ARRIVAL LOG 008

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of October 5 to night of October 8
WHAT: The eighth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, alcohol usage. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #008

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 blue short sleeve shirts and ill-fitting jeans, 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, there is the smell of beer and a weird yodel-like sound – no, wait. That is definitely yodeling and beer. Further movement forward will lead to you finding yourself in a busy area filled with multiple people carrying reusable cups full of liquid. You've just shown up at a party with a bunch of people wearing nearly identical clothing. The good thing is that everyone is probably too drunk to notice.

◉ 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.

> OKTOBERFEST

The message from El comes the same as usual: 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 starting to think that the arrests last month mean that our friendly delivery men have had to change up what they're doing. Either way - the group waiting for you this time is huge. The get up? Blue shirts, all around. Let's see how long that lasts. Anyway. Arrival #8. You know the deal, don't you? I bet you're all already out there having a good time.

Although New Amsterdam is a mish-mash of world cultures, there are certain traditions that took root in the city as it began to form its identity. Yes, one was Anime Naexpo. Another? Oktoberfest. Hoping to capitalize on the heritage of the region, businesses throughout New Amsterdam pushed for the continued celebration of Oktoberfest. In fact, the only time it wasn't celebrated was during the Xelkoven War, as the fight between humans and AI meant that any celebrations were put by the wayside.

Perhaps even more so than having to work during an anime convention, Oktoberfest is not a fun time for customer service workers. All around, various different cashiers, food truck chefs and drivers, rickshawers, couriers and more find that they don't have a choice but to dress up in Dutch costumes recalling times of the past. These costumes are typically pulled out of some back closest and generally assigned to the employees, so some of them won't fit all that well. The problem is that it isn't cool enough to be dressed in these as the days cool off, and the only saving grace is that they get to work at night rather than the day. The early parts of their shifts are miserably hot, and things don't get better from there. If your character is a customer service employee, they can expect some uncomfortable days ahead.

Somehow, the discomfort of the various workers doesn't come in the way of the loud and festive activities. All around New Amsterdam, various tents go up selling a lot of different wares, many of which are probably second hand junk that people are trying to sell off for a few credits. This is the time when the Black Market stops working underground, instead opening temporary store fronts in tents that are far too nice for the wares they're providing (but at least they're trying to be a less obvious money laundering front). If someone's looking to get in good with the underground or get a sense of how to find these places for some actually illegal goods, Oktoberfest is a prime place to start.

Otherwise? Oktoberfest is likely full of what anyone would expect: a lot of beer, funny looking Bavarian clothing, a lot of live music, and a lot of opportunities for drunken folk to put on a good show. If your character is the type to look for an opening to grab some attention, this is the place to do it.

◉ There will be a lot of beers available in pretty much every single tent. The drinking age in New Amsterdam is 18, but it's equally unlikely that anyone will be checking implants with how busy everything will be. The most popular beer this year? "We're Lucky We're Not Cyborgs," an extremely hoppy IPA made by the most popular brewery in New Amsterdam. All of the beers are available in bottles that you can return for more, as businesses no longer sell alcohol by the can. Think of growlers – but in a far more manageable size! Feel free to come up with the cyberpunk name of your dreams for the beer. Or people can just drink the New Amsterdam River – which is the name of the beer with a picture of the man-made river on it. It's cheap, but reliable. Oh, and for those of you that don't like the taste of beer, there's cider and mead on tap at most places as well.

◉ There will be various stages all over for acts to perform, but the schedules will not be full. Before long, the characters will know that Oktoberfest is where some people plan to get discovered. And … it's also a place where some people become social media sensations, in either good or bad ways. Need to propose to someone? Need to show off your abs? These stages are the place to be. If someone's not up there, take the chance and make it your time to shine. Or … go down in infamy.

◉ Most of the food throughout the festival will harken back to its German heritage, albeit without a whole lot of success. There are sausages, but much like the hot dogs of today, it's likely better that you don't ask what's in them. A safe bet is the large array of potato dishes around. These are delicious – and cheap!

◉ There are some competitions, too! Virtual fencing – albeit in a very, very amateurish way – and virtual crossbow competitions happen throughout the three-day event. And then there's yodeling. One of the stages will be dedicated to this the entire time. Yes, people practice to win big, but that doesn't mean that everyone has to practice.

◉ Like with Oktoberfest of the past, celebrities will have their own VIP tent right in the heart of the financial district. If you have a favorite music, film, or movie star and they have a penchant for partying, this is the place to be. Sneaking in will be hard – but not impossible. Though some will find that they might have to work this tent. These celebrities can't go without their coffee or beer, after all.

> 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.

◉ There will be shifts when Gaby isn't present in the safehouse because she's shorthanded following the UNA attacks in our January event. New characters will find that if they try to open the hatch to leave during this time, it'll be sealed shut for anyone without a registered implant.

◉ 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 OCTOBER 9. 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.

> WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

As everyone goes to sleep, a familiar stomp vibrates through New Tokyo on the other side of the world. The wall outside of the city is stable at first, holding up, but the vibrations continue. The creature this time is twice as large as the one that hit New Amsterdam – 800m high, yet not seen until right around when the vibrations began. It should have been, by all rights: New Tokyo is no less secure than the other cities around the world, with constant surveillance and a dedication toward maintaining an idyllic life for its citizens. Its behavior is similar: it slams its tail against the outer wall of the city before it gives way, the destruction nearly absolute. In a panic, New Tokyo's UNA forces and police force move into action to try to bring down the monster and protect its citizens.

At the same time, whether they're still awake or already asleep, something stirs inside of the displaced. Their chests will glow without anything to bring it about – no power drawn on, either innate or new, and no skin touching. This glow seems to fatigue any of them if they're still awake, and will send anyone already asleep into a deeper one. Once they're under, the stirring within will give way to unrest that foments dreams and visions for many of the displaced. If they had a dream while they slept, characters will wake up with a burning sensation in their chest.

As for New Tokyo: it will be left in ruins by the time the UNA soldiers there manage to take down the monster. Several sections of the city remain intact – almost out of luck – and the governor of New Tokyo reports that they believe this monster came from outside of the city, having been given life by the unsafe conditions outside of the megacity. Within a few hours, this statement will be revised, with the governor admitting that he doesn't know what the monster was or where it came from, only that their surveillance saw that it came from outside.

The three dreams below are what each character will experience, though you can feel free to assume they managed to jar themselves awake before the dream finished. To get a dream, please comment below to get an RNGed number for the dream that they'll be having. Since these are unnatural dreams, you can feel free to have your character remember it in its entirety – or not, if that's what you'd prefer.

If you have multiple characters, we suggest you only have one experience a dream, but it's ultimately up to you!

> DREAM 001

A blue glow illuminates the site – offering light on a foggy morning, with everyone having completed their journey to this final destination. A sense of fatigue and relief that washes over everyone there, but also an inner warmth that seems to radiate from the site itself. Huge rocks rise up on either side of the site, acting as shielding barriers for these followers and what lies ahead of them. Despite the lack of natural light cast through the thick fog, there's still a distant glow, leading them forward.

You find yourself among these people, well aware of the many miles you walked to get here, most of it on an incline. Around you, the clothes that people wear are worn, tattered, made from wool that's begun to wear down. How long have you all been traveling? It's hard to say – hard to guess, only that you know that you were all drawn here. No single story is the same. Some saw symbols: triangles that glowed when they saw them in the periphery, as well as bits of circles coming together. The tree of life. Perfect like nature in its finest form. Others could never put the words to what they experienced.

Each of you feel the draw now. It resonates within you, fills you up. Just ahead, there are structures that seem to float in space, and when you draw closer, a clear, light blue bridge appears. The walk forward requires a leap of faith – and there are some unwilling to take it. Afraid. They wonder if they've wasted their time.

But you haven't. You walk forward, and the bridge carries you forward. You can't tell if you're walking or literally carried, but eventually you come to an alcove where a strange circular structure stands. As you step closer, it comes to life, a mixture of lights and – no, not sounds. But the same resonating warmth.

