revivalproject | Whale Comb Home Party! (Open to all players)

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Whale Comb Home Party! (Open to all players)

WHO: All He Rows!
WHERE: The Amphitheater (Blue 1)
WHAT: The Agrii have thrown our heroes a Whale Comb Home party; you can also choose to use this as a forum for discussing theories and more.
WHEN: April 2
WARNINGS: Please mark any warnings in individual threads

On April 2, as soon as the light starts rising in the morning, you hear music. It’s loud and odd. The notes don’t actually make a lot of sense together; they slide up and down and alternate wildly. It’s the sort of symphony a child at a piano might make except with a cacophony of instruments. It fills the air with cheery, disjointed music as it floats out from the amphitheater, beckoning you there but, this time, not at all compelling.

On your comm you will see a message from Ga Re:

He Rows,

We whale comb you here a gain. Agrii have food at mew sick home. Go with mew sick. Part tea for all. Also learn time. Agrii need learn storm. Us need learn all he rows learn. Us hear all. Talk at mew sick home. We learn. You learn. All learn and stop storms!

Thank all yous.

- Ga Re

If you choose to enter the amphitheater, heroes who arrived in the first wave might recognize the scene:

Hanging against one crumbling wall is a piece of fabric that has ‘WHALE COMB HOME!’ painted on it in drippy, fluorescent pink letters. The Agrii version of a smiley face that you've come to know and love is painted underneath it right on the wall. ‘US THANK THEY!’ is written beside it. Scattered through the wide space are tables upon tables of food.

There are meats, fruits, root vegetables, and even what might be a sweet dessert of some sort as well. Characters with the Agriculture expertise - and those who have attended one of these parties before - will know that everything is edible and nothing will make you sick. But some of it might have … adverse effects:

- People chomping down on the striped meat all seem to get very drowsy a few minutes later.
- The red fruit that looks like a giant cherry is the equivalent of a few shots - the more consumed, the more drunken this party is getting.
- There is a bowl of weeds that have small, daisy-like flowers all along the stalks. This tastes like chicken and gives the eater a sudden burst of energy that will have them running around the room like they’re being chased.
-There are a collection of drinks, some made from the red fruit, some that are clearly water, some that taste like a less-sweet lemonade with no effects, and then there's a blue one that tastes like an especially dark beer. People drinking this will find themselves incapable of lying for a half hour.

Enjoy your party, heroes. But also heed what Ga Re said: This is an ideal time to talk with one another and compare whatever you’ve managed to learn. Think of it like a town hall where whatever you learned on Risa or in the storm can be spread around and analyzed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Ghosts." The way he says that word along with that maybe a little too dramatic eyeroll makes it clear enough what Jon thinks about ghosts: They are nonsense. Hallucinations. The result of unchecked drug abuse and wild fantasies.

But fine. He will indulge the idea of there maybe being something one might consider to be ghosts on this planet.

"As I can't claim to have encountered any... Ghosts. You... Wouldn't mind telling me what these do?"

Of course he has noticed the other taking a step back, and he can't exactly blame him. Not that distance makes any difference in theory. Jon still remains mindful of keeping his own questions uncompelling.

Ghosts. They were fucking ghosts he will fight you. People he knows are dead, who he lost. So fuck that.

"Yes, I would TOTALLY mind telling you what they did. My ghosts aren't your fucking business."

Because, well, his grief is his own. And deep and personal and why should it share it with you, dude who clearly looks like a stuffy accountant?

"The power dampening is the thing that matters. Can't fucking function in the storm, can't make it to the core, if we can't survive the way it affects us."

The Archivist narrows his eyes at that response, now crossing his own arms in a partially defensive gesture. It helps him keep his own temper in check at least.

"Well, clearly these ghosts are affecting you even more than that fractured ankle. I wasn't requesting any details. But knowing whether we speak of just another grey lady or alleged specters of people we are familiar with would be helpful. Based on your reaction I assume it's the latter. Which in turn means these storms may or may not have access to our memories. Which I personally find more discerning than being physically reduced to the level of an average human being." Hey, some of them still are perfectly average humans after all.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, tipping his head along slightly with the motion, his expression remaining one of irritation "As long as the storm doesn't start to degrade our bodies further that human - or in some cases humanoid, I presume, we can survive them. Or a lot of us would already be dead. Which means we can try to work out a way to deal with them. Which may not require any special abilities at all!"

Actually, no. The ankle fucked him up more. And the lack of powers. He'd been useless. He'd been human. He'd been wasted and hated himself and the only value he had was his powers, thanks. So don't try and fucking pick his brain apart.

"Storms don't have brains. They can't get into your mind."

Except they actually and fully got into his mind.

"And having your fucking species effectively ripped away from you is definitely far more problematic if you ask me."

He doesn't like being made human, thanks.

"Now I'm terribly sorry that you were forced to be normal. As someone who has spent most of his life in that state I can assure you: It's not half as dreadful as you make it sound." Personally? He would like to go back there. Life was a lot simpler then. Though if this is how super-powered beings - or heroes - act in reality, then he prefers dealing with other avatars. At least those are plain out to be terrifying. This guy? Is aggravating.

