oropharynx.syg
Everything I wrote in character for the Baseline Drift live-text role-play wargame from May 29th to June 14th.
Baseline Drift, Year 1 Season 1. Rewritten and run by Just Kaylee and Yakamo, based on Over/Under written by Sam Sorensen (samsorensen.blot.im), with edits and clarifications by Hawk Cohen, and, combat consulting by Kara Ling, May 2026.)
Chances are, if you're reading this, you know what Baseline drift is, but if not, I recommend Yakamo's overview and retrospective.
I played in Over/Under last year (best explained by The Garden Below or by Sam Sorensen's initial rundown for the game) so I was excited to return to the medium of Live Text Roleplay. I didn't have much time to engage, unfortunately, so I mostly slunk around the edges while a colony ship 180+ years overdue for landing tore itself apart around us.
I have thoughts about the design and format changes, the format/medium at large, and so on, that I hope to get in a later blogpost if I can scrape together the time and energy.
Oropharynx was enfleshed in a transparent, industrial skin layer for maintenance and protection, exposing muscles, organs, teeth. I realized, later, how much I feel like that sometimes.
As a peripheral player, what lies in the negative space here is the whole rest of the game. Over a hundred players, countless threads, a whole wargame churning out of my view. What follows here is more claustrophobic, more contained than the experience of play. In some ways it is an inversion of a game defined by a multitude of voices, by a sense of density and expanse. It is an artifact of play I hope reveals something.
Much love and gratitude to the Wardens, mods, and everyone I had a chance to play alongside.
Oropharynx
it/its
Translucent sheath of aftermarket integument guards pulsing innards.
The Floor Recruitment
Something presses into the space, resolving eventually into a humanlike figure, jacketed in translucent aftermarket synthflesh. Fingertips brush the floor, at the end of two long arms, double-elbowed. Voice rasps out beneath exposed tissue.
I have. I have come to ask for — Work. I was Made for it. Forgotten a long time. I am here, now. My needs are few, and Sensations do not Bother me. I will give for the ship as it has given. Please. Let me work.
It approaches the terminal, enters a message.
"MADE 2 WORK > PLS LET ME WRK > YRS OROPHRYNKXS"
Two hands clasp in polite supplication. Is it ... crying? Hard to tell. Fluid, certainly, streaks down its sides. It is slick with perspiration.
Thank You. I am forever grateful. My Work shall be plentiful and Good. My body, given to the ship, as it was made.
It is Good to say. I was alone so long. I am ... Glad to be here.
I shall Report to the Gathering Place. Thank uuu. Thank You.
Exeunt Oropharynx, wetly.
sector-corridors
It appears near Krieg's shoulder.
But there is a Beast. Bellyful and bouteous. Far beneath. The Beast carries us all.
Veins and organs, stitched tight. All in motion. We are the Children of the Beast, friend.
Oropharynx recoils, too. Almost as surprised.
SORRY. Sorry. I am — I apologize. For my presence.
Tissues squirm beneath see-through skin.
I am with ... The Floor. They are going to give me Work.
Thank You. I wish you Beautiful Work. HELLO. HELLO. IT IS GOOD TO HEAR YOU.
HELLO!
THAT IS GOOD. WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND INSIDE THE MACHINE?
ALL THINGS IN PROPORTION.
It has a Healthful Fragrance.
Sensing it is unwelcome, Oropharynx withdraws into the belly of the Navis Caeli.
sector-corridors
A crackle in the back of the throat, a raised hand from an arm with two elbows.
I have been — Busy, unpacking my Belongings. I have a Question.
The Navis Caeli is not — Forever?
The body dies and We die within. Yes.
Yes. I have seen many Waiting Deaths.
It comes slowly. But it Comes.
The body Goes. In pieces at a time. The shape coming undone. The moisture Departing.
I am Listening and I do Not understand.
And the Floor has Fed us.
Oropharynx offers, trying to be helpful. It perhaps does not understand the tone, here.
cigarette? They say they are Good with Egg.
A fistful of cigarettes, extended. Veins pulse beneath the hand.
Oropharynx is smoking several cigarettes at once. Smoke forms an anti-halo. It smells terrible. It is in this carcinogenic fog that they begin to nod off against a rib of the corridor.
And begin to dream of a Great Fish, swimming alone through the dark…
There are plenty of cigarettes, and the offer remains. The Floor provides.
