cityship: (Stacy--Actual Face)
cityship ([personal profile] cityship) wrote in [community profile] trans_92011-10-01 12:17 am

Podpop

Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. Tag each other in groups of 2's, 3's, and 4's, to get some interaction to start with. If a thread doesn't already have 2 or 3 people tagged in, tag it with your character's podpop popping near the other people, rather than making a new subthread. If you would like to play out them talking to the AI, please send an email to the mods making the request--we do this only by request. Then move onto the big Newbie Meeting. Once your character has gotten the rundown from the old crew, you may start posting entrance posts and freely tagging.]


||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There is condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slide out onto the floors, covered in slime.

--


There was nothing. You were going about your normal life, then there was a bright light, and then? Nothing.

Then the world lurches.

The chamber here is humid.

Actually, "chamber" isn't quite accurate. You're in a cavern, half-lit by an eerie greenish light, going on and on as far as the eye can see. The light is coming from what can only be described as pods, glistening, round greenish-yellow things, glowing with a pale inner light, outlining human -- and not quite human -- forms. Each is rooted to the floor, to the walls, with something black, twisted, and unidentifiable.

They line the walls of the cavern, go up in maddeningly high columns, curling and corkscrewing up into the darkness, until the light from them is like that of the stars, glowing pale and mournful in clusters in the darkness above. Twisted walkways and stairs crisscross, traverse the platforms in front of the pods, wending their way back and forth, up and down through the chamber.

You just came from one of those pods, broke free like a butterfly from a (slimy, nasty) chrysalis.

Now you stand alone but not quite alone, naked, not knowing how you got there, who took you, or why you were taken.

As your body heats up again, you realize the air is warm -- just a few degrees too warm to be comfortable -- and muggy; it smells acrid and organic, like freshly spilt blood and sweat. Your mouth tastes of salt.

The floors are pulsing under your feet, throbbing...

Wherever you are, this entire place...is alive.

Oh, and also you're naked and covered in alien snot.

When you call out, ask where you are, a voice speaks to you, in your head. She tells you:

||You are here.||


When you ask who she is, she tells you that her name is STA'C K'LTRRB'TXFT, but that you may call her Stacy. When she tells you who she is, there is a gush of emotion, love, maternal warmth. You are on a ship. She is that ship. Her name is Stacy and she loves you. Her voice is warm and motherly, even if these messages sound almost automated.

Glowing phosphorescent lights appear in pustules along the floor. They lead you up a massive spiraling walkway that gives you a view of what are possibly millions in stasis. At the top is a room with moving vines that clean you and clothe you in a plant-like body-suit--soft, but durable. After that, the lights lead you to a great cavernous room with a clear floor that lets you see all the holes and tunnels in the walls of it. When you reach the center, the last thing she tells you before whisking you away to gather your belongings and meet the rest of the crew is this reassuring thought:

||You have been Chosen to accomplish a Great Purpose. You have been Chosen to help fight the Ohm, a race of insectoid beings that are the destroyers of worlds.||

||You have been Chosen as champions of life, as protectors of the worlds and peoples that are left. The others are waiting for you. They will explain everything.||


She will tell you nothing more. Your answers lie with these "others" she speaks of.

[identity profile] hanzerhands.livejournal.com 2011-10-01 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
Adam was dead.

Or at least, he had been fairly sure he was dead. He remembered feeling the pressure as the ocean poured into the halls of Pancea after hitting the self destruct button, remembered the pain as the water engulfed him, remembered everything going black...

For a moment, as he fell from the pod, he thought he was still in Pancea, engulfed in water, but after a sudden moment of realization, he knew this wasn't the case.

He looked around, the urge to panic pushed down by Adam's calm, rational mindset. He had no idea of what to make of this place, or this situation. He was naked, and covered in some kind of viscous liquid, and he was in a scene out of a sci fi movie.

For a moment, Adam wondered if he was in Hell, but he wasn't normally one for thinking that kind of thing.

Suddenly, he heard someone near him babbling on about something. He stood up, his jet-black cybernetic arms and legs fully visible, among other things.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

Might as well ask the first person he sees. Better than nothing.
youmissed: (204 what 2)

[personal profile] youmissed 2011-10-01 09:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Good question," John mutters. Sometimes he doesn't even know himself anymore.

He turns away from where he'd been happily puking his guts up, reaching up to wipe more of that slime from his mouth. Feels like the stuff's leaking out of his pores and...other places he just doesn't feel comfortable going into right now. It hasn't occurred to him that he's butt naked yet, what with the whole Let's See How Much Slime a Human Can Hold thing distracting him. He blinks blearily up at what looks like half a robot, half a Sebacean. Of course. He doesn't even know why he's surprised at any of this stuff anymore.

Still, the cyborg or Six Million Dollar Man or whatever you wanted to call him hasn't taken any potshots at him, so he takes that as a sign.

"It's like a checklist. Cover the basics and - " John turns to spit another gloppy bit of slime. It splats against the husk of his pod. "Iron stomach on you?"

John cracks a tired grin up at the guy, still sitting on his hands and knees in a middle of slime. He doesn't expect Steve Austin here to crack a smile or anything and it's almost more for John's own benefit because if he thinks about being stuck in that pod too much, that monkey part of his brain is about two seconds from flipping out on him.
Edited 2011-10-01 09:29 (UTC)