The N1-L3's external video feed revealed the tiny elf shooting up toward it. The yellow elf-thing clung to its metal skin. The avionics alarms faded a bit. A sense of calm washed over the N1-L3. That was the Earth. It was right there. It existed. Metal groaned in contentment, errant bolts settled and popped noisily into place.
In the background, the N1-L3 noted several other people getting excited in its general direction. Then the cat attached itself to the rocket. It was of no consequence; the calming yellow elf was far more important. The elf was near the hatch to the LOK lunar orbiter. If the N1-L3 could keep the little elf inside, take care of her, maybe it would feel less confused. Maybe the elf would stay with the N1-L3, and its stress would just melt away...
The N1-L3 opened the LOK's hatch, trying to be inviting.
Opening the hatch let microphones pick up voices outside the rocket. What year was it?
"2014. Or 1974," the N1-L3 silently transmitted into radio waves. "Internal clocks say 1974, but I remember-" suddenly the N1-L3 remembered who it was - "hitting post in 2014. Wait, hold on. Did I fall asleep on my computer? This is a strange dream. If I am dreaming, AND I'm aware of it, then it's a lucid dream. Yes! I love lucid dreams! Let's see. Behind me is a Stargate, and because I said it and this is my dream, that makes it true!" The N1-L3 gently fired its attitude control thrusters and spun around. Nothing. "Hmm. Okay. Guess I'm a little rusty at lucid dreaming," it transmitted.
Sutternalt Member
- Last Seen: 10 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Sutternalt
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 126 (0.03 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Sutternalt 10 yrs ago
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Cyadical
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Most Recent Posts
Ooh, a shiny new post!
Perhaps I should make a recruitment thread? Or do we like the relaxed pace?
Edit: Maps and first post updated. Recruitment thread posted, too, 'cause I felt like it.
Edit2: Sent PM's to Thorgili, Eemmtt [oh, wow, just noticed that your name is "Eemmtt" and not "Eemit"], and Joegreenbeen. Guys, if you hadn't noticed, the RP started. If you don't post soon, I'm going to NPC your factions.
Perhaps I should make a recruitment thread? Or do we like the relaxed pace?
Edit: Maps and first post updated. Recruitment thread posted, too, 'cause I felt like it.
Edit2: Sent PM's to Thorgili, Eemmtt [oh, wow, just noticed that your name is "Eemmtt" and not "Eemit"], and Joegreenbeen. Guys, if you hadn't noticed, the RP started. If you don't post soon, I'm going to NPC your factions.
Or use a random-number generator.
...oh, and thanks, guys, for introducing me to RWBY. Now I'm watching a series about adorable girls fighting things with ludicrous weaponry.
This is all your fault.
...oh, and thanks, guys, for introducing me to RWBY. Now I'm watching a series about adorable girls fighting things with ludicrous weaponry.
This is all your fault.
Oh my God, those giant rats were absurdly powerful for being... rats.
My vote's for an Elder Scrolls location. I don't particularly have a preference which (Skyrim works for me; it is the most recent game, and therefore most familiar).
And, damnit, part of me regrets more-or-less permanently getting rid of my ability to go to the moon within the first three minutes of gameplay. Though, wait, I've got an anti-gravity field. That means my thrust-to-weight ratio is always positive. I wouldn't even need to bother much with orbital mechanics, I can just go in a straight line.*
Not that, of course, there's any reason for my character to go to any universe's moon any time soon. Maybe later, as the N1-L3 tries to consume Sutternalt's consciousness.
And, damnit, part of me regrets more-or-less permanently getting rid of my ability to go to the moon within the first three minutes of gameplay. Though, wait, I've got an anti-gravity field. That means my thrust-to-weight ratio is always positive. I wouldn't even need to bother much with orbital mechanics, I can just go in a straight line.*
Not that, of course, there's any reason for my character to go to any universe's moon any time soon. Maybe later, as the N1-L3 tries to consume Sutternalt's consciousness.
...I would be totally okay with you getting into the rocket. Combining the tiniest and largest character is hilarious!
