larkers: (pic#12386235)
MEADOWLARK MODS ([personal profile] larkers) wrote in [community profile] meadowlarklogs2019-01-06 09:54 pm

ARRIVAL LOG 006

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.


vns: (Dix)

gaby • npc • ota

[personal profile] vns 2019-01-06 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ after the described initial frisking, talking, greeting and the rest – Gaby heads out. there are two temporary Morningstar agents that come in to watch things, at least until Gaby returns in the morning (literal morning, by the hours on the clock). these agents won't know anything. they'll give noncommittal answers and shifty-eyed shrugs. it's clear that they were called at the last second.

she comes in with a pastry on a reusable plate, one that's definitely been picked up at the festival. she looks tired, with more strands of dark hair straying loose from her pulled back hair. ]


Sorry if you were waiting for some real answers.

[ or to ask her about her ideology or how New Amsterdam is as a city or whatever else tends to go on at this stage. ]

Duty calls.

[ and she couldn't ditch work during the festival. hence: being here long enough, calling in to say she'd be late, and being temporarily replaced by glorified babysitters. ]
sumio: (Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴅᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴍɪᴛs)

[personal profile] sumio 2019-01-06 10:40 pm (UTC)(link)
What kind of items have previous NPCs left in the safehouse? Maeve will be snooping around everywhere she's allowed (she's restless and hates this safehouse!) and Sumio will likely poke around too, just a little bit less relentlessly.
shorelined: (ANI ▶︎ LIGHTS)

kaldur'ahm | young justice

[personal profile] shorelined 2019-01-06 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)
ARRIVAL/LANTERN FESTIVAL
[ awareness comes in blurred snatches before he settles more fully into consciousness, drugged and exhausted and restrained —and then freed, stumbling out of the vehicle and half-turning. he means to help whoever comes after him down, but a nurse is quicker and the thought slips from his mind.

it's too hot here and his eyes need a moment to adjust to the lights. the scrubs do nothing to hide the gills at kaldur's neck or the webbing between his fingers. ]


COMPLIANCE
[ the heat makes it more difficult for kaldur to focus, his toxin resistance ineffective against whatever is in his system. someone tells him to watch it and it's just a figure of speech, the "it" in question never specified, but kaldur still finds himself transfixed by lantern floating on a string, illuminating the path ahead and casting shadows and light with every turn in the wind.

he struggles, inside his mind, against the compulsion, but it is of no avail. (m'gann could help, he is sure. he would ask her to, were she here, despite the things she did to his mind when she thought he had truly changed sides.) ]


HEATSTROKE
[ atlanteans are sturdier than the average human, stronger and more solid to withstand the pressure of the ocean. there's the ability to breathe underwater, too —many things kaldur supposes one might regard as advantages.

these are balanced by the need to stay hydrated, by a weakness to high temperatures. he feels the sweat build on his brows quickly after leaving the bus and can't seem to find water —if there's a pool of it to submerge himself in or even bottled water to pour over his head, he cannot tell.

the dryness of his throat and the time he'd spent transfixed by the light do not help and he takes a step, another, and has to lean against the first solid wall he finds, breathing harder than normal, fighting to stay upright. ]


SAFEHOUSE
[ at the safehouse, kaldur settles in.

he spends perhaps too long a time in the showers, still and naked with his head tipped back toward the stream, water pouring over his body. there are tattoos on his back and neck, spiralling down his arms. at no point do they light up and glow with atlantean magic and the loss of power is something deeply disturbing to kaldur, but that worry is set aside, pushed deep inside his chest to be dealt with at a later stage. for now, hydration is the most pressing matter.

he finds a bed. if someone is near it, he will ask if it is taken —and introduce himself, demeanour calm and respectful, utterly polite, holding out a hand with webbed fingers, either unaware or uncaring of the emotional bond the skin contact will spark.

at various points, he will also be in the kitchen, looking into cabinets or preparing simple meals that he would be happy to share. ]


WILDCARD
[ anything goes! hmu @ [plurk.com profile] abiosis if you want to chat. also someone pls get this boy a scarf to hide his gills?? ]
sumio: (I ᴡᴀs ᴜᴘsᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ)

[personal profile] sumio 2019-01-06 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Oooh, lovely - thanks mods!
apperceptions: <user name=glaswen> (Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴀʀᴇ)

maeve millay | westworld | ota

[personal profile] apperceptions 2019-01-06 11:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[When Maeve wakes, it's not with the van that drops the rest of her cohort of newbies in the alleyway. Rather, she's a few steps ahead: already secure and accounted for in the safehouse. Not that it helps much. The last she remembers is the chaos of the first arrival-- a deep wound in her side, the dead and injured all around her, shuffling to safety with a man injured worse than her at her elbow.]

