This is Rimworld. Here, ocean covers most of the world. And the world is the Pacific Rim.
Out here, the Pacific Ocean runs far and deep. It's much bigger than you'd think. It covers most of the planet.
Under grey skies out here, the waves can grow big. Some can get as big as mountains. Every now and then, a rogue wave comes bowling through, and crashes every party in its path.
Alas, even more destructive than they are, are the tsunamis. They're born from the major 9.0 earthquakes that occur in Indonesia. They drown islands, and re-shape the coasts of continents.
There are very few continents here. China inhabits the biggest one. The Roman nations inhabit the second-biggest one...and share it with the relatively native redfolk.
In the Philippines, there are volcanoes. Time to time, they erupt. And yet, somehow, rice always comes out of this country.
Impressive though that is, there's nothing quite like a 9.0 earthquake in Indonesia. Some of their tsunamis have been known to cut down entire jungles on the smaller islands; never mind illegal deforestation.
On the islands' shores, benthos tend to wash up. Poor things; they're not used to being this close to the surface...let alone surfaced land. After each tsunami, they lie alone on the shores, breathing their last breaths...however they pull that off. They won't get any sympathy. They're all hideous to anyone who doesn't regularly dive in the benthic depths of the Pacific. (And that's just about everybody.)
Earthquakes don't get much more intense than 9.0. And if they ever did, the crust of Rimworld wouldn't likely contain them. Or rather, that's what science theorizes. Until then, there's no way to know for sure.
A few time travelers who live here have been there, and seen it for what it is. Alas, if they do talk about it, the press doesn't listen to them.
In the midst of this great ocean, in one of its shallow seas, there's a rock. In weather like this, waves crash against its rocky shores. Not much lives here...but there is a castle.
In here, philanthropy is at work. Or rather, it TRIES to be...
In a cellar beneath it, a black widow spider hangs from its web. She must hang still and look pretty, if she hopes to dupe her smaller prey into using her net as a bed at an inn...
From above, Father Philanthropy comes downstairs to shop for a perfect wine to go with tonight's meal. These days, California proliferates many world-rockers...as do Costa Rica, Ecuador, Chile, Victoria, Queensland, and Korea. He's collected wine from all Pacific wineries. There are a few that he's learned not to collect from, but for the time being, he prefers that it takes time, rather than a brewer, to make the perfect wine.
As a philanthropist, he only recommends wine as a medicine. He's not a wino. He's just...not sure if the same can be said for his wife, who waits impatiently, yet in a repressed fashion, for tonight's fermented grapes from whatever Pacific winery.
Upstairs, she's in bare legs and black heeled sandals. In her husband's absence, they tap a rhythm on the castle floor. It's her own rhythm of impatience. For herself, she can't say she harbors much. But it tends to spike whenever the justice scale is a little more tipped than what she should be used to.
Meet Christine Rutherford. (Christine Turgeon, as she was prenuptially.) Tonight, her toes are painted red. Interesting; most women don't paint their nails for dinner. As a matter of fact, dinner is usually a meal that comes after a woman works hard to de-polish her nails. Or, am I being too idealistic?
Ms. Turgeon's bare legs shake less and less, as she can soon feel the ground shake beneath her feet. On the corner of the table, a silver coin sits. It works its way to the edge, and falls to the floor.
The worst of it comes on. In moments like these, Ms. Turgeon's sure glad she and her husband don't live closer to Indonesia...
As it endures, some of the looser pictures fall off the walls. Some of the furniture falls over. A tapestry falls off one of its hooks.
In the kitchen, pans fall off their racks. A few things fall out of the cabinets.
Soon, it dies a little...and ends. This one only got up to 6.0. In Indonesia, that's considered average. Alas, the Rutherfords don't have a single drop of Indonesian blood in them.
With the worst of it past, Mr. Rutherford finally comes upstairs with the wine. Thankfully, some of the wine glasses stayed in the cabinet throughout the tremor.
Soon, he's poured them. He and his wife sit close to one another, smile, clank glasses, and share a drink.
She gets lipstick on her glass, and drinks too much. Henry's been married to her for years...and he STILL doesn't know how she does it.
Much later, Ms. Turgeon finds herself in bare feet, cleaning the castle. She's still in the same LBD she wore during the quake. Her long flowing red hair is still fixed. Her makeup is still on.
In the kitchen, her wine glass remains. It's got lipstick steins all over the rim.
Ms. Turgeon really hates this. This castle could really use a maid...or a page.
At this, she stops and thinks. She giggles...a bit. She adjusts the top of her dress, as her breasts swell.
She's got a wild idea about how to ensnare a page for this castle... She just...doesn't think she should run it by her husband anytime soon...
Outside, the night passes. The waves of the Pacific still crash against the rocks on the shore.
In a dungeon beneath the castle, there's technology. It's Henry's. All along the Rim, he's got his own technology company, called Rutherford Tech. Most of this tech is branded with his name.
Upstairs, the Rutherfords appear asleep. Alas, it's more likely that only one such person is...
Henry's eyes open. Subtly, he turns his head, and studies his wife. He listens. She sounds very content in her sleep.
So, he rises. He slips into slippers, and gives his wife the slip. Without luck, she'll notice he's gone...if she never has in the midst of many nights before.
Down in Henry's corporate dungeon, there's a hoverchair; one of his company's many inventions. Around him, in a hemicycle fashion, there are video screens.
As of now, there are nine such screens. The list expands and contracts with time; Henry has seen it do so. As a matter of fact, he's added the upgrades to see that done. This is where the company's best and brightest meet.
Henry comes downstairs. He boots the system, and takes his seat of honor. As the dungeon lights up, faces appear on the videophone screens.
One's Han Taiwanese. One's male, and Mongolian. One's of Lazio. One's male, and Korean. One's male, and Genevan. One's Han Chinese. One's of Basel-Stadt. One's male, and of Aosta Valley.
The ninth teleports into view, on her own videophone screen. Her hair is long and raven...and would be straight, if not for a certain animation charm she's put on it, that causes it to radiate as if it was underwater. She's in green, and wears something golden on her head that would look like a crown...if not for the way it only orbits the front of the top of her head.
"For the record," she says, in a semi-hissing witchy double-voice, "I hate these meetings. So, for this, I will allow Sharona the floor..."
Gradually, and in the style of a veil, Enchantress reverts into Sharona Moone. Sharona is a relative blonde, and dresses like a hooker. Tonight, she's in a red boob-tube. Her hair's in a mess. But then, it usually is.
"This," she stammers, "is actually familiar... What's going on?!"
And so, the meeting commences. The committee's got much to sort out. They all must seclude themselves from their respective realities to commit to this. Where they all come from, few get them. And those who do aren't always their friends.
Alas, if their fellow nerds back home aren't their friends, then one would expect that to raise some SERIOUS questions, where this company's mind-house is...