<
>
___Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
The small-town buildings surrounding the hospital ended abruptly, holes now patchily covered by wooden planks and (in some places, still) tarps. Part of Prospect street went uphill where the Red Flash cut it off, and there was an abrupt small mound where the road met the newly-lowered terrain. A short distance away were the vague foundations where new houses would be built - dirt houses, mostly, except for a few using pre-Red Flash materials that people had lying around. Nobody had ventured far afield enough to find a forest yet. Then there were the attempts at farming (nobody even knew what season it was, really), and a track hacked west through the grassland toward the coast. People would have to start getting used to fish, once the hospital food ran out.
House woke up in his office. His leg hurt.
Fumbling around his coat pocket, he grabbed the bottle of vicodin. Two pills left. He considered cutting one in half before swallowing it. Wouldn't be worth it. One pill could take the edge off. Half a pill would just be annoying. The TV in front of his cushy leather chair was still paused on some scene from Prescription Passion, the only thing worth watching any more. Unless you liked static. Groping for the remote around his chair, he knocked his cane over. He was eyeing it suspiciously when someone knocked on the glass door to his office. Cuddy.
"Can't you see I'm sleeping?" he asked, waving Cuddy away. She opened the door anyway.
"At one in the afternoon?" she retorted.
"Generally waving someone away means 'go away', not 'barge right in'."
"You haven't been helping the building or exploration crews."
"Technically this is my residence now; I could have you arrested for trespassing."
"Technically I own the entire building. Why haven't you been helping the crews?"
"Because I'm a doctor, not a construction worker."
"You think anyone else is? Of the thousand people with us, only three were construction workers."
"But how many are your top diagnostician?"
"House, we need to build permanent homes for people. We can't keep them scattered through the hospital forever. Let alone food-"
"Gee, I'm sure glad there are another nine-hundred-ninety-nine people to do that for me."
"It's not like you've even had a case for a month!"
"Which will make it all the more exciting when that one idiot eats the wrong mushroom." House said. Cuddy sighed.
"Join a crew or else I give your meeting room to the Wilkinsons."
"Go away."
That was when Cuddy knew she'd won. So she left.
===---===
"Cuddy's on a power trip," House said, limping his way to the pickup truck. Some former patient was helping Dr. Wilson load the truck full of supplies - batteries, flashlights, food, water, rope, canvas, and other survival gear. Dr. Wilson sighed and turned around to greet the intruder.
"What are you doing here?"
"Queen Cuddy ordered me to join a work crew."
"You could have picked any of them."
"Actually, no. Apparently this one is 'off-limits to Dr. House.'"
"So you just had to satisfy your curiosity. Well, now you know. Go away."
"'John Booth' traded me a spot for a candy bar," House said, holding up said Snickers bar, "I think he has to assassinate President Lincoln." House got into the passenger seat, ignoring the bundles that still had to be loaded. Wilson sighed.
"You're just doing this because you can't stand the thought that nobody would enable you. You're desperate."
"No, I'm hungry," House said, opening the candy bar and eating it. "You're desperate, running away from your girlfriend's death." Wilson slammed the last bag of provisions in the truck bed. The former patient was awkwardly trying to get into the back seat, as far away from both Dr's House and Wilson as possible.
"I'm not having this conversation again. Get out of the truck and pick a different work crew." Wilson said.
"Can't. The roster says I'm here with you. Hate to disappoint Queen Cuddy - she might cut our heads off!" House turned on the radio to static, raising the volume level to obscene levels.
"House!" Wilson shouted. House mimed that he couldn't hear Dr. Wilson. Wilson sighed again.
"Fine," he said. "I guess one of us has to be mature about this, and it's not going to be you." Wilson got in the driver's seat. He turned off the radio.
"So, Lewis, where are we going?" House asked Wilson. Wilson ignored him, and started driving northeast. "You prefer Clarke?" The silence dragged out. "Can't ignore me forever."
"Northeast. To where the big fire was?" the former patient said. House glared at her. She shut up.
