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

keith | voltron | ota!

[secondnature]

a. sharing is caring

[Thanks to the potential liability of being unable to see clearly when the city is covered in lights like this, Keith takes the night off. It's not that he doesn't think he'll manage—he's certain he'd be fine—but he doesn't want to risk anyone else being ill-equipped for the occasion. Maybe that's him being judgmental. No, it probably is, but he knows that might be another reason to stay off the "road," so to speak.

So, he's enjoying the festivities. Right at this moment, he has two different baked goods in his hands. Once he sees a familiar face—or someone close to it—he nods, and offers one to them.

... Or, in the event that he's run out of them, he'll say,] Want one? It's not bad. None of them are bad.

[He hasn't gotten started on the ice cream just yet.]

b. judging!

[Speaking of being judgmental—except in this case, it's because Keith paid for the opportunity. Although he gets just one vote, he means to take it seriously.

Right now, he's looking between a donut meant to celebrate the lives of the people who were lost, and a cake. One is far less showy than the other, but as far as he's concerned, it tasted a lot better.

He just ... doesn't know if taste should be a factor. His arms cross as he looks between the options. It's not clear that he's making up his mind about this particular thing. Rather, he looks like he's deep in thought about the meaning of ... baked goods.

Should someone disrupt him, he'll startle and look at them with furrowed eyebrows.]

What is it? I was just about to make up my mind.

c. fireworks!

[Keith would never tell anyone this first hand, but he's always thought fireworks were pretty cool. The big splash of color, the explosions to match—it's just a neat display. They can be enjoyed alone, too. Away from everyone. While he grew up in a place without a whole lot of firework shows, he's been to enough to know that having a good vantage point is key to enjoying the show.]

Come on. I think the show is starting soon. How likely do you think we can get up to one of those places to watch?

[It's asked with the sense that Keith has every intention of making it happening.]

d. wildcard

[Anything else! Hit me up on discord, plurk, or in PMs if you want a personalized prompt.]

a but slightly altered bc keith prob won't give him food again

[blyat]

[Amid the festivities, Cain is overwhelmed, unused to the crowds and bright lights and chaos of activity. Most prominent in his attention are the foodstalls - pleasant, yeasty bakery items as far as the eye can see (and nose can smell). He weaves through, hands shoved into pockets as he elbows a path clear.

... Then stops, spying a familiar face. What was the guy's name? He's holding food items in both hands. Does he go around trying to feed people all the time? Weirdo.

Still, Cain approaches and points at the treats. He's in a far better mood than their first encounter, as though that could potentially dilute the grudge seeded by his last treatment of Keith.] So what are those? Any good?

[secondnature]

[Look, if the world doesn't have a Hunk, Keith is going to try to be enough Hunk for everyone else. And fail horribly in the process.

For instance, he looks at Cain with a hint of paranoid. Not suspicion or fear or anything else—paranoia. And then it slowly morphs into agitation. Keith frowns. It's not Cain's fault that Achilles thought they—that they had—

But still. What an annoying five minutes of Keith's life.]

They are. Too bad they're not for you.

[blyat]

What crawled up your ass and died?

[Although recalling their previous - and very brief - interaction, Cain can't see what deserves the defensive animosity. Is he upset he didn't want any food back then? At the time, Achilles' presence took over his awareness of all else. And he was told to apologize. For what?]

Look, princess, the shit that happened at the safehouse wasn't about you. Don't take it personally.

[Nuking the possibility of reconciliation here.]

[secondnature]

No. It wasn't. [Keith says this in agreement, but the sticking point is that he seems to think that's the problem. He's frustrated, partly because he doesn't want this to seem like he's making it about him. As much as Jason's words hadn't been accurate in describing Keith, they still got under his skin. He's trying to be more mindful.

It's just ... hard.

Really hard.]

Look. I'm not taking it personally. You two just put me in a weird spot and I didn't need to know about any of it. Okay?