You walk into it and –

– you find yourself somewhere else. Somewhere new.

> DREAM 002

– this is not where you belong where you've chosen to live – this is not it this is not it this is not it –

Your fingers spread, wrapping around the nearest metal instrument to drag it close. You test the edge against your skin, drawing out a sharp pain. You never asked for this particular experience. But every day, you feel it.

It's time to take back what you can. The walls around you are white, pristine. Somehow, you know that they weren't a day ago. One of the others you know got sick, doubled over after a bad interaction with a medication. You see them now, dark rings under their eyes, a shaved head. How do you know this? Your mind doesn't answer you. You just react. Someone in a coat as white as the room draws closer. Checking your vital signs. Your breathing picks up – your lungs hurt. You lash out with the instrument, cutting deep. A bright red spreads. A sick smile creeps over your lips. You know that color, deep within you. You know it.

And then there's nothing.

And then life moves on (your life moves on). Has time passed? The room is different. The person with the red splotch of color on their lab coat is gone, and your build is different. More gangly, uncontrolled. Deep down, you feel an unabiding frustration. You hear a shout: "Put them down!" It's too late. A fire erupts. The doors seal.

> DREAM 003

You recognize the walls. The building. But there's some barrier between you and it, a constant, subdued fog that lies between you and your surroundings. The lights are bright. Everyone moves in a single file, dressed in the same white scrubs. You're among them. The workers walk alongside you, occasionally checking your vital signs. Sometimes they make you grab each other's hands, noting the shift in reactions or responses.

The air here is cool. Stale. Your head is cold, recently shaven. Like everyone else, sans a few. It looks like it's been a while since they had a haircut. You don't recognize them, not like the others. You're certain that you recognize the others.

Thought is difficult to process. There's an IV into your arm. You try to make out more of your surroundings, but the fog encroaches and takes over. You're missing your chance. Your chance to know where you are – were? Who did this to you?

Distantly, you see a marking on a wall. Letters. P - R - O - PROJECT. You're certain of it. What else is there? Nothing. No. Something, but not another word. It's a symbol of some kind, or – an animal? There's a splotch of yellow, bright and prominent on its breast, with a dark V that cuts down. The fog obscures the rest.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

This arrival log is a little different, as it doubles as a prologue for our monthly event! Everyone's character can have one of the dreams, and it'll hit them anytime within a day of the attack on New Tokyo. This does include anyone new to the game! So, please go ahead and comment below to have your dreaming character assigned a number. All assignments will be random on our part!

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 OCTOBER 9 (MARCH 17). 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.

All arrival logs act as mingles, so older players can please feel free to top level for the festivities described!

If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, 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 March calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in March 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 April 1 and close on April 7. 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

QUESTIONS

[larkers]

DREAM CLAIMS

[larkers]

Comment to get one of the three dreams assigned to your character! These will be random.

gaby – npc – ota

[vns]

001. new arrivals (before New Tokyo events)

[ what is requested most often among newcomers? is it beer and other forms of alcohol? yes. in the spirit of Oktoberfest, Gaby will have set up several larger growlers in the kitchen, along with large metal pans full of potato dishes. like many others, she's worked out the general time table of when new people were going to arrive, and Oktoberfest? seemed like a safe bet.

if anyone's not sure about the offering of food, she'll give them an offended look, and then hold out her hand. ]

I'll eat it first. If that doesn't do it? Your loss, everyone else's gain.

002. later (after New Tokyo)

– you heard what happened here, Nate. We don't have any resources to spare.

[ this is the ... middle of a phone call between Gaby and someone else. she's in the first aid room, though she hadn't expected it to be a conversation that was heated. she pauses, moves to close the door, and then continues her conversation. needless to say, no one can hear her now.

when she walks out later, she'll look tired, muttering to herself. ]

Just 'cause it happened here doesn't mean I know what the fuck to do.

takeshi kovacs. altered carbon

[resleeves]

I ➣ ➣ ➣ OKTOBERFEST

[ he's choosing to take this as fate. destiny. some kind of fucking respite from all the shit he's been through in the last few weeks. sure, he'd woken up feeling like he was about to be fucking experimented on but then they'd let him loose and he'd walked right into a festival of alcohol.

can't get much better than that. he doesn't give two shits about the looks he's getting or the way people whisper when he passes. he's all too happy to shove them aside with a glower or a snarl or just a smirk so he can get to where he's going.

and where he's going is straight to the beer. there's just one problem. he doesn't have any fucking money. bancroft had paid him but whatever this place is, he doesn't have access to his bank account so he does the next best thing.

the first person he sees carrying a can, he grabs, taking it out of their hands and shoving them backwards hard enough that they don't dare to try and take it back. as the person skitters away, kovacs calls: ]

Thanks for the welcoming gift. I feel better already.

[ he misses his fucking hair. ]

II ➣ ➣ ➣ SAFEHOUSE

[ the setup of this place reminds him a little bit of stronghold. people are piled on top of each other, packed in tightly and trying to act like they were fine with it. he's not but he's also not willing to get up and ask what the fuck was going on and who'd taken his goddamn hair.

no, he'd glared someone off a bed he wanted to sit down on and taken a seat, long legs stretched out in front of him. it gives him a decent place to observe, to watch people come and go and to occasionally call out random things to the just to be a dick.

well, what the hell else is he gonna do? he hasn't seen quell pop up in his mind's eye and he knows rei's not going to show up because – ]

Anyone got a fucking cigarette?

[ let him have a fucking smoke, please. ]

III ➣ ➣ ➣ WILDCARD

[ feel free to choose your own adventure. hit me up at spoonishly for plotting. ]

laura moon . american gods

[apathet]

𝚘𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝚘𝚘𝟷

[ she's off the vehicle and she's not sticking around. what the fuck. what the fuck. this isn't Kentucky. this isn't even fucking Wisconsin. this isn't anywhere - this isn't anywhere she was or was going to be. the first few minutes are a daze, and in that daze she stalks off towards the light, towards the clink of cups, the blur of noise, answers.

there are no answers. there's a party, people fucking everywhere, but no answers. and as she shoves her way into those crowds, on the hunt for somebody in particular, and the heat of the dying day and the bodies everywhere have her shirt quickly sweatstuck to her skin, she hisses, ] Fuck, it's warm.

[ ... fuck.

it's warm.

she's warm.

as warm becomes all she can feel (all she can feel, she can feel) her legs stop working in the middle of a milling sea of drunks and soon-to-be drunks. so it's really no surprise that somebody walks right into her. ]

𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎.

𝚘𝚘𝟸 (warning: sfw nudity & scarring in image)

[ this is it. this is the best shower she's had in her life. water has never felt so good. nothing has ever felt so good. (it's a longer shower than the current water situation really allows for, but if anyone wants to try telling her that, they can feel free and see where it gets them).

when she's done, she steps out into the bathroom and finds herself face to face with - herself. in the mirror. skin pink, not grey.

the next person to walk in will find a small woman standing naked, dripping wet, watching herself hover her fingers over the long-healed scars where her organs were once removed. no longer held together with sutures, the skin under her fingers alive and aware. ]


𝚘𝚘𝟹.

[ did you want some of Gaby's oktoberfest offerings? better hurry your shit up. Laura Moon can eat now and it's only going to last so long.

or at least, that's the attitude she approaches the potato dishes with when she first encounters them. she piles her plate high, carries herself off to a table, shoves the first bite in her mouth... and positively melts. her face is doing some things that could make a person blush given the right context.

the potatoes are good, but are they really that good? regardless, she's taking her time with every bite from here on in. ]


𝚘𝚘𝟺

[ the coast appears to be clear of staff, and Laura's making a break for freedom. a break that doesn't get her very far with an IDless implant, and she's left hissing angrily at the hatch - ]

Come the fuck on, you shitty thing. Come on. Fuck.


𝚘𝚘𝟻.

