driftfleet | the white noise is deafening silence

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the white noise is deafening silence

[In the very early hours of January 20th, as the Marsiva and her captives drift nonchalantly through the depths of the universe, there is a call. Every single personal communicator and console springs to life, spitting out a stream of indecipherable static and showing only gray snow on screen. It continues like this for a few seconds longer, going black and then going staticky, and then the signal switches to the encrypted channel generally used for speaking to the Interceptors when something big goes down.

This is a little more successful. The voice may be familiar to some, at least through the static.]

Zhade here! I trust I ███ your attention? I'm having some ██▓▓ble ██tting through. Some of the ░▓██▓█ are missing. I can't ░▓▓▓ read on their loc█████ns. [A particularly long burst of static.] ███stening. I'll s█▓▓█ more inf██▓▓▓▓▓█ I get it.

Stay sharp! [There's the sound of someone actually doing the fingerguns wink noise, and then static.

Any messages sent back won't get through, and Zhade isn't there to answer.]

[ A blip of lost time passes right after those words, before every passenger mysteriously wakes alone in their own unfamiliar room. The style of decor resembles that of the Marsiva's Hospitality Deck, if any passengers should remember what that's like. It sounds and smells the same as the host ship as well, all clean and chrome.

Welcome back to the Marsiva, dear passengers. It's time for round three of calibrations. ]

[ This mingle will cover all non-calibration room interactions. Please continue to come back to it for the duration of the plot! You are, of course, free to post any other mingles/posts/etc. that you'd like. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's difficult to fill the time in these 'daylight' hours if one isn't interested in reading or watching movies. And while Connor has some interest in that, he can read an entire book in the space of a minute, so they don't occupy him for long. So Connor investigates all the areas of the Marsiva they have access to each day, regardless of if nothing changes. Something might.

When he enters the kitchen he's not surprised to find someone in there cooking. He is surprised to find it's Lup, making enough food for fifty people. Stopping in his tracks, he blinks at the offered dish in her hands before he looks back up at her face. And there is a lot to read there.]

I don't eat food. [It's just a fact.] Are you attempting to cook for the entire Fleet?

Oh right, sorry.

[With a shrug she sets the dish back down on the counter, taking a healthy swig from her bottle instead.]

Uhhh, yeah, I guess? I dunno, I just started cooking and didn't want to stop. And the food here is shit, but mine isn't, so someone's bound to eat it sooner or later.

[Stepping over to get a closer look at the array of dishes out on the counter, Connor nods as though in understanding. He really doesn't, though. Not wanting to stop cooking is an odd enough statement on its own. He wasn't aware that cooking was considered enjoyable enough to become that invested in it.]

It's the standard pastes and gels the Fleet dispenses. I understand those are not desirable to most.

[Then he's eyeing Lup again, and that bottle.]

Have you been drinking throughout the whole process?

What, this?

[She gives it a shake. It's getting close to empty, now, and there's another half-empty bottle on the counter, though that one is with the rest of the ingredients.]

Mostly before, if you wanna be technical, but yeah. I get cranky if I'm drinking without doing something useful with my hands.

[That second bottle doesn't go unnoticed, even if Connor doesn't draw attention to it. He doesn't need to. He can draw the conclusion on his own.]

I think you should stop drinking, Lup, and just finish what you've already started.

Yeah, okay, Mom.

[She snorts, waggling her fingers dismissively at the notion.]

's fine, I'm not gonna set anything on fire. I hear that's dangerous in space. Although there is that one wild flambé roast recipe...

[Honestly, he doesn't even look surprised to be ignored. That is typically what happens when he tells people to stop drinking. Though his sample size prior to this was limited to one person. Connor just purses his lips in disapproval before he has another look at the dish Lup had tried to serve him before.]

Fire is dangerous anywhere, if it's not controlled. But there are specific hazards in controlled areas like pressurised spaceship interiors.

[Tilting his head slightly, he glances sidelong at Lup.]

You're using magic to create this, aren't you?

[There's no way these materials were on the Marsiva. He did a thorough investigation of the kitchen on day one, and there was very little 'real' food around.]

[She resists the urge to roll her eyes; he's just trying to be helpful, she knows, but she didn't come here looking for a lecture. She's spent an awful lot of time in space already, she gets it.

Talking about magic is easier.]

Not create, exactly- well, okay, some of it is. Most of it's transmutation. If you've got the base material - like some shit potato flakes from the machine there - you can use magic to reverse-engineer it into a fresh potato.

[She gestures to a couple of the potato-based dishes on display- sure enough, made with chopped or sliced vegetables rather than the freeze-dried flakes normally available.]

And there's really basic spells that can change flavours, to make the garbage taste like not-garbage. If you've got a creative wizard, even a place like this can have gourmet.

[That's fascinating enough to get his attention away from Lup's state for a moment. According to what he can see the potatoes do look genuine; he reaches out and picks up a slice of potato, scrutinising it.]

So you need to work from a base to get the results. It's not something out of nothing.

[It's a more satisfactory idea than just 'magically' creating something new. There's a source, a cause and an effect. Things Connor generally appreciates.]

That's actually the case with a lot of magic, especially transmutation. You have to start with base components for some of the more complex spells or you won't get anywhere. On the other hand, making something taste good? All you need are these babies.

[She wiggles her fingers with a playful grin, harmless sparks dancing in between them like tiny fireworks.]

[Taste isn't something Connor can evaluate, but checking whether this potato actually is one is another matter. He swipes a couple of his fingers over the potato slice he's holding before licking them.

It takes only a couple of moments for him to analyse the sample and determine that it has the expected chemical makeup. If there are trace elements that relate to magic at all, they're not something he can detect.]

I see. Was magic something that needed to be studied in your world before you could practice it?

