time walking on.

Roz Whitlock (they/them) is a 36-year-old Unsouled who works as a Fisherman and looks a lot like Theo Germaine.

Biography

Like many Leoran children, Roz grew up happy—the kind that comes from security, safety, and the certainty of a society where people were cared for. It felt like a promise: they’d be part of this when they grew up, just like everyone around them. 

Roz’s mana didn’t manifest when they were ten, but late bloomers weren’t uncommon. There was nothing wrong with waiting a little longer, as their parents were quick enough to reassure them. Nothing happened at fifteen either, so they waited more. Roz could be patient. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—the years continued to pass, but nothing changed. Their parents didn’t talk about late bloomers anymore.

Roz turned twenty and stopped waiting. 

it’s a small thing. friday night, the restaurant is busy. if there isn’t a seat after all, it doesn’t have to mean anything. it’s more frustrating that the hostess first asked who else was with them, gaze drifting past roz’s shoulders like she was expecting to find a chaperone—followed immediately by a string of unnecessary clarifications, as if realizing what she was doing. by the end of it, roz is fairly certain she was more uncomfortable than they were, and it’s a relief when they slip back outside.

roz hasn’t gone far from the restaurant when they pause again though, distracted by the sight of a woman seemingly in the midst of readjusting the brace wrapped around her leg. the technology looks leoran in nature. admittedly, they’d lost their childhood interest in the specifics of leoran tech in other the years—although with the revelation of energy cores, that’s changed too. whatever the purpose of the brace though, it doesn’t seem like it’s behaving the way the woman wants. 

“need any help?” roz says. where she appears dressed up for the night, roz hasn’t bothered. they aren’t in work clothes, but they’re comfortable, and they usually have extra tools tossed in their bag for convenience in case they forget to pack something the morning of a shift—and maybe there’s a little sentimentality too, in at least one case. 

Roz is a deeply loyal person. In a platonic sense, they’re committed to their community and their family, even if those relationships aren’t always easy. 

Falling in love in the romantic sense seems like a wonderful thing other people do, though. This is not to say that Roz is aro, but more that they’ve distanced themself from the idea of a romantic relationship out of equal parts practicality and self-defense. 

“roz.”, she repeats their name, “i’m ever so pleased to make your acquaintance, roz.” only used to the formalities of the collective, she’s a little confused wether it’s their first name or last name, but she doesn’t ask and simply goes with it. 

“let’s talk about the engine first..it does send out some heavy vibrations depending on how fast one flies. for this training session we’re going with mach 1, i’d say..so around 1225 kilometers per hour? i’d raise training up to two, which is around double of that..well, you would definitely feel it depending on how far out we are.” the sergeant pointed towards the different engines on the paper. “noise levels are low, it’s probably the water that will make the most noise. the new generation jets are almost quiet, one could say.” she gestures towards some of the larger ships visible far away. “as loud as one of these.”

as an answer to their question, she shakes her head. “definitely not. since we land and take off at the spaceport, no greenery will be destroyed at all. unless one of my students decides to drown themselves, then, yes, greenery will be destroyed. trusting my abilities as a teacher, though..”

“since it’s useful for my colleagues, too, i can offer you a flight in one of our duo jets. you can show me the routes i could use, and you get an idea of how loud and disturbing they are.” a kind smile curls around her lips.

“it’s also quite the experience. i wouldn’t advise saying yes if you get sick easily, though. cleaning the jets is quite the..task.”

it’s hard to imagine what 1225 kilometers per hour would feel like, let alone double that. the bullet train and the passenger seat of an m.car are the fastest things roz has ever ridden. even those can feel fast when compared to walking or slowly guiding their boat out to sea. roz nods along though, as if they can make sense of those numbers.

the important parts are straightforward, at least—the jets are quieter than expected, and the sergeant’s already considered the risk to the plants scattered by the coastline. as for the vibrations, the further out they fly, the further down the majority of the aquatic life will be. combine that with timing their training to avoid fishing or pleasure vessels, and sasha and her students will likely be fine. and anyway, luckily for sasha and her students, leora has no shortage of ocean.

her next comment interrupts their train of thought though. “you could do that?” roz says, the surprise as obvious as their desire to take her up on the offer. 

Laeponia had felt a bit silly, leaving the training wing only to return less than an hour later — but she’d had the day off, and in lieu of actual work in the frustratingly lax Leoran schedule, she’d spent the majority of the morning keeping her skills sharp. Drenched in sweat wasn’t how she would’ve preferred to present herself to her… friend?