[blyat]

So take it out on that asshole.

[The quick, ill-tempered reply comes bitten out, too aggressive. It's not Keith's fault. The subject matter itself remains tender and awful.

He still doesn't know Achilles' name...]

It wasn't me that blabbed.

[secondnature]

You pushed me! I was trying to be nice! [It's not just the blabbing that gets him, that riles him up. It's the everything else about it. Cain might think it's nothing, and Keith is starting to get the hint that he does. Ugh, now he wishes this conversation hadn't started.]

Which. I was here, too. I guess. And then ruined it. [He says these words slowly, cautiously, like he's realizing that he made this aggressive unnecessarily.

Whoops.]

[blyat]

[He could push it. Yes, Cain knows he shoved him, but it was in duress of the situation - and he never asked for Keith to be nice and bring him food. Truthfully none of that matters, and this conversation's spun stupidly out of control.

Whatever acerbic reply might have sat on his tongue is distinguished by Keith's admittance, in the end, because it's unexpected. He's not used to arguments de-escalating before they've truly begun. He's used to solving the worst ones with his fists.]

... Not a big deal. [Cain shrugs, dismissive. He was in a good mood prior to this - having found an affordable place to live, to get out of that safehouse, and he wants to enjoy it again.] Pretty obvious you were pissed about what happened.

Listen, it wasn't a good time. Wouldn't have shoved you just for bringing over some food if I hadn't just been kidnapped into another world and drugged.

[secondnature]

[Subtract three years and Keith would be in the same boat. Angry, ready to fight, not willing to defuse an argument, He's a lot more aware of his own self and his temperament than he used to be, more aware of the way his jaw sets, the little hints of frustration and impatience that threaten to morph into something else. He's trying to be better, both here and back home. He won't be able to be what others need otherwise.

And stepping up for them is important.]

It's hard when you first get here. [A cliché of a saying if there ever was one, but Keith is a Voltron paladin and therefore a walking one sometimes. His expression softens, and then he extends one of the pastries forward. It's a savory one, filled with a salty sort of jam, with mashed up bugs into a powder.]

Here. It's better than the stuff I brought in that day, anyway.

[blyat]

[Surprised by the offer, Cain eyes the small bun, then reaches to take it from Keith's hand. They had looked appealing - he'd wanted to buy one, but he couldn't decide which when presented with so many options. It's not exactly an experience he's accustomed: choosing from a wide menu of different desserts.]

... Uh. Thanks.

[Still a little gruff when he says it, but he's calmed down.]

How much did that guy tell you, anyway?

[secondnature]

Too much, [he says, grimacing almost immediately. It's not Cain or Achilles' fault that Keith has zero interest in ever hearing about that stuff. The type of things the other teens would talk about at the Garrison would always make his eyes roll in disinterest or apathy, and ... not much has changed in that arena. It's one of those "for other people" things.

And it's worse because ... they're both strangers.]

It's not any of my business. That's why it was a problem.

[blyat]

[Eyes rolling in his head, Cain lets it drop. There's no shred of shame or embarrassment to be found in Keith's awareness of his sexual exploits - and associated mistakes - only a healthy annoyance. Reminiscent of the gossip so often favored among the fighters and navigators respective drama-circles.]

Relax, not gonna make you spell out the details.

[Let's just... forget it happened.]

What's your name again? [He's trying to drum up some memory of what was said back in the safehouse. Half serious, half cheeky,] Ken? Kyle...? Maybe Kelly? You seem like the pretty-boy type.

[Meanwhile, he bites a chunk out of the pastry, chewing thoughtfully.]

[secondnature]

[Well, good. At least on the front of not having to share any details. Keith is comfortable knowing that no one would think that he'd fall into that sort of thing. It's funny—while he was at the ball, people couldn't get over how out of place he looked. It wasn't fun, just loud and uncomfortable.

And that's not counting ... the rest.

