ARRIVAL LOG 006

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of September 3 to night of September 4
WHAT: The sixth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #006

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 streets 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, and false, colored light, illuminating the streets in the distance will first alert your senses of being somewhere else, combined with warm air that's only cooled with the setting of the sun. The nurse moves to stand at the back, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. He 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. Once all the passengers are out, they climb back into the vehicle and close the doors. The engine powers up again, and then the bus is gone.

You're left alone in an alley, with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here.

Around the corner of the alley, the streets are lined with bright orange, yellow, and red ball-shaped lights cluttered together overhead. Despite seeming rather tangible in nature, the balls themselves are merely well-designed projections. These lights illuminate the streets filled with people – some of which seem indifferent to the festivities, while others move in dense clusters toward a city square filled with countless trucks and tables. They disperse as they arrive – to trucks, to stations to have faces painted, to admire the wide array of sweet confections available. Numerous bits of signage announce various additional activities – but anyone new won't be able to interact, won't know what information is there.

◉ 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.

> LANTERN FESTIVAL

The message from El – no, wait. It's Gaby this time. Otherwise, it's 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 on announcement duty this time. Bus #6, for anyone who's counting. The location? Well, the heart of the lantern festival. A short walk from the safehouse.

Like many of these festivities, the New Amsterdam Lantern Festival is an annual event, dating back decades as a means of celebrating the mish-mash of culture that influences New Amsterdam as it's seen today. Sponsored by Polarized – a known subsidiary of Pulsar – the lights go bright just as the sun begins to set late in the evening, spreading over the city, acting as a dense layer of luminescence for 24 hours. Even in the daytime hours, the lights remain, and the technology seems to make them seem just as bright – which acts as a sign that the lights themselves are not natural, projected outward by numerous devices set up throughout the city.

Most of the events are concentrated in a district square that was once known as the city's Chinatown. At the heart of this festival is a large gathering where numerous food trucks and restaurants come out to advertise their wares. Specializing in desserts and little else, these businesses flood the street every year in hopes of bolstering their business because they can't partake in the restaurant promotion throughout September. The festival concludes with a competition, with each chef revealing their unique lantern festival dessert. These are often rather impressive in nature: cake pops strung together like a dragon, ice creams that make people's mouths look like they're glowing, and large cakes, shaped and designed to celebrate New Amsterdam's arts and festival scene. Many of this year's offerings will both celebrate the year before and offer a somber reminder of the lives lost in the monster attack just months ago. Smaller, sample sizes of these desserts will be available for purchase, which also grants people access to one vote for their favorite dessert.

As the lantern festival comes to a close almost a full day later, the lights clear a path to the river, where countless people will be stretched out and looking skyward for this year's fireworks. Loud, symphonic music featuring some of New Amsterdam's most popular composers will play throughout the area, synced up with the bombastic explosions themselves.

Most of the six newcomers will have hopefully been gathered long before the fireworks go off – but anyone else is free to enjoy them and the festivities leading up to that final conclusion. The festivities vary in nature, from a place for someone to claim a lantern of their own with a wish, to using UV paint to legally cover the ground in unique symbols and lights, to joining competitions where people place chess and checkers for a wider audience. Each of these activities is monetized, so don't expect anything to be for free.

> A VISUAL DETOUR

There will be several new and persistent additions along the most likely path to the festival from the safehouse: small, man-made shrines that have appeared just hours before the dense layer of lights settled over the city. Depending upon their makeup, these shrines vary in structure, size, and design, but have several unique, persistent similarities between them.

Some of the shrines are fully formed, with candles lying underneath them, and cloth blankets acting as an overhang for the art within. At the heart of each of these shrines is an image of a person, with a large, upside down triangle projecting from their chest – blue and noticeable – with their arms spread wide. Some of these triangles project from the chest as if a piece of a 3D pop-up structure, while others are simply a part of the image itself, a flat, smooth surface. Beneath them, there will be a scene from a familiar event for anyone who's been here for a while: a car flying into a monster's mouth, a person healing someone else, bright blue eyes and fingertips, showing the artist's personal interpretation in motion. Any of the cloth is covered in geometric symbols, intersecting circles and triangles, many of them in specific and particular patterns.

