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nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
nml_mods) wrote in nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
Entry tags:
On The First Day
It had been months.
Months of terror, of families ripped apart, refugees racing against the Ark in the sky, against the Plants that had once been their only source of survival on the world and had now been turned against them, raining lightning and death down on them like the hand of a vengeful God. Humanity pushed to the brink, fleeing their homes and communities, waves of refugees fleeing across the sands as more and more towns and cities fell to the reign of destruction that had been biting at their heels every step of the way.
And then, as the last descendants of the survivors of the Big Fall clustered in the city of Octovern, spiilling out into the streets, every available, livable space filled to capacity and beyond, what felt like the final days of humanity began. The sounds of artillery fire filled the air, the sight of the Ark and its grotesque ruler loomed overhead, and in the distant sky high above, the previously-inconceivable reinforcement ships from Earth took up orbit around No Man's Land. Throughout the night, explosions lit up the sky, thundering with deafening reports through the air, and yet the civilians below had settled into a still, terrified, anticipatory silence. They couldn't see, from their perspective, the figures atop the ruins of the Earth's space destroyers that had already fallen to the ground, locked in battle for the future of the people far below. But the sight of Millions Knives high above, terrifying and grotesque with the power of the Plants he had absorbed, was omnipresent, a never-ending threat, the harbinger of doom, biding his time until he could make good on his promise to wipe every last one of them off the face of existence.
And then something had changed.
Electrical currents rippled through the air above the downed ship, carrying screams on the wind. To the people below, Millions Knives' massive form had shifted, writhing, bellowing with unholy rage and pain and despair. And then it begun to unmake itself, shredding, crumbling, tearing itself apart at the seams and floating to the ground in tiny, shining, white particles. Tiny, white feathers drifted on the wind, closer and closer before, one by one, they began to settle to the roofs of the buildings, to the tops of cars and to the streets, and to the heads and faces of the humans staring up from below.
The instant that contact was made between feather and skin, a connection was made; between Human and Plant, between each person standing side by side, minds thrown open in bursts of light and expanding consciousness, and through the doors sprang multitudes of memories spanning hundreds of years. Suffering, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, enslavement, death, pride, love. The Plants had made the connection to their creators - their keepers - that they had been silently pleading for since their first containment, and with it every man, woman, and child on the surface of the world began to see and feel and hear their stories and their cries for help. They did not want this war, they did not want this destruction. They had seen the promises of vengeance and a paradise for their kind atop the bones of humanity offered by Millions Knives and they had felt the hopes and dreams carried by Vash the Stampede of a kinder, more loving world, and they had made their choice.
Let there be love and peace in this world.
In the chaos that followed, as the bodies of the Plants began tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass and the screams of shock and confusion began to rise from the sea of humanity below, something rippled in the air, a last gasp of those silent voices before the connection was lost.
This was...different. New. As if reality had taken the distraction caused by the calamity below to shift itself sharply to the left, and then snapped. It started at the core of the mass of angelic bodies as men and women began to rush to their aid, a shockwave in the fabric of creation that rumbled silently in the atoms of the world and ricocheted outward, along the ground, through the air, until it had enveloped the entire planet. Time froze for an instant, and to the eyes of all who had the capacity for sight, that leftward shift became manifest, the world doubling on itself as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Wails of confusion and fear rose into the night sky, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world were about to unmake itself on the molecular level. But then, just as suddenly as it had come, the distortion snapped back into place with a loud, ear-splitting CRACK, and in the stunned silence that followed, only one thing could be certain; things were not the same as they had been mere moments ago, as if everything and yet nothing at all had changed, all at once.
The world of No Man's Land was as it should be, but all across the surface of the planet, pockets of reality had split open, sending the inhabitants of mirrored existences tumbling through wide, unseen rifts. People and places outside of time and space found themselves staggering to their feet in a world that was both foreign and familiar at the same time, found themselves face to face with their own reflection made flesh, tossed about by the pleas of a race reaching across the fabric of creation for aid in putting a stop to a war that had been fought time and time again, across reality after reality, without fail.
Thus began the new chapter in the history of No Man's Land.
[Wherever your character was, whatever they were doing, when the rifts in reality opened, they will have found themselves rocked by a massive earthquake that lastes a few short seconds before settling with a loud crack, like thunder. While no damage will be left in its wake, the characters themselves will realize that though the planet appears to be the same, it will quickly become evident that they are in an alternate reality of the place they call home. Are they standing in the rubble of a once-destroyed city now remade whole? Is the bar they had been taking refuge in suddenly gone, leaving them tumbling to the sand with nothing but their drink in their hand? And what of the friends that had been standing by their side seconds before? This is where your stories begin.]
Months of terror, of families ripped apart, refugees racing against the Ark in the sky, against the Plants that had once been their only source of survival on the world and had now been turned against them, raining lightning and death down on them like the hand of a vengeful God. Humanity pushed to the brink, fleeing their homes and communities, waves of refugees fleeing across the sands as more and more towns and cities fell to the reign of destruction that had been biting at their heels every step of the way.
