Marius Laverne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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xp_logs2025-05-30 10:36 am
xp_emplate) wrote in xp_logs2025-05-30 10:36 am
Incursion: Earthfall - The Grand Tour
While on a walking tour of the ship, Namor and Marius have a minor cultural conflict.
"Not sure why I thought there'd be signal within the alien craft when there's barely one without. Ah, well." Marius moved to pocket his phone. He'd already used it to snap a few surreptitious pictures of their surroundings; no one had forbidden him to do so, but under the circumstances he felt compelled to act as if they had. Fortunately whatever technology shielded the craft from detection generally, and digital recording particularly, did not apply to its interior. The X-Man tipped his chin towards Clint, who appeared to be deep in discussion with Samedar.
"Good to see he seems to be hitting it off with the Admiral. A benefit of eXcalibur's many sojourns to realities beyond our imagining, one assumes – the ease of interface with alien cultures, that is."
Marius' conversation partner – Namor, more presence than participant so far as he loomed on the edges of this little tour party – let the comment hang just long enough for one to wonder if it was a reflection of the depth of his study of the ongoing negotiations or merely deliberate. Things did seem amicable as Clint's gift helped make the exchange flow like water, the two mirroring each other through subtle microexpressions and returned gestures.
"Ease. Not the word I would choose." Namor kept his voice low and arms crossed. "Curious how quickly the surface confuses a handshake for harmony."
Marius glanced at him, his eyebrows set to Questioning. "Perhaps I should say a relative lack of obvious culture-shock. Even to me an alien craft is something of a novelty." His eyes flicked once more to Samedar. "Though I confess, I find myself put off. All this talk of Empress this, Empress that grates a bit. The way these people go on I'm waiting to be introduced to the life-sized oil portrait they regale with daily pledges of fealty."
“There is no fault in purpose," Namor countered. "This alien's every gesture speaks of lineage, every word of station. It suggests a people who understand themselves not as isolated wills, but as threads in a grand design wider than any one of them. I find that . . . reassuring. Far better than the surface obsession with individual whim, where even your kings forget they serve more than their own reflection.”
He narrowed his eyes. "Although an oil painting would be excessive."
"Grand design?" Marius' eyes snapped back to Namor, his tone suddenly unusually cold. "Forgive me. My experiences in this area have clearly not been so positive as your own. I've been part of one of those before. Appealing to the weaver, I grant you. For the threads they pull, less so."
This got a sigh.
"Always back to that with you," Namor tsked. "You mistake the throne for a chain. A true monarch does not drag the people behind them . Instead, they ensure everyone rises together. When brute force flounders and simple identity dissolves, the crown remains a name the people say to remind themselves who they are." He subtly gestured to the Admiral. "This one," he murmured, "does not bother with their own wants, but that of the whole. I can admire that."
The X-Man's amber eyes flicked from Namor to Samedar and back again. While not generally considered a calculating individual, in that instant countless social equations were run.
Marius turned his gaze away.
"Perhaps you are correct," he said. "Every culture determines its own virtues to prize. Unity, collectivism, whatever term one would apply here – who am I to impose my terrestrial experiences on an alien civilisation?"
"Wise," Namor conceded with just enough approval to not surrender an inch of hauteur. He turned back to the conversing duo. "Although I doubt you believe it. We shall see."
Once again Marius studied Namor. How easy it was to forget their hosts were not the only aliens here.
With a nod, Marius, too, turned away.
"I suppose we shall."
Elsewhere, Bobbi and Kyle are also experiencing certain doubts.
"No, seriously, we have a bingo card, and I am mad, because Tour of an Alien Spaceship isn't on mine. I don't even have aliens on mine," Kyle explained to Bobbi. "I mean I dunno if anyone actually has aliens on their card. Marius might have made a new one, he might have it now, we can ask. You kinda get to build your own, but we have a couple of standards, like, we all have 'briefly evil' as the bingo square though, I think." Kyle had considered taking an alien spaceship selfie, and then dismissed it, because who knew what sort of weird cultural nonsense the aliens might have against selfies.
Also his phone was on the Blackbird.
"I would've bet money on banging Warren would've been the bingo square," Bobbi replied with a shake of her head. "Aliens though, yeah, gonna need some new cards to add that onto." She took a big breath and puffed it out from her cheeks in a long, drawn out expression as she glanced around the literal alien surroundings of the ship. "Fuck me though if it ain't cool. Is it sad to admit that? I don't care if it is, because yeah." She leaned closer to one of the walls, careful not to touch anything just in case but taking it all in with big eyes.
"You wanna check out that side, I'll do this one, to start for a first pass anyway?"
