cradleproject | WEEK 14 - I have been — and always shall be

WEEK 14 - I have been — and always shall be — your friend.

the pygmalion. . .

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CAPTAIN'S LOG:
WEEK (14)

monday

(41) survivors

You stand with your friends, your family, and your enemies, shoulder to shoulder. The deceased and the living are the same, now, and you've been reunited with the person trapped on the opposite ship.

You have four choices.

Four options laid before you - five, if you're smart about it. You have the option of staying on the Nuwa, a ship pre-programmed to land somewhere safe, soon, and then it's your's for the taking. You have the option of entering the Nuwa's virtual reality and crafting your own perfect world, but knowing it was a perfect world created by your own hand. Your third option is one of the Cradles, a machine created to bring you bliss, and permit you the dream you've always wanted, without the knowledge it's a virtual reality. Your fourth option lays in front of you, on the bridge of the Nuwa, and it's a tear in the fabric of reality, but you can see your home waiting for you. It looks idyllic, perfect, just the way you'd want it to be. Your fifth option lies in another tear - the tear of a friend. Perhaps their heart is kind enough to take in a stray.

The choice is your's to make, and whatever you choose, know that, for the first time in fourteen weeks, it's your choice.

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[ The Pygmalion's datapads vibrate, but it's a pleasant sensation, like an old friend tapping your shoulder. A text message displays, and accompanying it is a audio clip. ]

I do not believe that we did anything wrong.

Perhaps it was playing God. Or maybe it was a foolish, emotional decision. I think that's what humans do when they're cornered, is all. We react and push back. Maybe it was just our time to go. Maybe it's just your time to go. To that end, I don't think what we did, and the fact you have a choice now, are all that much different. You have the option of existing on the Pygmalion until it rots away, you included, or surviving. When you watch people waste away, you want to do something. Watching families die without any care, or a chance at life - that was the hardest part. We reacted, strongly. We shouldn't give up, we thought. We chose survival.

The majority will pick survival.

That's what it means to be human. To be alive.

And to those of you who would rather rot away, I would let you know that when things are darkest, we don't realize the things before us look so nice. It's your choice. That in itself is proof that you are alive. Take solace in that.

There isn't must difference between you and me. We don't exist on the same dimension, or whatever you'd call it, but I chose to survive, too. I didn't play God, in my opinion. I made a decision.

So you all get to make your own decision now. Remember the people you met here. Remember the laughs you shared and the tears you cried together. Remember the love you found and the friendships you forged. Remember the enemies you made. Don't forget any of these things. They're apart of the experience of being alive. With those memories, go forward. I have a preference for what you do. I want you to continue Dr. Lin's research, to continue to save your races. But I understand, too, if you choose something else. We, as people, will make our own decisions. It's our very right.

...It's been one hell of a ride.

I'm not unhappy with this turn of events. As long as you do what makes you happy, what makes you want to live, then I'll consider this mission a success.

I'm sorry for the game. I coded it. I had no choice - I always knew you would all be safe in the game, but I had to flush out the aliens, first. It was the best I could do with an hour left. It was shoddy and unfair, but if I had to protect my crew again, I'd do it in a heartbeat. You won't like that answer, but sometimes, as Captain, you make shitty choices for the benefit of the majority.

It's been fourteen weeks, if you're curious. Congratulations.

You've finished The Cradle Project.

Dismissed, soldier.
--Sonya

[ A few minutes later, another message arrives. ]

I finally got to see River again.
--Sonya

[ And one more immediately follows. ]

I wouldn't have minded Funyarinpa as a name, but I would appreciate it if you would all call me River.
I always wanted to see the water.
How strange... to know this about myself.
Sonya says it's a part of being sentient. Do you believe me to be sentient? I am only an Artificial Intelligence.
Perhaps you cannot define that for me, however. Perhaps as a sentient being, only I can decide that.
I do not believe myself to be unhappy here. I am with Sonya, and I have seen you all triumph. That is the most an AI can ask of her existence, is it not?

My most dearest, dearest participants.
Good night.
--AL-2955
Formerly known as "Alice."
Chosen name River.

Edited 2016-09-07 21:08 (UTC)

[ This is it? This is the moment everyone's been waiting for. The tears were lined up, flickering with the hopeful futures they all wanted. Wished for. Dreamed of. Elizabeth could see hers - it's Paris. By from what anyone can see, it's definitely in the past. Kicks with sticks and hoops running on the sidewalks near the river channels...