But then Cain pivots, asking for his name. Keith's about to open his mouth to correct him when that last part comes out. It gets a mortified look from Keith, who, somehow, has never actually been called pretty in his life.]

Uhhh, I'm not—

[Nope. He stops. Shakes his head. Closes his mouth. Moves on.]

I'm Keith. At least you remembered the K. [Keith won't hold it against someone that they can't remember his name. So, he doesn't sound too bothered.] I can't remember what he said your name was, or if he even said it. Wasn't really up to remembering it.

[Note: Keith never remembered people's names up until a certain point in his life when he realized he could actually develop attachments. So, there is that.]

[blyat]

[Keith isn't as memorable to him as a pretty face, but he fastenes the name into his mind nonetheless, should he need it later. Evidently names are the surest method to navigating the neural implants in order to find the associated ID and send messages. As as much as he's fine on his own, it's been useful - now he has a roommate paying half the rent and deposit.]

Cain.

[Just for the clarification.]

C, not a K. [Flashing a smirk, he wolfs down another bite of the pastry, licking the gooey paste from the center. This is one of the best things he's eaten in his life. Also, that reaction was entertaining, and he's divided between harassing Keith further or asking banal small talk questions.] What, you're not pretty?

[Okay, no small talk, then.]

[secondnature]

[In every single way, Keith is aware that he walked into this situation when he had every opportunity to shut it down. The realization of this washes over his face, making him pale as he swallows down a bite of his baked good. He savors the taste because he doesn't know what else to say, leaning back a little as he tries to find the right words.]

No. [Is that the right word? Probably not.] I mean. It doesn't really matter. [A beat. Awkwardly.] Does it? [Another beat. Slow and staccato.] It doesn't to me.

[Smooth.]

[blyat]

[Amusement shines clear on Cain's face as he finishes the last few pieces of savory treat, wishing immediately for another. He's hungry - he gets a lot of exercise, all right?]

Why not? You could really use it to your advantage. Lot of people willing to bend over for a cute face.

[Sorry, Keith, he's feeling predatory after such an awkward reply. This is why he got his dick sucked on his first day...]

Maybe we should ask for a second opinion. [Cain glances around, gauging the crowd of strangers.]

[secondnature]

[On second thought, he also shouldn't have asked if it was important. Keith doesn't feel that it is, and he can see the people milling about, trying to go about a perfectly nice festival. The red shade of hues above them is a nice bit of ambiance—and it partly conceals that Keith is a little more pink-faced than usual.]

No, [he says, finding some of his spine and putting it out there. All of this would be a whole lot easier if it wasn't for that weird lover's spat.]

It doesn't matter. That isn't how I do things. [No, Keith much prefers blunt force.

Plus, he doesn't have a manipulative bone in his body. Clever and cunning, especially during battle? Yes, but manipulative? Not quite.]

[blyat]

[Damn. Cain was looking forward to posing a spontaneous hot-or-not questionnaire with a few random bystanders and Keith as the star attraction. That isn't to say he'd actually go through with it, but the joke lifts his spirits - reminds him of teasing someone else, except the fluster is replaced by the steel-lid of Keith's bluntness.]

Your loss.

[He rolls his shoulder, stretching out the joint.]

So how do you do things?

[secondnature]

[The look on Keith's face practically spells it out. That's the most anyone's asked him to be self aware in a long time. How does he do things? Blunt force, even if it doesn't work. By losing his temper? All too often. By trying to go it alone without asking for help? Too frequently, even now. He looks a bit frozen as he tries to figure out how to answer this extremely broad question.]

I don't know what you mean, [he says. He wishes he did, but he doesn't.]

I don't bother people who don't want to be bothered. And I don't trick them into things. [The first part is not even remotely true for Mr. Shout People Down.]

