ARRIVAL LOG 016

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: February 7 - 14
WHAT: The sixteenth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion, loss of autonomy, sexual content. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #016

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. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see two people in front of you: one dressed in a thick set of armor, while the other wears medical garb. Out the windshield in front, there are many tall buildings—all reaching up beyond a normal city skyline, all entirely too close to the vehicle itself.

You realize there are many others on the bus with you (and is there another bus in the adjacent lane, caught briefly in flashes through the windshield?), and that all of you are wearing strange pointed masks and elaborate outfits. Everyone's hair has been recently cut, but at different stages of growth, and you're all held in place by a simple seatbelt. However, thanks to the IV dripping into your arm, it seems that there's no real need for more intense restraints than that. 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 lowers from its height and comes to a stop inside of an alley, with tall brick walls surrounding it. Before either individual in the front moves, one begins to speak. It's the one in armor—she shifts and begins her spiel: "You have very specific steps you need to follow. First: don't look for cops. Don't do anything that would get you arrested. Looking for them will get you arrested. That means murder, theft, or even assuming you won't be spotted doing either of these. You will. Oh, you will. Second: wait for some pals to show up. Ask them to prove you have the glow. And then go with them. For now, there's a ball for you to enjoy, and you'll need to stay put until help comes and finds you." Her hand reaches to push the door open. The nurse joins her, reaching out to pull out the catheter, covering it with a quick bandage.

The guard begins to guide you out after that. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. There is music and raised voices in the distance, the sounds of some kind of merrymaking. More than that, you see there's another bus that's also stopped to let people out, and they're all dressed the same as you. The nurse checks your vital signs, murmuring for you to stay put. All of these actions are quick and firm, but not entirely unkind.

After the nurse is done, he nods toward the guard and heads back to the driver's side. The guard joins him. The engine powers up again—soundless against the partying off in the distance—and then it's gone.

You're left alone in an alley in a mysterious city with a lot of futuristic appearances. More than that, it appears that you're in a nice part of town. Once you leave the alley, you'll see clean, wide streets and sleek buildings. There are other people in masks and costumes, and all of them are headed to one place: a large, ornate mansion which takes up a much larger footprint than any of the skyscrapers around you. It seems that you've been dropped off in the middle of a formal ball, but the good news is that the masks you're all wearing should allow you to blend in until the promised help arrives.

◉ 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 – and that includes the lengthy message passed on from the mysterious patron.

> MASQUERADE BALL

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.

Well, I've got no clue what happened, but we've got the largest group since the very first one on our hands. They've been forced to mingle with the rest of the party-goers at the big Carnival masquerade ball, but they're all wearing the same type of masks. Basically? They look like fancy plague doctors. Make sure you round them all up.

No word is given about a certain lost AI or what might have happened to him; apparently El either doesn't have any information on that, or isn't interested in sharing it.

The Displaced will need to move in full force to collect the large group of newcomers, and that means going to the nice part of town to attend the masquerade ball. As mentioned, it's in a rare and unique location: once a mansion that belonged to an extremely well-off family, the building is now reserved primarily for special events.

Getting into the party will at least require getting a mask, if not a full outfit. Thankfully, masks are sold at stalls and carts outside of the venue. Despite the fact that the party has affluence written all over it, everyone in the city is allowed to attend. The mixing of the different classes is part of the tradition. With everyone wearing a mask, the idea is that someone's background no longer matters … even if it's only for a night.

The party is all about decadence, so there's workers handing out snacks and hors d'oeuvres around every corner. Of course, most of the action takes place in a large ballroom where there's live music being played, tables full of more food lining the walls, and a dance floor where people can waltz, tango, foxtrot, and more (depending on the music currently being played).

Among all of the dancing, the current Displaced will need to try and pick out the distinctive plague doctor masks from the crowd, and find a quiet corner to explain things. Thankfully, the building is expansive with plenty of other rooms to duck into as needed. Eventually, all of the newcomers will be escorted back to the safehouse. (More on that below!)

> CARNIVALENTINE'S

The masquerade ball is hardly the only part of Carnival that Displaced both old and new can enjoy if they choose. While Carnival was once a religious holiday that took place before Lent and was all about indulging before having to give something up, it's entirely secular now and more about celebrating the end of winter and oncoming of spring. Or… really, it's just an excuse for people to let loose, have fun, and be decadent. It seems that there aren't many of those.

◉ There are street parades pretty much every day and throughout the night. The thing about Carnival is that it runs twenty-four hours a day, which is great if you want to party and not-so-great if there are people being loud near your apartment into the wee hours of the morning. The parades are mainly organized by City Hall's events committee, and they will take on volunteers to help with getting the floats set up and the dancers outfitted, for anyone who's interested. For parades that happen after dark, some of the float designs are a bit racy. (Feel free to use your imagination here!)
◉ Other than parades, there are street parties everywhere. It doesn't matter what part of the city that you're in, you'll be bound to run into one. Alcohol flows freely, there's live music to be had, and plenty of party-goers will wear elaborate costumes here too. On top of that is all the street food, with stalls found on every corner selling all kinds of treats. Fancy donuts and pancakes are plentiful, and there's more meat options available than usual if you take care to look through all the stalls. This is another remnant of original Carnival traditions, which involved eating the remaining meat stores before they spoiled.
◉ Despite the constant partying, some people will still need to attend their regular jobs during the days-long festival. However, wearing costumes and masks to work during this time is socially acceptable and even encouraged! Displaced might want to consider participating if only to blend in.

At the same time as Carnival, New Amsterdam is also in full swing with celebrating Valentine's. Rather than being contained to one day, this holiday now may as well take up the first half of February. There's decorations everywhere and store promotions encouraging people to buy, buy, buy for their special someone, whether it's carob desserts (chocolate is still hard to come by, and expensive!) or jewelry.

◉ On top of that, there is also a special sort of promotion that's been set up to commemorate Valentine's Day, and that's speed dating. Much like everything else that has to do with this holiday, it's very commercial and essentially a means to shove (digital, implant-interfacing) advertisements at anyone who participates, but it might still be fun, right? There are stations set up all around the city, primarily in commercial districts, and anyone who decides to check it out (or gets dragged in off the street by an excited, likely underpaid person working the event) will be drawn into a large room with small tables scattered all around. Light snacks are also served, but soon enough they'll be seated across from someone and given a list (also digital!) of suggested questions for their speed-date:

◈ Do you have any nicknames?
◈ How do you usually spend your weekends?
◈ Where did you grow up?
◈ If you were an animal, what would you be and why?
◈ If you were stranded on an island, what are the 3 things that you would want to have with you?
◈ What is your least favorite household chore?
◈ What was your favorite subject in school?
◈ If you had people coming over for a meal, what would you cook?
◈ What is your biggest fear?
◈ Do you have any hidden talents?

Date or not, it might be a good way to get to know someone a little better!

◉ Many stores are also selling bouquets which you could order and send to a loved one to show how much you care! While flowers are a bit more expensive, you could try for a new kind of bouquet that's a little more unique. Thanks to the fact that plant life has been inexplicably growing all throughout the city, businesses are selling bouquets made out of these green plants, arranged to look as artful as possible (but maybe not quite as eye-catching as the flowers). Still, it might be a nice gesture…?

◉ So there's Carnival, there's Valentine's -- what about some unholy mixture of both? That's where Carnivalentine's comes in. This new, different sort of "holiday" is contained to the Red Light District, meaning that it's meant for people eighteen and over. Information about it can be found online, however, for anyone who's curious to read up on things before going in person. Pretty much every club in this district will have nightly parties where people are out in their fetish wear, whether that's bondage gear or a leash and collar. This holiday is all about celebrating sexual openness, after all! Some clubs have private rooms set aside for people to rent out if they please, whether with their partner or a sex worker (or both, if that's what you're into!). Keep in mind that sex work is legal in New Amsterdam, so everything is above code. Some clubs will even have a room on one of their floors that's been set up for a full-blown orgy. Again, this information could be researched online for any Displaced who are DTF. And for anyone looking to spice things up in the comfort of their own homes, many of the sex shops are having major sales on sex toys and other parephenelia. Have fun!

> SAFEHOUSE

Located under an abandoned hover-bike garage, access to the safehouse is a hatch in the floor beside a rusted set of metal shelves that used to hold tools and supplies. The immediate area is similarly abandoned: full of rundown and dilapidated warehouses and forgotten businesses, where numerous people squat in hopes of having some stability because they can't afford a place themselves. Gaby will be around, ready to greet as many of the new arrivals as she can and get them settled in. Brusque and no-nonsense, she'll be open to questions, but will advise the newcomers to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. Newbies can also contact El through zeir inbox, if needed.

The safehouse is a large space with multiple rooms for storage, with the largest of the rooms 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.

◉ There is a mini-bar set up in the kitchen. The quality of the alcohol inside is akin to what someone might get from the well at a bar, but it's well-stocked. There is also a box of sweet candy hearts with little inscriptions on them. Unlike today, these candies are rather flavorful and even give someone a little bit of their needed vitamins. No, they aren't literal vitamins, but they are good for you! Thank Gaby for the thoughtfulness—she definitely set them up at one point.

◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. Either she or El will explain that they've been given a modest stipend of credits to help them get by until they can find a job. This will be enough to cover their living expenses for about a month while they hang out in the safehouse, if they're careful with budgeting.

◉ 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. They will also be unable to access the world's internet until their ID is set up.

◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until FEBRUARY 11 (DECEMBER 21). 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.

◉ New characters cannot leave the safehouse once inside because the door won't open to them. The door (it's really more of a hatch) will unlock once their ID is made. If your character wants to make a break for it, they'll have to get through experienced members of the Displaced and a rather stubborn hatch, and they won't get far: lacking an ID means no doors will open and they'll be quickly noticed by the police.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

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 FEBRUARY 11 (DECEMBER 21). 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, 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 December calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

As a reminder, December is a check-in only month for activity, so have fun without having to concern yourself with meeting any comment counts!

> NAVIGATION

Comments

QUESTIONS

[larkers]

Re: QUESTIONS

[overrate]

so what specifically is stopping people from leaving the safehouse-- and are those things defeatable?

gaby – npc – ota

[vns]

[ this is a large group. Gaby can't help but recall the night that Casper brought in a group this large, his intestines practically falling out while a bunch of people in scrubs came pouring into their safehouse. there were people there. people confused by the arrivals, uncertain about what happened.

here they go again. more than before. and so soon after so many of them did exactly what she thought they never would: ally with the AI who fucked up her city.

still. they once asked her to stay. so she's staying.

Gaby takes up a spot near the kitchen, one chair leaning against the outside entrance, another in front of her, allowing her to kick up one of her legs to relax. it's gonna be a long few days.

she nods at anyone who passes. ]

I can help, [ she offers to any of the new faces. any of them. of course, she doesn't add that she's done this many times before, so she knows some of the help they'll request.

it's not in her power to give. it never will be. ]

[bivariant]

You're alone in this?

[ the wry slip of her voice betrays her, eyes downcast as she laces up a spare pair of boots - just about the only thing she can find that fits her. the rest of her clothes hang loosely, tucked up and tied off to ensure less give that hands could find purchase in, less fabric that could be snagged and caught. tsera vel is always messing with something, she has decided, so she moves to tuck hair behind her ear and finds it a little too short to stay properly. ]

Hairclips would be nice. Don't worry, it's not my first go-around.