[ laying on her bed, a bunk claimed down one end of a row with the two either side also bagsied by the jeans and shirt she arrived in, Laura stares up into space. into, in reality, the network and an internet that goes on forever. trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, what the fuck it means, and how. ]


( ooc: also happy to write individual starters or respond to wildcards either pre-safehouse or in the safehouse! Laura's autopsy scars won't be readily viewable outside of prompt 2, but the scar from the reattachment of her arm is on display most of the time if anyone's characters are detail seekers. please feel free to come at me @ miscreates for plotting or other chats! )

caroline forbes, the vampire diaries.

[gasping]

» arrival (closed to rey)

[ the alley is dark, shaded by towering buildings on either side and the haphazard piling of empty boxes and piled bags of trash. it's not a particularly glamorous place to be dropped off, but given caroline's unfortunate outfit, she's not complaining either.

instead, she's doing her best not to panic. slim fingers drag over her face, through her hair — shoulder-length, she realizes with a bit of surprise, shorter than she remembers it being but not awful either — and then across her teeth. an impulsive check proves fruitful; she's still herself. whatever's been given to her, whatever strange twist of vervain that's swimming through her system and leaving her feeling strangely compelled, hasn't changed that yet.

as her teeth bare, so too do the veins underneath her eyes, twisting and angry. she realizes, with a start, how hungry she is. how long has it been since she'd fed? and on what? she doubts she'll find a blood bank in this alley, no conveniently placed cooler of vampire capri suns just around the corner, but perhaps … something.

a deep inhale doesn't give her much to go on. rats, mostly. her stomach twists, but caroline fights the revulsion. she has to eat. she can be pickier later, once she's got her strength back up.

she's rummaging through a pile of debris when the cracking of glass under a boot catches her attention. before an eye can blink, she's standing, peering in the dark towards the intrusion. ]

Who's there? What do you want?

[ help her, she's new. ]

» safehouse, day one.

[ the safehouse isn't homey, or even welcoming, but it's indoors. underground, it doesn't offer sunlight, which puts caroline at ease, even if she spends too many moments each day fidgeting with her hands, looking for a ring on her index finger that's no longer there.

for the first twelve hours after arriving, caroline stays in her bed. she picks one against a wall, somewhere she can sit with blankets pulled up to her chest for a few hours until sleep takes her. the reality of the situation is overwhelming and miserable to accept, and she needs time to herself to cope with the news before she can manage to dredge up the energy to be positive and helpful for others. she's nervous, too; being compelled to do something hits home for her in a way she doesn't like, and should anyone strike up a conversation with her, they may find her particularly reticent — unless commanded to be chatty. be warned, though; caroline might oblige, but she won't forget. ]

» safehouse, days two-four.

[ as the compulsion drugs wear off and people begin moving around, caroline forces herself to leave the limited comfort of her claimed bed and to make herself useful around the safehouse. with the kitchen fully stocked, she's more than happy to help make meals for anyone who might be hungry; with so many new faces around, the meals and the dirty dishes pile up, both of which require quick action to keep at a manageable level.

she hasn't eaten in some time, so her speed's not quite the blur it could be, but anyone watching might notice that she seems to move at a more rapid pace than your average young adult. strangely, though, she might seem tired even as she zooms from place to place. there's a tiredness in her eyes, an off color to her skin, as if she's been on a starvation diet for longer than she ought to be. her hair lays flat against her head, dry and missing much of the luster that it ought to have, and her eyes don't quite brighten the way they should even when she forces a welcoming smile.

feel free to request a meal, to offer help, or even just to observe. regardless of the time of day or the action currently undertaken, caroline will greet anyone who crosses her field of vision with a warm smile and a cheerful: ] Hi! I'm Caroline. What's your name?

» wildcard

( anything goes! if questions, please pm -- i don't bite! )

riku | kingdom hearts | ota

[inherited]

a. this is no island

[The only thing that's familiar to Riku is the heat: hot and constant, he comes to outside of the transport, stumbling forward without much awareness of his surroundings. He sees shapes—people—but doesn't quite commit them to memory. All he knows is he needs to keep moving. Find out what's going on. How he got away from home. (It's obviously not home: the lack of palm trees and sand give that away.)

Before long, one of the party-goers sweeps an arm around his shoulders and drags him into a nearby tent, giving him a drink with a directive—and it's one that he can't stop. The drink itself is nasty, but he keeps drinking it, taking periodic sips. He's lightheaded before long. Not having control over himself is an unpleasant memory. An unpleasant reminder.

Once the beer is gone, he moves. "Drink that until you're done." That's what the guy said.

So, he's moving, and he's trying to gain control over himself.

Trying—and failing. His fingers clench into a fist, and he draws it close, the pain drawing out a grunt. Light glows from his chest, and he keeps trying, keeps trying to draw on his power.

He's beginning to make a scene.]

b. water, sweet water

[Riku's gotten the full rush of darkness empowering him, but he doesn't know what it's like to drink. Before he can head back to the safehouse, it's a good idea for him to have something to drink. No, not that kind of drink.

His hand comes up to his forehead, rubbing it. At least he's not glowing, but the urge to shift in and out of shadows remains. The slick movement has left him, leaving him feeling slow and sluggish. He doesn't think it's just the drugs (though they aren't helping). And it's not the alcohol, either.]

Hey, do you know where I can get some water? ... They have that here, right?

c. safehouse

[So, this is where he'll be for now—trapped in a tiny room. He can see that there's more to it. A kitchen. A medical room. A large enough bathroom. It's nothing like the islands, and yet it reminds him of it just the same. Riku doesn't resent it. He gets what's going on, but he can't help but keep his eyes open. Watch how people react. Watch who's careful with their words.

i. Eventually, he'll head into the bathroom. Rather than taking a shower—though he has a towel there—he's checking himself out in the mirror. A hair style change yet again. But it's his eyes that have his attention. Nothing is wrong, but still—he had to check. Just in case.

ii. After the dream (he got the second one), he'll wake up with a start. For him, that dream was a nightmare. His stomach twists, and he feels a wave of nausea coming over him. His hand comes over his mouth as he bows his head forward, sweat beading his head.] What was that? [And why did he have so little control?]

d. wildcard

[Riku is quiet and observant, and won't be throwing himself into anything quickly! He'll work out in the safehouse once the drugs have cleared out, and help clean up what he can. There will be a lot of moments where he tries to call upon a power and fails. Like, a lot. He's too used to having them at his disposal. If you're looking to opt out of KH3 spoilers, go here!]

peter b. parker | spider-man: into the spider verse

[thwipandrelease]

a. don't think we're in kansas anymore

[one would suppose that coming to in a strange environment was something peter was accustomed to by now, fresh off his latest adventure in miles' world. but, of course, that'd be a no. peter might be groggy, limbs still more than a little heavy, but once the vehicle stops and he's unceremoniously dropped off without an instruction manual, he's not about to hang around in some strange alley to be mistaken for some sort of weird escapee. he looks left. he looks right.]

Think. Think. What would I do?

[sign one of a man seeming like he's out of place? talking to himself. sign two? the wide eyes as he runs a hand through his severely shorn hair, but now's not the time for freakouts. now's the time to get his bearings, and what a better way to do that than to head right into danger without a plan. it's where he does his best thinking, after all.

peter casually enters the crowd, steps made with purpose as he finds himself in a sea of drunk people and lederhosen? this day could not possibly get weirder.

the only plus? he hasn't glitched once.

he takes it back. there's a second plus: food, and right on cue his stomach growls in reply. peter's got no cash, no plastic, no hair (because that is somehow important enough that it bears repeating). it's okay though. he can handle this. it's just the perfect time to turn on the charm.

his target? that person staring questioningly at their plate full of sausage.]

Hey. [he croaks out, voice showing signs of a lengthy period of disuse.] You gonna eat that?

b. home sweet home safehouse

[communal living. the dream. he doesn't have enough fingers to count the number of years that its been since he's shared space with this many people, and in more recent days he's gotten accustomed to living alone. which means he's probably rubbed people the wrong way more than once.

talking too much while others are sleeping? that would be a check. pacing nervously like a caged animal? absolutely. it would help if he could get out for a hot minute, but try as he might, and he's tried a lot, that door isn't budging.

there's no need to threaten him with a tranquilizer though. no, eventually peter settles on his bunk staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the secrets of the universe.]