"I'm not like, so jaded by X-Men shit to not be in awe of aliens, even if they're only kinda aliens. Also we're not putting Warren on the X-Men bingo sheet." Kyle gave a big, almost dopey grin. "If nothing else, not on mine. I am an engaged man, you know." At this point the entire team knew, because he had been caught out mid-monitor-duty looking at a list of reception venues rather than filling out a report sheet. He clacked his toenails against the metal floor for a moment, almost like tapping his fingers – but toes, and claws. "Look, these aliens seem nice, but we should probably not split up. Learned that the hard way one too many times."
"Fair enough," she said. "It'd be too much like cheating to have him on there anyway I suppose," she mused. "Oh, no, I meant I'll look at this side of the hallway or room, not to split up. You're dead right on that one . . . er, probably not the best term to use here, huh?" Bobbi said with a chuckle. "It doesn't look that damaged anyway, if I'm not mistaken, not that I'm an expert but . . . something seems a little suspicious," she concluded, taking a closer look at her immediate surroundings. "You seeing any signs of damage or a struggle that jump out at you?" Kyle's senses were far better than hers so maybe she just wasn't seeing it.
"I dunno, usually with smells I go off a baseline, but this is alien, so." Kyle shrugged. "Smells acidic, but just could be weird alien febreze for all I know." He chuckled a little. "Maybe we find a supply closet, and figure that out first, see if they have space mops, or space roombas. Actually, legit I want a space roomba." He picked along the hallway. "Legit I'm surprised it's not more beat up if they were struggling. Like." He waved a hand at the hall. "I mean I'd think it'd be cracks and shit, not like, whatever. Scuff marks? I dunno, what is even that?" He pointed at a long scuff on the floor.
"I bet space roombas would be so quiet," Bobbi said, "because in space no one can hear you clean," she finished with a deadpan tone and expression alike. Her face slipped into a frown though as she examined the marks Kyle had indicated on the floor, kneeling down and carefully reaching out to touch the darkened area. "Looks more like burn marks than scuffing . . . huh," she hummed. Looking around for more of the same, she didn't see any immediately. "That's odd. Something is off about this . . . which, well, it's literally all alien so maybe that's part of it, but I think there's more to it than that."
She continued to scan the area, stopping when her eyes fell on a door just ahead of them. There was a sign that read 'CRYO' and it only just clicked into her in that moment what was so odd about that.
". . . are you able to read the writing on that door too or is it just me?" Bobbi asked Kyle.
"So." Kyle started. "So what I want to know is, is this weird dimensional aliens using our alphabet and that doesn't mean cold as fuck, or is it like." He flexed his finger claws a few times, in and out, all at once. "Like, were you here for the psis having powers shit? Doug had a day where his powers hit most of the mansion. Is this English or some freaky translation field shit?"
"I can't say for sure, but you know about Occam's Razor, yeah?" Bobbi countered, still frowning as she looked throughout the rest of the immediate area for any other signs or words in their native tongue. She headed for the door marked CRYO and took a closer look at it. "It's also odd that there seems to be damage along here," she pointed out, waving a finger towards what looked like potential pry marks or places where someone or something was trying to force the door open, along with more scorch marks. "Yeah, no, something's not adding up here."
"Fuck," Kyle drawled out, elongating the 'eff' sound as he crouched down. He snuffled a little, face close to the floor and the scorch marks, and then gave a snorting inhale. "Okay, miss forensic person, what's acid and smoke together, because I get both. Like, I know I said alien febreze before, but it's stronger down here. You think someone definitely fucked with this door?" He stood, and shook his joints loose. "Let's go find our tour guides, because I have questions."
"What questions?"
One of the aliens that had been assigned to make themself generally available to the mutants seemed to have materialized behind them. Their birdlike attributes appeared largely vestigial, but it seemed they could also move with the silence of an owl.
"One, mainly," Bobbi said, her eyes turning from Kyle, to the damaged door marked Cryo, then finally to the alien. "What actually happened here?" she asked in a deadpan tone. She kept her words and tone free of any emotion or intent, and prepared to gauge whatever response they were about to get to ascertain if it was the truth or otherwise; given the situation she wasn't sure if she'd actually be able to do that, but she had to try.
Their escort barely glanced at the door, wholly disinterested. "That compartment holds the protein base for our food processors. In the event of unauthorized boarding it seals as a precaution against potential contamination. Who knows what the pirates thought was behind it? Whatever their intent, the door is now thoroughly jammed." He turned, clearly considering the topic no longer worth pursuing. "This damage is low-priority. Let me show you our hydroponic gardens. They exist primarily to maintain a balanced atmosphere, but their secondary function is as an additional food supply. We've found them to be quite an elegant solution."
