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

[blyat]

[That smack is a sharp delivery from spinning thoughts, dully resounding in his skull, as the details of his surroundings unblur. Which is not to say the storm of anxiety has cleared - his hands are sweaty in the disgusting sleeve of leather gloves, swallowing air is a difficult challenge, and he can hear his own thunderous heartbeat in his ears.

But he's awake, and aware. Dilated eyes follow Hei's movements toward the ladder, the backdrop of sirens and sounds of city life continuing uninterrupted. Something seems to motivate Cain to stand. He braces himself against the dumpster in order to do it, strength having flooded out of his body. He's not steady, but he's moving.

Hands grab the last rung after Hei and he hauls himself up the creaking lattice of rusted metal, one hand after another, one foot after another. He's panting by the time they reach - wherever it is they're going. He's not paying attention, just follows Hei's lead, this time.]

[dipolar]

(leave the rest to me. his sister's voice plays in the back of his head, faint and sweet but sluggish with sleep.

he shouldn't have let this person follow him, but they're halfway up the ladder and he's still being tailed. that's what the smack was for, an invitation to come along. why is he experiencing regret now?

no matter. they reach the top and hei lets the wind whip at short hair, pulling him further along the roof and closer to the corner of the building. from this vantage point, high above the lantern festival with the digital projections of lights and dragons, they can spot the traffic below and the dots that make up the people who contacted the police. the reverberations of sirens weren't cain's imagination — colours, red and blue, wheel beneath hoverbikes and throw swaths of purple up in their direction.)

They're preoccupied.

...

What's the matter with you? (hei asks, turning back to cain with a cant of his head.) You didn't seem that bothered by the body.

[blyat]

[It's the first he's caught New Amsterdam (Earth, in this alternate world) so high up. Cain is momentarily paralyzed with awe at the cityscape, peppered below by glowing lanterns and the moving silhouettes of festival attendees. Commotion that climbs to the height they stand, so he can hear and see and smell almost everything. The police lights flood color across the terrain of his vision - he kneels by the corner, beside Hei.]

I was just - surprised. Forget it.

[Cain peels off the damp gloves, shoves them into a back pocket, and swipes his palms in a decisive motion over his knees. A gust of wind feels good on overheated skin. His heart's still pounding at a rabbit-pace, but the adrenaline is beginning to ebb.]

You should get rid of this. [Jabs his thumb toward the bloodied shirt Hei's wearing.] Take it off.

[dipolar]

(hei knows better. that's not what surprise looks like, that was pure, unadulterated dread.

but he doesn't ask after it, because it's none of his business.

instead, he takes a knee before cain joins him in the corner, both of them sheltered from some of the neon light shed onto the side of a locked rooftop entrance at their backs. it stands higher than the building's edge, deflecting the wind that threatens to whip his shirt from his body of its own accord — either way, it's not his choice to do it.)

Now, huh. (unimpressed, but there's nothing for it.) Got another?

(tiredly reaching for the hem, the bloodied thing is shucked from his body and leaves pink impressions of where gore used to be. swathed across tan skin littered in scars both shallow, like cutting wire, and deep, as though entire chunks of flesh and muscle fibre were gouged from his shoulders. white pools at their feet after hei's through wiping his chest of whatever soaked through.

it's doubtful he'll see another set of clothes for some time, but, well, at least the breeze is warm.)

Why are you helping me? You're aware of the drugging, so were you in the same position?

[blyat]

[In the moments after the surge of fear in the alley, Cain's forgotten the drug. He's surprised by the compliance - immediately wrenching the soiled scrub-top overhead, wind fluttering it out. And then there's guilt, at the same time his body drains of the rest of that adrenaline and goes loose, exhausted, and dazed.

He doesn't know what happened to him, why he froze, why the root of terror plugged itself into the center of his chest and immobilized his body. It's never happened like that before, not on the galactic battlefield faced by the murderous intent of the enemy.

The question prompts him to cast out for some sort of reply. Cain tries his best.]

A few weeks ago, yeah. Different shit happened, but I wasn't in control of myself. Did things I shouldn't have. [Like get his dick sucked... at least it isn't murder.

Then, emboldened,] You didn't leave me down there, either. Isn't this the same? [Maybe not. Cain's eyes tilt away, onto the metal door at their back, reflecting purple light.] What are we supposed to do now? Just... wait up here?

[dipolar]

No, I wouldn't say it is. You're a liability for me. (hei counters easily, twisting in his kneel to face him.) You witnessed what happened. If the authorities picked you up, I wouldn't be far behind.

