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

[revlon]

[ She isn't aware of the rationing. Why would she be? No call to mention it down here when 99% of the partygoers are in the know, so to be offered a glass of water at an event this raucous seems entirely out of place to her; it could be vodka, but a discreet sniff dismisses that theory immediately. Should she be accepting drinks from strangers after waking up in a bus and being led around with a hood over her head? Likely not.

Does she because her mouth feels like she'd spent weeks lying in the Californian desert she last remembers being in? Abso-bloody-lutely. ]

Cheers, [ she says, wishing fervently this was whiskey and knowing it's better for all involved that it isn't. She downs it all the same. Under her breath, against the lip of the glass, ] Although I wouldn't call myself lucky.

[ Bloody nightmare being what it is. She's stuck to this spot for the foreseeable so she may as well do her best to flush her system of whatever is making her feel so — so. Everything. Unsteady, gently spinning, like she could still be under the influence on a table or in a cell somewhere in a madwoman's lab or basement. ]

Wait. [ You got an invite? Implying — ] How did you get in here without an invitation, then? [ She's overheard enough to know how exclusive this event is. Cue her sounding as impressed as any local might (she wagers). ] Don't tell me you snuck in.

[ Do tell her it's her way out. ]

[stabilis]

Well, no. But I could've.

[ Let there be no doubt, stranger. He's playing into that impressed tone; if he suspects it's fake, he clearly doesn't care. ] Treasure hunt. Shocking amount of physical tracking involved for something aimed at a bunch of nerds, by the way.

[ The explanation might be too brief for someone who doesn't have the context of ARG codes and geocaching, but he doesn't stop to elaborate. It's difficult to get a read on her. She doesn't exactly seem thrilled to be here, which stands out slightly at the so-called party of the year. There are more excuses for that than multiversal abduction, though. Maybe she's just got a killer headache.

Johnny tilts his head towards one of the more private alcoves, just visible around a curve of cave hallway. ]

Wanna get out of here? I can tell you all about it.

[ No come on, no command. He's picking his words carefully. ]

[revlon]

[ She almost laughs at the first bit — spares a smile, instead, and a sincere one at that — because a "bunch of nerds" were what a great deal of her fellow agents were and they were sent hiking through the European countryside to prove their worth. (The word wasn't colloquial in her time but she can parse the meaning.) ]

The nerve, [ she agrees with feeling and the appropriate head shake. His question prompts a quirked brow and she pulls experimentally at her feet and — alas, sorrow stands firmly planted. Sophocles had the right of it in this instance. ] Tell me about what, this party? [ Cue the disarming smile, a flash of teeth and a ducked head. ] I could stand to be a little more impressed.

[stabilis]

Lady, I can tell you about all kinds of things. [ A ridiculous line, admittedly, but it isn't like it's his first (or last). Johnny's head tilts curiously at the demure answer, though the slight shift of her weight doesn't read as strange. No reason to assume she's been forced to stand still.

As loathe as he is to test it, the drugs are the surest giveaway that someone's new. That or the empathy link. That feels like more of an imposition, somehow, so— ]

Follow me. [ The follow-up's quick, offered as he retreats a step back towards the quiet(er) alcove, eyes on her to read her response: ] Just for a second. Promise I'll make it worth your while.

[revlon]

[ If this goes south — further south than she already is, it's bloody Antarctica at this point — then she can handle it. She's been tugged left and right by strangers all night and even though he's made the request that she trail after him, it's phrased innocently enough that it reads as a woman eager to take up a handsome man on his invitation. (And she'd have done it anyway, forced compliance or no; she does want to know more about all of this and this source is as good as any. And she doesn't want to wait for her presumptuous "date" to return.) ]

I'm sure you will. [ Peggy falls into step alongside him, glancing askance through a fall of short hair. She's studying him, of course, but the expression is masked with something more playful, roving. ] Besides, I was getting bored of my other date. And here you are, waltzing up with a tall drink of water and a treasure hunt. Colour me intrigued.

