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

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.

[mercurio]

[he isn't sure how he missed aranea in the safehouse. she must have been keeping to herself, he thinks, but not to mention that prompto was pretty much hyper-focused on two presences: ignis's and ardyn's. now that everyone can go out and about, a sense of relief has flooded him and, while his feelings are somewhat still mixed about aranea, she is a sight for sore eyes.]

[managing a smile, he rubs at the back of his head and motions at her to follow him, leading the way.]

It's about five minutes away. [he's glad they stocked up with water bottles from the safehouse. the place is getting crowded, smaller, what with ignis showing up. they hadn't had the foresight for more of their crew showing up--but at least they're used to cramped spaces.] And you can't judge it too harshly.

[but he prickles nervously under his skin. he wants to ask about niflheim, about whether she made it out of the facility just fine after giving him the map...]

...pretty different from all the snow, huh? [is what he squeezes out, trying to pretend it's a joke by laughing softly at his own words.]

[merced]

You remember that, huh?

[ She gives him a fond look, sidelong. It's nice to know that someone has memories that stretch as long as hers, when Ignis isn't blind and Noctis isn't beside himself with grief for the Oracle - when Ardyn is wandering, uncontested. Her hands toy with the bottle of water in a slightly more fidgety fashion, but she doesn't seem too concerned with actually having a drink at the moment.

Anyway, he doesn't have to worry about her judging, or the space shrinking. She doesn't intend to stay. A visit, fine. Moving in is out of the question. She'll stay in the safehouse until she can afford her own place. ]

I dunno. Kinda miss the crisp, cool air. It may have been cold but at least it wasn't crowded.

[ Before she can talk herself out of it, Aranea adds - ] Glad to see you're okay, after we split up. [ For the second time, she means. ]

[mercurio]

[it felt pretty crowded for prompto: all those MTs, all those clones in tubes, all those daemons.]

I've never seen snow that way, to be fair. It -- was kind of neat.

[his glance is downwards, towards his shoes; one of the laces has come undone.]

[he can't help wondering why aranea is being nice to him, when she's usually rough words and tight fist picking him up from his clothes and onto his feet. he still feels the same sense of being lost when she shoved a map into his hands and sent him off.]

[decidedly keeping his gaze cast down, he asks regardless:] I thought you wouldn't make it outside of the facility. It was getting late, I didn't know you were going to show at all or if I had just -- imagined everything.

[merced]

[ Oh... So that's it. Her memories stretch far beyond his. It seems both cruel and nonsensical, snatching Prompto prematurely from the timeline, leaving him questioning. Aranea frowns unhappily, wondering for a moment if she should tell him or feign ignorance. It's a decision quickly made. What good could come from shielding him? At worst, it might sway him toward the path he's already taken - the right path, as far as Aranea's concerned. He came out of their little adventure in the snow deciding to be exactly the man he should be. ]

I made it out. Those things? They weren't so tough.

[ Actually, it had been dicey for a while. Aranea's pride won't let her do anything less than fib through her teeth about it, happy to make it look easy in the aftermath. ]

You didn't imagine any of it, kid. I found you by a fire - you tried to burn off this - [ She reaches out toward his wrist, and then... Yeah. Right. He doesn't need to block her or flinch away; she comes to her senses of her own accord and lets her hand fall again. After her little incident with Ignis at the ball, it will be remarkable if she ever lets anyone touch her ever again. Sharing, by this world's muddy definition, is something she has no interest in. ] Your tattoo. Made quite a mess, too. I'm surprised your scream didn't alert every MT in a twenty yard radius.

[mercurio]

[prompto stops at her words, staring at her wide eyed. that is the last thing he remembers from eos, and yet he never saw aranea meet up with him. relief is imminent, because for once someone (that isn't ardyn) seems to be actually caught up with the events that spurned out of altissia and beyond.]

[he starts up walking again.]

Hold on, that's the building right there.

[his voice is somewhat shaky as he crosses the street quickly before the lights give way to the cars and hoverbikes. he's scanning the door unlocked with his neural implant and one uneventful elevator ride later (filled with awkward silence wherein prompto grasps and pulls at the bandages around his right wrist), he shows the way into the small and humble apartment, with no real sense of privacy or space and minimal amount of furniture. at least there's a couch and two stools.]

[he wastes a few seconds awkwardly motioning at aranea to make herself at home before rushing to the fridge to grab a bottle of water--one which he offers at her.]

There's more if you want another.

[anyone could easily tell he's full of nervous energy; in the end, he decides to sit down, arms on his thighs and nervously fidgeting with his fingers. it's a good thing neither ignis nor noctis are about, one probably scouting the city and the other busy with work.]

--I don't remember meeting with you after. [...he supposes it's fine, to pull off the bandages and allow his tattoo to show; somewhat distorted, a red and messy blemish on his skin, of the burn she speaks of, untreated.] The last thing I remember is trying to burn it off.

[he looks back up at her, expression serious.]

Noct and Iggy don't know anything about Altissia. Have you run into them?

[merced]

[ Aranea doesn't waste any time settling into the couch. Like all her movements, there's an impeccable surety to her - no matter where she goes, she moves around like she owns the place. Her own bottle, now largely empty, is set aside (but not thrown out!) and she accepts the new one from him. She'd thank him, probably, but then Prompto is talking again and it just seems easier to wait for him to finish before jumping in.