001;
So, upon waking, she's understandably groggy, bewildered, and on high alert. Some fool's left a pair of medkit scissors beside her cot, and, in instinctive self-defense, she seizes the makeshift weapon and rears up when greeted, prepared to run, or attack, or whatever else might happen in the next few moments.]

They told me the drugs wore off. Who the fuck are you?

002;
[Thankfully, the scenario's explained to her one way or another. She's no happier about it, of course, but she's at least got some measure of context. It's no different from last time, and barely different from home, is it? She's still as trapped as she was before, simply resting within the bars of a slightly different cage. At least there were the native children around to pass the time babysitting her first go around. So she remains quiet, silently analyzing her situation and assessing the state of the safehouse. Maeve paces the area, back and forth, drifting through all the common areas and sitting alone on her cot with a hawk-like gaze. Until, of course, she's greeted.]

Quaint little place they've got here, don't they?

[She smiles coyly. The charm's on like the flip of a switch.]

Tell me about the outside some, will you? I'd like to know what I'm getting into.

003;
[Of course, no matter what she's told, she's going out there herself the moment the drugs wear off lmao.

Maeve does what any self-respecting, slightly out-of-depth gentlewoman would do at a situation like this: she's wooing rich people out of their money for free drinks and food on top of the intel, natch. Fortunately, she's willing to share the wealth (that isn't hers) with anyone she recognizes from the safehouse.
]

My, my-- you haven't had a sweet yet, have you? [Yes, you. Even if you haven't met yet.] Darling, [she says, tapping the shoulder of the tall, finely-dressed woman whose arm she's hanging off of,] we've got to let them try that smoky one. Would you buy another?

[The wealthy woman hesitates. Maeve shoots her a coquettish look, and she cracks.

Congrats, Maeve's new bestie, you now have a stranger shoving a cup of gently smoking, fruit-flavored crackers into your hands.
]

wildcard;
[hmu for whatever :* pms or pp to [plurk.com profile] smithsyndicate are equally good!]
reneger: (got the chance to make her mine.)

heatstroke;

[personal profile] reneger 2019-01-07 12:05 am (UTC)(link)
( jason doesn't know kaldur'ahm--but he does know of jackson hyde, ex member of damian's self-built teen titans. knows his face, the shape of his nose, his build. and from a distance: this guy could be the spitting image of him. it's once he's up closer, gets a good look at the gills on the side of kaldur's neck that he realizes, while similar, they're definitely not the same fucking kid. this one's older, looks a little more sturdy.

sure of himself, even with the drug induced haze and the lack of decent fucking clothing. and jason's making his way up right behind him, fingers raising to tap a shoulder if he can get close enough. murmurs soft close to his ear: )


You lost, kid?
batricide: (000420)

safehouse

[personal profile] batricide 2019-01-07 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ As usual he's swinging around to run a headcount - or, well, check for anyone from home who matters.

Kaldur'ahm - Jackson Hyde - is hard to miss. He spots him the second he walks in, and isn't sure if he feels relief or apprehension. He'd known him through the Regime's connections to Atlantis and through Ra's idiotic plan. A perfect fall man, just wanting to do what was best for the world and listening to all the wrong men. He can relate. ]


Aqualad. [ That's such a stupid codename. ] Are you alright?
dipolar: ✭ WHERE EVERYTHING WAS FICTION, FUTURE, AND PREDICTION (pic#11916069)

hei, darker than black.

[personal profile] dipolar 2019-01-07 01:18 am (UTC)(link)
1▸ LANTERN FESTIVAL
A▹ FIREWORKS
(fireworks crack like a discharging rifle in his ear. multiple rounds, one burst. they pop and shower the city with spectacular displays, fill the air with smoke from their leavings, block the stars overhead.

but hei’s paying them no attention, save for the occasional tensing. it’s visible, running from one shoulder to the next, showing in a slight duck of the head. he’s got plans for the stock the city has set up behind one of the grandiose chinese displays that ironically make him feel right at home in this foreign land he’s been trafficked to — laughable, really, if the man knew how to take a joke. instead, he takes armfuls of the gunpowder filled mini-bombs, attempting to jerry-rig himself something lethal.

there aren’t any weapons on the streets save for a knife he picked up from one of the food trucks.