That that isn't something to stop him from arguing, though.

"That aside, there are forces out there that need no brain of their own to access yours, pull out what they need and use it to mess with yours. In many cases it's little more than instinct. A reflex. Especially if they aren't the main source of dread, or destruction in this case, but rather function as an agent." Of course these are but stray ideas. Theories he has no way to back up due to the plain lack of data. Which is unfortunate.

"Yeah, well, clearly you aren't a mutant. What's normal for you is abnormal for me. It's just short of having my legs chopped off," Tommy snaps, angry. For him it was beyond dreadful. He had almost been sick from the stress of it. "How would you feel if the storm, like, made you blind?"

But the stuff the guy is talking about makes him want to roll his eyes. Telepaths can only get into your mind because they have their own mind. Duh. Clearly the guy doesn't know anything.

"Racist, that's what you are."

Yeah, Tommy absolutely trots that out.

Now it's the first part that gives Jon a reason to think. Of course he isn't a mutant, but that puts a closer description on this guy. And maybe he has a point somewh-- No. That train of thought comes to an abrupt halt and Jon is about to protest that being blind may require getting used to, yet not ruin his life entirely. Unless, of course, having his connection to the eye severed kills him. But... That's a different thing. Though then Tommy drops his final bomb, leaving the Archivist to stand with his mouth half open, staring.

"Wha- what?" He manages, but then takes a step forward, uncrossing his arms and plain glares at the guy he hardly knows, snarling "Wait. Wha-- Wait! a second." It's not a command he has intended, but it's there, lingering heavily in his tone for a little longer.

"Maybe you should try listening to yourself for a moment. First you imply that someone losing their legs or eyesight has no life worth living any longer and then- Christ! I may know nothing about mutants, but you, for one, seem like a massive, condescending prick focused on nothing but your special powers. But that's not the point! The point is, if these storms keep happening, they will keep reducing you to little more than a lowly human, whether you like it or not. And you can either keep crying about losing your powers, or make sure you're prepared for the next time it happens. Try being a person for God's sake!"

"Well maybe without my powers my life isn't worth living any longer," Tommy snaps.

And it takes a moment to realize what he's said. But he plows on anyway. "The only reason the Agrii want me is those powers. The only reason anyone ever wants me is because of what I do. What I do is what I am. I'm Speed, the nephew of Quicksilver, and I'm saying these storms are terrifying because what they can do on a genetic level is the sort of thing, the sort of loss that has led people, led my people to killing themselves. If they didn't get murdered first. I'm a fucking person and this is HOW I'm a person."

Now that's a statement. Not one of terror and dread, despite the small hint of existential dread lingering in Tommy's words. Though even aside of those, the young man's words speak volumes.

Jon exhales through his nose, his posture relaxing but his mouth pressing into a thin line. His expression, however, remains stern. A stern sort of concern.

"I'm sorry you see yourself that way." He lets those words sit for a moment, then raises a brow, only mildly challenging "So if they brought in for your speed, what made them bring me here? There isn't exactly an archive here for me to sort. And that sure can be the only reason anyone would want the Archivist around."

Like the whole fucking world doesn't. But at last he sighs.

"You're a book type, that what you're saying? Dude, knowledge. They've lost it here. And those little memory knowledge shit things. You get to understand this shit. Or maybe you know some shit they want. Or maybe you're just entertaining to watch."

But book smart people tend to be good at this shit.

"Don't sell yourself short. My first team lead was a librarian. Okay, so not exactly, but still. Smart matters."

Jon can't help but snort a little at that.

"Really. I rather believe this place is in need of builders and engineers. People who know their way around alien technology. Lectures on the supernatural and esoteric will hardly result in progress. Believe it or not, even us academics work in certain fields. City planning, politics or weather phenomena aren't mine. That's as if I were expecting of you to fly and shoot lasers from your fists solely based on the fact that you're some kind of... I don't know. Super hero?" That's the term, right?

"What I'm saying is: Where you feel useless should a storm temporarily take your powers away, a lot of us already feel useless without being hit by a storm. We still try to be useful where we can - But thanks for the suggestion that I may only be here for someone's amusement. That's remarkably reassuring." At least he's used to the feeling of being watched already.

"It's not meant to be reassuring. Some of the people here came from some space reality show the Agrii watched. They were inspired to this shit by that show," Tommy grumbles. They stole his family from their lives and Tommy HATES it.

Still, there might be other things the guy could do. Tommy thinks and considers.

"We can get paper. You could write down the information from the datapoints. That could be useful."

As for the rest, he tilts his head and considers.

"Yeah, I'm a Superhero, but not every mutant is."

Edited 2020-04-09 15:21 (UTC)

There is a pause from Jon, then he raises a single hand in a faint halting motion "Ah- Sorry if I made it sound as if I needed to be occupied, Mister Superhero. But that's not exactly the case. I already agreed to assist with the hospital and have plans to make the library useful for our and the Agrii's referential needs." He's not bothering to point out that he brought back more notebooks and paper sheets from Risa than anything else.

