sixthiterationlogs | 001 - For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

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001 - For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

WHO: Spock
WHERE: Fountain
WHEN: February 13
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Possible mentions of war/unnecessary destruction
STATUS: Closed to new threads

Arrival

Never has Spock been so thankful that Starfleet had required swimming lessons as that moment when she opens her eyes to discover water.

Vulcan had been a desert and water a rare commodity for the people who thrived on it's surface; Spock had never needed to learn to swim in such an environment, which suited her perfectly. When she had joined Starfleet, she had been required to learn the basics, because surviving meant knowing how to manage different terrains. And Spock, never one to settle for being less than perfect, had excelled at it, even if the water made her skin crawl.

Her skin is not crawling at the moment, but she spares no second thought to that. Compared to the burning in her lungs, not reacting to the water is a benefit. Discerning which way is up took but a moment, and she kicks off, breaking the surface a moment later to draw in a deep breath. The cold hits her almost immediately and frustratingly enough, Spock cannot seem to get her body to adjust to the temperature, something she has been able to do since she was young.

Assuming it has something to do with the fact that she is still in the cold water, Spock hauls herself out of... the fountain? She takes a moment to observe her surroundings as she does, ignoring the cold for the time. She looks, cataloging what she sees: a fountain, obviously; buildings nearby, though nothing stands out as familiar; a few vague humanoid shapes, though none appear to be threatening or familiar.

"Most unusual," she comments, "this is nothing like the Yorktown." As though speaking the name of her most recent residence reminds her of the cold, Spock shivers. It is not unusual, but nor can she regain control of her body. None of the biofeedbacks she is accustomed to are accessible. She risks a glance in the water, catching sight of her visage. "More importantly, I appear to be human. What is this place?"

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Ravi isn't really used to strangers coming out of the fountain, truthfully, but strangers coming out and staring at themselves and commenting on their humanity is also a new thing to him. In the midst of some of his research as to lightning strike sights, he's stopped fairly short in his tracks to give her a wary look. "What did you appear to be yesterday?" is what he asks, not sure he wants to know the answer to that and yet, here he is asking, as if his own curiosity will simply have to be his downfall.

That'll show Ravi for trying to be open and friendly. Honestly, he should know better by now. Aloof loner is the only safe way to avoid drama, when will he learn?

Strangers are not unusual to Spock, or at least the sudden appearance of random individuals whom Spock had never encountered is not abnormal, and she is quite adept at controlling her surprise. Even with this entirely human body, lacking the fine control of the Vulcan physiology.

"I was a Vulcan." She says it as if it is normal and expected. While it might not have been normal to be Vulcan, so far as their decreased population numbers went, everyone knew Vulcans. "After surfacing from the fountain, I no longer possess the physiology of my people."

Her hands reach up to trace an ear, marveling at the rounded shape. "This is most unusual." She glares at the water, as though it is to blame, which is entirely illogical of her. It takes a moment before she realizes that her face is expressing something akin to emotion, and it takes her another moment to smooth out her features.

Ravi knows that word, he swears he does, but the moment she says it, everything goes sort of white noise in his mind and it's like he's never heard it before in his life. This isn't the first time it's happened and he thinks that he needs a proper brain scan to figure out why, because honestly, what on earth is happening to him. "What's the physiology of your people?"

Regardless of his own potential early-onset dementia, this is too juicy to pass up. "Ravi," he introduces himself. "Human. Doctor," he adds, gesturing to himself with a jutted thumb his way.

"There are a number of differences between a Vulcan's body and that of a human, starting with the fact that our blood is copper based and generally appears green, our ears were pointed to better pick up sounds in our desert ecosystem, and we are capable of controlling bodily functions." And all of those have changed. Spock even places her hand on her side, feeling for a heartbeat that is not present.

After a moment, she drops her hand, and studies Ravi. "A doctor?" How typical. Why must it always be doctors? "I am Spock. Do you know our location?"

