Multiversal Mischief - Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Leaves are falling all around / It's time I was on my way
Thanks to you I'm much obliged / For such a pleasant stay
But now it's time for me to go / The autumn moon lights my way
For now I smell the rain / And with it pain / And it's headed my way

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired / But I know I've got one thing I got to do

Ramble on

--Led Zeppelin, Ramble On

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"Space," the now firey-haired woman stated with all due gravity and serious tone. "The final frontier. These are the voyages of the JumpLoki, Tempest."

She glanced over to her sister-in-mind, offering a wink and grin. The woman addressed sighed then tapped her head back against the headrest, just hard enough to drop her blocky black mirrorshades down over her eyes.

"Its non-time-constrained mission; to explore strange new worlds - and perhaps, even men," she continued dramatically.

“I’m already accounted for,” her companion noted.

"To seek out the nightlife and potential civilization - at least, such as outland barbarians may have." No, in fact she had no shame, something her sister knew quite well.

Her sister-in-mind nodded. “That actually does sound somewhat amusing.”

"To boldly go wherever the hell we want!" she finished emphatically, raising her water bottle as if in challenge, before taking a drink.

“The Galaxy Exploration Command would be proud,” the mirror-shaded woman quipped dryly.

“Well, we had to start off this little jaunt with something memorable. Or horrible. Either way, something non-standard. Besides, I’m somewhat serious about the nightlife. I may be older, but damned if I’m dead from the neck down. Thanks in great part, of course, to your handiwork, might I add.” Nathicana offered her sister-in-mind a knowing nod, acknowledging her skills.

“Add to that some damn fine Dominion genetics, if I do say so myself, and a proper regimen of care and upkeep, and voila. The gracefully ageless Mediterranean look. More or less.” She stretched to emphasize her point, pleased enough with the way she still managed to fill out a snug tank and leggings under a loose, oversized hooded jacket and tall boots - the soft leather and heels sort she'd come to prefer.

Shodey--at least in this purple deathhawked-form--shook her head, the various lights and indicators of Tempest’s displays reflecting off her sunglasses. Between the studs on her eyebrow, the buzzed stripes to the side of the hawk, and the high collar on her segmented ballistic duster, the only thing else she needed for the look was to be chewing on bubblegum. “Here you are, telling me about age,” she snickered, “and since it’s been shown that I can’t keep you out of trouble, I may as well help you along with it.” She pulled the corners of her lips up into a little smile as she glanced over, eyes and even lower brows well-hidden by the shades. “Let’s go cause some mischief.”

Nathicana grinned broadly, pulling up a series of charts and randomly choosing a point, even as she was running through pre-jump checklists for the Tempest through the jack connection near her brow. “That looks as good as any. Mischief, here we come.”

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OOC: So, what’s this all about? Two lovely ladies off on a grand adventure. Where? Anywhere. Why? The need to get away from it all for a while, maybe learn something about themselves, maybe learn something about the world outside their usual, maybe even learn something about some other folks they meet along the way. Any limitations? Well, obviously we’d rather not be ‘destroyed utterly’. The tone, overall, is intended to be more light-hearted, but a bit of this or that along other lines wouldn’t be amiss. The prime reason for choosing this forum over the others, lays primarily with the option to consider some, if not all, non-canon, and thus more free to have fun with it, and simply see where things might go.

Character & location-driven, if it’s a place they can get to by spacedy travel, could be fun. No intent to impose on anyone, but open to all manner of people, places, and potential experiences within the realm of imagination. There may be locations we have in mind to go to, with approval of course. And hey, if there's no takers, we'll probably just putter around and see what we happen to come up with. No tech level restrictions with us, no particular 'no, can't go there' bits either. We're firm believers in the multiverse, and in the theory that reality has broken - thus explaining how physical nations can overlap oddly in location, history, and all manner of things, let alone how nations come and go off our radars. Less brainworms that way. *nods*

So, anyone got a destination we could make for? Someone we might bump into out in the space lanes? A caper, criminal-ish naughtiness, a target for pranking? (Oh yes, pranks are a thing. It is known.) Let’s see where this thing takes us - hopefully, for some mutual fun and entertainment.

Characters thus far: Nathicana D'Aquisto, augmented Dread Lady and former Imperatrice of the Dominion, now retired. May be slightly mad, but is working on 'getting better'. Or rather, is learning to cope with loss that she previously refused to face. S.H.O.D.A.N. - leader of the Queendom of Zero-One, small 'g' goddess, the Ghost of Citadel Station, appearing here in meatsuit Cyborganic Local Node avatar. Starting from there, our story leaves that behind, and begins here anew.

OOC thread found here.

[Swith Witherward]

The quadruped creature sat upon the Potato and contemplated the universe. Her head tipped back, allowing all three sets of eyes to take in the starfield above. Thin lips - commonly pulled back to expose rows of needle-shaped teeth - were pursed.

