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etrayamemes2025-01-02 03:19 pm
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2025-01-02 03:19 pm
TDM 006
 ⏵ arrival ⏴ Arrival is absolutely not normal this month. Instead of a hospital bed, you wake in a tunnel with a large group of other people. These are the residents. A woman’s voice in an earpiece hurriedly clues you in with an apology. I apologize; I had not planned to introduce you this way, but we are low on time. Please proceed down the hallway. For everyone else, coming in is much the same. The instruction goes out to head to designated areas immediately, where companion bots will escort the residents of Etraya down into the depths, the area beneath where much the same is explained.  ⏵ disrobing ⏴ The tunnel eventually opens directly into the foreroom of an expansive library, painted in marvelous hues and patterns with skylights far above. There are wizards milling about, bearded and holding tomes, quietly chatting amongst themselves. The reception area of the library has tall ceilings with equally tall doors Before you get too caught up in the scenery, a voice directs you forward. A gentleman, hunched and bespeckled craws out. "Make a line! Make a line, everyone! You cannot enter the library dressed as you are... Come forward and give me your name." The receptionist asks your given name and then hands over a box from underneath his counter. You can give him any name you want, he doesn’t seem to mind. It is tied with a tagged ribbon- labeling it accordingly. “The _____ robe of _______.”
As you read what the contents of the box may be, they form inside- Looking and behaving as your character expects them to. After all, magic is all in the wielder’s mind. Don your robes and enter the library.  ⏵ unfamiliar familiars ⏴ For those without a familiar (like one hatched from an egg not too long ago) you may borrow one from the library counter. They all have strengths and weaknesses, but they will all assist in the very important mission. As you roam the library, they will make little indications that you are closer or further from finding a piece of the pearl.
 ⏵ the task at hand ⏴ With robes donned and creature in hand, you must now complete your mission. Find the pieces of the shattered pearl. As you enter the library, you may notice that it’s all very dim. There’s oil lamps around the place that may be moved with you to assist in your journey if your robes do not already emit light. Break off and search the library. There is a directory at the front to point guests to all the different sections.
Each section looks enough like the last, though the books within have immense power. Pick up the wrong book, and you might conjure a dragon or a historical figure! You must persist and avoid making too much noise or breaking too many things. Or else the Librarian, a tall mass of knotted fabric will confiscate your robe and usher you back outside. Your name will be struck from the list, and you must pick a new one to re-enter the library to continue the search. You can try to fight back against him- he may be set alight with the lamp. But should you be starting fires in here? Any thread with 15 comments between you and another may be submitted to find a piece of the pearl. There are 20 pieces altogether, and we will determine if the mission was successful by March 28th. A post will go live on the OOC comm for this! This mission occurs out of time, similar to how the spaceship had. Meaning, those currently in game can experience these events any time between now, and March 14th. Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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You're happy? [Connor's voice is uncertain, as if Hank's happiness is not as obvious to him.]
cn: alcoholism
What? Is that so hard to believe?
[Which would make sense. Connor didn’t get to see how Hank was acting before. How he was living here on Etraya.]
I’m not even drinking. [Now, he means. It’s not as if he’s stopped completely.
There’s no alcohol in the apartment, more because Hank hasn’t been to the store, again. And there are empty bottles, sure — ones he swept away into a bag, left in a corner of the kitchen, when he had company the other day.
The difference now is that the incessant urge to drink is quieter. Because some things are more important.]
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[Connor continues to cut the asparagus before he turns on the oven for the texas toast.]
That is a good life decision. [Pause.] Is your pistol in the house?
cn: suicide ideation
I am angry. Just not at you.
[Hank finishes cutting the cheese, but he stiffens when Connor asks about the gun. It’s a split second before he’s back to stirring the sauce.]
No. I don’t have a gun here. [Hank doesn’t elaborate on how he doesn’t really feel like he needs it here — not in the sense of how he’d use it back home.
If he wanted to die — and he used to want that — there are other ways here. Hell, someone just asked Hank the other day if he wanted to get all murdered. And would they have gone through with it if Hank said yes? He has no idea.]
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Connor reaches into the oven and pulls out the hot rack with his bare hand. There's only a slight sizzling sound.]
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[Hank is about to change the subject — ask about the asparagus, or something — when he turns and sees Connor.]
The hell are you doing?
[Muttering expletives under his breath:] Jesus. Fuck. Goddamn.
[He grabs Connor’s wrist, leading him over to the sink. Turning on the cold water, whether or not he can even feel it.]
How is reaching into the oven like that staying safe, Connor?
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I'm not damaged. [There's no burn on his external layer of skin and Connor even draws that back to show the white beneath. No damage seems to have been done.]
