1964-10-16 - Astra VII: Freedom is a Whirlwind
Summary: Or, Gorgon gets kicked in the chest.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
gorgon hala 

Space is so much bigger when someone has a view of it. Inside a nice ship given artificial gravity and powerful life support systems, the world might feel… Planetary. Worldly. Someone can walk on the ground and not think too much about drifting among the stars, beyond the reach of anyone on Earth. At least anyone telling. It's not as though anyone has sufficient means to mount a rescue operation. In a much smaller transport, however, where gravitation systems are light at best, a whole other story. The screen displayed on the HUD - nearest thing one can call the spirals of shape and movement - reveal everlasting nightfall and stars picked out in the distance, even moving at speeds. There's no sign of the ship they left, no sign of the planet they are headed to. This could well be a suicide mission.

Except for the two Accusers aboard, anyways. They're busy doing the task of driving and keeping the ship on track. Even trying to understand what they do is akin to someone used to horses, say a Crusader knight, being introduced to a Bugatti. Some things do not commute /or/ computer. So too the Inhumans probably don't have a good idea of what's going on. Two craft are needed for the number of Inhumans, mostly because Gorgon is /big/. Not Kree big, but big enough. Crystal and Triton got stuffed on another craft. Chloe might be in his. Nexus stayed. So yeah.

Gorgon is left with a pair of Kree speaking in their own language. The one in the helm is fixing coordinates, or playing a really cool game of Snakes and Ladders and Mahjongg.

Gorgon would be just sitting on the ship, flanked by those two Kree as they talk to one another. His arms are crossed and he keeps trying to possibly even leeeeaaannn just a little to see what those Kree are actually doing…though lo and behold, he doesnt understand jack about it. Thus does he just let out a sigh. Though strangely enough, he just kinda looks up and closes his eyes…. after all, it was relaxing right? just look up and compose your thoughts.

He looked bored actually. Though he did wonder where a certain Kree was.

Not for the sake of anything emotional, just that they are on a freaking Kree warship and it tends to be a good idea if you keep tabs on the person running it.

Leaning about doesn't disrupt the ship, thankfully, or else they'd all be toast. There are few satellites imagined that match its size, and those cosmonauts have rocket stages about the same size as this lovely thing that hums its way through the everblack night of space. Both the helmsman and pilot work in fine order, choreographed to act and react to one another. The interfaces overlap as they spin dials midair or draw serpentine patterns with their fingers. Imagine watching someone paint and dance at the same time, there's almost nothing like it. Their precision has a certain balletic quality.

Relaxing while strapped into a ship is certainly desirable, no doubt. All the work is performed by someone else. There's a happy Gorgon, surely?

The Kree pair don't pay much attention to him as they work their course carefully, making two or three changes that eventually lead to S-curves rather than a straight shot. No telling where the other shuttle really is, but it briefly appears on the screens in place.

Another time, the one on the left - helmsman - looks back. Yeah, at Gorgon. What's furry feet doing, anyways?

Gorgon is presently breathing, but he turns his cold gaze to the helmsman. Making no action as to avoid any of his family or allies being turned into spacedust. But he does not exactly yield in terms of being looked at by the helmsman. He does, however, watch as the ship bobs and weaves instead of going in a straight line…

which may or may not irk Gorgon. However, he does seem mightily relaxed, so he'll let it slide, Kree.

|ROLL| Hala +rolls 1d100 for: 59

Breathing counts as something! Better than the alternative, unless they brought along one of those creepy statues found in the bottom of Penglai where the terra cotta army is solidly inorganic. They shouldn't breathe. That said, the adventure so far is mostly a good nap. The straps holding Gorgon to his seat can be removed by a few clicks of buttons, but he's safely contained for his own good. Any pivot keeps him from rising up too much, though again, gravity is still tenuous enough they can all bounce along.

