Futuristic Unknown Crisis OOC [Private]

[wickedlittlecritta]

The OOC!

Since most of the actual ooc conversation is going to take place in the discord chat, we're going to do something slightly different with the ooc. Roughly every week, there'll be a new prompt for everyone to write a small something about, for two reasons. One, it gets everyone thinking about their character and doing some teambuilding, and two, it lets anybody who might be waiting on an IC post keep playing and active. Prompts might include things like describing your character's room on the ship, a team Truth or Dare session, or writing about what your character does on a day off. The prompts will be optional, but hopefully a lot of fun!

IC
Characters
Interest Check

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Prompt the First!

While on the ship, your character will be staying in a room that looks something like this:

It's small, but there's room for a work space, a few appliances, and a private bathroom (because you all work hard, and nobody deserves to spend their shower listening to Cathal singing Spice Girls songs in the next shower over). So, what does your character do to personalize it? Anything on the walls? Rugs? Special appliances or bath goodies? Is their room filled with stuffed mammertees?

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Cathal's room is a mess. He has a tendency to leave his clothes on the floor. His boots are sometimes in the sink? He puts them there on purpose? (He does this with the kitchen sink too. We just don't know.) There are a lot of stuffed animals, the walls are covered in band posters and post cards and basically anything mildly interesting he can hang, and he has fairy lights and papel picado hanging on the ceiling. The main focal point of his room is the altar, which is mostly on the shelves above his desk and bed. It's got a lot of flowers, more fairy lights and papel picado and pictures, some weird knicknacks, candles, and a rather intimidating statue of Santa Muerte.

 

[theunderwolf]

Mako's room is a bit odd. Every surface is carpeted save for a small section where she tells people to keep their shoes. There's no bed in the room, rather there seems to be a moving mass of pillows blankets and furs that Mako either collapses on, or grabs one or two and falls asleep on another surface, often on or under her small coffee table. The table itself is the only piece of actual furniture she owns, and she uses it for everything from eating to working. Everything she owns is in four large duffel bags and a trunk that serves as a couch for guests. Among her things are a widescreen data pad, used mostly as a entertainment console and a node of Odina!'s server that allows the AI to project a holographic image of herself anywhere in the room. Lastly she has her personal mini fridge and grill and the smell of seared meat often emanates from under her door. The other notable thing is that all of these things are shoved into the corner of the room, leaving a decent sized space which Mako claims is for stretching and practice (While in actuality its just to give her room to transform when she needs to stretch out or relax.) The only other notable thing in Mako's room is her trophies. As traditional in her culture, she takes a bone from any worthy adversary and hangs it on her person or on her wall. Unlike the morbid collection that implies, the word adversary is a bit looser in her culture. her wall has a few bones and tusks yes, but it also has shards of volcanic rock, vials of rainwater, pressed plants and other challenges Mako has overcome. Camouflaged among these is a shrine to PaashhShhh, the sea goddess of the Fferids and Mako's patron. The shrine is made of bleached bone, coral and sea shells and whenever she can Mako pours seawater from new worlds on it, to tell the goddess of all the places her child has found her.

 

[Graystone713]

Kevin's room seems normal at first. A few extra bookshelves over his bed, a full-sized fridge replacing his mini-fridge and microwave, an oven/range with an overhead microwave replacing half the workspace with a small pantry-ette next to it... Normal. But if you look, you'll notice these rubber bumpers on anything that might be sharp. Even his knives, attached to a mag-strip, have plastic sheaths. It's like he tried to babyproof the room. Even his laptop has a rubber bumper case on it. Heck, he even has a fire extinguisher in a quick-draw holster right next to the kitchen! And those big metal handles in his shower! Talk about paranoid, amirite? Still, he has good taste in books, and he actually has a ceiling-mounted projector for movies.

 

[TrashRabbit]

Donovan's room seems to be a little at war with itself. On one hand it is almost always inspection level tidy and clean and on the other hand it is a small explosion of color and things. The desk and surfaces are dotted with home made stickers and the walls plastered in glitter kid art posters. Its obvious his favorite color is red followed by orange yellow and blue. The shelves hold mostly strange chatskis, a ukulele case, a jade plant and jars of origami stars- he makes a lot of origami stars. Some of the notable chatskis are a couple of terrifyingly decorated baby doll heads- these he will explain if asked are good luck charms for the inside of frontier industrial mechs, like fuzzy dice but better. Cheap plastic sports memorabilia also line the shelves the most distracting of which is an old earth red sox sno-glob, and a New New York rugby bobble head flipping you the bird.

