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

[verflair]

[ He's used to this by now, the conversation suddenly jumping track when one of them - usually Ardyn - feels the seriousness is too... serious. ]

You look a fool.

[ Not even Ardyn could wear that hat with any sort of dignity. ]

So if it really does look better on you than me, I worry for what I must really look like in that monstrosity.

[daemonized]

A fool? You wound me. [He steps forward, not bothering to remove the top hat just yet. It’s as ridiculous as Ardyn can be, so maybe it’s not such a terrible match.]

Though you were never very fond of my choices regarding headwear. [A chuckle.] You’ll be an expert on the subject soon, however, won’t you?

[X’rhun ears might prove an issue in this place. And that’s not accounting for the tail.]

[verflair]

No doubt I will be. Naught but Hyur as far as the eye can see, and me the lone Miqo’te, tossed into the mix. ‘Tis why I obtained that ridiculous thing in the first place.

[ His eyes drift from the hat upon Ardyn’s head to the bruise darkening his cheek. ]

Though, speaking of wounds – what happened there?

[ A vague hand motion at the same spot on his own face. ]

[daemonized]

This?

[Fingers rise to trace along the area of his bruising, ignoring the dull pain throbbing there even with that faint pressure.]

This is a gift from Prompto. Wasn't it thoughtful of him?

[Not the same one, at any rate. Freshly wounded by recent events, dealing with so much more than the one they both knew during their time in the world before this one.]

[verflair]

Prompto did that?

[ The slight lifting of his brows only serves to punctuate his surprise. Prompto has ample reason to want to punch Ardyn in the face, he knows that much. That’s not the surprising part so much as knowing that he actually up and did it. ]

What on earth happened?

[daemonized]

Bold of him, wasn't it? I'm sure that he'll come to regret it later.

[Ardyn let that much be known, that sharp-edged threat rising up and baring its fangs at the young man. But he knows X'rhun well enough to not expound upon this further; in fact, he'll not mention the way he struck back, nor wrapped his fingers so tightly against the other's throat in retaliation, intent to squeeze the life out of him.

Prompto had picked a bad time. Newly "arrived" to the party, he wasn’t in a generous enough mood to turn the other cheek.]

He found me at the ball, and in all of his righteous anger, he struck me.

[He grins a little like a snake, perhaps softer around the edges than what he grants most, but it's clearly not very kind. Reflective of what Prompto had gazed upon, during their lovely little conversation.]

You see, I don’t think this is the Prompto that we both know and love. [“Know and love”. Has the superciliousness been dripping so much that it puddles at his feet yet?] No, this one is still raw from the revelations of his being, the messiness of his creation. He set his anger upon me as a result.

[verflair]

[ X’rhun was there, in that dark and awful magitek facility, a distant echo of his own world’s Garlemald. He watched Ardyn wriggle his way into the boy’s head as he wandered the halls, unraveling the secret of his birth. He doesn’t blame Prompto for his anger, not in the least, but Gods, what a mess.

Whatever tenuous peace Ardyn and the other Prompto had forged was likely scattered to the wind the instant Prompto reeled back and laid into the other man’s face with his fist. ]

No, I would imagine it’s not the same Prompto. And were I to ask you not to hurt the boy?

[daemonized]

[Imperceptible dissatisfaction bristles across his features, covered up quickly by something equally dismissive. Just a ripple across smooth water, but it's very telling on its own.]

Hm. I would have to ask exactly where you've gotten these exceedingly high expectations of me, X'rhun.

[Violence for violence is the name of the game. Ardyn has so much anger just ready to be spilled, there are times when he's just looking for a reason when his mood has gone sour. Whatever goodwill once existed between himself and Prompto, if it could even be called that, had been shattered the moment the boy knocked his knuckles against Ardyn's face. When it was made clear that he was different than the one he knew.]