His eyes glance over to the ears in question, which are very much rounded, and he decides that it's probably not a wise suggestion to be asking her to slice her hand open right here and now to prove that she's got green blood. "I know the general ecological appearances, but asking me to place it on a map?"

He gives her a shake of his head, sympathetic and frustrated. "I don't even know what it's called," he confesses. "Though it's hardly like I'm putting it on a return address stamp, am I?"

It is unlikely she has green blood now, though Spock is tempted to see if it has changed as well. Half-human she might have been, but not to this extent. Were she not actively engaged in conversation with another individual, Spock would wonder if she were dreaming.

"So we are here, in an unknown place, with no information regarding our whereabouts." A statement of fact rather than a question. "Are there others here?"

Might as well focus on the facts than fretting over the changes her body has undergone. There is no changing that.

"Nearly sixty, by my last count," Ravi shares though it's not like he goes door to door to conduct a census on a daily basis, though it possibly isn't a bad idea to keep track of people. Record taking when it comes to absenteeism may end up saving someone's life, which he makes a note of bringing up the next time he's in a large group.

"We can go in the direction of town," he offers. "Or you can keep maligning your humanity in a fountain?" he suggests, like that's a viable and normal thing when it absolutely is not.

'Nearly' implies a lack of accuracy, which in most circumstances is enough to send Spock into a lecture about requiring hard numbers, especially when dealing with individuals. How does one keep track of every person under one's watch when there is no certainty in the numbers? Strangers can enter and others can disappear. But it is a sign of either just how perplexed and bemused she is or how inefficient the human mind is that Spock refrains. (Looks like you are safe for now, Ravi.)

"The former is acceptable." More than acceptable, because it is not logical for Spock to remain at the fountain - there are no answers arriving forthwith. "What amenities does this town offer?" she asks, as she picks up her backpack again, shouldering it before looking to Ravi.

"Acceptable," he echoes, with a look on his face that says he feels like he's dipping his toe into some prime crazy that might come around to haunt him, but it doesn't look that dangerous, so why not lean into the madness? At least, for a little while. "If you're talking about a spa and laundry service along with buffet breakfast, sadly, this place is a one star hotel at best," he rambles, starting to walk in the direction of the inn.

"No bed bugs and though I have no black light, I doubt I'd find incriminating stains on the sheets," he says, so it's automatically better than most big city hotels. "Unless the people who were here last had a riotous going out party, at least."

Spock has a voluminous vocabulary in multiple languages and while the meaning of idioms often escapes her (or rather, she is completely aware of them, she simply enjoys watching people hurry to explain the context), there are times when the employment of such words confounds her.

Like now.

"Why would a spa and laundry service be required to deem a place of rest 'acceptable'? All that is needed is an appropriate resting spot, out of the elements and offering protection from immediate threats." At least, that is how she defines acceptable - suitable, able to be tolerated. "One would hope to not find blood-" she continued, failing at first to grasp the meaning of "incriminating evidence" until she recalled the mention of a black light, and quickly segued into another topic. "Ah. So there were individuals here before? Is there information regarding these individuals and their whereabouts?"

"Mainly making a pointed joke about hotels," Ravi says, waving off the lack of a landed joke with the ease of a man who's only landed about one in five jokes in his life. Honestly, you would think that he'd have a better reception, given that the people he works around can't disagree, given how dead they happen to be.

"It's not that there's definitive proof they were here," Ravi slides from joking to serious with the flick of a switch, "but the implication of the state of things says to me that at some point, a small society functioned. This is given the existence of not only homes, but furnishings and the trappings of living, even if those trappings belong in the late 1800's."

"It was not a pointed joke. In fact, it was rather dull." All said with the air of someone who does not tolerate jokes, even decent ones, but who is conceptually aware of humor. Try some jokes on the living, not the dead.

"The 1800's on Earth?" She was only vaguely familiar with the time frame, her history lessons covering only the major events. She did know that meant little technology - which in turn meant no way for her to contact the ship. "Hardly above stone knives and bearskins, then. No way of escape?"

