the horror movie toplevel [Either someone's asked you to bring a bucket of supplies or a bowl of gruel here, or you were drawn by the steam billowing out near the showers and the hissing of escaping pressure; regardless, there's a lot of effort going on here.
While the shower system was being installed, someone had confused the measurement of the full diameter of a pipe and the diameter of the pipe's insides. Consequently there are a few places where the plumbing is held together with layer on layer of thick, dripping tape. The persistent warmth and damp have let some kind of rustlike lichen bristle off of various surfaces where you don't want creatively placed bristles. Mops is working on getting these joins properly replaced and has diverted most of the flow so she can actually do it.
She seems to loom abruptly out of a cloud of too-hot-to-be-comfortable steam. If Mops had been a classic human she would have been bright pink from this heat, with eyes reddened by the irritating droplets. Since her blood is black, she's gone an unsettling dark gray instead, and the whites of her eyes are much darker than the odd shining blue of her irises. Her skin is wet, her graying hair soaked, and water forms running beads over her scuffed uniform.]
You shouldn't be here. It's hot, you could pass out.
the big noisy mess toplevel [As you're passing through the camp, you might see a big gray-tinged woman protecting her head with her arm as a major jury-rigged shelving unit she's trying to secure suffers a long overdue catastrophic failure. Shelves in different sizes and colors cascade and go sliding across the floor, canisters and little boxes tumbling and rolling out with vigor, various of them glancing off her. If they slide enough to ram into your ankles that could bruise, and the footing has gone treacherous. The shelf's sides topple and the large, heavy headboard seems to hesitate before tipping over, slow at first and then very quickly. She catches it with a loud smack of metal and plastic on flesh.
Calmly, with only a moderate amount of strained patience in her tone, Mops says something that technically translates fine but without the cultural context sounds a little off.]
...tentacle incest. This is why you don't just use glue to build furniture.
[More loudly, as she leans the headboard against the wall:]
Anyone got hit by that?
the somber toplevel [The memorial wall displays some remnant of everyone who's died on this planet, whether it's as plain as the letters of their name or a much-worn personal shrine with pictures and fresh flowers. There are thousands of names, far too many for any one visit to see them all, but Mops is giving it a try, making her slow way down the wall, sometimes stretching out an outsized hand to touch the carvings as she goes. Her face is sad and wondering. Eventually her AI, Doc, tells her Take a break, you're getting overwhelmed. They're not going anywhere, sir.
She finds a place to sit down, a wax-spattered bench where mourners come with candles, and wipes at tears. Mops is mostly addressing herself and Doc, but she does say it out loud, where anyone could hear and respond.]
Can you imagine this many people, alive?
wildcard [Mops is a tall, stocky, gray-tinged woman who has a suggestion of undeath to her, though she's very much a living person. She can mostly be found around camp, taking quickly to Sanitation with a minor side of Engineering, and being fascinated with people. Mops is playing it cool but definitely regards red-blooded humans and humanlike people in a bit of an odd way, with a kind of disbelieving, anxious for them awe.]
Marion "Mops" Adamopoulos | Janitors of the Post-Apocalypse | OTA
[Either someone's asked you to bring a bucket of supplies or a bowl of gruel here, or you were drawn by the steam billowing out near the showers and the hissing of escaping pressure; regardless, there's a lot of effort going on here.
While the shower system was being installed, someone had confused the measurement of the full diameter of a pipe and the diameter of the pipe's insides. Consequently there are a few places where the plumbing is held together with layer on layer of thick, dripping tape. The persistent warmth and damp have let some kind of rustlike lichen bristle off of various surfaces where you don't want creatively placed bristles. Mops is working on getting these joins properly replaced and has diverted most of the flow so she can actually do it.
She seems to loom abruptly out of a cloud of too-hot-to-be-comfortable steam. If Mops had been a classic human she would have been bright pink from this heat, with eyes reddened by the irritating droplets. Since her blood is black, she's gone an unsettling dark gray instead, and the whites of her eyes are much darker than the odd shining blue of her irises. Her skin is wet, her graying hair soaked, and water forms running beads over her scuffed uniform.]
You shouldn't be here. It's hot, you could pass out.
the big noisy mess toplevel
[As you're passing through the camp, you might see a big gray-tinged woman protecting her head with her arm as a major jury-rigged shelving unit she's trying to secure suffers a long overdue catastrophic failure. Shelves in different sizes and colors cascade and go sliding across the floor, canisters and little boxes tumbling and rolling out with vigor, various of them glancing off her. If they slide enough to ram into your ankles that could bruise, and the footing has gone treacherous. The shelf's sides topple and the large, heavy headboard seems to hesitate before tipping over, slow at first and then very quickly. She catches it with a loud smack of metal and plastic on flesh.
Calmly, with only a moderate amount of strained patience in her tone, Mops says something that technically translates fine but without the cultural context sounds a little off.]
...tentacle incest. This is why you don't just use glue to build furniture.
[More loudly, as she leans the headboard against the wall:]
Anyone got hit by that?
the somber toplevel
[The memorial wall displays some remnant of everyone who's died on this planet, whether it's as plain as the letters of their name or a much-worn personal shrine with pictures and fresh flowers. There are thousands of names, far too many for any one visit to see them all, but Mops is giving it a try, making her slow way down the wall, sometimes stretching out an outsized hand to touch the carvings as she goes. Her face is sad and wondering. Eventually her AI, Doc, tells her Take a break, you're getting overwhelmed. They're not going anywhere, sir.
She finds a place to sit down, a wax-spattered bench where mourners come with candles, and wipes at tears. Mops is mostly addressing herself and Doc, but she does say it out loud, where anyone could hear and respond.]
Can you imagine this many people, alive?
wildcard
[Mops is a tall, stocky, gray-tinged woman who has a suggestion of undeath to her, though she's very much a living person. She can mostly be found around camp, taking quickly to Sanitation with a minor side of Engineering, and being fascinated with people. Mops is playing it cool but definitely regards red-blooded humans and humanlike people in a bit of an odd way, with a kind of disbelieving, anxious for them awe.]