[verflair]

[ That’s not an answer, and yet it is, in true Ardyn fashion. A heavy implication that expecting Ardyn to stay his hand goes against his very nature, something that X’rhun has done his level best to remain aware of, and yet try to (subtly or not so subtly) encourage him against all the same. ]

If your ire needs an outlet, then I’m right here.

[ One way or another, he would end up on the receiving end of Ardyn’s anger, regardless. He won’t – can’t – stand idly by to watch Ardyn set his sights on Prompto and his friends… or the other way around, if it comes to that, as well. ]

[daemonized]

[The impasse that always cracks between them, like a fault line splitting the earth, once again makes it appearance known. Ardyn steps forward, closing the gap considerably, leaning forward just enough to reach out with a hand and place the tip of a finger under X'rhun's chin, tilting it upwards.]

Always so generous. And how do you know that this sort of ire is something you can take the brunt of, my friend?

[The faint glow of blue, the empathy bond awakening between them, that slow unfurling of what Ardyn means, reaching across to hook itself into X’rhun’s core. Anger, cold acridity, a cavernous emptiness felt upon losing something that had crawled beneath his skin for thousands of years, pinching each nerve again and again, now to be met with only too-much-silence, a dearth of everything, feeling weak, feeling human, his magic sewn up and strangled beneath it all—

And as always, that suffocating layer of undulating hatred that acts as a foundation, running in two directions; outwardly and inwardly.

Ardyn drops his hand before too much of it leeches upon X’rhun, before too much is shared in return.]

Circumstances are quite raw now, given what I've lost. And that we’re tugged to and fro, like playthings, across time and space again and again? You don’t need to let my frustrations rake across you, not when you likely share them.

[verflair]

[ “Generous” is mayhap the wrong word. “Foolish” would be more correct, because he knows – has known – that nothing good can come of becoming entangled with a man like Ardyn. And yet… yet here he still is, arms open wide, inviting a daemon across his doorstep.

An invitation that Ardyn takes, closing the distance between them. X’rhun cannot hope to know what he’s in for the instant Ardyn reaches out, angles his head upward with one finger. The contact is enough to open that strange link they all share, and all that is Ardyn surges through, a dark wave of fire and too many teeth and oddly… nothing. It is a lot, all crammed into a brief moment.

His own stubborn determination and quietly desperate hope get run clean over by surprise and something like… sadness while the barbs of Ardyn’s feelings run him through.

And then it’s over, the world reasserts itself as Ardyn backs away, leaving X’rhun in silence for a heartbeat too long, ears pressed flat against his skull.

Twelve preserve, he thinks to himself. What have I gotten into now?

He breathes in through his nose, exhaling in a sigh, ears righting themselves again. ]

Is that you trying to spare me, Ardyn? You know as well as I that I’ve a habit of getting in over my head, and I don’t intend to put an end to that now.

[daemonized]

[He felt that bite of hope, something sharp at his fingertips as the empathy bond ebbed away, like a tide lurching back into the sea. Sharp and bright, X'rhun's valiant heart, something to be envious of; and in Ardyn's case, that same hope is something that has no place in his own mind, his own tainted soul. Threatens to crawl along tendons and nerve endings if he lets it linger too long.

This will likely be a problem in the future for both parties, he thinks briefly, but hides the thought behind the liquid patronization in his reply, eyes flitting over his friend's face. He's not lost their close proximity just yet.]

It is less sparing you than it is warning you. But you've always been so stubborn; always wanting to see in me what doesn't exist, I think. [A flash of white teeth in that smile.]

But have it your way, if you like. Come now, did you still want to heal me?

[Notice how the issue of Prompto is so very thoroughly ignored.]

[verflair]

[ He does notice, and decides it is the wiser course of action to wait, to bring it up sometime later when they can truly find some privacy. They’ve both been put through a lot, for the second time no less, but Ardyn is clearly carrying this experience much more deeply than even X’rhun is.

And who knows what sort of strange powers they’ve both been gifted? Better to be somewhere away from everyone else just in case something… explosive were to rear its head. ]

I supposes I ought to, since you won’t do it yourself. Let us suss out a first aid kit, shall we?