"Well, aren't you just a barrel of fun critiques," is Ravi's deadpan reply, not really too fussed about the criticism, seeing as he gets it from Liv, Clive, Major, and Peyton on the daily, back home. Honestly, it's like no one appreciates his genius, which is just a crime. "As far as we can tell, it's not like someone left us a handy calendar announcing the date."

It would have been nice, obviously, and nice doesn't seem to be the way of things around here. "If there is a means of escape, it's not shared with those of us stuck here, but people have vanished. Maybe they made it out and left us behind, selfish bastards."

"I am hardly a barrel." Being human did not make understanding illogical idioms any easier - or rather, it did not diminish her desire to poke at the holes in such phrases. A barrel of fun sounds hideous, even if Spock does not mention that.

"Perhaps in leaving, they neglected to remember the return route. Or lacked much choice in the matter." Which is not to say Spock does not agree with his sentiment. She has been in the village for only a short time and already she desires to leave. "However they left, surely it can be replicated again."

Though there's no point in dwelling, especially as they approach the inn.

"No, you're distinctly unbarrel shaped," Ravi agrees, wishing that he hadn't allowed his gaze to scan her, but there you have it, he can be an awful sort of perv and he wishes that it wasn't the case. "I'd like it to be replicated in a way that we can record it," he says. "The dismal, dark part of my mind goes towards the fact that there have been deaths here, already, and there's no way to know that anyone actually escaped." What if, after all, they're just living in ignorance and one day they find a giant mass grave? How do they know there isn't a monster out there hunting them off, one by one?

"Correct. Thus I am incapable of being a barrel of laughs." Spock has always been aware of drawing the eyes of other individuals, though for the most part that's because she was a Vulcan, and they were unusual among humans. There's no excuse now, but Spock's good at ignoring scrutiny. Especially since she's already committed Ravi's features to memory.

"As it is impossible to know what happened to the past inhabitants without discovering more, there is little point in allowing such mental wanderings. And even if they had died, it is not a death sentence for the individuals here." The Enterprise taught her that much, at least. "Though you mention deaths here. Have other individuals currently residing in the village died?"

"Two, so far," he says, and he could make about ten various quips jumping off from the things she's said, but luckily, talk of death typically cows Ravi for about a minute or so (at least, with strangers, as Liv is unfortunately not someone that Ravi holds his tongue around). "The first was after a string of animal deaths, but no one could track down the culprit until after it killed a woman named Karen."

"The second was very recent," he says. "Lightning strike."

Death was the logical progression of life, and death was also likely with the world in which she resided normally. It appears the village is no different than her home, at least in that aspect.

"While both deaths are unfortunate, such incidents happen. A lightning strike can occur in other places, provided the atmosphere is the correct makeup to conduct such lightning strikes."There could be a world where lightning was not possible.

She stops in front of one of the larger buildings, taking in the appearance, weathered but structurally sound. "I did not inquire earlier. How long have you resided in the village?"

"Trust me, the odds of that many lightning strikes hitting people and not objects was out of control," Ravi insists, because that's the problem. Lightning strikes do happen and they're often fatal. The amount of injuries don't make sense, not unless something is specifically drawing the lightning towards them.

"I've been here for at least six months? I don't really have a calendar to keep track," he admits.

There is something to be said about that "trust me" phrase and Spock almost starts in on that, until he mentions the lack of calendars.

The thought, of being unable to track the days, is nearly horrifying, and she stops abruptly as she realizes that her own internal time-sense is gone. She tries to figure out how much time has passed since they began this walk, and while she has a general sense, the precision with which she is used to calculating time is gone.

"Does the village lack paper, as well? It is possible to make a tally of days."

"We're sadly lacking in paper resources," Ravi agrees, which at home wouldn't have mattered, but here, they don't have computers for him to record all his findings, making things a little more difficult than he'd like, which means he has to fight for every scrap, often using wood to engrave momentary findings in his experiments.

