Voices from Heaven (
thespaceopera) wrote in
driftfleet2017-02-24 02:09 pm
A Rose by any other name...!
Suddenly, the SS Three Twins and the SS Windrose begin to move on their own... slowly, calmly, they drift to into the same direction, away from the other ships of the fleet. Slowly, they move until they side by side.
Over the two ships' intercom, an old song begins to play. And that is all the warning there is before the engines engage -- full speed ahead.
Like a pair of rockets, the ships torpedo forward. As they move, they start circling around each other, like a synchronized dance. They move with incredible grace and skill, far more masterfully than the average pilot augment. Except, each time that they pass each other, they clearly get closer to one another.
And closer...
And closer...
No matter what buttons the crews press, no matter how much they might panic, nothing is going to stop the inevitable. On the final pass, it becomes clear there's not enough room between them to avoid a collision. Any impact alarms on the bridge are blaring at full blast. Any other ships watching will not have time to attempt any sort of interception.
CRASH!!
As if to shield spectators' eyes from the horrors of ships colliding in space, there's a blinding light upon impact -- and once it gradually fades, the results can be clearly seen by all: There is no wreckage. Nothing is broken. But where there were once two ships... now there's only one.
One ship that is looks completely new, but yet is reminiscent of both the SS Three Twins and the SS Windrose.
-----------
On the bridge, the crews of the SS Three Twins and the SS Windrose arrive, along with the usual pop! of Atroma confetti and ridiculous jingle music upon a successful shuffle. Sitting in the captain's chair is a round cake, just large enough for everyone to have one slice. There's a single candle, and the following message scribbled on top in yellow icing:
"Congratulations - SS Twin Roses!
Happy Fusion!"
... What, did you think you were going to die? Sorry about that.
Over the two ships' intercom, an old song begins to play. And that is all the warning there is before the engines engage -- full speed ahead.
Like a pair of rockets, the ships torpedo forward. As they move, they start circling around each other, like a synchronized dance. They move with incredible grace and skill, far more masterfully than the average pilot augment. Except, each time that they pass each other, they clearly get closer to one another.
And closer...
And closer...
No matter what buttons the crews press, no matter how much they might panic, nothing is going to stop the inevitable. On the final pass, it becomes clear there's not enough room between them to avoid a collision. Any impact alarms on the bridge are blaring at full blast. Any other ships watching will not have time to attempt any sort of interception.
CRASH!!
As if to shield spectators' eyes from the horrors of ships colliding in space, there's a blinding light upon impact -- and once it gradually fades, the results can be clearly seen by all: There is no wreckage. Nothing is broken. But where there were once two ships... now there's only one.
One ship that is looks completely new, but yet is reminiscent of both the SS Three Twins and the SS Windrose.
-----------
On the bridge, the crews of the SS Three Twins and the SS Windrose arrive, along with the usual pop! of Atroma confetti and ridiculous jingle music upon a successful shuffle. Sitting in the captain's chair is a round cake, just large enough for everyone to have one slice. There's a single candle, and the following message scribbled on top in yellow icing:
Happy Fusion!"
... What, did you think you were going to die? Sorry about that.

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He didn't mean it. He's only jealous of what we have!
[But he laughs as he straightens up and gestures towards the exit.]
Shall we?
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She and I both know I don't need to.
[ nodding, he walks to the door. ]
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How are you holding up? It feels like you've been going through a bit of a rough period.
[Ravi doesn't want to pry, necessarily. But he does want to make sure his bud is doing okay!]
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I'm a rubber ball.
[ the harder you hit him, the higher he bounces. or, pretends to, at least. ]
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[He claps a supportive hand on Winn's shoulder though.]
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Not very moldable anymore. [ he flexes his arm to show what he means, he will never be a body builder (mainly because he has zero interest in that), but he's definitely got himself some muscle mass. ]
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Jim totally exaggerates. [ winn, literally everyone who knows you knows you're stretched too thin. ]
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[But seriously, Winn. C'mon.]
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I'll be sure to accuse people of talking to you next time they jump to conclusions.
[ he is perfectly innocent and not at all involved in too many things to distract himself from his ever present fears. what repression? he doesn't see any repression here! he totally doesn't do that anymore! ]
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[ the atroma are very persuasive in their anti 'me time' campaign. ]
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[Look for the silver lining, Winn!]
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Let's assume that anything involving any kind of actual bodily harm is generally metaphorical.