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

leave space for jesus

[blyat]

[Bewildered as soon as his hand is extracted from its tightly locked hold, Cain doesn't fight it. And then they're further separated, the man stepping away, only their arms bridging the distance between them.

He blinks owlishly as Achilles grasps him by the wrists, expression like he's been doused with cold water through the haze of heat. He doesn't move. Like this, he can't tell whether Achilles is going to wrench him back closer, or release him. But he just... continues to hold that strange position.]

What the hell are you doing?

[kometes]

[ The contact of his fingers wrapped around his wrists spurs a connection that isn't quite easily discerned, but its effects are palpable regardless. The stirring confusion within Cain begins to emerge in Achilles, the skin on skin contact acting as a channel for the emotion to flow through uninhibited. It's sudden, rather than a slow progression, and throws the taller of the two off kilter in the next moment.

Achilles' eyes widen, unconsciously imitating his owlish blinking and holding his stare there after. His fingers are no longer as tight, though they continue to cuff around Cain's wrists without any intention of letting go. Slowly, he moves to step, coaxing the other man to follow him in a gradual spin. ]

Dancing. [ It's a one-worded answer. He could go into detail, but his train of thought has derailed and doesn't appear to be coming back around anytime soon.

He's distracted, and realigning his focus takes effort as he watches Cain's expression. ]

[blyat]

[It comes sudden into his conscious awareness, a foreign flood crashing through his own confusion like a second feedback loop. Cain's eyes turn south to the blue glow at his sternum, muted by the material of their hospital scrubs. He looks toward Achilles to find the color matched on the other man's chest. The fingers around his wrists are loose and warm, his skin prickling with sweat along the nape of his neck and lower spine.

This doesn't feel like dancing. Whatever he's doing, Cain is caught in his own distraction. Held at a distance from Achilles, he can better appreciate who he's looking at -- tall, broad shouldered, clear definition of muscle beneath the white clothing. Attraction mixes into the confusion, fueled by the drug and overtaken by lingering euphoria.]

What? This isn't dancing. You're barely moving. [Cain doesn't know what's causing the strange glow on their chests, nor does he recognize the empathetic bridge they've opened, so he dizzily ignores it. And tries to yank Achilles closer by that hold on his wrists.] You're supposed to touch me when you dance. Don't you see everyone else?

[A glance around will reveal a lot of filthy grinding. Greek dancing is outdated, thanks.]

[kometes]

[ This must be some inexplicable means of magecraft.

Between his sealed powers, and the faint glow emitting from their chests, he suspects that his mana core has been corrupted. No doubt, whoever has their hold on him is powerful. Yet, though his mind races through the possibilities, he can't quite pinpoint anything worthwhile to consider further. The fog over his mind has thickened, aided by the initial confusion that had crept past his defences. Now, there's something else churning inside him, and this time he recognizes it for what it is.

The interest in the stranger's eyes is obvious, by way of his laving stare as it alternates between his face and the length of his midriff. Again, Achilles seems to mirror his actions, allowing his own gaze to rake down his chest, over his stomach, and down to his thighs.

At Cain's prompting, he turns his attention to a couple toward their side, two girls glued together with drunken smiles on their flushed faces. ]

Yeah. I saw them. They're rutting on each other like animals. [ And that isn't dancing. ]

Is that what you want to do to me? [ He passes Cain a sidelong glance, keeping his head turned. ]

sorry he's so slutty

[blyat]

[Under the bright hanging UV lights, the blue's glow is not so distinctive, not unless you stand at the center of their strange close-linked circle of arms. Cain's wrists remain trapped in the cage of the other man's hands, but if he pulls against the loose hold, he can slide their palms together. It's an easy and thoughtless gesture to thread their fingers after he's managed the grasp.

The question makes him smirk, a white slash in the chaotic color of the room, teeth gleaming. His eyes are low and hooded.]

Yeah. C'mon, it's about moving, just follow the music. You telling me you don't wanna try?