And then, as the last descendants of the survivors of the Big Fall clustered in the city of Octovern, spiilling out into the streets, every available, livable space filled to capacity and beyond, what felt like the final days of humanity began. The sounds of artillery fire filled the air, the sight of the Ark and its grotesque ruler loomed overhead, and in the distant sky high above, the previously-inconceivable reinforcement ships from Earth took up orbit around No Man's Land. Throughout the night, explosions lit up the sky, thundering with deafening reports through the air, and yet the civilians below had settled into a still, terrified, anticipatory silence. They couldn't see, from their perspective, the figures atop the ruins of the Earth's space destroyers that had already fallen to the ground, locked in battle for the future of the people far below. But the sight of Millions Knives high above, terrifying and grotesque with the power of the Plants he had absorbed, was omnipresent, a never-ending threat, the harbinger of doom, biding his time until he could make good on his promise to wipe every last one of them off the face of existence.
And then something had changed.
Electrical currents rippled through the air above the downed ship, carrying screams on the wind. To the people below, Millions Knives' massive form had shifted, writhing, bellowing with unholy rage and pain and despair. And then it begun to unmake itself, shredding, crumbling, tearing itself apart at the seams and floating to the ground in tiny, shining, white particles. Tiny, white feathers drifted on the wind, closer and closer before, one by one, they began to settle to the roofs of the buildings, to the tops of cars and to the streets, and to the heads and faces of the humans staring up from below.
The instant that contact was made between feather and skin, a connection was made; between Human and Plant, between each person standing side by side, minds thrown open in bursts of light and expanding consciousness, and through the doors sprang multitudes of memories spanning hundreds of years. Suffering, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, enslavement, death, pride, love. The Plants had made the connection to their creators - their keepers - that they had been silently pleading for since their first containment, and with it every man, woman, and child on the surface of the world began to see and feel and hear their stories and their cries for help. They did not want this war, they did not want this destruction. They had seen the promises of vengeance and a paradise for their kind atop the bones of humanity offered by Millions Knives and they had felt the hopes and dreams carried by Vash the Stampede of a kinder, more loving world, and they had made their choice.
Of course, but...what would he do at a time like this?
I wonder if he'll laugh again
I wonder if he'll follow his ideals again.
I see. You all know him as well. That young man with a gentle smile.
Little Red Brother.
Let there be love and peace in this world.
In the chaos that followed, as the bodies of the Plants began tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass and the screams of shock and confusion began to rise from the sea of humanity below, something rippled in the air, a last gasp of those silent voices before the connection was lost.
Help Us. Help him. Please.
This was...different. New. As if reality had taken the distraction caused by the calamity below to shift itself sharply to the left, and then snapped. It started at the core of the mass of angelic bodies as men and women began to rush to their aid, a shockwave in the fabric of creation that rumbled silently in the atoms of the world and ricocheted outward, along the ground, through the air, until it had enveloped the entire planet. Time froze for an instant, and to the eyes of all who had the capacity for sight, that leftward shift became manifest, the world doubling on itself as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Wails of confusion and fear rose into the night sky, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world were about to unmake itself on the molecular level. But then, just as suddenly as it had come, the distortion snapped back into place with a loud, ear-splitting CRACK, and in the stunned silence that followed, only one thing could be certain; things were not the same as they had been mere moments ago, as if everything and yet nothing at all had changed, all at once.
The world of No Man's Land was as it should be, but all across the surface of the planet, pockets of reality had split open, sending the inhabitants of mirrored existences tumbling through wide, unseen rifts. People and places outside of time and space found themselves staggering to their feet in a world that was both foreign and familiar at the same time, found themselves face to face with their own reflection made flesh, tossed about by the pleas of a race reaching across the fabric of creation for aid in putting a stop to a war that had been fought time and time again, across reality after reality, without fail.
[Wherever your character was, whatever they were doing, when the rifts in reality opened, they will have found themselves rocked by a massive earthquake that lastes a few short seconds before settling with a loud crack, like thunder. While no damage will be left in its wake, the characters themselves will realize that though the planet appears to be the same, it will quickly become evident that they are in an alternate reality of the place they call home. Are they standing in the rubble of a once-destroyed city now remade whole? Is the bar they had been taking refuge in suddenly gone, leaving them tumbling to the sand with nothing but their drink in their hand? And what of the friends that had been standing by their side seconds before? This is where your stories begin.]
no subject
He hears a voice among the rubble, something....strange, unfamiliar, not quite cold, but.]
Yes? Hello, is someone hurt? D'you need help?
no subject
[Exactly the same as the first. Somehow robotic tones never quite match the warmth of life, but she makes do with what she has. Had she stayed in a settlement, her communication equipment would be superior, but that was the price to pay for travel, and so it's tinny electronic voice and stilted communication, and the confidence that arises from knowing while people might steal and kidnap a plant, nobody ever hurt one.
