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

[secondnature]

"We? I'm not trapped here anymore, not like any of you." The words are callous in the worst possible way, and Keith doesn't even see it as being trapped. He doesn't like that Shiro is stuck here. Shiro should be free. He needs air. The ball was the worst possible place that someone like him could end up, and that someone did it with so little concern ...

Ugh, it really gets under his skin. It means that he doesn't walk back his words. Keith doesn't even think about it. Maybe later, with a clearer mind, he'll have a better idea of it.

Not right now.

"I'm not even messy. I just didn't want to lose track of it." He considers trying to be imposing and in Ignis' space, but he doesn't see the point. Being belligerent and dismissive—somehow at the same time—is more his style. Angry and fighting but also distant and unyielding. Because Keith is those things normally, but he manages it. Mostly. He had told Jason that he was wrong about how Keith expects to be listened to—and to Keith's mind, that's still untrue.

Except when he's in a bad mood and gets ahead of himself and gives the very opposite impression.

"Besides, you obviously don't get how things work here. Don't go around telling other people what to do."

[cheffeur]

There's a faint twitch in his jaw at the correction-- And really, he should have seen it. There's a certain appearance of all of those who had been dumped off together, and this man doesn't fit it. Just like Noct or Prompto or any of the others who had been filtering in to drop off supplied or check on or meet the new arrivals, this man was likely established and more used to it. (He'll blame the disorientation of-- well. Everything.)

But aside from that, he doesn't balk at the retorts, at the defenses thrown up. Because really- he doesn't care if Keith considers himself messy or not, or what his reasoning is. Just that the kitchen chairs and no place for someone's discarded shirt.

"I see. So rather than being made to live here, instead you've traveled all the way here, and decided that while visiting you'd discard your dirty linens in the kitchen because you deemed it the safest. Is that more correct?" An eyebrow lifts pointedly, bright green eyes staring steadily at him, posture stiff and completely unyielding.

The implication that he doesn't understand, though, has him bristling. "Well then, feel free to elucidate me. Because clearly you seem to consider yourself an exception to that rule."

[secondnature]

The worst part of this—the absolute worst part of it—is just how stupid this feels. And that's the thing. It feels pretty pointless. Some nagging part of Keith knows that this guy is new, that he doesn't really need to get into anymore fights with people he barely knows, and he shouldn't be trying to get anyone else to have a problem with him. Having Jason and Damian's ire is enough for anyone. He has both of them ready to throw down with him, and it's ... too much.

But he doesn't back down. His jaw twitches, his eyes narrow, and he slides his arms over his chest. It's a way of shielding himself, one that he mastered years ago. It doesn't leave him now.

"What rule am I an exception to? This isn't your world." A bold, confident statement. That's because Keith surveyed enough people to know that whoever shows up here isn't from here. Otherwise, they wouldn't need to be locked away for several days. "How do you know what rules there are? Or what's the standard? Maybe you're the exception."

Look, Keith is better at fighting and bickering when it involves—or devolves, as it may be—into fisticuffs. So, he's trying his best.

ugh PLZ FORGIVE HOLIDAY SLOWNESS....

[cheffeur]

"The one you just stated." It's enunciated clearly and carefully, keeping that unerring eye contact through every beat. He very much as the tone of an exasperated teacher having to hand-hold and walk someone through the situation, step-by-step, with all the ill-hidden condescension such a thing entails.

"You've instructed me to, verbatim: 'Don't go around telling other people what to do.' Which, as I'm sure you can see, is itself a command given from one to another." Surely, he could continue about what a fallacy the phrase is-- but stops just short of going on at length.

Instead he lets his head tilt slightly in silent judgement, eyes finally moving to take in Keith's bristling stance and posture, the both of them refusing to back down.

"But you are correct- this isn't Eos. Perhaps using discarded laundry to scent-mark a territory is the way of things here. If so, I welcome the correction as to your intentions. So please, tell me: Just why is it so important that you leave your belongings in a communal kitchen?"

it's fine!

[secondnature]

Eos. That sounds familiar, but Keith can't decide if it's one of the many planets he's been near in his world—or if it's one he heard about from people here. He pauses just long enough to wrack his brain to try to remember, but ultimately doesn't. Whatever. Who cares if he has a clue about who Ignis is to one of his closest friends? It's not like it matters.

