ARRIVAL LOG 005

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of August 23 (through to August 30th)
WHAT: The fifth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #005

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs. You realize there are others next to you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, the movement of dark streets and neon windows passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips. The vehicle stops. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle: beyond it, a chamber only dimly lit by strips of light along the floor. The nurse moves to stand at the back of the vehicle, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. She doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded. The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind. Under your feet, you can feel the thrum of heavy bass vibrating through the floor. You see nearby that there is another bus, another load of passengers being helped out, lined up much like you are. Once you're all in place, the guards move down the line, pulling dark hoods over each passenger's head. Your arm is lifted, placed on the shoulder of the passenger in front of you in line. "Hold on," says one of the guards. "Stay quiet. Keep moving until I say stop." There is no will in you to fight the orders. How far you walk is hard to determine. Counting steps is difficult, and any concept of time passing stretches between the sound of footfalls and breathing - soon overshadowed by the music. Growing louder, closer, the heavy bassline begins to reverberate through the air around you, amplified by the acoustics of the place. Melody and vocals become audible, the chatter of a crowd. Finally, you stop, and the hoods are pulled off, following down the line as the guards walk back. You turn to look after them, but they quickly disappear into the darkness of the tunnel behind you. The door in front of you swings open, the full weight of the music washing out. A tall woman with sharp, geometric patterns of ink tattooed across her skin smiles at you with sharp teeth, glowing luminescent in the UV lighting above her. "First timers?" she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Don't worry, those costumes are great. Come on, come in." As you move to comply, she takes each of your hands, stamping a twisting design on the back, shining bright in the UV light. "Welcome," she says, as she ushers you out of the lobby and into the noise and crowd beyond. "To the Insomniacs' Ball." ◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> THE INSOMNIACS' BALL