Other shrines are two dimensional in nature – painted, to be more specific, on the walls themselves – both hidden bits of scenery meant to blend in with the surroundings, or large and spread out, splashing wide arrays of colors and symbols. Whoever set up many of these artistic displays had a special paint and familiarity with the lantern festival lighting, as it draws special attention to the blue light that pours out of the people featured, whether it comes from their eyes, mouths, or the traditional chests. Silver and gold geometric symbols stretch around these images, framing the scene portrayed.

These additions aren't only located near the safehouse, but that's where they're concentrated for now. Within days, they'll be elsewhere: on walls in oft-frequented public restrooms, behind popular nightclubs and bars, and just about anywhere else – popping up and coming down as people tire of their presence – or are simply bothered that they're there at all.

> 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 arrival at the safehouse 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 SEPTEMBER 7. 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 September 7 (January 14). 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 January calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month.

As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in December and January will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on January 20 and close on January 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

bruce wayne | dceu

[beknight]

[ Bruce flexes his fingers. They ache a little, but they close into a fist. He's away from the van, instinct slipping unseen into shadows in the alley, heading for high ground. From the roofs, he watches the festival. The smell of food makes his stomach rumble — but wariness pricks up, insists he stay away. It's been another rude awakening. There's no stiffness from cryo that he can sense, which makes this all something else. ]

[ Great. The awareness in the back of his mind that used to indicate Diana, however near or far away, is missing. Its loss is ultimately not a huge obstacle, but annoys him — he'd become accustomed. ]

[ A few hours. He's gone before the fireworks start. ]

→ safehouse
[ Eventually, animal instincts ask for food, shelter, and clean water. As tempting as it is to enter by means other than the front door, there are people here. Shared confusion and similar predicaments — there's some measure of relief at not having to re-experience the Storm, at least. Not something he wants to do again. ]

[ A shower cleans up a lot, cold water helps clarity. ]

[ Bruce can be found in the kitchen, because cooking is not that hard, but is taking him a lot longer than he thought. Or looking at some of the old clothes and other items strewn around, examining them curiously. Or having staked his claim on a bed that sees most of the room, entertaining himself with a game of chess. ]

→ wildcard
[ ooc: feel free to make something up or let's work something out! ]

safehouse;

[reneger]

( he goes through this with every round of new arrivals: follows the announcement, looks around for any faces he recognizes (found kaldur that way, this time) and stalks his way back to the safehouse after to look for any he missed outside. jason's--careful about how he makes his way around the safehouse, keeps to the outskirts, tries to stay out of view in case any unsavory individuals know his face.

but he doesn't stumble across anyone like that. instead, he sees a vaguely familiar frame: wide-stance, a little taller than he's used to, but the way he holds himself is all too familiar. eyes focused down on whatever the hell he's trying to make in the kitchen. jason--pauses in the doorway, considers how he wants to fucking try this because god,

dealing with dick was hard enough, they're still figuring shit out even if they're a little better, now. and this bruce definitely isn't his, if it even is bruce wayne at all. )

Hey, fresh meat.

( nailed it. )

[beknight]

[ His back is turned, but only Alfred has ever managed to slip in and out of awareness, Bruce ordinarily wouldn't even have turned around, despite his curiosity at who could approach him so softly. ]

[ It's the voice. Its pitch is new, but its sass is not. He freezes — the beat of nonaction sinking into his body like heavy chains. Then, he turns. He looks head to toe, at this boy pretending to be Jason Todd. Something angry and dangerous stays on the tip of his tongue. He looks away, back towards his task, opening this bottle of sauce. ]

Looking for trouble?

[reneger]

( it's the look that convinces him. the voice, the look in his eyes. this isn't his first run-in with multiversal travesties. and jason compensates for it; leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest and head tilted back. lets the native accent he'd adopted bleed into the bowery one he'd been working to hide: an obvious tell of the neighborhood he'd originated from. )

Oh, always. ( there's a teasing lilt to his voice, a snarky grin on lips. ) Name's Malone. What's yours?

safehouse, chess!!