[Maybe it looks animalistic to Achilles, but not to him. It's connection - warm and physical, heady in the atmosphere of the cavern - a moment to moment experience. There's no room for future thought. He pulls on Achilles again, and then decides to step in close on his own, dragging his palms over those extended arms all the way up to the span of shoulders. As soon as his palms reach covered scrubs, the blue in their chests fades out; there's a brief separation, like the severing of a tether. It's reignited as he grasps the back of Achilles' neck. Shared emotions flood back in.

With it, the force of his attraction again, mingling into the drug. He cranes up close, breath huffing across Achilles' jaw line.]

You're the hottest guy in the room. You think I didn't notice?

Dayum O.o

[kometes]

[ With the circle of their arms now broken, Achilles stands completely still, his desire to dance distancing the more these foreign feelings mix with his own. The longer they touch, the harder it is for Achilles to discern what is his and what belongs to the stranger.

He is wary, knowing that the magic causing this could entail trouble, but any urgency or sense of threat is delayed as Cain’s relaxed energy is absorbed. The attraction between them is liquid heat, flowing unfiltered now that Achilles’ caution ebbs and melts away.

Also, way to feed his already gigantic ego. ]

I don’t. [ Though he says this, he reaches around his back to fit large hands beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling warm skin. There is blood in this human’s veins, as well as other sources of mana in other places. ] But I’m willing to do other things, if that’s what you’re interested in.

[ You know, for mana....,,,,,,, Maybe that’s what he needs to break through or negate whatever spell has been cast over him. ]

cw for... a little spicy

[blyat]

[The strong, warm palms on his bare skin send electricity jangling across his nerves in an almost violent jolt. He can feel it in his teeth — a surge of lust, a tide swelling in. Cain’s spine bends as he draws himself closer, pressing the whole front line of his body up against the other man’s chest. There’s no disguising the thickening of his cock through the flimsy material of scrubs.]

Yeah? I wanna do that too. [Arches up on his toes, lips grazing along the sharp line of Achilles’ cheek, then down to the corner of his mouth. Hungry for physical contact.] I’ll suck you off, if you want.

[Wow the drugs are fucking him up...]

[kometes]

[ WOW!!!!

Fade to black!!!

Follow up thread will be up shortly! ]

safehouse

[kometes]

[ They were bound to bump into each other eventually.

It wasn't like Achilles hadn't known that the stranger he had a tryst (though it wasn't very private) with the previous night wasn't a victim of the very same group that had captured him, shaved his head, and took his powers. He was just the first person who had made an advance, willing and wanting, and Achilles had simply taken that opportunity to recharge himself. Only, it hadn't worked, and at that time he was so angry realizing that his captors had done something to his body (he's no longer a Spirit made up of magic, but a living, breathing human) that he couldn't focus on what he was doing anymore.

He's not thinking about apologizing to the other man. He'd managed to satisfy him after all, and even if he abandoned him after they were finished, he thinks their exchange was mostly amicable.

So, when he spots him (alongside some other stranger), he doesn't think to approach him with caution. He raises his hand instead, calling out as casual as ever. ]

Hey!

[secondnature]

[No one's eating the food he brought in. Is it because it's store bought? Can they tell he didn't put his heart into it? It's not like anyone would want him to do that. The end result would be really ... really bad. Like, really bad. Actually, it'd probably just be bland, because he'd buy a box recipe and follow it to a T because Keith's creativity is extended to flying, fighting, and sometimes—sometimes—his sad drawings when he's feeling particularly emo*.

But still. He brought it. How does Hunk just get people to eat his food? Keith puts some on a plate and begins mustering up the ability to push past his awkwardness.

Aaaand then he goes.]

Uh. Are you hungry?

[Keith has no idea about the interpersonal collision course ahead of him.]

[*Not a word Keith uses to refer to himself. Even if it's accurate.]