>___Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
The small-town buildings surrounding the hospital ended abruptly, holes now patchily covered by wooden planks and (in some places, still) tarps. Part of Prospect street went uphill where the Red Flash cut it off, and there was an abrupt small mound where the road met the newly-lowered terrain. A short distance away were the vague foundations where new houses would be built - dirt houses, mostly, except for a few using pre-Red Flash materials that people had lying around. Nobody had ventured far afield enough to find a forest yet. Then there were the attempts at farming (nobody even knew what season it was, really), and a track hacked west through the grassland toward the coast. People would have to start getting used to fish, once the hospital food ran out.
House woke up in his office. His leg hurt.
Fumbling around his coat pocket, he grabbed the bottle of vicodin. Two pills left. He considered cutting one in half before swallowing it. Wouldn't be worth it. One pill could take the edge off. Half a pill would just be annoying. The TV in front of his cushy leather chair was still paused on some scene from Prescription Passion, the only thing worth watching any more. Unless you liked static. Groping for the remote around his chair, he knocked his cane over. He was eyeing it suspiciously when someone knocked on the glass door to his office. Cuddy.
"Can't you see I'm sleeping?" he asked, waving Cuddy away. She opened the door anyway.
"At one in the afternoon?" she retorted.
"Generally waving someone away means 'go away', not 'barge right in'."
"You haven't been helping the building or exploration crews."
"Technically this is my residence now; I could have you arrested for trespassing."
"Technically I own the entire building. Why haven't you been helping the crews?"
"Because I'm a doctor, not a construction worker."
"You think anyone else is? Of the thousand people with us, only three were construction workers."
"But how many are your top diagnostician?"
"House, we need to build permanent homes for people. We can't keep them scattered through the hospital forever. Let alone food-"
"Gee, I'm sure glad there are another nine-hundred-ninety-nine people to do that for me."
"It's not like you've even had a case for a month!"
"Which will make it all the more exciting when that one idiot eats the wrong mushroom." House said. Cuddy sighed.
"Join a crew or else I give your meeting room to the Wilkinsons."
"Go away."
That was when Cuddy knew she'd won. So she left.
===---===
"Cuddy's on a power trip," House said, limping his way to the pickup truck. Some former patient was helping Dr. Wilson load the truck full of supplies - batteries, flashlights, food, water, rope, canvas, and other survival gear. Dr. Wilson sighed and turned around to greet the intruder.
"What are you doing here?"
"Queen Cuddy ordered me to join a work crew."
"You could have picked any of them."
"Actually, no. Apparently this one is 'off-limits to Dr. House.'"
"So you just had to satisfy your curiosity. Well, now you know. Go away."
"'John Booth' traded me a spot for a candy bar," House said, holding up said Snickers bar, "I think he has to assassinate President Lincoln." House got into the passenger seat, ignoring the bundles that still had to be loaded. Wilson sighed.
"You're just doing this because you can't stand the thought that nobody would enable you. You're desperate."
"No, I'm hungry," House said, opening the candy bar and eating it. "You're desperate, running away from your girlfriend's death." Wilson slammed the last bag of provisions in the truck bed. The former patient was awkwardly trying to get into the back seat, as far away from both Dr's House and Wilson as possible.
"I'm not having this conversation again. Get out of the truck and pick a different work crew." Wilson said.
"Can't. The roster says I'm here with you. Hate to disappoint Queen Cuddy - she might cut our heads off!" House turned on the radio to static, raising the volume level to obscene levels.
"House!" Wilson shouted. House mimed that he couldn't hear Dr. Wilson. Wilson sighed again.
"Fine," he said. "I guess one of us has to be mature about this, and it's not going to be you." Wilson got in the driver's seat. He turned off the radio.
"So, Lewis, where are we going?" House asked Wilson. Wilson ignored him, and started driving northeast. "You prefer Clarke?" The silence dragged out. "Can't ignore me forever."
"Northeast. To where the big fire was?" the former patient said. House glared at her. She shut up.
