( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

[initiates]

Date & Time: October 31st, 3313, 11:59PM - November 3rd, 3313, ????
Location: Agriculture Wing, Moon Base to start. Cafeteria, warehouse, docking bay, VR rooms, Transport Pad, or Observatory later on.
Characters: Any & all!
Summary: Space Zombies are allowed out of the Agriculture Wing, slowly revving up their systems to try and infect and absorb as many of the Transports (or 12 Initiative Members) as possible.
Warnings: Log will be locked for potentially graphic violence. Please warn in threads should the violence or gore become graphic.
Notes: Specify a date and location in your top comment. You may specify multiple dates/locations. Specify a time if you wish as well.

Everything is a success at first, from the cool rush of air out of the Agriculture Wing once the doors are fully unlocked, to the heady sense of accomplishment for finally moving forward on something good for the long-term usability of the Moon Base. It's intended to remain a resource, after all, but not be a permanent home. Fraying tempers and the sense of cabin fever descending on Transports continues to showcase how important it is to get back down on Earth to regain some breathing room.

There's little enough dust between all the unmoving, unlit structures, many even supporting the barest dried husks of what once grew there. Upon the lightest touch, they disintegrate, turning into a dust that falls to the ground. The silent rows will be reclaimed and turned into functioning units, based on Transport efforts, and Transport time invested in the project.

There's just one problem. Something stirs in the reclaimed wing, among tangles of hosing and wiring. Skitterings and movements that make no sense for a long abandoned Moon Base. The further in Transports go, relying on magic or technology to generate light past the bare minimum maintained by the base, the more disturbing sights they may run into.

Of course, the most disturbing of all might be lying just around the far corner -- but don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. Try not to get surprised in the machinery, caught suffering from not looking up or caught making out with anything unsavory this holiday season, Transports. We need all of you to stay alive!

We can't bring you back right now!

Comments

Nov 1-3 | OTA

[alittlesweptup]

[HOUSING]

[He may be armed - there's a pistol in easy sight at his side -, but fighting zombies isn't really his forte and Charlie's doing his best to stay as far out of harm's way as is possible while still being useful. He spends the three days of the attack mostly in the housing wing, trying to help organize and plan assaults meant to take back overrun areas of the base.

There's a taut line of tension in his shoulders, face drawn, and there's no denying he's being a little snappish with people. Still, there's an effort being made there: to wrangle people at loose ends, to organize supply runs to the cafeteria to keep the people either trapped or taking a respite in the housing block comfortable.

Need something to do? It's pretty obvious that Charlie can find you something to work on given the way he's barking at anyone who'll listen. Need supplies - something to eat, some water after time spent hacking and slashing at space zombies? He's helping keep track of a cache of supplies from a recent run to the cafeteria and can probably scrounge up a snack bar or a bottle of water if you need it.]

2nd is go

[totallytrustworthy]

[It's not such a long stint that food and water are on her top list or priorities (she's gone for four days in the Amazon without; this is a vacation by objective comparison alone) but pulling the sort of lengthy patrols that've been occupying near every waking moment, Chloe's less than pleased to find one of the stockpiles nearest the start of her route already burned up by the far end of day two.

Or is it day five? Hard to tell any more.

The sight of Charlie, though, (all business and sharp, eager angles) tossing out aid and orders like it's as natural as anything, does a good enough job of soaking up at least some of the exhaustion tugging hard at spent muscles.] Keep this up and they'll be handing you a crown by the end of all this.

[Provided there is an end that isn't bloody-- or bloody horrifying.]

[alittlesweptup]

[C'mon Chloe, it's not as if he's holding a bloody clipboard or anything. Managing a few loose ends on his tablet, sure, but that's hardly merit for an impromptu coronation. He lowers it at the sight of her, tucking it absently under his arm.]

Would make thinks a lot simpler if they did. [Which is a joke. Mostly.] How're you on ammunition?

[totallytrustworthy]

Fine. [She's not cutting him off, but it's been a long shift. The appropriate amount of time spent as empty, quiet space before responding to a question gets nixed entirely.] Any food up for grabs?

