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Dawn Moor

Dawn Moor

Member Since 30 Oct 2018
Offline Last Active Today, 12:58 AM
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In Topic: Chaos Choreography [CIS Dominion | S-38]

07 February 2019 - 09:02 PM

Objective: Seek and interrogate
Wearing: Rave 
Equipment: a small tactical blaster; multi-tool; knives; various wires, diodes, resistors, and other spare parts
Post: 2
-=ENERGY=-

 

Nothing seemed more emblematic of the complexities of choreography than a media production set in a remote space station between multiple entities owned by various different private interests.  There was the production crew for the Dance or Die event, of course, but there was also the daily workings of the station crew.  This included not only security staff, in charge of keeping the crowds outside of unwanted areas, but of environmental crews, maintenance crews, docking staff, room keepers, and a plethora of other divisions that each had thin lines of communication outside of need-to-know orders to allow them to function in their jobs.  It was a such a delicate balance of choreography that a single tip, such as an invasion of a predatory species left staff utterly confused about how to carry on.

 

 

Of course, certain divisions had received word before others, such as security staff that sought to lock down the station in a discreet and unpublicized manner.  But docking staff had simply been left in the dark. So when a swelling of the panicked and confused public rushed their way into the hangers to get access to their respective shuttles, the control room was sent sprawling about to attempt to bring order into chaos.

 

In this confusion, a single transport shuttle had overridden quarantine protocols and proceeded into the hanger with little regard to staff and the confused, wealthy nobility that had hurriedly ran away from the shuttles intended landing spot in the middle of the hanger.  After settling with a hiss, the shuttle’s hatch opened and revealed its single occupant - a palish woman with freckles and a the worst case of bed-head. She stretched and yawned, rubbing her eyes.

Huddled before Dawn was a mass of surly and confused guests who were shouting over each other and throwing daggered glances in her direction while she simply placed her hands behind her head and swayed into the crowd.  With a weary and glossy gaze, Dawn meandered with purpose, sifting and shoving her way through the Never-In-My-Lifers and I-Want-To-Speak-To-The-Managers that littered the hanger floor.  A particularly familiar numbness crept along the back of her neck and skull, leaving her feeling somewhat absent minded.  But she simply went along for the ride as she instinctively knew the exact direction to head.

At the station entrance tunnel, several armed guards stood, halting a group of wealthy protesters who demanded to know, precisely, the meaning of all of this.  The security staff remained stalwart and stone-faced, even as a lavishly dressed and well-painted neimodian woman stood haughtily with puffed cheeks.

“Look at these heels.  These were my mother’s heels.  Do these heels look like hanger heels to you?  I wore these heels for Brad. Do you know what these heels do if I stand in these heels too long?  My feet turn into melons. Do you want to explain to my husband why my feet are melons?”

“Ma’m, I’m sorry for th…”

“Sol!  Sol! Where’s my husband in this Prison?  Sol!”

“I don’t know wh…”

“Don’t tell me what you know and what you don’t know.  I know you don’t know anything. I’m looking for my husband.  Are you holding him hostage? Is that what this is about? What’d he do?”

“Ma’m I don’t know know your husba…-”

“SOL!”  The woman shouted in a gruff voice.  “Somebody find my husband before my feet turn into an all-you-can-eat melon buffet for the whole station!”

Unable to tolerate the delay any longer, Dawn pushed past the woman in the fur and bluffed.  “Hey! You, with the gun and the datapad! Dawn Moor. CIS. Lookin’ for a guy named Sol. Got a Sol around here?

The solemn face of the man fell upon Dawn with utter dismay lurking behind stone cold eyes.  He slowly shook his head and muttered, “I don’t get paid enough…”

“You’re lookin’ for MY husband, young lady?”  The woman stood over Dawn, glaring down at her.  “You?! So skinny. What’s my husband doing schmoozing with this floozy?”

Lady, do you want me to find your husband or not?  Because I can just-

“You said you’re with the CIS?”  The security guard asked Dawn.

Yeah?”  She replied, staring down the very tall and portly neimodian.

The guard stepped forward and took Dawn’s arm, “Come on.  Everyone, make room. Let her pass!”

The Neimodian woman shouted at Dawn, “If you find my husband, tell him he can eat his shoes for dinner.  And have your mother make you a sandwich! Oy, these heels…”

The guard escorted Dawn to the hatch, keying in a code to open it while whispering,“I trust you know what’s out there. Be careful. And please, for all of us....find her husband.”

