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meadowlarklogs2019-01-06 09:54 pm
- !arrival log,
- darker than black: hei,
- dc comics: dick grayson,
- dc comics: jason todd,
- detroit become human: markus,
- ffxiv: x'rhun tia,
- ffxv: noctis lucis caelum,
- marvel comics: thor,
- npc: gaby,
- re6: jake muller,
- starfighter: cain,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the silver case: sumio kodai,
- voltron: keith,
- westworld: maeve millay
ARRIVAL LOG 006
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
QUESTIONS.
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gaby • npc • ota
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. ]
kaldur'ahm | young justice
SAFEHOUSE
WILDCARD
heatstroke;
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safehouse
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maeve millay | westworld | ota
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
001
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hei, darker than black.
2▸ BACK ALLEYS3▸ SAFEHOUSE
three!
merc lyfe
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1-b, I'M HERE
THERE YOU ARRREEE
:eyes:
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:^) 1A duh
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2 fuck it let's go
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option two busts in here like a koolaid man
EYYYY
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2
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1/2
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bruce wayne | dceu
[ Great. The awareness in the back of his mind that used to indicate Diana, however near or far away, is missing. Its loss is ultimately not a huge obstacle, but annoys him — he'd become accustomed. ]
[ A few hours. He's gone before the fireworks start. ]
→ safehouse
[ Eventually, animal instincts ask for food, shelter, and clean water. As tempting as it is to enter by means other than the front door, there are people here. Shared confusion and similar predicaments — there's some measure of relief at not having to re-experience the Storm, at least. Not something he wants to do again. ]
[ A shower cleans up a lot, cold water helps clarity. ]
[ Bruce can be found in the kitchen, because cooking is not that hard, but is taking him a lot longer than he thought. Or looking at some of the old clothes and other items strewn around, examining them curiously. Or having staked his claim on a bed that sees most of the room, entertaining himself with a game of chess. ]
→ wildcard
[ ooc: feel free to make something up or let's work something out! ]
safehouse;
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safehouse, chess!!
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Safehouse
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safehouse. pre-emptive tw for child abuse.
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kitchen.
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safehouse/kitchens
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safehouse.
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safehouse - chess
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safehouse
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Jake Muller, RE6
[ 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]
B FOR BASIC
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C
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wildcard
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B!
PRE-ARREST IG
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d
d!
e;
keith | voltron | ota!
[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
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clarke griffin | the 100 | ota
Do you think there's any power to this? [Clarke asks a familiar face as they pass her by the booth where all the "wish-granting" is happening.
Back on the Ark, religion and feelings of fancy were often lost to the past: lost to a world that could believe in such things, could hope and believe in miracles. Seeing and hearing that their world burned was all but evidence that they would need to move forward and embrace a different doctrine. For the many people who came together to form the Ark, that became a doctrine of survival.
God wasn't completely absent from people's words or thoughts. But the concept of a deity was more like a distant, judging entity. It didn't often come into play.
And Clarke herself never heard many whimsical things growing up. That's why this moment—these lanterns—actually remind her of a cool night with a boy she'll never be able to forget. It had been their first and only time together. She tries not to think of Finn much these days, but it's Finn who's on her mind as she observes the lanterns.
Inherently, she knows that wishes can't be granted—especially if you have to pay to make the wish. But perhaps it's the act of voicing it that has power.]
b. shrinage
[On the way back, Clarke spots some of the shrines. First it's the painting that catches her eye. The art itself is quite nice, and she assumes—at first—that it's somehow linked to the festival itself. That perhaps someone had been paid. Closer inspection of the figure depicted told her otherwise. The bright blue light that is shown "shining" is telling. All too telling.
It's not the first time that she's seen an object of ... worship? At least one like this. The chamber where the Flamekeepers kept the reminders of Becca Pramheda was a much larger version of this, with paintings on the wall to remind everyone of how she came down and gave her people hope and a vision for the future. Just as it was strange for Clarke to accept the inherently spiritual nature of the Flame and the Commander to the Grounders, it's difficult for her to see ...
Well.
Herself at the heart of it. People like her.
(There was, at one point, something to be said about the legend of Wanheda. But that felt less like reverence and worship. Far less.)
And then there are the designs around these paintings.
Clarke stops at a final shrine and bends down before it. There are many candles here spread out, lit and illuminating the image behind them. She looks up at the cloth, once again taking note of the patterns. With her neural implant, she takes pictures of everything she sees, just as she has with the paintings.
When she hears someone behind her, she looks up.]
I've seen these symbols before. At least—I think I have.
c. checking in
[Somewhat shaken by all the ... worship ... Clarke returns to the safehouse with the intention of putting herself to work. If anyone's nursing any recent injuries, or wants her to take their vitals, or to even be checked to see if the drug in their system is the same as the drug in everyone else's system, she's around, and offering any assistance. Clarke will hover near the first aid room to offer anything she can at this time.]
d. wildcard
[Anything! Hit me up on discord, plurk, or PMs if you want something more personalized or want to plan something specific.
That said, someone should also play her at chess. She'll be doing that, too.]
b.