that’s why making himself up an ied or two won’t go amiss. under the light of walkway paint behind a large riverside building less populated with people, hei makes cherry bombs. quick to light, easy to deploy, stings the eyes, and confuses attackers. might not want to sneak up on him, lest one snap in your face, but a fellow scrub-wearer might be introduced to something safer than the “safehouse” he keeps hearing about.

no thanks.
)

B▹ DESSERTS
(‘yeah yeah, eat up, you look unhealthy. jesus, what an animal.’

hei’s just following directions.

called in from off the street by a man luring him in with sweets and a commanding ‘get over here and try my award-winning dragon pops — ten creds for the whole batch!’ well. there’s really nothing he could’ve done about that one, now jamming stick after stick of chinese-inspired treats down his throat, stomach giving him hell when the sugar starts conflicting with whatever angry drug making him everyone on the street’s marionette.

help a bastard pay his bills or join him in a dine-and-dash, because either way he's got no id. which means no currency.
)
2▸ BACK ALLEYS
(hair short, well above the brow in a bedhead sprawl over the crown of his head, there’s nothing shielding dark eyes mottled by abuse, medicated sleep, and the courses of drugs in his system. they’re haunting, threatening, unhinged — he’s dangerous and broad shoulders curve in to demonstrate it, like an animal hunching before a strike… but someone’s foggy on body language. someone can’t take the hint.

hei faces a larger man, heavy-set, at least seventy pounds thicker, who slaps at chest tattoos like an ape, who bellows his outrage at the vibrant vomit that’s covered his street art. ‘hey, wait just a second. you got nothin’ to say to me? you think fuckin’ with our art’s funny?

fuck, what the fuck is going on? every light’s too bright, every building’s too tall. he’s been shucked out of a truck into an alley of modified freaks with no inch of unmarked skin and all he can do is stare unevenly through the cracks his fingers make when they spread down the length of a drained face. the action drags sweat from his forehead into brows that crease with frustration. it’s hot, he’s suffocating, drowning. feels so sick, he swallows around the excess bile slicking his throat from the last minute he spent upheaving dessert onto ultraviolet paint-covered asphalt.

‘can’t say i care for that asshole look you’re givin’ us. tell ya what, you wanna start somethin’ then you take the first shot, huh?’

a first shot that may be the guy’s last mistake. because that order’s like a kick to the back of the knees and it sends hei forward like a point-blank bullet from the chamber of a very unforgiving gun. the artist may be bigger, but there’s no way the beating — within an inch of his life or narrower — he’ll receive is what he expected from the plain-faced chinese man staggering like a drunk through the streets of new amsterdam.
)
3▸ SAFEHOUSE
Hey, (it comes from the opposite cot, hei flagging with bloody fingers,) pass me that.

(it’s a coat hanger. it looks rusted. he nods to it like his pointing wasn’t good enough, when the obvious problem may be the fact that handing someone a tool to try stabbing the implant out of the back of their neck isn’t the best idea in the world.)

No advice, just hand it over.
merced: (pic#12710397)

three!

[personal profile] merced 2019-01-07 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
[ Aranea is in the safehouse, not because she still lives here - obviously, she doesn't - but for the sake of sussing out any more familiar faces. A cast cap is hardly IC knowledge, after all. Wandering up and down the cots, searching out familiar faces, noted voices - nothing. Nothing, except a rusted hanger on one side and a young man on the other side, with her apparently as the bridge between.

Looking straight at Hei, her eyebrows lift fractionally, and then she hands him the hanger. Presently, she can't imagine what he intends to do with it, but she's perfectly prepared to incapacitate him if he tries anything weird.

And, speaking of - ]


This isn't some weird fetish thing, is it?

[ He probably doesn't want to give himself an abortion. What does that even leave? Hanging his clothes? ...What a novel concept. ]
fessus: (Tales of the Abyss)

1-b, I'M HERE

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-07 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ Noctis has been keeping to himself for the better part of the last week and a half. A wise choice? Maybe, maybe not, but one he didn't even feel as if he had a part in making. If he hadn't then he wouldn't have had time to put together a solid poker face, but hearing about this festival actually encouraged him to get out and socialize a little. Maybe it'd be good for him.

If by "socialize" he could also mean "eat a lot of sugar and then go nap it off".

He only gets the message from Gaby after he's already arrived, fate dealing him a lucky hand for once as it coincides perfectly with a flash of white that he spots at a nearby food stall. Seriously? Well, time to intervene.
]

Hey! [ His newly healed arm comes up in a wave as he jogs closer, approaching the poor bastard unwillingly stuffing his face at one of the small tables set up next to the stand. ]

... Todd. I can't believe you're out here; I told you to wait up at the restaurant -- ah, yeah, I'll take an order too, and put his on my bill.