The message from El comes the same as previous: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it. I'm not saying bus #5 got past me, but our favorite mysterious human traffickers have gone seriously sneaky this time around. And I'm not saying I can't help you get to where you need to be, but I can't. This one needs legwork, because you're going to have to land invites to the Insomniacs' Ball. The Insomniacs' Ball is an open secret. A New Amsterdam urban myth, disbelieved by many and desired for by even more. A week long party held every year as the working schedule changes, as the city struggles between the oppressive heat and the shifting of sleep cycles. Whether you'd prefer to be asleep at night or day, the ball doesn't care - a rolling, 24/7 event that continues until it disappears, as quickly as it arrived. Its location is a secret. Existence frowned upon, possibly even shut down by the authorities - dancing until you fall down is hardly advisable while water rationing is in place. Yet every year the rumors spin again, the whispers, clues and tastes and photos shared on social media which vanish before anyone can really be sure what they saw. Whoever puts the ball together is as good at keeping their head down as Morningstar - and most likely greases more wheels, rather than trying to be a wrench in the machine. Either way, all El can do is point you to the same paths anyone else hungry for an invite is taking. THE PUZZLE Emerging on social media like proverbial white rabbits, clues in the form of bizarre symbols, phrases or riddles have appeared, hidden in images or tucked in VR simulations. Solving them isn't for the impatient. Some take more work than others, a knowledge of numbers or pattern recognition, or ancient cultural references. The answers come as new clues, pointing to locations in the city, to other VR simulations, to figures waiting in cafes or particular enemies in your favorite VR video game. A treasure hunt for the modern age, as each step is completed the participants are whittled down, but for anyone who reaches the end, the prize of an invite to one of the most mysterious pieces of New Amsterdam life is worth all of the work to get there. THE DARE The challenges start small. Stand up and sing in a crowded restaurant. Take a selfie at the UNA's front door. Eat a live scorpion. Soon it escalates, taking even the most jaded of adrenaline junkies on a rollercoaster of illegal and death-defying stunts. Joyriding a notorious gangster's hoverbike. Climbing a construction beam between two of the tallest buildings in the city. Standing in central square and declaring yourself to be a Morningstar operative. The risks climb higher and higher, and for some the stakes are too much. Others hold their nerve, eyes set firmly on the goal, the victory of holding an invite in their hands. THE BOON And then there are those who make no effort at all. Passed to them by the hands of lady luck, their invites arrive in their pockets, slid under their doorframes or hidden under a glass at work. Bartenders open up crates of stock and find a wedge of them tucked in amongst the packaging; bike couriers arrive at delivery destinations only to find a parcel waiting there for them. Whether targeted or purely a matter of chance, many attendants at the Insomniacs' Ball will have had the opportunity simply fall in their lap - and some may not recognize what they've received at all. However you've managed to get your hands on an invite, the directions on the back are the same - leading you deep down into the city's underground, past some of the darker corners and into some even darker ones. A rusted, disused door to an abandoned maintenance area wouldn't look like the place, but the intricate geometric design painted silvery and barely visible across the surface matches the invite you hold, and you know you've found the entrance to wonderland. Behind the door, lies a twisting network of tunnels and rooms built into natural caves, ultimately abandoned by the city when its insides proved too difficult to navigate. Now, for a short time, it's home to a carnival of revelry. Strobing neon lights illuminate snatches and glimpses of the crowd, glowing in pools of UV: a dense mass of people from all over the city, young and old, music and dancing flowing from chamber to chamber, clashing and mixing between. Extravagant, outrageous costumes mingle with simple streetwear, or with no-wear at all. People hand out masks, drinks, substances which it may not be advisable to consume. Sealed bottles of water seem to appear from nowhere, passed among the people, their source and seeming escape from the rationing in the city far above going unquestioned. Smaller chambers offer some respite for those who need to take a minute, catch their breath, or want a quiet corner to talk with a new friend. Other chambers contain more hedonistic displays, with most participants always willing to accept another into their number. No one seems to be in any rush - there's roughly a week to soak in all the delights, and you can even come and go as you please, the UV pattern now stamped on your hand allowing access back through the various doors, if you can find your way back to one. But you're here for a different purpose, and whether it took you hours or days to find your way here, you know that the party will end eventually - and anything more unusual which may be hiding inside will be revealed. ◉ The Insomniacs' Ball and the related methods of gaining an invite will last for one week, from August 23-30. New characters can be retrieved at any time during this, or can find their own way out and be discovered on the streets - just please be advised that they will not be able to survive in New Amsterdam without first spending time in the Morningstar safehouse and having their ID set up. ◉ We will not be dictating set pieces of the ARG puzzle or challenges - these are left to player discretion as to what your character would have realistically managed to solve or complete! ◉ The invite themselves are business card sized pieces of metal with an intricate geometric patterns etched on one side, and an address on the other. The address leads to a quick series of clues and locations which will take characters to the door as described. ◉ The same geometric design will be present throughout the ball, worn by some of the guests and doorpeople, and even carved into the walls of some of the caves. ◉ While in the ball, there will be rumors and whispers circulating about the owner of the ball being in attendance, and that particularly impressive guests may earn some special reward - or just guarantee an invite again next year.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

Access to the safehouse is a hatch hidden behind stacks of empty storage shelves in the back of an abandoned supermarket in an outer district of the city. The immediate area is similarly abandoned, empty stores, flanked by several blocks of dive bars and clubs which cater to more niche tastes. A place where people can come and go unseen, or, if seen, not spoken of. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense – she'll be open for in depth questions later, but will advise everyone to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. ◉ The safe house is a large open space, filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. ◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries. ◉ While there were previously also NPC occupants of the safehouse, natives to New Amsterdam, these people have now been moved on to somewhere safer. A few of their belongings remain, discarded or accidentally abandoned. ◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. ◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their being dropped off by the guards before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them. ◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet. ◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until FOUR DAYS AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL AT THE SAFEHOUSE. These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until they have been there for four days. At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, or if they'd like to join Morningstar, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below. Please check out our December calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC this month will be a check-in only. AC will be posted on December 20 and close on December 27. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

aranea highwind | ffxv

[merced]

» safehouse.

[ The barracks are almost military style, Aranea notes, but as someone who didn't rise up through the ranks so much as appeared one day and was placed surreptitiously near the top - a true "upjumped merc", in someone's words - she's never had much use for such things. She's spent a half of her life in relative luxury, circumventing a rather impoverished childhood with reasonable displays of comfort, the occasional needless purchase, silk sheets and a new television set every year.

So, this? Definitely a step down. Aranea would be merely annoyed, if they hadn't also drugged her and performed invasive surgery on her. Her anger runs hot and quick, brief bursts that wear themselves out quickly, blue light, not red - but whatever happens to be in their field of destruction is liable to lose, like, an arm or a leg or a torso.

