logs:sarala-01

Scene played out on 9th Aug 2012 with Sarala.


«Scene Starts»

Well, some games are all about the super-gritty realism, and are unfamiliar with the concept of 'colours that are not brown'. Some, on the other hand, were quite clearly written, designed, and implemented by people whe cannot stop dropping acid. Sarala's first moments, if they could be called that, were most definitely in the second camp. All around her, she could see, and even feel the colours, spinning madly about, seperating and rejoining, branching in seemingly infinite patterns around her. There were patterns though, and parhaps if she could focus, those patterns could be followed…

Sarala did her best to focus on what was around her, still having not grasped the sudden transition from where she remembered being a few moments before, and also worked at not getting motion sick as the world pulsed and swirls unpredicatable.

Focusing was not an easy task by any means, though if she managed to 'grab' one 'thread', she could start to get onto what felt like a track, but it was a track that just had so many branches, all completely unique, yet utterly identical.

"F-" Sarala bit back the first word which game to mind as she did her best to 'steady' things, to keep on a clear path forward while not tripping up on the details. Bright colors and the merging paths really didn't help her figure out where she was or what was going on, but she gto the impression that messing up just now would be very unfortunate.

As it turned out, steadying things was a much simpler task for her than it might have been. The path was twisting and turning every which way, but she may not want to think too much about the sense of paths around her, some of which held a faint feel of recognition, some spelt danger, while some were rather neutral territory. But, once she was steady the world was still in chaos, though it felt like she had some measure of control. Now, if only she could remember where her captain ordered her to go…
Sarala was unpleasently reminded of learning to ride a bike: much wobbling and much coming close to painful spills. Yet now she had a place to 'stand' she also had a moment to realise the oddity of thinking about 'her captain' at all and, even if she might not feel it, she grimanced before 'reaching' towards the closest familiar path befoe her.

Ignoring the trippiness, the path continued on for a few… moments? It was hard to judge, but either way there was a massive rift right in front of her where the 'path' just… stopped. Unfortunately for Sarala, there wasn't much that could be done as she fell through the stark rift, a big, red sadface appearing apparently in mid-air before her reality shifted again, crossed belts gripping tight over her chest, yellow lights flaring over gleaming pale blue surfaces.

Sarala blinked as the world fell away only to be replaced by the sight of something different and honest to god stable-. Taking a deep breath she paused, feeling how different //that had been as the harness pressed against her, then muttered, "…it's a hallucination?"

Well, regardless of what Sarala may have been before, there's a good chance she was not one or more of 'indian' 'female' or 'in space'. If she looked around, the room was more or less completely empty, save for herself, the seat (with two seatbelts crossed over her, ending with apparently ordinary car seatbelt clasps), and that blinking yellow light. Oh, and the thick scottish accent blasting through an intercom. "Navigator Sarala you blasted idiot, get your skinny arse in here and explain to me why my goddamn ship is on fire!"

Then, of course, there was the other voice. The unmistakeable one. "Hey, listen! You seem to have made a mistake in your navigation! Did you remember to check your starcharts and hyperspace relays before you embarked? Doing so greatly increases the chances of you reaching the correct destination!"

Sarala rubbed her head and tried to figure out where she was and what she was doing, the sudden loud voice talking to someone not helping matters at all, but when a rather more piercing voice spoke up she jumped with only the seatbelts keeping her from falling out of the seat. Fumbling with the clasp she said, "What the…?"

And of course, just to rub the point in even further, the door slams open, revealing a very… large, redheaded woman. Her hair was cut to jaw length, with a minimum of fuss applied, her military uniform and assault rifle, coupled with filling out all six feet of her body, made for someone Sarala did not want to cross. "Seriously, do I have to babysit your ass in fucking hyperspace too? Come on, I've got shit to do while you're getting chewed out."

Sarala stared at this utter stranger blankly for a long moment, unconsciously folding her arms in front of her almost defensively, then asked uncertainly, "Ah… Who are you?"

"…You're shitting me, right? Come on, I don't have time for this." She stormed over and grabbed Sarala by the arm, dragging her out of the room. The indian girl did feel some familiarity with the slightly older woman, though whether that was in a friendly manner or not was up for debate. Either way, being dragged around was annoyingly familiar.

Sarala tried to pull free immediately, struggling against being grabbed like that. She'd never really liked being touched without warning, even by people she was familiar with, and she protested, "Hey! What the hells are you doing?!"

She was struggling against six feet of trained marine. Sure, she's not weak herself, but it's not her job to be forceful. "Sarala, you fucked up your first proper trip in this thing through hyperspace. You'll be lucky if they don't courtmarshal your ass, and that's if you're not late on top of it. The hell did you even do in there?"