"Do you think anyone sees us?" The biological nanotubes lining her organic plates rippled, exposing her outline and shifting coloration from asteroid grey to carbon black. Equine ears rose from a bristly head as though straining to hear signs of life. "If we are unseen, do we not exist?"

The biomachine paused to contemplate the lack of reply. Her brow furrowed. "Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me..."

"Do shut up." This gruff telepathic response came from within the creature, cool and clear as it rode the Thoughtwash - the psionic pathways - that tethered pilot to biomachine. Encased in warm amniotic, the pilot remained listless, though the occasional kick reminded the craft that she was in charge. Her mind passed over readings before extending to sense the area around her host. "What have you got in your hand?"

"A treasure," the machine replied.

"It's a rock." Bumps moved under lidded eyes, indicating the pilot's consciousness. "Pitch it. We don't need it."

The biomachine's shoulders rose and fell, though no breath escaped it. It paused to consider the pebble in its grasp. In truth, the rock was just excess weight; she had plenty more stashed under the skin which puckered to form saddlebags above her haunches. Logic dictated that she needn't collect yet another. Thin outer fingers possessively curled up to press the pebble against the right palm, and the two thicker inner fingers spread and curled as she straightened her wrist. Plated knuckles pressed into the ground, kicking up minute dust clouds which swirled in the zero gravity environment. More clouds blossomed as she strode forward.

"Indicus, dear, we don't need it." The pilot wasn't amused.

The machine strained her neck to the side, twisting her head to allow an eye to peer at the thin fingers holding her treasure off the ground. "Enea, dear, I didn't say a word when you landed on that planet to have a drink in that backwater pub with all those-"

"Lose the fucking rock, damn it."

A throaty growl rumbled the ship's chest as the treasure spun away. It continued to skip along the asteroid's surface, but the behemoth had already turned and did not bother to see where it landed. Swinging all four digits forward to dig talons into the soil, she began to lumber off in a new direction. "I am tired of this wretched and monotonous existence," Indicus' thoughts wrapped themselves in an unmistakably heavy blanket of bitterness.

"I feel you," Enea sent soothing waves along the tether, "But we've little to fall back on now that the Hive is lost. Why don't we scan the next Potato?"

The biomachine rolled her eyes, though the iris and pupils were so densely blue that the black sclera and surrounding skin masked the motion. "Scanning."

Enea patiently waited as the barbs lining Indicus' spine extruded and fanned out. The routine hadn't changed in weeks and, as expected, sensors indicated a void bereft of life. Yet-

Anomaly? Indicus paused her momentum to point her snout towards the source.

"Just a speck. No need to bother."

"We need to break the monotony in our life," Indicus' muscles coiled. "That speck could be important. We should investigate further."

A hardy leap cast her from the ground. Her propulsion systems kicked in to carry her off the Potato's surface. The pilot within her chamber shifted an arm to palm her own face as the Potato clump shrank and the starlight blurred.


An hour's passing brought them far from the asteroid cluster. They remained cloaked, just an invisible mass resembling a beetle with tucked legs, and whiled away the time by playing mind games with each other. This, too, had become tiresome to both. Yet the anomaly was still present on the scanners, apparently moving towards them under its own propulsion. Neither pilot or machine was willing to give up the quest yet.

Indicus adjusted her course slightly. "We should make contact with it in-"

"Look out!"

The biomachine's eyes widened as Something Large and Unknown perpendicularly swept through the Void to bisect their path. She curled into a tighter ball and retracted as much of her array as possible as the ship bore down on them. The pilot recoiled within her cozy cockpit, talons thrashing uselessly through warm fluids. Bubbles pushed from her nostrils as horror latched itself to her brain. The alarms blaring through the Thoughtwash unnerved her.

-TINK!-

Both pilot and machine shuddered as the ship's dorsal surface clipped a barb's tip off. Indicus thrust all four legs out in an attempt to right herself to orient with the speeding ship.

"HIT AND FLY! YOU BASTARDS!" The swirling stars slowly returned to their pinprick appearance, though that did nothing to placate the biomachine's anger. "VIOLATION OF PROTOCOL! DESTROY IT!"

"Oh, don't be so hasty." The pilot, deep within the comforts of her cocoon, muted the nerves associated with her inner ears. The rolling sensation stopped, and her processor released an antiemetic to cut off potential nausea brought about by spacesickness. "Didn't you just say you wanted to break the monotony in our life?"

"It took off the tip of my array!"

The pilot would have snorted if she'd been capable of exhaling. Instead, she mentally sighed. "Alright, let us catch up to it and ask if they are insured."

"Wot?"

"It's an Earth thing, dearest."


