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danoshanter · 2 years ago

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Wait ... they're - WHAT? : A Tale of the Khell'Zentii Research Directorate

This is not the whole story, but I'll give you a link to the thread where I'm posting the story as it unfolds. This is an AAR from the Stellaris game, that I as a crazy writer all the rest of it I've been splattering all over Tumblr the last few, have turned into a story. Contained in this post is the first installment, and a hint that the next installments actually ratchet up the humour quotient and get some descriptive writing in that I'm actually not at all displeased with; following that is a link to the Stellaris game AAR forum on the game company (Paradox)'s website where I am posting subsequent episodes as things become interesting enough in the game to spark a story that I can actually include enough timeline before and after that ... anyway, I just realized that though this is a bit long it really is only leadup to the first revelation, so I'll include first and second installments (I'm up to I think four so far)

:FIRST POSTING:

=========================================

Chief Research Director Arani Khell'Bizar slowly .... ever so slowly ... sank her aching head into her cupped hands. Very slowly, and trying not to be too obvious about it. The subprefectoral attaché who’d been sent over without warning or procedure from Third Under-secretary Brael’yn’s Interstellar Astrogation Department (Riparian Office, Dark Quark Hyperlane Currents Mapping Subdivision, and a few other categories, subcategories, subsubcategories, and subsubsubadnauseam,etc.), and who was currently bouncing off the walls of her meditation chamber, knocking the teaware and beakers all over the place with his flailing arms and raving at her, was obviously highly unstable. Wildly excited. Any usable data irretrievably corrupted by his emotion over … over … well, something or other ... and just a LITTLE incoherent in consequence. That was all. The man wasn't DELIBERATELY trying to make her already gigaparsec-sized headache any worse than it already was. He was just ... She paused, took a breath and sighed.

She tried. She really did. She tried to be so patient with all the echelons, from highest senatorial level department head all the way down to lowest titration pipette scrubber. And look what it got her. She really, truly, deep down in her fundamentally decent soul, really BELIEVED in the Credo. And that was the true beginning of the problem. She left herself too open, too vulnerable. No one, from absolute alpha to the meanest of the most abject omega, even respected her SELF, much less her time, her personal space or the dignity of her elected office. They all just saw her as ... she didn't know what. Someone safe though. Someone so lofty, and therefore paradoxically so inconsequential and objectified, that it was OK to waste her time for twenty minutes with an incoherent, emotional, IRRATIONAL outburst that still hadn't enlightened her as to any actual data, OR any actual poetic truths, except that the ISS D'oh was somehow involved. That was absolutely all she had to go o...

… as that thought brought up memories of all the particularly hellish last few days ... weeks ... months ... years, essentially every single moment since she was first elected, of nothing but trials, challenges, and testpad disasters trying to get this fragile interstellar nation off the ground of one single planet, when up until a decade ago her people hadn't even known hyperluminary interstellar travel was even possible; all the damn fool press releases claiming ... again ... "WE'VE FOUND OTHER SAPIENT LIFE!"; all the shamefaced, very quietly soft=floated followups that, "Um ... Well, yeah, it's ... ah, it's life all right, Jim, but I'm afriad it's just dumb as a box of rocks again and that's all there is to it. Ah... -- Sorry ..." ... ... And now, at the end of a very bad day dealing with the fallout of yet another false alarm of other sapient life being discovered out there by the very same dear but omniverse-shatteringly ANNOYING childhood friend who was currently trying to drive her to madness sending her low level couriers who are absolutely and completely incapable of framing a coherent, logical …

"attaché?"

(Incoherent response)

"attachÉ!"

(What>I>if>the D'oh>the transmiss...>ohmyGODS>...what?)

"this won't work. you are too involved. it impairs the efficiency of your communication. tell Braelie to come and tell me herself."

(But>what>wait>NO!>she specifically ordered … )

"attaché."

(Wh>sh>yes?)