[ simple resources, she thinks; crouched on the floor as she is, she still looks up to meet gaby's eye. ]

Ginia | Original Character

[unlucky7]

I. Arrival - CW: PTSD, suicidal ideation
[An inferno rages inside Ginia as she dances. Her skin crawls and her muscles twitch and every fiber of being wants to get away, wants to run, and disappear, find the fuckers who captured her and drugged her and tear them apart. But while her thoughts are her own, her actions aren’t entirely.

Stay here. Wait for help. Don’t cause trouble. The muddled words are a maddening mantra swirling in her mind and invading her muscles and she stays. She’s compliant. The dance requests mix and mingle and Ginia wants to say no, but she smiles and she complies, and she hates every second.

Every time she passes by the banquet table, she wants to grab a carving knife and drive it into her skin. See if she can still bleed or even bleeds anymore, make a mess of everything, see if she can die laughing as herself, but no, no, no. Don’t cause trouble, don’t get arrested, don’t do anything but stay in line.

Be a good operative, Ginia. Stay alive, survive.

Ginia tears away from her dance partner when they finish. She hikes up the skirt of her dress and strolls away. Her hand itches to grab a knife, but no, no, don't steal, don't be troublesome, be a good girl. Ginia's breath hitches and her chest tightens as she walks onward toward the drink table. Don’t let anyone talk, don’t listen, keep going, keep going, keep going.

But there are a lot of people at the party. She’s too distinctive, too tall, and with a unknowingly marked mask, it’s only a matter of time before someone talks to her. The order to behave keeps her compliant, but Ginia's hands still ball into tight fists as she stops to listen.]

II. Safehouse
[Ginia sits cross-legged on a cot, systematically dismantling the ostentatious dress with a pair of scissors borrowed from the medical ward. A part of her wants to rip the whole thing to shreds, but waste not what’s useful. The lace trim is carefully pulled away, kept intact as possible, torn sections neatly snipped away. The larger pieces of cloth are taken apart at the seams. Even bits of beading and other baubles are saved, sorted into piles.

Occasionally she stops to brush back hair that’s no longer there, pausing as fingers graze air. Disappointment twists across her face before she resumes working.]

III. Settling In - Powers
[Ginia could do without the whole chest-glowing aspect. Frankly, there’s a lot she could do without, but if someone is going to give her a new power, then she’s going to master it one way or another. She has her nanotech, she can get new weapons, find new allies. Adapt, survive, it’s what she does and what she’ll do.

From February 8th through the 11th, Ginia can be found training around the safehouse in the following ways:]

[1: The power is no good if she can’t control it at will. Catch Ginia in the communal sleeping area sitting cross-legged on her cot doing her best to meditate. Or sitting on the floor. Or staring intently at nothing. Anyone who spends more than a second observing will get hit with a rapidly signed question:]

Have you had any luck with your new power?

[2: It helps her power manifests in a very specific form: a 6’ by 8’ barrier akin to a solid pane of glass. With better control of her power, Ginia practices summoning the barrier and seeing how long she can sustain it. It’s mostly seconds, but as she begins pushing herself, also catch her trying to test the distance of how far away she can be from the barrier or even kicking and punching at the barrier. Anyone observing will inevitably get a signed question their way:]

Can you give the barrier a few hits? I need to see how it stands up against other people.

IV. Settling In - Origami
[A handful of origami stars constructed from strips of plastic or food wrappers litter the countertop in the kitchen. A few simple animals are scattered about too. Ginia leans against the counter folding something out of a protein bar wrapper. A small pile of assorted strips and squares cobbled from whatever usable material she could find is next to her. She’s a little hunched on herself, tension in her back and neck, legs braced to move and move fast. But she’s calm, or at least is grounded enough.

Each fold is practiced and precise, calm as she gradually brings a lily into existence. When she finishes, she drops it on the counter next to everything else. There's a small pause when she picks up another square, mouth twisting in thought before signing a question toward anyone watching.]

Any requests?

V. Wildcard!
[Feel free to throw any ideas my way! I’m happy to roll with things or plan out ideas on plurk at cordially. Ginia also has an opt-out.]

iv!

[snipedt]

[ The most Tim can fold out of packaging is a pretty rudimentary origami triangle, so for a little while he's just been watching her in interested silence, following the movement of her fingers and the careful way she scores the lines. It's kind of like those binaural soundbites that make it feel like you're getting your hair cut.

He starts a little when she gestures like that with intent, because part of him had honestly forgotten he was even standing there, a real body, a presence; he evens out pretty quick, all the same, though he moves a little to position himself at a less creepy, voyeuristic angle, so he's more directly in her eyeline. ]

Yeah, can you do a dragon?

marcos diaz ( the gifted )

[heliophilous]

▶ 01. MASQUERADE BALL

---

( this really isn't marcos' thing but, despite all that, he's here. he's worn suits like this before, worn them like armor and hidden behind them when he'd been a different person.

now, he's wearing them for fun and he's added a mask just to make sure he's able to get inside.

he's here to make sure those that have arrived get back to the safehouse in one piece and to stoke that flame of hope that maybe someone from his home is here.

he grabs a glass of something from one of the trays and tries to stay far away from the dance floor so no one tries to make him dance. )

▶ 02. CARNIVALENTINE

---

( marcos woke up that morning with something in his hand. at first, he'd thought he'd just balled up a blanket but when he'd woken up and looked down, he'd seen the very, very familiar shape of the rattle he'd made dawn that he'd given her the first time he'd seen her.

the rattle that he'd given to lorna in the hopes that she'd tell dawn about him. he doesn't know if that had happened.

so, tonight's about trying to forget what he'd found this morning. tonight, marcos is drinking a little more than usual and talking to more people that he typically would. he wouldn't call himself an introvert but with some alcohol in him, he's more gregarious than usual.

when he comes upon the whole speed dating thing, he begs off when someone tries to get him to join. )

No, I can't. I've got a kid. ( he shrugs and takes another drink of what he's picked up. ) And a girlfriend. This isn't for me. I'm just watching.

( it might be good entertainment. )

▶ 03. SAFEHOUSE

---

( marcos has long gotten over his paranoia of not going to the safehouse in case he brought trouble with him. and, with such a large group of people here this time, he's there a lot, making sure things are secure, there's enough food, and to talk quietly with some people to get a better idea of what kind of spots and spaces they might need for the future.

he's not hungover (he's a little hungover) but he's firmly repressed thoughts of his kid once again.

he's good, he's okay, he's going to microwave you some dinner. come and get it. )

▶ 04. WILDCARD

---

( feel free to throw any other scenario at me. i'm at spoonishly for plotting. )

Safehouse

[unlucky7]

[Ginia is hungry. She's actually quite hungry and whatever is being heated up smells good. Sticking to packaged food hasn't been the most filling, even if it's the safer route.]

I'm not hungry.

[She signs the words when Marco turns her way again, watching to see what he does next. The effects of the compulsion drugs have long worn off, but she's still feeling out the edges of control. There could be other unknown side-effects. Never know how people will act too when the newbies aren't compliant.

It also feels a bit good to be contrary, to slowly wrest back whatever control she can get.]

jason todd | titans

[overrate]

masquerade

[ this is the most mind fucky thing he's seen this week. there was the bullshit with deathstroke and dr. light, which was what it was. but it's not like deathstroke ever actually made him shut up without the use of a god damned blindfold and bindings. and he still counts it as a win that he got under dr. light's skin and them clocked him out when he was least expecting it. those were normal (ish) circumstances.

but this? there the best amount of resistance he can make is to hang back by the walls? this shit sucks. and he doesn't know who he needs to fight, whose skull he needs to bash in, but it's basically a comforting vision in his head as he manages to not engage as much as possible while still being tooted to the spot.

the lamest of resistances.

god he fucking hates this. ]

safehouse: arrival

[ now that he's finally got control of his faculties, there's really one of two things he is doing:

1) observing where all the exits are and trying to figure out how to activate them. or

2) trying to start a fight. his shoulder bumps yours as he walks past without paying attention, and he snaps, ]

Hey, fucking watch where you're going.

safehouse: jailbreak

[ now that he's identified the way out, it's just trying to sneak out. That's simple enough, right? People don't pay attention. Fine by him. He's practiced at sneaking by unnoticed. And since he's basically literally anonymous right now?

he's going to follow behind the next person to leave the room. discreetly. ]

safehouse: arrival

[lucubrare]

[ Cass rolls her eyes a little, poking him in the arm. ]

I am watching. I watched you walk into me.

cassandra cain 🦇 dc comics 🦇 ota

[lucubrare]

The Masquerade

[ Cass is furious. Her head is spinning, echoing with the remants of what she's been told, and her hands stay balled at her sides before she flexes her fingers one at a time. She can't fight her way free of this, whatever this is.

That's what upsets her the most.

She's dressed nicely for whatever this celebration is, in a black dress and the plague doctor's mask. She glances around at the others who have been offloaded with her, before separating herself out and slowly heading towards the rest of the revelers, in the direction of the large mansion that could put Wayne Manor to shame. She's supposed to find others like her, which probably doesn't mean the rest of them who are all moving sluggishly now that the buses have abandoned them here, at the edges of a party.

Prove you have the glow, she mouths to herself. What is that even supposed to mean? Where is she? How'd she get here?

The variety of short hair on the other presumably kidnapped people leads her to reach up and find her own hair has been shorn at some point, styled into a bit of a pixie. Well. She's had worse hair, that's for sure.

Cass smiles at a reveler passing by and tries to keep her eyes open for anyone who seems like they're looking for someone - or anyone who looks familiar, though she has no luck with the latter. ]

Safe As Houses

[ The first thing Cass tries to do is leave.

The doors won't let her. The people in the safehouse won't let her either, though she's hesitant to speak with anyone of them; she can read it in their body language, clear as anything. Instead she wanders around, watching people. Well. Staring at them might be more factual.

Hi? ]

masquerade

[chocolateries]

[ silena has no problem with being the one to make the first move, in all things, and she is determined to be a Good, Welcoming presence if it kills her. so far it has only gotten her choked and that was a misunderstanding, she doesn't blame helena. plus the bruises are mostly gone!

she's decided to look for the haircuts. that is how you can clock military personnel, she figures it'll work with the displaced. short hair, maybe looking bewildered. silena finds one in a pretty black dress and strides over confidently, snagging two drinks off a passing tray with a sweet smile and murmured thanks before she stops in front of the girl in the black dress, looking like a nymph in her own pale dress and matching mask. ]

Hi. Do you want some juice? It's not alcoholic. [ a beat. ] It doesn't smell alcoholic.

takeshi kovacs | altered carbon

[resleeves]

▶01. MASQUERADE

---

( you know who doesn't have a mask? it's fucking kovacs. you know who's not going to buy a fucking mask? kovacs again.

when he gets turned away at the door, he smirks and backs away and decides to find a mask the easy way.

the first person he sees with a mask? he takes it. he takes every single fucking mask that he sees during his brief walk away from the ballroom and then he doubles back wearing one stolen mask before dumping the rest at the feet of the people at the door. )

Thanks for the tip. Hope the party's good. ( and then he's inside. )

▶ 02. CARNINVALENTINE

---

( fortunately for the new arrivals, kovacs stays the fuck away from being a welcome wagon for the new arrivals. last time he'd done that, he'd gotten fucking stabbed.

last time he'd done something like that, he'd gotten stabbed. no, he was just going to avoid that shit again.

besides, this sort of thing was more his speed. he doesn't really give two shits about the occasion but there's booze and that's what he wants. so, that's what he's going to partake in.

he ends up getting corralled into speed dating because he just doesn't try and resist that hard. and honestly, he does have a little fun. the people opposite him maybe not so much but what the fuck does he care?

he's here to get drunk and enjoy himself. )

▶ 03. WILDCARD

---

( i'm open to do other things too! find me at spoonishly for plotting and questions! )

01.

