[Academy RP] Rig Three Twenty Three

[Fenarr]

It was day eighty-one on the platform to which these people called home. They rose, got out of bed, and started their daily tasks by checking their surroundings. The oil platform they lived on was drifting half a mile off the coast. Its anchor was trying its best, but there was still work to do so the other one could drop. The anchor was rusted, and with all the strength the men could muster, it still would not drop. They would soon be in the open ocean, with all the dangers that came of it. The government was trying to help somewhat, but they still were cold as ever. These are the descendants of a small community on the coast that worked in oil and gas production named Jurristis. The company that employed them also owned the rigs that would go out, and drill for the black gold. That company is long gone now, a casualty of the civil war. The owners picked the wrong side, and so they faced death at the hands of the government. Without employment, the little town started to seek a way of surviving as they were seen as rivals of the government, working for an entity that wanted to overthrow the directorate.

 

That was a long time ago, and they still were trying to make amends, but the government was only keeping them alive in the event they were needed. The oil platform was one of the few left floatings in the seas, and after discovering it was still semi-functional, the town started migrating to it. First, only the workers lived on it, commuting to their houses on land every so often. Those who had money left for the cities or towns that were under government control during the war and now received the best treatment. They didn’t have ankle bracelets or were required to wear guns on their hips, though they chose to at their own will. The town of about three thousand shrunk to a couple hundred. They all started working on the rig, making sure it started producing. Over time some moved back to shore to operate a small refinery that converted the oil into useable products, which were then sold on the black market or shipped back to the rig for use.

 

It was originally tethered to the shoreline, and drilled in shallow water where it was thought it would be okay. Soon, though, storms tore the rig off of its moorings, and the rig drifted ever so slowly to the open ocean. They dropped an anchor, hoping the drifting would come under control, and it did until they realized they were still moving. They tried to drop the second anchor, as there were four, but it didn’t drop. The other two were locked by a control panel to which there was a key that hasn’t been found. They worked the rig more, but with it drifting, they could no longer just pump the oil ashore. They had a couple of small boats, but that was a costly and time-consuming process. So work slowed. More people migrated to shore to start building the town into a new mini-state of their own, as the central government dealt with riots and protest in the cities. Over time, they had a few things working, but they didn’t have any or little capability to manufacture what they needed.

 

So they improvised, bringing in equipment from the rig, slowly salvaging it to make life better on shore. Still, the people living on the rig knew they would probably be living there for a while. They all got up and moved to the dining room, where once the crew joked and enjoyed fresh meals. They would joke about the cook and have a nice meal to fill them. Now, the residents of the town liked to only talk about business at hand, what parts would be taken off, who was leaving, and so on. They made a decent living selling oil to the black market back in the day, but nowadays that work has slowed considerably. They ate military rations stolen from a national guard base in the town that was abandoned and drank water that was purified by the rig’s purification system. That was set to go to shore sometime soon, as the town needed a water purification plant. Work had turned from production to salvage. It was time they went to work.

[Orioni]

OOC @Fenarr As with your first story on the life of Joseph Schultz, you paint another bleak picture of the harsh life in Fenarr. A semi-abandoned oil rig off the coast, battered by wind and water. Yet the occupants won't let go of their failed past or future prospects. I like it. It builds upon your previous story, and continues to set a dystopian tone.

Some pointers.

1. Depth. Not a single character has a name. The nearby town on shore is mentioned but remains nameless as well. Same for the nearby abandoned military base. The rig is in a bay, named after some old sailor perhaps?
2. Dialogue. Building on the previous example, perhaps a scene can take place in the mess hall. A younger person wants to leave for a life on shore, while another person tries to convince them otherwise.
3. Guns. I still don't quite understand why everyone carries them. Part 2 of Joseph Shultz mentions they're mandatory. The people of Rig 323 do so as well, even though an accident could blow up their rig. The reason for this seems common local knowledge but may appear strange to outsiders. Perhaps this is also an angle to explore. Two travellers in Carrack in conversation about some peculiarities.