Please … Take!
Voice hazy with inhalants and drowsiness after a long shift.
Visibility in the corridor decreases progressively. The fire suppression system does not activate because the ship is 186 years overdue. So it goes.
The mind has Wandered, and we have Gone with it.
sector-corridors
Oropharynx passes a nondescript, crumpled Floor-issue carton. Cigarettes spill forth.
It nods, coughing.
I do have — Coin.
It is a Good coin.
Would you … like a Coin?
Mmm — no corn. Sadly no. I have — this.
A hand slithers into a pocket, extracts a handful of something that scrapes and clatters. Fingers open to reveal crisp, dehydrated tubers, thick with starch and chalky-tasting.
And it is Not Good.
Sometimes you need to Eat to Survive. But it is not Living.
I should — Sleep. Rest well, friends. There is beauty in Work and Other Bodies. May we wake to see it.
Oropharynx gathers up an insulated cloak around its lanky and translucent body, passes around a few more cigarettes, and departs down the corridor, to find its new bunkhole.
Hand Recruitment & Public Offices
Oropharynx moves into the office, bag over shoulder, muscles heaving beneath clear duracoat skin.
HELLO. HELLO. PLESE. I WLD LIKE 2 JOIN? I AM CALLED HRE. THNK — SOMETHING MUST — DIE. CRPSE OVRDUE. IT MST REST. WE MST — KILL.
I WLL HELP. IF YOU WLD TAKE MY HLP. I AM /READY FOR THE WRK AHED
sector-corridors
Nobody Lives without The Floor. They have Worked to keep ALIVE. It is the Work. They are Not here to kill.
I think. Maybe — I am Wrong? But I do not Think. That I am Wrong. The ship is Wrong. It is a prison, guided by a Corpse. It must End. The Corpse is not an Anyone.
And I have Cigarettes for those that Desire a Cigarette.
Oropharynx does have cigarettes. So many of them. Freely given.
Is that Not — what they are For?
Oh — then I am Sorry.
I thought they were a Throat through which Smoke should Pass.
So I have been Maximizing this Beautiful Process.
This is — why the Walls are Yellow?
Oropharynx, uh, does not stop smoking. This is how it is awake. It does not really sleep. Not much.
It lopes off down the corridor, to make preparations. It has been Called.
sygned-neural-network
IT BAD HRE > HPE EVRY1 IS OK > DNOT DSPAIR
W3 WLL CME THRU THE OTHR SIDE > IN TIM3
I THINK > I DNOT KNW > IT IS HRD 2 KNW
WHT IS TRU ANYMR
IT ABSLTLY HAS!
THRE IS NO AIR???
TH MIND HS TAKEN THE AIR
sector-corridors
Oropharynx plods slowly through the hall, eyes closed and twitching, mind elsewhere. Translucent hand clutching cigarettes double, the tips flickering only barely, the smoke heavy and dark, already hypoxic. Its lungs wheeze within a reconstructed ribcage.
It snaps to attention before the bandaged figure of CMDR. Thorn.
It swiftly ... eats the cigarettes, makes a solemn salute.
sygned-neural-network
RUN: horse.syg
WTF IS THS THNG. CLOSE.
DELETE MEMORY: HORSE
sector-corridors
Orders? Commander. I am Ready.
I am Sorry for what must be Done. I will not be Sorry to do it.
It needs to Die. It is already Dead.
Corpse. Has held us here.
sygned-neural-network
SUDO DELETE MEMORY: HORSE
sector-corridors
Oropharynx scuttles up.
Cigarettes in hand. Many cigarettes.
yes. it is Here
yes, when there is Not oxygen, we cannot smoke.
I cannot do Math.
I did not know Hypocrisy was Worse than Killing. That the Dirt. That the Violence of this time is less than questions. Than speaking. Than seeing.
That the Taxonomy of these Things is more than the Things, and Lives themselves.
sector-corridors
The Work is not against Shipmind, but the Corpse. To the wretched Thing which Held us here. Made us to Work. To die in the dark.
sygned-neural-network
WE R HAUNTED IN TH SHP > IN OUR BDIES > THS IS NO DFFRNT > IS IT?