"Gardens are rad, do you guys have like, space avocados?" Kyle put on his most vacant expression – right up until their escort passed to lead them along the hallway – and then met Bobbi with a shake of his head and a silently mouthed: "Sus."
Matt has other, more tactile concerns to share with Molly.
That sound again, almost lost beneath the hum of power and creak of the ship settling under the stress of earth gravity. Beneath the nearly frictionless surfaces of the ship's corridors, something whispered.
Matt canted his head, listening. He didn't need to turn his body to follow it, but he did, almost walking into a bulkhead. "What is that . . . scritching? Sound?" He sniffed, then licked the wall. The air smelled faintly like the noise. Earthy, dirty? But not. "Anyone else hear it?"
Blinking, Molly made a face after he licked the wall. "Dude, gross," she said with a laugh. She glanced around, waiting in silence for a couple of seconds to listen before finally nodding.
"Kinda?" she said quietly. "Maybe it's space rats?"
She paused. "Uh . . . Ship? Can you tell us what's making that noise?"
"The AI was damaged in the attack. Its absence has complicated our damage assessment."
K'r'k 'N'Kazaii, the man Samedar had identified as his second in command, moved to join them. He was more heavily built than the admiral, with darker, indigo-streaked feathers framing his face.
"This is what is known as a living ship," he continued. "Some damage, like hull breaches, is self-repairing. There are always shifts and sounds."
"Wait, it's . . . alive?" Molly said. "What about the engine? Does it repair that too?"
K'r'k paused. He appeared to be searching for words.
"Consider a living organism," he said at last. "A certain degree of damage will heal over time, but severe trauma requires direct intervention. Such is the situation with this ship."
Molly nodded thoughtfully. That was so cool. "Okay . . . so how did it get damaged? Maybe I could help. Where's the damage?" Wouldn't hurt to take a look, right?
"That's still under investigation," he replied curtly. "However, we appreciate your assistance. Perhaps together a solution can be found."
Arching an eyebrow at his tone, Molly folded her arms. "Uh . . . sure," she said. "Happy to help, Captain Kirk."
A living ship . . . human tissue didn't make a sound that he could detect when healing itself, not even when people had healing factors to help. That wasn't how human tissue or tissue on Earth worked. It wasn't like it was paper.
Still. Alien ship.
"Yeah, let's see if we can help," Matt agreed.
"Not sure why I thought there'd be signal within the alien craft when there's barely one without. Ah, well." Marius moved to pocket his phone. He'd already used it to snap a few surreptitious pictures of their surroundings; no one had forbidden him to do so, but under the circumstances he felt compelled to act as if they had. Fortunately whatever technology shielded the craft from detection generally, and digital recording particularly, did not apply to its interior. The X-Man tipped his chin towards Clint, who appeared to be deep in discussion with Samedar.
"Good to see he seems to be hitting it off with the Admiral. A benefit of eXcalibur's many sojourns to realities beyond our imagining, one assumes – the ease of interface with alien cultures, that is."
Marius' conversation partner – Namor, more presence than participant so far as he loomed on the edges of this little tour party – let the comment hang just long enough for one to wonder if it was a reflection of the depth of his study of the ongoing negotiations or merely deliberate. Things did seem amicable as Clint's gift helped make the exchange flow like water, the two mirroring each other through subtle microexpressions and returned gestures.
"Ease. Not the word I would choose." Namor kept his voice low and arms crossed. "Curious how quickly the surface confuses a handshake for harmony."
Marius glanced at him, his eyebrows set to Questioning. "Perhaps I should say a relative lack of obvious culture-shock. Even to me an alien craft is something of a novelty." His eyes flicked once more to Samedar. "Though I confess, I find myself put off. All this talk of Empress this, Empress that grates a bit. The way these people go on I'm waiting to be introduced to the life-sized oil portrait they regale with daily pledges of fealty."
“There is no fault in purpose," Namor countered. "This alien's every gesture speaks of lineage, every word of station. It suggests a people who understand themselves not as isolated wills, but as threads in a grand design wider than any one of them. I find that . . . reassuring. Far better than the surface obsession with individual whim, where even your kings forget they serve more than their own reflection.”
He narrowed his eyes. "Although an oil painting would be excessive."
"Grand design?" Marius' eyes snapped back to Namor, his tone suddenly unusually cold. "Forgive me. My experiences in this area have clearly not been so positive as your own. I've been part of one of those before. Appealing to the weaver, I grant you. For the threads they pull, less so."
This got a sigh.
