goneawayworld | Happy Valentine's Day!

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.

Threaded | Flat

[ North's doing his daily ritual, filling up on breakfast, sitting alone. He doesn't always do so, but he has a seat sort-of kind-of saved for York, and he didn't feel like socializing with much of anyone else this morning. He has some stuff to tell his friend about the recent goings-on.

York does enter the mess hall not too much later, and North smiles to see him. He's looking forward to getting York's input on this.

North's device chimes then, and North picks it up. It contains a message from his sister: ] oh my god tone down the big gay heart eyes you fuckin dumbass I can see them from here

[ He frowns now, and glances toward the place where she's sitting in the mess to see what kind of look is on her face. He messages back: ]

What are you talking about?

[ His sister is giving him a disbelieving look with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk from across the mess. She starts tapping out a response, but he doesn't receive it before York gets to the table. He returns to smiling. ]

Looks like you're hungry this morning.

Edited 2021-02-08 18:40 (UTC)

WHAK.

Unlike most of the Rig workers, Stacia apparently doesn't have a problem smacking the horrible little monsters into walls, infant-like appearance and noises or no. She might even be having a good time, though it's hard to say since she's currently in the form of a nightmarish bipedal wolf-monster with over-large fangs and enormous claws. She prowls the halls, smacking the horrible little gremlins out of the air, dressed only in her furry pelt and lacy doily paper hearts that read in clear letters "I'M FRIENDLY".

Price, of course, has been 'kindly invited' to partake to this event. He's partially amused because he wishes he could do this to others to study the outcomes and see what happens, just as a cutesy experiment rather than anything malevolent ~~strangely enough~~.

He made some progress, though, since the day everyone misinterpreted his beautiful apology: he is definitely friends with Dan, he has been nice and civilized towards Sam and Michael during the Babadon't mission - although he was ready cut Michael into tiny shreds because she wasn't on the list, but that was a safety measure -, and Setsuna has kept being adorable and available towards him. Plus the freelancers haven't been trying to kill him, lately, which he guesses is a nice addition to this list.

Not to mention that it is utterly unfair, expecting him to earn forgiveness from people he hasn't even wronged in the first place, so any worker outside of freelancers who dares judge him is missing out on an undeniably soft and understanding friend. Sucks to be them! It also sucks to be Price and know that there are shady ways of framing how workers who are particularly unpopular will be 'gently let go'. If anyone here knows what that entails, that's him.

Oh no. First person's here. Please be nice.

Of course Jennifer, like the 'poor, unlucky girl' she is, has been forced into an overwhelming situation right after she arrived. On one hand, this is exciting and it shall speed things up if only to get a friendly face to explain what on Earth is going on already. This will hopefully be nice and painless. Emphasis on the hopefully, she is quite the ball of anxiety at the moment.

A. [open to Sam]

[Dan has, at this moment, a laundry hamper full of cupids in the dorm room, which he's doing his best to try and tie up in the big bag. Little pyrite arrows keep poking out, and the sound of the cupids wailing in frustration echoes down the hall.]

Don't rustle around, you'll stab each other. [Dan has a tasteful amount of blood on his shoulder, by which he would mean, enough for a cupid to have gotten exactly a taste and nothing more. He looks a little frazzled and a little bit wildly entertained as Sam comes in.]

Sam! Oh, thank God you're here, there are another two in my locker and at least four took down the hall. We can probably fit a few more in here. Then...

[Well, Dan doesn't know how smart they are or if they feel pain. If there's a way to just let them go somewhere, catch-and-release some flesh-eating monsters, without having to worry about them devouring some other people next or dying of exposure, Dan would be a hundred percent behind that. As it stands, he's worried they may have to slaughter these little bastards, which, given that he's not sure they're going to get weapons to do execute that task, may horrifically turn into swinging a laundry bag against a table until the have a cupid stew.]

B. [open to all]

[Dan's found a way around his illiteracy when it comes to the valentines, which he finds quite relaxing to work on: sketching caricatures of the recipients on the back.

The problem is that he's trying to make one for each of the hires as well as all the Jorg staff with whom he has a friendly-or-more relationship, that's around a hundred people, and as such his hands are cramped, he's covered in marker, and...he realizes that no one's going to know who these valentines came from. He snags the nearest person walking by.]

Hey, do you mind helping me out and signing my name for me? I, uh... [Is "still signs his name with an X" levels of illiterate.] ...might could use any help I can get.

C. [open to all]

[Folks like to complain about the Rig, but Dan can't really knock the entertainment options, and what amounts to a computer-scored kissing competition is the top of his list in terms of things that sound like a fun afternoon. He changes into a uniform that isn't covered in his own and cupid blood, then shows up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to the event.

He recognizes basically all of the Jorg workers here, and has an idea of what the computer will spit out in terms of rankings based on his own experience with them. He looks to the hire next to him.]

Careful, Stephanie over there likes to bite.

Edited 2021-02-09 01:35 (UTC)

B

[ Wrath takes any assignment she's been given very seriously so when she gets a box of craft supplies and a less-than-gentle suggestion that she should be making valentines, she goes at it with a will. Really, this is one of the best assignments ever, because she's getting to make cute things! Since she's new, she just makes a card for every person whose name appears on the roster--

(except for South)

--and she actually does a really good job. She's got an eye for color and shape and makes very neat work. They're cute, they're animal-focused because she found a list of stupid puns and loved them all. Though along with the appropriate paper-craft animals, there are also a lot of... swords and motorcycles, which are a bit incongruent if still well-composed. She uses every scrap of glitter she can get her hands on. And she's working on them constantly, whenever she doesn't have another task--though she's happy to talk while she crafts.