I don't suppose one of you has a super collider to spare, do you?

[so much for being quiet.]

c. that obligatory choose your own adventure option

[just like it says on the tin. hit me up on discord (burritopeter#1853) or plurk (rambaldis)]

sora | kingdom hearts | ota (kh3 spoiler warning!)

[lighthearted]

i. arrival / oktoberfest

[ When Sora comes to, it's slowly, the thrum of something moving beneath him and the sensation that there are people around him helping him to wake up. He's always struggled a little with waking up, some might say, but the most alarming thing in this case is that he doesn't remember going to sleep, or how he got here. Wherever here is.

His eyes open and he sees four people in heavy gear sitting across from him. His head continues to spin as he realizes that this is a vehicle of some sort, and that he's being taken somewhere. He wants to speak up, to ask what's going on and where he's going, but he can't seem to get the words out.

Then the van stops, the back doors open, and before he knows it he's being hauled to his feet and told to get out. He complies without really thinking about it (but why?), and almost as soon as his feet hit the concrete, the doors shut and the van is gone, leaving him alone and in a daze.

The last thing he can remember is going after Kairi, which really doesn't explain anything about his situation. The warnings he'd been given float in the back of his mind as he stumbles to the alley's exit and onto the sidewalk. Is this San Fransokyo? Judging by the skyscrapers surrounding him, that would be his guess, but this isn't a part of the city that he recognizes. Unless he's followed the lich here and Kairi's heart is somewhere...

That doesn't explain the van, or the people who threw him out of it, or the way that his head feels too light. Sora puts a hand to his temple and then realizes that his hair is much shorter than it should be. What's going on?

With no other leads to go on, he ends up following the noise of what sounds like a party. It isn't hard to find the festivities, and once he determines that the people there can see him and this is somehow actually real, he decides he needs to ask someone for help. Or at least for some answers.

He ends up following his stomach (because he's starving) toward one of the food stalls. He orders some scalloped potatoes and a sausage, only realizing the problem when he's asked for payment and pats the pockets of the jeans he's wearing (no idea how he got into this outfit) to find that he's got no munny. ]

Sorry, nevermind, I can't afford it. But, uh... can you tell me where I am? I think I'm a little lost.

[ A little help, here? ]

ii. safehouse

a. [ Now that Sora's made it safely back to the safehouse and has a slightly better idea of what's going on, it's time to make up for what he'd failed to do earlier, and get something to eat. The safehouse is only so big, but he makes sure to explore every room and get himself familiar with the layout before he finishes his exploration in the kitchen.

While the fridge is fully stocked, and even has some filets of fish and other seafood that looks good, he's not sure if he has the energy to try and cook right now. Would he even be any good at it without Remy's guidance? He's not so sure.

But then he spots a container holding what looks like bugs and his eyes go wide. Tentatively, he reaches out for the container and holds it up in front his face to get a better look, before turning to face whoever just entered the room. ]

Do... people actually eat these?


b. [ Now that Sora's had some time to rest and get settled, he needs to make more of an effort to summon the Keyblade. Even though he's already been told that his previous powers are gone and have been replaced with something else (but what?), he has to try. He decides to go to the small infirmary, where no one else is at the moment, to do what he's already been told is a bad idea.

The Keyblade isn't supposed to just leave its wielder like this, and Sora can't understand how anyone would be able to strip him of that power.

So he holds his hand out, willing the Keyblade to form with every bit of his concentration, but still all he gets for his trouble is that burning pain in his chest. Instead of letting that deter him, he continues to push the issue until he ends up on his hands and knees on the floor, gasping for air with sweat beading at his hairline.

Is this a punishment for the reckless way that he'd handled the Power of Waking? Is he no longer worthy of the Keyblade? Or should he accept what everyone else has told him?

Either way, he isn't ready for someone to come across him in such a compromised position. ]


c. [ Sora's been directed to a large bin with clothing in it and told that he can pick out an outfit or two to wear for the immediate future. Most of the shirts and pants have holes, tears, or stains that don't make them all that appealing, but it looks like he's stuck in a position of "beggars can't be choosers."

It might only be a small thing, but it also means that he doesn't have the funds to buy anything else he might need during his time on this world. With no gummiphone, no access to the gummi ship, and no real sense of how he got here, it seems like he and Riku are stuck here for the moment.

With a sigh, he glances over at whoever happens to be standing nearby. ]

So if I want to buy some better clothes, I have to get a job?

[ Apparently there's no Heartless here, which means that earning munny has become a lot more difficult. Being a Keyblade wielder had been his job, but now he doesn't have that. ]


d. [ Sora's fast asleep on one of the cots and probably even snoring a little (it had been a long day) when the dream starts. Instead of getting jolted awake, he remains asleep through most of it: the fog, the long walk up a hill, that sense of being drawn to something, the bridge that he has the bravery to walk over even after it disappears.

He's had to enter places filled with light before, and doesn't hesitate to move toward the structure. Maybe this is what will take him home, just like it did once before.

But then he awakens to more pain in his chest, and flails so violently that he ends up falling off of the cot and onto the floor.

Taking a few seconds to get his bearings, he realizes that his sudden awakening must have woken up someone else. He stares up at them from the floor, somehow still managing to be sheepish. ]

Sorry... I had a really weird dream.

[ Not the first time, but the chest pain is definitely new. Maybe he tried to summon his Keyblade instinctively? ]

iii. wildcard

[ If you want to do anything not covered here or want a specific starter, I'm game! You can PM me or hit me up at demonology. Also, my spoiler opt-out post is here. ]

markus | dbh

[saviorexe]

oktoberfest.

[He’s here under the usual obligation, of course: to keep his eyes on the crowd for newcomers, telltale signs of compliance and clothes to match El’s description. ("Blue shirts, all around.") But as before, it’s hard to ignore the festivities when it’s all abuzz around him, smelling of beer and sounding of yodeling, practically encased in warm bodies as he tries to navigate the crowd. Attention pulled this way and that, and in time even Markus finds himself distracted by any number of activities.

Such as:]

A. [An empty stage, begging for attention. Markus doesn’t shy from the proverbial spotlight, but rare is the instance in which he seeks it purposefully — in fact, today is no different, instead looking to someone standing nearby, gesturing up at the stage with fingers clamped loosely around a half-empty bottle of beer with an impressively designed label.]

Looks like your chance to gain some notoriety, if you wanted. Go ahead, I’ll even tag you on Cooltalk.

[He’ll do it, too. But he’s not quick to volunteer himself, either.]

B. [Are you an unfortunate soul, stuffed into a Bavarian outfit that’s either two sizes too big or two sizes too small, forced to work diligently at Oktoberfest? Well, Markus can’t relate, but he certainly can sympathize. It’s impossibly warm, impossibly crowded, and he can only imagine the frayed nerves of those employed and currently present.]

So what can I do to make your life easier? [—he asks, wearing a sorry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he approaches, but the offer is sincere enough.]

C. [Seated at a table, utterly surrounded by potato dishes and a small collection of craft beers. How did he end up with so much? How is he supposed to eat all of this? It’s a mystery and he probably can’t — he might need a little help.]

we're lucky we're not cyborgs. (closed to fitz)

[It becomes inevitable that he soon spots a familiar face at a distance, therefore closing that space with the stride of a man with something to say. Markus bumps shoulders with a handful of people along the way, but he’s ignored as much as he ignores them, and soon the android approaches Fitz with a small grin, having to raise a usually soft-spoken voice to be heard over the festivities.]

Still sober enough to walk?

[It’s question delivered as a joke, referencing the beer the other has clasped in his hand, though the label is currently unseen or obscured from Markus' angle.]