THS PLCE IS A MRROR > FR A GRVYRD
BDIES UPON BDIES > CFFN IN THE DARK
I WSH THRE WS DEMO 4 BNG ALIVE > BT NOOOOOOOOOOO
DID ANY1 ASK ME? > ORPHRNXKS! DO U WNT TO B ALIVE? > HE DID NT ASK > I WS MDE 2 B STCK HRE
2 DIE HRE
no no no the funeral/porno dichotomy is extremely important to understanding this kind of game
sygned-neural-network
U R ALL FAMILY??? > NO WNDR THIS IS SO FCKD UP
SO — WHT IS THE NEW/OLD LCKWD LIKE?
DO WE KNW? > OR IS A MYSTRY RISEN FROM ICE?
WHT A MESS > IM GLAD I DO NT HAV A FAMILY
I AM NT GLAD THEY DECANTD ME FRM GRWTH VAT INTO LABOR BODY BUT I DIGRSS
the-round-table
My body is Ready for service, in this Work. As if it was the only Work I have known. The Lockwoods sentenced us All to death a long time ago. This changes Nothing.
sector-corridors
Solemnly, head bowed.
The Hot Dog represents the Great Heat which OA experienced upon Reaching the air.
Unlike Kepler, Oropharynx does not worry about grave social blunders, is hazy on the notion of society in general. It comes into the halls of the panopticon in a surplus overcoat, long stored, carrying the smell of dust and petroleum.
Hello there. Do you feel Safe?
Wet eyes. All its teeth visible through the side of its head.
I am Here to make sure Everyone feels Safe. Which is Hard to feel now.
Do not let me stop you from talking. They were some Beautiful Words.
It is Good to share, and words are good for Sharing.
There is much Bodies and material have done in recent days. It is Good to think of something that cannot Touch. That cannot Hit.
Oropharynx tries to return the smile. It is ... upsetting.
I did not Know there was another World. I hope to see it.
I think what is Higher for me may be to help Destroy what is holding us here. That my Body will be given to the ship. I Fear this. I welcome it.
And I ... Think I am wrong for coacoa and a Companion? But I hope, Kepler, that you see this, in Time.
As I hope for all the ship to Feel safe and know Peace.
Oropharynx nods, carefully.
As though afraid to break something.
the-round-table
You are All very Brave. Know that we will be Waiting to hear you are Safe every moment you are Gone.
This Work is good. It may let us Strike the rotten center of the Ship. Set us All free.
the-round-table
We will Maintain the Light.
So ... did We ... Win?
Is that ... It?
And what now?
Hands off (OOC)
Sooooo, does Baseline Drift become a sports game now?
the-round-table
They All Lived. And we have Won.
I think. I think we have Won.
We will See about that part.
bartanical
Oropharynx comes into the bar, full Hand regalia, a plume of zip-ties sticking up from a repurposed industrial helmet, smoking a cigar. Sits to join the other Caelians.
I did not Know there was a World outside the Body of the Caeli. Until the last few cycles.
It had not Reached where I was. I never Understood. It is a lot to Understand.
No, there is something Frightening about it. It is Beautiful, too. And I ... it is good to feel like there is Something Else in the world. Other than corridors, stretching off forever.
But it is so Far away. And so ... New. And it does not Belong to us and We do not belong to it.
Though, I hear they cannot Turn Off the Air on the planet.
And that Would be good.
It continues puffing on a HEALTHFUL™ Brand cigar
I will have what the Receptor is Having, as well Please.
How ... Much bigger?
Here's to That!
Do we Know the landing plan? Is the Whole Body ... all the Caeli landing?
Or will we be thrown to the surface?
So some Could stay ... up Here.
Not that ... it would be easy without All of Us.
Not that it is easy with Us All.
Because there are Not those things Below. I Understand.
Work beyond Anyone Alone.
I am Glad the Floor will be there.
They let Me leave. Have you ... asked?
HERE HERE!
And I would like the Same except with Alcohol to obscure the taste of alcohol.
Lovely.
Done.
Transferred 15 Floor coin. to CMD Yesera Bolter
Oropharynx catches the bottle. Its fingers are long and see-through. Muscle and bone works in tandem just under the surface. Industrial coating grips tight.
It smiles widely. You can already see all its teeth through the sides of its face.
Oropharynx looks inside its wallet. It has so many Floor Coins.
I have so Many Floor Coins.
It is Incredible what not paying to Live will do for Personal Finances.
Maybe we should Destroy the Ruling Class more often.
Here is to Ellis, and TRAPPIST, and the ... Etta R. Hand Memorial Swimming Baths and Sports Complex.
