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goneawayworld2021-02-08 01:02 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2021-02-08 01:02 pm
Entry tags:
Happy Valentine's Day!
Who: Rig workers and New Hires
What: Valentine's Day Events
Where: The Rig
When: Valentine's Day
Warnings/Notes: Violence likely.
A. Cupids aren't as cherubic as they appeared in Renaissance-era artworks. The little bastards float with the bodies of babies, but the huge, flatly reflective grey eyes of a cave-dwelling monster and the teeth of a viperfish when they open their mouths to deliver a hideous, staccato cackle. They flit around in the air in clumsy bursts with all of the grace of a concussed mosquito, only remaining upright half the time, but twice as hard to catch. That doesn't change the pinpoint accuracy of their aim, however, as they open fire with arrows of pyrite.
That's another difference in the myths. They don't target people and make them fall in love. They target lovers, or people with crushes, shoot to wound, and feed. Dozens of them careen drunkenly through the halls of the Rig, searching for people who are a little too obvious about their unspoken desire for affection. When caught, they squall like babies, then try to take a chunk out of their captor with their vicious mouths, opening far wider than a normal baby should be able to manage. Fortunately, they don't seem to be more durable than most babies, though their appearance and cries are enough to put off many Rig workers from a solution more permanent than trapping them in a closet or under a crate.
---
B. "It will be darling," Sharon says, smiling. "Do it." Despite the honeyed words of previous arguments, this time it's backed by steel. She smiles and casually knocks a cherub out of the air with a blast of rock salt, followed by a few vicious, but loving ('It's all about love,' she says. 'Jesus wants it that way.') strokes with the butt of her shotgun. "It's for morale, dear. Management thinks that it will help you all bond and realize that things aren't so bad here. You know, get you involved in some normal activities." She pauses, then whacks the little beast one more time. "...It twitched. Now, shoo. This box has all of the lace and paper you'll need. Even some gluesticks. But, please, be a dear and don't let Mac have too much paste. You know how he gets, bless his heart."
Yes, that's the official stance of Jorgmund. Mac can have a little glue, as a treat. On holidays. And, as promised, everything is there. Glue, pens, sparkly glitter, safety scissors, paper, and a load of candy message hearts, 'for inspiration'. There are even a few examples, addressed to Sam, to show the 'less fortunate' New Hires how to do it.
Of course, given that they're supposed to be doing it in between their regular chores and clearing out cherub corpses, Jorgmund doesn't exactly have high hopes. But an attempt is being made.
---
C. It was wheeled out from the darkest depths of collections. Large. Looming. Non-functional. It was only with much cajoling that they could even get Brainiac 5 to touch the thing, for reasons that become clear as soon as the computer boots up. It proudly proclaims itself to be property of Brainiac 5 and the Legion of Super Heroes, but not one that anyone here has ever been a member of.
They'd probably remember a computer dedicated to kissing, after all.
Yes, one of the public events planned for this year's Valentine's is finding the Perfect Smooching Partner, and Brainiac 5's Love Machine (Demands for rebranding were curtly refused) will help the world find their match... within the Rig, of course. When two people kiss, it tracks technique, passion, and the lighting of the brain's pleasure centers to rate their kiss on a scale of 1-100. Once everyone in a group has kissed at least one other partner, it collates the data collected and rearranges their images onscreen to show their true best match.
Security's already gotten involved and the only reason that the entire event hasn't been shut down is because there's money being passed around on who starts the next fight. Things have already gotten violent more than once and a Security officer's already been sent to Medical for a busted nose.
The New Hires aren't being forced to participate, but there's definitely a few very interested workers lined up, popping some breath mints, and straightening their shirts.
---
D. The banner reads "Speed Work-Appropriate Platonic Friendship/Networking" because, after all, relationships are forbidden by Jorgmund. Nevermind that half the crew is hooking up with each other, workers are expected to be married to the company, and the company is a jealous mistress. That doesn't stop some enterprising individuals from trying to make the most of the situation, as Mr. Sagittarius would undoubtedly cheerfully inform you if he could read these words. But since he can't, you don't have to imagine his smug little grin. Bonus.
Several tables have been laid out in rows, with lonely men and women seated at each one. These include several New Hires. The other side of the table seats include other workers, including several other New Hires, who get up and leave every eight minutes (Or ten posts), moving one seat down. The idea is that they'll take this time to bond with one another, find commonalities, and strike up a lifelong friendship. They've been offered a list of starter questions as possible starters, filled with corporate-approved humor that wouldn't make it into Reader's Digest.
