fever. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abhorrently) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-09-14 07:12 pm
abhorrently) wrote in come_sailaway2023-09-14 07:12 pm
(open.) while now i'm free
Who: Fever and open!
What: First month on the ship, and she's getting adjusted.
When: September.
Where: Everywhere - a few specific locations for some prompts.
Warnings: Marked in specific threads if they happen.
Notes: Will match tag-in format.
they let anyone in - infirmary.
There's a new face in the infirmary, but not slinking in with something that needs repair. Rather, Fever's taking stock of the inventory, looking at what's familiar and unfamiliar alike, reading boxes and labels to understand what they're for. She moves purposefully, before she's collecting items to put together in a group - not a lot, but a pattern emerges. One set of bandages, one of different ointments, something to splint a broken joint - all necessary components for a first aid kit, along with the violently red potion she has on the counter.
Though on a different day, she's cleared a little section for herself, and is cautiously using some equipment with a few empty bottles. Heating water, and crushing something unknown into it, the scent of brewing plant matter beginning to rise. Might as well refine what materials she can, while she's here.
you need hobbies - playback.
The arcade is loud, bright, but it offers amusements if she's patient enough to learn, and Fever sees the potential if she just keeps trying. Her despair over some of the games just not making sense is apparent - the Pacman should be able to face his foes always, not just at certain intervals, and it's beginning to frustrate her deeply before she stalks away to try and find something better.
But later, she's found her niche, almost serene as she carries on playing one of the light gun games. Her score keeps going up, but she barely seems to see it - only what comes to the next target, when to reload and where to fire next, at vital points that make the virtual foes fall. Peaceful as one can be while hearing fake zombies attacking and dying in explosions of pixelated gore. And all that said, there is a gun for player two there.
"let there be something green" - flowers.
Of course, the new plantlife is something to investigate. It shouldn't be growing from walls, from the floor, which is enough to tell her that she needs to be a bit careful. But looking for the effects and being around them, they're not destroying her with their aura - yet. Yet is always the key word, and that's good enough for Fever to make the unwise decision of taking blooms for herself. Plucked, placed in her satchel, she's hoping it'll ward off the worst effects.
Except of course, when it can't. And given that there's quite a few types around, it means that those who venture too close might be also at risk to falling victim to whatever plant she's clipped and currently dealing with. At the least, the magic should be a sufficient icebreaker. Or you can stop her from picking up one with truly hideous side effects.
[ooc: open to any and all flower effects except for baby's breath and titan arum. mix and match with me!]
insomnia club is always open - around.
Even on this ship, her sleep is no better than it has ever been. Never a truly sustained night, only some uneasy truce with her mind and her body to lie down and attempt rest. It never lasts for as long as it should, and when her nightmares inevitably wake her, sometimes staying in the cabin is suffocating. So Fever goes out, heedless of the hour, walking softly in the cabin halls and seeing where her feet take her.
Maybe she lays in a chair by the pool, trying to find new rest there and failing, or maybe she's sprawled out in the lounge by the atrium, having just taken a tumble from trying to fit all of herself on a chair. Or she's posted up in Bobby B's, but drinking isn't the name of the game. Instead, this is one of the few areas she can idle in with a mote of fire in her hands and not get sprayed down for it. Rolling the magic around between her palms like someone else would a stress ball, lost in consideration, her guard's relaxed for a moment.
wildcard.
[have a different idea for something to happen? come at me, my arms are open. basic info and permissions here, as well as Fever's opt out.]
What: First month on the ship, and she's getting adjusted.
When: September.
Where: Everywhere - a few specific locations for some prompts.
Warnings: Marked in specific threads if they happen.
Notes: Will match tag-in format.
they let anyone in - infirmary.