[sestra]

[ helena is very pink. very very pink. she is not hard to miss! what is not difficult to miss is the way someone yanks the mask off her face as she's walking by. ]

[ she immediately whirls around, spotting the tall shape of the thief, but size means nothing to her. ]

Hey! Give it back, that is mine! [ it doesn't matter that she stole it first, it's hers now! she rushes for him, giving the thief a very rude, very hard shove in hopes of getting him to turn around. ]

caroline caldwell | the girl with all the gifts

[ophiocordyceps]

a - masquerade - february 7th

⟪ everything between the bus and the mansion happens in blinks. it registers but without feeling, sense, or meaning. she drinks up the information given, but its hollow to the core. they pass a mirror on the way inside, the straggly-cut lot of them, and she wants to laugh at the plague doctor masks – how apt is that? – but laughter's not an option yet. she makes a noise like a strangled thing instead.

the dress is far less nice than the one pictured, but you get the gist is... at least she's fully dressed, she'll take it for now. she blends in. blending in, at least, is easy.

her idea of blending in seems to be... ah... she stands by the beverages and stares at her hands. they are severely scarred, sure, if she ever wanted to do hand-modelling that's out of the window now, but they work. her injuries had been extensive, she is quite certain she was well along her way to dying of sepsis even, the skin had been entirely shredded and the pain a constant, pulsing companion since she'd left the facility.

but they're good again. they'll serve her again.

there's two options here – either she caught on to you watching her, or you interrupted her in her mildly unsettling hand-watching, either you asked or she's asking you: ⟫

A drink?

⟪ she's already half-turned for the beverages, but she aims for something alcohol-free. ⟫

b - safehouse - february 8th

⟪ it's still real. it's still true. twenty years ago the world ended and now she is in a future that –– granted, it's minimalist for now. granted, she lost her purpose. but she has been given something in return: options. she is not one to discount them.

she's a scientist, has been the closest thing to medical personnel hotel echo had had – the lack of privacy does not affect her. other news do, but not beyond the universal: no one seems to like the implants much. those are a concern for another day.

it's morning, then, the first morning in this new world (that she can recall), she's taken a shower, a luxury after the days on the road back home. a luxury in general, in spite of the communal bathroom. her hair is shorter than she's used to it, and slicked back still wet when she returns to her bed, where one of her bunk neighbours is searching through their own pile of mismatched clothing. she's been lucky enough – she's got a black tank top and a simple pair of pants. sneakers that sort of fit. ⟫

I got a shirt that might fit you.

⟪ she offers it up. if the shirt's taken, she's also got a spare pair of socks and another tank top. she won't part with the sweater, though, even if it's ugly. unless your offer is really good. ⟫

c - safehouse - february 9th-11th

⟪ cabin fever used to be a real thing in the early days in beacon, but those days have been gone for her for twenty years. this isn't great, no, but it's temporary.

that said, she doesn't need anyone going bonkers in here, so she doesn't really mind tying people into her select projects – checking on medical supplies, discovering her powers of unhealing by opening up some of the cuts on her hands on accident, or telling someone to pipe down for crying out loud, buddy. ⟫

d - speed dating - february 12th

⟪ some college-aged kid had said something to her, and she thought she'd misheard for certain, because the concept has become so foreign to her –– even now that she's been in this place for nearly a week, she's not fully accustomed to the sheer degree of... of life suddenly returned to her.

by the time she's understood that the kid did, indeed, just drag her into a speed dating event, she's already seated, there's someone (hint, it's you) sitting across from her, and regardless of whether you look as disturbed and unwilling as she feels, now? now it's important to pass for a normal new amsterdam citizen. which probably means playing along?

and that translates to her picking a question at random – unless you look like you're below twenty, in which case she'll ask how old you are, because she's forty and unsettling, but not that unsettling, not even in pretence – ⟫

Do you have a hidden talent?

⟪ why is this happening? ⟫

e - WILDCARD

⟪ ooc: any other wishes? i'm happy to grant them! send me a pp at nehelenia or pm me and we can try to hash something out. or surprise me! ⟫

safehouse!

[snipedt]

[ Tim's not picky with clothes: back home, his wardrobe is essentially just ten of the same shirt in different colours and three pairs of black jeans. He's never been particularly fashion-forward, since wearing nothing else besides desert camo for a decade will distance a guy pretty solidly from haute couture. Right now, he's wearing a lumpy grey sweater and a pair of track pants, and as far as he's concerned he might as well be walking the runway here – who wears sweaters other than Prada-wearing execs on casual Friday? – so when Caroline offers him a shirt he stops where he is, looks down at his sweater and then over at her, back at his sweater, and back at her with cautious finality. Dryly: ]

Is this one of those Devil Wears Prada-style makeovers I've heard so much about but never dared dream of for myself?

illya kuryakin ( tmfu )

[kgbs]

▶ 01. CARNIVALENTINE

---

( illya feels...so out of place. it doesn't matter that he's been here over a year and that he's been to more of these than he can count but he still feels out of place amid so many celebratory people.

someone pushes a large glass of something in his hands and, after he sniffs it and recoils, he decides to just carry it around because he thinks it might kill him if he tries to drink it.

what he does do is buy a bouquet that he intends to give to daisy. and then he realizes he's going to have to carry it around until he sees her so...

yes, he looks quite the sight carrying a huge mug of booze and a bouquet of flowers but just try and tell him he looks dumb. just try. )

▶ 02. SAFEHOUSE

---

( while illya might not have gone to the masquerade to meet people, he does venture to the safehouse once he thinks everyone's settled.

he's not there to mingle or make friends but to check to see if someone like solo had shown up and then to make sure the integrity of the safehouse is still good especially with cassius out there somewhere.

but a small woman sees him, shoves a bundle of linens into his hands and directs him to put them away and he's left speechless and carrying sheets.

he's apparently terrible at saying no to people like that. )

▶ 03. WILDCARD

---

( down for anything! feel free to throw something different at me. i'm at spoonishly for plotting. )

2.

[lucubrare]

[ There's a small noise from behind him, and if Iilya turns he'll find a small teenager with a short black pixie cut and clearly borrowed clothes giggling at his entire situation.

She knows a man who can't tell small, terrifying women 'no' when she sees one. ]

nathan drake ♦ uncharted

[nonscriptum]

1. welcome to hell!
arrival/parade

[ He still feels sick. That gut-wrenching nausea when you fall, but considerably less fun without the grappling hook, without anything with which he can catch himself. The air is vibrant with activity and life and under normal circumstances he might enjoy the strange homage to a relic of bygone centuries and its similarity to Mardis Gras - Shrove Tuesday, Nate thinks to himself, breathing heavy under the mask - but the bleary-eyed whiplash has him wondering where he took a wrong turn, instead. The only difference is the absence of laissez les bon temps rouler plastered to every vertical surface, the lack of stale beer in the gutter, and the fact that every building isn't bedecked with gold, purple, and green. Every building is sky-high.

He never liked Mardis Gras much, either. Something about too many people: the throng of drunkenness and the anonymity of it makes it convenient to a thief, but the stimulation is overwhelming. A free hand fumbles over the mask on his face, suddenly remembering the harsh pull of gravity as a bullet exploded from a firearm, catching Sam in the shoulder, knocking him over the edge. A blur of green and the sickening crack as his forehead slammed into the cliff face. Pressing his temple gently over the mask Nate is surprised not to feel a bruise. ]

Great, plague doctor.

[ He mumbles, barely managing to sidestep a woman reaching for his arm, realizing she was trying to drag him to a dance floor. It's not Italy. A safe bet, maybe, with the festivities, but it's not Italy. No one speaking Italian. It's not Madagascar, either. He almost died. Maybe he did die. With growing dismay he remembers Hadriel and it kicks like a mule, looking around for familiar faces. Seeing none.

The crowd sways around him as reality sets in with all the delicacy of a hammer. ]

Oh, crap.

2. boo boo the fool
carnivalentines

[ It took him a little while to realize he was dressed as a goddamn harlequin. Of all the tropes, the clown. One inadvertent stroll past a shiny surface and he nearly gave himself a heart attack - it didn't take Nate long to strip himself of the floppy cap, the equally floppy collar, and to roll up the sleeves to his elbows. Considerably more comfortable he meanders further, further away from the drop point, fighting the crawling anxiety of being taken again and making noncommittal conversation with strangers, working his way toward a quiet alley.

Which is about the point when someone plants two palms on his shoulder and hastily pushes him before he can think anything of it, set down in a comically over-decorated chair at a small table. Swags of pink and red fabric hang from the ceilings, the walls, of some kind of brasserie? An altered shopfront? Nate is seconds from asking if he can leave the woefully garish establishment when another person is dragged into the chair opposite him, and he realizes what this is. He grimaces under the mask. ]

...uh. Hi?

[ When he finally manages to trick the romance proctor into looking the other way he makes his escape, slipping down an alley bedecked with similarly red window trimmings, hoping to avoid being nabbed again only to glance through one of the many sheets of clear plate glass to see some very, very naked people. Without thinking he turns on his heel and reaches for the first person in proximity. ]

Hey, I'm a little turned around. Is there less busy area that you know of?

[ Who says men can't ask for directions... ]

3. ain't my first rodeo
safehouse

[ It's quieter here, even if he doesn't like the affiliations, the way they were all just released into the wild like a bunch of tagged animals fleeing a well-meaning biologist's care. Reminds him of prison. Reminds him of the orphanage. The two are shockingly similar in the treatment of zero personal space and this is no different, set up like some kind of bunker with rows of cots, open space and few partition walls. The only difference is a lack of surveillance, but Nate would be a fucking idiot not to think they aren't being watched in some capacity.

Having shed the heinous clown attire he meanders over to the tiny kitchen, regretting that he didn't think to try climbing any one of the gleaming skyscrapers for a better vantage. Wondering why he didn't feel the compulsion in the first place. ]

You don't think they have Hot Pockets, do you?

4. wildcard

[ Very open to having Nate meet people in any wild circumstance, so if you have an idea feel free to use this category or hmu at uncalendula! ]

welcome to hell

[dragonwarder]

Not much for manners, are we?

[Daenerys does not try to reach for Nate again -- he's taller and more nimble than she, and she would not doubt call too much attention to them if she did. She is dressed for the occasion in a white wrap dress that does not leave all that much to the imagination, her silver hair twisted in a crown of braids.]

It is rude to refuse a lady a dance.

[She tries to offer her hand again, crooking one finger.]

And, if you don't mind me saying ser...you appear to be lost.