I’m getting hungry; maybe you want to find a bite to eat?

mission impossible theme. (closed to daisy)

[The celebrity tents don’t allow just anyone to walk in, a cluster of them erected in the middle of the festival, large and impossible to miss. It’s that kind of the display that invites temptation for those looking to get into trouble (or at least those harboring a burning, stubborn curiosity), like an affliction that assails any meandering nearby.

Markus is no stranger to sneaking into places deemed off-limits; doing so here would be far less complicated (and far less dangerous) than any site he slipped into under shadow or daylight both, back in Detroit with comrades at his side. Yet he has only a passing interest these tents — maybe inclined to afford a peek inside and little else — when there’s no clear goal to accomplish, other than kicking up mischief for mischief’s sake.

He can’t say the same for Daisy, though. He can already see the gears turning in her head, as they stand just outside the perimeter of a large tent looming overhead.]

I’m going to say it preemptively; I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

wildcard option.

[I'm flexible! Hit me up at aurajen if you want to hash something out!]

keith | voltron | ota

[secondnature]

a. stupid costumes!

[Today sucks.

Okay, every New Amsterdam party is the worst. Stupid costumes. Stupid conventions. Stupid everything.

But this one is the worst. Thanks to the desire to seem festive, Keith's cab company has one thing that's hidden within the employee handbook that's sent to everyone once they join. They get freedom to do what they need to do, to drive how they want to drive, and in how to answer and respond to customers. The catch ... the catch is apparently this. Three days of a stupid costume, also while sitting outside of the main Oktoberfest areas and waiting.

Because they actually have stricter hours during that time.

And they have to actually ... get the attention of the customers.

So, yeah. Here's Keith, a twenty-two-year-old pilot—a freaking paladin of Voltron!—standing in shorts that are too short, bunching up around the crotch, with socks that come up just beneath his knees. And suspenders. And an ugly white shirt.]

Does anyone want a ride home? You get a ten percent discount and no risk of being caught in a terrible accident. [Yes, that's Keith reading out his script. Loudly. But flatly.

He hates this so much.]

b. lightweight, part one: searching

[There's a reason why Keith doesn't drink. It's partly because he doesn't like having his senses messed with, and partly because he had a drink alllllll the way back in his time at the Garrison, and it went horribly. He's a lightweight of the worst kind, so two high ABV IPAs? That's going to wreck him. What about three? Keith is having a hard time.

So ... here's Keith, still in the same stupid costume but off work, looking around for new displaced. The problem is? There are a lot of people in blue shirts.

He walks up to someone who is definitely not one of the displaced, and gets into their face.]

You have to tell me if you're on drugs. I guess I'll know if you listen to me. [The guy he's bothering? Well, he's not happy about Keith getting up in his face, and gives him a hard shove back.]

c. lightweight, part two: cool ... talk?

[Somehow, someway, Keith makes it back to the safehouse, but he's still pretty gone. Has he drank more since then? Probably. But he did throw a growler full of the anti-cyborg beer on the ground along the way. Cyborgs are friends—or so says the Voltron pilot who's loved both of his lions (especially since one of them kept his best friend alive).

Anyway ... he's diligently working on a project in the kitchen when someone walks in. If it weren't for his red cheeks, he might seem like any broody guy just sitting with crossed arms.

But Keith ... is definitely not just brooding.]

Come here! I wanna show you what I'm working on. [Though he's having a hard time figuring out how to grant someone permissions to what he's looking at, and frowns in consternation before long. (Though, if it's someone very new, he likely can't.)]

d. wildcard

[Drunk Keith will be playing VR games and walking around in the worst clothes in the world. I'm genuinely open to anything, so go for it or drop me a message through PMs.]

cassian andor | rogue one

[evasives]

( a ) arrival / oktoberfest

[ there is nothing about this that cassian likes. even in the haze of whatever drugs he's on, his brain is fighting to regain control. he immediately stumbles towards the nearest wall to at least shield his back while he tries to get his bearings after unceremoniously being abandoned by the people inside the van. it's been Quite A Time. ]

[ he should not be able to stand against the wall, he realizes, or stand upright at all. the last thing he remembers is broken bones and blaster burns, but as far as he can tell, it's all been cured. was he put in some sort of bacta tank? he presses a hand into his back and feels... nothing, no pain at all. his hair is shorter than he last remembers, beard too neatly trimmed. he needs to get out of this alley, he needs to know what planet he's on. there's some sort of party nearby, and he follows after the sounds of it. ]

[ any offers of alcohol are immediately brushed off, not even politely. it's just a quick and firm: ] No.

[ cassian learns quickly that this is called oktoberfest, but the name tells him nothing. most festivals are full of drinking and the occasionally reckless activity, and he's trying very hard to get a read on the culture from it. beer seems to be the whole point, how boring.]

[ it's impossible to completely hide the effects of sedation, but he does his best!! it's not too shabby, and if he shoulder checks someone, it's only half on accident. most of the people here seem to be too drunk to be useful, but maybe he can glean bits and pieces. he does his best to sound friendly and not lost even though his clothes are a much bigger giveaway, but he doesn't want to make himself a target. ] Recommendations? Alcoholic or otherwise?

( b ) safehouse

[ so. there's a safehouse, for new arrivals. cassian supposes he did arrive in a vehicle with several others, all of which he lost when he escaped into the party. he should have kept better tabs, but he was more concerned about getting himself to safety. and the morning after, he mostly feels himself again, whatever was in his system completely worn off. ]

[ he would very much like to leave this safehouse, but he supposes it's a good place to put his ear to the ground with the people who come and go. his chosen bed is in a corner, tucked against a wall. he hates communal living in general, hasn't had to share a space with anyone in a few years, but it's not like he isn't used to sleeping in stranger and more dangerous locations when he wasn't on base. ]

[ he scrolls through the network as best he can from his little corner. he rummages through the kitchen, stock full of food, but he doesn't seem to be looking for something to eat. he's snooping around the safehouse, but in such an innocuous, unobtrusive way that he comes across like a lost newbie - which he is at the same time, so it's not that much of a stretch, and he wants people to tell him things. he watches carefully and casually, noting frequent visitors versus the more temporarily permanent, mostly by their clothes and better upkeep. with a purposefully faint dramatic sigh, he'll get someone's attention who doesn't look like they're sleeping on a cot. ] Hey, tell me, is the outside world still there?

[ it becomes easier to recognize who else is newer, least of all because it's the people who are here day after day like him. so when he finishes up making a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he decides he can try and make conversation with his fellow hostages new arrivals, gesturing with his cup. ] At least there is caf.

( c ) wildcard

[ wild card me!! random scenario! ota ]

jon snow | asoiaf (clockbox crau)

[998]

i. arrival

[it's hot, humid, and crowded. jon vaguely remembers going to sleep in his lodgings on the clock, with arya and his mother in their lofts. this wheelhouse smells strange and muted, and he is manhandled into the street before he can get any real sense of it. there's a warm breeze on his neck and he pats the back of his neck. someone has cropped off most of his hair.]

Seven Hells.

[speaking and standing are more difficult than they should be. he clutches at the wall of the alleyway, stumbling forward.]

Ghost?

[ghost hasn't liked to leave his side lately, but jon's known him to wander off quite a bit. he pushes his mind forward, casting out for ghost's senses, and feels a sudden, searing pain in his chest. he crumples against the wall.]

What--? Mother...

[it's an afterthought, almost a whimper. when did he become so used to having his mother around that he might call for her in pain? there are many people around, but none of them seem to be lyanna stark. he doesn't see arya either, or anyone else he knows. but it's dark, and his head hurts.]

Arya? [more softly this time:] Sansa?

[he stumbles forward, into some kind of...feast, or party. over the roar of the crowd he can hear some kind of melodic yelling. there are pavillions with tables and racks of bottled drinks. despite his better judgement he grabs the nearest bottle and downs it, clutching the table with his free hand. it's ale, although it can't be very good if it needs all these hops to be drinkable. someone yells at him. he understands he's just finished off their drink. he looks up at them, exasperated and disbelieving. it seems like a lot of fuss for a drink from the clock, especially with the state he's in.]