[ God, all she needs is her blonde bombshell wig and this will be just another day at the office. ]

[stabilis]

[ It's an expression that reminds him immediately of Dutch, which: charming and nostalgic, of course. Also sets off some very tiny alarm bells. That would matter more if he weren't already on guard, keeping an eye out for signs that she's one of the targets, but it's still useful. ]

Remind me to send your date a sympathy card. [ The alcove's easy enough to reach, the small hallways less packed with bodies — just bodies making out against walls, obviously, because what's an underground party without PDA. Johnny ignores them like an old pro. Utopia's kinkier, honestly. This is whatever. ]

The only way to get into New Amsterdam's most exclusive and sweaty party is by being smart, stupid or lucky. [ Even in the offshoots, it's loud. Johnny shouts over the noise, pausing to duck into the first empty alcove he sees. It's more claustrophobic than cozy, given the stone walls. Quiet enough to give up the yelling, though. ] I'm the first one. Sometimes also the other ones, but you know. Talking about this, specifically.

[revlon]

[ If she's mildly scandalised by his chamber of choice, she keeps that to herself. (Peggy Carter, unflinching in the face of brutal warfare and bloodshed; also stares at the ceiling when her good friend starts necking his wife. She's from 1947. This is a lot.) Her focus remains on the man at her side and what he tells her, brows raised with genuine interest even as they escape into closer quarters.

Part of her rather hopes he's not getting the wrong idea. The other part knows that's precisely how she tailored this encounter so there's nothing for it. But thank you, Johnny, for giving her a name to the place. New Amsterdam. She's never heard of it. It could be the name of the venue itself, it could be the city; either way, she can't ask for clarification because if she's here, then she should know that at the very least. ]

Good thing you lead with that, [ she grins, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pilfered jacket as she leans up against the cave wall. ] Otherwise I'd have told you not to sell yourself short. [ Peggy glances back the way they came, feeling the music thump through the cool stone against her back. ] I always thought this little soirée was an urban legend. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around being here at all. [ And she looks back to him, smiling still, easy as can be. ] What about you?

[stabilis]

[ The only wrong idea he's getting is some serious doubts about whether she's one of the targets. Johnny watches her settle in against the wall, his smile turning a little bemused. If she is new, he doesn't want to push the act. If she isn't, well — flattering, but not exactly what he came here for. ]

I didn't know it existed until about two and a half weeks ago. [ The party or the planet. The comment's too honest, breaking cover, but she'd have to be guessing to figure that out. There's a pause as he considers something, gaze dropping to her jacket before he steps forward, just barely skirting too close. When he goes to slide a hand under her jacket at her waist, it's easy to play off as a come-on; it's not sneaky.

What is sneaky is that he's trying to get the jacket out of the way and get a plain view of what he thinks are scrubs. ] The whole thing's a little bougie for me.

[ Not in aesthetics, but definitely in the #hashtag #popupbar way. ]

[revlon]

[ The comment may be too honest but it's also too vague so it slides past her scrutiny without trouble. From what she's gathered in weaving through this crowd, neither of them are wrong to think the party is notorious. Infamous. And in the everyone's words: exclusive. Yet here they are, a woman entirely out of time and a man trying to suss out if she is — not that she's giving him an easy time of it.

Or is she?

Peggy clocks his next move a half second before it happens and only because no one is aiming for any sort of subtlety here. (Well, she is, but not with this particular game.) Her brows raise as she follows through, stepping into his space; her smile broadens, and she brings up one hand to finger his collar before smoothing it back down flat. ]

Then what is it that brought you here? No, wait, let me guess. [ She tips her chin up a fraction, voice soft. Amused. Genuinely curious. ] You just like solving puzzles.

[ Which is what she is. Very clever. ]

[stabilis]

[ Well. It's a little harder to study her clothes when she's completely up in his grill. Not without making it blatantly obvious that's what he's doing, and honestly — part of him is starting to care a little less. Not because he's lost track of what he's doing here, and not even because he's that easily distracted by a beautiful woman (I mean, slightly that, but also: he's a professional).

He just appreciates skill when he sees it, even when he thinks it's heading straight towards getting his ass kicked by a girl. Maybe especially when?? Whatever. Johnny smiles and cedes her a point, letting his hand settle lightly at her waist instead of gauchely shoving the maybe-disguise out of the way. ] I do like solving puzzles.

[ Which she 100% is. His tone's light, keeping up the pretense (?) of flirtation. ] But I'm looking for a friend of a friend, actually. He said they're new in town, might need someone to show them the ropes.

