crystal;

[grindset]

FORM: sending crystal
SENDER: Viktor
RECIPIENT: all
NOTES: crowdsourcing ideas For Science. strongly encourage hijacking/chaos/making it weird.

Good afternoon. This is not an urgent message. If you're engaged in anything serious, please accept our apologies for the interruption... and... and be safe, wherever you are.

[This is not a common voice to hear over the crystals—nor does the speaker emerge from Research's rooms very often, at that. In fact, even after a year and a half, there may yet be some people he's never really spoken to. He sounds slightly nervous, somewhat less so as he goes on:]

But those who can spare a moment... you are invited to imagine, [softly clearing his throat,] to imagine a ship... only, unlike the ships you might have seen to date, this one was built to traverse the sky. And this flying ship, it is yours—and now, you must finish outfitting it. Add any contrivance or convenience you might wish, whether practical or extravagant, for personal comfort or professional efficiency. Cost is of trivial concern, and the laws of physics yield to your every whim. Whatever you imagine can be realized.

So... what do you add to it? What does it do?

Comments

[pathlit]

[ !! ]

Are you open to consultation?

[charmoffensive]

Of c—

[ Wait. ]

Well, perhaps that depends. You know, on what I might hope to gain from my invaluable insights.

[heirring]

We will need someone to test how it flies.

[Just kidding, Wysteria is piping up after all—a tinny voice on the background of Viktor's crystal.]

[pathlit]

And someone whose operated an airship can give us pointers in designing an intuitive user interface.

[charmoffensive]

And then after, they get to test how it flies, yes?

[pathlit]

Can't imagine a better candidate.

[charmoffensive]

Fantastic.

[ What were they asking him? Oh, right— ]

Consultation! It'd be a privilege.

[pathlit]

Great. Viktor and Madame de Fonce are the heads of this project. I'm, uh... [ ah ha. ] ... their assistant, Jayce. Availability's pretty open on our end.

[grindset]

[A swift interjection:]

We're colleagues.