There's a new face in the infirmary, but not slinking in with something that needs repair. Rather, Fever's taking stock of the inventory, looking at what's familiar and unfamiliar alike, reading boxes and labels to understand what they're for. She moves purposefully, before she's collecting items to put together in a group - not a lot, but a pattern emerges. One set of bandages, one of different ointments, something to splint a broken joint - all necessary components for a first aid kit, along with the violently red potion she has on the counter.
Though on a different day, she's cleared a little section for herself, and is cautiously using some equipment with a few empty bottles. Heating water, and crushing something unknown into it, the scent of brewing plant matter beginning to rise. Might as well refine what materials she can, while she's here.
you need hobbies - playback.
The arcade is loud, bright, but it offers amusements if she's patient enough to learn, and Fever sees the potential if she just keeps trying. Her despair over some of the games just not making sense is apparent - the Pacman should be able to face his foes always, not just at certain intervals, and it's beginning to frustrate her deeply before she stalks away to try and find something better.
But later, she's found her niche, almost serene as she carries on playing one of the light gun games. Her score keeps going up, but she barely seems to see it - only what comes to the next target, when to reload and where to fire next, at vital points that make the virtual foes fall. Peaceful as one can be while hearing fake zombies attacking and dying in explosions of pixelated gore. And all that said, there is a gun for player two there.
"let there be something green" - flowers.
Of course, the new plantlife is something to investigate. It shouldn't be growing from walls, from the floor, which is enough to tell her that she needs to be a bit careful. But looking for the effects and being around them, they're not destroying her with their aura - yet. Yet is always the key word, and that's good enough for Fever to make the unwise decision of taking blooms for herself. Plucked, placed in her satchel, she's hoping it'll ward off the worst effects.
Except of course, when it can't. And given that there's quite a few types around, it means that those who venture too close might be also at risk to falling victim to whatever plant she's clipped and currently dealing with. At the least, the magic should be a sufficient icebreaker. Or you can stop her from picking up one with truly hideous side effects.
[ooc: open to any and all flower effects except for baby's breath and titan arum. mix and match with me!]
insomnia club is always open - around.
Even on this ship, her sleep is no better than it has ever been. Never a truly sustained night, only some uneasy truce with her mind and her body to lie down and attempt rest. It never lasts for as long as it should, and when her nightmares inevitably wake her, sometimes staying in the cabin is suffocating. So Fever goes out, heedless of the hour, walking softly in the cabin halls and seeing where her feet take her.
Maybe she lays in a chair by the pool, trying to find new rest there and failing, or maybe she's sprawled out in the lounge by the atrium, having just taken a tumble from trying to fit all of herself on a chair. Or she's posted up in Bobby B's, but drinking isn't the name of the game. Instead, this is one of the few areas she can idle in with a mote of fire in her hands and not get sprayed down for it. Rolling the magic around between her palms like someone else would a stress ball, lost in consideration, her guard's relaxed for a moment.
wildcard.
[have a different idea for something to happen? come at me, my arms are open. basic info and permissions here, as well as Fever's opt out.]
no subject
"Right? Magic's a wonderful thing - I'm glad every day that I know how to use it. Even if I don't end up using it that day. Some people can, some can't, but we've all got things we can and can't do."
no subject
"Right. I know people that can do some absolutely wild stuff with their Gestures, and some that are just as badass without ever having to learn them." He'd told others about Decres, about her prowess in combat versus his own preference for using his will-based abilities. Not that she couldn't use them, just that she preferred the more martial abilities. "Do you plan on doing anything with the fight club? They're good about keeping your skills sharp, if you're cool with wildly different skillsets."
no subject
That and keeping herself trained with the staff would be solid. She's never going to be a heavy hitter, but staying nimble would be ideal.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
It only works as training if you're actually putting some force behind it.
no subject
no subject
And she'd like to stay as a person, thanks.
no subject
no subject
As an overtaxed cleric can attest to in trying to keep all of that on the inside.
no subject
"Okay so definitely no making it necessary to have to scrape you off the deck. Easy enough."