So, when the very natural occurence of bumping into someone, uh, occurs, she whirls around, fire in her eyes. Her usual husky voice sounds mad enough to spit. ]

Hey, watch it!

[ She won't bite anyone...

Probably. ]

» safehouse 2: choose your own boogaloo.

[ Conversely, Aranea can be found—

● Accidentally ("accidentally") preparing too much food and splitting it up for whoever happens to be in the kitchens with her. It's nothing fancy, an omelet with cheese and some fried tomatoes. "Eat up," she says, sitting down uninvited; "you look like you need some meat on your bones." (She's rather unused to being without her men.)
● On the toilet. Seriously, why would you open the stall door? Prepare to have a hastily balled up wad of toilet paper thrown at your face as she's demanding you get out.
● Stealing someone else's pillow. She will just pluck it right off their bed and strut proudly over to hers to put it down. Feel free to call her out on this. ]

» closed to prompto.

[ By the time she makes it out of the safehouse and begins interacting with the world proper, she's picked up one (1) accessory, for obvious reasons. Adjustment happens through narrowed eyes and a careful, withdrawn mouth - there's a lot she needs to learn, and in a short time period, if she wants to reclaim the standard of living to which she'd become accustomed on Eos. Making it to the Insomniac's Ball seems like a natural extension of her goals, and it only takes about fourteen hours of effort before an invitation ends up in her hands.

That had been almost a day ago. Emerging from a darkened corner, she re-adjusts her jostled shirt, smoothing down any wrinkles that may or may not be there. Catching sight of a familiar face - a familiar smattering of freckles across a bony nose, above thin, jutting lips - feels so (statistically) unlikely, she immediately makes a beeline over to him.

At some point, a cold bottle of water ends up in her hands. She greets Prompto by sidling up behind him and pressing the bottle to the back of his neck. ]

» wildcard - the ball version.

( Any manner of sin you can dream of! Aranea is down for dancing, drinking, ingesting... anything! )

safehouse 2!

[ofobedience]

[He doesn't intend to spend much time here, as little as he can get away with in fact because sharing close quarters with so many others isn't something he knows how to cope with. Even back there, the small cell of a room he occupied within Mother's facility was 'his own' in as much as he wasn't required to share the space. And whilst he's never been given to sleeping (his head filled up with too much red to make it truly restful), he can't imagine getting any at all for as long as he remains here. For reasons that run older and deeper than having to share with untrustworthy strangers.

He's here for now, however. And when he wanders into the kitchen it's only in search of their tight-rationed water-- the heat and the light of this place, for an underground creature such as himself it's more than a little hard to bear.

Instead there's some woman offering him food and - taken aback - he laughs.]

Should I be insulted?

[I mean his physique...he'd politely call himself svelte, but some might say skinny]

[merced]

That depends on whether or not you like eggs.

[ Aranea sounds reasonably amicable in tone, and she's not preparing to be offended by any possible rejection. Either he eats what she's offering (in which case, good, she's kept another belly full) or he doesn't (and she eats it herself). There's no bad choice here.

She stabs at another forkful, the utensil scraping noisily at the plate underneath the egg. By now, she's eaten enough to be at the most runny, filmiest layer. ]

No worries if you're not hungry. Just means more for me.

[ She talks around a mouthful of food, "politely" wedged into the one corner of her mouth. ]

[ofobedience]

[Is he hungry? It's quite the question. He tries to dredge it up, the memory of the last time he ate, but all he can find is Zollner's voice, those moments of seemingly pointless humiliation. He has no way of knowing how much time has elapsed since then, how long he'd been kept here whilst they performed their procedures on him. He supposes it's possible the memory with Zollner could well have been the last time, recalls the man informing him - voice full of grating cheer - that synthetic lifeforms such as himself technically don't need to eat, only that they ought to. To make them feel more connected to the world, more like 'real' human beings.

Hah.

His smile turns sardonic, but he steps closer to where she sits nonetheless.]

I can't say I've ever tried them.

[The food in the Below? Bland, nondescript. Could have been anything.]

Sorry for the gap between tags! Pre-holiday craziness at work

[merced]

First time for everything.

[ Again, she doesn't seem too particularly attached to the prospect of him, specifically, sitting down and eating, especially if he needs to be coaxed. She doesn't have the energy to try, doesn't care to put in the effort. That said, his presence is hardly offensive. If he wants to sit down and talk, she'll happily engage. ]

'ook.