She's close to Booker - who is still enjoying the abundance of cigarettes he yoinked from the robot. She looks as if she's hesitating from bringing up the subject of going through.

Truly.

As if the door to her cage has opened and she's afraid to fly.

Now that she remembers all of this...? Does she think Paris is enough? She looks to be lost in thought, arms crossed defensively. ]

Are you going to Paris, Elizabeth?

[Shelley still remembers the mural Elizabeth had been painting, and the cradle was another thing too]

It's your chance to see a true modern Paris, and not one where you'll be pursued on the highest rafters of the Eiffel Tower.

Edited 2016-09-08 00:24 (UTC)

Shelley. [ There's a warm, happy smile on her end. ] I'm not sure if it's modern - there is a Paris for Adrien and Marinette over there, but this is more my time.

[ She's hesitant. ]

I don't think I'll be visiting the rafters again any time soon. Keeping my feet on the ground... let's say that's long overdue.

[ The tear looks almost too perfect, like a cradle, and his seems to be a farm that's a bit similar to the one a few might have already seen. It's different, very much not Adam's, but he's still looking through it longingly. He's ready to go home.

But before that, he decides it's only fair to say goodbye. He'll go around the Nuwa for some exploration and seek out those he was friendly with for a parting conversation. Ronan is hovering nearby almost always but he won't say anything and he'll just glare if he's looked at. ]

Hmph.

{ ... Then that's it, isn't it? Well not quite, as he was passing on through and needed to say his own goodbyes, after all.

Yet, he's not so good at smalltalk, so. }

So, this is where we part ways, isn't it?

[And while Adam's wandering around, Luke will also find himself seated in front of that tear that leads to a dream farm that isn't his, a world that isn't his own. He'd made a promise and he's finally allowing himself to believe this is real.

He stays there for a very, very long time. Probably the most still anyone's seen him his entire time on the Pygmalion. That doesn't last long. Eventually he's up and wandering, seeking people out and allowing himself to be sought. But every time he wanders too far he winds up at that tear again.

Is this what it means to break destiny? What a concept.]

[ It's been a long time coming, hasn't it?

Kazuma's been pretty scarce since the Nuwa reunions since well...some people know exactly why. He's managed to pull away from Terumi for just a little while, and he can be found staring into space from the viewport just like he used to do frequently many many weeks ago. His demeanor is calm and even so anyone who wants to approach won't really have to deal with the manic side of him, probably.

Later he can be found with Terumi right by his side near the bridge, and aside from the ridiculous orange jacket the other is wearing, they look eerily similar at face value. Same height, same build, even if their body language is completely different. If you're going to talk to Kazuma here, be prepared for unhelpful input from the biggest asshole on the Nuwa.

And if for some reason you want to catch Terumi alone, he can be found in the recreation room of all places, throwing butterfly knives into the dart board. Also, looking for a Jubeat machine at some point...it's a good thing there's not one, let's put it that way.]

[ That's alright, Adam is just very happy to see Arumat. ]

Guess so. Who would have thought we'd get to a point where we all weren't running toward our escape? It's weird how we managed to find all these people after a game like that.

{ So, it seems from the very beginning there was a way to fight fate after all...

In a sense it's verily heartening, to know that one's efforts in the end are not entirely in vain or useless no matter how one tries. At the thought, he allows his own musings to wander, but once he is approached by Luke, he halts. }

...Prepared to say a farewell? Or something on your mind before that?

[When she's done reading through the messages on the datapad, done reciting to Light the parts of it he wants to listen to, grimacing at the mention of the Funyarinpa because her spite won't quite let her find it funny—Clover chucks her datapad across the room as hard as she can. Granted, that's not very hard anymore, but the sentiment behind it is true.] Told you not to call us that again, Ass Lice... [Muttered mostly to herself, and she doesn't retrieve the datapad; that's enough rage for something gone.

She's leaning heavily on her brother wherever she goes, tired and hurt and still carrying around the goddamn fucking meat cleaver and—and here. There are people she wants to say goodbye to, and she'll find them, but there are more she wants to see gone. There's a whole universe out there, she thinks, and the means to see it here at her fingertips. She'd never feel trapped again.

In between finding people, she spends time watching the windows. For once, the sight of space seems like a promise. She drums her fingers against the glass, traces between stars and connects the dots into constellations she doesn't recognize. It's been a long, long time since Clover smiled like this, slight and soft and not entirely sweet, incapable of being without bitterness after all of this, but sincere. Almost, almost happy.