Sarala resisted the urge to lash out, because she was outweighed and outmuscled by a significant margain, but she did try digging in her heals against the floor to the limit of the traction her shoes allowed. Or that her gripped arm could stand. Irritably she snapped back, "You still haven't said who you are, my head is killing me from whatever those colors was, I don't know where the hell I am, and you're calling me by a weird name. And you ask me what I did?"

Kara sighs, though she's not about to stop dragging. "Lieutenant Kara Mitsumoto, third division platoon of the Terran dreadnaught Higgs. You are Navigator Sarala, I don't know what the hell your surname might be, but if you lost your mind from this trip you're more fucked in more ways than I thought."

Sarala felt her shoes slide against the floor despite the lack of motion and, relucantly, gave in and haltingly let herself be moved through the corridor even as she asked out of purely morbid curiosity, "I've only heard three voices here that I remember. Someone with a bad accent, from Dundee maybe, yours, and that other voice. Does that count as losing my mind?"

The dragging marine snerked at that. "That's be the captain, alright. And if that's all you remember, then yep, your mind's fucked off and left you." The corridor is… shiny. The walls are like something out of star trek, pale blue metal with black borders at eye-height, some portions glowing where people have made use of the touchscreen facilities. Mostly those portions seemed to be documents of various forms, but there were a couple showing webcomics, and one that was quite obviously porn. The people were almost universally in a panic as they passed though, a couple rooms with smoke billowing out, interfering with a gold halo around them.

"I'm pretty sure that isn't anatomically correct." Sarala (and why was she thinking of herself with that name now) remarked, pausing for a moment to stare at the distraction which is porn before she was yanked onwards. Trying to gather her scattered wits she said, in defense of herself, "I avoided the black swirly leftward motion path though? That seemed very important."

"I don't have a fucking clue what you just said, but does it explain that?" She points ahead of them, to where a huge gash seems to stretch clear across the door between two corridors, a good two feet wide, and god knows how long.

Sarala stared at the gash for a moment then tilted her head to the side slightly while trying to peer through it from their current position, "What is that? Apart fromthe obvious."

Well, Kara seems undeterred, sliding through the almost perfectly sheared off metal. "Hell if I know, only time I've seen a navigator fuck up this badly I was in an escape pod by now. Smaller ship though."

Sarala continued to stare at the 'wound' in the ship as they passed through it then inquired as she turned back to Kara, "Just to check, but where are we going?"

"The bridge. I have no idea why it's way the hell over the other side of the ship to navigation, but I'm no engineer. You might want to come up with an explanation for the scottish guy as to why shit hit the fan."

"If I could remember then I'd give one." Sarala admitted with a shrug, "It was all 'suddenly, colors!' and trying not to be motionsick."

"So you keep saying." She rolled her eyes as they kept going forward. Though, after that there was a… different, voice. One Sarala hadn't heard yet. "Hey, need a little help there?"

"Speaking of which, can we get something for my head if there is a chance on the way?" She asked, trying to focus on the immediate and not the forthcoming meeting which almost screams of 'TROUBLE!' ahead, "If he's louder in person than over the intercome…"

"If the infirmary wasn't going to be completely fucking filled with everyone. And yeah, he's got some vocal implants that are an absolute //bitch-. Shout's clear across the hanger when we're going into a drop zone, and that place has fucking //frigates-."

And the other voice, "hey, if you're not going to answer, you could at least stick up a busy notice or something. It's your funeral if you're going up there anyway though."

Sarala started to nod then looked around for the second speaker beforee she asked, "Did you just hear something?"

No-one else around. There's a few corridors blatently on fire, a few more gashes, and another gold-glowing smoky room, but no-one who could have been speaking. "No, that's probably in your head. Fuck, you're really not just shitting me here, are you?"

Sarala gave a tired look back and then gestured to the room with the glow, "I can sort of see an afterimage around there, my head hurts, I don't know what is going on beyond what you said, and I feel like everything is getting stranger and stranger. I look down and everything about myself looks wrong and now you're dragging me to someone who is going to yell and me for doing something I don't know what is happening!"

Sarala broke off breathlessly.

Kara stopped the pair, and looked over to the gold glowing door. "That door probably wont open; it could be some of your psychic shit. Hang on a sec." She slid up next to it and pulled out a large, very sharp looking knife, stabbing it into the gap and prying, before a loud SNAP can be heard, and the door groans it's way open, billows of smoke coming out. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go do your shit, if you saw something in here!"

«Scene Fades»


Notes: Part of my catching up… and not a session I ran, but one I played in.