[ Whoops, that was garbled. Swallowing, she tries again. ]

Look. It's not poisoned or anything. It's just got a lot of cheese. [ To mask the blandness of eggs. ] So either sit your ass down and eat or get lost so someone else can. [ The words may be rough, but underneath the huskiness of her voice is evenness, amicability. A hint of something warmer, something that takes care. ]

hi mom

[mercurio]

[the rave is a lot of fun. but, unfortunately, prompto has to keep appearances by going to work; besides, he's coming back to remember just how damn important it is that he keeps to his budget. one missed day (or two) because of a party will really hurt at the end of the month when rent is due, and he doesn't want to be in that horrible spot ever again in his life if he can help it.]

[even if it's the end of his shift and the sun is making a vague attempt of setting, it's hot as hell. he doesn't dislike summer, but it's never felt this bad. it would probably resemble when they were climbing ravatogh.]

Ack!

[and then there's freezing cold (or what feels like freezing) on the back of his neck, making him stop on his tracks and make a bit of a spectacle of himself, turning around to find the insolent asshole who's decided to--]

[his expression slackens, surprise on his features and eyes wide as his mouth drops open.]

[he'd recognize her anywhere.]

Aranea!

[she's here too? he must have missed her entirely (being busy with The Ardyn Situation and reassuring ignis can do that to a person).]

[dropping all pretenses, he surges forward for an embrace, pushing away almost immediately as he remembers (through the electric shock of connected feelings) that physical contact isn't the best type of contact they can keep.]

Aw, geez, sorry 'bout that. [does he seem like an excited puppy? he keeps swiping at the side of his face, a bruise fading out but clear on his pale skin.] I didn't know you were here, too! How -- Wow, I mean, hey!

hi best son ever

[merced]

[ A lot happens in the next few seconds. He nearly embraces her, pivots at the last possible second, shouts some things, his tail wags - he's bruised (oh, hell no) - and Aranea can only just keep up with his excited babbling. Her smile is faint. It's not his fault, though. Her emotional reactions are tempered by the situation she didn't ask for: a dry mouth and a pounding head, too many emotions and not all of them hers, the burn of liquour lingering at the walls of her throat. ]

... Hey.

[ Her words are slower than his, but not exactly reluctant. It's just. A lot. Even for an "insolent asshole" such as herself. ]

It's good to see you too, kid.

But - I need you to slow down just a bit. Okay?

[ before you give mom a migraine ]

This whole thing is pretty wild.

[mercurio]

[prompto never seems to realize that he needs to slow down until someone mentions it to him. his eyebrow rise as if with the realization, his shoulders tightening towards his spine, but the smile that filters onto his lips shows that it isn't a reminder that he takes in any way unpleasantly.]

Sure. Sorry, it's just pretty incredible to see you here after --

[he pauses]

[does aranea know as much as he does, or does she come from a time where nothing was as disastrous? is she like noctis and ignis, ignorant to what he knows?]

[but his smile remains, even if slightly more unsure of himself.]

D'you wanna hide from the sun? If you're hungry, or wanna rest... I was heading home.

[merced]

[ Although she's not feeling as bad as she did a few days ago, he makes an attractive offer. The sun is a bit too warm, her head a bit sensitive due to the water rationing - even as she clutches dearly at her half-empty bottle, greedy to the end. ]

Sure.

[ For Prompto, she can clamp down on the worst of her surliness, surely. ]

Let's go to yours. You can fill me in, or... whatever.

safehouse 1

[kometes]

[ Achilles is in a sour mood for the same reasons as she, coupled with the fact that he didn't have any rest the night previous and is running on low energy this morning. He's famished, he's tired, and he's in dire need of a shower.

Being human again really wasn't all that was cracked up to be.

He's wandering the halls in a sleepless stupor, and maybe it had been his fault that these two inevitably collided into one another, since he hadn't moved out of the way like a gentleman should. Perhaps, if he were more lucid, he wouldn't have moved anyway. ]

What? [ He snaps back, caring little about how easy she is on the eyes. He's agitated and having a stranger shout at him does nothing to soothe him. ] You're lucky you didn't bump into me while I was carrying my weapon, woman. Be careful.

[merced]

[ Immediately, she finds his snappish attitude and mild sexism rather tiring, but those few words - be careful - sinks into her like an order, with the compliance drugs still lingering in her systems, the last remnants not yet flushed out.

