(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

[overclocking]

["Lived" in- held captive in, warily tolerated in. But he's never been one to split hairs.

He wonders why this is particularly noteworthy; perhaps she's one of those particularly devout sort. After all, the concept doesn't seem like a foreign one to her. He'd been wondering recently how many of these strange worlds had even heard of such things as Bibles and crosses.

He half-shrugs, pointedly refusing to have any feelings about it one way or another.]

Rosette received her education and training there. Since we're technically employed by them, they feed and house us as well.

[anklets]

Training, huh... [ murmured, more mouthed- exhaled- than said.

She gets the abrupt and absurd image of monks learning to balance prayer books atop their heads, contesting who could recite scripture the most flawlessly,

but black stars eat those things up.] 'Those who care to learn the words of God will also feel bound to uphold by them'. Maybe that's what they felt.

[ "hoped" ]

[overclocking]

[He snorts lightly at the thought (as if Rosette could be religious to save her life, and a demon couldn't be a believer even if they tried-) and has to fumble to pretend that wasn't grossly disrespectful, especially in front of someone potentially devout.]

Well- maybe.

[Another shrug, while he considers whether that might require an apology.]

I don't really know much about it. We weren't there for religious reasons.

[anklets]

[Raised eyebrows, thinned lips. Slow worry, too, but we're ignoring that.] I'd have thought monasteries would make it their focus.

[ this is true; she would have thought, had she not seen proof of how far holy men can talk themselves into straying ]

Was it nice, where you stayed? There's a certain beauty to the buildings, isn't there?

[overclocking]

[He gives her something of a surprised, assessing look at the question. It's clearly nothing he's thought about before, and he's rushing to make up the difference now, so that he can provide some manner of decent answer.]

Nice... I suppose it was. The winters were harsh, but I always thought the grounds looked more peaceful in the snow. When it collected on the roof of the chapel, especially, or on the bare shade trees in the courtyard...

[He frowns a bit, thinking of the spires, the towering stained glass windows, the cascading archways. The endless training rooms and the Elder's laboratory. It's all rather astounding, in retrospect.]

I don't actually know how the Order was funded, but their facilities were sprawling and impressive, and always in excellent condition. I'd never given it much thought before.

[anklets]

[Any other word in the world, Chrono. Dodges his look, almost embarrassed, finding herself entirely unable to conjure to mind any other Order but her own.]

Maybe it's better not to know how.

[overclocking]

[Another raised eyebrow, another silent question that he doesn't ask. The only other option was Magdale, and that word gets caught in his throat the same way Order does hers.]

Mm, well. I guess I don't really care either way.

[Spares her any further scrutiny by turning his eyes to the water, watching the stars' mirror image.]

It's not my problem right now anyway.

[anklets]

[ it takes a moment, but she stretches her legs out, loosening the hunch she'd unconsciously gone into ]

Out here, it's difficult to think that any problems could exist to be had.

[overclocking]

Well... in the sense that there's nothing you can do about a lot of them from the dinosaur period, they don't.

[He digs his own toes into the sand, and wonders how childish it would be to attempt a sandcastle; the sand is still moist from the tide, and gives way in clumps. Perfect for packing.]

A week of not having to carry all that weight doesn't seem like a bad thing at all.

[anklets]

[He's so bright, and Lenalee is surprised at how refreshing and familiar it is. She'd grown accustomed to living in Allen's light- had forgotten, maybe, other people had brands of it, too.]

I can't wait, honestly.

[overclocking]

[That's the kind of answer he's glad to hear. He pulls his toes from the sand, and gives in to the urge- after all, he has no idea when he'll next be on a beach, with few pressing responsibilities.

Lowers a hand to scoop a handful of sand, packing it.]

There's no need to wait; why not get started with a sandcastle? [He opts for shameless, in the end. All the better to fool people into thinking you're twelve.]

I've been meaning to for a while now.

[anklets]

[It helps.

It really does, and she turns to him and looks at him as though entirely unsure where to place him, and then her legs bow out, childlike.]

You don't have a bucket.

[overclocking]

[He looks up at her with all the horror of one who's forgotten his cookies in the oven.

GUESS WHO DOESN'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BUILDING SANDCASTLES.]

Oh.

Do- Do I need one?

[anklets]

[ tries not to laugh

tries

tries ]

Ah... generally.

[overclocking]

[The ensuing despondence might not actually be an act. Clearly he missed the sandcastle handbook that everyone else has read.]

... I see.

I guess. Waiting might have to happen after all, then.

[anklets]

You're going to give up that easily?

[overclocking]

[This seems to give him some serious pause. What would Rosette do, if she were on a beach without a bucket? And sandcastles had to be constructed?

First: consider what the bucket must be for. They're for carrying things, like water or sand, right? But the sand is all around them, and so is the water. So then... he considers the sandcastle he saw earlier, of their shapes and construction.

Ah. So that's it. (It's ingenious, really, if he thinks about it.)

He could attempt to build a tapered cylinder by hand, of course, but the odds of getting the walls perfectly smooth and even are slim-to-none, and he's not sure the sand would hold up during the packing-and-adding process. He's not exactly an expert at working with these materials, after all.

So then, returning to and answering his earlier question: do something else entirely.

His expression of intense thought morphs into one of mild intrigue as he scoops up yet another handful of sand, and begins molding... something.]

[anklets]

[This almost strikes her as something she ought to be applauding, his expression reminiscent of Bak Chan in the midst of his work, quiet and focused. Over a sandcastle- these are truly strange times.

(Says she who is currently lounging on a Cretaceous beach.)

She leans forward, curious, shifts on to her knees.]

[overclocking]

[He works like that for a short while, intent focus trained on whatever it is he's concocting. Despite all his concentration, it would be a truly unfortunate thing if Lenalee were expecting something great (or impressive, or even really decent) because



when he finally does pull away, it's- vaguely a half-sphere, more than a little lumpy, and lopsided, and generally giving off an impression of great sadness. It could really do with some detailing.

... Lamely;]

—It's... a sand-igloo.

1/2

[anklets]

2/3, i lied

[anklets]

[ she. never would have guessed, actually ]

[anklets]

[ heh ] Well done.

[overclocking]

[The childish absurdity of all this hits him again, and he'll dutifully ignore the embarrassed flush in his cheeks if she will. Surely it's nothing but remnants of the sunset (long faded, now). Surely.

He's dedicated to his madness, now, though.]

Well- I'm sure it'll make more sense when there are people to go with it! [Spends the next three and a half seconds realizing he will never be able to construct sand-people, before he begins rolling tiny sandballs and.

Piling them on top of each other.

Sandsnowmen. (This doesn't actually help at all).]

[anklets]

[This is more the behaviour she'd expect from someone his age. Slowly, almost without realising, she ekes her hand to the side, digs a small, smoothed stone from the beach, and pushes it into her palm.]

They'll need a trench to guard against the tide.

[ places the sharpest edge of the stone between her fingers and draws it through the sand ]

[overclocking]

[He considers this with all the seriousness of an architect planning his future home. She has a point; it's irresponsible to give sandpeople life, only to doom them to a watery grave.]

Something might still be able to sneak up on them from behind, though. I'm not sure what dinosaur crabs are like, but they're probably very unpleasant.

Maybe a full-blown mote?

[He points his finger and draws a line around the perimeter of the igloo, meeting her trench.]