every action has an equal opposite reaction [OTA]

[not_the_last]

Who: Cassandra de Rolo and all comers
When: January post-launch
Where: Pick a location
What: Reactions in the aftermath of the launch and subsequent announcement
Warnings: Game-typical angst

1. fractured into factions (immediately post-announcement)

After Tayrey's announcement fades and Darcy withdraws, Cassandra's left on the Promenade. Things are still burning, chaos is still running rampant; not everyone has stopped when the reason for the diversion ended.

She sighs, and starts moving down the deck to see what actively ongoing destruction she has any chance of stopping. If she sees anything still on fire, she'll do her best to put it out.

2. we're breaking down like fractions (over the next handful of days)

It's some time yet until the first of the month, when damage to the ship gets repaired. Rumor travels fast on this ship, and Cassandra is aware that there may have been some lasting effect on Friday; it's possible the damage won't be repaired even then.

Under the circumstances she doesn't feel right trying to recruit people to help, as she did when her house in the Village was vandalized. Instead she'll do what she can on her own: find her on the Promenade, in the bars, on the sports deck, in any of the public areas of the ship where damage has been done, dressed down in jeans and a plain t-shirt and with her hair braided back out of the way, working on cleaning up the mess.

3. I get no satisfaction (through to the end of the month)

Helena had said something, in the aftermath of the Village, that struck her: crisis may be the only thing we all know to unify on. Either that was wrong, or this isn't yet the right kind of crisis. The population of the ship feels more splintered than ever.

So she'll be looking, in communal spaces like the buffet or the bars, for anyone she hasn't talked to in a little while -- especially anyone whose alliance she's uncertain of. And, perhaps, one or two of the people she knows are in opposition but might be good to talk to anyway. For various reasons.

4. Wildcard!

Comments

Wildcard-y

[saltwaterlungs]

[ The infirmary has all the sounds of someone rummaging through when Cass comes past, the occasional clinking of glass jars and plastic bottles. Someone murmuring to theirself, mostly the same few words repeated over and over. When she does enter, Darcy startles, quickly closing up a small notebook on their thigh and looking over their shoulder to-

It's not a scowl. But Darcy does not seem pleased that Cass is in there anyway, and they quickly go back to rummaging, silently now. ]

[not_the_last]

Why does this keep happening, Cassandra wonders wearily; herself entering a room where Darcy is already busy with something, and feeling like an unwanted intrusion.

"I beg your pardon," she says aloud, "I won't be long."

And, as she heads for the drawer where the bandages are kept, she wonders something else: what are they doing there?

[saltwaterlungs]

Probably because they are always in places and doing things.

Darcy gives a grunt of acknowledgement and little else, continuing to pull out jars of... is this horse piss? Christ.

"I expected to see more gloating," Darcy says so conversational it might be mistaken for talking about the weather, "maybe a street party. Or a parade."

[not_the_last]

Cassandra opens the drawer, and starts counting bandage rolls, and doesn't answer.

[Text] A few days after the launch

[ss_buttcrack]

Just checking in. How are you doing?

[not_the_last]

I'm all right. And yourself?

actually, we'll set this after ari's disappearance

[ss_buttcrack]

[Thank God, it's and enormous relief just to get a response from her at all.]

Physically, I'm fine. But I have bad news. Better if I tell you in person.

[not_the_last]

There's a brief pause before her response comes.

Where are you? I can come meet you there.

2 and 3 mix.

[abhorrently]

It's later in the month when Cassandra can find Fever, carefully filling some of the myriad bullet holes left in the walls for some reason. She's been busy this month helping fix what of the damage can be, both to keep her hands busy and for the optics of it - it looks far better when you're contributing, helping this place you're meant to live in. By now, she has it down to a rhythm, pasting the filling material in and scraping away excess. When she hears someone nearby, she only glances from the corner of her eye, but it means she's no less alert.

"Cassandra."

She won't be impolite enough to act as though there's no recognition.

[not_the_last]

"Mistress Fever." She steps a little closer. "Do you know what happened here?"

[abhorrently]

"Not a clue, beyond extensive projectile damage. Someone got in a fight here, most likely."

She shrugs her shoulders, carefully scraping off excess filler.

"I can fix the holes, but I can't hide them. Concept's simple enough, though, in covering it up. And at least enough of us are pitching in that the place is still habitable."

[not_the_last]

"Yes," she agrees. "From what I hear, there's reason to think Friday may not be able to repair things as she usually does, after the strain she's been under. So doing it ourselves only makes sense."

There's a note in her voice that might be ... not regret, exactly, but some sorrow about Friday.

"Could you use a hand here, or is this a one-person task?"

3

[stalksthedarkness]

Kolchak, at the end of it all, decided that his fair share of petty theft and desecration of the pool, had been enough. He... hadn't started any actual fires (for once).

As things stood now, he was nursing a cup of coffee. Looking for all the world like he was saying "this is fine".