She does frown unhappily at his puckered, blistered skin. She had fixed that! It seems temporal fuckery undoes all manner of good deed. If she had a health potion on her person, she'd simply spend it to tidy up his arm. Alas, all she owns is a meager amount.

As for his question...

Where to even begin? ]

Yeah, both of 'em. Your prince didn't seem nearly as broken up as he did in Tenebrae and Scientia — [ well ] He's fine. [ Least said, soonest mended. ]

Don't worry, I kept my mouth shut.

[ There's also the fact that the fucking CHANCELLOR is here, and he's still the worst, and why can't she just shoot him in the face and be done with it? Aranea's thoughts are, uh, a bit muddy with faint inclinations toward violence as a legitimate problem solver. ]

[mercurio]

Thanks, for being discreet with them.

[prompto wishes to laugh at her report on the other two. they're more than just fine. sure beats having a dead oracle burdening them and a blind ignis tumbling about, unsure of his own steps. he holds his own hands, cracking at his knuckles back and forth as he stretches his fingers out. nervous energy.]

[it sucks feeling like he's conspiring against them.]

There's... something else, though. Ardyn's here. I'm sure you couldn't have missed him.

[aranea seems the type that just knows what's going on.]

I -- punched him a few days ago. Accidentally!

[merced]

[ She saw him, yes, the Chancellor in all his slimy glory, but -

Aranea's head snaps around. ]

How did you "accidentally" punch him?

[ seriously, what ]

[mercurio]

I saw him and I got really mad and I just -- I wasn't thinking when I did it, okay!

[it's all that pent up emotional distress that he didn't get to get rid off when shooting his mechanical worm dad. not to mention that ardyn had become a protagonist and narrator in his nightmares.]

[there was a lot of build up and the punching felt cathartic.]

[sighing heavily, he slumps back against the couch.]

He punched me back for good measure and then I told him to back off, which the drug made him do, so I'm sure he's going to be all cryptic at me soon enough. [there's worst fates though, right?] ...he's pretty bad news, huh?

[merced]

He's the worst.

[ From the tone in her voice, it's clear that (however briefly) talking about the Chancellor makes her mad enough to spit. On a personal level, she had never liked him - found him smug, slimy, his goals antithetical to the good of the Empire - but now, now, with his treachery so bared, her loathing borders on intense. ]

I get wanting to punch his stupid face.

[ Her voice gentles a bit, growing a bit faraway. Some of it is suspicion; not at him, but at the circumstances. ]

Does the prince know yet?

[mercurio]

[it's good to know someone feels that way about ardyn, too. it was a bit of a sore subject that wasn't really talked about too much back in eos, between altissia and catarnica and how long he lasted on the way to tenebrae.]

[he rubs at the side of his face, grimacing a bit. as terrible as ardyn is, prompto wants to be more concerned with noctis--his priority should be on noctis. it's the realization he ultimately gets to when aranea asks him about it.]

...about what? There's so much he doesn't know.

[the smile he offers her doesn't quite reach his eyes, as if he's trying to play out his optimism despite there not being much for him to hold on to in that regard.]

He knows I punched Ardyn, and he knows about what happened in the labs. Anything else...

[well, it's hard. how do you start that topic of conversation at all?]

I've told him the chancellor isn't good news. I'd imagine he has mixed feelings about it. Ardyn would help us out sometimes and act pretty ignorant at times. It's hard to imagine he could be anything but weird.

[merced]

[ Anything else...

Well, that's a pretty damning thing to leave inconclusive. Anything. Aranea remembers full well what befell the world after Altissia. Every tooth bared, every family sundered apart, every town lost. Even some of her own men had perished due to the daemon population increasing, despite her best efforts to keep them all safe, to get them all home at the end of a job.

The prince's bruised heart, Scientia's shorn eyes - just more of that. Pain, misery, injury. More toil and ruin. The world is only going to get worse, even if she doesn't know it yet. All of it falls under a nebulous, inexplicable else. ]

Even in Niflheim, you don't get the job of Chancellor without making some friends. [ What she means by that is, somehow, this man was appointed to a high ranking government position; elected, possibly. That doesn't happen if you only ever alienate the people in your circles. ] Hell, even before all that shit happened in Altissia, I thought he was an opportunistic creep, but I didn't know the half of it.

[mercurio]

[that's right; aranea has known ardyn for longer than any of them have. whatever their relationship was like, it seemed more like something based on how beneficial it was for them to keep good manners while affiliated with niflheim. besides, aranea's said it herself, she works for whoever pays best -- even if prompto wants to believe that her values aren't just situation depending on how deep someone's pocket is.]

[he's sure she didn't get money from noctis to ask her to go to niflheim and find him. he wants to think she wouldn't have taken the money anyway.]

[rubbing at his face with his hands, he keeps them there, as if frustrated.]

Noct and Iggy's timeline is before we ever arrived at Altissia. [he speaks through his hands, voice muffled.] I'm somewhat further ahead, sitting at camp in Niflheim, and you're-- after that, when we met up? [keeping this straight is hard. he moves his hands down and, with that, stretching the skin under his eyes for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor.] Any idea when Ardyn is from?

[merced]

We met up, you were pretty messed up for a while. After you snapped out of it and decided to go find the rest of 'em, we parted ways.

[ Short version.

As for the rest of it... ]

Dunno about Izunia. Never could get a clear answer from that bastard.

[ Not that her idea of diplomacy - which involves, among other things, threatening to slit his throat with a kitchen knife - yields much traction. ]

He remembered what happened at Altissia, though.