rekindledtitan: (Some bright spark)
TYPE: Personal log

LOCATION: Orbit, Earth

PARTIES: Three [3]. One [1] Ghost-type, One [1] Guardian-type, designate Blaze-37, Class Titan [[personal profile] rekindledtitan], One [1] Unconfirmed, designate Jesse [[personal profile] notalldead]


ASSOCIATIONS: Multiversal Nexus; Jesse; the Rotten; Earth; Multiversal Phenomena; Blaze-37; Revivification; Demeter Effect


It’s funny, Blaze never expected her ship to be a place for more than herself and her Ghost. A sanctuary of sorts, and a fine sturdy little vessel, but a place for little more than work and storage in the end. And yet now she’s showing it to the fourth friend in just a few months. Not even a Guardian… or at least not the kind she’d expected to befriend.

It’s enough to make her a little conscious of how bare and rough it looks; even the padded pilot’s chair is sort of squashed and worn from bearing the metal weight of an armored Exo several years in a row. Nonetheless, it’s the only comfortable place to sit in the small cabin space, and Blaze steers Jesse that way once he’s defrosted enough to stand.

“So everything’s built into the walls,” she explains, gesturing at one apparently-solid surface after another. “Weapon and armor storage on that side, material supplies over there, workbenches and stuff on the port side. I’ll pull down the wash unit if you want to let your coat dry off.”
rekindledtitan: (Hughes - Got a target)
TYPE: Personal log

LOCATION: Orbit, Earth

PARTIES: Three [3]. One [1] Ghost-type, [1] Guardian-type, designate Blaze-37, Class Titan [[personal profile] rekindledtitan], One [1] Unconfirmed, designate Hughes, Maes [[personal profile] bestdadinamestris]


ASSOCIATIONS: Multiversal Nexus; Maes Hughes; Earth; Multiversal Phenomena; Blaze-37; Amestris; Dr. Hill; Deep Stone Crypt; [REDACTED]




Blaze should have figured the warning signs for what they were. When the senses slow and the body insists on sinking into the nearest furniture, it ought to be a clue. But she has no memory of fatigue, no sense of whether her body is just complaining or injured or seriously needs to rest. So it’s not until their meeting at the Harp sees her stuffed with food and forced to actually sit down for a while that the torpor kicks in.

She’d like to shake it off, but the more level (and more inorganic) heads around her are able to point out that that’s not how human biology works.

She’s yawning uncontrollably when they materialize aboard her one-room jumpship. It wakes up for them with a soft hum, lights revealing a cabin just big enough for both she and Hughes to move around. Every inch of the clean metal plating looks like it’s part of some compartment or pull-out section, and that includes the floor. To sharp Exo senses it might look a bit patchwork, too: different panels have subtly different finishes; signs of repair are everywhere. There’s little sign of home comforts: just one cushy pilot’s chair, Blaze’s helmet clipped alongside it.

I’m… going to power up the life-support systems,” the Ghost says, swooping over to the controls.

Blaze tries to talk through her next yawn. “Oh… yyyeah. Good thinking. Uh.” She looks up at Hughes and waves a hand toward the star-speckled view up front. “Welcome to Earth orbit.”

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Blaze-37

July 2017

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