I was thirsty.

[he straightens up and sets the bottle down.]

More ale. Water would be better.

[nothing happens. distantly he remembers sansa telling him about the other worlds. this certainly doesn't seem like the clock. there are too many people, and he doesn't know who in the clock could have kidnapped him and cut his hair. the crowd of men (so many men, in strange garb, closer to the seven kingdoms at times, closer to the clock at others, not really typical for either) starts to move towards him. he tries calling for ghost again and experiences the same searing pain. he sags against the table and tries for shouting.]

Ghost--!

[he looks back up at the small crowd of onlookers, somewhat defeated.]


Has anyone seen a great white wolf?

ii. safehouse

[jon's finally found some darker canvas trousers that fit him, and black boots that are sturdy if thick in the sole. sansa's even managed to find a black shirt for him, though he hadn't asked. it doesn't matter; without longclaw he still feels vulnerable, easy prey. the old bear had told him not to lose it...he sits on a bed and shakes his head in disbelief. it's like being back in the cells at castle black. at least he's not laid up with stab wounds. he rubs his burned hand over his short hair ruefully. there's a scar on his neck that wasn't there before, eerily vertical. it should concern him more than it does. he feels the loss of ghost--and arya, his mother, their other animals, even the clock itself--too keenly to be properly alarmed over his device being in his head now. maybe he's in shock, or maybe he's just exhausted. he's definitely on a face journey about it.]

iii. wandering around the festival

[you're welcome to bump into jon at the festival at any time, he will be looking miserable and drinking beer. at some point he might eat a sausage.]

damian wayne | injustice | ota

[batricide]

a.

[ Eugh.

Of course the dropoff is somewhere loud, busy, and full of drunks. Damian hates it at once, but he goes like a dutiful son to try to ensure the safety of the new arrivals (and the citizens) in hopes that things will go smoothly. He's not engaging with any of the locals around him, but when they try to engage him there's a distinct shift in the way he presents himself.

The scowl vanishes, replaced with a personable smile and a gentlemanly tone. Damian is downright charming in those instances.

Though it's probably unsettling to watch how that smile drops away the second the person is out of range. ]

b.

[ Likewise, new arrivals can find him brooding in the safehouse. He's not trying to come across as unapproachable, but he's not exactly the best at looking like a welcoming person when he's not actively trying to pass for one.

He'll mention that he teaches combat to anyone who comes around asking him, and that he's here to answer whatever questions they might have to the best of his abilities. ]

c.

[ And then New Tokyo is destroyed.

Damian is much, much, much quieter than he usually is. Not as combative, clearly distracted by the news and what it means for the world - and for them. They need to get things together, and they need to do it quickly. He can be caught pacing the kitchen as he waits for some water to boil, hand on his chin, brows furrowed in concentration.

If people need things - well, surprisingly, Damian offers to go get it. Coffee, food, anything they want. Because he needs to be doing something instead of sitting passive. ]

[shorelined]

SAFEHOUSE.

[ kaldur is not a new arrival, although his hair remains shorn short. he is quiet and contained, calm as he sits in the kitchens or makes his way through the safe house. those who have never seen an atlantean before might notice the gills on his neck or the webbing between his fingers; he makes no attempt to hide either while in the safe house.

when he sees someone he doesn't yet know, he'll offer them a hint of a smile. ]

Hello.

[ and, after a beat: ] Were you among the group only just dropped off?

max guevara | dark angel

[revvedup]

ARRIVAL/OKTOBERFEST

[ max can remember this kind of vague awareness, down to the medicinal scent and the guards dressed in black tact gear and the consistent, maddening beep of the monitor. she's already lived through this nightmare, relives it when she tries to sleep at her lowest points, and her immediate, panicked thought is that she's back in manticore, that she never actually left, and it lasts until she looks down. good news; what she's wearing is not a hospital gown or army fatigues, bad news; she's still restrained, being observed by guards that aren't manticore but might as well be, and she's not alone. and they're moving.

they come to a stop eventually, and one of the guards starts to undo the straps keeping those in her position tethered to the bench. max doesn't try moving as he goes down the rows, watching him carefully as he methodically releases the other prisoners. when he gets to her - feet first, then arms, then chest. once he gets to her, she's still as he undoes her restraints, until the last one is undone, and then she grabs at his forearm (too slow; the drugs are taking too long to leave her system), gripping as hard as she can manage while hissing through her teeth. ]

What did you do to me?

[ the guard doesn't react, just tells her to please let him go. which she has no intention of doing until she does, and then he guides her to the back of the van, instructing her to let the nurse check her over. she does, not even thinking to fight it, which just confirms for her that something is very wrong.

but then they let her out, into an alleyway, where the rest of the group has trailed away. she's alone. but at least she's fully conscious now, if still a little unsteady and uncomfortably aware that she's under the influence of some drug, something to make her compliant. she thinks back to her training, what to do in these situations; step one is 'find cover or shelter'. no one's in the immediate area, but she can hear people nearby. a lot of people. there's some sort of festival going on.

max turns the corner and sees a flood of people, all various stages of drunk and all loud and rowdy, none of which are paying her any mind. which means she'll be able to blend in, but it'll make finding shelter that much more difficult and the last thing she feels like doing is dealing with a bunch of drunks.

whatever. she'll still take this over the van, or wherever she was before that. ]

SAFEHOUSE (001) (CW: various stages of nudity)

[ max eventually finds her way to shelter, which turns out to be a safehouse set up for people in her exact situation. whatever they've done to her, she's not the first, and she doesn't know if that's better or worse. it does mean that there are people here to explain things to her, but in order to get the kind of in-depth answers she wants it seems that she's gonna have to wait.

fine. she can do that. it'll give her time to take stock of herself, see if she can figure out what's been done to her besides the compliance drugs.

her hair is shorter, for one thing, now skimming her shoulders instead of flowing down her back. similar to the haircut she'd had before getting recaptured, though much less curly now. she stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, in various stages of undress as she looks over her body, checking for new scars.

later on she'll find a bed, and in spite of her desire to stay awake, both due to her inclination not to sleep and having no desire to sleep in this situation, she eventually drifts of for a few hours of fitful rest. before then she's staring into space, or at the ceiling, or at the people around her, either looking through the network or trying to determine what they all have in common, aside from being kidnapped and experimented on. ]

SAFEHOUSE (002)

[ after the first day or two, max is only slightly less on edge, not so much accepting her current situation as she is trying to learn from it. it won't do much good to escape when she has no idea what's out there, but the fact that they're told they can't leave for the next few days has her determined to learn that much faster. in order to do that, she starts helping with the tasks around the safehouse - cleaning, unloading supplies, whatever will keep her busy while giving her the opportunity to talk to others. about their situation, where they were before, anything. those who engage her might pick up on the fact that she doesn't offer up a whole lot of information about herself, but maybe it's just nice to have someone to listen. (she may or may not be banking on that.) ]

WILDCARD

[ feel free to come at me with another scenario, or let me know if you'd like a personalized starter! you can also find me at vdova if you've got any questions, or feel free to pm me. ]

simon jarrett | SOMA

[theseuschip]

arrival

[ It’s not like being scanned and uploaded, what he’d called waking up when it was more like being teleported, and having done something to trigger it. This is like actually waking up, except without ever having slept, somehow.

The last thing Simon remembers is the error message flashing on the Launch Dome’s terminal, white against black. The cold encroaching realization that this, ending up somewhere unfamiliar like a wayward science experiment, would never happen again — that he was in the last place he’d ever see, the bottom of the infested ocean, the sole remaining sapient thing on Earth, until his battery ran down, or the WAU died and took him with it.

No digital paradise. No Catherine— and at the thought of her the sudden stab of loss, and regret, and utter unmoored helplessness is enough to needle through the cottony wall of sedation. Sort of. It’s rounded the points on the rest of the confusion and anxiety, the crawling unease over the scar on his head. What the fuck is that about?