 

In Topic: Chaos Choreography [CIS Dominion | S-38]

05 February 2019 - 05:27 PM

Objective: Seek and interrogate
Wearing: Rave 
Equipment: a small tactical blaster; multi-tool; knives; various wires, diodes, resistors, and other spare parts

Location: On a transport cruiser heading toward Media Station

 

The trip from Delta IV to the station gave Dawn some needed rest and Dusk extra time to prepare. As the weary female laid in haphazard angles amid piles of torn food wrappers, her more studious alter-ego - unencumbered by Dawn's unconscious state - performed numerous checks on the Holonet while interfaced directly with the transport cruiser's communications relay.It was the calm before the storm, he surmised, as he rapidly caught up on the last two seasons of Dance or Die.

The mission was fairly direct in the abstract: a simple capture and interrogate operation.Not for the Confederacy of Independent Systems, but rather for a no-name local former pirate-turned-club owner on Delta IV who just happened to manage a smuggling ring of some legally sketchy spice that Dawn required for...medical purposes.Dusk's counterpart, the party-hearty Dawn, had somehow managed to charm the man into incorporating the spice trade into his business on the side, in exchange for her willing advertisement and service for a line of some new clubs.It impressed Dusk what a snarky attitude and digital skin tattoos could gain a person in the Underground.

The catch, of course, was that for the past six months, the pirate club owner had lost contact with one of his best supply logisticians in the sector - a man named Kan Kaan.He had taken on a job at a media company providing supply chain support and logistics for wealthy celebrities - a very lateral move in terms of job requirement but certainly more legally sound.

While Dusk streamed past episodes of Dance or Die, he methodically sorted through numerous records to find which celebrity Kaan had been assigned to.Due to the nature of non-disclosure agreements to protect the celebrity's image from being associated with potentially shady third-parties, finding direct information on the Holonet in regards to staffing was tricky.Instead, Dusk created multiple matrices of data correlating to behavior patterns known to him, referencing old account transfers from when Kaan served the club owner as well as quantities and frequencies of particular orders.From this, Dusk could feed the data to a sandboxed neural network, training it before feeding it public Holonet records on supplies ordered for the latest event.

Spectrum analysis and subject acquisition probability was currently at five percent.Expected completion time: two and a half hours.

Expected arrival time: six and a half minutes.

Time to wake up.


In Topic: Harsh Realm

31 January 2019 - 06:38 PM

Dawn was neither the first nor the last to be placed on a bed.However, she would be one of the last to interface with the Harsh Realm simulation.The implant at the back of the neck would directly interface with the existing SMPl CyberNerv controller chip.This interfacing took time as the controller chip performed a number of security operations to keep the implant from accessing the subdermal system and causing hiccups in Dawn's otherwise regular biological processes.

The sedative hit fast and caused a warm, tingling feeling across Dawn's body.While her consciousness slipped out during the interfacing, keen observers watching over Dawn would have caught a brief glimpse of a neon smiley projecting from her left cheek for a few brief seconds.It gave a mischievous wink, disappearing right before the interfacing had completed.

----------------------------

An empty space where the last few remaining bits of sunlight faded through the grimy windows became the spawning point of a figure that resembled, but did not fully replicate, the appearance of Dawn.Facial features were similar, but with exaggerations on jawline strength and the broadness of shoulders.Gone were many gender-specific physical attributes, favoring an androgynous physiology.And juxtaposed to the quirky grin and impatient stature was a figure of poise and calculated patience.Where the sunlight had faded, Dusk had stood in its place, and he surveyed the surroundings with a meticulous gaze.

"Now this," he spoke as his hands traced the textures of the walls and ground, "Is a VERY impressive simulation."

  


In Topic: Harsh Realm

21 January 2019 - 03:20 PM

 In direct contrast to Jairdain's visible discomfort with implants, Dawn had a hard time hiding a smirk. Of course, the implant was not something she was unaware of. Virtual Holonets would require some sort of direct interface, she surmised, and her counterpart had discussed compatibility with their CyberNerv system some time before their arrival. Though the intravenous feeding tube was new information, it, too, was hardly discomforting. Rather, Dawn saw it as a distinct advantage, as her swift metabolism was the biggest drawback to utilizing her full potential. Keep those juices flowing, she chuckled in her mind.

 What did give her some pause was the non-specific answer to her question. She had once recalled a similar sort of answer at a cantina when she had asked who had prepared, as she described, one of the most amazing soups in the outer rim. The answer was, to her great dissatisfaction, "the cook". In much the same way as how she left the cantina more satisfied with the soup than the answer, so, too, was her satisfaction met with the offered bounty. Perhaps she'd take the million credits and buy a trip to the Outer Rim for another round of soup.