When the day arrives, she quietly delivers all the cards before breakfast. Every single one is signed XOXO, WRATH in handwriting so terrible it seems completely at odds with the rest of the work. ]

D

[The really, really sad thing is that Wrath's done this kind of event multiple times before. So, she's very familiar with how it works and weirdly doesn't seem to mind it. She has her whole starting speech memorized from the last time:]

Hi, my name is Wrath, I'm a middle-aged veteran and mostly made of biomechanical parts. I love painting and riding on my hovercycle really fast and beating the shit out of people and the Demon Marines of Blood movies. It's nice to meet you!

A.

[ There is A Story to how Tucker (after 100% tuning out most of what he was told during orientation) finds out he got line-of-sight teleportation Stuff powers when he got stuck in this dumb apocalypse world.

See, Tucker, to his and anyone's knowledge, is crush-free as a lifestyle choice. He tried it pre-Rig, he fucked it up, he was right to try to avoid feelings all along, you're welcome. By that rubric alone, he should have been all clear. That said, unfortunately, he is transparently thirsty, and thirsty for affection and approval especially. By that rubric, he's kinda fucked when it comes to the cherub thing.

Some people have cool superpower origin stories, and some people figure out they can teleport in the middle of a panicked effort not to be murdered by demon cupids. Is there maybe a bloody bite mark messing up the shoulder of his jumpsuit? Sure. But importantly, he's alive. More importantly, he can do cool shit.

So this actually sort of turns into a very cool day? Better stress relief than the snowball fights. Because he does cool shit now. It's almost enough to make up for not having his awesome alien sword.

Tucker's out and about with a vengeance, basically. He can do a teleport (within reason), and he's got his shitty hand-assembled cheap dorm room folding chair, and he has Zero Compunctions about popping up to completely decimate a cupid or six as he sees fit. There he go. You're welcome again. ]

Y'know, I'm really a lover, not a fighter. But in this case-- [ WHAP. ] Get fucked, idiot, romance is dead!

[ He's genuinely having the time of his life. ]

D.

[ The only thing that keeps Tucker from bolting at the very prospect of this setup is the stress put on platonic networking on the banner. Is that immature and pathetic of him? Yes.

There's no "but", just the yes. He's quite aware that he's immature and dumb. He doesn't expect to wind up making friends in here, let alone actual connections to people.

But whatever. It beats doing actual work for Jorgmund, and it's a chiller vibe than said actual work, including all the desperation. (He gets it. Being alone sucks. Even if being alone in an alien temple under siege sucked way more, in his humble opinion.)

He crumples up his list of starter questions and shoves it into his pocket almost immediately. He can do word. He's great at word. He leans back in his seat so far that he almost falls over and has to right himself at the last second, like a cool person does.

Tucker opens, conversationally: ]

I feel like this speed-friend thing would go better long-term if they let a couple cupids go ham for a while and handed out guns. Literally every friend I have, I made when we either had to fight some dumb bullshit together or when we were standing around fully-armed.

[ Valentines is... really not South's scene. Like, at all. She doesn't remember the last valentines day she even acknowledged and she's hardly enthused that she's been left with little other choice, here. Which is, by the way, really fucking weird. Who bans relationships and then enforces involvement in valentines activities? What the fuck?

She is lucky enough that what lingering old romantic wounds she has are buried deep enough that the cupids don't particularly care she exists when much more obvious meals are around, but she'd almost rather deal with fighting them off than do this corporate valentines bullshit.

All this to say: no one has ever looked so grumpy about doing arts and crafts as South does right now.

It doesn't exactly help that she's still down a fully functioning hand. What little effort she cares to put in to her extremely generic valentines, which she has no intention at all of actually handing out, is thoroughly undermined by the fact she's doing it basically one-handed. ]

I'm gonna get this splint off and a fuckin' mountain of glitter's just gonna fall out. This shit really does get everywhere.

[ Speed Not-Dating. Fucking wonderful, as if this entire affair wasn't weird enough.

South hasn't exactly been a social butterfly on the rig and sure, maybe she was thinking about changing that—but not like this. Not sitting around cycling through sad saps she'll never see again. She's not the worst at maintaining a conversation, is even learning to bite her tongue instead of snap or snark sometimes, but this is just kind of draining.

It's actually a relief when another New Hire takes the seat across from her. New Hires are generally more... interesting, people, if nothing else; eight minutes with them has to be less mind-numbing than with Generic Lady From Accounting or whatever. ]

You here because they told you to be, because you genuinely want to be, or for shits and giggles?

Brand somehow ended up on clean-up duty for all the little corpses left littering the Rig. Fortunately, he'd managed to get his hands on a pair of pliers, so he can make the most of it by pulling their nasty little teeth out of their mouths.

This is what fucking happens when you take his weapons away, he gets creative. The teeth aren't big enough to be replacement knives, but they're sharp and he could scatter them somewhere someone might step on them. Plus they're fucking weird enough that Jorgmund employees might assume it's just another Stuff manifestation.

So far, he's amassed a nice little pile here in the garbage room. It's messy, and he'll have to find a way to hose the blood off of the teeth before he stashes them somewhere, but at least everything about today doesn't suck.

Threaded | Flat

North; closed to York

A (cw: violence)