Over all its like stepping into a very neat, very eclectic novelty store.

The messiest you might ever find his room is six empty beer cans, a shirt and the ukulele all on the floor. He will apologize profusely for this and try to shove it all under the bed with his foot.

 

[Camden]

Pier's room is... refined. The area is tidy except for half finished upgrades, and blueprints on classic blue paper sprawled across the floor. He prefers paper when drawing up designs, which is funny when you consider all the tech he works with. There's a gentle clicking and humming emanating from a decent sized fabricator next to a computer desk. The computer itself is left running, for use when spurts of creativity hit him. On the monitor is a black screen with blue code covering it. It looks fairly complex, and it is, but most of the work is handled by AI. The fabricator is covered in blinky lights. Mainly red. Red is a nice color. Most of his room is red in fact, with light gray tones. But back to the fabricator. The front half of it has a large glass panel for your viewing pleasure, and it slides down for you to grab whatever you were creating when the fabricator is done. There are four robotic arms attached to a gyroscope on the interior, for ensuring excellent craftsmanship. The size of the objects it can create are limited, but if you aren't short on time, it can craft the pieces for you to assemble manually.

As for pleasantries, there is a small bookcase, with more paperback books. There's also a little robot shaped bobblehead, waving merrily at any passerby. There's a rack with rolls of blue paper, and a case of white pencils. Much of the walls are covered in giant sketches. Some are familiar, like his robot arm, others... aren't. Different types of arms, prosthetic and robotic. Exo-gear, exo-armor. A hand that turns into a gun. A sword with a magnetically attached blade. And is that a... giant mech? Much of this stuff will never see fruitition, some of it already has. It's simply a mental exercise for him. It also looks intimidating when you have professional looking pictures of giant killer robots on your wall.

 

[rubycats]

Holly's room is a small vortex of clean and dirty, it looks like chaos yet everything is carefully planned. She has posters on the wall of, her favorite being a kitten telling her to hang in there, some are motivational while others just look cool. Her bed has a thick butterfly comforter on it and her bed is littered with various stuffed animals that Harvey still sends her. She almost always has music playing, otherwise it gets to quite and she starts to miss her mothers voice.

 

[rubycats]

What is your characters last words? How would they die?

 

[Graystone713]

There’s only two ways Kevin would die. The first is that he sacrifices himself for someone else. Anyone else. The second is that he gets caught by surprise. In either case, if he even has the time or presence for words, he will say, at most, ‘Sorry.’

 

[theunderwolf]

"Go ahead without me. And keep going for a long time yeah?"

 

[TrashRabbit]

In an old rp I played Donny in writing a death scene was a part of the profile. I was calling him Ajax then though. He's all alone in this scenario but if some one was around it'd be some variation of; "I'll be fine."

Spoiler: Donny dies badly

The cockpit was flames and screeching sensors and for a moment everything was slow but altogether too fast. Saying that really had not gone the way he wanted it to was an understatement. His hand pulled the eject before he had time to cuss- which he did instead as he was jettisoned up, through the fire and the debris and hit the side of a Mech in worst shape than his own. He shoved off it with both feet, and past something that exploded and collided to his right. He shut his eyes- The wold around him was spinning in tight circles around his head- then something impacted his stomach hard and hot. Through and through- Maybe a Bullet, or debris, or shrapnel, or a literally penny? He'd never know.

He took three sharp breaths and screamed the word fuck at the inside of his helmet.

The battle swayed into view in all its soft blue glory- dwarf stars were really something special that way- and it's bright orange explosions were choreographed only to the sound of his own breathing, the ringing tinnitus in his left ear and the soft hiss of his suit losing air. For a long moment his brain stuttered, shock, pain, and the gaping infinite void hanging on him like a heavy shroud.