(This argument would happen either way, to be more specific.)

"It's not marking my scent. No one does that around here." As far as he knows. It's a thing that his wolf gets up to, and Keith is a little offended at it being implied to be a bad thing. His wolf is a Good Boy who's never done wrong, even when he had to be trained out of peeing on Keith's side of the cave while he was growing up.

"Not that you'll care. You just want to twist around my words until you're right." He never said it was a rule! Okay, Keith isn't a pedantic wordsy kind of guy, so he's already feeling partly overwhelmed by all of this. This is stupid. It was just sitting there. It wasn't hurting anyone. And he would have grabbed it, but he was in the middle of something else.

Like he said.

Ugh, no. He refuses to explain himself further.

[cheffeur]

Keith isn't wrong with his accusation. Whatever his response, Ignis would find a way about it. Words are one of his primary weapons, after all, and he doesn't feel that it's his fault that someone else has been so inaccurate with them. Especially when he considers himself right about this. Regardless of worlds, it's simply atrocious manners to leave discarded laundry around. And so he again doesn't budge at the sullen comments, instead waiting patiently, before gesturing towards the shirt.

"Then perhaps it would be easiest for all of us if you simply kept your belongings to yourself. Especially as you've already told me you're not stuck here as we are."

Finally, he makes to move-- though it's just to continue crossing the kitchen to begin pulling supplies out of one of the cupboards, already internally cursing this world and its lack of coffee. (Maybe he'd be more agreeable if he wasn't dealing with caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else.)

"What brings you here if you aren't new, anyway? Dropping off more supplies?" At least he's. Trying to start a conversation, now that his point has been made and (maybe) accepted out of spite and frustration, if nothing else.

[secondnature]

What do you care? Keith gives him a look as if he expects that nothing he says will be an acceptable answer. He considers stubbornly taking up his shirt and stretching it over the table, but that would be a jerk move. Again, bad mood or not, Keith is trying not to get on anyone's bad side.

Or make permanent enemies.

Yes, that last one is far more accurate.

"You're not the only person who ended up at that party," he says, tone flat and just edging on impatience. To be fair ... Keith sounds a little edgy and impatient all the time. "Sometime I know showed up. I wasn't about to leave him here without someone he knew." Shiro already had to do that once. Twice. Maybe more.

Keith would never do that to him again.

[cheffeur]

Neither of them are pleased, but at least neither of them are stretching the conflict past the point of pettiness they'd already arrived at. Which is, really, probably a toe or two dipped well past the line, but at least they don't seem to be wading out farther.

"I didn't think I was, seeing as I'd arrived with the others." It's a casual statement, though, rather than another dig in. Because as disoriented and drugged as they were, he couldn't have missed the fact that he and a number of others had been practically marched in before being set loose. Of course the others would have been retrieved also.

But what's more interesting is the fact that this man seems to be in the same position Noctis and Prompto are in- having been here and settled, and suddenly someone they knew arrived.

"It's good you managed to track him down in the madness of that event," He speaks casually, even as he starts putting together something basic to eat. As much as Noctis has been trying to look after him, he really demands a level of self-sufficiency. "How did you find him?"

Really, he's curious. He knows that Noctis had known to look for him due to the pull of magic, the way Ignis was bound through him to the Crystal's power. But knowing other's strategies would help if he had to look for anyone else arriving.

[secondnature]

"I didn't." These words are the source of all of Keith's frustration. He didn't know. He hadn't thought Shiro would be the first to turn up. He doesn't know why. It seems so obvious now, but at the time, he hadn't been looking for him. His early life was so lonely, and he hadn't liked returning to it. Even when he traveled in a weird space abyss for two years, he had his mom and his wolf by his side. Losing them made him feel ... empty. Disconnected.

Like all he could do was go through the motions.

And after that, after he returned to his team, he got them back. He got Shiro back.

And then he was here.

Keith just ... assumed it would be that way. He hadn't expected to turn up and know anyone.

"It's just—he's not the kind of person you miss. Not easily." Not when he matters that much. But there are other features to Shiro: one arm, white hair, a scar on his face. Large, but traumatized. He's been through a lot.

"I'm lucky I got there when I did."