 "I'm with Mr. Scarface over there." She said with a lingering smirk and a gesture in Padran's direction. "Let's get hooked up and nab us a General."


Jairdain | Caedyn Arenais | Padran Rodarch | Shoden Moz | Lucinda Larr | Dayton Santiago

 


In Topic: Deltarune | CIS Dominion of Delta IV (R, 39)

18 January 2019 - 03:53 PM

|||ENERGY|||

 

Wearing: Usual outfit. See profile.

Location: City streets, near the rave
 

Post: 1

 

 

Home is where you hide your stash...

 

A charming man with a knack for poetics once extolled the virtues of a place he called home. He had often called upon Dawn to make a visit, for one reason or another. And the naive girl indulged each time, albeit with a begrudging attitude. She meandered into the slums of a Lithios metropolis, suffered the invasive security checkpoints at the edges of the district, and trudged through the scrap and garbage that were tossed outside of the door of each residence. The building reeked of a pungent odor that stung the nose like vinegar and forced an involuntary gag reflex.  From the upper floors, peering through the streaky residues upon the cracked glass window panes, Dawn could see the rest of the district...where every shadow on every corner walked.

 

Beyond all of this stood the charming man's oasis, a museum of true art collected from garbage piles of the rich upper class or nabbed for cheap on the black market. A rooftop penthouse, he extolled, constructed of bargain materials with his own two hands.  Every amateurish bit of construction, every flaw of the lopsided abode gave the slipshod penthouse a defining character. And though the charmer spent every moment of her company poisoning her with his unsatisfactory essence, she found herself returning over and over again. Not for his abusive opportunism nor for his self-deluded musings, but for the art. The character. She left her home in the working class districts each night and ventured into the slums to submit herself because it was the only place she truly felt home.

 

This city on Delta IV reminded Dawn of home.

 

Lithios, less specifically. Or the various metropolises on its surface. Though Delta IV more closely resembled Ethos City without all of the rain. It was intriguing to Dawn how other races on other planets could form their civilizations separately, without any communication, and still develop the same sense of aesthetics. Dawn fit in on the world as if she was a native. She acquired transportation, navigated the city's labyrinth, and fit in with the local rebels, anarchists, and artists in ways that made her feel almost as if the place she once called home wasn't an invisible speck hiding beyond the neon sky.

 

But Nostalgia was not what brought Dawn to Delta IV. It was was necessity. Well, necessity with a hint of vanity. The most effective creams and oils that Dawn had come across in recent years were in short supply. Her more studious counterpart had tracked supply shipments directly to Delta IV. Particularly, the ingredients she required would be traded out from the Port. Due to the addictive nature of the substances derived from the ingredients, Dawn found the acquisition of a supply line extremely difficult. But her counterpart had arranged a meeting with a "supplier" who could circumvent restrictions and see that the constituent ingredients establish a more local market for Dawn and other interested parties.

 

Though Dawn was no stranger to bucking draconian authority, it was not a particular rebellious streak that had driven her necessity for these products. Her subdermal system required creams and oils to keep itself functional. The system had a large metabolic cost and required far too many hours of sleep for her to function in any normal society. But the ingredients in the spices, however addictive, helped trigger her nervous system into cooperating more efficiently with the technology and slightly lessen her need to sleep two-thirds of a day. It also helped cure dry skin which, as pale and thin as her skin already was, turned out to be entirely worth the risk on its own.

 

The contact offered to meet Dawn at LUX sometime around the ceremony. And while Dawn was often terrible at directions, in true Dusk fashion, she felt herself compelled instinctively. She turned where she needed to turn. She obtained rides where she needed rides, and she let her thoughts wander as she strolled along the final roads that lead to the large glass building with brilliant lights. Not that she needed her counterpart's uncanny ability to memorize maps to find that building, at least. Her eyes and ears were sufficient at that point.

 

The reverberations from the building sent waves of sensations throughout her body that, truly, she had missed. Her heart raced and a large, cheshire grin pulled at her lips. She closed her eyes and thought of a particular color pattern, and with a slight sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, her counterpart complied. Gradually, her skin literally began to glow in fantastic, rave-like patterns as lines of morphing neon-hued tattoos streaked across her skin and face. She rolled up the sleeves of her jacket to show more of her arms and hands. The luminous tattoos shifted, displaying colorful spirographs and fractal patterns. And along her forearm, Dawn could see a display of her sleep and energy levels color-coded with a single status bar that showed a pinkish off-white shade.

 

With a deep breath, Dawn made her way into LUX to show the Deltans how Lithiosians party back home.

 

Welcome home.


|||ENERGY|||