It may be true that he feels out of his field entirely and without much practical use, but that doesn't mean he won't find himself something to do. Though he would have hoped that this superhero would be able to take the hint and adopt that idea for himself. But apparently... Well. Jon is getting a feeling that he knows why he's never been able to get into comic books.

"Tommy. Or Speed. Mister Superhero just sounds silly," Tommy dismisses. But he's glad there are people helping at the hospital. Party-Guy could definitely use the help.

Wait, there was a library? Tommy's eyes go wide. Books. Something he can handle at his own rate.

"The library lending out books? Can I use some books? What sorta stuff is written in there?"

Please, help. He's bored. There has to be SOMETHING he can do when he's not working the greenhouse.

"Very well, Tommy." Speed sounds even sillier as far as he's concerned "You may call me Jon."

And then there is a pause, something like a lingering sigh as the Archivist casts a vague glance in the direction of the building that at least used to house a library at some point. Haven't people noticed yet...?

"There... Are no books." Here, he shrugs, looking a little resigned about that fact "No books, no paper. In fact, I found no trace of any form of written language at all. The Agrii seem to not have possessed one. Attempting to replicate ours may well be their first attempt at it." At that he gestures towards the banner put up by their alien hosts. By this point crudely corrected with red marker by a certain Archivist earlier that evening.

At least he has gotten past being positively aggravated by that music.

"The best I encountered were a few pictographs, but aside from that." He shakes his head "You can enter the library, but all you will find are shards of broken glass and the remains of what may have been miniature versions of those data points. I plan to change that."

Don't tell him it sounds silly. It's better than what Kate had wanted to call him. Still, his expression falls at the idea of no books. Oh well, there is only so much he can do about that.

"This place is going to drive me mad with nothing to do. The greenhouse is only so fucking interesting."

"Please. Define nothing." Because he finds there to be a lot to do around this city.

"Alright, not nothing, but..."

Tommy's hands move quickly, trying to encompass the feeling. The feeling that there isn't much he can say. That it's almost impossible to express how he feels. And those hands are quick, hard for the eye to follow. Good thing he isn't moving nearly as fast as he can.

"My mind is fast, proportional to my speed. There isn't enough to keep my brain occupied."

Tommy is fast, okay. And yet Jon has no problem with following the motions. It's almost a little hypnotic.

"Maybe it is you who should start writing." The Archivist muses with a faint shrug "Digitally. No need to break pens and tear paper."

For a short moment Jon pauses, then adds: "It doesn't need to be personal. Just write down everything you know about your world and be as thorough as possible. If we want to create a library, we might as well start by filling it with information about our worlds."

See, that would be cool for Tommy to know. Because there aren't many humans can can follow his motions even when he's going that slow.

"Yeah, no one is going to want to read what I put down on paper. It'll be garbled and all over the place and really, you'd be better off asking Billy or Teddy. They're the ones that, you know, know stuff."

Most of what Tommy would write would be bitching or about his favorite foods or shit like that. No one wants to hear the strange perspective on life that came from his experiences and world travels.

There are things Jon isn't too keen on having known about himself. Part of it is certainly just what exactly he sees.

"That's why I said to type it down digitally. And I think I would like to see your take on it. We all see and experience our respective worlds differently. Consider it a challenge."

To be fair, he has recorded all sorts of statements that ramble on pointlessly for a while. And he has listened to the recordings made by his assistants while he wasn't in the Archives. Those were... Dreadful.

"Putting down on paper as an expression," Tommy rolls his eyes. Digital doesn't make it better, or easier. In fact, it makes it last longer. Which hurts, because people can keep seeing it.

But challenges are a thing. And he can accept that. But... not now. He's not ready. He hasn't come to terms with himself yet.

"...and people still complain about my lack of humor." Oh well. He's used to it.

So he shrugs and turns to walk elsewhere. Probably just go outside.

"Just take your time, then. Consider it. We may be here for a while."

"I'm fucking funny," Tommy counters, a bit frustrated, and he definitely follows after the strange guy.

"Dude, there are way better stories than mine. And people who are better to tell them. Like you. What's your story?"

Because now he's curious. Who is this guy to expect that much of Tommy and not give something in return?

"My story." Jon produces a dry, remotely amused laugh in response.

"Well. I grew up, went to school, got a job at the Magnus Institute and worked there for four years as a researcher before being transferred to the archives to take over from the previous head archivist. That's what I've been doing for these past two years: Recording statements and sorting disorganized files." And he finishes with a shrug.

Overall? That's more information than what Tommy has given him so far. Which comes down to his name, being a mutant and being fast. Oh. And reducing himself to his superhero powers, of course.

Edited 2020-04-11 00:50 (UTC)

Whale Comb Home Party! (Open to all players)

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WAIT! I recognize that art. You're who zee was making those for? Super cool!

XD - That's true. And she did a wonderful job on them~

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