I'm alright.
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Well — fuck. Okay.
[Hank breathes out a sigh of relief and mild irritation.]
Just scared me, is all.
[He still gets Connor’s hand wet. Grabbing a nearby dish towel to dry him off.]
It’s not too hot, or anything? Your hand?
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[Connor pulls back to set the texas toast on the rack and push it back in.]
You would need to hold my hand there.
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Okay. I get it. And I know you know your limits, and everything. Just...
[Hank leans back against the counter.]
The sight of it. You hurt. And I know you’re saying you’re fine, I just — it looked like it hurt. It’d hurt me.
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[And oop there it is.]
... I see.
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Yeah, well, and I didn’t want you to burn yourself. What if something happened and you couldn’t move your hand — [it makes sense in Hank’s mind, okay] — and you were just stuck, and... fuck.
Guess we can both be pretty stubborn, huh?
[Tapping his fingers against the countertop.]
Thank you, Connor. For thinking of me. [And he almost says “but you don’t have to.” It’s hard to turn off that stubbornness.]
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I know you won’t, Connor.
[He knows Connor isn’t trying to give him a heart attack.
Then, Hank turns to the cupboard. Oddly reminiscent of his dinner with Vincent the other night, but this time, he only pulls out one of each dish.
Which feels rude, but it’s not as if Connor can eat spaghetti, right?]
How're the noodles doing?
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Needs a minute more.
[Connor is mentally timing the texas toast and other elements of the meal.]
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You don’t... eat, right?
[Which sounds like the most ridiculous question, and yet Hank still asks.]
I mean, can you taste? It just feels...
[He looks down at the sauce as he stirs it. Connor had said meatballs, right? To the fridge he goes for meatballs!!]
Feels rude, Connor. [And sure, Hank might say he doesn’t care about that, especially not with most people. But Connor is different.] Feels real rude. Guy goes and makes me a spaghetti-toast-asparagus dinner, and he’s just gotta watch me eat it.
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[And yet Connor is clearly preparing the meal for more than one person. Perhaps leftovers?]
Perhaps you could describe it to me.
[Which would probably be just as weird, but it's the only way Connor could 'eat' the dinner, in a way.]
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Can try that, yeah. [Hank mumbles this. Not at all confident in his ability to describe food that isn’t referencing other food. “This cheese... tastes kind of like this other sort of cheese.” Riveting!
Still, Hank can try. For Connor.
He dumps some of the meatballs into the sauce — maybe too many. Just keeps on stirring the sauce. A little too many meatballs never hurt anyone.
The last time he really had meat was when Vincent came over and made that steak. Why do people keep cooking for him...? Vincent wanted something in exchange, sure. But Connor is just nice.
Hank sighs. He’s never going to feel worthy of... all this.]
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I can continue to stir the sauce if you would like to set the table?
[And he waits for Hank to turn his back before reaching into the oven again. He tries to just grab the texas toast off the rack.]
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Okay. [Nodding thoughtfully.] Yeah.
[He’s got Hank feeling all useful, in the sense that at least Connor won’t have to do this, too.
But it’s just a plate and a fork and a glass, and...? The table still looks kind of naked. Hank doesn’t mind all his food touching, but he turns to grab a second plate, just in case, and —]
Goddamn it, Connor. [Hands!! In the oven again! This time Hank doesn’t rush him to the sink, but his heart still thunders with worry.] I am going to get you some oven mitts, I swear to god.
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I apologize Hank. I forgot them at the store. However, I am being safe by touching only the toast rather than the rack.
[And he quickly grabs the other two pieces, putting all three on a plate together.]
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It’s not your fault I don’t have oven mitts, Connor.
[If Hank had been using the oven at all these past few months, he would’ve had some already. So clearly the blame lies there, he thinks.]
I could’ve got them. But thanks, Connor. [A genuine thank you, albeit meshed with irritation.] Don’t want you hurting yourself just to feed me.
And yeah, yeah — I know. Can deal with more heat than I can. But still.
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I am being safe. [He repeats as he goes back for the asparagus and spaghetti.] I gave you my word.
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It’s not safe to stick your hands in the oven like that, Connor.
[It feels weird to have Connor serving him food, so Hank goes to get another glass of water from the sink. He doesn’t even check the fridge for whatever Connor got, assuming it’s not alcohol.]
But I appreciate you giving me your word, and everything. [He appreciates that Connor is trying. Just needs Hank to tell him to not shove his hands in the oven sometimes.]
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I will get oven mitts tomorrow.
[He goes back for the sauce and meatballs before turning all the heating elements off.]
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