The General didn’t exactly have friends, not on Leora, and not necessarily the young Unsouled that greeted her with an enthusiasm that made even Laeponia smile to herself. It was a vestigial bit of prejudice, she had to remind herself, but to Laeponia, the Unsouled were easier for her to stomach than the human race. She found she neither resented nor felt sorry for them, instead allowing herself to feel a sense of kinship in feeling, well. Slightly cast aside.

Even that sentiment was unnecessarily dramatic when Laeponia was well aware of how important her appointment was to the Collective, so she shrugged the feeling off as she let her smile soften, crossing the threshold to greet Roz. “These are perfect — thank you for finding a few things to bring.” She didn’t know much about Roz’s life, but assumed most of the amenities they did have must’ve been modified to suit what society viewed as their deficiency.

Not one for small talk, because when was she ever, Laeponia crossed to survey the assortment of tech. The General’s personal energy core mana translator was a bracelet of twisted silver around a replaceable shimmering crystal, relatively simple but still far too ornate for the Venpalan’s minimalist proclivities — but she was certain the Leoran jeweler would’ve expired if she asked for anything plainer, so Laeponia had let it go. Regardless, it’d become a comfortable weight at her wrist Laeponia was now thoroughly used to, and she’d picked up on the channeling of energy into devices such as these with the swift acumen she picked up anything else.

Now, she allowed a light trickle of mana to slide down her slender fingertips, reaching towards a small tactical flashlight to flick the light on with a touch, and then off again. “Should we start with this today?” It seemed like the simplest option as Laeponia settled herself into the chair opposite Roz, quietly grateful they’d gone through the trouble to produce a table and chairs for today’s practice. Laeponia set the flashlight on end between them, pointed towards the ceiling, then slid the silver cuff from her wrist and set it in front of Roz with the same subdued smile. The more she got used to using the core and integrating it with her everyday life, the less comfortable she was with someone else using it, but the sentiment was filed away as ‘silly’ as Laeponia gestured towards the flashlight. “Just have a go turning it on and off a few times.”

Their cell phone chimed beside them, flashing the translated version of the general’s words on the screen. Although imperfect, it was enough to communicate by, especially when combined with Laeponia's actions. Roz picked up the bracelet from the table gingerly, attentive as ever as they handled the energy core. It wasn’t theirs, it wasn’t something they could afford on their own, and it still surprised them she would trust them with it—but more than any of that, it was what the energy cores represented. 

This bracelet didn’t contain a true mana core, but it was the closest Roz would ever get. If Roz could afford one of their own someday, it would open up parts of Leora that they’d never thought would be theirs. They’d only tested it on small objects, like the ones littering the table now, but it felt monumental each time. How many times had they seen another Leoran casually light a flashlight like this one without even thinking? Other Leorans took that power for granted; Roz didn’t. 

So Roz reached towards the flashlight next, just as carefully. There was a moment of fear—the anxiety that, somehow, they wouldn’t be able to do this either. 

But, no. It didn’t happen as quick or as bright as Laeponia's attempt, but as they concentrated, the light flickered on and off. Roz’s face lit up in turn. They let out a surprised laugh, gaze locked onto the reedy beam of light. It was the energy core doing this, not Roz, but it was them, too. They could still feel the tingle of what they could only assume was the core’s version of mana in their fingertips, even as they broke their connection with the flashlight. 

Vito stares uncomprehendingly at the cellphone in the other’s hands for a heartbeat before understanding washes through him. This must be an Unsouled. Wiping away their previous observations, the beastkin looks over the fisherman once more, a more curious expression on his face this time. While he’s been on this planet for over a month, he hasn’t run into any known Unsouled throughout that time. It seems it truly is impossible to differentiate between a Human, a Leoran, and an Unsouled from visual cues alone. 

As his pin translates the other’s words, Vito simply nods his head. He hasn’t had a chance to experience the common to leoran translation cellphone application specifically, but he’s quite familiar with the Collective’s translation apps for other languages. Simply put, they aren’t great. The Collective may be a functional alliance with a plethora of assistance programs, but unlike Leora, they operate largely as a capitalistic society bent on bleeding money from their citizens however they can. If they can charge chits for improved apps, translation pins, courses taught by a native, or implant, they’re going to.