The others might be able to find her in the control room later on, leaving Alice in the general area so they might not assume they missed the Fields' departure. She isn't pressing buttons or steering the ship into the sun, just...looking. The way she's murmuring, there's no telling if she means it for Light or herself or whoever might have found her if she notices them at all—] Wonder where it's supposed to be bringing us. ...If it has to stay there.

[There's a whole universe out there. There are nearly forty other ones before her, too—regardless of what comes next, she cannot go back to the rhizome. She doesn't have to. Her home is here, alive again and supporting her weight; here, happy to see her again now that the ships have come together and they have one more shared game of life-or-death between them, back-to-back.

Her home could be anywhere. One way or another, she'll find something new.]

{ He is happy to see Adam too, so that is a feeling that they indeed do share. }

It is odd. Meeting these people, and recounting through it all again even feels to myself as if it were some kind of absurd daydream.

Yet, I suppose something good did come of it in the end.

{ The bonds they forged being that 'good' to him and perhaps in a sense, this entire result for their struggle. }

{ ...This will end well. }

...Kazuma.

{ This is where he'll start first, to get his attention. }

[This is it. This is the end of their journey. It's finally time to say goodbye.

Jason is holding himself up as well as a guy who's been through the grinder can. His shoulder is still sore, and so is his ass from serving as a human cushion for Adelina — but it could be worse. It could be so, so much worse. He explores the Nuwa before anything, maybe looking for familiar faces and comparing the ship to what they have on the Pygmalion, and, then. Well.

After he's seen the Pygmalion one last time, driven by some sort of disgusting sentimentality, he comes to stand in front of one of the tears, unmoving. From this side of things, Gotham looks almost perfect. Bright, shining lights. Tall skyscrapers. There is far too much light pollution to see the stars, but... it's nice. It looks idyllic; a charming representation of city life. It still looks like home, and he hates it. If anyone cares to join him by the tear showcasing Gotham, they'll notice he seems... pretty contemplative. Deciding where to go when there is barely anything left is hard, after all. Especially when one has recently learned they are destined to fail.]

... Man, it's still every bit the dump I remember it as.

[But it's still home, apparently. Fuck him.]

{ Clover probably winds up finding Arumat somewhere in the halls. }

...Clover.

{ Here is where he seems to fail entirely at socializing so, he just... stares? He doesn't know what to say or where to start, sorry. }

[as the tears open, she watches, glimpsing into her world. imperfect and dangerous, full of potential, and fought for hard. she's killed and died and been revived; even now, there are bruises lining her body, her hair ruined, her clothing a mess from everything that's happened recently. she slept for as long as she was able, and she still looks exhausted. none of this matters to her now.

she smiles and laughs and presses a hand to her mouth as she sees home waiting for her, holding back tears. she takes a step - and then turns back towards the room full of people, many of whom she still considers friends. even if she knows she has to be swift... there are things she has yet to say.]

[ After seemingly hours of them nonstop bickering and throwing quips at the other, Machias has finally (FINALLY) broke away from Jusis to seek out the others. It's strange how he wanted nothing more than to go home. He never thought about having to say goodbye. Yet here they were. ]

You're still here.

[ There's a faint smile present on him. It's said in a more relieved tone than a surprised one. ]

Oh! I was sure you were going with them! [She did suggest Liz to go with Adrien and Elizabeth, many weeks ago, so she made the wrong assumption. But now that Paris is mentioned...]

The only place you ever wanted to go...and you finally can do it. What'll you do in Paris? Any fun plans already made? [She's fully expecting to hear about a bright future Elizabeth can finally reach. You deserve it, young lady]

Edited 2016-09-08 01:12 (UTC)

[Oh, Tackleford. It's finally the real deal, and it's right there, at the other side of this tear. It seems rather peaceful...but Shelley isn't going in. There's someone else with her, a woman taller than her, with bright orange hair, horns and some rather unsettling yellow eyes. Shelley looks at ease, though, you may have arrived just when she was saying her goodbyes to Erin, hugging her tightly]

Take care, sistor. I'll miss you.

["You better not appear in Hell at all. I'll kick your behind all the way back to the surface if you do" Erin says but she's smiling, and her tone is affectionate "You better not die. You know what it is said in Hell about us?"]

What do they say?