A bit of yes and no? Some people just know it- natural magic exists for like, Dragonborn and sorcerers, and some get their power thrown at them by gods or nature or whatever you wanna call it. Wizards, though? We gotta get down and dirty with the books. So yeah, we studied. It's hard work, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

[She sets aside her bottle to crouch down and pull a freshly-baked dish from the oven, the scent of spices far too rich for the rations of the kitchen to allow. Even without detecting magic, there's some definite wizardry going on in here.]

[Well, that's less straightforward. To some extent it sounds like natural ability exists in some circumstances but not in all, and only training can make up for the difference. That's not even getting into the 'gods of nature' aspect, which Connor is not willing to examine just yet. He has to establish a baseline before examining anything loftier... like gods.]

I wouldn't make that assumption. Although if the other person saying it is one of these 'Dragonborn', wouldn't that be a matter of their own perspective?

[The disconnect between the spice strength in the air and what Connor knows to be available in the kitchen is definitely prompting some automatic rescans. Even though he knows the answer won't be received through further scanning.]

Huh, what- about it not being hard? [She shrugs nonchalantly.] Oh, probably, Dragonborn are notoriously proud of themselves for something or other. But that's just a species thing. They're naturally good at magic the way robots are good at math, I bet? But some of 'em don't practice it as a career path.

Right.

[That may be true on a theoretical level, but in practice a machine being good at mathematics equations is a design feature, not a choice. Career paths and the like are a little out of Connor's wheelhouse currently.

Tapping a finger against one of the already-cooked dishes Lup's been laying out on the table, Connor returns to the matter at hand.]

How much more cooking do you intend to do?

Uhhh... I hadn't thought about it.

[She follows his gaze, leaning against the counter and surveying the pile of food already completed. The kitchen's probably going to run out of dishes before she runs out of steam, so unless people start eating it a lot faster...]

Probably not much. I'll be out of useful spell slots soon at this rate, and then I won't be able to make the good stuff. And there's no point in continuing if it isn't gonna be quality work.

[She exhales a huffing breath, annoyed by the very idea of not cooking, and then shoots Connor a sidelong glance.]

...Hey. Can you draw?

[Unsurprising. He doubts Lup is working on a rational basis right now, if the alcohol and and her general appearance is anything to go by.]

You could still stop before exhausting all your options. This seems like a sufficient amount of food for those present.

[He blinks in some confusion at the sideways jump in conversation ... then has to think about the question.]

I can do technical drafts and copies of objects. If you mean artwork ... I can't say I've ever tried it.

[He's had no reason to and it wouldn't have occurred to him to try it.]

Why?

[Uuuuugh. Of course he had to ask. Not that she can blame him- he's a detective or something, right? Like Angus. Always asking questions.

She shifts her weight awkwardly, trying to figure out a delicate way to explain herself before eventually deciding that there really isn't a way to do that.]

Okay, fuck it. I need... a portrait. Of myself. For a... thing.

[Okay, but--]

Is the photo function of the communicator not sufficient? It would be more accurate.

[She shakes her head, though her brows lift; that would be a really good suggestion, if it were something that would work.]

Yeah, not so much. It has to be on paper, so unless someone's been hiding a way to move the pictures from the communicator to a painting or something, that's not gonna do it.

I don't think there are any printing facilities here.

[Otherwise that would have been Connor's next suggestion. He taps a finger against the benchtop absently, going over the request again. It's feasible, if out of the ordinary. He did have capacity to do composite sketches based on witness statements though it hadn't been considered a high priority piece of software. It was virtually impossible these days to hide from security cameras. Why do a sketch when you can pinpoint where the suspect was in live footage?]

If it needs to be paper, then I can do a portrait drawing of you. Is that what you need?

Oh thank god. Yeah, actually.

[it's the last component she needs, and she'd been genuinely worried about how she was going to get it. She doesn't know any artists, and she can't just track down a local when there are no towns to visit. Being trapped on this ship really sucks.

She tugs out her spellbook and tears free an empty sheet of fine paper, offering out to him alongside her pencil.]

As detailed as you can make it. I'll owe you one for this, if you can do it.

[Connor reaches out to take the paper and pencil, glancing back up at Lup then over to the still-steaming food she'd retrieved from the oven.]

All right. I can leave you to your cooking if you prefer to keep going.

[Even if he thinks she should, well. Stop.]

...Nah, um. I think you're right. I should stop. I'm gonna...

[She hesitates, as if unsure of her own decision even as she says it, then relents and sinks into a chair by one of the tables, slumping back and crossing both arms over her face. Evidently even just having this conversation has been a drain on whatever tentative control she's been holding over her haywire soul. She feels exhausted and at the same time full to bursting, but instead of food she's full of power and it'd be a literal explosion if she let go.

Once she has this drawing, she'll feel better. She has to. Otherwise everyone's fucked.]

I'm gonna trance for a while. Just... wake me up when you're done.

[It's no small relief when Lup finally moves away from the bench. Connor doesn't have authority over her, nor even an assignment to keep her healthy and well. There is little he can do other than try to convince her that her actions might be detrimental to her mental health. At least it seems like she's come to that conclusion, whether on her own or not.

Connor shifts, moving around to the countertop opposite Lup's chair. He doesn't need to actually look at her to do this: he's got plenty of stored memory files with her image already. Direct line of sight won't impact the accuracy of his drawing at all. But she's asked him to wake her up later, which means she expects him to be here. Right now he considers that to be more important than the technicalities of it. It's more... supportive.]

Sure. I'll tell you when I'm finished.

[He places the paper down on the counter and sets the pencil to it. Soon enough the scratching of lead can be heard, smooth and regular.]

the white noise is deafening silence

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