[sumio]

[Sumio takes a seat across from Bruce on the other side of the board, hands folded quietly in his lap. He's already swapped his scrubs for whatever spare clothes he could scavenge-- a coat, a buttoned shirt, all somewhat threadbare and just a bit too big for an already somewhat smaller man.]

Would you like a game?

[There's better things to be doing around here than board games, but he hasn't realized that he's capable of simply walking out the door yet. That, and being here in itself is giving him a case of nerves that's set him anxious and on-edge. Chess, of all things, makes actual sense. Definable actions, clear, on-paper strategies. If he can figure out a game, win or lose, perhaps he'll be able to start working out his next moves in this place too.]

I'm not a very good player. But it'd be nice to pass some time.

[beknight]

[ There aren't much in the way of spares for a man Bruce's size and build. His diet's been a concern, but there was no significant loss of bulk — he didn't allow it. Still, he's not tolerating the indignity of the scrubs. There's a dark coloured shirt making a valiant effort, and a jacket on top of that. ]

[ He waves, in an amiable or dismissive gesture. Self-consciousness in such close quarters is almost laughable. ]

Pick your poison.

[ Bruce usually chooses black. Of course. ]

[sumio]

[Sumio's equally casual about how ridiculous they look-- then again, anything's better than prison garb. He pauses, then carefully turns the board around, facing the black pieces towards his opponent; satisfied, he nudges a single white pawn forward.]

Where were you before landing here?

[Straight to the point.]

I asked others before. It seems we're largely American or Japanese, but there's not much else in the way of correlation.

Safehouse

[preceded]

[Unlike the ball, where he'd been on board with the mission and took several moments to let loose on the side- Dick had taken one look at the shrine's built of people with glowing chests- and thought entirely better of it. That was the sort of thing that needed far more concentration and investigating than he could spare, when he needed to see if anyone he knew had been added to their numbers and squared away first- and instead made a beeline directly for the safehouse.

Once there, he'd made himself useful- making sure it had plenty of bottled water, enough towels- no one needed a repeat of his own introduction to this place, thank you- and some take out he'd brought along, aware that not everyone present would be able to fend for themselves, especially lacking some of the foods they were likely used to.

As it was, he'd missed Bruce's initial entry into the safehouse, but seen him on his way into the kitchen. He- even head shorn and wearing the most drab, threadbare clothes that were a staple in this place- he stood out. Was larger than life. Tall and broad, yes, but still carried that distinct presence that made it difficult to mistake him for anyone else.

There's a moment where he stands frozen- so sure it couldn't be true. Grief has been a near constant companion his whole life, a little more new and raw with Bruce's most recent addition to the list of those he'd lost. Here, it's as easy to set aside has it has been in Gotham- always another mission, another responsibility to focus on instead, something else to hold himself together for. Seeing him now- it over takes him enough that his first thought is that it couldn't be possible- Bruce is gone. Is never coming back.

It takes more than a minute to remember that no, it could. A Bruce from his past, or another world- and then Bruce is rounding the doorframe into the kitchen proper, and that's what propels Dick into action. Panic curls cold in his stomach, because he's gone- and he enters the kitchen with all the subtle finesse of a stampede]

- B?

[It's quiet, hesitant- as if he really had any shot at being wrong about this, as if the heat has finally just gotten to him so badly, that he's imagined it. As if he's not sure he wants to do this at all, and certainly not here. But it's a little too late now]

[beknight]

[ Your eldest is here. He hadn't had time then, but Bruce has been secluded since Jason's departure, quietly mulling over everything. The storm that raged plainly could rage in private, it harried his thoughts into some lines of clarity. There's time enough to think here, to prepare, to rehearse conversations he's been having one-sidedly for a year now. ]

[ Still, Dick's voice is like an electric shock. Years, years and years of separation, years of strictly enforcing the battle lines of their cold war. He'd pressed his hand to the window of that cryopod more often than he could count. Bruce turns only enough to catch him in the periphery, at war with the desire to look at him and wanting to preserve the raw reaction to his presence, ]

Sit down.