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a
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alucard | castlevania
[He’s caught in a disarray of light, of the glowing bulbs of virtual lanterns beginning a lazy drift upwards to hang with the rest of their kin. Faux things as they are, they pass through him on their ascent, nothing more than illusion — it must be, it has to be — as Alucard spins on a heel, wracked with surprise, in an attempt to push them away with a forearm via instinct alone.
They might as well be ghosts, so unaffected they are by his startled attempts. His body feels sluggish and a foot has to lurch back to catch his balance, moving with now-stilted grace but still quick enough to halt himself from falling unceremoniously on his ass. But not graceful enough to avoid knocking some poor food vendor’s tray of sample desserts, scattering them in a messy display as most of them land wastefully on the pavement.
Save for one, a pudding that almost seems oddly phosphorescent, which arcs smoothly in the air, wobbling like a delicate piece of art, and lands—
—squarely on some poor passerby. Maybe it’s you.
In the meanwhile, eyes remain locked towards the sky, past the lanterns, towards the monstrous buildings that make up the far skyline; his mind so doused in confusion, in nauseating shock, that the protests of anyone nearby don’t quite register.]
two — art
[Paint something with us! comes the remark, and even if it is couched in joviality — originating from a crowd of artists adorning the sidewalk in varied symbols — it’s a command all the same. One that has Alucard stopping where he stands, has his body moving against all conscious attempts otherwise, and soon he’s just a scrub-wearing artist amongst the others, crouched down and with a sleek spray can of UV paint that’s been offered to him but moments later. A half-second of figuring out how it works, and then he’s lost fully to the order.
Later, he’ll wonder at the meaning of the symbols haphazardly painted on the ground while under drug-induced coercion; with his mind decrying every arcing movement of his arm, what does it say for the creativity that manages to eke through? He paints stars, he paints a crescent moon. He even paints nothing more than splatters and straight lines, for whatever that might represent.
But now? Now there’s nothing more than the sting of anxious frustration, forced to continue until someone tells him otherwise.]
three — safehouse
[He’s claimed a seat at the edge of a cot, carding fingers through hair shorn too short, the rest of his body language hunching forward as he presses an elbow into a knee. Rubs a free hand across his face, fingers splaying as his brow creases.
White teeth flash in a grimace that comes more from nausea, from the feeling of weighted limbs and a dry mouth, than actual pain. Fangs glint in the light as he speaks — not bothering to truly look up at the person crossing nearby.]
Is everyone in this place human?
wildcard
[Wildcard option! Hit me with anything!]
safehouse.
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safehouse.
apologies for the wait!
np, sorry for mine in turn! work ate me
no worries at all!!!
yalena "dutch" yardeen | killjoys
shrines »
Loki | Open
[ the display of shrines and their accompany imagery brings Loki back to a place that he hadn't been since the day he arrived. while his body still retained the physical characteristics of the Aesir, he was still lacking some of the fundamentals that were linked to his own divinity. carefully he steps through the shrines for better looks at the images that are scrawled within, the eerie light of the blue glow that casts across the asphalt. the symbols are eye-catching, and keep his gaze lingering over the shapes and lines painted into the artwork.
2. Safehouseit's an unnerving feeling that tugs at his insides. it's sacred but not, built on deeds that must feel powerful to the people of this world, if they had made such an impact. shrines were once erected to him and his brethren for worship, and now they were reduced. here they were non-existent, but this was a compromise that he hadn't been expecting. there's a pang inside of him that feels the loss—he misses the prayer. hearing them, and answering them. ]
I really shouldn't be surprised. [ he says to himself, or someone else, perhaps. ] But it does seem like they haven't seen anything like us before. How encouraging.
[ it's like routine now: when new people are found, brought to the safe house, and left there until their ID clears, Loki takes some time to make the rounds. he lingers at the edge of the safehouse, along the walls to get a good look at the faces of those who've just arrived. it looks like he's looking for something, or someone, for that matter.
3. Wildcardunlike those who've arrived and are now in threadbare clothing, Loki's in a black-button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black pants and a pair of boots. he doesn't look quite like he belongs—and in a way he doesn't, he doesn't like the safehouse, nor does he like the obligation he feels to check it like this. ]
Ah, so the new blood is here, hm ...
while the look on his face is curious, he's still stuck on scheming expression 24/7. ]
[ hit me up! ]
oonnnneeee
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1/4, prompt 1, hello i couldn't resist
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damian wayne | injustice
[ It's loud. It's bright. And he hates it.
Moreover, he hates how close these lanterns are to the safehouse. How tightly they're clustered. Maybe it's an overeager morningstar agent, or maybe it's the enemy pointing something out. We know where you are. Either way, he doesn't like it.
Don't mind him reaching out to try ruin one with the heel of his boot. ]
... It's like they're mocking us.
after meeting bruce
[ He makes a scene in the safehouse. Shouting, kicking, threatening - but he doesn't really give a damn. His father is a bastard and him being here redefines how he can exist here - if not in reality, then in his own mind.
He's furious. Sweating profusely underneath the layers of flame resistant fabric he always wears, rage flaring every time he thinks about him. He's not above shoving people aside with a snarled ] Stay out of my way. [ Or simply brushing passed without any acknowledgement. ]
heine rammsteiner | dogs: bullets & carnage
ii. WILDCARD
a.
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