[revlon]

[ Peggy cocks her head a scant fraction to the side, intrigued. He isn't the first person she's encountered to say as much — as little, really, but there's been a trend of individuals trying to see if she belongs to this throng or not. She hasn't yet stumbled across the others from her bus and she isn't sure all of them shared her plan of adopting a disguise immediately, but if there are a few running around in white scrubs then that's enough of a clue that there could be more.

He says what he says with his hand where it is and it clicks: he's checking her out. Not even in that sense. (Maybe a little in that sense.) She'd been treading carefully all this while but now that she's clued in to his intentions, she has to be a little more calculating. ]

He's clever and he's an expert tour guide. [ Golly, her tone seems to say. Just her luck! ] Who's your friend? Maybe I know him.

[stabilis]

[ Johnny scrunches his nose slightly, amused. ] Doubt it. He's more elusive than this idiot ball.

[ *insomniacs. But also that. Namedropping El would be pointless for someone who just showed up, potentially dangerous around any local that has any kind of investment in Morningstar. ] Besides, you don't really fit the bill. He said his friend would be easily confused, wearing scrubs. Cheap haircut. Total disaster.

[ All things she clearly isn't. Except for the scrubs, which he's gambling on being a thing. He's confident enough to trust his first instinct, even if white scrubs are much harder to spot now that they're out of the black light. The light's dim here, warm, casting everything in a dark orange glow that's better camouflage than her jacket.

The description's offered up like a good-natured taunt, an inside joke he's hoping she's in on. ] What about you?

[ She said she got an invite. He remembers, he's just wondering if she'll try to elaborate. ]

[revlon]

[ Bollocks. No name, then. That's probably a good thing in the long run, since it eliminates any of her usual suspects — not that any of this is in the wheelhouse of someone like Whitney Frost, the Council, or even Leviathan. Whitney is famous. Public. So are the members of the Council. Leviathan less so, but this isn't their sort of thing. No other person or organisation is gunning for her like those top three contenders so this is a new threat altogether. The flashiness of this ball is a good cover for dropping off busloads of people like her, but why?

And why are people looking for them? A dead drop shipment of live human cargo? None of the pieces fit. Thank God she's made a concerted effort to disguise being a piece at all, but it won't hold under scrutiny. Especially now that she knows for certain she is precisely what this man is looking for. ]

Me? [ She laughs, nothing in her bearing suggesting she's now looking for a way out. ] Dragged along by a date as dull as dishwater, if you'll recall. But that friend of friend sounds equally off-putting. Why bother?

[ Isn't she so much more interesting? Tell her why she isn't, Mr Tall, Smart, and Handsome. ]

[stabilis]

Let's just say I owe my friend a favor. Hard to believe, I know, but I was a total disaster once too. [ Does it feel extra to talk in code when nobody's around to decipher it? A little, yeah. He does it anyway, just in case. ]

He's the one who taught me everything I know. [ A beat, and a clarification that's 100% bad humor, 0% actual correction: ] About New Amsterdam. Not about flirting in seedy underground clubs.

[ Whatever her deal is, she's got zero tells. And if she is new, she's very clearly not in need of rescuing. Johnny's grip on her waist shifts slightly, just enough to keep it from being staged and awkward without really pushing boundaries more than they've already been pushed. Because he's here to flirt, apparently. Not talk. Gotta keep it natural. ] Why, you hoping I'll cancel my plans?

[revlon]

[ It's code, but one easy enough to decipher without much effort because what he tells her speaks volumes. Five sentences, three clues that speak entirely to them sharing a predicament, albeit some time apart. Peggy slides her hand up from his collar to brush her fingertips over the nape of his neck, presumably to flirt right back, but she brushes across a scar and she pauses, brows flickering.

She doesn't know enough about this place to know the scar isn't unusual. All she knows is that she's found the same on her neck when she ran her hands through her too-short hair. That marks them as similar but not why she should trust him. (But that's a rare commodity in her line of work, regardless of the place or circumstances.) ]

Wondering if you'll show me those ropes you mentioned. [ She does leave that hand at the back of his neck, though. As a precaution. Because he's here on behalf of a mysterious friend who wants to, what, collect people like her? Not bloody likely. ] You're not from around here, Mister — ?