"Always back to that with you," Namor tsked. "You mistake the throne for a chain. A true monarch does not drag the people behind them . Instead, they ensure everyone rises together. When brute force flounders and simple identity dissolves, the crown remains a name the people say to remind themselves who they are." He subtly gestured to the Admiral. "This one," he murmured, "does not bother with their own wants, but that of the whole. I can admire that."
The X-Man's amber eyes flicked from Namor to Samedar and back again. While not generally considered a calculating individual, in that instant countless social equations were run.
Marius turned his gaze away.
"Perhaps you are correct," he said. "Every culture determines its own virtues to prize. Unity, collectivism, whatever term one would apply here – who am I to impose my terrestrial experiences on an alien civilisation?"
"Wise," Namor conceded with just enough approval to not surrender an inch of hauteur. He turned back to the conversing duo. "Although I doubt you believe it. We shall see."
Once again Marius studied Namor. How easy it was to forget their hosts were not the only aliens here.
With a nod, Marius, too, turned away.
"I suppose we shall."
Elsewhere, Bobbi and Kyle are also experiencing certain doubts.
"No, seriously, we have a bingo card, and I am mad, because Tour of an Alien Spaceship isn't on mine. I don't even have aliens on mine," Kyle explained to Bobbi. "I mean I dunno if anyone actually has aliens on their card. Marius might have made a new one, he might have it now, we can ask. You kinda get to build your own, but we have a couple of standards, like, we all have 'briefly evil' as the bingo square though, I think." Kyle had considered taking an alien spaceship selfie, and then dismissed it, because who knew what sort of weird cultural nonsense the aliens might have against selfies.
Also his phone was on the Blackbird.
"I would've bet money on banging Warren would've been the bingo square," Bobbi replied with a shake of her head. "Aliens though, yeah, gonna need some new cards to add that onto." She took a big breath and puffed it out from her cheeks in a long, drawn out expression as she glanced around the literal alien surroundings of the ship. "Fuck me though if it ain't cool. Is it sad to admit that? I don't care if it is, because yeah." She leaned closer to one of the walls, careful not to touch anything just in case but taking it all in with big eyes.
"You wanna check out that side, I'll do this one, to start for a first pass anyway?"
"I'm not like, so jaded by X-Men shit to not be in awe of aliens, even if they're only kinda aliens. Also we're not putting Warren on the X-Men bingo sheet." Kyle gave a big, almost dopey grin. "If nothing else, not on mine. I am an engaged man, you know." At this point the entire team knew, because he had been caught out mid-monitor-duty looking at a list of reception venues rather than filling out a report sheet. He clacked his toenails against the metal floor for a moment, almost like tapping his fingers – but toes, and claws. "Look, these aliens seem nice, but we should probably not split up. Learned that the hard way one too many times."
"Fair enough," she said. "It'd be too much like cheating to have him on there anyway I suppose," she mused. "Oh, no, I meant I'll look at this side of the hallway or room, not to split up. You're dead right on that one . . . er, probably not the best term to use here, huh?" Bobbi said with a chuckle. "It doesn't look that damaged anyway, if I'm not mistaken, not that I'm an expert but . . . something seems a little suspicious," she concluded, taking a closer look at her immediate surroundings. "You seeing any signs of damage or a struggle that jump out at you?" Kyle's senses were far better than hers so maybe she just wasn't seeing it.
"I dunno, usually with smells I go off a baseline, but this is alien, so." Kyle shrugged. "Smells acidic, but just could be weird alien febreze for all I know." He chuckled a little. "Maybe we find a supply closet, and figure that out first, see if they have space mops, or space roombas. Actually, legit I want a space roomba." He picked along the hallway. "Legit I'm surprised it's not more beat up if they were struggling. Like." He waved a hand at the hall. "I mean I'd think it'd be cracks and shit, not like, whatever. Scuff marks? I dunno, what is even that?" He pointed at a long scuff on the floor.
"I bet space roombas would be so quiet," Bobbi said, "because in space no one can hear you clean," she finished with a deadpan tone and expression alike. Her face slipped into a frown though as she examined the marks Kyle had indicated on the floor, kneeling down and carefully reaching out to touch the darkened area. "Looks more like burn marks than scuffing . . . huh," she hummed. Looking around for more of the same, she didn't see any immediately. "That's odd. Something is off about this . . . which, well, it's literally all alien so maybe that's part of it, but I think there's more to it than that."
She continued to scan the area, stopping when her eyes fell on a door just ahead of them. There was a sign that read 'CRYO' and it only just clicked into her in that moment what was so odd about that.
". . . are you able to read the writing on that door too or is it just me?" Bobbi asked Kyle.
