revivalproject | Open Log [2]

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Open Log [2]

WHO: Altair Kallig & You
WHERE: Greenhouse, various other areas, hotel
WHAT: Work, play, and exploration!
WHEN: Nov 6 - Nov 8
WARNINGS: None! Will update if this changes.

[Greenhouse (Nov 6)]

He wouldn't go so far as to call it his favorite place, but tending to the greenhouse has become somewhat of a standard activity for him. Tending to his alcohol project, which he's decided to continue, as there had been truth in what he'd said, that where there were sentient beings, there were beings looking to have a good time and relax with a drink. What he'd shared with Eli and Thrawn was certainly passable, wouldn't get you in trouble in slave settlements or even on Korriban, but he was determined to at least make something that would be accepted even on Dromund Kaas.

If only in the seedier cantinas, rather than the Nexus Room. Not even the poorest of the Kaas City elite would accept a drink that didn't come from a bottle with a brand name on it, after all, even if it should taste better, and only the elite were accepted there.

Honestly, the work made him miss his home.

Dromund Kaas had been rainy and hot and miserable with lightning that could completely obliterate a person had it not been for the spires, but he had loved it. The Sith playing their games, the politics, the interesting intricate webs of lies that had been so fun to observe, to see where they'd go.

Sighing to himself, he pruned back yet more weeds trying to overtake one of his favorite plants, small with pink leaves, with berries that tasted as sweet as candy, and yet somehow had a cooling effect when eating too, as though they were frozen. This was enjoyable work, but also left him with a lot of time to think.

But then, that was the truth of all of his time here- whenever he was alone, at least.

[Exploration (Nov 7)]

Trekking across unfamiliar lands is something he's used to, too. As an apprentice, he'd been sent across the galaxy. He'd set foot on Balmorra, on Tatooine, Nar Shaddaa... As a Lord, he'd traveled even further. Taris, Quesh, Hoth, and many other places. Still, there is something more unsettling about this place. Even more unsettling than the blighted Taris, even with all its Rakghouls.

Calling it similar to what he'd felt as Ziost died came close.

Like something entirely wrong in the Force.

Of course, that could just be the effects of Ziost, following him even here.

Still, it is important to explore. A Sith like him who thrived on information couldn't be ignorant of his surroundings, after all.

So he wanders, veil in place, though as he stops here and there, writing down notes in the notebook he'd been oh-so kindly given, he does wish he had some goggles or something, so he wouldn't have to keep the notebook so close to his body to glance down from beneath his veil.

Something to ask the Agrii for, at some point. Assuming he can get them to understand. Assuming they don't give him something entirely garish if they do understand.

[Hotel (Nov 8)]

The hotel seems a risky place to be, at the same time as it is technically the safest, considering the amount of people that seems to be gathered there. Technically, Altair does very little in the hotel. He's found himself a room that he's managed to get mostly cleaned up. At least enough to make it habitable, even if it more or less is only to sleep.

He's managed to find himself something to block the door with too, when he's off in dreamland, and he's set up something like an alarm system that will warn him of intruders, though it's simple- only a light item that will break if it falls, set up so that if someone manages to get the door open, he'll be alerted and can take appropriate action.

After their forced bonding time in the ships, he has taken to sleeping clutching his dualsaber like a security blanket, not wanting to find himself accidentally separated from his weapon.

Still, when he's not in his room, he can most often be found in the lobby or sitting near the wall on the stairs, and now that he has the materials to do so, he spends his time working on a needlepoint project.

Glancing down beneath his veil to see what he's doing.

Hardly convenient, but he's not ready to give up the veil either.

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"Guess I'll have to find a way to extract it. But yeah, it should suit the purposes. Who knows, maybe it will be good for frying things too. Where was that?"

He hasn't really put together that the guy is 'familiar' yet. He's too busy looking down at his bundle of mints.

"We've got like all the mint in the world and need to do things with it."

"I'll show you the way," He says, yanking out another weed out for good measure, before turning to head in the direction where he knows the fruits are.

"Honestly I've been trying to stay away from those abominable plants, but I suppose you have a point that it'll be good to keep the insects away from the fruits and vegetables..."

The food is one of the most valuable resources they have, after all. While their numbers aren't that great, there are still plenty of mouths to feed, and should more people arrive, managing food and water will become even more important. Even if Altair wishes he was home- which he's sure he's not alone in wishing- he still sees the worth in keeping everyone fed and in fighting shape, should it become necessary.

He'd glad he's not alone in that, he supposes.

"Not a bad thing to have oil. Like, for cooking. And I think it figures into some preservation stuff? And some people might appreciate it for sex for all I know."

Oil isn't a bad thing. Didn't the Greeks or some other people make a lot of their lives off of that? Really, Tommy's not really smart enough to come up with those sorts of answers. Still, he considers that this can let things get deep-fried, and that's a good thing.

"Preservation of foods matter too. Sardines store in oil, right? Right. Probably."

