifteen minutes. Then I'll make my leave. Perhaps run an errand..

Rolling shoulders back, Lav willed a more placid 'ready to work' look on their face and approached a counter with various vegetables and artificial proteins. Sustainable.

Scanning the various ingredients, Lav felt something in their mind tickle. It made their eyes itch. "For Sennah'ti Khol, you will still need chive. Does this station have chive?" they asked.

Not waiting for a response, Lav slid a thick panel in front of them. There was already a thick, blunt tipped nakiri knife on the panel, and Lav took the opportunity to begin dicing onions, seeming to just decide that - whatever Xi'asz's plan for the meal was - it was now going to include Sennah'ti. They were not sure why they felt that way.

"You kept this from us. Captain Kyeera, it is understood. But why the rest of us?" they asked as the blade slit through the thick ribs of an onion with a satisfying *shick*.