Sutternalt typed lazily, sprawled on the couch, slouched in a manner that would most likely damage his back or bend his internal organs weirdly for sitting like that for so long. "Wait, no, I should probably look that up," he thought, and opened yet another tab. "Hmm. I could look for pictures, too. Too much text is boring. Damnit, Guild, why don't you have colors yet‽ Or fonts." Another tab, now with a google image search. "I mean, I guess Guild functionality is more important to Mahz. And the people of the Guild in general." Eight more tabs, all with potential pictures to be sorted out in a moment. "...And me. Fine. I can wait for fonts and colors." He found a picture, copied the link, clicked the picture and then copied the proper link, and tabbed back over to the character application. "Ugh, and sizes, too. Really, sizes can't be too hard." He clicked "Submit Post", mouse hovering over where he expected the "Edit Post" button to be, already belatedly remembering something to fix.
"Oh, I get it. 'На здоровье'. How did I not know that was two words?" the N1-L3 thought. Shortly followed by, "Wait, what?"
A 105m long, 17m wide conical rocket appeared in a sea of floating binary. Avionics went a bit mad, failing to find a surface to read an altitude from, failing to find a moon to target, and finally failing to find a sun or stars with which to orient. The N1-L3 fired attitude control thrusters, slowly spinning the large hulk around. Video cameras failed to recognize anything immediately familiar. Just streaming code, Deadpool (well, that was familiar); a... king, or something; a purple knight and maybe a Tron guy; a terrifyingly androgynous (guy?) and a red reaper; a guy in a (he thought it was Zelda, those triangles looked familiar) hoodie next to -oh- Link; a tiny little yellow elf; a cat-Heartless thing; another Tron guy with a Darth Vader cloak; a lawyer with a samurai sword; a guy from the 1700's?; and some girl. No stars, though.
Something bothered the N1-L3. If it was in space (it must be, to sense no ground whatsoever), then why was it so sluggish to turn? Test signals revealed the lower stages were still attached, and - боже мои - if they hadn't separated yet, then all the orbital maneuvering calculations would be off, and-!
With explosive cracks, the N1-L3 separated Blocks A, B, and V in sequential order.
That seemed to finally make the situation click.
"Oh, holy hell. I'm a rocket? Clearly I've been playing too much Kerbal Space Program. Might as well enjoy the dream while it lasts, though," the N1-L3 tried to say. N1-L3's, of course, can't speak. They can, however, transmit radio signals, and this is exactly what the N1-L3 just did.
With a radio-transmitted cackle, the N1-L3 tentatively activated its Block G thrusters, started itself on a gradual spin, and traced a fairly wide circle through the code. Just for the fun of it.
"Oh, I get it. 'На здоровье'. How did I not know that was two words?" the N1-L3 thought. Shortly followed by, "Wait, what?"
A 105m long, 17m wide conical rocket appeared in a sea of floating binary. Avionics went a bit mad, failing to find a surface to read an altitude from, failing to find a moon to target, and finally failing to find a sun or stars with which to orient. The N1-L3 fired attitude control thrusters, slowly spinning the large hulk around. Video cameras failed to recognize anything immediately familiar. Just streaming code, Deadpool (well, that was familiar); a... king, or something; a purple knight and maybe a Tron guy; a terrifyingly androgynous (guy?) and a red reaper; a guy in a (he thought it was Zelda, those triangles looked familiar) hoodie next to -oh- Link; a tiny little yellow elf; a cat-Heartless thing; another Tron guy with a Darth Vader cloak; a lawyer with a samurai sword; a guy from the 1700's?; and some girl. No stars, though.
Something bothered the N1-L3. If it was in space (it must be, to sense no ground whatsoever), then why was it so sluggish to turn? Test signals revealed the lower stages were still attached, and - боже мои - if they hadn't separated yet, then all the orbital maneuvering calculations would be off, and-!
With explosive cracks, the N1-L3 separated Blocks A, B, and V in sequential order.
That seemed to finally make the situation click.
"Oh, holy hell. I'm a rocket? Clearly I've been playing too much Kerbal Space Program. Might as well enjoy the dream while it lasts, though," the N1-L3 tried to say. N1-L3's, of course, can't speak. They can, however, transmit radio signals, and this is exactly what the N1-L3 just did.