I got really lucky finding you. Last night was... you know... Well, you look a little rough, but don't worry about paying me back. [ His lying is getting better, at least under these specific circumstances, and yet it still leaves so much to be desired. ]
sumio: (Hᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀsᴀᴛɪᴏɴ)

:^) 1A duh

[personal profile] sumio 2019-01-07 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
[Sumio has been here before. It was more dangerous, then; he'd almost died, the first time, so why is everything so different now-- as if he's been flung forward in time?

He doesn't start outside, but the safehouse makes his skin crawl and they don't question when he wanders away, spirited further and further into the festival by the kind suggestions of strangers who want him to play a game, or taste a dessert. (It's his own fault for lipreading instead of just looking away, but there's a bizarre comfort to following the orders. He hates it.)

At last, he breaks away. There's another man in scrubs he's kept spotting out of the corner of his eye that he's been attempting to tail for the last hour or two, and finally he reaches him: Hei's tinkering away at something by the riverbank.

It's probably stupid to walk up and ask. That said: he's stupid enough to walk up and ask. If he's been impressionable this whole time, there's a solid chance that the stranger must be as well.
]

Tell me. Have you just arrived? [he tilts his head. yeah, that's suspicious work, there.] What are you doing?
dipolar: ✭ THAT RENDERS BOTH OUR AIRBAGS (pic#11981244)

merc lyfe

[personal profile] dipolar 2019-01-07 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
No. (a short answer, but that question deserves one.

grabbing for the hanger, the length of it slipping an inch in his grip from where slick fingers pinch too lightly, hei leans onto his elbows and begins to bend it. once he's got a good enough tool made, his arm's up and the point of it is promptly dug — without ceremony — into the back of his neck.

it hurts like a bitch.
)

This... isn't a show. You can go.
dipolar: ✭ I MAKE IT TO THE GOLDEN GATE (pic#11906226)

THERE YOU ARRREEE

[personal profile] dipolar 2019-01-07 01:49 am (UTC)(link)
(hei shoves another cake pop into an already full mouth, crumbs being huffed out onto the table in his nausea. he's trying valiantly not to throw up when he's addressed, knowing he needs food in his stomach but nothing like what's currently being introduced. it's deliciously disgusting.

there are more pressing matters to deal with, like who this kid is and why he's calling him todd.
)

Ah, he— (his mouth is dry, his throat closing around his words. hei swallows thickly and tries again.) Yeah, hey. You took too long, so I...

(god, he's gotten rusty. or the drugs are ruining his acting skills. either way, he knows he has to do better than that, but the sick feeling propagates until heat is creeping up the length of his neck and rolling under his sternum. there's no way he's going to be able to keep all of this down. but he hasn't received an order to stop, only an order not to worry about payment — something that wasn't on his mind in the first damn place.

so another bite's raised in a shaking hand.
)
merced: (pic#12822760)

[personal profile] merced 2019-01-07 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
[ You idiot! ]

... you idiot.

[ It definitely isn't a show, because this boy is a pretty crappy bit of entertainment. She would demand to speak to a manager, try to get her money back, the whole nine yards. As it is, she moves closer rather than away, and in one slick movement, is pinning his neck down with her hand. His cheek, at least one of them, will be digging into the fibers of the bedsheet.

She pulls the hanger back out and tosses it to the side, with the faint 'pop' sound of the rusted metal sliding out. Deftly, Aranea presses one thumb over the now opened wound that's torn through his fresh scar tissue.

As for Hei? He, uh, remains pinned. (It still isn't a fetish thing, probably.) ]


Can't imagine you thought that plan through for more than a few seconds.
blyat: (★ but not when i'm with you)

2 fuck it let's go

[personal profile] blyat 2019-01-07 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
[On the return from another apartment-hunting venture, the message lights through his neural implant: bus six, lantern festival. Given his proximity to the safehouse, Cain dashes down the block in the boots with little sequin-stars he robbed off a drunk stranger at the party alongside his accomplice, Heine (fashion police cut him some slack, so far they've proven higher quality than anything Morningstar offered).

Cutting through an alley and smack into the fray, Cain's faced by gruesome violence. A smaller, scrub-dressed man on top of some guy, swinging fists that hit with gross fleshy cracks. Cain's boot heels almost slide through the puddle of vomit splattered across concrete. Never mind the smell...]