Terrence Ephemera/Sharkface | Red vs. Blue | OTA

[requiemshark]

Arrival - (cw for self harm)

[ The first thought Sharkface has is that the Freelancers have taken him prisoner for some fucking reason. The second is that he’s dead and in hell.

The third thought is that he’s been drugged. Obvious. They wouldn’t have gotten his armor off without it, wouldn’t have risked him waking up and going for their fucking throats. But what he’s wearing isn’t prison scrubs or even respectable restraints, but rather a strange coat and flimsy mask.

He tries to speak. Can’t.

This isn’t right at all.

He’s ushered off the bus with the others, brain in a fog, only half comprehending. The world feels unreal, too bright and loud, and utterly alien. He sidles out of the way of a group of laughing dancers, reaching for a weapon and finding nothing.

Stay put, he was told, and Sharkface nearly laughs at the thought. The crowd is a blessing really; he can disappear like this. And he means to, only to find that his body won’t obey.

He twitches. Tries again.

Fails.

The thought sticks him like a knife. Stay put.

Oh, he thinks. Oh, that’s a new one.

He moves with the crowd, planting himself in a corner where no one can sneak up on him, and decides he’s going to do something about this. Pain, right, pain is good for jolting the brain, for yanking the anger right back on track. He’ll put his fist to the wall, bloody up his knuckles and get angry all over again. Easy, easy, it’ll be —

He means to do it. He’s prepared for the sting, the possibility he’ll break something. But his body doesn’t move.

Don’t do anything that would get you arrested.

Just like the woman said, the one in armor. He hates her, suddenly. He wants to bolt, get to defensible ground and figure out what the fuck is happening, but he stays. He stays in his corner, vibrating with silent, seething rage, and he digs his nails into his palms until they bleed. ]

Safehouse (a)

[ Cots have been provided, along with food and what might charitably be called answers. It’s been a day and a half since he got dragged here from the party and while Sharkface has claimed one in the corner, he hasn’t slept it in once. He has slept on and off for a few hours, but he’s done so on the floor. It’s back to prison tactics now. He’ll wake up faster if he sleeps on the floor and he’ll have a better chance of hearing it if someone tries to sneak up on him.

Paranoia’s nice. Like saying hi to an old friend.

He spent some time examining the hatch before deciding it wouldn’t be opening anytime soon, not without a key or some explosives, and since neither seem forthcoming, he’s going to have to stand firm and wait like a good little soldier.

What a fucking joke.

He’s currently standing in the kitchen with his back to the wall, positioned so no one can sneak up on his blind side. He’s making decent headway on the bottle he snagged and in no mood to slow down. It tastes like whiskey, and goes down easy enough.

It’s stupid to get drunk now, he knows, but these people aren’t Freelancers and thus there’s really nothing they can do to him that would matter. ]

What.

[ There’s no hiding the mess of scars on his face, or the way he goes very still when he sees another person, reaching on instinct for a gun that is no longer at his side. But he has other tricks. He’s snagged a knife from the same kitchen he took the bottle from, and keeps it up his sleeve, pressed against his wrist. ]

Safehouse (b)

[ Insomnia’s been kicking in hard, along with the pressing need to move, and so Ephemera’s found himself a free corner in the safehouse to do some training. He’s working on knife forms, going through the series with brutal efficiency.

The knife he’s using was snagged from the kitchen and it’ll probably snap the moment he tries hitting someone with it, but it’s a weapon and it feels right in his hands. That has to be enough.

Carolina uses knives. Carolina, the weapon’s expert. Carolina, who said she was sorry and who is going to die the moment Sharkface gets his hands on her.

Carolina isn’t here. None of the Freelancers are. He’s alone and out of armor. And someone has changed his prosthetic. It matches his good eye now. Fits just fine — might even fit better than the old one, if he’s being honest — but the old one was his, chosen because it looked a certain way and made him look a certain way. And now it’s gone.

There’s nothing to stop people from looking at him and seeing exactly what they shouldn’t.

He breathes. Starts the series again. The anger is comforting, a focus point. ]

Powers

[ He’s sitting on the floor, back pressed against his cot, and watching as ink flows from his hands and out onto the floor where it forms images.

A helmet, the visor cracked to reveal a skull beneath. The silhouette of a pelican dropship. A man with a faint, sad smile.

His chest is glowing. That’s a thing that’s happening. ]

The fuck.

[ It’s said softly. Sharkface looks up suddenly, realizing he has an audience, and slaps a hand over the images. His face twists, getting angry. ]

Get. Out.

Wildcard

[ Hit me! Feel free to contact me at mirrorfaded]

Safehouse B

[unlucky7]

[Ephemera isn't the only one plagued with insomnia and restless nor is he the only one that's taken a knife from the kitchen. Knives aren't Ginia's first choice of weapon, but it's better than nothing too. Needs a bit of honing on the edge, but it'll do until she can find something better.

It's also a bit of a comfort. A bit of control. She's had too much of that stripped from her and whatever bits she can scavenge back up she'll take.

Ginia walks in the dead of night because she can. There are too many people in the barracks--no, sleeping quarters. No barracks here. No cuffs on the cots here. There are too many people in the sleeping for her to feel comfortable sleeping just yet, but no one is stopping her from walking around. Her steps are silent, bare feet feeling out the bits of debris on the ground.

She's a silent shadow when she comes across someone training, keeps a safe distance away because he's good. You don't fight with a knife unless you know what you're doing and you don't move like that without training. She knows some of the movements herself lodged in muscle memory and there's a twitch to echo him.

Ginia knows a thing or two about training alone at night and the people that do that. She should walk away, leave him be, but she needs to survive this place and to do that, she needs allies.

First step: don't spook the guy who knows how to use a knife. Ginia moves in an arch, hiding her breathing and steps left. She gives a low steady two tone whistle, keeps her hands visible and stops a safe distance from him.]

You fight well. Military?

[She signs slow, watching for his reaction. For shock, for any sign of not understanding, for anything else she's learned to watch for.]

Kyna Medina | Original

[evocation]

masquerade

[Kyna has never been one to do what she's told, so really, it's a good thing they've drugged her into compliance. She doesn't dance or join in the festivities, just stays off to the side, looking a bit like a feral cat. This is like something out of her worst nightmares, and her skin is still crawling from where the nurses touched her. Every so often, she presses her fingertips into the crook of her arm, trying to rub away the lasting ache from the IV.

The thing that makes this all so, so much worse is that she can't feel her magic. Even when she isn't trying to use it, its energy is like a low background hum, ever present. When she reaches for it, she doesn't feel that adrenaline spike of power. She doesn't even feel the static-y throb that hits her when she's overtaxed herself and keeps pushing. It's like it's not even there, like it's never existed at all. It's absolutely terrifying, more than the kidnapping or the fact that she has no idea where she is or where her friends are, and its only those orders to lay low that keep her from grabbing the nearest person and shaking them, demanding answers.

She has to be fucking subtle about it, apparently, and so when she finally begins to push through the crowd, she's actually glad for the mask. At least it hides how totally panicked she is. Kyna has no idea who she's looking for or why, or if these pals are going to murder her and eat her liver, but in a horrifying way she finds that when someone starts to approach her, she can't make herself back off. She scowls instead.]

I need to know if you glow. [It's dripping with sarcasm and frustration, and she holds up her hands to wiggle her fingers in ridiculous emphasis.] My company is super fucking exclusive or something.

safehouse - a

[She decides, almost instantly, that this place is like something out of a bullshit dystopian sci-fi movie. Which, admittedly, might be a little unfair, but Kyna's judgements are not fair at the best of times. She's changed out of those ridiculous masquerade clothes and into something approximating what she'd wear at home, which somehow just makes her feel worse. She looks utterly uncomfortable, fingers absently straying to the ends of her now short hair, and then to the implant scar at the back of her head. It itches, and as much as Kyna tells herself that's totally irrational, it doesn't stop her from wanting to claw it out.

But she has to find a bed, apparently, because Very Bad Things will happen if she leaves. Or something. None of this seems to please her.

And of course, her luck gets worse, because just as she's tossing her pack of toiletries down on a cot, someone else begins to set theirs down, too. In a stunning show of coping, Kyna immediately waggles her eyebrows.]

Ooh, you looking for someone to share with? We'd have to squeeze in pretty tight.

safehouse - b

[There's a minibar, and Kyna decides her only real option while utterly trapped is to get as drunk as possible. Her brother would be doing something better, something more responsible, like checking on the other people trapped her or gathering as much information as he could. Sam would be making sure everyone was okay, and Alana would probably have made about eight billion friends already. Despite the guilt that settles in her gut, Kyna can't bring herself to do any of those things. Her missing magic is like losing a limb, and she's too torn between some odd form of grief and creeping dread to think.

She's on her third or fourth shot when she sees someone approaching, and she tosses a candy heart at them.]

Hey, look. At least we've got fucking Valentine's day candy.

wildcard

[Throw something else at me, or hit me up at cephalopods!]

safehouse a!

[snipedt]

[ It's less that Tim sets his shit down, and more that he kind of tosses it neatly from a few feet away. He's pretty intimately familiar with bunk living to the extent that it took him a long time to get used to sleeping in a bed in a room with nobody else in it, so he's past the point of caring that this is just how he's going to have to live for a little while. But this bunk is neatly placed so it's not in the path of any drafts, and he really fucking wants it. Game on. ]

Didn't know how else to ask, [ he says, flatly, fixing his hands on his hips. ] Can't sleep unless someone's holdin' me real good. [ This is the polar opposite of the truth. ]

Kate Bishop | Marvel Comics

[fledges]

closed to damian

[Kate wakes up alone in her apartment. Her first clue that something is very, very wrong is the fact that somehow, everything in the place is different. Her furniture is gone and has been replaced, someone else's clothes are in her closet, and even the comforter she's lying on isn't right. Her second clue is that the date her implant gives her is months in the future.

It takes a stunning amount of willpower for Kate not to freak. Thankfully, her training kicks in, and it's easy enough to work on instinct—get the hell out of the apartment before its new occupants find her there, and then... Well. Okay, she wasn't trained for a six month... Time jump? Coma? Forgotten kidnapping?

That thought makes her skin crawl, and the second she's out of the apartment, she starts scrolling through the network. The first thing she sees is the post from Clarke, and then Damian's name. He's actually going by Damian now? Kate has to shove down the anxiety that sets off in her, because just that detail is enough to tell her how much she's missed. Suddenly, all she wants is to talk to him. Even getting scolded would be a comfort right now.]

Damian, are you there? Can you come meet me?

[Great text, Kate. Super comforting.]

carnivalentine's

[The Carnival seems like the next best place to head, because she's going to be worthless to any new arrivals right now. It's weird, she thinks, that she's reappeared on a day when a batch of newbies has been dropped off, but she doesn't really know what that means or how to analyze it. For now it's just going to have to wait.

She very quickly realizes that she has no idea who's still here and who's been here in her absence, and so apparently it's time to mingle. Kate finds a mask in an appropriately obnoxious shade of purple, and then just wanders, casually bumping into people as she goes.]

