salon

[in_extremis]

WHO: Esteemed, invited guests (everyone).
WHERE: The greenhouse
WHAT: A party! And not the kind of crime that the Agrii commit. Come show them how it is done.
WHEN: During a very long and slow space trip.
WARNINGS: Mark your threads if you get into trouble.


pre-festivity...network?
[Over the shipwide broadcast system that everyone is lucky Tony has not made more liberal use of, accompanied by gently dimming lights as though signalling intermission was coming to an end, and Act II was about to begin.]

Your attention, please. Please give me attention. You're not doing anything important, I know you aren't, so if you would kindly make your way to the quote-unquote 'Green Room', the rest of us are waiting for you.

Wear something that makes you feel delectable.

[Did he have to say it like that? Of course, he's trying to set a mood.]

the event
The atmosphere of the Green Room, which had at other times been a battleground, and a quiet resting place, was what could be called a soiree. Some of it was magic, brought to brief reality by Billy to disappear as the get together came to an end like carriages into pumpkins as their clock ran out, and other things were altogether different kinds of illusions. Like the tree Cayde had worked to fell, hauled up off of the ground to brace in the branches overhead, its dying boughs slouching down toward the ground in winding tendrils that were strung with glittering lights, a fragrant curtain around the area conveniently cleared by the destruction of the tree to give plenty of room to pull a partner into a dance. The music, naggingly familiar to those who called Earth home but distinctly synthetic, was playing through the broadcast system, loudest near the clearing and progressively softer the further away from this hub, but continuous throughout the ship until it felt like a whisper from another room at the farthest points like the cargo bay.

The noise competed slightly with the raucous beckoning of the karaoke machine installed near one end of the Green Room. This corner felt like it hadn't quite received the dress code, dotted with balloons and nearest to what could be described as a sundae bar, with what looked like all of the right textures for a very indulgent ice cream experience. The Agrii were more than happy to help with the food, so be prepared for a less obvious flavour profile.

More (potentially?) savoury options were offered throughout the Green Room, in no centralized location but spread across tables that had obviously be borrowed and dragged from throughout the ship, flanked by equally mismatched seating, flat-enough surfaces, or piles of linens and pillows where the ground was less even. Some of these tables had a datapad left on them, locked to a curious list that could only be checked off and not otherwise tampered with, at least for those not particularly technically inclined. Each item seemed to describe a person, all following a similar format in various levels of complexity, starting simple with, 'Someone with hazel eyes...'

One of these datapads, on a table tucked under a heavy lattice of vines and under the drape of what looked like approximately 40 metres of a sheer silk, started the evening much more blank, only marked at the top with a bold WHAT WE KNOW. That was a broad statement. Surely, everyone had a little of something to contribute to an article like that.

Comments

[beholding_archivist]

Having just swallowed his bite of salad ice cream, Jon watches Raphael's reaction in turn and winces a little at the idea of pasta-flavored ice cream. Yes, that is indeed wrong. Very wrong.

"I... I'm certain they are trying?" He offers, but the grimace remains. Maybe they are even lucky and have narrowly avoided actual dirt flavors.

Jon sets his treat down on a nearby table and picks up a paper handkerchief to wipe off his hands, muttering almost to himself. "I really don't envy anyone who has to put up with Agrii cuisine every day."

[rage_on]

The turtle shudders as he manages to swallow what he'd tasted of his spaghetti ice cream, foregoing another bite. It makes it worse when the taste is there but it doesn't at all match the texture...nor the temperature it should be.

"Trying." He gives Jon a flat look, but supposes the man's got a point. "At least if it were peanut butter and jelly, it'd still be on the sweet side." Following his example, Raphael puts down his own cup. "If we're thinking of daring to try anything else, maybe we should stick to spoons," he considers. His hopes of finding anything relatively normal-ice cream flavor have been thoroughly dashed.