[ He wants to checks behind them first. It's not a private place, but they have codes, they have shifts in weight and shared glances that have spoken volumes. ]

[preceded]

[Dick hears that. Hears it and even knows what it means, something that's apparently universal, despite the fact that the man who'd created it and taught it to a young child, bright eyed and hip height- wasn't quite this one. Looking at him now confirms that it isn't a Bruce from Dick's past. It isn't one who expects a wide collared suit and a temper that doesn't really see a cooling down period.

It's one that looks older, tired in a way that his Bruce hadn't quite managed to hit yet, even with all the grief and the hard hits they've taken as a collective over the years. The voice is nearly the same- still deep, still carries that authoritative edge that always made a young, restless version of him take notice, even if he didn't particularly want to listen. That has a shade of warmth in it, if one knows where to find it.

Even the way he only turns partially, is the same. But there's something different in his features- just that slightly something off, that marks him different. Different but he knows Dick. Different and a new world, and he's still his father. Still a version that knows how to read him and that he can read, too. One that makes the well of that grief go from hidden in the left side of his chest, neglected, spring up into his throat. Make it tight and hard to swallow.

Makes him ignore that order entirely, and do the first instinctive thing he can think of- which is, rush him. Knows if everything he's seen so far is exactly as he thinks- Bruce is going to turn around in time to catch him up]

safehouse. pre-emptive tw for child abuse.

[batricide]

[ For all he'd complained, for all he said he'd surely come - Damian had hoped that he was safe. That Bruce Wayne's shadow wouldn't fall across him, that he could be here and be safe from the weight of his expectations and his iron clad definitions of right and wrong.

He was wrong, of course.

He usually was.

Jason lets him know what's coming.

He comes through the doors with the intent to take a shower after a day spent snooping, and then deal with the situation at hand - he's overheated, and tired, and annoyed and he only barely notices the man in the bed. This Bruce Wayne isn't as finely put together. He looks like a person, which is what throws him. He looks like a human being.

But then he shifts, moves a piece, and his attention snaps to him. And then comes the anger. The uncontrollable, blazing surge of anger that has his skin catching fire. Before Damian can stop himself he's striding over and flipping the board up onto him, grabbing for his shoulder in one smooth motion. ]

[beknight]

[ He's not waiting like an animal in a trap. The safehouse is an enclosed space, Bruce has been made aware. But it does not mean he sits here and bides his time, or presents himself like he always is available. No, the moment the storm comes he's braced for it — he had a conversation, but it does not guarantee they will all be conversations. They're not warm people, to run towards each other with warmth, or to give it freely — all with their own chess moves, trying to adapt to new opponents. Trust is earned, only that is ironclad. ]

[ Complements to his Robins, always. As Damian is an inferno, Bruce greets it with icy indifference. He will halt a deliberate physical attack, but a little roughing up, what's that to people who understand violence? ]

Nice of you to say hello.

[batricide]

You bastard.

[ He snarls, inches from his face. The lack of response only incenses him further - it always does. Bruce Wayne is calm, cool, collected, and so terribly inhuman in his eyes. How is the alien the real person? ]

kitchen.

[retravel]

[ fitz wanders into the kitchen, rucksack of supplies slung over one shoulder, and blue blazer draped over his arm. by the time he arrives it's late (sunny up top, actually, 'cause it's topsy turvy in this hellscape), and he's weary from work, button-down rumpled by the heat and long journey from the corporate district to the safehouse.

as he unloads his bag, restocking some nicer foodstuffs in the fridge on SHIELD's collectively modest budget, a click signifies the activation of the kettle beside Bruce, turned on by a neural command. ]

[ casually, ] Smart kitchen takes some practice, yeah? Gave me a proper fright when I first tried the stovetop.

[ and definitely Scottish. ]

[beknight]

[ His fingers stop reaching for the coffee powder when it clicks on; Bruce regards it a moment. Better not be magic. ]

You don't say.

[retravel]

[ blazer neat on the counter, so he can busy himself with the task at hand. ]

Mm.