[blyat]

[Nursing a hangover from a cocktail of drugs he couldn't name if he tried, Cain hasn't strayed from his corner cot to do more than scrub himself clean in the communal showers. Although he can't remember the last time he ate, food inspires no appetite -- rather, his stomach churns with nausea. It would be easier if he lacked clear memory of what happened over the last twenty four hours. Reality isn't so kind, and so the come down from a chemically-induced euphoric high is wracked with agitation and anxiety as a result.

Two separate voices reach him almost at once. Cain's eyes fasten onto the first, and then the second, and then a wave of acute humiliation crashes down over him. The horror shows on his face. He doesn't even see the plate of (frankly unappetizing) food offered out to him.

As is his nature, Cain reacts by impulse. It's not exactly his intention to be violent about it, but the person is front of him is a barrier to escaping with the tatters of his dignity, so he has to do what he can. Self-preservation of an asshole.

Lunging from the cot, he shoves Keith hard on one shoulder to get past.]

Move!

[Cain doesn't look back as he ducks through a nearby door into a storage room. Sorry, it was gay panic.]

[secondnature]

[Just as quickly, Keith can feel the rise of his temper. It begins as small prickles of anxiety in his stomach, just before building up, feeding into a temperament that's always tended toward angry. He clenches his jaw and bites back his words. Ever since he got on the wrong sides of both Jason and Damian, he's been careful—perhaps even overly so.

The signs that he's holding it in? The clenched jaw. The furrowed eyebrows, with eyes that have narrowed. And the plate in his hand? He's definitely white knuckling it. He can feel his teeth collide in his mouth.

And then he pulls himself back in, breathing out.]

Fine, [he mutters to himself.] No one wanted you to eat anyway.

[No, talking to himself doesn't work, but at least it keeps him from acting.]

1/2

[kometes]

[ ... Well.

That was not an expected reaction.

Achilles is left speechless at the display, not understanding that he was the sole cause of it. ]

[kometes]

[ He continues his approach, undeterred by what just happened. He supposes he should check on the other guy, and maybe in the process he can find out what all that was about. This guy looks like he's about to punch someone, though.

Striding up to him, Achilles reaches out to pluck one of the baked goods on the plate Keith is holding, popping it up in the air with a little toss before catching it soundly in his palm. ]

What'd you do to him? [ Just out of curiosity. He suspects Cain was running away from him, but maybe he's missing something here?

After all, that guy... is forward. So... ] Did something happen between you two last night, too?

[secondnature]

[The question's bizarre nature does enough to help Keith calm down the rest of the way. With him, there's always that little inkling of tension ready to rise up, but growing up has helped keep it largely by the wayside. Someone shoving past him when he's just trying to be nice? That's a pretty easy way to dig in.

Now? Now he finds himself wondering if he was rude at some point. No, he doesn't think that it's anything like what happened between Achilles and Cain, but ... maybe somewhere else? The ball wasn't his scene, and he had been pretty on edge when he brought Shiro back. Like, "pointless argument with Ignis" on edge.

So—maybe?]

I don't know. [Clipped and yet not, like he's really not sure.] I don't remember seeing him, but—last night wasn't a good night. [There's something in Keith's posture that all but accepts that maybe he did upset someone without trying. He has a knack of doing that. Sometimes it's as simple as forgetting someone's face.

Which ... he's better about these days.

But ... far from perfect.]

[kometes]

[ He stuffs his mouth with the food as he speaks, eyes lighting up... because this is more flavour than he’s ever had before. This stuff is good! He’ll quickly inhale it (not literally), taking mouthfuls and barely chewing before swallowing. ]

Ah. I think I get it. [ He’s curious but not enough to pry or push. Saying last night wasn’t a good night is pretty vague, though. ]

You probably drank too much, then. Did you end up taking him to bed and doing something obscene, I wonder?

How about I go check on him?