(working off the assumption that cain would give him up, of course, and he wouldn't blame him. trade a complete stranger's life for your own? sounds like a good deal. the whole "snitches get stitches" thing never applies when there's no ties between people involved, that ideal is a crock of shit some gang punk made up to save face.

you be careful. you don't get caught. then there's nothing to worry about.)

I'm not in the business of waiting. I'll find another route down.

(gesturing to the door behind them,) If you have anything thin and sharp on you, I could try that. Without a pick, though, I'll scale down the other side of this.

[blyat]

What the hell could I say? I don't even know you!

[Assuming, as well, Cain would jeopardize the rest of those brought into this world. He can't claim to know with certainty what he would do if the cops picked him up, but the thought kickstarts a needling unpleasantness in the pit of his gut. Set it aside, for now.]

You're acting like you do this shit all the time.

[Because he does, Cain... What else do the pale-lined and pockmarked scars littering across smooth planes of muscle indicate, except excessive violence on a high scale? Anyway, the suggestion does coax him to produce the small, convenient pocketknife from under the tongue of a boot, tucked securely beneath the laces. Since beginning to generate a modest income, it was one of the primary purchases he'd made in newfound monetary independence.]

What about this?

[dipolar]

(a pocketknife. that might actually do the trick, because even if he can't get the lock undone then the whole unit can be torn from the door. cain certainly just saved him a harrowing trip down the side of the building, which makes him tilt his head up, sniff amusedly, and hold his hand out.)

You know my face. You know distinguishing features that set me apart from the other East Asians currently attending this festival. (a chinese festival. his festival. is it really february 28th, 2010? back home, maybe, but here? there's no way.) You'd have known what route I took, what I was wearing... do you understand now?

(hei, however, has less manners than the average man. he demands it, measuring cain up with a quick drop of the eyes. when they lift, dragging back up to face him with a subdued look, he even snaps his fingers to hurry him along.)

It'll do. Hand it over.

[blyat]

[He is decidedly not interested in climbing down the vertical side of a building, thanks.

Silenced by the certainty of those words - and the truth embedded within them - a scowl transforms his face into petulant irritation. The snapping serves Hei no favors. He's tempted to chuck the closed pocketknife at his head.]

Fuck. Maybe I should've turned you in. You were hitting that guy like... [Like what? Cain's voice fades on the wind. He tries,] You would've killed him.

[Producing the knife, he tosses it to the ground childishly. Not as satisfying.]

Don't break it, it's new.

[dipolar]

I probably would've, (a pointed look as the tool clatters to the ground,) hero.

(he'd certainly been prepared to. cain saved his life and hei's in on fell interruption.)

I know a panic attack when I see one. Next time focus on your breathing and it'll kick the dizziness and nausea. Five seconds in, five seconds out. (hei plucks the knife from the ground between them and straightens to his full height, turning a shoulder to immediately go tend to the door.

there's no way to get it into the groove between door and lock-pad, but there seems to be a pad. a sensor? the pointed tip of the blade is introduced and immediately slammed at the hilt by the heel of his palm, making the rest dig into the hard plastic.

it pops open, spins on the ground, and reveals a whole mess of — well, he doesn't know.)

Have you seen anything like this? There aren't any wires.

[blyat]

[All Hei receives for the combination of moniker and sagely advice is a twisted, agitated scowl. A panic attack? It would be one of the first of his life - and he's not about to piece together the reasoning for why here, now, in this place. Why in that moment, down there on the street.

He climbs to his own feet and draws closer, eying the interior of the pad.]

Yeah. I've seen shit like this. [Futuristic petty criminal, he's broken into places likelier to have low security.] Probably receiving a signal from somewhere else. You'd either wanna short it out, or... breaking it might trip an alarm. Guess we could still try.

[What other options do they have?

!!] ... Wait.

[dipolar]

(there's the expression he was waiting for.) You figure it out? (hei asks neutrally, placing the palm of his hand over the sensor pad.

time to "short it out".

except when he tries, it feels like instant karma striking him in the chest. it starts as an odd tightness, making him wince and push himself further, but the more he attempts to use his sister-given ability, the more his heart feels like it's caught in a painful vice grip. then the burning kicks in and hei has to take a knee, palm slamming angrily into the metal of the door.)

Damnit. (breathy, having felt this before and not too long ago — months without use of his electricity.) I can't get us in. Smash it, you can do it.

(his eyes cut to the left, then up, indicating the door with a tilt of his head.)

Like it or not, you're in this. If we don't get it open, we'll be sitting ducks while that guy down there gets carted off to the hospital.

[blyat]

[He moves backward a step, startled enough to yield some space as Hei crumples and strikes out with that open-palmed hand. The dull slap rings on the metal. Curiosity rises up in him, the world of supernatural abilities a new and strange experience, to a point even he still has trouble stomaching it.]

