Event | Satellite | Spectres!

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all!
Date: May 23 - 26, 2013
Location: Keeliai, turtleside, ARSHEPHELIOS cluster remains
Situation: Repairs and salvage operations operating innocently have triggered an invasion of spectres that possess and wreak havoc upon all they see.
Warnings/Rating: Please put CW in your subject lines

Satellite Crash Event

Crash Landing | Salvage Party | Shocking Spectres


Questions | Keeliai | ARSHEPHELIOS


Salvage is sweet, but not all is well on board the ARSHEPHELIOS cluster. The seamless cylinders salvaged from debris and the cluster, now being frequently traded, turn out to be pods the first time one is penetrated or cracked open. Each breached pod releases a flood of energy-based apparitions hellbent on world domination -- or, more accurately, person domination (and it's not the fun kind).

These apparitions -- spectres, if you will -- are driven by a need to protect the technology of the satellite cluster that their pods are associated with. They will stop at nothing to see this through. Each is immune to physical attacks, but seem to be injured or dissipated entirely by things like electrical shock or other energy-based projections. If people touch them, there is also a brief window of vulnerability, but it acts also like a door that swings both way. Through contact, these spectres can and will invade one's psyche, take over their body and cause them to attack friend or foe alike! Should the possessed body be subjected to sufficient electrical shock, the possession should fade. Strong natural will can also drive the spectres out, but it is no walk in the park to do so. Possession is not the only tool in the arsenal, for these spectres use electricity as their main offensive weapon. They'll leave deep-tissue burns on anyone they fight, and show no degree of fatigue after constant use of it.

Ten thousand of these creatures will be freed from pods, resulting in a veritable flood of Keeliai, the turtleside, and the satellite cluster. With such a driven enemy, it comes down to killing or being killed.

Meanwhile, those taking shelter indoors may notice that the spectres will get into the biomechanical functions of Keeliai. Consoles will be malfunctioning during this time, with lines of mysterious code and strange, ghostly images. One might hear people screaming for help or hours of patchy radio static.

Comments

[depicted]

Hm? Oh. Yeah, sure, go ahead. [Dorian is a little slow on the uptake right now, a little unsettled (shocked) by the pain that has left his body but not his head. But he's been through this before. He needs something to focus on, to do with himself. Something to shield against what his perfect memory is threatening to resurrect.

He frowns at the face before him. He knows it. He's good at faces. It was the network, wasn't it?] You're . . . Cinna. Aren't you? Fashion designer. Costume, hair, makeup. You took over Fav's shop.

[He breathes out, and then he smiles a very practiced social smile.] And I am terribly rude. Dorian Gray, pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[afirewithfashion]

Not exactly. [On either score.] I'm helping out Alcuin, but it's his shop. She left it to him. As for the rest, I'm a Stylist.

[Back home, people would understand immediately. But there didn't seem to be an analogous roll in most of the worlds he'd encountered here.

As he works, he picks at the clothes, until the hole and the stain all but vanish. He can't do anything about the rest of it, as splattered as Dorian is, but it's certainly better than it was.]

It's my pleasure.

[depicted]

My mistake.

[Dorian glances down at, well, the rather miraculous rescuing of his clothing. He isn't unfamiliar with minor adjustments to hide violence, but this is very well done. (Practice? it seems so rude to wonder.)] Thank you. I'm a little in shock that at what you managed.

[afirewithfashion]

[Not rude to wonder. Only to ask.]

It's my job. [A grim thought, but not untrue. Tributes get bruised and beaten in training, they fight with each other, some even come injured. And it's not unheard of for one to need prep after they're taken from the arena. The stylists learn it all.

But those are grim thoughts. He gives a small smile at that, gesturing for Dorian to have a seat on one of the trunks.]

Have a cup of coffee. Or -- you preferred tea?

[depicted]

[Dorian takes up Cinna's offer, watching Cinna more for lack of anything else to see. But his brain is remembering every expression and gesture, though Dorian doesn't will it.] Tea would be perfect.

[afirewithfashion]

[Cinna pours the water into the glass and adds the tea bag, handing it carefully to Dorian. His hands are perfectly still despite everything, a sign of the confidence and calm he's practically radiating.]

Do you mind if I ask what happened?

[That was a nasty rip, but no wound.]

[depicted]

[The composure is remarkable, and Dorian is distracted enough to notice it as he takes the tea in one hand.] Not an interesting story, really. Someone I know got possessed, and he sort of . . . [With his free hand, he mimes reaching a hand forward and grabbing, which is apparently Dorian's version of indicating that someone shoved an arm into his stomach and tore out a bone.] But he stopped himself from stabbing me with the rib bone, and we got him de-possessed. Which is a first for me, so that's pleasant.

[afirewithfashion]

[Now it's Cinna's turn to refrain from asking the rude question, because you seem in rather good shape for a recent victim of -- whatever happened.]

I encountered a friend like that, but I wasn't able to help him.

[depicted]

[Dorian frowns in sympathy, a reflex.] Sorry. If you can get electricity into them, that seems to be what ends it. Which has its own negative effects, but my friend is a fast healer.

[afirewithfashion]

[Cinna raises an eyebrow at that, filing away the comment. A hint about the man's own apparent healing abilities? Maybe.]

Electricity. I'll have to try that, but I wouldn't want to hurt him. [After all, he'd fought off his own possession without anything of the sort.]

[depicted]

If there is another way, I wish I knew it. [He picks up the teacup to wash down the exhaustion. It's not very effective.]

[afirewithfashion]

[They have treatments in the capitol that can increase energy, to an almost manic state. They can be used medicinally, of course, though many Capitol residents choose to use the recreationally. Cinna never has -- now, he wishes he had some to share. So many people are so run down.]

I managed to fight it off, but I'm afraid I couldn't say how. And there doesn't seem to be a way to reach the people beneath. I did try.

[Ruefully, he touches his jaw. The bruise doesn't show too much, given the color of his skin and his light beard, which is lucky for Finnick. Maybe Katniss won't notice. (Ha. Ha.)]

[depicted]

[Dorian looks up in surprise, and while he notices that touch, he thinks of all the people he has lost and his thoughts narrow in on one thing.]

You fought it off. Not just resisted it, but threw it off entirely?

[afirewithfashion]

[Cinna hesitates, cautiously -- has he revealed too much? but then he nods.]

If I understand your meaning, then yes. I felt it settle into my mind, but I -- protested. Strenuously.

[depicted]

[Steve fought it too, he fought it stubbornly, and then he electrocuted himself to be rid of it. Spencer couldn't fight it. The thought that he might have been saved another is unbearable, and like everything else of that sort, Dorian shoves it away. He drinks his tea and makes himself smile.]

You must have an incredible will. I'm glad you were able to break its hold.

[afirewithfashion]

["Incredible will." He would never have defined himself that way.]

Thank you. I only wish others could as well.

[They're both stuck, watching friends suffer. It's unpleasant, to say the least.]

[depicted]

Maybe we'll luck out and a few more will. [He finishes his tea, then pushes himself to his feet.] Thanks again, Cinna. This was an invaluable rest.

[afirewithfashion]

I'm glad it helped.

[It seems like he really is, too. He smiles once more at Dorian, standing with him, to escort him out.]