(open) mission: hit the beach

[aithinkthereforeaiam]

Date & Time: July 18th-24th, Exsilium Time
Location: Sea Shore during the Late Cretaceous Period
Characters: All! Oh those pesky mandatory missions.
Summary: In lieu of the success of the space shuttle's test flight, all of the Transports have been sent back to the Cretaceous period to gather mineral supplies and volcanic rock, while doubling as a sort of 'vacation' and chance to get Transports out of the Initiative's hair. With well stocked supplies, camping gear, and more burlap sacks than anyone could possibly ever use, the Transports have been set under a protective dome and told to collect what they can... and to enjoy the sunshine.
Warnings: Shenanigans!

The overflow log can be found HERE!

It's almost surreal, the quality of color, of light, of oxygen saturation in the air once people arrive. It's so rich that the Initiative sent people back with respirators, to help ease the transition, and warned those who would listen about the effects of too much oxygen on a system.

What they don't warn for is the sheer alien familiarity of the landscape, the warmth, the roughness of the sand on the beaches. This is not the fine, sandy beaches out of vacation dreams, but a rougher, larger granule sort, with shells that might be recognizeable as ancestors to ones those from Earth would remember washing up on familiar beaches, millions of years later.

Most striking is the lack of abundant wildlife found among the fronds and leaves and foliage, or underneath the surface of the saltier, much warmer waters extending off the beach. While acting as a permeable membrane to oxygen and water, along with the sorts of phytoplankton that kept sea creatures alive, all the larger animals had been pushed out by the Initiative's installment of the safety dome. Along the transparent walls, curious creatures would come close, peer in, tap against the barrier and run off if frightened, but very few were found inside at any size larger than that of a house cat. It was for the better in the long run.

Too bad that the Initiative didn't have ultra-violet blocking technology in their shielding. For all the atmosphere is in much better shape millions of years in the past, the sun is as strong as ever, and the unwary will be burned through and through if they're not careful.

Comments

[anklets]

[Not quite so naive she lacked the foresight to wear flesh-tones beneath the white, but she hardly feels threatened by him (just vague self-consciousness, leading to dodged glances). She's dyed warm in the sunset, purpling shadows dragging heavy down her front, and she scrapes the salt from her scalp with her fingernails and frowns thoughtfully. She has felt bathwater cooler than this.]

Mm. [ no-mm, not yes-mm ] I'll need a breeze, I think. It's all salt.

[overclocking]

[He frowns and stoops down, letting a few fingers trail through the surf as it rises over the tops of his feet, testing the temperature. He's been walking on rough, heated sand for so long that he's not sure he has enough feeling left in his feet to judge.

To be honest, it kind of reminds him of home. Warm air, warm ground, warm water. It's with a bit of reluctance that he withdraws his hand and straightens up, eying the skyline again.]

I see what you mean.

Maybe it will get better once the sun's been down for a while.

[anklets]

[ as he stoops, Lenalee tiptoes her way to shore and hangs her shoes from the hook of her thumbs, already drying ]

Maybe. [ thoughtfully as her frown: ] I don't like swimming at night, but if we're not to succumb to these temperatures for a full week, I suppose I'll need to.

[overclocking]

[Swimming alone in the ocean at night? With dinosaurs? Nnnnooo...

In another life, perhaps, he might have been a good mother.]

... Your friends are here, too, right? [She seems to be alone right now, but like his own little walk, he assumes that's temporary and circumstantial.] If you make sure a few of them are with you, maybe...

[anklets]

[In another life, perhaps she might have had one. For the lack of, Lenalee has had to make do with her own care and suspicion of dark waters. The undertow is not what drives her off.]

I'd have to chide them for being up so late. [ "I don't want to drag them after me." ] Alone is fine, if it's only for a few minutes.

[overclocking]

[On his face, clearly written, (when has he ever not been an embarrassingly open book), are all the vexed and unvoiced objections to that; it's not really his business, and it would be rude to make it so. Still, even he would be willing to stand out here for a few minutes if only to make sure nobody is lost out to sea.

Instead he just fidgets slightly and shifts his eyes from the skyline to the apex of the sky. The brilliant stripe of the Milkyway is already slowly coming into view, even if the sun is still creeping below the horizon. He can't help cracking the first hint of a smile, at that, and opts for hopeful deflection instead. Stars. This is better than swimming, any day.]

I don't know... there are some pretty nice things about being out here late.

[anklets]

[She avoids it the way she does most uncomfortable things, with her head down and shoulders up until the weight of his expression lifts and she has pulled herself from lip of the surf.]

Ah? [ skyward, oh ] Do you recognize any?

[ "constellations" ]

[overclocking]

It's hard to say. Everything's... different, almost. Brighter. [He seems quite elated with this fact, for all that it ruins his (non-existant) constellation identification prowess.]

It's alright, though. The important parts are the same no matter what arrangements they're in.