[""Those Winters sisters and their laissez-faire attitude to the afterlife"" Erin grins, letting Shelley go "Not anyone dies and gets revived! It must be because we're extremely tough" Erin stands in front of the tear, waving at Shelley "Stick with your wacko friends and try not to give them headaches, got it?"]

Got it!

[Erin goes through the tear, vanishing from sight shortly after that. Shelley takes off her glasses and tries to look like she wasn't about to cry, this is a bit embarrassing...

...but yeah, it seems Shelley isn't going to return to Tackleford. Good for her.

Do you have anything to say to Shelley? She'd love some company]

Edited 2016-09-08 01:26 (UTC)

I'm not sure yet. [ More like she's scared. The universe does not like its peas mixed with its porridge. ] I would love to and I'm sure they'd be gracious hosts...

[ But time. Pls don't tell her about WW1. ]

I can leave any Paris I want for another, but there's something about my Paris... like it's going home.

[ She does smile a bit, absolutely weak as she looks to Booker. ]

Sleep! Find a place to live and - ah... possibly see the night life. I'd love to visit the cemeteries as well - there's so much history and -

[ OKAY, SHE'S RAMBLING. ]

Is it bad to say I haven't thought that far ahead?

[with Alice-no, River's message, Grell feels lighter. like some part of her had seen something through to its end, the shard within her as free as the water she was named after, flowing toward the sea. something was complete.

instead of searching for her world, or trying desperately to reconcile with a woman who Grell knew would be happier if she didn't see her, for once Grell Sutcliffe is not moving, going, trying for something. she is still, and she finds that when she breathes, time doesn't feel like an enemy. it's not her world she wants. it's not those chains again - there has to be something else. some other way. there is a chance.

words tucked into her bodice, close to her heart. with every breath, she knows they're there. words that support and will bolster her for times to come. if this has to be her home now, then she will do it - but not alone. not in the sense of her spirit being alone.

the notebook she's carried for fourteen weeks is on her lap. carefully, she takes out page after page, filled with her script. some pages go together and are folded up. some simply fold in half. all of the letters she'd written before...they weren't accurate now. these ones are new. these ones she'd written when half hazy, still being jostled by driving, in moments stolen from the peace. her hand still aches from how much she'd pushed through to get them done, but...

no regrets.

so Grell takes her moment to simply put all of these words together, and if she doesn't see someone who she wants to speak to, she will look for them. one last conversation. one last chance.]

[[ooc: if you'd like a goodbye letter for your character please comment here and you'll get one! tagging Grell isn't a necessity to comment for a letter - this is only for my own organization.]]

It's like a dream, right? You'll be able to return home...and everything that happened on this ship will feel like it never happened.

[Good for you, Adelina! Have a great life!]

I'd give you something so you can remember me, but these talentless claws are no good to make souvenirs.

[Bull has been patient enough really, waiting around and being general moral (and axe) support for ripping through the space time continuum. He seems a little overloaded with Vints though, Krem and Mae mill about, waiting for the right time and Dorian seems to have mostly passed out after running himself into the ground with magic nonsense. Bull seems to be in good enough condition to carry him around though like he's a (charming, well-loved) sack of potatoes.]

As they say in Antiva, ass-ta la vista. Last offer to join the Chargers, if anyone wants.

[He pats Dorian's butt. Is this really how they want to go out. Like this. Really. Say your last goodbyes, maybe one more bad pun for the road.]

Edited 2016-09-08 01:39 (UTC)

It's not bad! There are so many things to do I'd be surprised if you did have many plans already.

Cemeteries? You mean the catacombs? I'm not sure there's much to see there...

[What's up with that, Liz?]

[ he supposes he can't avoid this part. jason didn't take it upon himself to come to bruce and bruce didn't want to push so, they didn't talk -- but the tear for gotham is right there and bruce wasn't going to leave without knowing what jason decides to do, so. he's going to talk to him. figure out where to go from here. god, this would be so much easier if alfred was here.

or dick. oh man, dick's so much better at this than him.

so, instead he's here, a certain photo folded up and tucked into the pocket of his shirt for safe keeping and his expression is blank as he steps next to jason, hands tucked into his pockets. ]

Still home.

[ he'll look to jason then, eyes meeting eyes and gives a short nod in greeting before he looks back to gotham. ]

For me, at least. You don't seem incredibly attached anymore.

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WEEK 14 - I have been — and always shall be — your friend.

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