[ He reaches for the plate... give him the whole thing, please. ]

[secondnature]

[Keith's face goes through several shifts, starting with confused and baffled—this is when he hands over the plate—and eventually progressing to irritated. Flustered.

That is definitely not something that happened the night before. He's never seen this guy in his life, and he definitely didn't—he was taking care of Shiro!

And—and he wouldn't!]

I don't think I've seen him before, and I definitely didn't see him like that. So get that out of your head before you go see him.

[Because ... because no.]

[kometes]

[ He barks out a laugh watching his expression go through several levels of shock. Is Cain not his type? ]

Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Maybe it was me, after all. [ Reaching out to ruffle his short hair. ]

Thanks for the food, kid. [ He means it... Having a corporeal body now means that he's going to have to maintain it regularly -- sleeping, eating, among other things. And this bod needs a lot of food. ]

I'm Rider.

[secondnature]

Yeah? Well, then tell him not to shove people around because you made a mess of things. [After all of that, Keith comfortably falls back into a slightly antagonistic state. He had only been trying to help, and by now, Keith is tired of having that be thrown back into his face.]

And if he has a problem with that, tell him to find Keith. I can talk for myself.

[blyat]

[The storage closet is cramped, stacked with supplies (primarily medical) that he can't identify by sight at all. He does find a few blocks of gray soap, their odor acerbic to his nose. Cain isn't even sure why he ran in here. It was dumb and impulsive, but it made sense in the moment.

Whatever, the guy's most likely left by now, attention hopefully sidetracked somewhere else. So he goes to the door and cracks it open, then steps out into the harsh wash of light -- and finds Achilles still standing right there.

Fuck.

He's not hiding in the closet like a coward. Cain grits his teeth and walks out, ignoring them both to beeline for the kitchen.]

[kometes]

[ He made a mess of things? Achilles narrows his eyes in confusion, wondering how this has suddenly turned on him since Keith is insinuating he did something wrong.

He cocks his head, but he's not about to mull over things. He said that Cain is avoiding him, not that he made a mess somehow! ]

Then, here's your chance to go tell him yourself. I'm not your messenger, kid.

[ He jabs a thumb to Cain as he walks out of the storage closet. Perfect timing. ]

[secondnature]

[While Keith has half a mind to do just that, the other half has clued in to this being some ... thing that he doesn't need to get involved in. Achilles gave him enough clues to put it together.

(Which is astounding, because Keith is Bad at This Stuff.)

He makes an annoyed sound.]

No. [Slightly dragged out for emphasis.] If he's gonna go around shoving people because he's got a problem with you, you need to talk to him. Now leave me alone.

[kometes]

[ THIS... BRAT!!!

Achilles just stares at him with anger flaring up in his eyes. He's better at reining in his temper at least. ]

What the hell....? [ But he'll let him walk away.

And now Achilles is officially in a Bad Mood. Looks like Cain is going to have to deal with the brunt of it. He makes an annoyed sound himself, moving to march in the direction of the kitchen so he can inevitably corner Cain and confront him for being a little bitch.

Whatever he's doing in the kitchen, Achilles will set the plate down hard as if to get his attention. ]

[blyat]

[He isn't in there long before he's followed, so he's only just had time to fiddle with a few of the dishes on the counter, trying to find some task - or an edible meal - to occupy himself from the interpersonal disaster that was the last twenty-four hours of his life.

The other man's sudden presence is oppressive at his back. The clatter makes him flinch, head whipping around.]

What do you want?

[When in doubt, aggressive confrontation solves... most of his problems.]

[kometes]

[ He slides the plate across the counter, in his direction. It stops just before the edge. ]

Eat this.

[ Firm, though his tone doesn't carry anger (yet). He stares at him, assessing. ] That kid from earlier was trying to share a meal with you, and you shoved him aside when you saw me.

I suspect that you're trying to avoid me, which would be stupid considering the size of this place. If you go causing trouble, I don't want to be held responsible for it.

So make amends with that guy. His name's Keith.