"am I currently Chief Research Director of the Interstellar Khell'Zenti Confederation?"

(Well>b>yes m'…)

pardon?”

(Ah>ah> … )

“its very simple. classic binary reasoning. nothing more involved than that. am. I. currently Chief Research Director. or. am I not? yes/no, on/off, 1/0.”

(Ah>m>ah>0>ah>imean>Yes)

"did you vote for me?"

I>wh>what doe...>...>...> *gulpbreathgulp* "Yes, Director. I did."

*3.141592653589793238 millisecond pause*

"... braelie. "

-- *Same pause x 10* ...

"NOW."

============================================================= :END FIRST POSTING: ===========================================================================================================================

:SECOND POSTING:: ==================================================================== "Director?" Arani paused to reflect that that was probably one of the things she appreciated most about her chief of staff. Bruustian perfectly epitomized the Khell'Zentaii ideal of taking an absolutely calm and rational and at the same time poetically stylish approach to all that one did; to combine within oneself the clear-eyed zeal and the calm abandon of the warrior-poets and the poet-warriors of old. He was a pool of calm water within the swirling maelstrom of the tabik wave around him. All the other raving idiots she was forced to deal with on a daily basis were so flustered by her office that she was lucky if they confined themselves to "Chief Research Director", and didn't throw in some bizarre politicohierarchical grooming ritual of tangled compliments and obscure metaphorical references likening her to the world-elephant that held up the scientific universe from her ivory throne at the pinnacle of the Kkell'Zentaii mountain, and on and on they would flourish while her eyeballs nearly cracked trying not to glaze over, all the while the window of opportunity for whatever wonderfulness it was was inexorably and often rapidly closing every millimuon they nattered on with their floridity. Bruustian, no. HE just called her, "Director", and got the flaming fluctacte on with ... "Director???" She allowed her left shoulder to startle slightly. "Yes, Primus?" The left corner of his mouth quirked up slightly at the antiquated title. That was all. "Third Secretary Brael'yn is here. She's just about to turn into the corridor leading to your conference chamber. You wanted to be apprised." She smiled, for the first time that week. "Thank you, Primus. Please be sure she has her single malt properly warmed, and let her know I'll be there as soon as I finish "

========================================

“Brae. Um. You’re SURE that whiskey’s just the way you like it right? I got it from the old place, the one on the corner of Beaker Street, and … here, I know you haven’t had time to relax in forever, just sit down here and take it easy, and … “Ari. Cut the crap. You’re fussing me like a mother my’erdrtsk, but you’re not listening!” “HOW CAN I POSSIBLY LISTEN, YOU’VE BEEN RAVING YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR THREE HOURS AND YOU STILL HAVEN”T SAID ONE COHERENT WORD I COULD UNDERSTAND. This is not Brae’lyn Nab’taxrani in there, not the Brae I know, now please come back and tell me what. The. Squick. You. Are. Talking. About.” “WE FOUND THEM! AND WE FOUND THEM AND OH GOD YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE FOUND THEM BUT WE FOUND!” “Brae. You have found them on a regular basis for … “ “Direct confirmed videographic evidence.” “WJHAT! Why didn’t you say that FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so sorry, Brae, that’s …” "That’s minor.” "Th … what?” "Listen to me. When the D’oh entered the Yri’dinxi system they were contacted, on VIDEO FEED, by … … MACHINES.” “An automated comm station?” “NO. There is NO evidence of creator species. There is no evidence of organic maintenance techs, no evidence of organic operators, no evidence of any kind of energy feed connection whatsoever to a remote organic operator in or out of system. There was, however, at least residual evidence of DROID personnel performing these roles. Ari. We have not only found our first sentient species in this entire universe, besides ourselves. That in itself would be universe shattering enough, but the inescapable conclusion that all my xenocontact theoreticians unanimously agree upon … UNANIMOUSLY, mind you, and you know that bunch … is that we have also found … an artificial, 100% machine based species that is as completely and fully sentient ...