He doesn’t feel the weight of the Power Suit; doesn’t see a robotic exoskeleton. He’s human. Not exactly like he originally was, his missing-as-of-like-six-hours-ago forearm now healed rather than a ragged stump, but still. Human. He leans against a wall and turns his remaining hand over in front of him, looking himself over to a degree that’s probably unusual for new arrivals, at stuff that their mysterious kidnappers didn’t experiment on. ]

oktoberfest

[ and then he stumbles out of the alley, trying to get his bearings, and it’s totally oktoberfest

ok

???

Simon squints at the sun. That sure is the sun, and that sure is a crowd of people, both of which were normal components of his life what seems like yesterday, but suddenly feel bizarrely foreign.

Before long, two people have given the confused, poorly-dressed amputee caveperson beers insistently enough that he takes them, for some reason?¿?, holding them in the crook of his right elbow.

When he spots someone else dressed similarly, he finally asks: ]

This can’t be it. Can it? The ARK?

[ First of all, he remembers losing the coin toss.

Second of all, Oktoberfest doesn’t seem like a very Catherine thing to implement. Those are only two of the many problems with this possibility, but it’s the only thing he can think of. ]

safehouse(1)

[ In 2104, he’d asked Catherine if it had really been just one day — this, the longest day of his life, since he woke up in Upsilon, and that moment feels like it was eons ago, which it technically was, and somebody’s been doing surgery on his fucking brain. Simon heads to the least populated place in the safehouse and yanks at his shirt to see the thing in his chest, faintly luminescent and metal-parasite blue.

He can be found pacing the bathroom looking like sweaty ass, mouth a thin line and breathing fast through his nose in the typical manner of somebody trying to squelch a panic attack the counterproductive way. ]

safehouse(2-4)

[ The communal aspect of the safehouse isn’t terrible. It’s a little like a dorm... for abductees. It's an awkward collision of his human and not-human existences, to think that this is like a dorm all while trying to get the hatch open, then pacing the medical bay and storage rooms doing mechanical visual sweeps. The sort of searching that he wishes were for something in particular and is more socially acceptable in a zombie apocalypse where none of these things belong to anyone (some of this stuff clearly does, or did, once). Nor are they subject to any social mores saying you can't just rifle through them.

He has the wherewithal to half-cross his arms, right over left, though consistently hiding, or even consistently remembering, that he’s missing half an arm takes more focus than Simon has when he’s trying to do the “piece together how I time traveled to somewhere weird and horrible” thing.

He doesn’t like that this thing in his head... exists, but it’s better than doing nothing, especially in a place with no paper media, no personal affects — even missing his wallet is disorienting, now that it should conceivably be there and he’s not in a diving suit.

So, in the kitchen (the best place to stand around messing with your phone), he starts trying to sift through the deluge of information. One might assume that the hands-free nature of neural implants would be perfect in Simon’s situation, but every so often he reflexively tries to scroll on it with his finger like it’s a touchscreen anyway.

you know what else the kitchen is good for ]

You know, this is exactly what we were afraid would happen to books in 2015.

[ striking up conversations instead of thinking about how This Shit Again and how the internet is inside you ]

wildcard

[ or something else!! feel free to hmu at honchkrow if you want a personalized starter or come at me with another thing ]

jyn erso ✧ open

[realists]

𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 (𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢) ✧

[ jyn has found herself in a dirty alley before but usually it was because she was running from something or someone, not because someone shoved her out a van and into a dirty alley.

usually she isn't in a haze either.

all signs point to This Is Not Okay.

jyn moves to slip through the door into the bar but some burly man pushes outside and barrels right into her. he has at least 70 kg on her and 30 centimeters and jyn puffs up like an angry, bristly cat, ready to throw down immediately. ]

Hey!

[ it has been one whole minute. she needs an adult. ]

𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 ✧

[ once safely ensconced in the safe house, jyn passes out and sleeps for probably a full day. look. it's been a long time (to her) since she has had a good night's rest. if someone kills her in her sleep well. that is just going to happen. her cellmate in wobani has promised it so maybe it was just a matter of time.

instead she wakes up and she is still in this safe house and spends a good twenty minutes just... sitting in bed and staring at the rest of this outfit. she didn't have a lot of ideas what the afterlife would look like, but this was not it.

she goes about her personal business, or lack there of, with a decidedly unsocial air. her hair is too short to twist into a bun but she tries, wanting at least one familiar thing. it is a lost cause. also a lost cause is trying to make her hand-me-down pants fit, too loose and too long for her short stature. she looks like a sleep deprived baby hamster with no eyeliner so when she finds one abandoned from a previous occupant, she steals it and carves it down until it probably won't give her pink eye. disgusting.

in the kitchens she is not a delicate eater. her hands are tools to shovel food into her mouth, the bread is a vehicle for the meat, utensils are for chumps. or for threatening anyone who may come near her food. she spent six months on prison protein cubes, food is not a game. ]

Yes, I am going to finish that. [ don't ask. ]

𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍 ✧

( do your thang, come at me )

poe dameron | ota

[followhim]

a: arrival

[ this is a nightmare. at least, poe is pretty sure it is. feeling like your body is a cage is a normal nightmare mood. but it's real. more and more, every second that passes, things solidify. not being able to move of his own volition. not being able to talk — or scream, which is what he'd prefer to do. this might actually be worse than the literal round of torture he endured. at least he knew what to expect from that.

at least the first order didn't ditch him in some alley way (sure, they would have just killed him, but details). with a shitty haircut and shitty clothes? the gravity of this reality comes to him in waves.

the weirdest part of this not-dream is the ... distant sound of yodeling and far-off food and beer scents? like he was dropped off outside of a party instead of in a dumpster to die. except not "like;" he discovers that's literally what happened as he wanders in the direction of the noise.

smelling food leaves him with the predicament of being nauseous and hungry at the same time. will food make it better or worse? only one way to find out (is there???), and that's by going to a busy food stall and trying to grab some unattended bavarian fried potato whatever. "one way" doesn't work out too well for him, however, since some dude (probably the owner of said food) catches him like

"hey, what are you doing? stop."

and he freezes in his tracks. and drops it. j'excuse? he wants to bolt, as one might, but finds himself momentarily stuck in place. he did not come here to be ella enchanted??? ? ? ]

So, uh, this is all a misunderstanding ...

[ han solo is out there in force heaven somewhere being proud of this dedication to calling fuck ups "misunderstandings." ]

b: safe house

[ he made it to the safe house. he's learning valuable lessons about how he came to be here — in new amsterdam in general. he got an ugly sweater and decided to not shave his scruff — it complements the shitty buzzcut. it's a new luq he's trying out.

anyway, instead of being like "wow, i should take the time to learn all that i can to learn more about this environment and people around me by talking to them and reading the welcome pamphlet,"

he's trying to sneak out for a hands-on experience with the determination of a teenager sneaking out to a 21+ concert. by lurking around the hatch and asking anyone nearby who looks like they may have been there longer. ]

C'mon, just for a little bit. We can stick together. [ with the utmost confidence: ] Nothing bad's gonna happen.

c: dream

[ every time he's like okay, this is it, shit can't get weirder, here life is proving him wrong. he was minding his business trying to have a snack in the eating area and suddenly ... his chest starts glowing??? (still not used to that in general, by the by.) before he can fully process, he's falling asleep. it's a sudden loss of autonomy that's acutely familiar, considering. panic rises in him and he tries to fight it because there's no way he's being loaded into another van to be prodded and pumped with more compliance juice —

only, he kind of is. so much white. the single-file line. the cold sterility. but then — more? glimpses of more. fleeting.

he jolts awake. it wasn't real. he's still here in the safe house looking like a resident of the island of misfit toys, so it's not like the last few days of his life have been a dream, just that small specific part. he glances around for anyone else. like, was this a contained incident? did he pass out on the table like a three year old who had too much spaghetti? ]

Did you —

[ he gets distracted by the burning in his chest. he'll come back to the end of that sentence momentarily. ]

d: wildcard

[ if you wanna do something else lmk! ]

Ojiro Juniper (Sniper)

[deicider]

1. The Fencing Tournament
Fencing is not an Oktoberfest tradition. Sniper assumes it's here by dint of being a historical form of combat, a thin connection to the more traditional activity of crossbow shooting. It's enough to get them the same stage, earlier in the day. It's a good spot, but the street crowd starts thin: there might be some fascination for people living in a world where weapons are banned, but fencing was a difficult sport to follow between the speed and the formalities.