[ he leans back, then, peaking his head beyond the door to eye bruce. new face, huh. ]

Hope you haven't been wondering where all the buttons are. [ a slight twitch of his mouth. ]

safehouse/kitchens

[shorelined]

[ kaldur has never seen batman without cape and cowl; there is no recognition in his gaze when he approaches the kitchen counter, when he pours himself a glass of water and glances at what is cooking.

within the confines of the safehouse, kaldur has done nothing to hide gills and webbing between his fingers or the toes of his bare feet. ]

[beknight]

[ And Bruce in turn has never met an Atlantean, knows of them from files and studies and Stephen Shin's interviews and papers. ]

That's unusual.

[ He could be a bit more crass about it, but it's not a necessity to put someone on the defensive — Bruce goes for a comment of someone not used to seeing gills and webbed feet. There are two kinds of outsiders. Those who get standoffish immediately, and those who offer some dignified clue as to their origins. ]

[shorelined]

[ kaldur inclines his head in acknowledgement. atlantean race traits are not what one would call usual on the surface in his world, either, but he has come to understand they are less usual here. ]

I am Atlantean. [ he offers by way of explanation, offering some dignified clue as to his origins. ]

safehouse.

[crisised]

[ kara has moved out of the safehouse so she technically doesn't have a reason to be here. but on the days there's another drop-off she does what was done for her: brings food and drink and looks around for any new arrivals that look like they could use someone to talk to. it means she's around when people she recognizes show up.

like bruce. who she recognizes at first glance, even if the salt and pepper hair throws her off for a moment. (alternate universe or timeline differences?) they've got both here. the difference--and some knowledge about other bruces in the multiverse--is enough to keep her from running over to him the way she did with dick.

but she does approach him. quietly, but with a small smile on her face. ] Hey, B. Long time no see.

[beknight]

[ He's found an old book — a worn paperback, the spine creased with the love of rereads. Time passes a little slowly here, measured by visits, others going in and out. Bruce knows better than to channel his energy towards escape, and he's patient. He stays, he waits. ]

Kara.

[ A tightly shut door of emotion strains at its hinges. In lieu of a direct verbal acknowledgement, there's a warmth in his recognition, only for her. ]

You're not who I was expecting.

[ It's distinctly Kara, she's younger. ]

Have a seat.

safehouse - chess

[ofmyth]

[It's a day or so after the new arrivals before Thor can make it to the safehouse. Loki would have told him if any of their family or friends had arrived, but Thor likes to check for himself. Meeting the newcomers is a good thing to do.

His mood is dampened somewhat by the shrines that are popping up around the city, but he does his best with the new faces.

He stops by the man playing chess, giving him a nod.] Well met, newcomer. Would you care for an opponent?

[beknight]

Well-met, [ Bruce gives Thor a once over. Size, weight, and people's abilities here are also something to contend with. He would've recognised a name, but for the moment, gestures, ] have a seat.

safehouse

[selfimage]

[ it's like clockwork—another handful of displacees, another drop of the van, another event to be left at. Loki comes to survey his surroundings with knowledge that the wrong person's arrival may inevitably destroy him. there are safeguards in play, and methods he undertakes to stay one step ahead. while he's relieved when the results for his own search turn up a whole lot of zilch, Jason pulls him aside and tells him of another arrival. older, he had said, and it's a few chats and process of elimination.

the infamous B.

Loki leans his hip on the side of the kitchen door. he's definitely not a resident of the safehouse, he's in a dark button-up and a dark pair of pants and boots, matching some semblance of New Amsterdam's fashion. ]

Make sure you check the ingredients or you might be the unfortunate victim of a mouthful of grasshoppers.

[ he says cooly, bright eyes tactlessly raking him up and down. ]

[beknight]

[ Fashionable visitor. Bruce can't say he doesn't appreciate cooking advice — his recent memory is attenuated to wild game. Sometimes it pays to have your own cave in the wilderness. ]

That's specific.

[ He knows the sense of being sized up. Even in the face of gods, he's not inclined to make himself smaller. Bruce knows what he is, what he's capable of. ]

And you would be...?