The helmsman taps the side of his helm and the faceplate visor, already translucent, films into a solid metal frosting. The ring on the floor around him ignites orange, a double orbit encompassing him. He patiently reaches for two of the interface rings midair and brings them around, the projections twinkling like Christmas lights. Except he's so much more competent about hanging decorations.

The gentle increase in speed follows, and the pilot unstraps, sauntering back as though they're not seven feet tall and dealing with the fact they are hurtling through the solar system. The system chimes, «Dust field in one point three parakevs. Standard shielding. Countermeasures employed.»

A moment later, the display shows a pair of two motes blowing ahead of them. They widen, and electricity probably wider than New York erupts between them, catching a lattice of blasted metal particles to deliver a charged net.

Breathing certainly does! Though as much as he enjoys the relaxation….he hates just, sitting there. He needs to do -something-, else he'll maybe die of boredom. Though he hesitates when he sees the Helmsman doing some kind of circe de solei in the air with those interface rings or whatchamacallit. He does give a bit of a 'whoa' kind of sound.

aaaaand then the system chimes in a language he doesn't understand. "That sounds friendly." he says in his most sarcastic tone he could have possibly conceived. holding on to the seat straps…thoug hhe may do something foolish as his hands move to those belt buckles keeping him in place. "Alright..let's do something. This is killing me."

The freedom to rotate and weave multiple trajectory paths through the spark field must be nice, especially with a computer correcting for errors. The helmsman aligns two of the main disks and the path is locked, taking a route that's something quite desultory all things considered. Passing through the debris of a comet's tail occasionally warrants a little excitement. Maybe some applause!

Maybe the pilot walking past supplies that, barely dignifying schoolyard taunts with any reply. He goes to free himself, and Gorgon finds the Accuser putting down a gloved hand in a slashing motion. "«No. You are only going to get in the way.»" The tone isn't entirely warm or cold, but authoritatively neutral.

Gorgon does -not- seem pleased when the pilot comes over and gets in his business a little bit, with the Inhuman rising to his hooves to stare him down. Though he remembers his friends and he growls, plopping back down with his eyes still on the Kree. His arms cross, but he's still unstrapped!

He does glance over to Helmsman Mcgee as he weaves through and pilots the craft, or so it seems…and for probably the first time since Gorgon has been on this ship, he's impressed!

Up to those hooves, just how tall is Gorgon. The Kree doesn't have to do much to alter stance to be seven feet and some tall, and the electric hum of the air around her…

That's a real hum. One that even an Inhuman can hear, hissing softly.

«Fragments to left auxiliary port, four-five-one.» The system helpfully bleats its warning. The helmsman presses his palm flat to a building disc as a number of system readouts start showing spikes and crackles. "«This thing has all the grace of a brick,»" he snaps shortly, issuing a series of commands in Kree thereafter.

The pilot grabs the only handhold bar overhead, and she arches like a cat. Why?

The shuttle shears off its track at sixty-eight degrees, rotating sharply on the incline that very probably throws Gorgon all over the place. Famous words to be unstrapped; while now he's on a wall..

Gorgon is most definately spinning about uncontrollably, "whhooooaaaa" he says, being thrown between two walls almost constantly. and while it doesnt actually ahrm him, it is stupidly painful. "ow! ow! oof!" he spins once more after contact with the wall about five times, then he's in one spot, just spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning…

and spinning. "whhhhhoooooo aaawhooaaoaoaaa!!"

Woo, that constitutes a rather hard collision at the best of times. Gravity in flux doesn't give Gorgon a leg to stand on, and the spin creates a stir. The Kree pilot clutches that metal ring, punching her knees up into a pike position so when the next rotation follows, she's ideally placed. Release and spin, then catch her foot on the crossbar. See? Easy. Briefly she stands on the ceiling, giving a grab for the silly goat.

"«Do you like bruises? What are you doing! This is why your people will go to war, because they think we assaulted you?»"

Gorgon is likely easily grabbed by the more easily moving Kree woman, and his eyes are spinning a little bit somewhat comedically. Though he doesnt understand a single word of what she says, He just looks dizzy "whhooooaaaa." he tries shaking his head to get free from this mental assault, but it just makes it worse. Suddenly that Kree is really pretty.

