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driftfleet2016-06-22 04:37 am
isocelesmonster) wrote in driftfleet2016-06-22 04:37 am
Entry tags:
the devil in the details
Who: Bill Cipher
Broadcast: none
Action: Anywhere in the fleet
When: The night of the 22nd, and ongoing.
It'd take a careful eye to notice the only other change: the same sharp instrument has been used to carve little eyes of providence, no bigger than a fingernail, in strategic public places around the ship. They're shallow markings, not deep enough to interfere with any of the working parts of the craft, and no great works of art - each little scrap of graffiti is a matter of five lines at most. But they're there - and if sometimes the way the gold of the metal hull glints in the pupil is strangely canny, it's probably nothing to be worried about.
(It's not that Bill doesn't care about the flesh puppets that make up his new crew - oh, he does, they're all going to get very careful scrutiny over the coming days - but more important is finding out what his new playground looks like.)
When the fleet sleeps, their minds open and blossom like night-blooming flowers, each one illuminating a new section of the shared dreaming plane. For all of their poetry, few humans realize that the state of dreaming is as real an exploration as whatever meaningless actions they take while awake. It's irrelevant to their survival, most days, so evolution has never sought to provide that particular revelation. They're a young species. Five senses, auditory languages, limited psychic potential, and as far as they know when they dream they're just watching random electrical impulses fire in their brains. Ha!
(There's an expression about a one-eyed man's status in a land of the blind, and Bill intends to make it a reality.)
He steps sideways out of the material world into the closest dream as easily as a three-dimensional being can move along any of their limited axes. He makes himself invisible, at first, just to get his bearings.
[Bill is visiting dreams, as a way of saying hello! His permissions post for this ability is here. I am treating this ability on an opt-in basis. If you didn't give me the okay, he won't be spying on your character at all tonight ~but where's the fun in that~?]
ZOGSLFTS GSRH DVZP ZMW RWOV GSVNV
Broadcast: none
Action: Anywhere in the fleet
When: The night of the 22nd, and ongoing.
Although ostensibly the Golden has a new crew member, there's no new person in attendance at any meals. No new faces in the hall, nothing additional in the laundry. One of the standard crew cabins has been sealed up as tight as a tomb, the brass nameplate on the door unhelpfully scratched out with something sharp. No noises at all come from inside.
It'd take a careful eye to notice the only other change: the same sharp instrument has been used to carve little eyes of providence, no bigger than a fingernail, in strategic public places around the ship. They're shallow markings, not deep enough to interfere with any of the working parts of the craft, and no great works of art - each little scrap of graffiti is a matter of five lines at most. But they're there - and if sometimes the way the gold of the metal hull glints in the pupil is strangely canny, it's probably nothing to be worried about.
(It's not that Bill doesn't care about the flesh puppets that make up his new crew - oh, he does, they're all going to get very careful scrutiny over the coming days - but more important is finding out what his new playground looks like.)
When the fleet sleeps, their minds open and blossom like night-blooming flowers, each one illuminating a new section of the shared dreaming plane. For all of their poetry, few humans realize that the state of dreaming is as real an exploration as whatever meaningless actions they take while awake. It's irrelevant to their survival, most days, so evolution has never sought to provide that particular revelation. They're a young species. Five senses, auditory languages, limited psychic potential, and as far as they know when they dream they're just watching random electrical impulses fire in their brains. Ha!
(There's an expression about a one-eyed man's status in a land of the blind, and Bill intends to make it a reality.)
He steps sideways out of the material world into the closest dream as easily as a three-dimensional being can move along any of their limited axes. He makes himself invisible, at first, just to get his bearings.
[Bill is visiting dreams, as a way of saying hello! His permissions post for this ability is here. I am treating this ability on an opt-in basis. If you didn't give me the okay, he won't be spying on your character at all tonight ~but where's the fun in that~?]
ZOGSLFTS GSRH DVZP ZMW RWOV GSVNV
RH ML NLIV BRVOWRMT YFG Z WIVZN
DSVM NLIMRMT GZPVH BLF UILN NB GSIZOO
YV TOZW R OVG BLF DZPV ZG ZOO
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HEY, HEY, EASY. I CAN DO THAT, NO PROBLEM.
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Good.
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HAVEN'T MET EM, BUT I'LL BE SURE TO KEEP CLEAR. ANY OTHER GROUND RULES?
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[Bill fidgets with his tie like he's in the hot seat.
Getting carried away is like the only thing he's good at. SHIT.]
I WOULD- I NEVER GET CARRIED AWAY.
[How can you accuse him of this thing which he's constantly doing, all the time?]
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I do care for the people of the Fleet. If they come to me, it'll be on your head. Mischief is one thing. Chaos and pain is another.
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KID. HAVE I EVER GIVEN YOU REASON TO SUSPECT I'D DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT?
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I'm prejudiced.
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[Is that bitterness?]
I JUST WANT TO SURVIVE THIS, YA KNOW. I'M PUTTING EVERYTHING ON THE TABLE HERE. MAYBE I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU NOT TO START ANY CHAOS OR PAIN.
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If you want to survive, I won't stop you. But I believe I've made myself clear.
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[Did he tell Bill his name? No. No he did not.
The visitor stands, and holds Charles' gaze. His side of the chessboard turns back into ordinary pieces, no more monsters. He doesn't look angry, it's more a mix of disappointment and pity. This was a test, his expression says.]
BUT, HEY, NOTHING "PERSONAL," RIGHT?
[He makes a loop with his finger and a ghostly echo of a memory drifts through the room.]
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Oh, it is personal. And I'm afraid in this, I cannot be indifferent.
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YA EVER WONDER WHY YOU'RE SO LONELY? DON'T.
[His eyes linger after the rest of him has faded, sour and narrow. He'll let Charles get in the last word before they blink out.]
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