It's opened ended, though. Mercifully so. She can make of it whatever she wants.

Rolling her eyes, she gives little thought to his threat about his weapon and tries to push past. ]

Just keep moving, boy.

[ See? She can do it, too. ]

shortest thread ever... should we continue with a timeskip and have them bump into each other again

[kometes]

[ And like her, he's compelled by the order she gives.

He doesn't respond with words, but he does give a snort, seemingly amused by the pointed insult more than anything.

Turning, he begins to follow through on the command, passing a look over his shoulder to lingeringly stare at her.

She's hot. ]

Sure! And I'm so sorry for the delay, December was unexpectedly nutso

[merced]

[ She is, yes! Not that her current clothing is especially flattering or indicative; while she usually takes some pleasure in ensuring her garb is fitted and flaunting, right now she's left in shapeless hand-me-downs, bald, her skin untended to, her eyes feeling baked inside her skull, overly veined and baggy - it's just not a good day to feel pretty.

At least, a few hours later, she's found a hat.

And she bumps right into him again! Surely, this is some curse by the Six. Aranea huffs a bit, rolling her eyes. ]

Seriously?

[ One hand on her hip, she at least looks a bit less quarrelsome than she did a few hours prior. ]

You don't have a twin running around here, do you?

safehouse 2: pillow theft

[fessus]

[ Noctis has had a really long day. And not a great one, honestly.

Finding Ignis had led to a series of complex emotions he doesn't know how to dissect just yet but was undeniably the highlight in spite of his condition. Then he ran into someone else back at the ball who seemed to know him, another complex mess. Then Ardyn.

All he wants is the chance to get some rest -- whether he needs it or not -- and so to round the corner to be presented with those already sparse cots, with his pillow being stolen, is enough to set him off. ]

Hey! Use your own, that one's mine. [ wait a second ]

... Aranea?

[merced]

[ For a moment, her head swings low, like a person who has come face-to-face with a horrifying situation and must now take a moment to rue their terrible luck before deciding on the best course of action. It's not that she dislikes Noctis, or that she's even unwilling to give back the pillow - but where he goes, trouble usually follows, and also there's what happened with Ignis? To consider? She doesn't really want to duel Noctis for his butler's hand in marriage or whatever nobility concern themselves with. ]

Hey, Princey.

[ Well, that's nice. Very respectful. ]

Been a while, huh? Catch.

[ Tosses the pillow his way without any other preamble. ]

[fessus]

[ Princey. Well, if he weren't convinced that this was her, that'd be enough to sell him on the idea. He's tired after the day he's had and it doesn't land as well -- or as inoffensively -- as it might normally. ]

I'm not trying to get that title to catch on if you wanna' give it a rest. Look-- [ The pillow's caught almost thoughtlessly, an instinctive grace and immediacy to his movements when he raises his uninjured arm to snatch it up. ]

... are you okay? You just got here, right?

[merced]

I'm good.

[ That's all he gets. Somewhat brusque, halfway to biting. She doesn't want to get too far into the discussion of her arrival, all the circumstances surrounding. He can likely see the lingering residue of it on her face: her skin, drier than its wont; some faint puffiness around her eyes, suggesting lack of sleep or too much inebriation, or both.

Her eyes go to his arm. Aranea doesn't look worried per se, but... ]

What happened to you - video games get too intense?

[ Well, she can't help but ask. Whether it's concern or curiosity is kind of up in the air. ]

safehouse.

[evite]

[ in between bouts of underground raves and pretending to be a grown-up, daisy makes it a point to practice her usual loops in the safehouse. she drops off goods, answers questions, offers her face as a familiar one in case they should run into each other out in the real world.

she's helping replace the linens on a bed near the window — apparently the goods at the insomniac's ball have left someone feeling a little queasy — when a girl she doesn't recognizes waltzes up to swipe a pillow from another bed. clearly, "sharing is caring" isn't on the agenda. ]

Hey, [ a little brusque. ] There's a whole closet of shit, you don't have to jack one from somebody else.

[merced]

What are you, the pillow police?

[ As comebacks go? Yeah, that's super grade school. Despite her swagger and her blatant, unapologetic theft, Aranea looks as rough as any newcomer might, with red-rimmed eyes and a sallow tint to her skin. Doesn't help that, among other things, she's still coming down from an interesting acid trip.