.. as ourselves.”

<= *&%&* +>

Cut to the shadowy, vastly impressive Acadame des Artes et Science senate chamber. Time stamp reads previous temporal coordinates plus one hour. Shadows drape their solemn webwork all around, the occasional whir hum and glow of technology is perceptible in the distance. There is no other sound or motion. The scientist/senators are sitting absolutely still, their jaws dropped as far upon their breasts as nature will allow them in a state of total muscular stunnedness. They have been in this state since the Chief Researcb Director informed the legislative body of the news before taking up her place at the Director's workstation and freezing into a similar state. Perhaps there is a young page insufficiently educated to grasp the full ramifications, and therefore not totally unconscious but just high enough level trained to sort of understand the general framework, worriting in the shadowy corners and wondering what the hell to do when they suddenly might as well be in a postapocalyptic scenario as far as the total consciousness-absence of anyone who knows the news is concerned, and they'd know just enough to know they can't get help because anyone they have immediate access and even begin to describe the problem to will immediately fall into a similar state. Cut to the same chamber a month later. The autocomms have just tickered the news that the lower echelons fuctioned just well enough, before freezing up totally, to set the diplomatic corps in motion. The diplomatic corps is made up of individuals whose personality type makes them immune to revelatory brain freeze (if a little inclined to snark at the scientist higher echelons who aren't.) and therefore, the Khell'Zenti Science Directorate is suddenly engaged in direct diplomacy with a hitherto unsuspected alien artificial intellgence hive mind who jus happens to be the first sapient life the Khell'Zenti were aware of in the universe besides themselves. The scientists are completely unaware this is going on. They are in the same position and state they were in the last time we saw our heroes. Except that some clever maintenance tech has rigged up autoIV feed lines and other basic life support technology to keep them at least minimally functional until they can recover from their stun and actually begin to respond to the situation. This is probably a different lower level tech from the one who remarked that after all this star empire was supposed to be a science directorate that followed rationality and objective uncorrupted data wherever they might lead, and that all data sources so far seemed to indicate that while the functions directly associated with the Director herself had indubitably suffered, the rest of the government actually seemed to be functioning more efficiently than it had while the senators were conscious and operational. She went on to say that she at least saw no need to compromise that efficiency by wasting resources trying to revive anyone but the Director herself, and that the rest were probably happier on life support anyway than incessantly wrangling about whether the distance between Belgarion's planet and the location of the accident that tore apart the Prophecies in David Eddings' Belgariad universe was so many parsecs, or so many parsecs PLUS ONE INCH, a question that superheated plasma, ink, CRT photons and blood had (spinning the metaphor out just a little longer) all been shed over before the poor Director had finally managed to coddle the species over the planetary doorstep to even get to space in the first place.

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lunarcovehq · 20 days ago

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Savannah Jane McKenzie is a siren that currently resides in Sunny Harbor and has been a Lunar Cove resident for a week now.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

DATE OF BIRTH: March 5, 1993

OCCUPATION: Watress at Peggy's & MC at On Pitch

FACECLAIM: Meghann Fahy

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Fae

SUBCATEGORY: Siren

REGENERATED: Yes

FAE COURT POSITION: Non-Member

AGE THEY APPEAR: 31

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, SAVANNAH JANE MCKENZIE

Trigger Warnings: Implied Homophobia, Self Medication, Death, Murder

Savannah Jane McKenzie's fate had already been sealed from the moment she took her first breath. The young girl with a thick southern twang would wander through the fields not too far from her house. The wind whisking through her hair as if to whisper a calm of the centuries in her ears. But, little did she know, there was a reason why each tiny petal she'd pluck off the forget-me-nots spoke to her like a morse code for her soul.