"So." Kyle started. "So what I want to know is, is this weird dimensional aliens using our alphabet and that doesn't mean cold as fuck, or is it like." He flexed his finger claws a few times, in and out, all at once. "Like, were you here for the psis having powers shit? Doug had a day where his powers hit most of the mansion. Is this English or some freaky translation field shit?"
"I can't say for sure, but you know about Occam's Razor, yeah?" Bobbi countered, still frowning as she looked throughout the rest of the immediate area for any other signs or words in their native tongue. She headed for the door marked CRYO and took a closer look at it. "It's also odd that there seems to be damage along here," she pointed out, waving a finger towards what looked like potential pry marks or places where someone or something was trying to force the door open, along with more scorch marks. "Yeah, no, something's not adding up here."
"Fuck," Kyle drawled out, elongating the 'eff' sound as he crouched down. He snuffled a little, face close to the floor and the scorch marks, and then gave a snorting inhale. "Okay, miss forensic person, what's acid and smoke together, because I get both. Like, I know I said alien febreze before, but it's stronger down here. You think someone definitely fucked with this door?" He stood, and shook his joints loose. "Let's go find our tour guides, because I have questions."
"What questions?"
One of the aliens that had been assigned to make themself generally available to the mutants seemed to have materialized behind them. Their birdlike attributes appeared largely vestigial, but it seemed they could also move with the silence of an owl.
"One, mainly," Bobbi said, her eyes turning from Kyle, to the damaged door marked Cryo, then finally to the alien. "What actually happened here?" she asked in a deadpan tone. She kept her words and tone free of any emotion or intent, and prepared to gauge whatever response they were about to get to ascertain if it was the truth or otherwise; given the situation she wasn't sure if she'd actually be able to do that, but she had to try.
Their escort barely glanced at the door, wholly disinterested. "That compartment holds the protein base for our food processors. In the event of unauthorized boarding it seals as a precaution against potential contamination. Who knows what the pirates thought was behind it? Whatever their intent, the door is now thoroughly jammed." He turned, clearly considering the topic no longer worth pursuing. "This damage is low-priority. Let me show you our hydroponic gardens. They exist primarily to maintain a balanced atmosphere, but their secondary function is as an additional food supply. We've found them to be quite an elegant solution."
"Gardens are rad, do you guys have like, space avocados?" Kyle put on his most vacant expression – right up until their escort passed to lead them along the hallway – and then met Bobbi with a shake of his head and a silently mouthed: "Sus."
Matt has other, more tactile concerns to share with Molly.
That sound again, almost lost beneath the hum of power and creak of the ship settling under the stress of earth gravity. Beneath the nearly frictionless surfaces of the ship's corridors, something whispered.
Matt canted his head, listening. He didn't need to turn his body to follow it, but he did, almost walking into a bulkhead. "What is that . . . scritching? Sound?" He sniffed, then licked the wall. The air smelled faintly like the noise. Earthy, dirty? But not. "Anyone else hear it?"
Blinking, Molly made a face after he licked the wall. "Dude, gross," she said with a laugh. She glanced around, waiting in silence for a couple of seconds to listen before finally nodding.
"Kinda?" she said quietly. "Maybe it's space rats?"
She paused. "Uh . . . Ship? Can you tell us what's making that noise?"
"The AI was damaged in the attack. Its absence has complicated our damage assessment."
K'r'k 'N'Kazaii, the man Samedar had identified as his second in command, moved to join them. He was more heavily built than the admiral, with darker, indigo-streaked feathers framing his face.
"This is what is known as a living ship," he continued. "Some damage, like hull breaches, is self-repairing. There are always shifts and sounds."
"Wait, it's . . . alive?" Molly said. "What about the engine? Does it repair that too?"
K'r'k paused. He appeared to be searching for words.
"Consider a living organism," he said at last. "A certain degree of damage will heal over time, but severe trauma requires direct intervention. Such is the situation with this ship."
Molly nodded thoughtfully. That was so cool. "Okay . . . so how did it get damaged? Maybe I could help. Where's the damage?" Wouldn't hurt to take a look, right?
"That's still under investigation," he replied curtly. "However, we appreciate your assistance. Perhaps together a solution can be found."
Arching an eyebrow at his tone, Molly folded her arms. "Uh . . . sure," she said. "Happy to help, Captain Kirk."
A living ship . . . human tissue didn't make a sound that he could detect when healing itself, not even when people had healing factors to help. That wasn't how human tissue or tissue on Earth worked. It wasn't like it was paper.
Still. Alien ship.
"Yeah, let's see if we can help," Matt agreed.