So surely whoever just spoke up was going to be helpful!
But it means forcing coherent sentences out of her outdated equipment, and she studies her available buttons before choosing several.]
Can you help? I'm okay. It's hot.
no subject
he steps a little closer, and little quieter, and when Livio turns the corner he sees a....bul...b..
uh]
Do you need...water?
no subject
The small plant in the equally small bulb orients to consider her new arrival openly. He's nearly bigger than her and the bulb combined, that had to translate to power. If it's a trap it's a pretty good one, and there could be people with guns lurking EVERYWHERE. Who wouldn't fall for the bait of a free plant?
Except nobody leaps out to attack.]
No.
[She can make water if she needs it! The keys she has available are considered for a long moment before she begins her new message. That tinny little speaker is her only way to communicate.
She ... she really needs more buttons than this.]
Put down. Sand is hot.
[One of her hands points downward, where her bulb is indeed safely nestled in sand to prevent rolling. Technically she could wait it out, sunset was very soon and the sand tended to cool quickly, but ... but it's uncomfortable noooow.]
You are strong? Help.
no subject
and if this is a trap, he's got his punishers at his hips. with a nod, he tips his hat at her politely, like you do when you're about to grab someone's home, and wraps his arms around her bulb]
Okay. I can get you a little further down. Or on something?
no subject
Yes!
[..Wait, that was an either-or not a yes/no question. She hesitates a moment, cursing a bit more the clumsiness of mobile communication interfaces, and tries again, several sets of tiny wings fluttering briefly in agitation. Way to go, not paying attention and sounding vapid...]
Not on sand. Rocks are okay. Town is okay. Thank you.
[And if he thinks he can move her bulb then he really IS strong enough, which means she's going to have to think of a good thank you.
Or a good bribe. How does one normally convince a human to stick around?]
no subject
[he doesn't lift her right away, at least not much, just getting a feel for how heavy this'll be. he can do it-- she isn't too heavy. not like the bigger plants he's seen. so after a tiny grunt, he does lift her, bulb and all, and staggers around until he finds the perfect cropping of rubble to set her around-- a few rocks, but no hot sand.
gently, gently, he sets her down, keeping on hand braced on the glass of the bulb while he shifts some rubble around her more securely]
Whew! How's that?
no subject
A quiet tink of glass on stone, and she's now somewhere a little less uncomfortable. Stone at least had gaps around it and would provide air flow, infinitely better than sand. She inspects her new position carefully before giving a slow, thoughtful and very human nod.
Sometimes mimicking their gestures is useful, like the thumbs-up that follows.]
Good. Thank you.
[There's a lot of words lacking in this interface, which she frowns at. A good turn deserves another, it just encourages people to be helpful..]
Strong. Repay?
no subject
oh, she knows how to-- oh. wow. this is all so strange, Livio can barely fathom it]
Hm? No, no I don't need any repayment. I'm just glad to help. Are you gonna be okay alone out here?
no subject
I want to.
[One good turn deserves another! And besides, it's just the right thing to do. Someone helps you, you help them, and if she were completely honest she wasn't keen on losing her new company, even if only for a little while. But she nods again anyway; she'll be okay! Nobody hurts plants. Right?
The lack of nuance to her interface draws another frown, before she gives the interior of her bulb a tiny weak punch then puts her hands on the glass; something like frost rapidly crosses it, in delicate little spirals. In this, she quickly writes, but she's clearly not used to it because many of her letters are backwards. It's still more or less legible, though it doesn't last long under the warmth.]
Tom, my caretaker, is in town finding out what it's called. He's strong but not very clever and left me behind.
I am sorry. The sound interface is not detailed. I want to help, you helped me. Anything?
no subject
He's relieved to know she isn't exactly alone out here. Not very clever-- he laughs]
Sounds like you guys are close. I'll wait until he gets back, but I hope he doesn't think I'm going to do anything. [a thoughtful pause] Uh, do you have any water? Only if it doesn't-- trouble you.
no subject
Tom is friendly.
[Back to the machine, it can cover that much. It's.. not very detailed really, it didn't explain that her boy could and would absolutely protect her with considerable violence if needed, but it wasn't needed so everything's clearly fine!
...Water, though. That's easy. Too easy. She considers for a long moment about how to make it a little fancier. One feather uncoils like a long white tentacle, eeling its way straight through the glass of her bulb without actually seeming to break it in any fashion before setting down a large leather-looking, silver-studded bottle that absolutely had NOT been there a moment before.
It's cold to the touch.]
no subject
friendly. so they've probably been traveling together for awhile. and for her to talk about him like she does. again, a relief, to know she isn't all alone.
Livio knew she could plausibly make water, but it's-- in a bottle, and when he wraps his fingers around it cautiously, it's cold, too. he flickers a wide eyed gaze at her--]
You-- wow! I--...thank you!