What the fuck?

[Impulsively, he forgets the influence of drugs - this is only his first arrival-stint, after all - and blurts,]

You trying to get arrested? Stop!
Edited 2019-01-07 02:09 (UTC)
beknight: ([ jl ] 130.)

bruce wayne | dceu

[personal profile] beknight 2019-01-07 02:26 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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! ]
reneger: (uh excuse you.)

safehouse;

[personal profile] reneger 2019-01-07 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
( 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: ([ bvs ] 48.)

[personal profile] beknight 2019-01-07 02:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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?
sumio: (Bᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ)

safehouse, chess!!

[personal profile] sumio 2019-01-07 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
[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.
reneger: (pic#11802618)

[personal profile] reneger 2019-01-07 02:45 am (UTC)(link)
( 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?
Edited 2019-01-07 02:45 (UTC)
beknight: ([ bvs ] 37.)

[personal profile] beknight 2019-01-07 02:49 am (UTC)(link)
I think you know.

[ Anyone who's gone through the trouble of impersonating his son knows exactly the kind of effect it would have on Bruce. Already, every syllable makes him want to spit, anger, roiling and cold, runs through him. The boy's familiarity is a gunshot. ]
probiotic: (The look.)

Jake Muller, RE6

[personal profile] probiotic 2019-01-07 02:51 am (UTC)(link)
[A. Chess - Festival]

[ The facts are easy to lay end to end in a mind hilariously overaccustomed to insane disasters and ready to acclimate to another before puzzling out its source. He's been dropped off in a foreign city. His hair, even as short as it is, is still longer than he's worn it in years, meaning an indeterminate amount of time has passed. He feels drugged, nauseated, but his body's apparently handling it a hell of a lot better than his compatriots dressed in equally blinding scrubs.

It takes him approximately five minutes after emerging from the alley -- choosing to take a little extra time hiding there to get his bearings -- to locate a man approximately his shape and size and lure him back towards that same alley to incapacitate him and steal his clothes. That's one problem taken care of.

But his new t-shirt advertising a band he doesn't know and slightly too-loose jeans don't help with his next problem: the full effects of that drug that have him confusedly but willingly following an invitation by a passing woman to check out the chess matches. Well. Looks like he's stuck in the line, inconspicuously dressed or not, and he's next up to play. With no money.
]

[B. Mugging - Festival]

[ His ploy to get clothing? More successful than expected. So much so, in fact, that the appeal of repeating it is a little too great to resist. Sure, it requires refinement and care in order for him to avoid getting stuck in a situation that involves even the slightest command from another person -- seriously, what the hell -- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, who would think twice about a man with a few tears at the bottom of his shirt, or look closely enough at his ears to notice where the makeshift ear plugs have been inserted? ]

Hey! Hey, sorry, I need your help -- it's my daughter. Quick, she's right over here...

[ Jake Muller is not, by specific trade, an overly deceptive person. He prefers to go in guns blazing, the honest old-fashioned way. That doesn't mean that desperate times don't call for desperate measures, and right now he's at a real fuckin' low point. Which is why after leading this poor Samaritan into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes and just around the corner, he's gesturing for them to move closer to get a better look around a dumpster... before producing a lengthy shard of glass, holding it to the back of their neck. ]

Hey. Hands flat against the wall, let's make this easy for both of us.

[C. Picnic - Festival]

[ Drugs in his system or not, nausea or not, Jake isn't stupid enough to not realize his own need for food. The pity, of course, is in not having any money with which to purchase said food.

Luckily, food stands and quick fingers mix well.

He's worked up to a considerable stash, mostly desserts but a savory bun or two as well, by the time he retreats to the river to enjoy it. Hard-earned spoils aren't easily shared, however, and he keeps his eye on any passersby that linger.
]

... hey, you need something?

[D. Drugs - Safehouse]

[ The safehouse isn't the worst he's seen.

Easy to navigate, everything in a sensible place, relatively clean... but after thirty minutes of rummaging around in the medical storage area, he has some questions.
]

Yo. You got any steroids or boosters on you? [ Namely this one. ]

[E. Alcohol - Safehouse]

[ Following his foray into the med storage? He's in the kitchen, head stuffed first in the fridge before he's rooting through the cupboards. Now he has a new question. ]

You seen any booze in this place or do I need to get my eyes checked? Hell of a day, a shot or twenty would really even the hell out of it.

[F. WILDCARD]
beknight: ([ jl ] 159.)

[personal profile] beknight 2019-01-07 02:56 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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. ]

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