One thing's clear, though. The people that haven't been forced into this, at least the Rig worker side anyway, are honestly extremely lonely people who are desperate for any connection that doesn't come from a plastic smile. After all, there's only about a thousand people on the Rig at any given time and many of them are stuck in jobs deep in the bowels of the machine that offer little chance for socialization. Even the workers that were married, grandfathered in before the harsher fraternization codes were put in place, rarely see their spouses or children aboard due to conflicting schedules.
Every now and then there's a gunshot from the background as someone takes another potshot at a cupid.
What: Valentine's Day Events
Where: The Rig
When: Valentine's Day
Warnings/Notes: Violence likely.
A. Cupids aren't as cherubic as they appeared in Renaissance-era artworks. The little bastards float with the bodies of babies, but the huge, flatly reflective grey eyes of a cave-dwelling monster and the teeth of a viperfish when they open their mouths to deliver a hideous, staccato cackle. They flit around in the air in clumsy bursts with all of the grace of a concussed mosquito, only remaining upright half the time, but twice as hard to catch. That doesn't change the pinpoint accuracy of their aim, however, as they open fire with arrows of pyrite.
That's another difference in the myths. They don't target people and make them fall in love. They target lovers, or people with crushes, shoot to wound, and feed. Dozens of them careen drunkenly through the halls of the Rig, searching for people who are a little too obvious about their unspoken desire for affection. When caught, they squall like babies, then try to take a chunk out of their captor with their vicious mouths, opening far wider than a normal baby should be able to manage. Fortunately, they don't seem to be more durable than most babies, though their appearance and cries are enough to put off many Rig workers from a solution more permanent than trapping them in a closet or under a crate.
B. "It will be darling," Sharon says, smiling. "Do it." Despite the honeyed words of previous arguments, this time it's backed by steel. She smiles and casually knocks a cherub out of the air with a blast of rock salt, followed by a few vicious, but loving ('It's all about love,' she says. 'Jesus wants it that way.') strokes with the butt of her shotgun. "It's for morale, dear. Management thinks that it will help you all bond and realize that things aren't so bad here. You know, get you involved in some normal activities." She pauses, then whacks the little beast one more time. "...It twitched. Now, shoo. This box has all of the lace and paper you'll need. Even some gluesticks. But, please, be a dear and don't let Mac have too much paste. You know how he gets, bless his heart."
Yes, that's the official stance of Jorgmund. Mac can have a little glue, as a treat. On holidays. And, as promised, everything is there. Glue, pens, sparkly glitter, safety scissors, paper, and a load of candy message hearts, 'for inspiration'. There are even a few examples, addressed to Sam, to show the 'less fortunate' New Hires how to do it.
Of course, given that they're supposed to be doing it in between their regular chores and clearing out cherub corpses, Jorgmund doesn't exactly have high hopes. But an attempt is being made.
C. It was wheeled out from the darkest depths of collections. Large. Looming. Non-functional. It was only with much cajoling that they could even get Brainiac 5 to touch the thing, for reasons that become clear as soon as the computer boots up. It proudly proclaims itself to be property of Brainiac 5 and the Legion of Super Heroes, but not one that anyone here has ever been a member of.
They'd probably remember a computer dedicated to kissing, after all.
Yes, one of the public events planned for this year's Valentine's is finding the Perfect Smooching Partner, and Brainiac 5's Love Machine (Demands for rebranding were curtly refused) will help the world find their match... within the Rig, of course. When two people kiss, it tracks technique, passion, and the lighting of the brain's pleasure centers to rate their kiss on a scale of 1-100. Once everyone in a group has kissed at least one other partner, it collates the data collected and rearranges their images onscreen to show their true best match.
Security's already gotten involved and the only reason that the entire event hasn't been shut down is because there's money being passed around on who starts the next fight. Things have already gotten violent more than once and a Security officer's already been sent to Medical for a busted nose.
The New Hires aren't being forced to participate, but there's definitely a few very interested workers lined up, popping some breath mints, and straightening their shirts.
D. The banner reads "Speed Work-Appropriate Platonic Friendship/Networking" because, after all, relationships are forbidden by Jorgmund. Nevermind that half the crew is hooking up with each other, workers are expected to be married to the company, and the company is a jealous mistress. That doesn't stop some enterprising individuals from trying to make the most of the situation, as Mr. Sagittarius would undoubtedly cheerfully inform you if he could read these words. But since he can't, you don't have to imagine his smug little grin. Bonus.