[beholding_archivist]

"I think I'm, good for now." Jon decides with a small attempt at a smile and a quick, dreading glance over to where there are plenty more unidentified flavors are waiting to be discovered. He's not going to stop Raphael if he feels adventurous, though.

he Archivist gives a little sigh. "Their understanding of food and matching flavor certainly mirrors their understanding of the human language, so maybe we shouldn't be surprised. Maybe they can be taught better."

[rage_on]

He can hardly blame Jon for throwing in the towel. Still, Raphael's not one to back down that easily from a challenge. He also refuses to believe that the Agrii can't at least have some sweet flavors befitting of a sundae station. Plucking up another spoon, he gives it a nimble spin between his fingers.

"Yeah, good point there. Have you tried talking to them at all? I gave it a shot and all I got was gibberish."

[beholding_archivist]

Jon nods. "I talked to some of them as best as possible. They are-" And he pauses there, a small frown forming on his face. "Well. They are eager to answer our questions. But it still feels a lot like dealing with actual children."

He still feels thankful that the Agrii aren't as primitive as the Graq, and yet neither alien species has proven easy to communicate with.

[rage_on]

"I kinda get that," the turtle nods. It did sort of seem like the Agrii were like oversized children in their demeanor. "So I'm guessing you didn't get much of anything helpful from them."

I oocly lack a proper answer to this, so...

[beholding_archivist]

It's a reluctant shrug the Archivist offers, followed by a sigh. "Not much. The language barrier remains an obvious matter, even though I can understand them well enough. At least they genuinely don't seem to have ill intentions."

Which, he knows, makes very little about any of their situation better.

I gotcha

[rage_on]

Raphael shrugs, not all that disappointed in Jon's findings or lack thereof. "That's a relief. Seemed like almost every other alien I've encountered really had it out for us or were just plain unfriendly. These guys...they're...weird, but at least they don't wanna blow up Earth or something."

[beholding_archivist]

"What exactly makes Earth so important that other alien species want to blow it up?" Jon wonders aloud before he can stop himself. Though to him that sounds like the plot of some bad, potentially old movie.

[rage_on]

"Oh, who knows. I mean, from my personal experience, it's only because one alien species decided to try infesting it, and the other one really hated their guts." Petty, maybe, but then the Kraang did apparently destroy the Triceraton's homeworld first.

Raphael shakes his head, then brings up another mystery flavor of ice cream that he'd scooped up in a fresh spoon, giving it a lick. "...I think this is supposed to be cheese."

[beholding_archivist]

Jon lets out an exhale at that, then shakes his head. "Makes you wonder if Earth is simply the odd one out, constantly busy with its own problems..." But what does he know about alien planets, their politics and... Well. Anything, really.

As for Raphael's discovery of cheese-flavored ice cream... It gets a little frown from the Archivist as Jon first looks at the spoon, then to the ice cream tub in question, "Well. That's almost a regular flavor, I suppose." Somehow it doesn't strike him as weird as strawberry cheesecake flavored ice cream - And he has seen that on Earth.

[rage_on]

That's not something Raphael is going to argue against by way of possibility either. He gives a shrug. After all, Earth did seem woefully deficient in the technology that other aliens had, and a lot of the humans were just oblivious to the fact that they even had them living among them until a giant brain came and started stomping down the street mutating everyone into globby-limbed freaks.

"...almost, yeah. My father'd probably approve." Raphael doesn't seem too sold on it. Cheesecake would definitely be preferred.

[beholding_archivist]

"He likes cheese, I take it." Jon replies with a short nod. Though he's aware enough that there are differences between different types of cheese and that not every person that enjoys cheese will enjoy every type of cheese.

It's not necessarily worth the argument, though.

"We should be back on Agra 10 soon enough." Which is something he at least assumes at this point. They have been on their way back for some time by now.