The faerie had once lived quite a life. Born by the name Sibhán, only to later rename herself as Sienna Cecaelia, the siren was rather infamous. A cruel beauty with a voice that was sickeningly sweet, at first, hardly left the water. Though her song sent shivers down the spines of those who would border the coasts. Calling out to sailors in the dead of night, amusement would flicker across her sharp gaze. The vixen, she was, would lean back against her make-shift throne of rock as she watched the men who would pollute her oceans drown one by one. The spiting image of her mother, she'd toy with them as if they were hers for the taking, and, as the centuries went by, she'd make her way onto land, dominating the social scene before she moved on to take Hollywood by storm. Her body count heavily increasing, not that she bother to keep track. The faerie hardly payed much mind to the politics of the Supernatural community or the Safe Haven with its plethora of rules and obligations. She made sure to keep a low enough profile for them to stay out of her hair, faking her own death from time to time so that no one would grow too suspicious. It was only after her mother, now going by the name Vanessa, had decided to make her way to the Cove, did the siren begin to take interest. But, before she could decide to join her, it was too late. On the eve of her 849th birthday, the Siren whose name had graced the pages of plenty of, what she had imagine to be, Lunar Cove history books had been taken down. Shot in the heart by a woman she had loved only whom had wound up betraying her. The femme fatale died a cautionary tale as to why you should never trust a human. Though, that is hardly where the story ends.

Reborn in a small town in Georgia, Savannah Jane awoke to the soft sea breeze and the warm rays of the sun. The sharp gaze she had once been known for replaced by a childlike curiosity which her new folks tried to foster. Her mamma used to say that she was born with lightning in her heels, given how she could never seem to sit still. But, concern quickly crept across their brows as their beautiful baby girl who always seemed to draw others in with the ease of her smile started to suffer for terrible nightmares that would keep her up well throughout the night. Sav would mumble on and on about these detailed dreams that seemed all too real. Dreams that a pre-teen hardly should be havin' and, when their honey blonde child turned thirteen, her baby sister came screaming down the stairs calling out for help, because Savannah, god forbid, was crying tears of blood. At first, they didn't know what was wrong with her. They took her to a few doctors in the area, before some peculiar events caught them up to speed and, a few weeks later, they were packing up their bags and moving up the Coast to South Carolina. They settled on the outskirts of Charleston and established some new family rules that applied more to Savannah than to anyone else. She was to avoid water in public at all costs. She was never to sing outside of the house. She had to do better at keeping her emotions under control so that a storm cloud wouldn't suddenly break overhead and the list went on. It worked too, for a while. The McKenzies were embraced by their new community and everyone was non-the-wiser.

Though Sav, like any rebellious teenager, would push the limits when she could. She had snuck out one early summer morning down to the beach. She had swam far enough away to not be spotted by anyone laying out across the sand and, after, a few hours splashing about, a boat drew near from where she was basking across a pair of rocks. Though lucky for her, by the time the boat came in eyesight of her, her tail had fully dried off. Instead, the nineteen year old in his sailboat, saw what appeared to be a girl around his age 'marooned'. The boy visiting from out of town for the summer, helped her into his boat to return to shore and she went along with the idea that he had 'rescued her'. Before they knew it, a whirlwind summer romance had begun. She was only eighteen and he was only in town for a couple months. But, they fell hard and they fell fast. Only before they knew it, the summer had come to an end. He headed back to New York and she spent the next few weeks none the wiser to how one night in the back of her daddy's pickup truck would change her life.

Her mother's petrified look when she finally had to tell her that she was pregnant was seared into her head. The fear in her mamma's eyes that her baby would take after her hung over them like a thick cloud of smoke. While the man they would have asked to take accountability for their daughter was off miles away back home. 'Luckily' for them, however, it wasn't too uncommon to marry young down in the South and her parents didn't have too much trouble finding another man who would happily marry her daughter and pretend her soon-to-be child was his. Savannah always had plenty of 'suitors' following her about like a heard of wide eyed puppy dogs. She had that allure about her that she'd later realize came with the territory of being a fae. But, Tyler Montgomery had been a friend of the family. Their parents went back since their dad's colleges days and the Montgomery's happened to be part of the reason Sav's father picked South Carolina to up move their family too. Tyler was a good man, as much as Savannah had wanted no part in marrying him.