Really, the accident wasn't Nathicana's fault. The Convocation's technology, while extremely useful, was also extremely advanced. The Nifid, like nearly all First Ones, seemed clueless to younger races’ perceptions of them. As overwhelmingly overpowered as that seems, the simple truth was that the Nifid's own technological advancements were the root of their troubles with other races. In particular, their stealth and travel methods frequently brought them into unwanted contact.

To put it simply, don't build ships that can't be seen or detected. If you do, you have nobody to blame but yourself when someone comes along and sideswipes you.

Had the Thade or the Ba'a been present, they would have wagged their heads and urged Nathicana to put on a burst of speed. The Nifid, as lofty as their intelligence reportedly was, were a hands-off species (mainly because they lacked hands to begin with). They preferred to construct artificial intelligence - those wondrous biomachines! - for the sole purpose of dispatching them to gather knowledge from other races. Or, to put it another way, to unintentionally troll the multiverse itself: It was a known fact that Constructs were socially inept, fiddle-headed twats.

None of this occurred to Enea as her Exo overtook the 'offending ship'. She was far too busy visually sizing up the other vessel and wondering if it contained tea. Sophont beings obviously constructed it. Protocols demanded that she not violate them by scanning or probing it. Instead, her mind filtered through several comms channels until finding one that showed some promise.

"Unknown vessel, this is NEA 3v9, Overseer in the Trifid Nebula Hereward, 10th Iteration of the Greater Nifidium Convocation. You, perhaps accidentally, damaged my craft, Indicus Malevolum." Her voice remained pleasant and, though there wasn't any visual to the message, Enea herself was slightly smiling. Finally, contact with something . More so, it was contact with somebody outside of the damned backwater pub.

Indicus rippled into view as she dropped her shielding (the psionic ones would remain firmly in place).

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

She absolutely loved flying, especially here, out in the void. She hadn’t done it for a very long time now, especially after … yes, after they’d lost him. Somehow, it hadn’t quite been the same. The spaces in between had held hidden menace they hadn’t seemed to before, though nothing really had changed at all other than her perception of them.

But the view. The vastness of it all. Being reminded that for all one’s machinations and focus and effort on one’s life and controlling every aspect of it, they were all just tiny specks in the grander cosmos after all. And whatever happened to them was really of little moment in the end.

It was, in a word, humbling. Not a sensation Nathicana was intimately familiar with, nor comfortable with. But somehow, it appealed all the same in an odd sort of way.

She was pondering along those lines when the sensation of light collision shivered through her ship body - the one she was jacked directly into, that was. The interface had always been an intoxicating one of overlaying a sense of self onto the ship, having it be a sort of extension of sorts that could be monitored and controlled. This however, was outside the norm.

"The hell was that?" burst from Nathi's lips, soon followed by a stream of rather colorful metaphors that were made all the more entertaining in breadth and scope due to her use of native tongue combined with lively gesticulations.

"I fucking swear to Fanged God and all the denizens of the Nine Hells, if something’s damaged my ship," she finally concluded, muttering further imprecations under her breath. Of course, the fact that she might have been responsible never crossed her mind. She'd gotten the reputation for being a bit of a hot stick adrenaline-junkie pilot once she'd gotten the hang of it. The ability to be jacked in directly to the controls and having it all respond quick as thought had certainly helped in that regard.

But accidentally clip something else? Surely not. Besides, what was out here anyways? She hadn't seen anything on the charts available, though granted, this was an area she was not at all familiar with. Which was of course, part of the appeal.

When the message came over, she swore again.

"Oh fuck me, that sounds official-ish. And ... the hell? Where had it been sit--" Another curse and she switched over to respond, her voice smoothing and face assuming a more pleasant expression that she hoped was carried along with her voice.

"NEA 3v9, this is The Tempest. Sol System, Dominion home port out of Machiavelli Station. Begging your pardon, but how the he--how did we manage to clip your vessel? There hasn't been anything in sight that seemed worth a second look."

A pause as she tried to scan the area to get a glimpse of whatever it was she'd hit, slowing to a more idly cruising speed. She kept her fingers on the triggers all the same, so to speak. No weapons were readied for fear of sending the wrong idea, but there were, after all, only two kinds of paranoia.

"Shodey darling, we have company," she called out in a somewhat sing-song voice.

“I had already concluded this to a high degree of certainty using a combination of probabilistic models and the loud ‘bang,’” replied the addressed mechanoid-posing-as-organic as she stepped through the aft hatch of the cockpit, settled into the copilot’s seat, and strapped in. She pinched one of the rivets over her right eyebrow, pulled it out of her skull with the buzz of unspooling wire, and jacked into port installed on the armrest. “Hm.” She quickly achieved situational awareness. “That’s a new one.”

"That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, mia sorella," Nathi observed, uncertain of what exactly she was looking at on screen.