Did you just try to use a power? [He's never seen that before. Calls to mind a conversation, Loki's opaque riddles, the portal in the chest. All of it is just too weird.

Commanded to smash the lock, Cain gives his head a rapid shake.] No, I - think I got a better idea.

[He moves forward again. One hand raised, thoughts concentrated into a tunnel (not that different from how he feels in the seat of a cockpit), Cain focuses on the lock. His chest glows that eerie blue. As Kara taught him to, like tapping into some deep and mysterious recess - he closes his fingers - the lock vanishes, immediately reappearing in midair... directly over Hei's foot. It clatters on top of his toes. The door clicks open, no longer barred with the lock quite literally ripped off.]

Dunno if that triggered anything, but... safer than busting it.

[dipolar]

("try"? irritation is stoked by the comment, until his thoughts on it are simmering just below the impassivity of his stare. did he know it'd fail? how?

instead of demanding an answer, hei watches. cain stands before the door like he'll pray the lock away, but he knows better than to think that after facing countless soldiers with the ability to blast holes through six inches of solid steel, turn elastic bands into beams of energy, make bubbles blown from soap explode. in one moment the pad is there and the next it's not, landing on his foot that makes him jerk back in surprise.

it's impressive. highly. alarm or not, it's gotten them an escape route and cain's saved his ass again.

but which is it? a cutting power? rejection of an idea? matter displacement? any one of them could account for this, but he doesn't want to stick around to find out which it is. his logical half takes over, bolting for the other side of the building with his heels planted against the barrier keeping him from falling off.)

Safer, huh? Tell me how you just did that — (pointing past him to the open door.) — and why I can't.

[blyat]

[It's not like he intended to drop it onto Hei's foot. He lacks control over that final location, but he hasn't practiced much - it could be limited to a particular range. Cain doesn't know, which is why he levels a glower onto the other man for that demand.]

Dunno. Maybe you're just not special.

[A sharp reply, and not one he fully means. Evidently everyone will have a power. Hei can find it out for himself.]

Whatever you could do before doesn't matter. Right here? [Lifting a hand, Cain taps at the middle of his own sternum, feeling bone... nothing else to signify the ambiguous blue glow somewhere deep below.] That's the reason. So don't bother trying.

[The glance turned toward that open door is one of anxiety, best translated into agitation.] Shouldn't we go?

i hate this tag

[dipolar]

(there's a weighty stare from the edge of the building. but for some weird self-deprecating reason, hei cracks a smirk at that statement instead of finding something insulting about it.)

I see. So my abilities are being suppressed by something in our chests? (fairly normal start to his breakdown of what's happening, which turns out to be a stunning precursor to the worst thing anyone's ever said to someone else jfc.) Don't you want to crack me open first? See what's inside?

(that's what he'd do, if he had the proper tools and a medical kit. with something thin like the tip of a dagger, not deep enough to kill himself but deep enough to strike something that might be rattling around in there. getting this implant out of the back of his neck is high on his list of priorities, too.

but cain makes a good point. they should be leaving. hei gestures to the door with an open hand, raising his chin.) Go on. I don't trust you; I'll follow.

i love it enough for both of us

[blyat]

[At least Hei is honest (...?).]

That makes two of us, asshole.

[Trust isn't something extended easily. And not after the violence he'd witnessed down in the street. It's clear this isn't an ordinary man, given whatever he'd tried on the lock - but Cain's beginning to realize so many of them aren't. Is that the reason behind their multidimensional kidnapping?

He reaches to pry open the heavy rooftop door and peer into the darkness of an empty stairwell. There's no light; they'll have to be careful. Cain takes a few first steps down, gloved fingers following the handrail.]

Anyway, somebody already tried that. To get into our chests. [He glances back briefly to see the silhouette of Hei framed by outside light.] Didn't work. There's no hardware in there.

[dipolar]

(lmao, someone else with a death wish tried to wrench into their own chests, that's the black kind of humour hei appreciates. it makes him duck his head, shaking it, before giving the rooftop once last glance back before entering the stairwell.

no shirt, it's cooler inside. hei rolls his shoulders and tries to ignore it, footsteps almost silent behind cain.)

Sounds like those drugs did more than make us obedient dogs.

(whatever. they can fill him with poison, but the emotional connections are irritating. putting it lightly.)

That's the third time you've called me an asshole now, do you want to make it an even four? (surprisingly sounds like banter, stilted but it helps hei get a better idea of him.) I'm doing what I need to to survive. What would you have done different in this scenario?