[stabilis]

Johnny. Johnny Jaqobis. [ He's never heard of James Bond, ok, he's just naturally that cool. Her hand feels conspicuous at his neck — he's very aware of the scar, if only because he should've woken up with others, and he'd almost mistaken it for the one he'd already had in roughly the same spot. It'd ended up being a weird tally.

He tilts his head slightly, studying her expression. After a thoughtful beat: ]

You know, it's rude to fondle a guy's neural implant without asking.

[ In case she's wondering what that scar's all about. And this is probably where he should prompt her for a return introduction, but he's getting this weird impression that he wouldn't get a real one, anyway. ]

[revlon]

[ Neural implant. That's new. She has no bloody idea what that even means — but it doesn't sound like anything good, certainly; more unsettling is the implication that she has the same thing. Peggy wants to reach up and touch her own scar, as if that'll reveal any new clues, but the impulse is stifled and only comes to life in the way she flicks her gaze over him. And that could be anything, couldn't it? Intrigue, amusement, interest.

Only she doesn't yet realise that touching him, skin to skin, initiates the empathy bond. So the confusion rippling through her could very well be palpable to him more than the easy façade she's keeping up. If he probes deeper, past the bold confidence, he'll find sharp wariness, vibrating tension, all at odds with her charming smile. ]

You started it, Mr Jaqobis, [ she murmurs, trailing her fingertips back and forth over the nape of his neck, undeniably flirtatious. (Except it doesn't register through the bond, does it? The lights of the party make it difficult to tell.) ] Didn't you promise to make this worth my while?

[stabilis]

[ It's a challenging tightrope, trying to respect someone's privacy while also trying to figure out some very specific secrets. Slightly more challenging when you have a very literal link to their emotions, but the connection isn't as abrupt as some. Confidence, curiosity with a tight lid on it, and the hint of something else — a warning that reminds him immediately and distinctly of Dutch.

Johnny isn't some master of control. Mental and emotional shields aren't exactly his style, and he hasn't even bothered to figure them out. The thing is, comfort and trust amount to roughly the same thing; no suspicious walls, no reason to dig. And in this case, no sudden surge of emotions for the mystery lady to puzzle out. Steady calm threads into the link, concerned curiosity mixes with her own — admittedly less concerned — curiosity, but that's it.

Prying or not, arousal's a hard emotion to miss. And right now, there's nothing to miss. His eyes narrow slightly at the line, but he's still smiling when he answers. ] Oh, don't worry. I'm a man of my word.

[ His hands have settled again, higher up on her waist. Now he moves, lifting his hands to grip the sides of her jacket and pulling it apart to expose her chest. Well, the scrubs, which are doing a poor job of disguising a bright blue glow. The movement's quick and confident, but it isn't exactly forceful — easy enough to intercept, if she tries. ] But I think it'll be easier if we drop the pretense.

[ If she looks, she won't find a matching glow from his chest — his leather jacket's closed, thick enough to conceal it. ]

[revlon]

[ Pulled this close, as woven together as she's allowed them to become to sell a cover, it's impossible to miss the shift in him — she feels the slide of his hands, the way his head straightens under her wandering fingers, and she prepares herself for the next move, whatever it may be. A heartbeat later, it's clear: she's been made. The alarm flashes through the bond just as her jacket is pulled aside but she misses the glow entirely, she doesn't even know about the glow; all she knows is that he'll see the scrubs and she needs to make a decision right bloody now or she's going to get — God, she doesn't know, carted off to another bus wearing another hood, taken to a mystery figure who wants to gather people like her for some unknown reason.

Maybe it's an irrational conclusion to jump to. But with the pieces falling together as they have, it's the only one she's got. And so's this plan, better executed when she's wearing her special brand of sedative-laced lipstick, but one must make do, and she can hear someone coming, likely thinking this alcove is available, and bloody hell bloody hell she can't be boxed in, so —

Peggy slides her hand up from his neck to the back of his head and pulls him down into a crushing kiss, rocking up onto her toes and body arched into him. She's got to lower his guard somehow and with her back to a wall, this is all she has before resorting to more violent measures. ]

[stabilis]

[ The alarm's met by a spike of sympathetic guilt, and he's this close to deescalating, apologizing, whatever helps. She's faster. Johnny's eyebrows lift when she shoves up onto her toes and crushes her lips to his, and for a split second he stalls out. He lets go of her jacket, hands hovering harmlessly at the side — then he catches the shadow of someone stepping under the low archway, looking to score their own private corner.