His hands fumbled at his belt before his mind caught up with them. He lost his camera to his clumsy scrambling finger and the spinning, then his spare ammo. He was spinning and groping around his utility belt madly when he saw the duct tape drifting away from him serenely like a tiny dignified yet hallow moon. He reached, stretched, flailed and caught it by just his forefinger. It lacked the satisfying noise as he patched the hole in front with three quick strips. The back was another matter- his suit was was heavily armored which was usualy something he was thankful for but right now he couldn't get his arm far enough back, nor was his mechanical wrist quiet dexterous enough.

“Fuckity shit,” he said.

He went limp and took three sharp breaths. In out. In out. In out. In all this time it had been silent; no radio chatter. That wasn't right.

He tapped the side of his helmet.

“Jackhammer down,” he said into a dead com. He taped it again. Silence, not even static. There was nothing to grab, the fight was already far off and getting smaller in his sight as he went.

“Penelope?” he called, but the Ai was down. His hud was down. His shielding was gone. There must have been an EMP along the way. It was all down. He'd have to wait. At least the lack of shielding explained how anything smaller than a pea had pierced his armor. One less mystery. Ajax; 1, mysteries; o, He thought with a dry unhappy bark of a laugh.

Big globular drops of his own blood plinked against his visor and smeared up it. He wiped it away, and bit down the hot molten wire feeling in his solar plexus. The void was spilled out in front of him like a dark lake, like the deep dark of a mine, like falling, like nothing was real. Like he was so small it was going to swallow him up. He felt his pulse drilling heavy in his head- Space had never been his friend. Growing up on asteroid, you'd think that wouldn't bother a guy, but his life had been solidly indoors, steadfastly inside cramped steel corridors or in the deep dark of the space rock's mine shafts. He'd done his first space walk at 23 and nearly quit basic training. Mountain tops were nearly as bad with all that open blue to fall up into, but at least, he thought, mountain tops were beautiful.

His breaths were coming in quick and shallow, his best compromise between full panic attack hyperventilating and conserving air. He finally had the good sense to squeeze his eyes shut.

“Fuck me,” he said, “Fuck me.”

He was starting to really feel the pain finally. He wanted to scream and kick something but he was venting air and that wouldn't help at all. He trembled with the rage that came from his howling frustration that stemmed completely from his fear that was fueled by immense helplessness. He tried the com again. And then again in what he felt was some time latter, but was really only moments. He just needed some one. Anyone. Just some one to tell him they'd get him- some one he could pretend everything was fine at. Particles act different when observed or unobserved and Ajax was no different. It was so much easier to assure some one else that he'd be fine. If the com's were up, if he wasn't injured he could picture how that'd feel, how the fear would be less spastic, how he would say something like “Have you guys seen the medic, I could you know- really use a hand. Maybe two.' after the battle cooled down. Or maybe just 'God I've been calling for pick up for an hour, we have got to fire the medic.' Something. Anything. Hell he'd take getting lectured for being reckless or stupid or just plain bad at his job by any one of them.

The sick worry of fucking up sat in his stomach, it was one thing if this was just an embarrassing fiasco to make another good near miss story- it was quiet another if some one else got dead over his mistake- though what exactly he'd done that was a mistake in the dog fight he couldn't finger. He didn't want his failure to be on others, but that's what his job was. That was what had always been on the line. He couldn't help if it happened. He'd done all he could. He'd given it one hell of a try. He started to hum. Loud and off tune. Anything. Bad pop songs, jingles, old work tallish work songs, the song he'd learned in grade school to remember how to get coordinators in the right order.

Time stretched like a long drive at night.

And he ran out of songs, ran out of the strength to take breath deep enough to get a solid hum- it was making him feel faint. So he cracked an eye and peeked, the dark behind his eyes was starting to feel too much like giving up, suddenly. The planet was still big and orange with yellows stripes and a thick band of fuzzy green around it's middle. It looked like a nectarine that had gone bad. He hated nectarines. They were mealy, mushy, sugar-bags that attracted flies. The dog -fight still seemed to be going strong. They could be here all night. He laughed hoarsely- wasn't it always night time in space, kinda? That was juvenile; he knew better. But the starry expanse was like an infinite night. No one used day or night back on Exera13V, just shifts; first second third and fourth. Space was confined to a view through a window no bigger than his head. When you slept was relative- so night had been new. He hadn't liked it. Too quiet. Too dark. Too long. Still didn't like it.