"If I did have paper, I'd be using it for my trials, anyway, and not really a diary of imprisonment," he confesses.

A lack of technology is, while dissatisfying and bordering on frustrating, acceptable. A lack of paper is wholly unacceptable.

"This place sounds little better than the Stone Age," she mutters, a frown on her face. "What trials are you conducting?"

"Mostly, primitive tests on the water sources, seeing as the fountain seems to have some method of healing properties," Ravi scoffs, crossing his arms. "Nothing can heal you like magic, there has to be some sort of scientific component we're missing, but I'm also trying to draw comparisons to local spring water, which seems to have the same effect, if a touch delayed."

It's not easy to grow accustomed to watching people climb out of the deep well of clear, clean water without some form of agonizing scream over acid or a weapon immediately in hand. Casey had been in the village long enough to understand that no one entered armed and everyone came from the same place, but it helped nothing. It was still an experience of surreal uncertainty.

He watches the strange woman pull herself out in a way he was unable to, and proceed to talk to herself. The faint echo of a whisper of Dog's voice in his mind scoffs and calls her crazy, and the irony of it is lost on the both of them.

He moves closer, though he keeps well out of reach. His head tilts with interest in her, though he avoids looking directly at her face or eyes. He had learned too many faces already.

"Are you sick?" It's a precautionary question, and his voice rasps with the rough quality of damaged lungs and a slight accent. He doesn't offer an answer immediately, because it seems obvious, but then he remembers that no one in the camp seemed to understand his description of the world and chose to offer the simplest of explanations.

"You're in a camp. It's safe here." A useless placation that he hardly believes, but it might do to help soothe any fears he expects a new arrival to bring with them.

"I am not sick. Vulcans— " do not get sick Spock wants to add, but it is increasingly obvious that she is no longer Vulcan. She cannot even systematically check her reactions or vitals to ensure that she is not ill. It's bad enough that she cannot even control the slight shiver in her limbs from the cold.

Instead of focusing on that and doing something as nonsensical as fretting when there is no point for the moment, Spock looks at the man, a minute frown on her face.

"I do not require useless platitudes or reassurances of safety," she snaps. Her voice is laden with slightly more frustration than what she would normally ever display and it makes her visibly wince. The time it takes to gather control is minimal, but lengthy for one normally accustomed to perfect modulation of such things as tone and facial expressions. "I do require information regarding our location and how one might leave, as my absence will undoubtedly be noticed."

"All right." Casey doesn't seem bothered, his tone still even, his head cocked slightly to the side. He didn't mind her shoving off his attempts to soothe. It was still an unfamiliar effort for him, and one he wasn't confident or comfortable in. Knowledge and facts made far more sense than all the emotions that threatened to drown the camp at any moment.

"Location I can do. The rest is better asked of someone else. The camp is in a canyon, surrounded by steep cliffs. There's a river but it comes and leaves through the ground. Some people have left, but no one saw them go. I haven't tried to leave." He shrugs. There were people bothered by that but he isn't one of them. He's been doing the leaving too long to find any issue in someone else doing it.

"What information would be most helpful to you?"

Knowledge and facts are much more relevant in any situation, despite what humans might assume about the necessity of emotions. The matter-of-fact tone and satisfactory information regarding their location - some of which Spock can confirm from another look around, as the canyon walls are discernible in the distance - is enough to give Spock some grounding.

"Our exact location, in terms of longitude and latitude and the planet upon which we reside." That is a start, though it is unlikely to be useful, even if it is obtainable. Considering the fact that she is in a state of dress that is not customary for her, Spock knows that her communicator and PADD are both missing.

The backpack, now that she has escaped the fountain and is - well, not dry, but at least not in danger of freezing and this local does not seem likely to spring a trap on her - is perhaps the best source of answers, so she turns her attention to that.

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001 - For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

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