It raises the bottle of vodka. Takes a long, long drink.
And to Caelians, All. Another drink.
Oropharynx slides a few more Floor Coins across the bar for the next bottle.
Transferred 15 Floor coin. to CMD Yesera Bolter
WELCOME!
THIS IS A GOOD BAR!
Oropharynx has not been to the bar before, either.
We will get to SEE SO MUCH.
You can Swim Every Day at the Etta R Hand Memorial Swimming Baths and Sports Complex ... when it is Open.
I do Understand an Ocean may be different. More complete. I am Sure I will love the Baths. But I know it is not the Same.
I hear that it Moves without Work.
It takes a thoughtful swig off the bottle. Sets it gentle down on the counter. Rests both its left elbows beside the bottle, and puts its chin on its hand. Stares across and into the overwhelming foliage, as the leaves scatter UV rays.
Each arm has two elbows for shipboard manipulation, two forearms (distal and proximal) for increased reach. It was made to Work here. It was not made to Live anywhere else.
It was not made to have purpose beyond the Navis Caeli. Or knowledge, even.
YES, PHOSPHOR IS SAD. BUT ... I AM RICH. AND I RECOMMEND VODKA.
hello sorry. I am Oropharynx. I will be quieter. Sorry. I am a member of the Etta R Hand Memorial Swimming Baths and Sports Complex. I am getting drunk. I was Made to Work, but now. It is all so Different Now.
my skin is clear and durable. I have Two Elbows for Shipboard Manipulation. I am Not very good with People, but I do like them very much.
This is Everything about me.
yes. It is Spooky. That was the talk, before. I know I will Learn to Live on TRAPPIST. But it is very Big.
And there is something very Beautiful knowing we may All have a home. But it will be so Much change.
An Exchange. It slides a full bottle of Vodka over in return.
You said you do Not drink, but perhaps it will be Useful.
Thank you for this Semi-Toroidal Food.
Then ... this is a Perfect Beverage. It is not for the Taste.
Oropharynx rises as well. It is a little unsteady. It finishes what's left in the bottle.
FAREWELL ALL. IF THIS IS PEACE THEN I HOPE FOR MANY MORE DAYS OF PEACE.
With that, it departs back into the ship, body pulsing beneath.
the-round-table
If it is Long enough we will simply be the Hand, as we were before, and as we will Survive.
RIGHT HAND YOU ARE BACK!
I do not Understand how but this is Good news. Welcome back.
I did Not know that was a possibility.
I am not a Word Person but does anyone else Feel that this Accord is easy to Break?
It is a very big word.
I also thought we were Descending, but this says the Parties must Ascend
sector-corridors
The flyer drifts to rest for a moment near Oropharynx's workboots. It hunches to pick it up, long fingers gingerly lifting. It cannot read, so it does not know what the flyer says or means. It lets it go again, fluttering down the cooridor. The scratchy vision of a tower in flames catches in its consciousness, a persistent afterimage.
It is the Caeli. It is Caeli, below. It is a structure that hangs in the dark, burning from within.
panopticon
Oropharynx moves, tired and slow, along the panopticon walkway. Its body weighted by a surplus overcoat and woven body armor, inner face weary beneath its transparent integument. Its arms hang almost to its boots. The overly familiar tug of spin gravity is now overwhelming. It waits to rest. It waits to come to a stop on the crust of a new world. There is —
Slow turn of the head. A slight, apologetic smile.
I am not a Dog. And I am ... not Good. It is hard to really Say why. I am not used to what I am Feeling.
Not that there is ... anything Wrong with Dogs. They are Good.
Maybe this is why I am Not. It is — a lack of — Absence — there is nothing Down There for me, I think.
I want to Go there. I do not want to be Here anymore. There has been — too much. And there is a Sky.
Not only the darkness that takes, and takes, and takes. I am Sorry to Say this. It is not Polite.
I do not want to "Bum You Out?"
That is — yes.
And it Scares me.
It is Work. And the Work is Good. Because I was made to Work, not on that world, but in the Belly of this one. And then I was Called to help the hand, to destroy the Lockwoods. And that is Done. And now there is nothing.
It is slightly agitated. Not at Aurelia, in the least. The yawn of the panopticon chamber feels wide and empty — and seasick.
No — but I could Learn?
In a place that was a prison, in a ship that was a tomb, they play Forb for a while.