RE: The Last Six Days...
Hienrich carries on a conversation with the armor which retorts with a self-centered upbeat tone to questions about itself and largely ignore or blows-off questions about anything else. From his conversation he learns that the armor cannot help him breathe any better in this atmosphere but that it can help him appear much more charming and attractive, not to mention survive longer in battle. Once Heinrich begins in on his sad story, the armor snubs him, tells him he's pathetic, and flatly states that he's unworthy of wearing it. Aside from the disappointing chat with the armor, he spends much of the time helping to keep his mates and himself amused with card tricks & games, songs, and juggling at the behest of Ramien.
For
Caradoc, the days of endless driving through the bluish-white light of the esophagus are beginning to wear on his nerves. His mixed frustration-inspired rage and unsettling giggles don't help the rest of the team relax.
When not driving,
Cale sits close to the airlock door, flipping his chef-knife end-over-end in his hand. You notice he relaxes a little when he's tending to the group's meals and going through his various culinary routines.
Sebastion is unable to to even venture a guess as to the tracks of life-forms in this environment. The “ground” behind them depresses under the weight of the APC and the Big Boss but reforms only moments later. Even gouged-out areas like the samples taken by the doc fill in with “blood” and quickly congeal, presumably to completely heal within a matter of hours at the rate he's witnessed. His gyro-compass doesn't seem to function correctly, this place has no magnetic North, but it does indicate that they are traveling on a slightly declined plane.
Ramien cracks jokes, gives dance lessons, makes inquiries of the others, and encourages her teammates to entertain each other through acts of storytelling, juggling, card tricks and the like.
Malachai tries to keep himself as busy as possible when he isn't sleeping. He casts Breathe without Air on himself daily to leave the APC and fly around outside to stretch his wings. When he has a chat with the armor, it tells him:
I was first crafted on a distant world in the three galaxies by an ancient Dwarven rune-smith. The smith was nearing his death and wanted a beautiful mail shirt in which to be buried. Upon completion of the mail vestment, however, his apprentice could not bear to let the beautiful object of so many hours' labor be buried and wasted and so stole away with me (the armor) in the middle of the night...I cannot TELL you of that which I am capable, you simply must experience my splendor to understand it...The last fellow was an Atlantean named Yoric, alas, it did not end well for him--and I got got all dirty in the process!...Words have meaning and names have power. I cannot tell you my name until you have worn me and understand that I am simply the of the finest craftsmanship in the Megaverse!...No, if I knew the way out that modestly-handsome Atlantean man would still be proudly carrying me about on his broad and well-defined bronzed shoulders...I am made of the highest quality! An enormous Rahu-man chieftain once wore me during his ascension ceremony! A fat and rather drôle human of around three hundred pounds wore me to both his coronation and execution! I lithe Silhouette runway model once wore me what seems like eons ago. Surely, you do not think mere WINGS will prevent me from being an absolutely orgasmic piece to wear? I'm light as a feather, you know...and more quiet than a whisper...Ooh yes...do find some better materials with which to clean me the next chance you get, sir. I am not some leather jacket from off the rack! The thongs of leather that bind me together were crafted using material stolen during the Time of 1,000 Magics!
Khan decides to carry on a conversation with the armor once he overhears its apparent monetary value.
You are stating the obvious, I am, of course, superlative in comparison to the shabby bits and plates you're wearing...I am indestructible, silent, weightless and would make anyone look absolutely gorgeous simply by wearing me...ask my bird-man custodian, I tire of repeating myself...mind control? Are you daft? You're the psionic, sir, I have no such powers. What those charlatans assume as 'mind control' is simply their own inability at self-control. When faced with my sublime beauty and craftsmanship some lesser intellects find me irresistible but that is through no fault of my own. It is simply a manifestation of their own weakness.
Baker spends most of the time in his power armor, he was more accustomed to confinement in enclosed spaces than most having been on-board ships and submersibles plenty in his past. His off-watch time is mostly spent exercising and helping keep his team in good spirits.
Shane tries to get into a routine while they travel. He joins in with others attempts to relieve the boredom by dancing with Ramien, playing some cards when not on watch and listening to stories and the pasts of the others as well as telling tales of the “Neemans” to try and inspire the group in their current circumstances.
Conner takes his turns at the wheel over the course of the days, using his off-time to tinker with the team's weapons to try and get a bit more range out of them by focusing their emitters and similar such measures. He quickly lapses into an anti-social pattern of driving, working on the weapons—it's so hard when things are jostling around with no bench or proper shop!—and sleeping.
OOC: MOVING ON, NO MORE DEALING WITH WHAT'S PAST.
Currently...
Malachai is relaxed inside the APC half-asleep from boredom when Khan stands up with a jolt and alerts the folks in the APC. He then slams on his helmet and starts moving towards the air-lock. Caradoc gets his helmet and gloves on and awaits instruction. Sebastion straps on his helmet and grabs his sidearm and loads a fresh E-clip. Shane jumps up and starts strapping down his helmet into place. Conner is taking a sip of coffee when Khan sounds the alarm. He locks his helmet into place and assists Shane with his EBA in the hopes that Shane will return the favor. Ramien grabs for her TW firearm, makes sure the seals on her helmet are buttoned down, and moves up to the airlock in preparation for combat. She also chants a prayer to Athena for protection and clicks on the radio mouthpiece, fumbling with the unfamiliar gear. Naturally she ends up transmitting to the entire group rather than to just Baker.
"Uh, hello? Uh, Baker, um, this is Ramien. I'm ready for action!”
Cale's View
Cale glances back over his shoulder as he hears the shouting and commotion from below and behind him—Khan's getting his panties all in a knot about something. It's when he looks back at the path ahead that he sees what the commotion is all about. About five hundred feet ahead the “ceiling” erupts in a gout of exploding gore and an enormous sinuous form—like that of a gigantic worm—bursts down from above. The end of the “worm” bursts open to reveal a hideous maw with exaggerated mandibles. Cale slams on the breaks in shock and horror. For a moment, he sits stunned in the command couch before coming to his senses.
Baker's View
Baker is pacing alongside the APC like he often does for an hour two each day to get some exercise when the warning comes like the cold finger bone of Death tracing up his spine. Khan confirms his feeling a second later over an open radio mic and he takes a moment to inquire of Cale as to what sensors are telling him. No sooner does he ask for sensor data than the roof of this “tunnel” erupts and the monstrous worm-thing emerges. It's body appears about fifty feet in diameter and it's body is at least three hundred feet long, probably longer as its body is coiled like a snake's up near the top. It occurs to him that the head and mouth are big enough that the thing could probably swallow his suit whole.
Map of Engagement
Combat posts, everyone!
Enters APC.
I'm certainly having fun.)
