it's gonna rain - and it never ends

[thespaceopera]

[ It's midday, or close enough to it that the sun is blazing red hot above the planet. Everything seems ordinary - for disturbing, red-tinted values of ordinary, anyway. But the normalcy doesn't last for long.

Without warning, an explosive sound shocks through the jungle. It doesn't come from any one central point, but rather several points, scattered throughout, strategically placed to the advantage of someone. And from those massive shocks rises a wave of missiles - large, fast, and apparently, freely flying. They're guided, and they've locked onto their target: any foreign ship that is currently within Lato'li's atmosphere.

There's no way to mistake it. They're headed right for the Fleet.

The first wave feels a bit sporadic - timings might be off, but the missiles are still deadly, and if they hit, they hit hard. Shields might withstand this wave, but ships without shields will take direct hits. The ability to stay airborn is very, very quickly lost.

The second wave is much more precise, expertly timed and executed by whomever is firing from below. Even smaller shuttles get caught in the crosshairs, and those ships that lasted through the first volley will take a few more shots. If shields saved you before, they will fail here, giving out under the strain.

And the third wave comes, a little bit longer after, to finish the job. There are more of them, and they are far more advanced - they make the previous two volleys look like warning shots. This time, it's all missiles launched, all targets acquired.

Seven Fleet ships - and many, many shuttles - fall out of the sky, headed straight for the surface at alarming speed. Only four ships manage to escape the assault and exit the planet's atmosphere, retreating to orbit as fast as possible. Those lucky enough to have been in orbit can only watch as all of this happens.

But the missiles aren't the only thing up their sleeve. Just when the dust settles, while the network is surely lighting up with activity, attempts to contact one another and check on the status of fellow ships and crew, A loud, quick, terrible screeching noise shocks the network. It drowns out all communications on any connected devices - ship or personal. Ships in orbit will see all on-board systems flicker, then fizzle out, all non-emergency systems have gone completely down.

And with that.. there's silence. Perhaps too much silence. No matter what you do, no matter which buttons you press, which channels you try, there is no connection. Those who have dropped to the surface are entirely radio silent, and those in orbit have been reduced to the barest of abilities and life-support, with the bare minimum of contact.

So... What can you do now? ]


(( ooc: Feel free to use this post as a mingle for all your crashy or missile-dodgy needs!

• The following ships have been shot down: Bishop, Bloodsport, Blue Fish, Goldstone, Heron, Tourist, Twin Roses.
• The following ships are now in orbit: Blameless, Caprine, First Breath, Huntress, Iskaulit, Red Fish, Starstruck, Vanquish, Wonderduck

Good luck, Dear Fleet...~ ♪ ))

Comments

[moseyin]

[He'll have to take Sam's word for it. The guy stumbled away from a shuttle crash in one piece, maybe he's like, super durable or something.

Cloud looks back over to the ship.] Just...trying to catch up. [No,] -catch my breath. There's a lot to do... [So he really doesn't have time to waste sitting around wondering if his hands are still attached but what can ya do]

[collegedropout]

[Sam purses his lips, and for some reason, something about this feels -- familiar. Sam's had a little experience in the mental crisis area, you know? So he puts some effort in his day to day to make sure the people around him aren't sinking into the shit he'd sunk into, especially back in Adstringendum.]

You just looked like you were spacing a little, there. You sure you're good?

I mean, nobody'd blame you, we just fell out of the friggin' sky in a big ship missile.

[moseyin]

[How does he even put this into words...? He's never had to before.

Cloud looks down at his hands, touches his fingertips to his thumb one at a time in a row, then back again. It feels too sluggish to be his doing.]

...you ever...get this weird feeling that, uh. [Back and forth.] That your body's a loaner? That your real one is someone else and you're just...piloting this one? And not always so great?

[collegedropout]

[Sam's eyes widen slightly, and he purses his lips. Shit. Uh. That's heavier than he was expecting, but what's more depressing is how much he wants to say yes, absolutely, all the time. But -- not quite, also. It's kind of sad that there are different levels to this sort of thing. He moves over to the man's side, unsure how to broach the can of worms and boxes of Issues going on. What should he admit to?

Cloud's offering some truthful feelings. Big ones.

So for that, he'll try to be honest, too.]

... Something like that, actually, yeah. I, um. I've been out of control of my body before -- a few times, because of... people who controlled it from the inside. So sometimes I feel like reality's not really reality, and maybe I'm not piloting myself and nothing I'm actually seeing is real. If that makes sense.