With a radio-transmitted cackle, the N1-L3 tentatively activated its Block G thrusters, started itself on a gradual spin, and traced a fairly wide circle through the code. Just for the fun of it.
I mean, I suppose I could go with Black Widow. That's much more reasonable. And perhaps less entertaining.
I will go with Black Widow if, say, the GM says that trying to RP a 105m rocket is unreasonable. Honestly, I was planning on getting rid of all but the LK lander and possibly the LOK orbiter within my first post.
I will go with Black Widow if, say, the GM says that trying to RP a 105m rocket is unreasonable. Honestly, I was planning on getting rid of all but the LK lander and possibly the LOK orbiter within my first post.
Well, my avatar's a rocket, and I made up my username. So, there it is.
==========================================================
|Username: Sutternalt
|Character nickname: N1-L3
|Gender: Male
|Appearance:
Interactive Graphic
Total Height: 105m
Maximum Diameter: 17m
|Personality: Quick to judge, very forgiving, tends to empathize with people. Likely more curious than is strictly healthy for himself, and generally enjoys puzzling over things. Loves to jump to the extreme, convoluted solutions rather than the simple, tried-and-true methods. Probably has a compulsive need to be different.
|Alignment: Protagonist
|Skills:
+Before: Good at spatial reasoning and math. Can deal with people somewhat effectively. Decent grasp on physics and rudimentary engineering. Probably might be able to write computer code. Can speak a little spanish.
+After: Understands Russian. Zero-g maneuvering, orbital mechanics, control and understanding of N1 equipment all comoe instinctively.
|Powers: Re-fuelling - fuel slowly refills magically in his tanks. It doesn't fill quickly enough for constant firing of rockets, but it does allow unlimited re-firing.
Localized Zero-G field - Stage 4 and up operate as if they were in space - that is, they don't weigh anything, and float in the air if detached from the lower stages.
|Equipment: ...well, he's a rocket. Each stage, below, can be separated from the next with explosive bolts.
Stuff other than engines:
-Cameras for photography and videography aboard the LOK and LK modules.
-Life support systems
-Couple of Orlan spacesuits
-Heatshields and Parachutes
-Digital guidance computer
-Various comms dishes
-Fuel Cells, for power, water, and Oxygen generation
-Altimeter and various avionics
|Other: A gradual inertness and dimming of consciousness happens, as the N1 isn't alive. It's sometimes difficult for him to remember to think.
|Password: Draco Ignis
==========================================================
|Username: Sutternalt
|Character nickname: N1-L3
|Gender: Male
|Appearance:
Interactive Graphic
Total Height: 105m
Maximum Diameter: 17m
|Personality: Quick to judge, very forgiving, tends to empathize with people. Likely more curious than is strictly healthy for himself, and generally enjoys puzzling over things. Loves to jump to the extreme, convoluted solutions rather than the simple, tried-and-true methods. Probably has a compulsive need to be different.
|Alignment: Protagonist
|Skills:
+Before: Good at spatial reasoning and math. Can deal with people somewhat effectively. Decent grasp on physics and rudimentary engineering. Probably might be able to write computer code. Can speak a little spanish.
+After: Understands Russian. Zero-g maneuvering, orbital mechanics, control and understanding of N1 equipment all comoe instinctively.
|Powers: Re-fuelling - fuel slowly refills magically in his tanks. It doesn't fill quickly enough for constant firing of rockets, but it does allow unlimited re-firing.
Localized Zero-G field - Stage 4 and up operate as if they were in space - that is, they don't weigh anything, and float in the air if detached from the lower stages.
|Equipment: ...well, he's a rocket. Each stage, below, can be separated from the next with explosive bolts.
Stuff other than engines:
-Cameras for photography and videography aboard the LOK and LK modules.
-Life support systems
-Couple of Orlan spacesuits
-Heatshields and Parachutes
-Digital guidance computer
-Various comms dishes
-Fuel Cells, for power, water, and Oxygen generation
-Altimeter and various avionics
|Other: A gradual inertness and dimming of consciousness happens, as the N1 isn't alive. It's sometimes difficult for him to remember to think.
|Password: Draco Ignis
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