“Nice to meet you, Roz,” the man parrots automatically, his easy smile the product of countless introductions on innumerable planets throughout his life. “Nah, just sleepless. The marina is usually empty at this time of night so I’ve found wandering the docks can be just boring enough to bring on drowsiness.” Well, that and he’d had his most interesting run-in on this planet thus far (if one discounts the fact he ran into Stell and Indigo), at the marina.

This time, the application on their cell phone is slightly faster, as if acclimated to moving between Common and Leoran now. Unfortunately, that can be a tradeoff too, leading to a translation that doesn’t look nearly as smooth this time around. That’s typical of this programming, they’ve found. It works, but not always as reliably as they’d like. It works, but not as well as what everyone else has. Roz is familiar with that feeling, though. And anyway, this is still leagues better than complete isolation from the Collective members.  

Often, Roz can use context to piece together the message regardless, but they don’t know this man well enough for that. The first part makes sense—Vito’s sleepless, and Roz can easily guess that the marina is usually emptiness is just an error with the grammar. The next part takes some deciphering. 

the person standing in front of her had to be what leorans called an ‘unsouled’, but she neither cared about supposed magic nor about whatever that meant for them. she was there to get questions answered - and if they were the one that could give her said answers, then it was a win, no matter who or what they were.

after taking a few steps forward, she pulled a dossier out of her bag, opened it and placed it on a barrel, ignoring the smell of fish (she didn’t mind it, anyway, she was used to eating fish and barely anything else). “it’s a new class, they just joined the program a few months ago. before i take them for their first training mission, i would like them to learn how to be more precise. meteorites and stars are far more dangerous than water, so i’m sure you see were i’m coming from..” 

the starfleet sergeant pointed her finger towards a few photos of the jets. “i’m not quite sure how much you know about starships and starjets? honestly, i’ll just need to know where exactly i will disturb the least fisherpeople. and what time you would deem as the best. but i could also give you a quick rundown on how much noise they make and how the engines behave near water and during low flights?”

while she waited for the fisher’s answer, sasha used the chance to analyze their appearance a little. they looked fairly normal, were quite pretty and had something really kind and welcoming to them. compared to most other fishers, they looked less drawn from life. due to that, she wasn’t quite sure if she’d addressed the right person - but she would know as soon as they answered her questions.

after double checking that their vessel was secure, roz stepped up onto the dock themself for a closer look at the dossier. “i’m roz, by the way,” they said belatedly, as they leaned in close enough to see the details of the aircraft in the photos. sasha was correct in assuming that they didn’t know much about the collective’s ships, but they wanted to. 

leorans had invented amazing technology, but nothing native to their planet could take people up to the meteorites and the stars—and even if they did, roz imagined it would run on mana. everything the collective brought was unfamiliar that way, created by the ingenuity of species that didn’t have mana at their fingertips. who could blame roz for their fascination? 

“a rundown on the engine and the noise levels would be great,” roz said. convenient, that their natural curiosity aligned with the information they’d need to help the sergeant anyway. “do fighter jets have the same impact on plants that the starships do?” they looked back to sasha now, thinking of the lack of greenery around the spaceport. 

Roz definitely puts insects back outside. Honestly, assuming they aren't harmful to food supplies, indoor greenery, or anyone living inside, Roz doesn't mind letting some bugs hang out in their house and find their own way outside later. 

While enjoying the festivities of the Food & Wine Festival, you begin to notice a distinctive change in your vision. Colors begin to gently shift and blur until you perceive the world in painted brushstrokes. You have been dosed with a large amount of the Collective drug Dorian.

Before the Collective, Roz might’ve avoided an event like this one. It isn’t the crowd, although it’s sometimes a shock to the system after their normally quiet days. It’s the way anything remotely alcoholic makes their own community look at them like they’re a child—it isn’t lost on them that it was easier to steal drinks when they were a child, and it was just school kids playing at adulthood. Their friends from back then grew into something new, though, and Roz didn’t.

But like so many things now, the promise of learning more about the other worlds beyond their own calls them to the first annual festival each weekend. They like the name too: first, like the council plans to do this each year, like Leora will continue to evolve around them. Roz is happy enough to focus on the stalls run by members of the Collective today, sampling from plates of unfamiliar foods and drinks. 

Their cell phone translator can’t keep up with the background noise and the side conversations, of course, leaving them lost half of the time. Last week, Roz remembers the frustration over that. Today, the distance makes the event feel almost dreamlike. 