I don't know if I even answered your question. How do you do things?

c

[whitehair]

[ he's never seen fireworks before. the sound reminds him of explosions, of sharp rat-tat-tat of guns, of memories he'd rather not recall that haunts his dreams in flickering, disjointed images of bone white, bloodstained fingers and pale strands of blond hair, tangled in his hand, cutting into flesh like piano wire. Heine has never known anything better (or worse), and the sound, to him, is of violence, not a part of the festivities going on.

but as of yet, he has zero idea of what it is called, what it looks like. or even what Keith is referring to in the first place - what is starting soon? isn't this whole fiasco a show enough for these people? what more is there? ]

You mean, the roof?

[secondnature]

[Keith flashes Heine a smile. It's easy enough. The excitement of the fireworks has him more buoyant than usual, not unlike the excited kid he had been long ago. These days, it's hard for Keith to remember that life—a time before his dad died, when the only complication was other kids asking where his mom went. The haunted look in his dad's eyes whenever he asked.

A different life.

Just like this one is. No matter how hard he forces the matter, he's just Keith. A taxi driver. Not a paladin or a blade or anything like that. Someone stuck here. It's worth savoring the good things, especially so soon after he's lost one of his closest friends.]

It's the best way to catch all the angles. I learned the secret from my dad.

[whitehair]

Yeah, and also the best way to break your neck, probably.

[ it's muttered under his breath, but pitched audible enough for Keith to hear. A part of him is wary at just going off with this random stranger he meets in the middle of the festival like this, still not completely used to how things run here (and also, the unsavoury presence of his brother doesn't help matters any; Giovanni could pop around the corner any minute), but the other, smaller part of him is somewhat curious as to what got this guy so excited.

And also, there's the extra appeal of getting away from this crowded streets for a bit. ]

That one?

[ with a jerk of his head, Heine is going to indicate a smallish building near them, but still a couple of storeys tall. it doesn't seem too hard to catch some footholds into the railings and the balconies and get to the rooftop. ]

[secondnature]

[Keith's eyebrows furrow at those words, lips twisting downward. Is he afraid of heights? Maybe it would be better if they didn't go anywhere. He can always handle it himself.

Just the same, he turns toward the building in question, eyebrows raised as he takes in the various steps that'll be needed to get up high. There aren't too many according to how his mind has mapped them out—but it'll take some agility. As well as a desire to be there.]

It looks good, but hey ... [Keith looks at Heine rather seriously.] If you don't want to go up there, that's no problem for me. Heights are scary for a lot of people. [Just ... also not for him, Mr. Ace Pilot Guy that Keith happens to be.]

[whitehair]

[ he has fallen before, though he doesn't necessarily remember it (it was a different self to who he is now, a different time), but that isn't really the reason behind his hesitation - not that Keith will necessarily know that, mind you. in any case, Heine bristles slightly at the (what he thinks) challenge coming from the other, eyes narrowing slightly. ]

Who said anything about being scared?

[ don't.... challenge him. he can be quite butthurt about it.

anyway, heine turns his gaze to the building again, head tilting slightly to one side as he looks it over once more, eyeing whatever little footholds and things to grip onto. ]

Wanna bet on who gets to the top first, then?

[secondnature]

[For a brief moment, Keith has a recollection of a past moment. Lance and him hurtling toward the ground, Keith eventually grinding out, I'm not scared. He had relived it a few times in the Quantum Abyss beside his mother, embarrassed with arms crossed as he hoped that she wasn't judging his impulsiveness. Especially since it ended rather embarrassingly, both the red and blue lions sticking out of a pile of sand.

But here's a moment of competition. Heine is challenging him.

Keith looks up, mentally mapping what's up ahead.]

Fine. [He says it like he's not fine, but only because Keith teeters between his previous competitive edge and that edge being more smoothed out these days. Sometimes it's hard for him to balance what is the right move here.]

But no sabotaging each other. Fair is fair, got it?

[But this is fun right? He offers Heine a smirk. Right. Let's do this.]