The inside of his visor was fogged, and the condensation had begun to trickle down in fat lines to collect around his neck and chafe. He was sweating like a pig and the cold was starting to creep in. He wasn't sure if he'd bleed out or asphyxiate first, Penelope would have been able to tell him. He wasn't sure it would’ve been a good idea to ask though. He didn't know which was worse- he'd seen both. He'd never seen a good way to go, so he'd never bothered with preferences.

“Alright, Ajax, listen,” He said to himself. His voice was uninspiring and slurred and he was really not one to talk to himself to begin with. But desperate times, as they say. “Just calm the fuck down. You've had worse..... I have definitely had worse.”

He exhaled and felt the pounding of his pulse go out of his head, and maybe it was the creeping numbness of blood loss, or maybe it was his pep talk. But everything got still. His spin had leveled out and the planet had locked into place as he drifted. He didn't want to think about his mom. So he didn't. His mind went blank and right back to his parents; He'd already spent a lot of time thinking about the old pair of scientist would take him coming back in a box. It was something he was sure wouldn’t surprise them; as unpleasant as it was he honestly wasn't surprised either. But grief didn't have to be a surprise to be awful. Everything was squared away, though. He couldn't think of anything as his brain slowly mulled it over- his will left everything to duke. He'd set up a college fund for Leah years ago- He'd already been away for so long it hardly mattered. They knew he loved them in the distant faraway way that he did. It wouldn't change their worlds much. Some one aught to water his succulents. That would be nice.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, or when he'd begun to cry or when the tunnel vision had started to creep in. He wanted to go home. He hadn't thought that- not since he left it. Or maybe he'd always wanted to go home but it wasn't where he'd thought he left it. Maybe when duke's contract was up he could get her to move somewhere- anywhere. Away form that god awful hell rock. He thought about the red head boy from the last time he was on shore leave instead, and the last time he really thought he was going to die. And realized he was really going to this time with a cold sick twist of his gut.

He breathed in and out.

“That's just going to have to be okay,” He said out loud. It did not make him feel any better, any calmer. His chest hurt and he knew exactly the process his body was going through. Knowing just how Hypovolemic Shock shut the body down in a certain order, the limbs the organs, then the heart, and then the brain- running out of oxygen slowly but surely. Knowing exactly what to do to treat it, and strangely wished that maybe there might be two of him. One to be almost dead and another one to hook him up to IV. Exsanguination was the same of asphyxiation really, only perhaps a lot slower and round about and less violent and maybe that made it preferable. He decided Asphyxiation was worse.

He moaned. An indulgence that simultaneously made him feel better and wretched. It was cold, it hurt and it was all bullshit. He keened hard, watched the world drain down to a pin point of light, forgot how he'd gotten there, tried to think of something nice, and that was that.

 

[CelticSol]

Eppie's Room

Despite the fact Eppie seems to be the sort of mad scientist persona either without a scrap of organization to her studies or obsessive organization, but in reality, her room is neat and oddly comfortable, as if she had made it a personal mission to make her cabin appear to be something homey. Her bed has a fluffy, grey bed set with throw pillows of vary colours and textures, but are mostly decorated with floral patterns. She's got a handmade multicoloured rug laid down in the center of the room, with a couple of hanging plants, both originating from earth and from alien planets. Across the walls, Eppie has painted murals, some complete, some not, along with pictures of her family and friends back on New Eden and images of alien flora and fauna and other neat art pieces she's found at stores.

Above her desk, she has drawings, pictures, and articles of alien species. Her desk is clear of materials except for a small stereo that's always playing music, which swings from old earth tunes to alien ballads. She has various drawers installed into her desk for her notes, gear, or supplies, and she has installed additional shelves for the same purpose. Along the rest of the shelves are books, varying from work related to cool novels she's picked up over the years. Hooked up along the walls are fairy lights she never really turns off, which she claims to do for the aesthetic, but mostly because she can't stand the dark.

Eppie's Last Words

Eppie's recklessness and lack of foresight in dangerous situations would lend itself to any number of ways to die, from the simple to the gruesome. If whatever death that befell her left her with final words, then, unquestionably, her last words would be a desperate cycle of, "I'm okay. I'm not going to die, I'm going to be okay, I'm okay, I'm okay," Though her words are less speech and more of a death rattle, and the way she looks makes it obvious she's only trying to convince herself.