It makes her rather, uh, surly. ]

Don't you have anything better to do?

[evite]

Yep, [ the word punctuated by an aggressive pop of her lips, her eyes threatening to roll hard enough to fly back into her skull — which probably won't help matters. so for now, daisy settles on shaking her head, attention drifting back down to tucking the edges of the sheets under this as-of-now-unclaimed bed. ] Obviously, I do.

[ that settled, she turns to face the newbie, nonplussed expression at the ready. ]

Also, you're stuck in here. So, helpful hint from somebody who's been there, done that? Maybe try not swiping from somebody else when there's a whole cabinet of them right over there?

[ like, duh! ]

I'm so sorry for the delay! Work craziness + holidays, orz

[merced]

[ This clearly means a great deal to the other woman, for no reason that Aranea can discern, and means significantly less to her, so Aranea releases the spare pillow back where she found it. ]

This one was closer.

[ Laziest of all reasoning!

Rather than go check out the cabinet, as directed, Aranea sits crosslegged on her own bed. (With its one sad pillow.) She casually watches Daisy, eyelids drooping somewhat with a sleepiness she fights. ]

Your "helpful tip" sounds a lot like a question, you know.

[ That's a habit she's never gotten round. Why do people do that? ]

safehouse ii

[revlon]

[ Peggy Carter is a woman of two worlds — raised a proper young lady with impeccable manners and the expectation of a smart marriage to a suitable Englishman; and the soldier and spy who threw down in the muddy trenches with the rest of the boys, bullets and bombs barely drowning out the blue streak she cursed into frostbitten air. And it's these two worlds that meet in the middle and clash when she completely accidentally pushes open the first bathroom stall door, fully expecting it to be empty.

It isn't. ]

Oh, bloody Nora —

[ She snaps a sharp about-face (but not before the toilet paper hits her squarely in hers) and the door swings shut behind her. On the one hand, what does it matter? Life in the field and at boarding school was no different, she's seen it all. But on the other, this isn't either of those scenarios and she really should have knocked. Common bloody courtesy, Carter. ]

I'm sorry!

[ Honest mistake, she thinks, lips pressed into a tight, mildly mortified line. Door wasn't even locked. (Not that she's going to point that out. This is a new place with everyone on edge and perfect strangers, besides.) ]

PEGGY! :D

[merced]

[ It hadn't been locked due to a broken latch, although to be perfectly fair to Peggy, Aranea could have done considerably more to avoid this situation rather than just... aimlessly ignoring it due to a characteristic lackadaisical tendency. She isn't offended, certainly, and her toilet roll-throwing comes largely from a brief flare of indignation that dies a quick death.

Anyway, Peggy will hear a few sounds. Not - not those sounds! But, you know. The rustling of pants being pulled up, a pneumatic whoosh as water flushes, a sigh.

The door pushes back open and Aranea steps out. Before heading over to the sinks, she places a hand on her hip and arches an eyebrow below her fringe.

(Honestly, it's fine. But - really?) ]

Could've at least said hey, you know. [ Okay, Aranea's trying not to laugh. ] 'Cause generally I charge for a show like that. [ The very alluring display of her knees. ]

MILITARY LADIES UNITE

[revlon]

[ Well, while Aranea does her business, Peggy ducks into the adjacent — unoccupied — stall to do her own and then they reunite at the sinks. Peggy huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh, but a near thing; she smiles at the other woman's reflection in the old, spotted mirror, the expression short-lived and subdued, but genuine. Wryly: ]

Generally I don't say 'hey' to what I consider to be an empty stall. [ It really is fine. A momentarily flustered moment, easily brushed aside. In sight of the water rationing, Peggy opts for the hand sanitiser gel, briskly rubbing it between her palms. ] But if we're all going to be living on top of each other for the foreseeable, it may be a good habit to cultivate. Just in case.

[merced]

[ Peggy has a good point. As Aranea turns the tap on, the water thumps impotently in the tap, with not a drop of it expelling. (Damn rationing.) Twisting the tap off, she reaches over and helps herself to some hand sanitiser of her own. ]

Hey, you never know.

[ Once her hands dry again, she turns toward the mirror again, ostensibly to fix her hair...

Oh. Right.

Instead, she pushes off the sink, giving Peggy her attention once more. Why not? There are worse things than casual conversation and it isn't like she ever talks to another woman in canon, whoops. ]

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