[anklets]

[ has to squint to pick one out herself— she thinks she sees Orion, but it's too vivid to keep an eye on ]

...It's been so long since I've bothered to look for anything up there.

[overclocking]

I don't really blame you... with the way the weather is on the island, it's impossible to see anything anyway, isn't it?

[He shakes his head a bit, tracing what may or may not be a constellation. He finds he doesn't actually care much. It's beautiful anyway.]

It's only been a few weeks, but it's felt like forever... I'm glad we got this opportunity, if only to see it like this now.

[anklets]

Almost like a holiday, isn't it?

[She remembers it having been "only a few weeks". The sand hurts her feet, so she treads it just far enough to escape the reach of the sea and slips her shoes back on.]

We have the beach and the stars.

[overclocking]

[He glances sidelong at her, and there's a bit of knowing sympathy in it.]

I don't think I've been here long enough to have earned a vacation. Everyone else seems like they could use it, though.

[anklets]

How long you've been here isn't what counts.

[overclocking]

"How hard you work," right?

[He backs up until he's sufficiently out of the creeping surf and takes a seat in the cooling sand, sighing a bit.]

Still, it feels like a lucky break for a first mission.

[anklets]

[ keeping some distance, politely ]

I would hang onto that luck, if I were you.

[overclocking]

[He just barely resists a derisive snort. He's never met anyone with worse luck than he has. Simply by pointing it out, he's probably jinxed it.

Instead he just quirks a smile, eyes wandering back to the brightly glowing sky, like a moth to flame.]

I'll do my best. For now it's easier just to savor it, though.

[anklets]

[ clearly

you haven't gotten to know Allen Walker ]

Have you been pestered by anyone yet?

[overclocking]

Pestered-? [He has to stop and give that some serious consideration, because technically speaking, Rosette pesters him to the point of abuse every moment of every day.

She's probably not referring to that, though.]

I guess that depends on what you consider pestering.

[anklets]

What I mentioned that first day.

[overclocking]

[He blinks a few times, obviously having to recall that conversation--the sheer volume of information that day, combined with the number of people he spoke to... his memory is good, but even he still struggles with that first day.

At length, he shakes his head.]

No. Things have been okay.

I keep to myself, most of the time.

[anklets]

Thank goodness.

[She settles for relief, near-tangible, and hugs herself as a ward to rising goosebumps.]

They take less notice of the quiet ones.

[overclocking]

I'm used to laying low.

[--'Or else,' his mind supplies, helpfully. It's a facade he's keeping up even now, though he's figured out by now that he probably won't be exorcised on-sight in Exsilium. But it's still safer.

He lifts one of his fists from the sand, bringing a handful with it. He tilts it this way and that, watching the glass catch the starlight. It's a good distraction from a conversation bordering on unpleasant. He opts to hastily shift it away from himself, never wholly comfortable with that. He shouldn't have said anything at all.]

Have things been... okay-? For you? [Asked quietly, politely, if with an air of genuine concern--not a rhetorical questioned asked for pleasantries' sake, but a question that could be rhetorical, should she not want to answer it.]

[anklets]

[It's with a remarkable blandness that she answers.]

There's been some trouble, here and there. Nothing overwhelming.

[Friendly as he is, there's no reason to hand this boy anything more than small-talk. Details and history are not things Lenalee hands out on a silver platter— even Oz, selfsame to her in many surprising (depressing, frightening) ways, knows little more now than he did the day he held an umbrella over her in the rain. She plans to keep it that way, for at least a little longer. Family and home are things she keeps close to the chest.]

I think we've been sent here to give the Initiative some time to try and fix that.

[overclocking]

[He doesn't fault her her secrecy; it's the same tone he's used to deflect personal questions for over two weeks now, and can fully appreciate how simple it is to not want things known.

He notes the cue, and no further questions seem forthcoming.]

Heh... definitely not just a fun vacation.

[He spreads his fingers, watching the sand fall through them like kernels in the neck of an hour glass. He's had a morbid fascination with timekeeping lately, and wishes he could shake the every reminder. He only manages twenty six seconds before the sound of sand upon sand makes him restless and uneasy, seized by an anxiety he can't quite name.

He drops his hand, letting the sand fall away, and lets his gaze wander to the safety of the churning water.]

I'm not really surprised. They told me they were sending us to war, then sent us here. It's never as simple as that.

[anklets]

[For all Cross had commended her on becoming more open, she's locked her gates up tighter than ever. Never having worn a uniform on Exsilium soil, word of the Order remains rare to pass her lips, save for once sating Collette's curiosity with the barest of bones.

But twenty six seconds is long enough, for someone so accustomed to living on borrowed time, and she shifts from foot to foot, watching him with quiet intensity.]

War is much more than artillery and casualties.

[ it is uneasy silences, healing, funerals, smiling because going any longer without would drive you mad ]

We're still fighting it, even now.