"No, I suppose not. It's a strange thing, having to start a world nearly from scratch again. Cultivating crops, taking into consideration what we don't have, but will need in the future..."

The work felt kind of like being a slave again. Of course, even when he was a slave, such things were a given, and what he didn't have, he could steal from his masters when they weren't looking. Here though, here they had to create what they needed with their own hands. Especially since he doubted the Agrii would understand should they ask for necessities.

"And I have no idea what sardines are, but you are right that we'll need to find a way to preserve food, and oil can certainly play a part in that. Right now we're managing, but depending on what winter will look like..."

Food, water, ways to stay warm. There was a lot to consider. Just trying to scrape by wasn't going to cut it. There were the ships, but Altair certainly didn't want to rely on them so much. They were a last resort, if even that.

"So they're like, these little fish. And people eat them out of cans. And they're terrible, salty, and oily, and DO NOT belong on pizza," Tommy explains. Not that he has an opinion. At all.

And it's not like Tommy doesn't know they're managing. He just works another part of the greenhouse. This place is big enough that people don't necessarily have to run into each other while working this place.

"Hoping we don't actually HAVE winter for a while."

"... I see."

Sounds like the... Man? Boy? Altair isn't sure. He sounds young, but then, voices aren't the best to go by. After all, his voice is very deep, and he knows he looks twelve, if one just goes by his size. Not many men above twenty who are as short as he is, after all, and his species tends to run taller rather than shorter. Still, it sounds like this person has a strong opinion about these sardines.

"And I agree. My species does... A little better in the cold than other species do. I think."

He didn't know very much about his species, admittedly. He'd always been watching from the outside and in after all. Pantorans were... Cold-adapted too, weren't they? He hoped so. Or it was a lie that could fall apart real fast. Despite using the species as a cover, he'd never actually known much about them.

"But just doing better certainly isn't thriving. Whether winter comes soon, or whether it comes later, it's still something that has to be prepared for..."

"I'm from Jersey, I should be good at the cold. But speed and cold? Don't really mix."

Speedsters are high energy mutants, they burn a lot just to keep their body running. Having to consume more to fight off the cold was never fun. And slipping on ice sucked.

Preparations. Tommy sighs. There isn't much they could do.

"We need salt. And meat. And ways to can goods. But, of fucking course, we can't. At least the greenhouse will keep us going some."

"... I suppose I can understand that. I've seen people slip on ice before."

Or heard it, rather. Screech, whack, ow, and all that. It's not a problem he's had himself, using the Force to aid him in his movements. Walking or running on ice is no problem for him. Still, for anyone else, especially someone who relies on speed? He can understand.

"Salt... I suppose making a trek looking for an ocean could work once we get our bearings. Evaporating the water would leave us with salt. I have sensed animals around that can be hunted for meat..."

There is much to be done. Much that needs to be done. Much that needs to be figured out of. Not only in terms of food and water, but also shelter, cleanliness, clothes... If the temperatures start dropping, he's willing to bet there are plenty of people without clothing to deal with it, too. And he's not sure how reliable the Agrii will be on that front.

He sighs softly, reaching a hand up beneath his veil to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd take a hundred Dark Council meetings in a row over this..."

"It's a lot worse when you're going faster than the speed of sound. Even with stronger bones and muscles."

He could survive crashes in excess of Mach 6, so yeah, it wasn't AS bad, but it still sucked.

"We get enough food to work with, I'll find you an ocean. Just give me supplies and a few hours."

IF nothing else, Tommy will be a good scout once they can give him enough food to make fully use of his speed without shutting other people out of necessary food. Which might be a while.

"Wait, what's the Dark Council?"

"... I don't think sending someone off alone is something any of us ought to be doing," He says, turning his head as though to look at him, with a slight frown. Supplies are important, salt is useful, but keeping everyone alive? That's more in tune with his priorities. He's... Sort of a solitary and quiet creature on a personal level, but... They're all in the same boat, here.

"We don't know what's out there, and sending you off would be irresponsible to say the least. If you were to need help, who of us would know? Which one of us could reach you in time, should something happen? There's a time and a place to be reckless, and this isn't it."

It's sort of a speech he's heard himself, really.

"And I thought I was crazy..."

Shaking his head, he sighs, "The Dark Council is the political power in the Sith Empire. There's the Emperor at the top," He says, pronouncing Emperor a little like how a person would pronounce parasite, maggot, or something equally unpleasant, "And then twelve Dark Councillors atop their own Sphere of Influence beneath him, overseeing different parts of the Empire."

Thing is, in an emergency, Tommy knows he can get back fast. Either his own speed, or his brother's power. He has literally zero doubts. And of everyone here, MAYBE only Carol could keep up with him. Maybe.

"Cap Sparkles could get there. Or maybe my twin. But I wouldn't get in trouble. I'm too fast for trouble."

Listen, he needs to help. Heroes are like that.

"Dark Council? Sith? Emperor? Yeah, that all sounds like evil overlords shit. See, Empires are probably bad. Though I guess my brother-in-law-to-be will probably make his Empire really nice. He's like, the perfect sunshine happy pick you up when you're down sorta guy."