Several tables have been laid out in rows, with lonely men and women seated at each one. These include several New Hires. The other side of the table seats include other workers, including several other New Hires, who get up and leave every eight minutes (Or ten posts), moving one seat down. The idea is that they'll take this time to bond with one another, find commonalities, and strike up a lifelong friendship. They've been offered a list of starter questions as possible starters, filled with corporate-approved humor that wouldn't make it into Reader's Digest.
One thing's clear, though. The people that haven't been forced into this, at least the Rig worker side anyway, are honestly extremely lonely people who are desperate for any connection that doesn't come from a plastic smile. After all, there's only about a thousand people on the Rig at any given time and many of them are stuck in jobs deep in the bowels of the machine that offer little chance for socialization. Even the workers that were married, grandfathered in before the harsher fraternization codes were put in place, rarely see their spouses or children aboard due to conflicting schedules.
Every now and then there's a gunshot from the background as someone takes another potshot at a cupid.
no subject
I don't... this is what I meant by not being able to turn things on and off. I haven't been pursuing Carolina for a long time, it's just. Who I am with someone I care about.
[ The last thing York wants is to blow this over someone who doesn't even want him, but he's genuinely worried he might screw it up worse later. Possibly without even realizing it. What if North gets jealous and thinks he is pursuing? ]
no subject
[ He moves his rubbing hand toward the center of York's back. ]
Make sense?
no subject
Is it a dealbreaker?
[ He asks it quietly, worried he's not getting his concerns across properly but uncertain how to voice them. He probably just looks like a complete asshole. ]
no subject
[ He knows York is the type to be free and open with his emotions, which may make this difficult. But difficult is not impossible. ]
York, I just...I just want to try this.
no subject
[ His brow furrows slightly. ]
Just having them.
no subject
Not a dealbreaker.
[ He mumbles it so quietly that York could be forgiven for not hearing it properly. He twists a couple of fingers into York's hair and combs them through, continuing to kiss him. ]
no subject
You are just determined to mess up my hair lately.
no subject
S'my goal in life.
[ He pushes his hand more deeply into York's hair, into the thicker locks at the back. ]
no subject
[ He can always fix it later. Right now he tilts his chin up for better kissing access, arching slightly against North to get as close as he can despite his arm being stuck between them. ]
Hey, Andrew?
no subject
Mm?
no subject
[ He gets to just say that, now. In private, anyway. It's nice. ]
no subject
You don't have to say that just because I...because this...
[ He flushes again. York's jumping in with both feet, it seems, and he's not sure if it's only because North brought the idea up. ]
no subject
I would've said it before, just not with the same...
[ What's the word he's looking for? Help him out, North. ]
no subject
[ He works his hand around to the side of York's head again, thumbing around the shell of his ear. He looks distant there for a moment, looking past York's head to the wall. ]
I don't say that so easily. Sorry.
no subject
[ It doesn't seem to bother him that North can't say it back. He sort of already did, didn't he? What does bother him is the distant look, like North is uncomfortable with him all of a sudden. ]
...I don't have to say it if it's gonna upset you.
no subject
[ He's still pulled back, now looking into York's eyes. ]
I'll reciprocate when I'm ready to. That's all.
no subject
[ And have to keep it quiet, both literally and figuratively. York bites his lip, thinking. ]
Should we lay off in public, or is that more of a red flag if our behavior changes?
no subject
[ It's going to be hard not to be more touchy than before though, in public. They'll just have to keep it at a normal level. And no kissing in the public areas. ]
Just... I'm sure there's people who think we were together already.
no subject
...really? Who?
no subject
[ He huffs out a chuckle. ]
Look, this whole thing... I didn't realize it was happening at first either.
no subject
Are you sure, then? If you just now--
no subject
[ He shakes his head slightly. ]
I fell into it before I realized it. I didn't fall into it when I was told I had, I got told and I found myself there. You know? Like being lost and not having a light and then someone illuminates things for you.
no subject
[ Because it just happened to him, too. It's not just the fear that rejecting North would have cost him a friend, because that was there too, but only after he slipped up and started talking about things he shouldn't have. The actual realization was like a light turning on. ]
no subject
[ Another thump on their barrier, this time causing it to scoot away from the doorway a bit on one edge. ]
Ah, shit. I'd better fix that.
no subject
[ Then the thump, and scrape of the bedframe pushing away from the door. York grumbles softly but nods, leaning back and disentangling their legs so North can get up. ]
At least it's heavy.
[ Once North is out of the bed he feels cold, and reaches to check his device to see if Ian replied again. He didn't, but someone's tagged him and-- ]
Oh, shit.
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