driftfleet | 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

[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.]

[That sound is... really soothing, shit. She'd intended to just rest her eyes rather than rest for real, because she worried about losing control even for such a short span. After a moment, though, she actually does fall into a quiet trance, allowing the noise of his drawing to lull into that familiar state of semi-consciousness that she normally reserves for safe, trusted areas, or when someone's there to watch her back.

...Well, maybe someone is, in this case. Maybe she's getting too comfortable in the fleet. She'll have to ponder that one later.]

[The sketch itself doesn't take long at all. Connor's built for efficiency and he doesn't make mistakes, not when it comes to copying something. Lup may be asleep - or 'trancing', as she had called it - but the rendition he draws is of her awake and smiling. Her usual self. While the baseline sketch is easy enough to accomplish, Connor hesitates before he finishes. After a moment's thought, running through various reference files he has, he goes back and tweaks some details. It becomes a fraction less of a copy; some things altered based on other images, other moments.

Overall, he's satisfied with it as he stands back with his palms flat on the table, looking at the drawing. He still wouldn't call it art. That's not what was needed in this case though, and it's satisfactory work. Hopefully it's what Lup needs.

Glancing up, he watches Lup's resting form for a moment before he speaks up. Perhaps rest would be better, but he'd already promised to wake her.]

Lup? I'm done with the drawing.

[There's no hesitation as she lifts herself upright, blinking quickly to pull herself out of it; leaving a trance is easier than waking up from sleep, but it still takes a few seconds. She rubs absently at an eye, a small sizzle of static passing over her form, and she leans over to peer at the drawing.]

Oh damn, bud. I thought you were gonna draw me, not some hot elf who's got her shit together.

[It's followed by a swift and tired smile.]

Kidding. Thanks, that... it's perfect. I think it'll work out great.

[The static is impossible not to notice, Connor's attention zeroing in on it. It looks - more substantial than your average static discharge, not focused to a specific location or material. That was her whole body. What could cause something like that? Magic?

He's diverted from this line of thought when Lup thanks him. After some internal debate, he stores the observation for later. Lup isn't in the best frame of mind for questioning, he already knows that.]

You're welcome. I hope it's sufficient for your purpose.

[Whatever that may be. He'd like to know, but considers it's not especially crucial that she tell him.]

I hope so, too.

[She hesitates as she picks it up, very careful not to touch him in the process. There's no short version of an explanation that she's prepared to give, and she's definitely not going to give him a full one, so... finally with a shrug she turns for the door.]

Check you later, Connor.

[Aaand she's gone. It's time for quarantine in her room, assuming this works.]

the white noise is deafening silence

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