[blyat]

Maybe you're just an asshole.

[Yeah, let's go ahead and make it four. Banter's returned with a sharp edge, always down to bitch at people. Especially one who's turned into a nightmare of an event.]

My guess, they had us under for a long time in order to install all that tech, in our heads and... whatever the fuck, in our chest. And if I were you? Not beat that guy like - I don't know - I wanted to kill him as fast as possible.

[In the dimly lit stairwell, Cain glances back again, seems to realize that's unfair. Survival at any cost is something he can understand, if different from the influence of compulsion.]

You wanna tell me how you learned to fight like that?

[dipolar]

Not "like", (a quiet correction,) I wanted to, I felt compelled to. There's no other reason than that.

(his self-preservation instincts kicked in after the first punch, carried him through to the second, third, tenth. cain will understand it eventually, that overwhelming fight or flight that takes control of the body and forces it to make the decision that'll protect it the most. if he doesn't already. seems scrappy enough, trained by the looks of him.)

I fight the way that I fight. It's no business of yours. (the vaguest possible answer.

hei's quick down the stairwell, only a couple of steps behind him at all times, loathing how tired the muscles in his legs feel already. how many storeys is this building? how many more floors to descend?)

Do you know anything more than I don't about the people who kidnapped us?

[blyat]

[It's expected ambiguity. Why did he bother asking? Cain's jaw clenches, jump of muscle illustrating frustration about something he can't control. The whole situation has spiraled out beyond him. He wants to be done with it.

Hei's question comes periphery to his steady focus forward, watching his feet in the dimness as he skips down concrete steps at a quick pace.]

Nope. Get used to the disappointment. We don't know shit.

[The stairwell is lit by dull, red emergency lights which reflect off indicator panels labelling floors - the descent seems unless, until finally he sees a 3 on the wall, then 2, then 1...

They're met by a heavy firedoor, EXIT signage above in bright block letters. Cain stops to catch his breath in a few quick inhales.] Which side of the building does this face? We gonna walk right back into that alley? [It's something he should have considered up on the roof, but Cain's makes his decisions with little foresight, living in the momentum of one action to another.

He glances back at Hei, eying his suspicious state of undress as if to evaluate their luck making it past the officers.]

[dipolar]

(disappointment? maybe a bit. maybe because he can't bring his brand of revenge down on their heads. but wherever he's wound up is already safer than home was. and someone's already helping him.

ah, hei didn't get his name.)

Your jacket... it'll do, if we don't want to draw attention. I'll return it when we're through here.

(slowing on the steps behind cain, well within arm's distance on the plateau of the first floor. ground level. he's right about the cops and he's not too sure which direction they're working with, but they have a one-in-four chance of hitting the worst one. the risk gets higher knowing his shitty luck.

gestures to his new best friend.)

Tell me your name while you're at it.

[blyat]

[His jacket? Irritation breaks across Cain's face in a brief expression, smoothed out as he realizes the practicality. The annoyance isn't easily chased away, though, because it still feels like he's taking orders from someone who's dragged him through a hell of an afternoon.]

Tell me yours first. Or I'll just keeping calling you 'asshole'. Hey, maybe you're cool with that.

[It's petty, but he doesn't care, shucking off the sleeves of the jacket meanwhile to reveal bare skin underneath. Normally it's too hot to wear, but the packed crowd of the festival drove in a desire to cover up, lest he cross paths with someone capable of tuning into the empathy link.]

[dipolar]

I am, generally, (this is sincere... 'asshole' might as well be a middle name,) but my name's Tak.

(ignoring cain's obvious irritation, he's waiting with an outstretched hand and waiting to grab it away from him. he expects some resistance, so there's a strong tug that goes along with it, a flap to shake the leather out, and an immediate hook of his arm into a sleeve.

jesus christ, it's warm.

the jacket looks so stupid with the white pants, but the last person who'd give a shit is hei who seems ready to go with a ziiiiiip, leaving the collar open wide at the neck.)

I won't be following you to your destination, so you don't have to complain about that too. Do I have to tell you to walk forward with confidence and avoid making eye contact with anyone who might stare?

[blyat]

Tak.

[He says it to ingrain the memory, but the name feels sharp on his tongue, like a piece of metal. His fingers slacken as the jacket's snatched up - Cain looks after it as though wondering whether he'll see it again. Hopes so, because a tight budget doesn't mean much spending on nice clothing. It's a good jacket.

Leftover in a sleeveless muscle shirt, he feels bare if blessedly cooler.]

Don't gotta tell me anything, [said blunt and dismissive as he turns around to pry open the heavy firedoor, then steps aside.] Ladies first.