She tried to call Devrim once when talk of an engagement started up. But, he didn't pick up, he didn't call her back and she couldn't bring herself to 'derail', as her mamma liked to refer to it as, someone else's life on top of her own, even if he had been the one to get her pregnant. She was on her own and the mercy of her family's wishes. She held off for as long as could, but as September rolled around, she found herself having to drop out of the college she had gotten into. Gone were her dreams of being an international relations major or getting out of the South. She pushed the gnawing feeling in her gut that she meant to be somewhere always down and, before she knew it, she was walking down the aisle at one of the biggest and quickest shotgun weddings her town had seen in a while.

The next fourteen years after that felt like a whirlwind. Tyler raised Serra, her daughter, better than she likely ever could have alone and they got along for the most part. She hide his secrets and he agreed to hide hers, though there was a few months they went without talking much after the freak out he had, having learned what kind of family he had married into. But, as the years went by, the dreams seemed harder and harder to ignore. It was as if Sav was living another life whenever she closed her eyes and the numb indifference of the woman she used to be before was seeping into her veins. Every morning she'd wake up to her hands shaking. She'd try to play it off. Pretend like she didn't catch the questionable looks or overhear the whispers as to why Montgomery's wife was drinkin' so early in the mornin', but no amount of self medicating could shake the pit in her chest that if she didn't go lookin' for answers, things for her would only grow a whole lot worse.

It was in August of 2024, when Savannah and Tyler decided to call it off. His home was in South Carolina, while she knew in her gut that the answers to everything that she had been dealing with since she was thirteen laid elsewhere. Memories of a small town in Rhode Island were whispering in her ear from the moment she woke up to the second she fell asleep. Calling out to her and drawing her near. Not to mention, while she had been more than willing to play the role of his loving wife in public, they both knew his heart laid elsewhere. He had been too afraid of what their neighbors might think to act on it, but he deserved to be happy, just as much as she deserved, to once and for all, know the truth about herself. So, she packed up her things and before she knew it, she was moving her own fourteen year old daughter and herself to a town she knew next to nothing about, but had this sinking suspicion in her chest that she had been there before.

Now, brand new to Lunar Cove, Savannah has been reconnected with the woman who was her mother before she regenerated. Vanessa is practically a shut-in within Lunar Cove, having hardly left her home in ages. She isn't a fan of visitors or other residences, casting an ominous storm cloud over her house that was built precariously over a cliff to keep passerbys at back. She believes sirens are the superior species and refuses to ever leave her siren form, so she roams around the deteriorating house in a wheel chair with her tail out which makes the floor creek so badly it can be heard by passerbys from the street. A house Savannah and her daughter are now crashing at until she can find a place of her own. Though, Vanessa is hardly the only one from her past she is bound to run into. The siren has left a fair share of damage her wake. Some of it she remembers, some she has a vague idea to next to no recollection of. But, you can't always out swim the current and, sooner or later, her past will wind up catching up to her.

#meghann fahy #Savannah Jane McKenzie #taken fae #peggys diner #on pitch #nonmember fae #sunny harbor #all

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cosmicclownboy · 4 years ago

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Michael should have seen this coming. It was a chaotic idea from start to finish he doesn’t know why he caved in the first place. Yes, yes he does it’s that little soft hum Alex makes when he's filling the food dishes it makes his heart catch in his throat. Mans a freaking Dodo video doesn't have a cat or dog but wants to make sure the strays of Roswell have food if need be. Alex has a thing for lost souls and strays he knows this better than anyone. Michael always wondered what a home would be like. At 28 years old Michael knows what home is. It’s the steady beat of the man he loves tenderly wrapping his arms around his waist pressing kisses at whatever skin he can reach. His home is the way Alex traces circles into his skin or how he practised chords on his hands and legs. Or how he softly rakes his fingers through his curls the tenderness, joy and unconditional love he never assumed he could have. And against all odds, he knows Alex feels the same too.