[daemonized]

[At least X'rhun knows when to pick his battles, if he knows not which battles to pick, he thinks to himself with a twist of something dry. But fingers come up to remove the hat which still lies upon his head, feeling loose nestled against hair that's no longer there. He removes it, setting it back down on his friend's instead.

It sits purposefully lopsided on his brow.]

Won't be here in the kitchens or mess area, at any rate. I think I heard tell of medical supplies being handed out elsewhere -- oh, and that we're to claim a bed for ourselves, as well. Have you done any of that yet?

[verflair]

[ Yes, well, if he had his hair, this fool thing would fit his head far better than it does. Right now, it’s a bit too big, and does as it pleases. At least X’rhun can sort of make the whole “wearing your hat at a jaunty angle” thing work.

But, all that aside, it is time to leave the mess area – Ardyn is right that they won’t find anything for his wounded hand here. ]

Yes, but it’s hardly a permanent situation. I can move, if I must.

[ They all have nothing to their names, after all. No one would notice were he to hop beds at this point. ]

Why do you ask?

[daemonized]

[They leave the area, and Ardyn gives a shrug. He seems to be leading them to where he saw supplies being divvied out; but this man walks a bit like a feline would, and leads like a feline would. Lazily, taking his time, making the other person wonder whether or not he's going the right direction at all.]

Simply wondering, because I thought I might be your neighbor. We can gossip with each other into the wee hours of the night, wouldn't that be fun?

[verflair]

[ A cat leading a cat. This will end well.

X’rhun is content to meander for the time being, knowing that whether Ardyn takes him to the right place or not, he can find the supplies himself. ]

Oh, it would be a delight. I would offer to braid your hair whilst we have our little sleepover, but— [ he makes a vague hand motion, as if to say, “you know.” ]

[daemonized]

[The less reliable cat is the one doing the leading, too. They'll get where they need to go... eventually.

For now, Ardyn winds past a row of cots. His tone is laconic, the length of his step contrasted by his generally unhurried gait.]

Ah, yes. But hair does grow back. Give it while, and I'll even let it run shoulder-length if you promise me a pretty braid.

[verflair]

[ One day some day. X’rhun kind of wonders if this is a stalling tactic on Ardyn’s part, but if so, it will only work for so long. X’rhun will fix that bandage whether the other man likes it or not. ]

But of course. I’d even braid it in the Elezen style for you.

[ (That’s a French braid. They just don’t have France on Hydaelyn.) ]

[daemonized]

[It's okay, they don't have France on Eos, either.]

Oh, I don't even know what that entails, but that makes it all the more exciting.

[He gestures behind him at X'rhun with that same injured hand, shimmering red in the dull light.]

Of course, that does imply that we'll be stuck in this world for a while yet. I suppose we should mentally prepare for the 'long haul', as the saying goes. What do you make of the people here?

[verflair]

[ Always, that streak of red catches his eye, and it makes something clench uncomfortably in his chest. It is, mayhap, less that he dislikes seeing Ardyn hurt and more that the knowledge that he can be hurt in the first place worries him. Ardyn has been impervious to harm for so long, and it makes X'rhun wonder if he has any self preservation instincts left at all. ]

The few I have had the opportunity to meet seem nice enough. If naught else, they acknowledge that we are all in the same, unsavory situation, and are willing to help if need be.

[daemonized]

Misery does love company.

[Of course Ardyn will be one to twist it around into something more cynical than that, not quite willing to accept the helpfulness of those around him in its completeness just yet.]

Do keep in mind that 'nice enough' hard constitutes 'trustworthy'.

[Coming from Ardyn fucking Izunia, of all people.]

[verflair]

[ The irony of that is not lost on him in the least, and he breathes out a laugh in spite of himself. ]

Now, now, you needn’t worry yourself. I am an expert at forging questionable friendships.