It’s hard to feel bad, anyway, as they find themself a seat on a nearby bench, watching people from varying planets walk past. The slight breeze is warm as it blows past, causing the florals and greenery around them to rustle and shimmer slightly in the sunlight. Despite their fascination with the Collective and what they bring, Roz will never deny their love for their home planet. Leora is beautiful.

They trace the path of the breeze through the plants around them, eventually finding themself staring at the swirls of warm green, vivid yellow, and golden brown in a nearby tree. It stretches up tall above the market, nature intertwined with community in typical Leoran fashion. Roz watches a single point on the bark long enough that the edges of their vision go soft and indistinct. 

That doesn’t go away when Roz blinks, though. Nor does it go away when they reorient themself to the bench and their body, the slightly sweetened drink in their hands that was supposed to be some kind of juice. Even that looks softer, with the pale colors of the drink, the translucent glass, and their own hand holding it all melting together.

If they’d noticed it sooner, before the sensation settled in, maybe they would’ve been concerned. Instead, it’s fascinating—from the well-worn patterns on the soles of their shoes to the composition of blues in the sky above them, the shift in their vision grows more evident as the moments tick by.

Abandonment  » How would your muse win back someone who left them?

Blood  » What’s the worst injury your muse has ever had?

Boogeyman  »  What was your muse’s greatest fear as a child?

Change  »  What was a turning point in your muse’s life?

Closet Monsters  »  Does your muse hide aspects of their life from others?

Clowns  »  Does your muse prefer comedy? Or horror?

Crowds  »  What does your muse think of industrial cities?

Curses  »  Does your muse believe in luck? How about karma?

Death  »  Name one thing your muse has lost that they wish they could get back.

Disease  »  What does your muse do on a sick day?

Dolls  »  Has your muse ever collected something?

Failure  »  Has your muse ever given up on an important dream?

Falling  »  What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?

Fire  »  Would your muse rather be very cold, or very hot?

Getting Old  »  Would your muse rather live 50 years loved, or 200 years alone?

Ghosts  »  Has your muse ever seen something they couldn’t explain?

Heights  »  Is your muse a risk-taker?

Insects  »  Name something your muse finds gross or annoying.

Mirrors  »  What is your muse’s least favorite thing about their appearance?

Needles  »  Does your muse have a strong stomach?

Noise  »  Name one sound your muse finds absolutely unbearable.

Number 13  »  Does your muse believe any superstitions?

Snakes  »  Would your muse ever keep an unusual/exotic pet?

Social Phobia  »  Does your muse enjoy family gatherings?

Solitude  »  Name 3 things your muse couldn’t live without.

Spiders  »  Does your muse squish bugs or put them outside?

The Dark  »  Did your muse sleep with a nightlight as a child?

The Unknown  »  Is your muse a philosophical person?

The training facilities lingered in that uncomfortable in-between for Roz. Technically speaking, there was nothing strange about them spending time here. They could adjust the Collective equipment scattered throughout the building for any species, including Unsouled Leoran. Practically speaking, without even iron rank, they were always going to be one of the weakest Leorans. 

They didn’t want to feel self-conscious about that fact, but what they wanted to feel wasn’t the same as the truth. Easier to leave the training facility alone, and let their job keep them strong—as strong as they could be, at least. 

Today, though, they’d ventured in past the main training areas, waiting instead in one of the open multipurpose rooms. The space was empty enough for dancing or sparring, although as with any Leoran architecture there was greenery climbing the walls and curling down from arches in the ceiling. For today, Roz had dragged in a table and a mismatched set of chairs. General Indso seemed too dignified to sit on the floor. 

Roz was a loyal Leoran, but sometimes, they liked the outworlders better—today felt like one of those times, as they stared at the eclectic collection of basic tech they’d piled onto the table. Simple things, but things that would be useless in Roz’s hands alone, even with the revelation of the energy cores. It would be a long, long time before they could afford one of their own.

Somehow, though, General Indso didn’t mind letting Roz practice with hers. They brightened when they saw her at the doorway now, giving her a half-smile from where they sat cross-legged in one of the chairs. “I didn’t know what would work best,” they said, gesturing towards the table. 

It was easy to think of things they couldn’t use, but not as easy to figure out what would transport easily. They’d love to learn to drive, for example, but they could hardly fit an m.car into the training facility or ask the General to teach them something so complex. They’d settled on what they could find around their house—small appliances their family likely wouldn’t need this afternoon, flashlights forgotten in emergency kits, a portable radio.