He slips an arm around her back, relaxing slightly into the kiss as he swings her around so her back's to the hallway; she's already close, and he's letting her stay there, so it's a little overkill — but if there'd been any risk of the blue glow being visible, now it's fully out of view. The woman who'd nearly stepped in stops and backpedals with a grin, and the second she does Johnny tries to draw back, leaning against Peggy's palm and throwing his hands back up. ]

Whoa— hey, take it easy.

[ Like he's trying to settle a startled horse. Or the probably very dangerous and understandably panicked... assassin?? Maybe? Just going with what he knows. ]

[revlon]

[ She doesn't know that he's going along with the kiss to obscure that glow; she doesn't realise, maybe, that's it's coming from her (from them, even if his jacket obscures his), she doesn't know anything about what's been done to her other than being kidnapped, possibly experimented on. She doesn't know that it isn't normal here, that her impulse to adopt a cover and blend in is shared by others like her, which Johnny has tried to explain. She doesn't know a bloody thing except that she needs to manoeuvre this kiss so she has a clear shot for the archway and the heaving, writhing crowd beyond it.

He's given her the information she needs: the name of a place, the fact that people are looking for people like her so she needs to be on her toes. She can leave. And the second the kiss breaks, she releases him and the connection (practiced, forced calm dampening the keening reflex of fight or flight; she's done this before) severs. Peggy's bearing is less fluid and easy now — she's all squared shoulders, ready to spring, the practiced stance of a fighter. (Or a soldier.) She jerks her jacket closed, zipping it up, and she —

— stops. Because his command, unintentional or not, stalls her from shoving him back into the wall and making her hasty exit. Take it easy, he says, and the tension bleeds from her shoulders even as her heart pounds a tattoo across her glowing chest, her mind at war with her body. Those damn drugs. ]

Don't tell me to take it easy.

[stabilis]

[ Shit. Shit, shit— ] Shit, sorry, don't take it— do whatever you want.

[ Stumbling over his thoughts and plans, because boy, did this go in some weird directions. So much for the smooth rescue. Johnny takes another split second to size up her stance, uncannily familiar, and adds a very pointed: ]

Just don't hit me. [ Is coercion still unethical if you only use it on purpose in self-defense. Probably. His hands are still up, conciliatory, and he really hopes she doesn't run, and the natural impulse to tell her not to is there — but right now simple statements are creepy cheating, so he bites his tongue. ]

Just. Please. Will you let me explain?

[revlon]

[ So he knows about the drugs, too. The fumbled apology, the retraction that follows — that can't possibly be common knowledge, either. Who is this man working for? Why do they know what's been done to them? This doesn't bode well and it's only a matter of time until she's asked to stay, to follow, to — stay quiet, keep moving until I say stop. A command any one of them would have followed with or without forced compliancy when the voice issuing it is armed.

Christ. She needs to go. Peggy takes in a breath, watching his hands, gauging his tone. Then: ]

I think you've done enough explaining, Mr Jaqobis.

[ Telling her not to hit him doesn't stop her from curling her hands into fists. But the specifics of the words matter and she works her way around that loophole in a second, drugs or no drugs — don't hit doesn't mean don't kick. It's nothing fancy; she goes for the shin.

If he blocks it, she'll just try again, higher. And if it connects, she runs. ]

[stabilis]

[ It connects. Also, it hurts. ] Ow—

[ This isn't his first rodeo, but he can't help the short delay as he falters, keeping his balance. By the time he moves, she's already running. ] Nice one, dumbass.

[ Don't hit me seems like an obvious oversight, in retrospect. Johnny ducks out of the small cavern and into the hallway, but it isn't her first rodeo, either. He catches sight of her just as she's ditching the quiet offshoots for the crowd, tries one last reckless— ]

Wait!

[ The music's too loud. The command's swallowed up by the echoing bass, and between the flashing lights and the close-dancing crowd, she's already gone. ] Shit.