(Alternatively, in any scenario where she becomes severely disoriented,: 'Shit - Cas, my oxygen ruptured. It's gone - I can't breathe! I can't fucking breathe!')

 

[Camden]

Pier Santana
​

After murmuring something like "well how else are you supposed to test something" and "great now I can repurpose those guns", Pier quickly finished his diagram. He walked to the fabricator and held the blueprints under a camera, one by one. After they were scanned in, he entered some parameters on the control panel, and the machine whirred to life.

It quickly assembled seven innocuous looking discs, with tiny clasps that allowed attachment to almost any surface. These discs, when activated, would create an electrical grid about an inch above the surface they were attached to.

This was achieved using a series of capacitors (which release power) and power cells (which store it). Anything touching the field would receive a voltage of 1000v. This is five hundred times above the lethal amount to a human, 2mAv, which will stop your heart. However, once above that range, voltage simply causes pain if it doesn't go extremely high.

Insects, which do not have hearts to stop, must be burned to death by electricity. The optimal range for this is between 500v and 1500v. Anything above that, and like the humans, it has minimal effect.

This is because you aren't being hurt by the voltage, you're being hurt by the current. And the current produced by 1000v is perfect for frying bugs, while the current produced my 2mAv is perfect for stopping hearts.

At least, that was what Pier had deduced from studying archaic designs from archives thousands of years ago. The field would just merge if he had to touch something within it, I.E. the power button, it was just electricity.

Pier was confident that it would work. With the current technology, he could replicate the heat produced by the current by at least 1000%, and while he wasn't sure about power consumption, he was fairly sure that he could survive at least one swarm. And even if it failed, what we're they going to do to him in his excursion suit, cook him like the bot? Unlikely, the suit was built to withstand the heat from a petroleum based flamethrower.

 

[TrashRabbit]

To quote my favorite DMing instructional, to do something you do it. No one is upset at you for anything you've done in character. Your characters last idea didn't work, that's okay. This rp is not about winning. as far as being OP; This idea is as equally within Piers power to put into motion as the last one. The choice is yours. you are in total control of your character.

 

[Camden]

Yeah I know no one is mad at me but I buggered the science behind it lol

I'll post it then

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

There are lots of ways Cathal could die, most of them exciting. His last words would probably be some variation of:

"Hold my beer, I've got this"

or

"Listen, it's all going to be fine, because I said so. Okay?"

 

[Graystone713]

I have the ULTIMATE CHARACTER PERSONALITY TEST.
IT IS ONE QUESTION.
DO
YOUR
CHARACTERS
ENJOY
PUNS?

Kevin awkwardly makes awkward puns, but never really goes all in on them and kinda just awkwards himself away when no-one notices or cares. Billy doesn't make puns, but sorta snickers if you have a really good one. Tina makes them sometimes because there's one or two situations where puns make less words into more words, and thus improves her communication.
Also, Kevin subtle snickers. It's hard to hear, so it's mostly body language.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Cathal: makes bad puns

Finn & Cris: groan

 

[TrashRabbit]

Goody: Doesn't get puns. he's broken. Maybe his metaphorical English isn't that great.
Donny: Ignores it, unless its really clever and then he's quietly exasperated.
Amelie: laughs and makes a less good pun back.
Tom: You owe me a dollar for making me hear that with my own god damn ears kiddo.

 

[rubycats]

Holly: When she understands them she giggles hard
Preston: Glares at whoever made it as if they killed his cat
John: Smiles and wags his finger

 

[TrashRabbit]

What kind of car would your character rock in 2017?

Donny has a shitty tan Toyota corolla circa '92

 

[rubycats]

Holly totes would drive a bug, and would name it Lady

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Cathal has a very red Kawasaki motorcycle covered in stickers. Please do not give him a car. He can drive but not well.

Finn drives a '69 Dodge Charger that's very lovingly restored.

Cris has a souped up BMW M3 with so many mods.

 

[Graystone713]

Kevin probably drives the Tankiest car he can afford. Which might be a used truck. Like, maybe an old ford.

Billy and Tina probably share the same super cheap teeny tiny hybrid. Like, the sort of tiny Prius that can barely contain the two of them. It’s probably also used.