[not_the_last]

Cassandra glances at the man with the coffee, frowning slightly. She's seen him around the ship, of course, and has a vague notion she saw him doing some of the investigating at the winter resort a year ago, but as far as she can remember they've never actually spoken.

Maybe she should do something about that.

[stalksthedarkness]

Why not? It's never too late to make friends! At least the guy seems to be mostly relaxed? As relaxed as Kolchak could be woth the rush of excitement that took hold of the ship.

A sip, and our intrepid reporter glances the woman's way. He's seen Cassandra before, of course. He has a vague idea of who she is, and may have made a few notes about her before. "Can I help you? No fires to start, or put out, here."

[not_the_last]

In mild alarm: "People aren't still starting fires, are they? I thought that had stopped."

fractions

[goodweather]

Phil has been sweeping up too. John's is spotless, of course; he'd largely protected it during the chaos, had even turned into a big ol' dinosaur to do it when things started to really ramp up and there was a loud pink shapeshifter running around torching things. But that says nothing of the rest of all the other spaces they use in their daily lives on this ship.

So. Phil goes round with a broom and pan on the sports deck and especially around the memorial, sweeping up what he can, dragging a trashcan with him. He looks about as bled of life as he had when he first got back from the Village. He moves a bit slowly, rather stiffly. Sometimes he takes a deep breath. Sometimes he winces. Once in a while he'll stop by his the weather instruments he's set up to pen down some numbers. Still, he's working, and he hasn't seemed to particularly note Cassandra yet.

[not_the_last]

"Master Connors --"

(As luck would have it, she caught sight of him just as he was wincing.)

"Are you all right?" She's heading in his direction, a half-full trash bag in one hand.

[goodweather]

Oh--oh, it's Cassandra.

"I'm okay," he affirms, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It's--it's fine, it's... I'm not hurt. Wounded, I mean. Some, some pain flares, that's all."

He sucks in another breath, then looks her over, the half-filled trash bag. Good to see her out and about. "I missed you in the... in all of that. Were you safe?"

3

[inhairently]

Steve's been a hard guy to find these past few weeks. The Village really had done a number on him. It turns out that the compartmentalization boxes in your brain can eventually start overflowing, and without a job or school to force you into normalcy it gets pretty easy to withdraw from pretty much everything.

But something's changed, quite recently. It wasn't a conscious decision. He'd just woken up, put actual effort into styling his hair and choosing an outfit, and ventured out looking less like a prickly creature radiating "approach with caution" and more like his old self.

His first stop on this particular morning is the buffet, for breakfast. It's no surprise that he'd run into Cassandra here — people do eat meals, after all. It's kind of a thing. He thinks nothing of it, just nods in greeting as he starts to pile a plate up with food. Subterfuge, mutiny, the ultimate survival or lack thereof of everyone on this vessel — none of that's on his mind right now. Therefore, he opens the conversation with something just so painfully mundane, spoken like a true Midwestern boy who's just recently discovered the pinnacle of spice.

"Have you ever tried salsa on eggs? It's actually pretty good." Asked, of course, as he dumps a liberal amount of salsa onto his own plate.

[not_the_last]

She looks up at him as she spoons a dollop of some kind of jam onto her toast. The casual opening throws her briefly off-balance, as she tries to read in his face whether he's leading into something more serious, feigning casualness for lack of privacy, making some caustic point about being left out of more serious things, or just ... wanting to talk about breakfast.

"I don't think I have, actually," she says; whatever he's doing, matching his tone is most likely the best response. "I tried tomato ketchup on eggs once; I didn't care for it."

[inhairently]

"I've never been a ketchup guy. Not for eggs." Said as he's applying a generous amount of ketchup to the pile of hashbrowns on his plate. He really is just here to talk about breakfast, and his expression says as much. "You should try the salsa sometime. You might like it."

With his plate acceptably filled with food, he sticks a piece of plain toast in his mouth to avoid getting it ketchup-ed or salsa-ed and grabs a fork, giving it an unnecessary little twirl as he picks it up. Then he nods towards one of the tables before he heads that way — an invitation to join him, if she wants.

3, wildcard.

[decrypter]

Finding Helena in the library is like finding a fork in the kitchen. It's where it needs to be. And today, a while after the launch, she's busy working on something there. Other books on the table, slate and stylus by hand, writing and then pausing. Leaning back in her chair, tapping the end of the stylus to her chin, before adding one more letter. No, that's still not right.

This is going to be a bit of a quest, but she perks up when she hears Cassandra's voice.

"Are you well?"

[not_the_last]

"Helena." Cassandra sounds pleased to see her, if also tired and somewhat strained. "I'm well, thank you. Are you?"

[decrypter]

"There have been brighter days, but I'm not so lost in the fog."

She smiles in the direction of Cassandra's voice.

"Oh, that sounded terribly dour aloud, and better in my head. What I mean to say is there's nothing to worry about."