Sniper waits a few rounds before queuing in. The major benefit of the VR setting is losing the need for bulky, concealing gear. When Sniper is called to the center, it's only in street clothes: shorts, a shirt, the phantom epee held loosely at their side, They're a full foot shorter than their opponent, the last round's winner. As with the previous round, the announcer starts with some biographical information: Ojiro Juniper, age 30, fencing for twenty years—a courtesan at House Pythia.

The announcer's tone becomes noticeably arch at that last bit of information; the crowd titters at the unexpected word. Did they hear that right? But with the implant, anyone can look up the name of the business and see its true. Sniper meets the announcer's dubious expression with a wink: "I like a challenge in my spare time." —and the crowd laughs, along with the announcer, the awkward mood broken.

Just like that; warmed-up, the crowd cheers for their first victory, Then the second. The cheering is louder at the third. 15-0, 15-2, 15-5, 15-0—The point is to put on a show, and Sniper's not doing anything to downplay those 20 years of experience, dominating the rounds with their speed and skill, making their opponents strain for every point while they gain them effortlessly. Even the untrained eye can that they outclass all the opponents so far. At the end of the fourth round, the announcer sounds slightly nervous voicing his canned lines: "Is there a challenger left who will dare to step forward?"

2. Afterward
Once they extricate themself from the tournament, they are going to need food. It will be easy enough to find them sitting down somewhere. They will call over anyone who looks like they might be a newbie, or even just a familiar face.

sansa stark : game of thrones

[isherarmor]

i. safehouse (closed to jon)
[Wandering back after at least one very hoppy drink, handing out whatever she thinks might comfort the new residents (captives?) - and in some cases it's distance, silence, a sad smile - she makes her way through the rooms a few times. Not really expecting to see anyone she knows or has known, but she's restless with something - an anxious seed of needling hope amongst the commotion. Eyes darting to each shorn head, she's trying not to show that hope. Mostly succeeding.]


ii. oktoberfest
Not enough time (or funds) to make anything truly spectacular, but she's inspired by the service costumes - so what's resulted is something simple, but elegant, paired with comfortable boots and a little crown of lights in her cropped hair.

She can be found doing any of the following:

> Curiously sipping something at one of the tents
> Hovering just outside the area populated by celebrities and hangers on, watching, appraising. She might catch an eye or two, she might try and venture inside.
> Perusing the black market stores in search of a blade. Or two. Or ...custom designs.
> Is that stage empty? Is she just full enough of liquid courage to take it and sing a tune she'd found in a karaoke bar? Yes, absolutely. It's another chance to show off her dress, but she'll have to do it a cappella because she's far too rusty at the piano. Or maybe she can find someone to accompany her on an instrument?
> Searching for those in blue shirts (no masks and suits this time) especially those that seem dazed, fearful or worse. This part would be so much easier with Lady by her side - and that makes her sad all over again.
> That sadness (and the warmth of the weather) warrants her to seek another beverage.]

wei wuxian / the grandmaster of demonic cultivation.

[laozu]

01. ARRIVAL

[ so, uh. being manhandled and bossed around isn’t a new sensation ( memories of the qishan-wen, of a foot pressing his cheek down into the corrupted dirt of the burial mounds -- ), nor is it really a wanted one. he ends up spun out and sick to his stomach, collapsed halfway down some less-populated street, heaving his guts out as he plasters himself to the wall in the hopes that it will keep him up. he feels weightless, like he could bounce into the sky itself -- it’s probably whatever’s coursing through his system. someone walking by gives a rowdy, drunken huzzah and wei wuxian’s response is to flash him a thumbs-up.

woozy, he collects himself and straightens the shitty, strange clothing wrapped around his limbs. it’s all too thin, too intimate; hugging his limbs in a way he’s never felt, chafing at his underarms and waist curiously. catch him patting down his knees through the tears, laughing blearily into the crowd as he does so. it might be one of the stranger reactions to being tossed out on his ass, as he slides down the wall and takes a seat. closes his eyes and draws in a long, slow breath: ] This is, [ he laughs ] one of the most interesting days of this life. Everything's so -- bright! Don't you think?

02. OKTOBERFEST.

[ catch him face-first in an oktoberfest special; eyes brighter and more focused, as someone plies him with beer. just one more, drink one more! -- it goes without saying that the lighthearted jabs are still commands to his system, the confusion in his eyes a palpable thing as he tosses back one more beer. one more. Calling out, in between gulps, to the nearest friendly face: ] Ask, [ gulp gulp ] if they’re paying for this [ chug chug ] because I don’t have a thing to my name!

[ PLEASE HELP ]

[ later on, and even after all of those beers he’s chugged, he’s still standing; someone friendly and pally enough after all the booze has tossed their jacket over his shoulders, shoved a microphone into his face and there’s a duet going on. Lyrics come loud and drunken from the fellow slouched over his shoulders, slurring into the shared mic - and hesitatingly, but pretty, from the grey-eyed fellow doing his best not to let his newfound “friend” collapse on the stage. he manages to get through one song ( it’s obviously unfamiliar, the lyrics foreign to someone brand-new -- ), but he seems to be alight, aflame on the stage.

he’s clearly an attention-seeker, even a drugged and semi-drunken one, by the way he shows himself off. wearing whatever he’s coaxed off the backs of drunk strangers, arms spread as he bellows lyrics brokenly into a microphone nonstop, following some karaoke machine’s prompts to the best of his ability. at any given moment, while the instrumentals play, he tosses a hand over the microphone and leans over, into the crowd: ] I accept pledges of love and loyalty, who has a need for money! I'll especially accept love from lips like yours~!

[ he’s either just flirted with you, or someone’s partner and is about to get punched out, or someone with broad shoulders and a sour expression has had it Up To Here with wei wuxian’s crowd-pleasing and crowd-teasing. either way: get him off the stage or back him up. ]

03. SAFEHOUSE.

[ all the hullabaloo aside, he crashes the moment he's in the safehouse. a full-body flop that lands him in the first cot he sees -- sorry, was that yours? you might want to let him know that, before he starts making himself any more comfortable than he already is. communal living does not appear to be a thing that bothers him, judging by the speed and ease with which he tumbles into slumber, or into the showers, or into the mess hall for food. ]

What happened to my hair?

[ it's really the first solid question he's asked anybody, following his own arrival. hands finding their way to the shorn locks, growing in jagged and uneven on his scalp. there's a little crease of unhappiness between his brows, a tension in his mouth that doesn't look good on a face so previously preoccupied with wild abandon and delight out there in the world. he's struggling now, in the quiet of the safehouse. silently running a hand over his head and fighting with any and all technology the way one might expect someone who comes from an era with no such thing as electricity to do. ]

WILDCARD(S).

wei wuxian, for a fellow fresh off the boat, is a remarkable social butterfly. characters can find him doing any of the following at oktoberfest:
> being very eager to help other characters out with their fell deeds (let him help find the illegal shit, yo).
> making a nuisance? of himself by playing a makeshift flute made of what appears to be pvc pipe?? yes, he's busking on the corner for attention and money. as is his wont.
> whining about being unable to play virtual games.
> it's also not... that safe for him, so maybe just steer him right.

catch him in the safehouse:
> rudely barging in on your character while they're dressing or showering, 'cause he don't care.
> fighting the technology in the mess hall.
> fighting the network. 'cause he don't know shit.

and lastly, if your character wants to chat with someone about dreams: he got #1! ]