"Your twin... Billy, right?"

He doesn't usually forget names. Or voices. Sort of comes with the territory of his work.

"Still, there is safety in numbers... If you venture beyond the areas explored already, it's safer to go with a group."

Altair imagines the trouble he would have been in, had he been alone. He had been, on Korriban, and had managed only because K'lor'slugs and tomb looters were not the smartest lot. Ever since though, he'd always been with at least one of his crew. And if the wilderness here was anything like the several different wildernesses he'd been to, then it was fraught with dangers.

"... Well, you're probably not too far off there."

Evil overlords shit, and all. Still, there's a certain snarky bent to his tone of voice.

"I was working on changing that, though. You know, before all this."

Before Ziost, too. What would he be doing, he wonders, had he not ended up here, immediately after the planet's death. Would he be despairing? Trying to rebuild? Seeking revenge? He's not really sure, and he certainly doesn't want to talk about it.

Woah, the guy remembers. Which means Tommy has to think to see if he can't figure out who this guy is. And, nope. Tommy doesn't have a very good memory for voices. Being who he is means he hears voices at so many different speeds that recognizing them isn't fucking easy.

"Yeah, that's my guy. He can fly. And number can NEVER keep up with me. Unless we can get a ship going."

So, the guy is from an evil empire, and wants to change it. Yeah, doubts that's going to happen. Even Teddy probably doesn't have a lot of hope there, except, you know, magical boyfriend.

"Change here, then go change there. Seems fair."

"I hope we can soon. Getting a ship, or all of them, up and running would benefit us all."

Right now they're sort of stuck. Not just in this world, but here too. Altair wants to see other parts of the planet. Wants to see the state of it all for himself. But he's not so arrogant he'll set off on foot, alone, and think he'll be okay.

Many Sith probably would. Not him though.

Last thing he wants to do is die out there, and become a bitter ghost, forever bound to a world that was not his own.

Tommy's comment about this seeming fair, has his mouth pulling into a thin line. Fair. Fair doesn't even... But no. Altair reminds himself that he's talking to a teenager here, most likely, and he can be tactless himself. He says nothing.

There's definitely a tenseness to him that wasn't there before though.

He turns and motions for him to follow down another path, heading toward where he'd found those fruits.

"Don't know. People could crash them," Tommy shrugs. "Just give me plenty of food and a machete and some people to write stuff on, and I'll make us a map."

Oh well. He follows Altair thoughtfully, and then he's up beside and past the guy, walking backwards.

"You're not so talkative in person, are you?"

"... Is that what I seem like?"

Well, it's not too far from the truth. He's not the most chatty person in the world, but not the least, either. Still, he didn't know he seems so quiet that it's worth calling out. Of course, it's been a long time since he's been on his own, without one of his crew handling most of the talking.

"Here I thought I was an excellent conversationalist."

His tone suggests that was a joke.

Well, Tommy's a chatterbox, so really, his standards are SUPER uncommon, right? But he keeps going anyway. Because that's who and what he is.

"Oh yeah, you're just the life of the party, dude," Tommy agrees, rolling his eyes and turning around to walk forward a bit.

"Depends on the party, but I am, though. Is that not obvious? I'm all the rage back home, you know."

Rather obvious snark. Technically a Sith like him is the death of the party. Sometimes literally. But he doesn't say that, of course, letting it stay with the snark that's easy to lean into to focus on something other than his mood dropping a bit.

All the rage. Tommy actually laughs at that statement. Yeah, this guy is TOTALLY appropriate for ragers, he can feel it. What a joke.

"Man, you're almost a hoot."

"Only almost?" Altair asks, putting a hand to his chest in feigned hurt, "You wound me."

Altair doesn't think he's without a sense of humor, at least. Strange, probably not all that funny to anyone who isn't him, but it's there. Right now it serves as a distraction, but it is a true reflection of his being as well.

"... This way."

He turns down another path, and stops once he reaches a tree, full of fruits, "These have a high oil content, and... No ill effects."

That's what the information that is not truly his tells him, anyway.

The second that Tommy sees the fruit tree he grins. Yeah, he remembers that one. Not his own memories, but he knows it.

“I wish when they gave us all this knowledge they had also given us a map of this place. Been wondering where these were growing. You’re a really useful guy. Thanks!”

"That would have been beneficial," He agrees, though honestly, he doesn't mind exploring, either. It's another thing to keep him occupied, after all, looking for things he knows even if it's not knowledge he's earned, and figuring out where they are.

More things to keep him occupied aren't things he's about to dismiss, after all, preferring to keep his thoughts here in the present rather than anywhere else.

"Glad to have been of use. If you don't need anything else, I'll take my leave."

"Thanks man, I'll find you if I need you. Gotta start finding something to contain the oil in, but I'll manage it. Good luck with your plant work too."

Tommy offers a brief wave and in a lightning fast motion he is at the tree, starting to gather the fruits.

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Open Log [2]

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