Hey, come here often?

safe house

[It might say something that the safe house has become almost comforting, and now that Kate is officially out of an apartment, she figures she's stuck here for a while again. Arrival weeks are always a little chaotic, with the new kids getting settled and the old hats trying to get everyone settled, but Kate is on the hunt for familiar faces. She's also trying to make herself somewhat useful by making pizza in the kitchen, and she's sitting up on a counter, eating a slice and waving over anyone who glances her way.]

wildcard

[Hit me with something else, or get in touch with me at cephalopods]

[batricide]

[ Damian Wayne is by all accounts a perfect representation of this video. He has friends, but he won't call them friends. He'll let them into his heart slowly, opening up by degrees, but he refuses to call them friend. Not until it's too late. Not until they're gone, and he realizes there was so much he should have said and done but fear had stopped him.

These days he doesn't feel much fear. Really, what did he have to lose? He'd decided that he wanted to stay here, that this was his home, but he had no control over that. He'd gone home and realized that he was just going home to die, and while that had calmed some of the rage, the most recent events had kicked it back up. Leaving him angry and tired and a touch hopeless.

So this is the message he wakes up to in the morning. One he almost ignores because he's Damian fucking Wayne and he's not that lucky. The universe never gives him back things, it just takes them. Leaving him alone.

But the message is there, staring at him in plain text. Her name. Her ID. His heart is in his throat. ]

Kate?

daenerys targaryen | game of thrones

[dragonwarder]

Masquerade

[Daenerys was not one for hiding her face. She was a queen, after all, a person of status. Hiding that status rarely did her any favors. But here in New Amsterdam, she was nobody of consequence. A mask did not bring the same allure of disappearance and erasure of responsibility as it once might have.

And yet, here she was, dressed in a black wrap dress with red and silver accents and a mask to match, her braids done up in a spiral rather than left to hang down as they often were. A mask does not to much to hide her identity -- not when she bore purple eyes and silver hair. But it was nice to think it made something of a difference.

She spends much of the evening people watching and picking out anyone who seems to stand alone for too long and offering them a drink as a friendly gesture.]

Enjoying yourself?

[She obviously is.]


Carnivalentines

[The streets outside of her apartment have been bustling and busy. Daenerys is not unused to the carnal flings that often occur on the streets of the Red Light District -- even if it weren't natural to the locale, the Dothraki were not exactly shy about what they desired out of life. The fetish gear though -- that's a little newer. Typically, that was reserved for being hidden in brothals, not paraded in the streets.

As such, all the pageantry has her somewhat enraptured. Earlier, up on a balcony of a club, Daenerys can be spotted leaning over the railing with a glass of wine like a very curious gargoyle, dressed in a black sheer gown and a decorative but revealing gold bodysuit beneath it. It isn't quite as risque as what many of the other patrons are wearing, but she's obviously made some effort to acknowledge the revelry.

Later, Daenerys decides to be more adventurous and spends an excessive amount of time hopping between club to club, searching for Displaced in hopes of catching a hint of gossip she may be able to leverage later.]


Wildcard

[Always open for additional ideas or prompts. Feel free to just reply here, or anything that requires more planning can be done on plurk (stabs), by PM, or on discord at Kayleesi#3402]

[purrsistence]

[ Catra for her part is lounging against a wall dressed in a men's suit, though it's been done in such a way as to look more casual-- sleeves rolled up, tie undone-- and a cat-style half-mask sits over her eyes. Like Dany, though, there isn't much a mask can do to hide who she is-- the ears, tail and odd-coloured cat-eyes are all a dead giveaway.

Behind said mask, Catra's eyes widen in recognition for just a fraction of a second before she looks away, frowning. ]

Well, I was.

[ Yikes. Ice cold. ]

villanelle | killing eve

[joujoux]

🔪 ALLEYWAY

[ This isn’t so difficult. There’s a set of steps and Villanelle knows them well by now. Of course she does, that makes her so efficient at what she does. Little can shake her or sink down into her cracks and make her break. It’s all steps, the cool logic of what needs to get done. Gather information, get a weapon, find a way out.

She crouches down against a wall, watching people stagger, willing her drumming heartbeat to slow until she’s taken complete inventory of what is happening.

The back of her neck and top of her ears are cold. She’s shivering slightly from the sweat under the costume she’s wearing, and feeling like she might retch from the way her vision keeps shifting. But her hand against the wall and foot on the ground is giving her enough orientation that she stumbles her way over to someone and grabs a fist full of their shoulder sleeve. ]

You’re coming with me. Anyone asks, we’ve drank too much, got it?

[ A command if there was ever one. ]

🔪 MASQUERADE BALL

[ Villanelle doesn’t know it, hasn’t heard the name of the new city spoken out loud yet, but this is the second time she’s worn an outlandish mask in a city called Amsterdam. But it’s lacking all her tastes and self expression. Not enough ‘oomf’ and pink.

The woman on the bus had given explicit instructions. Be calm, be good. Like Konstantin but with an infinitely nicer figure, probably, under all that armour. And the fact she was wearing it at all is worrisome. But Villanelle has never once in her life obeyed anyone and isn’t about to start now. Even under the threat of something that requires armour.

As the saying goes, do things with enough confidence and no one will question you.

She walks up to a stranger and slides her arm around their middle with ease, hand reaching up as if almost to tuck hair behind their ear. She leans in. ]

It’s a beautiful night. Would you like to make it better?

[ Soft and inviting, but her hand is ready to grab the mask and yank it off as soon as attention is elsewhere. ]

🔪 SAFEHOUSE

[ Villanelle has a problem. The problem, of course, starts with the ratty oversized t-shirt and pants thrown her way. They look like sweatpants in fact, and she can’t remember the last time her lounge wear didn’t come with the name Givenchy or a 2k price tag attached to it. The last time she shrugged on something this decrepit was when she was burning up from rage and infection; all the result of a lovingly placed stab wound. But that was still far too fresh to think about. So she can’t think about any of that; lovely hand painted silk dress robes and perfumed bath salts and beguiling dark haired beauties. Right now is about blending in and finding out who is who and which ones are useful.

So, Villanelle can be seen shuffling around in the kitchen (pulling open drawers to inspect knives, turning them this way and that in some sort of inspection), trying to max out the showers’ timer, and giving beaming smiles at anyone watching her chew on carbo balls she swiped from the night before.

All in completely bare feet.

Blending in is one thing. Putting her feet in someone else’s socks is very out of the question. ]

🔪 SPEED DATING: after safehouse arrest

[ Villanelle didn’t plan on ending up here. The time is for work and not play. There’s so many gaps in her knowledge of what this world is and how it operates. She’s walking around tracked and monitored and no hope to return to the lifestyle that was her security net for so long. And so she’s wandering the streets hoping for inspiration.

The glare of the red lights doesn’t immediately set her on edge, but a feeling starts bubbling up in her stomach. Just like all of her emotions it’s impossible to say what is real and what she thinks it’s supposed to be.

Anger? Fear? Regret?

She needs a drink.

And because only an idiot will spend their own money on alcohol she sets off to pick up someone who will do it for her. Speed Dating isn’t the ideal but these people are lonely and desperate. Her name (“Anna”) signed up and soon she is sliding in a table, expression irritated and cold. ]

Buy me a drink and I will tell you anything you want.

🔪 WILDCARD

( ooc: hit me up with anything, pm or vampyers! )

[purrsistence]

[ Catra is wearing a cat-mask and a suit for the occasion-- though with the sleeves rolled up and tie undone to look deliberately casual, and her feet are bare on the dance floor despite the occasion. (It's a wonder how she even got in without them-- it's the sort of venue that stops people at the doors if they aren't wearing any.)

She grins back casually as Villanelle slides up to her, but it's not soft and inviting at all-- it's all rough edges. ]

Depends on what your idea of "better" is. All this dancing is kind of boring.

Fenris | Dragon Age

[magicalglowstick]

1. ARRIVAL/PARADE (also power, rip)

[He's still disoriented and he can't tell if it's because of whatever they've done to him or because this place is confusing and makes no sense. It's like the Fade, only there looks to be some actual thread of logic to it — it just happens to be logic he has no way of following. Naturally, that just makes him hate it all the more. There was a point where he had the intense urge to tear out someone's throat but he couldn't will his body to do what his mind shouted. In a lot of ways the feeling is familiar. It's like being in a dream you can't control — or a nightmare rather — and given that as much of his life that he can remember closely resembles that, it's difficult to stop his body from shaking.

He's angry.

He refuses to go into the mansion at the moment. Instead he rushes through the streets as if he'll suddenly find his way out of this insane world. Even with his dark formal attire blending him into the crowd, mask pinning down his ears (annoyingly and painfully) does he stand out with his urgency alone. But eventually bumping shoulder to shoulder with person after person was beginning to wear on both his nerves and the sensitive markings hidden beneath his clothing, now really only visible on his face. While he barely noticed the pain wasn't as great it was still bad enough that he had to find someplace with less foot traffic.

Or was it? Because he can suddenly feel an intense prickling on his skin. Beneath his skin. The pain particularly emanates from his wrist, and in the moment he stops paying attention and looks down at it to see what's wrong, he's being grabbed and tugged right off the street and into a room. His frustrated growl seems to go ignored as he's all but pushed into a seat behind a small table, and as someone else is given the same treatment he's completely ignoring them in favor of checking his wrist again, which is now growing a goddamn blue crystalline spike right out of it. He grits his teeth, holding onto his wrist and hiding it underneath the table. The only reason he hasn't gotten up and stormed off is because the pain of the spike jutting from his skin and through his markings is too intense for him to focus on anything else.

To anyone sitting across from him, however, he probably just looks really pissed off. Even with the mask on.]

2. MASQUERADE BALL

[Eventually, after getting that prickly situation sorted, he resigns himself to checking out the impossibly and infuriatingly ornate mansion that many were drawn to. All of that gratuitous fanciful decoration made him sick. It was just the kind of needless extravagance you would see in Tevinter, only with more blood magic — that of which he is certainly on the lookout for, because his luck is just that dismal.

By now the anger has settled back down to a surprisingly controlled simmer with a side of almost completely numb. It wasn't for lack of trying anymore, but the thought settling in the back of his mind that he's just buying his time until he can do something about his circumstances. That dangerous kind of anger that's all too calm like a dormant volcano that one day just erupts. For now though, he grabs a bottle of wine that was no doubt being carefully poured into glasses for the guests and claims it for himself, because fuck you.

He takes a swig — the swig of a man who was simply done.]

Hm. Full bodied, [he mutters to himself, off to the side and just not caring.]

3. SAFE HOUSE

a

[As soon as he's able he's yanking off that stupid mask, his pointed ears twitching in both irritation and relief from their confines. He tosses the mask on a bed in frustration, and just like that, he supposes he's picked his bed. "His" bed. That's when he truly takes the time to examine his surroundings, to once again assess his situation. This was not unlike his old sleeping quarters. He spent countless nights not actually sleeping, being harassed by Hadriana and forced awake or simply sitting, thinking, contemplating, lamenting. He can feel himself lose sleep just looking at this place.

At some point he's out of his forced upon costume and wearing the tatters that were given to him. They were lighter and easier on his markings, so he doesn't really complain.

At the moment he sits at the edge of his cot, staring down at his marked hands. He finds himself trying to tap into the lyrium running through his skin, but a pain in his chest stops him, causing him to grunt and keel forward against his knees.]

...Not even a little.

[His markings didn't even glow.]

b

[Guess where this guy can be found?

