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

[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. ]