[rage_on]

"Well, he is kind of a six-foot mutant rat," Raphael replies rather bluntly. That stock of cheesicles in the freezer with Ice Cream Kitty back home wasn't exclusively eaten by the turtle teens.

He gives a deep nod as he decides to give up on the sundae taste test, perhaps wondering at the back of his mind if he's desperate enough for pizza that he'd try the spaghetti flavor again. "I'll be glad to get my feet on solid dirt, that's for sure." He's been on ships for a longer amount of time, but he's never cared for space travel.

[beholding_archivist]

Admittedly, the six-foot mutant rat has Jon pause and just stare for a moment,mouth half open as if to say something, but he closes it again after a moment of reconsideration and a brief, mental reminder that he is talking to a humanoid turtle. Apparently that and aliens attempting to destroy Earth are perfectly normal for the world Raphael comes from.

So instead of commenting, Jon nods, stammering just a little. "Right. That's... Right. Others surely are sharing that notion. I have lost track of how long it has been since we left Temba, to be honest."

[rage_on]

An unfortunate norm that everyone could do without, but so long as they had a home to go to at the end of the day... It also certainly made things less boring.

"Oh man, I don't even know how long it's been. The days on Temba were screwy enough as it is." Raphael had hopelessly lost any sense of time once they'd gotten off planet, what with no obvious things to refer to except for maybe a timer or whatever amounted for a clock aboard the ship. Not that numbers meant much after a while.

"I guess for now we may as well chill out. Who knows what sort of work we'll have to go do once we get back."

[beholding_archivist]

"Well, I at least know there is plenty of work waiting for me at the library - Provided it still stands." Jon remarks with a little sigh. He has a lot of recordings he has made for the library and plenty of new information to make available. And for once even a few answers. Especially about the Agrii themselves.

"But you are right. Tracking time is... It's practically impossible."

[rage_on]

"Oh right, you were working on fixing that place up." Raphael nods as he recalls. He'd poked his head in the library once. Jon really had his work cut out for him.

Shrugging, he looks back at the rest of the party. "Wonder if the Agrii had something for it. Think I'd go crazy not knowing how long I've been cooped up out here- do they even know? I know it's supposedly been like... what, something hundred years since their planet got messed up, but are they the same Agrii that lost it, or how many generations after?" He has no idea how long an Agrii's lifespan is.

[beholding_archivist]

"They may as well never have bothered with trying to measure time as we are used to it." Jon offers with a small sigh. Of course he is much too used to keep track of time. Agra 10 has already made that difficult, but being in space... Well.

"And I'm still not convinced it has been hundreds of years since they left their planet. Decades, at best." Though they can probably lament over this for a long while without coming to any real conclusion, can they.

[rage_on]

Raphael's sigh is heavier than Jon's, dragging his shoulders down with it. "What a pain." Of course they'd end up stuck helping the most disorganized aliens ever.

He blinks. "Yeah? Was that info a translation error then? Or a cover-up?" For what reason though? There was too much that didn't make sense, and even more that they simply didn't know. "...I'm getting a headache. Enough talk about Agrii. I'm gonna see what else they have to eat around here."

[beholding_archivist]

To be fair, any properly organized species of alien may not be in any need of help. Especially not the help of such a wildly put together group of people who to a good part have never been to space before.

Raphael's questions... Well. They are certainly justified. But for the sake of neither of them raking their brains too hard over it, Jon offers a small shrug. "It might just be comparable to the way children perceive time." Considering that to a young child, a single year can feel like an eternity. And the Agrii act and behave like children in a lot of ways.

"But you are right. We might not find any answers today either way." Jon follows up with a small gesture of his hand and a smile. "Good luck on your search for enjoyable food, Raphael. I- Will be around."

[rage_on]

At least they're in agreement there. Raphael flashes a grin at the Archivist, nodding. "Keepin' an eye out for pizza, but I won't get my hopes up. I'll see you around, Jon," he says, giving the man a wave as he turns to go peruse the rest of the food tables.