If you guessed the mini bar in the kitchen then you are correct. With the first swig came a grimace (he's picky about his alcohol, clearly) but that doesn't stop him from drinking. For the time being, there's a tall and angry elf leaning against the far side of the kitchen with a drink in hand. Occasionally he stares down at it as if trying to figure something out, to find some hidden meaning, but mostly he just looks really annoyed.]

WILDCARD
[Hit me up at nicknacked if you'd like to work out something else! I'm totally ok with it.]

1.5 - after being grabbed but before the masquerade

[purrsistence]

[ As Fenris exits the room and walks back out onto the street, he's greeted by the sight of what looks like a cat-girl-- tail, ears, claws, cat-eyes and all-- leaning on the alleyway wall opposite, relaxed but with her arms crossed over one another. Despite obviously being a girl, she's dressed in a suit for the occasion, though it's artfully tousled and ripped in places to look kinda punk. Meanwhile, her cat-mask sits on top of her forehead, so her face is visible. ]

Wow. [ It's hard to tell if that's a genuine wow or a sarcastic one, but she's grinning. ]

Bet they really threw the whole rule book at you, huh?

helena | orphan black | ota

[sestra]

( a ) pestilence masquerade

[ party time?? dancing?? and the best part: free food?? hell yeah helena is there, she is interested even before she gets the annoying little ping that more people have shown up. why do they get a party, and she got to wake up in a shitty hotel?? whatever, she's going to go and have a good time!! ]

[ her mask has been nicked off a stand, and her costume is a flashy mess of a dress. she did not pay for either of these things, but at least they match together in hideous. her dancing is wilder than strictly necessary; she doesn't care much about attention she draws, and she genuinely seems to be having a good time as she attempts to follow along with what everyone else is doing, even if she messes up the steps with a delighted laugh. ]

[ she can be on the lookout for the new displaced. it's not why she's here, but she's curious. it's so much different from how she arrived. ]

Plague doctor. [ she holds up her hands in a slightly mocking gesture of being weapons free. ] I promise I do not have black plague. [ she lifts up her arm, to display her buboes free armpit. ] You can check.

( b ) carnivalentine's day donut

[ as soon as she notices people are wearing masks and costumes out and about for this little holiday, helena immediately proceeds to wear her mask all the goddamn time. it reminds her a lot of carnival back home, and she wonders if they do lent here. this version of earth is so very strange. ]

[ her favorite part about all this is the street food. her favorite is definitely the donuts, so at any given moment she is likely to be carrying a bagful and eating one while she wanders. she tries not to steal from the vendors, preferring to linger near the ones offering free samples, where she makes up all sorts of excuses to come back later with a) her sister b) her little niece c) her husband who is lost because he keeps changing his mask and more. ]

[ she holds up a donut with pink frosting beside her face, feathers puffed out from atop her head. ] Look, they are matching! [ and then she takes a large bite, dropping crumbs down her shirt. shortly after, she talks with her mouthful. ] There is stand down street, if you are wearing mask that matches a donut, they give to you for free.

( c ) hobo living

[ so. she lives here now in the safehouse, temporarily at least, because helena is definitely interested in her own space. she doesn't like having her secret stash of weapons kept far away from her, but it's not like she hasn't done that before. her claimed cot is a mess of blankets, sheets, and food - wrappers and cans and plates are stacked up near the side, and her bed is never made. but it's her space. she is very likely to actually, physically hiss at someone if they get close enough and she is concerned they might be trying to take something. she's usually out during the day, but she comes back for meals and to sleep. ]

[ she spends most of her time in the kitchen when she's not sleeping, eating all the sweetest tasting foods she can find. there is a disappointing lack of chocolate here, but the reality is she isn't picky. she'll eat anything, even if she does have her not so healthy preferences. ]

[ if she sees someone eating something that looks particularly delicious, she pouts and points at it. she is already eating some of her own food, talking with a mouthful and still wearing her bright pink mask. ] I would like this. Where did you find it?

( d ) speedy dates

[ why else is she here?? because they offered her some goddamn food. she is still wearing her mask, eating without a care in the world at her little table whenever the next person sits down. she looks at her little suggestion list, clearly not that invested, reading it almost like a cue card. ]

Are you having hidden talents? I can do this. [ she sticks her tongue out and touches her nose with it. ]

( e ) WILDCARD

[ hit me up! mix n match! etc! communism @ plurk ]

let's get glaze-y

[chocolateries]

Did you just tell that man that you're married? [ silena asks with a lighthearted laugh, adjusting her mask again. she doesn't get the same delight from it that helena does, but her manager said they could wear them at work and it was one of those "suggestions" that sounded more like a demand. it's very pretty, but she doesn't like the lack of peripheral vision. more often than not it ends up acting as a headband for her short hair.

at least helena is more person than feather outside of the party.

that dress hurt silena deep in her soul. ]

I hope he's very handsome and kind. Do you think my mask will match a donut? I can get you another.

[ it's close to the pink of the donut helena is inhaling rn. ]

cheris ( machineries of empire ).

[bivariant]

-- ARRIVAL.

A. ALLEYWAY, CLOSED TO NEWBIES. [ the commands sink in, and really? they aren't anything new. they are simplistic and practical, boringly straightforward -- don't draw attention, don't reach out to "cops" ( authority figures, she assumes? ) and wait. wait, wait wait. perhaps that last one, out of all of them, is the most annoying. it's suitable for the average person, the laypeople among the fresh-faced arrivals, but not for her. waiting is the last thing she needs to do.

the beauty of commands, as she has found, is that as long as the parameters are satisfied? one may, with clever application and caution, manipulate the variables. she may have to wait, but she will not have to be helpless in doing so. she finds her tongue, finds her voice - and it curls from below her mask, sharp as a blade if not a little haggard. whomever is left in the alleyway as she finds her own bearings will be addressed: ] Hey, uh. Real quick, whoever's left - how about you come here and huddle up?

[ she cannot be cheris. she cannot even playact as jedao. she must bury herself, consume it within identities. ]

Name's Tsera, this isn't my first time doing something like this. So, I'll watch your back in there if you watch mine, think we can manage that for now?

B. PARTY, OTA. [ the masquerade attire she finds herself in, thankfully, is easy to move in. there's nothing frilly about it, only sleek lines and practical blocks of white-and-black, offset by the painted "metal" bolts stitched to the long line of her masks's beak. all in all, not bad. it lets her stay on the go. see that plague doctor? a little on the short side, but capable of moving through a crowd like it's liquid? that's one of the newbies. startlingly capable, frightfully diving headfirst into the most social areas of the ball's other attendees.

at one point during the night, she can be found perched on the edge of a lounge chair with her hands holding a fancy metal-and-glass playing cards in her hands. doing tricks, flicking them through her fingers and across her limbs as though she were a stage magician. ( it's automatic and easy, if she leans into jedao's leftovers; his hands, she knows, were coy things. ) ] Hey, [ the bark of her voice, finally coming out of the thick-tongued stupor she'd found herself in earlier, is directed at anyone she perceives to be looking for someone. likely for her and the other plague-masked folks. ]

I don't do long range tricks, how about you come cozy up with us and bring some drinks while you're at it, mm? Or were you looking for a little something more private?

[ the small crowd of masked revelers she's gathered echo her with a 'here here', tittering and laughing as she begins to stack cards on the back of her forearm, building one hell of a tower without twitching a muscle. it's quite the show. that, and it passes the time while she has to "wait" for her would-be babysitters. ]

-- SAFEHOUSE.

[ at the safehouse, she peels off her mask and leaves it in the heap of clothes she's looking through. boots and gloves, preferably ones she can modify - that's what she wants. she isn't much to look at, to some. dark hair, dark eyes, a severe mouth that curls into some ungodly snarl-smirk hybrid when she catches sight of anyone around her. it's like she's trying to be approachable, but can't get past some lingering egotistical nonsense. and that, cheris decides, is how she's going to play 'tsera vel'. ]

You want to look, you better be ready to pay up, [ she quips, standing in barely anything and utterly unbothered by her bare skin, the old scars ( burns and blades ), the rail-thinness to her ribs that speaks of malnutrition. ] You can start by finding me a smaller size for pants. Black, preferably.

[ her motions, barefoot and casual, betray a woman utterly nonplussed by her situation. ]

After that, how about you give me the worst news available?

arrival – a!

[ophiocordyceps]

⟪ as much as her world seems to be a shithole by comparison, caroline would be lying if she said that she truly has any experience with a situation like this one. so far, she has focused on the external aspects – the bus, for one, the dress and plague doctor mask, the sheer amount of people, the looming mansion-based party. none of this is an option back home.

oh, she's been displaced before, she's been ripped out of her life some twenty years prior, when the entire world changed out of nowhere –– ⟫

Yes.

⟪ simple answer. she tries to get her brain to pick up beyond what the drugs let her do, but she's heavy-tongued and tired and worn, tempted into compliance. ⟫

Can't say it's not a first. But I've had worse. ⟪ that's not a sales pitch. she pats her dress down, looking for anything that could come in handy. ⟫ Do you have a safety pin?

clarke griffin | the 100 | ota

[strove]

masquerade ball

[For her part, Clarke heads to the first ball that she has time for—time itself is difficult for Clarke these days, what with her burgeoning business-to-be, her schooling, her job, and her volunteering—in a simple, form-adapting (if not slim entirely) dress that reaches her mid-thigh, along with a simple mask that allows her to highlight her blonde hair. Despite the fact that Clarke has had some bad luck at parties in her recent past (the one back home, not the one here in Meadowlark's world), she doesn't seem to mind hitting the floor.

Dancing with her won't be a difficult task: if she sees a familiar face, she'll beckon them closer. The lights of the room make it easier for her to be indifferent to the blue glow in her chest if they touch, and emotions will be heightened, yes, but with a sense that she's trying to enjoy herself.

Should anyone be in need of assistance, Clarke will be ready to switch gears. Though she'll have the smell of alcohol on her breath, she's not here to get messy. Anything could happen, after all.

general partying

[When she's not at a ball or making time for one, Clarke will be hitting the streets when she has time while the parades are going on. She'll be dressed less like she's there to impress: a black jacket, a shirt that's just one step to the left of being a tank top, along with tight jeans and a pair of combat boots that look like they've seen better days. (No leather in here, of course.)

Her focus will be on two things:

One: spending time with the other Displaced. Clarke will be keeping an eye out for anyone glowing, and will approach them—even if she doesn't know their name just yet.

Two: helping the other Displaced out if they end up being the ones who get messy. If anyone looks like they need someone to hold their (possibly incredibly shortened) hair back, Clarke's their gal. Need fluids? She can get that taken care of, too. Clarke isn't here to kill anyone's good times. She just wants to make sure no one is too sick.]

speed dating

[And then: speed dating. Clarke ends up here because … she does. (Or because someone told her to go and she reluctantly agreed. Feel free to have been that person.) With the questions set up in front of her, Clarke's lips twist down into a frown. Living on the Ark never made for much time for "speed dating," or anything like that. Life since has … been complicated in other ways. (Plus, horny teenagers and young adults don't often make time for "dating" in the traditional, conventional sense.)

After reviewing the questions, Clarke lets out a sigh.]

