changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes

[dubiouslychthonic]

Who: Jetshard and OPEN
What: General catchall for troll doc
When: ICly April 27-May 4, or thereabouts
Where: Variously around the station.
Warnings: None anticipated.


Every Night, Evening - Open
[Jetshard is a goddamn professional, which is why each evening she can be found in the medbay from around six-thirty or seven, until sometime after midnight. Generally she's either deep in a medical text of some sort or scrolling through something on her tablet - which is of Alternian make, rather than local, and therefore the case is leathery and vaguely bulbous - but she looks up when someone else enters.]

Hey there, do you need something?

Every Night, After Midnight - Open
[Jetshard's not one of the hypercompetent chefs of the station, but she's good enough with food prep that she can be trusted to cook for herself without damaging the facilities. If you happen to be in the kitchen on the low-numbered loop of the residential floor, in the hour or so after midnight, you might run across the troll preparing something for herself... usually brightly colored and as likely as not containing either something visibly arthropoid or coming out of a contain that implies it's a byproduct of such.

Nothing's on fire or foul smelling, but she's definitely planning to eat a weird bug and not even care.]

April 28, early morning - closed to Up
[She's not entirely sure what kind of schedule most of the androids are on - crosses paths with them sporadically enough that she's not quite certain of the patterns - but hopefully if she stops in at the fissure lab before she turns in for the morning she'll be able to track down Up. There's something she's been meaning to ask them about since the end of the last mission.]

May 2-4, late night/early morning - Open
[It's cooler at night than it is during the day, but still, you can tell that the climate control of the station at large has been working overtime all day, and after finishing her time in the medbay and finding something to eat, Jetshard retreats to the deck. She's sitting at the very edge of the platform with her feet dangling off the side. Although she's got a book in her hands, she's as likely to be kind of zoning off and staring off in to the ocean as she is to be actually reading it.]

Comments

[founderinglight]

Jetshard. I cannot possibly overstate this, our banner is a skull with wings on it and we still don't have -

[Wait a hot fucking second.]

Did you just say circus tent?!

[dubiouslychthonic]

[An arched eyebrow, as she pauses with a fork-full of fish in mid air.] What, your clowns aren't devout worshipers of the cherubic embodiment of Death?

[founderinglight]

The only formal embodiments of Death we have are a massive serpentine sea goddess and Ardyn's previous occupation.

[dubiouslychthonic]

I mean, there's probably folks who worship Gl'bgolyb as well. Not that I have direct experience with, but just knowing how people work, we almost certainly have cultists devoted to the imperial line's giant abyssal squidmonster guardian.

[founderinglight]

...Makes me almost disappointed that I don't have one. Lucis worships the Hexathon for the very good reason that one of them is known to have destroyed the last civilization that didn't, but it would have been nice to have some alternatives

... Also, "what the fuck" still stands.

[dubiouslychthonic]

Honestly? I have no idea why we're so given to shitty mystery cults. There just seems to be something in the troll psychological makeup where an annoyingly common failure mode is just kind of gesturing at something and going "is this an object of veneration?" [Ok, possibly she'd enjoying herself now, just a bit. The fact that she's grinning as she continues, however, does not in the least mean she's being facetious.] I mean, just that I'm aware of, we've got Death cults, cults of the Handmaid of Death, at least a couple of sects fixated on a mutant mystic who claimed to remember a peaceful parallel world, sun-worshipers, a couple of different weird shamanistic things, veneration of an abstracted ideal of the Mother Grub...

[founderinglight]

[He at least remembers that sun worship means a very different thing to a nocturnal species.

Not that half of that makes any sense at all.]

I mean, humanity on Eos would probably have wound up much the same if the Hexathon didn't overtly exist - the Astrals get a wide variety of cults when they're not worshipped as a whole as it is.

[There's a faint flutter of blue glow in the air beside him, and he sets his fork down to pull a set of cards out of his Armiger - just the face cards from the Deck, not the whole of it.]

Here - careful, the edges are sharp.

[dubiouslychthonic]

[She sets down her own plate and takes the cards, careful but not overly gingerly; she doesn't question why the edges would be sharp. She can't think that she knows anyone else who uses weaponized cards exactly, but dice-based weapons are something she's run across in the past.

Also one of these days she should probably either figure out how woodwindkind works or take the damn clarinet out of her strife deck.

As she rifles though them, she continues musing.]

I mean, the Mother Grub-worship is mostly ridiculous in that once you've seen one up close they lose a lot of the mystique.

[Not that that keeps her from swearing by them an awful lot. Whatever. Swearing isn't the same as religion.]

[founderinglight]

[There's just the six, stylized portraits of the gods in a sort of watercolored, minimalist-color style. They're surprisingly bright, given that they're worked into cards made of metal. It's probably magic.]

Isn't that always the case? Obvious family resemblance related issues aside, I daresay that I haven't been anything that Noctis and his generation expect. the reality of things is all too often underwhelming.