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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Don't mind him, just a kid coming through this area of the greenhouse with an armload of mint, looking around at the plants around them. And when he catches sight of hte other man, he heads on over toward him.

"Hey, you. Know anything that serves as a good oil? Wanna make some mint extract to help keep bugs away from the fruits and veggies. But, like, oil will keep the mint extract better than water would and all of that."

His senses aren't effected by the other changes in power, thankfully, so he could feel him coming before hearing him. He turns his head as though looking, and then tilts it, thinking both about the question, but also about this person who's decided to talk to him.

He recognizes the voice, he thinks. Didn't they talk once before? Tommy, if he's not mistaken. It isn't really relevant, he supposes, but still.

"Something that serves as a good oil... I think I've come across a few fruits that have a high oil content, if you've got a way to extract it. Would that suit your purposes?"

"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."

Krista spends most nights in the Hotel, but not because she likes it. She tends to push her luck, in fact, showing up as late as the dwindling sunlight will let her get away with, and then trudging straight up to her room without really talking to anyone. She crashes in her hammock, sleeps for a few hours, and then is up again at sunrise to head right back out into another weird new day.

But, as tired as she is this evening, seeing the familiar form of Altair near the stairs again is enough to make her pause. For a second, she worries that he's hurt or something... But then she realizes he's just huddled over a project, and the stupid relief she feels is enough to get her to actually go out of her way to say hi to him.

She hugs her own hardcover journal close to her chest as she hops up the stairs, stopping one or two steps lower just to get somewhere near eye level. She's got a small smile on her face as she greets him in her usual, quiet voice.

"Hey, funny running into you here again."

"Krista," He greets, with a small smile of his own, lifting his head as though to look, even though his eyes are covered as always, "Greetings. And I suppose it is... It always seems to be here, doesn't it?"

Only twice, but still. The lobby, the stairs. He hopes that won't become a running theme for their meetings- even if there certainly are stranger circumstances in which he's met people. A lot stranger circumstances, in fact.

He sets his project down in his lap- barely started, but it seems to be intended to be a profile portrait of a woman who is most certainly not human.

"Are you doing well?"

"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..."

"Yeah, I'm doing okay."

She nods at the question, though her eyes have clearly followed his project. She even tilts her head to the left and to the right while she still responds, not at all hiding that she's trying to figure out what it is she's looking at.

"A lot less despair, anyway. That's been good." And next, bluntly (and curiously), "What're you working on?"

"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?"

"Glad to hear it," He says, and certainly means it, too.

He has sort of worried about her, in all this chaos, already considering her a friend. Who else will he make jokes about beings that are all leg with, after all, or bad poetry about frustrations about stairs.

Her question about what he's working on earns a slightly smaller smile, and had his eyes been visible, it would have looked like a sad one.

"An embroidered portrait of my apprentice, Ashara. Assuming I have enough, or can get enough, materials, I was planning on making one of each of my crew back home."

"... 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."

She's tallying up each little kindness in the back of her mind. She won't bring attention to it, probably, but she is counting. She's glad that she wasn't just making up how well they seemed to get along last time.

Whatever explaination she was expecting out of Altair, it apparently wasn't this--she looks surprised, and then a little sad herself, even though she can't see his expression.

"Aw, that's... Really nice."

But that sounds... dumb, so Krista mushes the fingers of one of her hands self-consciously against her mouth, looking back up at where she assumes his eyes would be.

"It's... I'm trying to think of a better word. But that's good. A good project."

"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.

A Sith wasn't supposed to have connections. A Sith was supposed to see others as disposable. But that wasn't him. It never had been, and it never would be. Other Sith saw that trait of his as a weakness, but he saw it as a strength.

He smiled slightly, tracing his fingers over the needlepoint project, "... I miss them already. I know they're managing without me, but..."

Ziost, again. Always Ziost. Ashara had been with him, there on the orbital station. How was she doing? How was everyone else? It's... A concern.

"It's the same for everyone, of course."

He shrugs his shoulders, dismissing his own feelings, and pats the spot beside him, "Sit with me for a while? It's good to have your company."

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."

Phalanx has been around... or not, as may be more accurate to describe the way they sometimes wander without interacting with or even acknowledging whatever is happening in their physical surroundings, quietly drifting past like the ghosts they're made up of.

Today is different, however. On their meaningless way passing through the lobby, something snags the corner of their attention like a beacon. Stopping in their tracks, they turn to fix big, dark eyes on the little project that Altair is working on from across the room.

"...Needle?"

She definitely understands. It's a feeling that has only grown for her the longer she's been away from home, and it's a little jarring, suddenly sharing the sentiment with someone she has, objectively, only known for a short time.

But it's important. Some deeper, ancient part of her knows that she should follow it. Being asked to sit makes so much sense that she doesn't even question it.

"I was just about to ask," she admits, smile returning. "Glad you beat me to it."

As she climbs the next couple of steps, she opens her book and rifles through the early pages. As soon as she's sitting down, she holds it out for him to see a set of pages where, nestled among meticulously scribbled notes, are illustrations of seven different figures.

One of them is huge compared to the others, a muscular man with tusks protruding from his mouth, and a large hammer balanced over one shoulder. His drawing is one of the only two with any color, skin accented blue. Other figures include an adult woman and a teenage girl, both slender and beautiful, a sad-looking boy with a face covered in bony ridges, another boy with pointed features and red-tinged skin, and an inexplicably normal-looking human man.

The final figure, easy to miss, is a pid. Young, standing on its hind legs, holding a sword that kind of looks like it's made of lightning. Some artistic liberties have probably been taken with these, as Krista is not a portrait artist or anything... But, still, there's no mistaking it for anything other than a pig.

"See, these are my guys, from back home. They're one of the first things I put in here, in case I forget about them later or something."

"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.

He leans over slightly to look down from beneath his veil, and he smiles. If there is anything strange or unusual about her group of friends to him, he doesn't say it, or show it. He's not human himself, after all, and through his travels has met and interacted with many alien species who look a lot different than him.

"They look like a good group of friends."

Reaching beside himself, he pulls out a notebook, hidden between himself and the wall. It's absolutely a garish nightmare, but it is what the Agrii saw fit to give him.

"I understand your concern, too."

It's one he has himself. Flipping open his notebook, which he technically asked for to take notes and keep records, he holds it out for her to see. He's drawn his own companions, despite only having awful scented gel pens to work with. The alien woman he's working on making an embroidery of, a man with a bone mask over a very obviously alien face, a large muscular creature with a face sort of like a deep sea anglerfish, and two ordinary-looking humans- one small and kind, the other slightly younger and looking gruffer, with a tattoo on one side of face. There's also a droid, that he's drawn looking very nervous.

"Drawings are a little faster than embroideries, so..."

He trails off, then shrugs his shoulders. Honestly he was just impatient to have physical reminders of his crew. At the top of the page he's drawn on there's also some writing- having written the Sith Code down, just in case.

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Open Log [2]

The Greenhouse

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Hotel

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