[alittlesweptup]

[The answer to that question should be 'barely', but to hell with it. Since when has he ever played fair?] I think I can find something.

[It doesn't take him long to scrounge up half of a space!MRE. Appetizing? Not even remotely. But they're in a zombie apocalypse, so flavorful food isn't really high on the priority list.] I'll give you this on the condition you sit down on that crate first.

[enduringwinter]

[Richter's been in and out of housing, sometimes returning with some food or water, other times just slipping out to see if anyone needed a hand. He's spotted the other man barking orders but until now has kept some distance... But it's hard to tell what was necessary or what needed to be replenished when Richter himself had no real idea of what their supplies looked like. At this point, the whole half-elf discrimination was being pushed further and further from his mind in favour of making his little forays out into the dangerous areas a little more practical.

Fighting off those undead monsters was one thing, but he'd really not have it be a mindless exercise]

...

[nope, one moment, just needs to push down that irrational part of himself okay...]

[and he makes his way over to where Charlie is] What do you need?

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie's busy shifting supplies in the stack when Richter approaches. He unceremoniously shoves a crate into the other man's arms the moment he makes himself available.] For starters, you can hold this for a moment.

[He turns back to the pile, marking down a few things on his tablet - keeping track of what they have, what they need, what they're running low on.] So what're you good at then? There's things that need doing all over.

[enduringwinter]

-!! [out of reflex, Richter holds onto the crate and doesn't drop it. Though the slight grunt of annoyance reveals his opinion of this treatment. Thanks, Charlie]

... Healing, fighting... [he watches the other take down a few more notes but doesn't elaborate any further]

[alittlesweptup]

[And thank you very much for being a human shelf for a moment.

Charlie makes a low noise, wrinkling his nose. He draws up a few more files and after a pause--] We need to get the route through to the cafeteria clear so supply runs aren't such a mess. [He finally looks up, giving Richter proper once over for the first time.] If I find you a few more people, d'you think you could set about that?

[lazyinlove]

Sorry. Um. We're not dead. Just, uh...

[That's probably a strange greeting under most circumstances, but at the moment, it makes an awful kind of sense.

Although the voice seems to belong to a teenager with a sore throat, there doesn't seem to be one anywhere in sight. And whoever the 'we' in that statement is, they don't seem to be speaking up.]

Can we just hang out for a minute?

[alittlesweptup]

[The sound of someone talking makes Charlie look up from where he's going through a supply list on his tablet. When no one's standing where he expects them to, he does a slight half turn-- looks about-- pauses.]

Christ, now I'm going mental. [Charlie huffs out to himself, refocusing on the tablet's open file.]

[lazyinlove]

Me, too.

[The voice Charlie is hearing commiserates, kicking a wall unhappily with a metallic ting!]

I'm supposed to be in history right now...I can't believe I wish I was in history. That's so messed up.

[alittlesweptup]

[Oh for Christ's sake--

Charlie stuffs the tablet under his arm, shooting a fierce look in-- he has no idea where he's looking, so he settles with 'glancing around menacingly.']

Alright, where're you at? Quit playing games.

sort of place holder, hi ilu

[ofkirkwall]

[ food? food.

after spending a fair amount of time smacking zombies with the butt of her staff (it is seriously like a bloody mace), hawke stumbles her way to safety with a hungry stomach and fair amount of zombie mess. it's okay, she'll live, expect that she is seriously hungry and her stomach even makes a comical grumble noise as she makes her way inside.

hi charlie. meet your newest friend. ]

shamlessly replies to this so you can't edit it even if you wanted to, too bad

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie's firmly in place and clearly managing what appears to be a large stack of supplies fresh from the cafeteria. It's nothing terribly exciting - some basic non-perishable food items, the world's most ancient freeze dried ice cream (seriously, it probably came from that NASA mission run which makes it literally thousands of years old at this point). Still, if Hawke's looking for food that's a likely place to go hunting.