Maybe we should try questions that we actually care to have answered? How long do we have again?

safehouse

[Outside of the festivities, Clarke will be making semi-regular stops to the safehouse first aid/medical room. Most of her time here will allow her to take blood (if anyone wants it saved and tested down the line), urine (same reasons), and checking people over otherwise. She doesn't expect to find anything unusual, but it's always worth a shot to check.

While her first couple of stops will be when she's more awake, over time, she's going to look rather tired, like she's overextending herself.

Should anyone come in during those times, she'll offer them a tired smile at first.] What can I do for you right now?

wildcard

[If none of the above suits, hit me up on plurk at medieval, on discord at alison#8996, or in PMs! I'm also fine with merging prompts or making adaptations as needed.

As a note because I'm a moron who forgot to update Clarke's information, Clarke is 24 (25 if in-game time is counted, but who knows how that works). Since that is definitely relevant to prompts here.]

safehouse!

[ophiocordyceps]

⟪ caroline herself has a habit of sleeping every three days and then wondering why people consider her vaguely unstable, but she's made exceptions here. she is stuck in the safehouse for better or worse until she is granted her id, can't even access this world's no doubt futuristic variant of the internet for research purposes. in short, there's nothing lost if she sleeps.

still, she's familiar with the looks of someone who needs a break, desperately and while likely refusing to acknowledge it. ⟫

Caroline. ⟪ she closes the door behind herself, which is about as much privacy as the medical room allows. it's still easy to hear all the rest of the new arrivals rummaging about outside. ⟫ Clarke Griffin? I believe we communicated over the –– ⟪ wait, did it have fancy terminology? ⟫ network. If anything, I am here to help you.

goro akechi | persona 5 | ota on the open prompt!

[impede]

to the tune of "I only read it for the articles": "I'm just here for the food | ota

[These festivities are too much for Akechi. It's not that he doesn't know how a big and blustering city can be. It's not that he minds what people are getting up to, as long as they aren't doing it within his radius. It's the fact that so much of it is happening that he doesn't know how to keep it out of his radius. Many of his coworkers are hungover from festivities, too, which is putting him in a very bad mood.

But—being Akechi—he keeps it to himself. He knows that it would be odd for someone as young as him to skip out on this kind of "fun," so he shows up just the same. Besides: the promise of food is enough to bring him out, and he's trying a fair amount.

In fact, he'll always have a plate or handful whenever someone spots him. His preference is, of course, sweets. He won't be hanging out in the middle of crowds, but if he catches someone's attention, he'll smile at them like he's happy to see them.

He is not happy to see them.]

They should have plenty left, if you're interested. [He's also not eager to share.]

you're not my boyfriend | closed to ren ren

[At some point, Akechi calls Ren to join him at one of the restaurants a few blocks away from the great majority of the festivities. It's a small cafe with warm lighting, and far more down to earth than anything they had in New Beijing. Next to the cafe is a flower shop that's selling bouquets—though hopefully Ren won't be expecting anything romantic from Akechi, who's also not aware that going out on any kind of dinner anything during a holiday counts as a date.

Because he's a moron.

The call itself comes at the end of one of Akechi's workdays, and when he settles into the table at the cafe, he's still dressed in his work clothes: a tasteful sweater, paired with his gloves and a pair of khaki-colored pants and loafers for shoes. Once he settles in, he does take off his gloves carefully, peeling them off unselfconsciously. He has a book in front of his neural implant to read while he waits for Ren to arrive.

Totally normal afternoon meal with a friend. Definitely.]

wildcard | ota

[Akechi is a socially awkward faking asshole of a child, so he doesn't want to play in all the reindeer games, so to speak. But let's work something out! I'm on plurk at medieval, discord at alison#8996, and also reachable always by journal PM.]

you are my boyfriend -ren amamiya

[variate]

[ it had been since Zerzura that Ren had posed the question of dating. it had been a sore spot then, so he gave Akechi some space to breathe and hadn't pursued it. there was a lot to unpack, and even with the pressing situation that the two of them were in, Ren considered Akechi's comfort.

but since then, this hadn't been their first date. they had been on several dates. while a lot of things between the two of them turned into a game, Ren didn't think that this was one of them. there were some pieces to put together—Akechi's push back on touching, on being together, but still the way that he almost desperately reached out for company—that made the picture a little clearer. there were other things to consider, too, like just how much time they might have together, and how to navigate all the other things that they haven't talked about.

there are still some injuries that he's suffering from (namely, his shoulder), but between the heightened medical advancements and some (what would be considered, for him) rest, he couldn't be put out for long. it's not long before he shows up. he's not wearing his glasses, which removes some of the softness that usually frames his features. it does put the hostess' eyes immediately on him, who points him in Akechi's direction.

the high-collared black coat gets shrugged from his shoulders, and he sets a box on the table absently, knotted at the top with kerchief. ]

Distracted?

[ he knows he's not, but it's a good enough way to get his attention. ]

rafe adler | uncharted

[chardismastic]

i. masquerade (2.7)

[ He hates parties. Always has and this sure as hell isn't about to change his mind. The lead lingers in every step, on his tongue, and his fingers clench for want of ripping this goddamn mask off. But for all he feels the weight of it pressing against his face until he can't breathe, it stays. It has to. It's how he'll be found, how he'll get help, though his head swims when he tries to think about it any harder than that. Someone hooks their arm through his, presses close against his brocaded coat and tugs him along with a shrill giggle of you've got to see this — which leads to the first of many such requests.

Do you want to dance? Taste this. Catch me if you can!

A dizzying whirl of costumes and masks and colors and scents until Rafe is ready to vomit, shaken and shaking at the ease with which he's answered every one of them. When the first break in conversation and bodies presents itself, he jumps at the opportunity without a second's hesitation. There's a mild discomfort as he ducks away into a side room and shuts the door behind him — they need to find you, they're looking, stay where you are — but he shakes it off with the resolution to at least stay here. That's fine. He's listening.

The bile that ought to follow that logic never presents itself, distracted by the sudden realization that he isn't alone. Whoever it is, Rafe jerks a hand up to cut them off. ]

Shut up, all right, just... [ This is the party. Don't attract attention. No scenes, Rafael, not in front of company. The sharpness in his tone fades, the voice muffled behind the mask as he affects something more congenial even if the accompanying smile isn't visible. ] Guess I'm not the only one looking for a break in the festivities.

ii. safehouse (2.7 - 2.10)

[ Soon as Rafe is ushered into the safehouse, soon as the preliminary rundown is given and the basics reviewed, he leaves. Not the safehouse — he understands that he can't, not yet anyway, and besides he's been told not to. It makes his mind churn, running through the same goddamn loop over and over again. Let me out of here, no stay get help listen, this isn't right...Let me out.

Well, if he can't leave then he's going to find some place to be as alone as possible down here until this bullshit knocks off. Run into him either while he's looking for such a room or after he's squared himself away in a supply closet, and he'll give you just as warm a welcome as you can imagine. ]

No, [ he snaps, hackles up and bristling. ] I don't want to hear it.

[ Once the effects have worn off, Rafe attempts to distract himself the next few days that he's forced to stay here. He can be found frowning to himself in a storage room, fingers flicking and flexing as he begins sorting out this new tech in his head and what he can do with it; in the bathroom, frowning at his reflection as he works with whatever is in that basic toiletry set to slick his hair back; or in the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry and available foodstuffs before beginning to throw something edible together. ]

iii. carnivalentine's (2.11)

[ The second that the doors were unlocked for them, that they'd been deemed allowed to leave, Rafe had been out like a shot. Was the safehouse necessary? Were the precautions warranted? Yes, and he'd be able to admit it to others as well as himself but none of that makes him happy about the better part of a week in closer quarters than he's stood since boarding school.

He isn't stupid. He'll have to come back. But later, after getting some air in his lungs and hearing something other than the same unanswered questions over and over again. At least this way he feels like he's accomplishing something even if it's just establishing his bearings. Not an endeavor that requires much talking or interaction, and the mask — nowhere near as ostentatious as his first — he picks up along the way should help him blend in even further.

Or that was the general idea before some scrawny teenager latches onto his arm. Their goal is obvious, a pink festooned door nearby with a cafe visible through the entry, assuming you missed the neon advertisements flickering madly in your peripheral vision. The kid is chirping along some canned line about the event, the amenities, ready to finish off with something about true love — until they go to pull Rafe along and find his feet planted more firmly than Gibraltar. Whatever cajoling promises they had lined up die on their lips, seeing the cold eyes behind Rafe's mask as he leans down. Once he's sure he has their attention, Rafe keeps it simple: ]

Let. Go.

[chardismastic]

[ continued from here ]

[ Sure, the list is longer than his arm at this point but there was never any doubt which Rafe would put above all others. It was the first, last, best, the one that'd make everything else chump change in comparison. ]

You know anything about pirates?

han solo | star wars | closed+ota options

[sublights]

 masquerade. (closed to cassian.)

( if he had ten credits for every time in his life he'd woken up somewhere with no accounting for how, kidnapped, drugged, possibly enslaved — well, he could probably buy a small moon. he knows well enough by now to keep his head down.

at least no one's trying to eat him.

yet.

han keeps to the edges of the crowd. the absence of chewie and his blaster is more of a blow than he'd like to admit, the drugs keep the losses just fuzzy enough he's not wholly consumed by them. han's a survivor before he's anything else. it's what he's good at, what he's clung to.

he's not dead. that's the starting point. everything else can wait until he's sorted out the hows and the whys of it all. help will come to find you. he's done enough spycraft and doubletalk and blind drops in his life to know what that means, and he assumes that the mask is meant to act as a marker, given that the only other people wearing them are looking about as dazed as he feels. still, han sort of clings to the outskirts of the revelry with his back to the nearest impenetrable-seeming surface. )

 safehouse. (ota.)

  day one.

( han is trying to sleep.

emphasis on trying, because when you've spent most of your life dozing to the lulling thrum of a familiar engine, that absence makes it a damn hard thing. so, he's tossing. turning. restless.

finally, whatever your character is doing: breathing too loudly, watching videos, playing darts, chewing with too much enthusiasm for whatever bug-infused food they're eating will cause him to go, in a very dry voice, )

Hey, any chance you have plans to keep it down over there?

  day three.

( he's up in the kitchen, making himself something passably edible and a pot of something that smells suspiciously like caf but doesn't quite kick the same. if your character ventures near, he'll grunt at them in something like a welcome, and then: )

Made extra coffee. You look like you could use a cup.

  wildcard.

( ooc; hit me with anything, or ping me on plurk vitarays to suss something out. happy to write top levels/starters for anyone who'd like one. han's probably going to avoid carnivalentine's unless someone drags him but that can be a Thing so anything goes. )

Wildcard

[forcevisions]

[ continued from here ]

[ Getting to Rey's apartment means pushing through the throngs of people crowding the Red Light District for Carnivalentine's.

The apartment looks better inside than out. The living space, combined with the kitchenette, is generous: clean, bright, all white and steel. A second glance might register that, for some reason, the bathroom and shower seem to be plumbed into the kitchen area, but a haphazard sheet has been across to give the imitation of privacy where unfrosted glass fails.

Rey gets to her feet when the door opens, meets Han halfway to the door and buries her face against his chest when he welcomes the hug. It had been coming whether he wanted it or not. Fortunately, her height and the hood of her duster spares them the empathy bond.