"whatcha say..?" he mumbles almost inaudably.

His brain bounced around in its brain pan could give cause for a concussion. The helmsman grimly keeps working on avoiding several kilometers of annoying dust getting in the way, though the ship complains heavily about its mistreatment and microbombardment. This is inconvenient.

The pilot spins around in place, doing her damnedest not to crash into anything either. Pinwheeling requires her to kick off the roof or floor every few seconds to generate momentum to turn her. "You get hurt, you blame us!" she hisses, low and clear and cold.

Gorgon starts to try to help shift position to try to get to the floor or -something- to stop that infernal spinning! "I -still- don't speak Kree!" he growls at her, attempting to use his leg strength to help her maneuver. Well…this should be entertaining at least.

"This is your language!" The Accuser probably now has to worry about brain injuries to go with the fact she is standing on her toes when gravity drags them both sideways. There's no spinning around like a bike wheel in space for that so much as blasting flat against a wall. Oh dear! The helmsman is /not/ having fun. He would never dare. Not for his boss.

"ah, right. NOW we're good!" but then he's back to growling as apparently their wrestling in mid-air as they spin about. Though when they both smack agaisnt the wall, Gorgon shakes his head a little more….but that again just makes it worse. "Let's just figure out how to get down and yell at each other later!" ah, young spinning, wall smacking, not-even friendship.

Now then, the Accuser pilot sprawls against the wall and the greater weight of the Inhuman pins down her down for a moment. Her protesting efforts to break the sprawl. Her efforts to crawl away aren't going to happen any time soon, but she tries. Another twirl plunders her sense of gravity and balance.

Gorgon Tries to move off the Kree since they are now quite uncomfortably close. But it dosnt look like it's going to happen anytime soon. Poor Gorgon. All he wanted to do was walk somewhere. "Great…." he growls.

"Get off me." The age-old complaint of women everywhere, lions to mantis shrimp. The Kree isn't related to either much except for the narrowing of those whiter than white eyes. Through the visor she wears on her helm, ah, there's a telling, terrible brilliance. Just one other grumpy Kree woman who had white eyes.

He's pinwheeling the damn Accuser of Accusers from Toliman.

Gorgon growls at her "shut it, I'm trying." he tries digging his fingers into the wall so he could try to muscle his way off the Kree woman. "Better than being ragdolled through the air…" he sighs as he tries to get off the woman.

That consternation from being told what to do, and how to do it, in such a tone… it brooks no insubordination. So fine, Gorgon gets a firm, sharp kick of her booted foot to the middle of his chest. It's to help him get to the opposite wall as the craft levels out. That's the story. Or it could be a symbiotic relationship of Kree supremacy involved there, in that one will have him over there and she will resume her proper status.

"What is a 'rag-oll?'"

Huh…Gorgon was a little impressed when the accuser just kinda gives him a nod. Though he 'oof!'s when she kicks him in the chest to go back to pinwheeling "IIIII HHHAAAATTTTEEE TTTTHHIIIIISSS." He says, having no time to explain the wonders of Ragdolling.

"You wear the things next time!" She waves her hand sharply at the chair and stalks forward up the ramp back to her seat, a bit woozy but not incredibly so. It's excellent having extra organs, just ask any other spacefaring race. The helmsman is totally smug behind that helmet, he must be.

Gorgon just hmphs at the Accuser, eventually just making his way back to his seat, and working the straps back on….whew…don't want to do that again. and the fact that he was super…super close to the Accuser was a disconcerting thought. She could have found that as an attempt to mate for all he knows! just a bad day for Gorgon….

He probably crossed many a line. Blue goat feet aren't coming any time soon. Gorgon has not inherited some strange spacefaring disease. "We will be there in two hours. Now sit and be useful!" Which means doing nothing. At all.

Gorgon growls at the Accuser, crossing his arms as he sits still.

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