Russo approaches casually, unhurried as he draws ever closer to the vessel and the lone fisherman about to depart for the night. Morning? A bit of both if he’s being honest, teetering on the brink between one and the other. As the now-familiar lilt of Leoran reaches him, the bud in his left ear begins to translate. Vito started attending the lectures on Leoran at the University a week ago, but he’s far from fluent, so the translator pin and accompanying earbud are a new constant in his life.

“Hey,” he replies in common, assuming the other’s implant will do the translating for him. “Nah, I don’t need anything; just heard some noises and decided to check it out.” He gestures down to his uniform, “I’m not on duty or anything, just wandering.” There’s a pause as he decides whether or not to continue the conversation. On one hand, this individual is obviously just working and thus not doing anything of nefarious (nor particularly interesting), so he doesn’t really need to hang around. On the other hand, it’d be a bit strange for him to interrupt and then leave abruptly.

“Name’s Vito. You headin’ out for the day? Tides seem right for it, not that I’m an expert or anything.”

As the man walks closer, the Starfleet uniform becomes unmistakable. An outworlder then. Luckily, Roz’s cell phone is still a novelty—although admittedly, they doubt they’ll ever tire of it. They stash it on their boat even for solitary days, close enough that Roz has it in hand before the man finishes speaking.

“Sorry. It takes a second,” Roz says, well aware that their phone isn't as fast as an implant. They're silent for a moment, squinting at the screen as it registers the sentences in Common, then translates them into the more familiar Leoran script. 

The delay itself doesn't bother them. After all, cell phones are a new piece of technology, translating the words of someone from another planet. A year ago, none of this would've been possible. Still, though, it must be easier to speak to the average Leoran, with the convenience of an implant on their side.

“Ah, but you don’t have the foggiest idea what your catch actually is.” 

Tiago favoured Roz with a condescending smile, his fingers moving along the ligament that the bladders hung from, making them bob and dance in the air. It really was an excellent specimen. “Before I took over this restaurant,” he said, “and made it the best in Sotiris, I used to do diving expeditions. There were plenty of things I learned about but never had use for, until now.”

Roz was sour, but that was to be expected. Tiago was accustomed to it and it didn’t upset him any; Roz was a tradesperson, after all, here to provide a service. Tiago didn’t expect any fine manners, but he did like having an audience even if it was sullen.

Beckoning Roz even closer, Tiago held up the line of bladders. “Some of the water creatures,” he said in a more hushed, rapturous tone, “the ones who live in colder waters, for some reason, have developed small organs like this. You’re looking at the fish equivalent of a mana core.”

He didn’t wait for Roz to protest, laughing merrily and riposting his own comment: “I know, I know – animals already have mana stones! But these are different. At least, that’s my theory. I think it’s an evolutionary step between mana stones and cores. Maybe it’s natural, maybe it’s the result of some scientists genetically modifying creatures that were let loose back into the wild, to see what happens naturally, but they’re different. I’m pretty sure they’re different.” 

Tiago squinted harder at one of the pearls, jerking erratically within one bladder’s fluid. “Here,” he said abruptly, thrusting the whole strand at Roz. “You have a knife, I’m sure. Cut that one open.”

Roz crossed their arms, not making any moves towards a blade or the bladders, even when Tiago shoved the strand closer. “Interesting theory.” They didn’t sound interested. They did stare though, watching the pearls inside jump and spin with the movement. What would it mean if even the creatures around Leora could do what Roz couldn’t? 

They couldn’t tell if it was truly ridiculous, or if they just wanted it to be. They couldn’t stand Tiago, but that didn’t mean he was lying. Roz couldn’t think of why he would lie about this. He was too self-absorbed to spin a tale just to upset Roz. Frankly, Roz doubted he thought about them enough to care what they felt.

They swallowed, hard, and tore their gaze away. “What makes you think they’re different?”

And, yes, Roz had a knife. Tiago wasn’t wrong about that, even if he might be wrong about these creatures. Roz often had more than one on them, depending on the job that needed doing. Fish often needed to be gutted and cleaned before delivering (the bulk to restaurants and shops; the remains to compost), lines needed to be cut, reef nets needed to be occasionally overhauled to ensure safe release of any accidental bycatch. Menial to some, but it always left Roz with the quiet sense of a job well done.