let's call it a grand opening •

[spaceling]

WHO • everyone
WHERE • deck 2: corridors & mess hall
WHEN • day 1
WHAT • characters arrive
WARNINGS • please warn in the subject headings



[ you wake up on an abandoned spaceship in an unfamiliar quadrant of space, unhurt, but nauseated and dizzy, wearing whatever you were wearing before, with no possessions but what you were carrying with them.

the corridors are dark and grimy, dimly lit by lights that flicker now and then. it's cold enough to see your breath fog up before your face, but artificial gravity and life support seem to be working just fine.

welcome to your new home. ]

Comments

percival graves | hp / fb

[mund]

exploring;

[ The disorientation is wearing off, slowly but surely; in its wake is the powerful desire to make sense of his surroundings, to reacquaint himself within unwelcome new parameters. That he is somehow in a vessel in space is an alarming discovery, especially when he had last been in his office, having just signed off on several orders.

These orders have not yet made it to the respective departments, although he's aware that right now that's the least of his worries. The question is, who brought him here and why? The idea of it being one massive, elaborate illusion has been considered and summarily dismissed -- there are too many things off about it, for one. With mounting questions and an obvious lack of answers, he heads down the dark, grimy corridors. The entirety of this setup baffles him, leaves him drift, which is a wholly unpleasant feeling for a man used to a great degree of control over his immediate surroundings.

Now, the whole thing's turned on its head; and the wand tucked within his greatcoat is of little comfort. What do you attack or defend against when every single thing around you is distinctly unfriendly? He stops at one of the devices, at a loss for what to make of it. The 1920s have surely brought with it its own brand of technology, but it's nothing compared to a scale like this, and nothing like Graves has ever seen. Computer is not a word known to him, and he's frowning at a screen before deciding to push one of the buttons, round and red. And another, this time square and black.

Nothing. ]

I'm assuming this does something.

[ He murmurs, his gaze cool and calculating as he takes its measure. One does not surround themselves with irrelevant items when out on a voyage in space, of all things; it's just common sense. So the question is, what does it do? ]

[negativechill]

[ gellert does not expect to see percival graves. then again, he hadn't expected to see albus dumbledore either. he watches the other man from afar for a short time and quickly determines that there is a time discrepancy. this is not the graves he remembers leaving. no, this is the graves he first met.

a wide smile spreads across his face before he settles it down into one more mild and friendly as he approaches - from the side, not the back. his hair is dark, neither eye wounded, a light amount of scruff on his face. he's empty-handed, non-threatening. he's beaten graves before, all he needs is to pull his wand and he can do it again.

instead he pauses, head tipping to the side. ]

Apparently. I've still no idea what. I've found that those carrying knowledge of space travel are not familiar with this exact type of vessel either. [ a beat. ] My apologies. Markell Brose. [ his voice is soft and friendly but his accent is thick, heavy on his tongue. german. ]

[mund]

[ german, and clearly well-heeled. graves doesn't recognise him, and doesn't have reason to be more on the alert than he usually is. the stranger, markell brose, is polite, and evidently has been around enough to offer that particular piece of information.

he pauses, registering it, even if the observation still doesn't give him much of an answer. ]

Percival Graves. [ he says simply, and glances out at the darkness outside. incredible. but there are many questions plaguing him -- he's sure the no-majs still don't have technology like this, so where and when did it come from? ] Are you not acquainted with space travel, yourself?

[negativechill]

I am not, no. [ he shakes his head slightly with an apologetic smile. ] Where I am from space travel is but a dream as yet. But that is where the dog is buried, yes? None of us quite know enough about this place to do anything useful. [ a beat. ] I apologize, I don't know the similar phrase in English. It is... That is the point, I suppose? Something along those lines.

[ gellert knows the phrase. "the heart of the matter." still, he inclines his head now. ] It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Graves. Graves... Are you of relation to Gondulphus Graves? Percival Graves, of the American government? I try to keep up with politics, but lately things in Europe have been a little... hectic. If that is not you, never mind my rambling. It is a pleasure nonetheless.

[ to say the least. ]

[mund]

[ 'where the dog is buried', such a curious turn of phrase. then again, the unmistakably thick german accent informs him that it's definitely some sort of direct translation; but context at least gives him a a glimmer of what he might mean.

that rumination is cut short, however, when the other man brings up his ancestor, and the last thing he expects is for another soul aboard a craft like this who would know who he is. he's recognised often enough back in his world -- one of the consequences of his family's significant influence in politics -- but to hear of it in the midst of everything unfamiliar is a surprise. ]

Yes, I am. [ a wizard, then. a wizard who doesn't look particularly inclined to kill him. he raises a brow at that, curiosity piqued. he's heard rumblings in europe, had kept an eye on grindelwald's activities, but aside from that -- ] And your business in Europe is?

[negativechill]

Ah! That makes four of us wizards here. Perhaps we could pool our mental resources in some way. [ casual as anything, bright and excited. this graves is definitely not the one he left behind, now that he's had time to speak with him. he very nearly beams in pleasure, but refrains. just barely.

this markell brose is a chatty sort, isn't he? he waves a hand self-depreciatingly. ] I am what you would call the lazy son of an affluent family, I suppose. After my graduation I did little more than continue my studies and pursuit of knowledge. Recently I am working on spell-crafting. There is something to be said for innovations in our world, I believe.

[ his expression drops more somber then and he glances away briefly. ] There are... complications, of course. Certainly things are peaceful for those that truly keep their heads down or buried in the dirt, but what kind of life is that? I worry after the state of things.

[mund]

[ four of them? who are the other two? brose is certainly a chatty sort, and while graves has never heard of an affluent family that goes by that name, the europe branch, on the occasion, does tend to have some that slip through the cracks. the noveau riche, for one, but even so.

the man is congenial in ways graves is unused to, and he's cautious and careful nonetheless; not that he's inherently suspicious, but one can never be too vigilant. he doesn't know him, and that statement is what snares his attention. spell-crafting, innovation, the state of things. for a lazy son, that's an interesting thing to be doing. ]

The state of things? It looks like you're not that lazy, after all.

[negativechill]

[ he manages a laugh at that - or, looks like he does. in truth he worries (as much as he can) over the state of his plans in his absence. his hallowed will do their best but without his guidance, things are sure to go badly. they need a firm hand, and, well, here he is. ] I apologize if I made it seem as though I do anything important. It's mostly play, you see. Tinkering with things. Is that the right word? They are only small innovations now, improvements. It's difficult to explain.

[ he purposely stills at the question, pressing his lips into a thin line. ] Herr Graves, I worry that a war is on the horizon. I do not know wen it may escalate that much but the mere thought of it gives me pause. Many of my friends and people I do my silly little work with are concerned.

[mund]

[ graves is oblivious to that, of course -- to him this is a stranger, congenial and quirky as he may be. to graves, he is someone that piques his curiosity. it doesn't take long to pick up on that keen intelligence, that thoughtfulness.

despite the mirth lies someone who puts thought into what he does, and even if graves is still wary (it's nothing personal, he's like that with everyone), it's that comment that snags his attention. there is something simmering underneath it all, to be sure; graves has heard whispers and rumblings, and theseus had sent him a dossier on all that's pertinent, the moving pieces within. ]

Concerned? [ graves doesn't deny it. ] How so? [ tinkerers and inventors, perhaps, have the most to lose when war breaks out, and even wizards are not immune. but clearly, this man has caught whispers of his own, too. ]