open log » ❝ The VR Program ❞

[initiatesnpc]

Date & Time: August 5th, mid morning.
Location: Anywhere characters happen to be/the VR.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: From August 5th to August 8th, characters are plunged involuntarily into the VR Program.
Warnings: Potential violence within the threads.

When the chance arises, she's quick to take it. The programming is incomplete, she knows; the simulation isn't ready — but she's not likely to get another shot at it. And so she moves, slipping through security codes to input the command. The machines hum to life with nothing but a flicker of a green light in a dark room, and it takes only seconds to establish connections. The signal is sent out; the weapons respond.

In a single pulse, reality drops away.

There will be darkness at first as the mind realigns itself to the signals being sent it. Slowly, the darkness fades, forms take shape. People take shape. The setting is terribly familiar, plucked from the user's own mind. It might feel like a dream at first, with events playing out as if predestined, the would-be dreamer moving through a familiar and unalterable route in them. But as things begin to feel more and more realistic, as more senses more fully connect to the simulation, awareness will change. This is not a dream. This is more than a memory.

Welcome to the VR.

Only 20 minutes later, in some underground quarters, Doctor Sponde is roused from an undignified sprawl. He's hastily briefed and shuttled toward the command center, looking grim. He knows the problem demands an immediate fix, but… well, this is some complex machinery. It could take some time. It could take days. He gets to work.

Comments

some bird people worship a dragon

[flightlessbird]

She knows it's a dream, because she's done with this part. She's left all of this behind and been glad for it. So if she's here again… well, it must be a dream, right?

The long and brightly colored feathered headpiece of the head priest used to fascinate Artika, but that was when she was young. She's seen it way too many times since then. Nowadays it just looks to her like the crest of one of the giant, slow-moving birds of the plains outside the jungle. She heaves a sigh and watches the crowd behind the priest instead, but they're not much relief. Everyone's wingtips are painted a bright garish blue — in honor of the blue patterns in her scales, she knows. It looks terrible on most of them. All of them, she amends, feeling vindictive. These ceremonies always make her feel petty and ill-tempered, but most of their wings are too colorful for their own good, the blue only clashes.

Artika shifts, clutching one talon against the raised wooden platform in a search for comfort. If she's going to be worshipped, she ought to ask them for pillows up here. But something catches her attention as she moves — a sharp clatter of stone on wood. Her head jerks up on its snaky neck to see where it had come from (something has landed near her, was it thrown?) and she freezes.

The faces in the crowd have changed. From distracted and rapturous to enraged. She stares in bewilderment as slender, small bodies begin scrambling toward her. Crawling over one another to reach her, even. Some of the younger ones, those still light enough to nearly fly, leap out over the crowd with their bright wings fluttering. It's like a messy flock of parrots, and she shifts nervously. What are they doing? This has never been a part of any of the ceremonies. She's never even dreamed of any ceremonies like this before.

But as a stone strikes her black flank, she decides that it doesn't matter. That hurt. Dream or no, she won't be standing for that. She snaps her head forward, jaws nipping at the arm of the first man that reaches her hard enough to draw blood, but it doesn't dissuade him at all. She knows him well, he lives not far from the village well, he says good morning to Artika sometimes. He's quiet, somewhat of a recluse. He seems to have forgotten all about that, though. He reaches out slender fingers that are curved like claws, while great red and orange wings at his back flap at the air to heft him up onto the platform with her.

That's when Artika darts off the back of it, starting up in a scrambling dash for the nook at the back of the hollow tree the ceremony is always held in. She's not sure what's going on, or why her people should have shifted from a quiet distaste of her to a killing rage, but she doesn't plan to stay and see more.

[eyecontact]

Whew!

That had been...strange. And that was being pretty generous! Jericho was still trotting, eyes closed as he wiped his brow, panting. When the strange, staggering, world-splitting...something had come, he'd...Wait.

That made him stop. What had he been doing? Why was he moving? And sweating? He blinked, squinted, finding himself in...a jungle? But how...?

A commotion at a distance caught his attention. He turned, seeing not much but dense foliage. Brow knitted and mouth pursed, he steeled himself for the mystery ahead with a big breath, and set forward, working hard to push the heavy branches and umbrella-sized leaves out of his way. Noisy or not, he figured he was more likely to find answers there than standing around.

[flightlessbird]

Answers are, as it turns out, currently in dragon-form, and barreling straight toward Jericho. Most of the village had been inside the Sacred Tree for the ceremony, but there are still those here and there in the treetop houses to drop down attacks from the leaves. Artika is getting really tired of it.

She catches sight of a head of blond hair only an instant before she's upon him, and that long snaking body begins to slide in a desperate scramble to stop. She doesn't recognize this — whoever he is. Is he someone else planning on attacking her? Her jaws part and she readies to snap out at him, if need be.

[eyecontact]

Jericho's eyes grow big in shock at the sight — no chance to even wonder about the what or why or how or, or any of it. He leaps out of the way, tucking himself and rolling until a nearby tree in his path provides a stop. He twists and rolls onto his knees, quickly scrambling back up to stand, dust-covered and still as wide-eyed as ever. His mouth hangs open in a silent, dumbfounded cry, cut off as something plummets from somewhere above. He cringes, bringing his arms up over his head and backing against the tree.

What on earth...?!

[flightlessbird]

She ends in a coiled crouch, watching him, before dubbing him not a threat. A threat would have attacked already. And with the others on her trail, there isn't really time for her usual game of charades. Her shape ripples, and in an instant she's in her Avian shape, crouched, naked, and looking grim.

"The others from my village are coming. They want to fight me, they might want to fight you, too." And then she's changed again, back to her reassuringly well-defended shape, and is darting forward to butt her head against his side to make him move. Whoever this guy is, she's not interested in seeing him get hurt by them.

[eyecontact]

Really, he ought to be used to things like that by now. Jericho blinks quite a number of times from the seconds the reptile was a girl and talking and back to reptile again. He gasps a little as he's advanced upon, staggering a step or three against the nudge.

What had she said? People out to fight? Why? He grimaces, hopping over a tree root and into a run, shooting quick, futile looks over his shoulder.

What did I wind up mixed up in now?