But he's also too distracted to just throw her an energy bar, so she'd better stake a claim on something before a hungry flock of teenagers descends.]

[ofkirkwall]

[ what a jerk. but whatever, her stomach is leading her towards the stack of supplies, not even looking where she is going as she pick some of the gunk off her clothes. seriously, it is gross, what she would give for a hot bath right now.

she stops, thankfully, just before running straight into the food and charlie, attention shifting from her terrible state of dress to the pile. the maker has a face and it this beautiful pile of basic non-perishable food. ]

Alright, where is the cheese? [ hur hur, fereldens and cheese joke here. ]

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie shoots an absent glance in her direction without actually taking anything in before he looks back to his tablet, scrolling through whatever's got most of his attention.] Haven't got any.

[Only then he looks at her properly, brow drawing down slightly. His mouth pulls at the corner; it's not really a smile, like what he says isn't really a joke:] You look like shit, mate.

2nd

[crossbearing]

( Helena has her uniform on purely for the benefits of body armour, and she's moving in just to grab food and keep moving before heading back out. She doesn't have her mask on, but it's hanging in her hand as the opposite runs through her hair, shaking it out as she walks towards Charlie. )

Got any water?

( Please and thank you are implied. Except for how they aren't really implied at all, and the uniform demands that she speaks with the harshness of Huntress, even without the mask. )

[alittlesweptup]

[Whatever; Charlie's dealt with his fare share of harsh with very few please and thank you's to spare. It's certainly not enough to throw him for much a loop, though he may actually drag his feet a little more about looking up from what he's working on than he would be otherwise.

When he finally does look up, Charlie gives her a thorough once over; he quirks an eyebrow.] You look about ready to go punching Hitler. [World's poorest jab in place, he shuffles through the pile in an attempt to unearth a water bottle.]

Is much progress been made? Haven't seen much of anything on the network.

[crossbearing]

Maybe after this is taken care of.

( Hell, it could be a mission option, right? It wins a suggestion of a smile, rather than the expression itself, as she watches him rummage. )

I needed to sharpen my knives. ( A pause, and a shrug. ) People are making some stupid decisions, but we're making a dent in the numbers.

[alittlesweptup]

Better not. I imagine that might do odd things to the timeline. You know: punch Hitler on one side of the world, a hurricane destroys a city in Thailand.

[It doesn't take long for him to find one. It may look like chaos, but to his eye there's some semblance of order to it. He checks the water bottle over and then tosses it in Helena's direction.] Not surprising given no one knows what the hell they're doing.

3rd

[charming_jerk]

[Johnny comes crawling back into the safe zone, scratched and bloody but very much alive. He's carry the twisted remains of a pipe he had picked up to fight with - it's bent at a 90-degree angle and shattered at the end by this point, thanks to his vicious strength. He drops the pipe and it clatters to the ground as he calls out to whoever might be listening and available.]

Jesus Christ people tell me there's, like, somethin' to drink. Anything.

[alittlesweptup]

[The clatter of the pipe is what gets his attention moreso than the call. Charlie, looking like he hasn't slept for more than a few minutes at a time in the past three days, lifts his eyes from the tablet. He pinches his nose-- Christ-- and swings round to go rummaging through the meager supplies left after a solid three days of this shit.

It doesn't take him long to come up with an old water bottle, the plastic all crunchy and falling out of shape from age.] Here. [He calls out before tossing the bottle in Johnny's direction.] It's stale, but you won't find anything better.

[Nothing stopping anyone from drinking out of the sinks in the restroom, but recycled water isn't really Charlie's thing either.]

[charming_jerk]

[He snags the bottle out of the air and immediately chugs nearly the whole thing before finding a seat to drop into. It doesn't matter how stale it tastes right now.] Better than nothin'. Thanks, man. Damn. Though I think right now I'd be willin' to kill a hundred more of those things for a beer.

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie makes a low noise: some gentle scoff of amusement.] You and everyone else, I expect.

[He looks to his tablet, marking off the water bottle on the running list.]