It's not always easy their relationship isn't a magic cure for the pain they've endured. Some days he comes home to find Alex's eyes vacant thumbing pictures of friends he's lost. Some days he's just silent curled on his side of the bed and he knows in those moments being there is what matters he'll reach out his hand to Alex and just allow the silence to guide him. So if Alex wants to host the strays of Roswell he can. He’s not going to question it. Anything to bring that smile on his face but that doesn’t mean Michael can’t be sceptical about this entire concept. He’s seen feral cats in action they are lethal little assholes. And he really doesn’t want to come home after a gruelling day of work to his boyfriend covered head to toe in scratches. Alex has enough scars. Over the week two cats and a dog show up. Alex has a camera on a bird box across the road so he can see what’s happening wanting to observe and see whether or not any need medical attention. Michael can’t leave this question unasked after a month. “So are we stepping in or just spying on them ?” “I waited a month into you using the tool shed before I came in. They need to know they can trust us. The gates open if they get curious.” To neither of their surprise, it’s the dog, a sleek black pit bull that makes his presence known first. He smells the bacon Michael’s grilling and he’s curious about the sound of guitar strings. When it comes to animals he knows Alex has zero resolve but who's he kidding he's not got a lot of resolve either. He's got cuts around his back that concern the both of them and it takes no less than fifteen minutes with the help of Forest to squeeze him in at the vet. He's unchipped and scared. Alex softly strokes his ears and paws whilst the vet works on him.

Michael isn't an idiot he knew the moment Alex set the bowls outside he'd end up taking some in. Guess they have a dog now.

“We are not naming our dog Jar Jar Binks, Michael” Alex looks at him disgusted and betrayed prying the sleeping dog off his legs into his waiting arms. Not that the dog seems to mind he immediately places his head into Alex's neck and does a little whiny noise. “You were playing the Star Wars theme on the guitar when he started to trust us and he responded to Jar Jar this morning.” For that, he gets a slow blink and a head tilt. “He was responding to the bacon you were holding behind your back, Guerin. If your going to name him after a Star Wars character there are infinitely better characters. Quite frankly I'm offended that the first character you directly chose to name this sweet boy after is Jar Jar. Look at him hasn't he suffered enough?" At this, the dog in question blinks his eyes open and he's met with the soft pleading eyes of his two boys. Like he would.

After a three hour conversation where they pitched several names of the star wars equation, they notice the pit bull wags it’s tail anytime Jedi is mentioned it seemed the little guy didn't care about being called Obi or Luke but Jedi he likes. "Would you look at that Guerin, wants to be a Jedi just like his daddy" Well, he can't argue with that especially when he finds out later that night that ten-year-old Alex once told Greg he wanted to marry a Jedi when he was older. Jed it is. And yes Alex will marry a Jedi when he's older he's already working on that plan.

Having a dog means that Isobel rocks up one-morning sunshades on coffee in hand with a binder of dog clothes options. There are several subcategories and he's just questioning why or when his sister found the time to manufacture this thing. "Now don't worry I already have five outfits in my bag for my nephew to try on and I didn't trust either one of you to know how to dress him. Now show me, my nephew" The way Isobel glides into the house could make you think she owns the place and as he closes the door and catches up to his sister she's already got Jed wrapped around her finger of which contains peanut butter. Within ten minutes the living room becomes a catwalk where Jed is proudly strutting across in outfits. "Wait. This one's my personal favourite it's called pawcanic look at his little apron it's so cute. And look he's so happy"

A week later he comes back from work seeing Jed decked out in flannel tucked into his boyfriend's hoodie. Michael's flicking through his phone until he gets to his camera. He's going to make sure the house is filled with pictures of the three of them.

#I started this months ago whoops #malex #malexfic #me: anyway Michael gets into photography

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