So I know that's not exactly the same, but -- I do get what you mean.

Weird feelings about who's in control of what.

... Being a stranger to yourself.

[moseyin]

[Cloud nods along with all of that, slowly, deliberately. He feels like he should be surprised; he'd never gotten any kind of read off of Sam that he could've gone through something similar to what he has, but then again he's never really paid the guy very much attention. Like almost everyone else on the Bloodsport.

It doesn't feel particularly heavy to Cloud, but that could just be because he's gotten used to airing out his dirty laundry in front of an audience. When Sam mumbles that last part, Cloud hums, staring down at his hands and rubbing his first two fingers against his thumb.]

...I repeat my name. Where I'm from. You do stuff like that?

cw for self-harmy stuff because ha spn

[collegedropout]

... Stuff like that, yeah. I used to...

[He stops, unsure what he should say. Ultimately he holds up his hand, palm turned toward Cloud, and lets him observe the thick, ugly scarring on his palm. It looks like something that had been carved into on more than one occasion; Sam's got a fair number of scars all along his arms, some from releasing blood for a spell or sigil. There are even thicker scars on his forearm where he'd cut into himself to try and differentiate reality; Katie has the same set of scars... it's fucking complicated.

But the palm. The palm's always been his go-to. It's always been how he could tell, back home.

Before Cas put his head back together... and sometimes after.]

I used to use pain to keep track of what was real... but I learned from my friends, um. That's not the way to do it -- and it just hurts you and people around you. Your method's way better, honestly.

Now I focus on other senses. The smell of whiskey helps.

[moseyin]

[Cloud leans over to peer down at Sam's hand, frowning faintly; it's definitely a nasty scar, and it looks like something that's got to impede his usage at least a little bit with how poorly it's healed.

Using pain to keep track...was never something Cloud thought about, honestly. Sam's right though, it probably wouldn't work out that well. And Tifa would have beat the hell out of him just for thinking about it.]

Bet drinking whiskey helps too. [Probably not...like, at all, but Cloud kinda would still like a glass or six right about now.] Do you still...y'know, have it happen? I can look out for it.

If you don't want anybody else knowin'. [For Cloud at least, it's embarrassing. No- more like humiliating. It feels like weakness, like being a burden, and he can't imagine anybody else would like someone knowing when they're having an episode.]

[collegedropout]

Not as much as it used to, but... yeah, it still does.

At the most stupid times, at the most ridiculous things.

[Like reading a particular book, or... cutting himself in front of a mirror when he's shaving. Hell, let's not even mention those ridiculous flashes to the Cage, here and there; those usually have him tucked away in his room until he can get a hold of himself. He smiles sympathetically at Cloud's offer -- and of course with some level of thankfulness.]

... You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours?

Or, uh. You help with my deep-rooted issues, I'll help with yours?

[He's more than happy to help, kid.

And yes, you're a kid. He's like 200 years old in spirit, he can think that.]

[moseyin]

Don't have to have a share-and-care session, [Cloud mumbles, because calling it 'deep-rooted issues' is probably accurate but they haven't told each other why they have those mutual issues and Cloud would like to keep it that way. Not that he doesn't care about what happened to Sam- honestly, it's hard to not care, especially now with Sam looking at him with all that understanding creasing his bloodied brow, but Cloud doesn't know if he can absorb another story about torture or trauma or the kind of shit that makes this sort of thing happen and still see the light in the world as a prevailing power.]

Just...yeah. Back-scratching. Let's just do that.

[collegedropout]

[He chuckles weakly. Mostly because Sam would never be so awful, as to subject people to his bullshit. The calibrations were bad enough.]

I think I can agree to that. Now -- you done feeling like a loaner? Because we're on a creepy planet and our ship could use your hands, Cloud.

[Your hands, bud. Not someone else's.]

[moseyin]

[Cloud gives the middle-distance another solid stare, and when it doesn't stare back he sighs and pushes himself to his feet. He still feels a little off, still feels disconnected and weak-limbed, but when he tells his feet to move they do.

He holds out a hand for Sam to take, to pull him to his feet as well.] Let's get it done, then.

[collegedropout]

[Sam reaches back with that scarred hand of his, grasping Cloud's firmly.]

We call it 'kicking it in the ass', in my neck of the woods.

But that works, too.

[Let's get it done, then.]