She's not sure either of them is ready for that yet. It's harder than she had expected it to be, seeing him in the flesh when she remembers so clearly the sight of him plummeting down that oscillator shaft.

When she pulls back, she speaks quickly to bury the memory. ]

You look good.

[ Rey, though, has hair that has only grown out to her chin, which has been dyed shock blue to minimize her recognizability as 'Rey Nolo,' who was said to have died in the raid on the UNA outpost. She's banged up, too. She's always banged up. ]

Are you hungry? [ She gestures to her small table, to the half-stowed food ]

gene hicks | oc | ota

[preseance]

 masquerade. (closed to kate bishop)

( the hollow echo of the boots hittin' the ground are what bring him right back to it. the war ain't never a far flung thing from his mind an' all, but there's little things that stand out. sometimes a smell (lucky strikes, sweet aftons, just about any brand that was bein' put in the ration kits) an' sometimes a sensation. he helps tabby with dinners when he ain't doin' overtime at the clinic an' she's recognized that he struggles with certain things. cuttin' meat.

here, it's the boots. the drugs. the haze. he ain't hardly made outta stone, an' the rush of it all is like a slap. last he reckoned, he an' his brother and his little family were sittin' on the back porch sharin' sweet tea in the sticky sundown of an alabama evenin', billie'd been chasin' fireflies. an' now this.

worse of it is there ain't no ghosts.

there were plenty'a times in the war when that was an anchor to him. strange places, stranger folks all given familiarity by the empty swirl of the departed around 'em. gene could hold fast to anything so long's he had that, but he ain't seen a godly soul. what panic he's got he quells, much as he can. won't serve none.

blend in. mingle. cope an' carry on. three years free an' clear of the war but it seems like a lifetime's worth of habits is built to fall back on. it's why he reaches out, blind, for the first person he sees an' snags their arm with a soft touch. )

Ma'am. Might'n't you mind if I ask to have this dance?

 safehouse. (ota)

( he ain't nothin' if not adaptable. same thing that carried him across the atlantic once upon a time an' set his soul to warrin'. this ain't casablanca, nor gela, nor any berth in france he can think to name, but the house is set up like barracks, an' he recognizes the structure of an underground movement easy enough. how many places just like this one did reg see before he died? gene'd ask him, if he could.

your character can find him sorting through boxes looking for any manner of medical supplies, cooking in the kitchen in portions obviously meant to share. he'll be asking after others as well, trying to ensure they're looked after and doing well mentally and physically. if anyone's injured themselves he'll ask to take a look at it and explain he's a medic.

if your character's a senior member of the displaced, gene will approach them outright, nod politely and ask how he can help.

caution: his alabama accent kicks like a goddamn mule. )

 speed dating; (ota)

( he ain't quite sure how it happens, save that he's cajoled into it. gene's affable an' approachable enough, he reckons it's just part an' parcel. he finds himself at a table seated across from an individual an' he gives them a bit of a smile, ducks his head some.

it ain't all that dissimilar to tabetha tryin' to get him a date at church on sundays, honestly. )

Suppose we're discouraged from introducin' ourselves, huh? Keep the mystery alive an' all?

 wildcard.

( ooc; open to anything at all! hit me with your best shot, or ping me on plurk @ vitarays to suss something out. happy to toss you starters as well. )

[fledges]

[Once Kate gets her own bearings, she heads back into the masquerade to help wrangle the new kids. She's snagged a purple half mask and a dress, and while she isn't dressed as ostentatiously as some of the other attendees, it's enough to blend in. The new arrivals are easy enough to spot in their matching masks, but what she doesn't expect is for one of them to approach her so calmly.

She's used to panic and anger, and understandably—it's what most people go through when they come here, especially fresh off the van and drugged. Even this guy's touch is light, though, and she gives him a smile, not entirely sure what to think.]

Of course. Are you alright?

diana prince | ota

[monomachy]

i. mama said, fulfill the prophecy [masquerade]

[Returning to New Amsterdam after being in New Beijing is jarring, to say the least. The sting of defeat is still fresh, and though she's played the encounter on the UNA base over and over again in her head and knows retreat was the right move, that doesn't stop the bitterness from taking root in her heart. If she'd been faster, stronger, smarter--but there's really no reason to continue thinking it over, is there? What's done is done, and there's no changing the past. All she can do is move forward, try harder. At least, that's what she tells herself. But putting her own words into practice is more difficult than it seems.

The message from El is half expected, and it brings a strange sort of relief. Rounding up new displaced is something she can do, something that matters. And when she finds out where they've been dropped, well. Events like this are right up her alley, and she takes care with the way she dresses, so when she walks through the door, there's no room to question whether or not she belongs at this particular party.

Once inside, she makes a circuit of the room, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone wearing plague doctor mask and wasting no time approaching them with a gentle yet meaningful, "Have you just arrived?" Diana is more than willing to escort anyone new to the safehouse, making sure they arrive safely. Any petty criminals who try to ambush them on the way are in for a nasty surprise, to be sure. And, of course, she's happy to dance with anyone who asks, or simply looks as if they'd like to be out on the floor. No matter what sort of music comes on, old or new, she seems to know every step perfectly, and will take the lead if need be. She's careful to avoid skin-to-skin contact with anyone she knows is a displaced, of course.]

ii. be something greater [speed dating]

[This is not Diana's idea of a good time. But she simply hadn't been able to say no to the underpaid and overworked person who had practically dragged her in off the street to take part in this event.

She hardly has time to grab a glass of water before she's more or less ushered into a chair across from someone she may or may not know. Either way, she offers a wry smile, quickly scanning through the suggested questions before asking one of the following:

1. What are you most passionate about?
2. If you could have one pet, what would it be?
3. What is the best thing you've ever had for breakfast?
4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Each one is asked with genuine interest, despite how ridiculous she finds this entire event. There's never a bad way to get to know someone, and even if they only have a few minutes, now that she's seated with someone, she's entirely invested in their answers.]

iii. go make a legacy [safehouse]

[Diana always makes it a point to visit the safehouse once a new group of displaced arrive. It's partially because she wants to make sure that everything is in order, but also because she wants to see their faces, to know who they are, before they potentially disappear into the city. She always brings something with her--expensive sweets, extra clothes, various odds and ends she's picked up over the past couple of weeks. The Lasso of Hestia always rests at her hip, innocuous for anyone who doesn't recognize the divine lariat for what it is; she keeps it on for those who might know it, since she's long since realized that she's more well-known in other universes than in her own.

No matter who she talks to, she always offers a warm smile, focusing all of her attention on them when they speak. Transitioning into a new world isn't at all easy, and she knows that all she can offer at the start is a kind word to try and make it easier.]

iv. manifest destiny [wildcard]

[ooc; i'm down for anything! feel free to pm me, hit me up on plurk at watchet, or leave a comment on my cr meme thread if you'd like to do something specific! i'm absolutely down for handwaving any kind of base cr, so just let me know if you'd like to do that.]

ii;

[preseance]

( it ain't a matter of her bein' beautiful. he's met his share of folk who may as well been sculpted by a master hand, men an' women alike who had somethin' to 'em that made 'em shine. it ain't always about looks — he remembers a dame from the maquisards that'd been shot through the cheek an' wore the scar like battle armor, it'd been the look in her eyes that drew him in to the firelight side of her soul. an' alex, well. he'd been another story.

but there's a warmth here in this gal that makes him smile back, unchecked. )

Best thing I ever had for breakfast, ah...

( he speaks slow an' measured. the accent cuts through the words like a clarion bell. he could say somethin' his mama made, maybe. but perhaps that's a little more personal than he'd prefer to be right outta the gate. instead: )

Fried ham, eggs. Couple beer. Reckon there was a bowl of porridge in there somewhere.

( may 9th, 1945. he remembers it like it'd been the morning's meal. they'd been in berlin. part of the advance guard. he remembers ginny disappearin' some hours an' comin' back with the spoils. in hindsight, gene ought to have recognized the fact he'd stolen 'em off some poor soul, but in the moment he'd been drunk on knowin' the war was done he hadn't thought of it. it really had been the best he ever remembered food tastin' in all his life. )

nill (klein) | ota

[culver]

i. i met you last night at a party [masquerade]

[Nill has been to one or two parties since arriving in New Amsterdam, but none of them had a dress code. Until coming to this particular world, Nill had been pretty self-conscious about her wings--but upon seeing other people with body modifications, and realizing she could walk around without hiding them under heavy clothes, she'd decided that maybe embracing them wasn't such a bad idea. So she's put on her nicest dress, something she'd bought when Heine was still here (at whose insistence is still up in the air, though she'd swear it was his), and had headed to the party. She's a little unsteady on her heels, but she'd worn platforms back home, and these aren't so different, are they? Determination is mostly what keeps her on her feet until she's just outside the party, at which time she's turned away from the door for lack of a particular item: a mask. If it weren't for the stalls selling them outside the venue, she'd have gone right home; but as things stand, she browses the masks until she finds one that catches her fancy.

Once her face is appropriately bedecked, she heads into the party, and it takes her breath away.

Nill goes everywhere: the food tables (where she piles a plate high, mostly with sweets), the bar (which she approaches shyly, and leaves without ordering from despite her fake ID), and she even stares out at the dance floor (though she will not set foot on it unless someone asks her to). Mostly, she marvels at the colors and the outfits, openly staring at those wearing the most elaborate costumes. If she happens upon anyone in a plague doctor mask, she remembers El's message, and offers them a shy wave and smile, wings fluttering behind her before settling against her back. She doesn't usually pick up new displaced, but she's more than happy to lead them to the safehouse if she has to.]

ii. by the bathroom, you said let's talk [safehouse]

[Nill hasn't lived in the safehouse since her first few days in New Amsterdam, but she always visits it when a new batch of displaced arrive. According to El's message, this has been the biggest group since the first--and that leaves her hopeful that she'll see a familiar face, despite knowing how dangerous that could be for her nowadays. She's still hurting from Heine's departure, and the thought of seeing someone else she knows from home is equal parts exciting and terrifying. Nill isn't good at losing people she cares about; she's hardly had people to care about in the first place.

Still, she looks. And hopes.

She deposits a few homemade cookies in the kitchen before wandering over towards where the medical supplies are kept. She's no expert in first aid, but her skill shave certainly been put to the test over the past few months, and she wants to make sure everything is stocked as it should be. If she's approached, she gestures vaguely to her throat (a force of habit, really) before broadcasting a short-range text message that comes from a Nill.Klein:]

Do you need anything?

iii. but my confidence is wearing off [wildcard]

[ooc; i'm down for anything! please feel free to pm me, message me on plurk at watchet, or hit up my cr meme thread for anything specific!]

II

[unlucky7]

[Ginia is a frequent visitor to the kitchen. She's taking and stashing proetin bars and other things that will last awhile. Eating when she can just in case people change their mind on how much access everyone gets. Just in case she has to go a few days without a meal once the doors are open.

She's heading into the kitchen when she spots a young woman dropping off homemade cookies. The hint of wings against her back would be a reason to pause, but when she gestures at her throat and then broadcasts a text message, Ginia stops and stares for a second.

...Wow, is that what it's like being on the other side?

Ginia recovers fast, hands signing fast.]

No, I'm fine. Sorry, but are you mute?

[Even though it's what she indicated, Ginia has to make sure.]