ARRIVAL LOG 003

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of July 18
WHAT: The third arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #003

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see the gray interior of a vehicle, rows of paired seats ahead of you. There are others with you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the seats. A murmur of conversation up at the front of the vehicle, and a man in dark grey scrubs stands to look back over the rows of seats, his gaze catching yours but then passing, as if unconcerned. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips. The vehicle stops. Several guards stand at the front of the vehicle, moving down the aisle between seats, unbuckling each passenger and helping them to their feet. One comes for you, and your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. Doors at the back of the vehicle are opened, city sounds flooding in, echoing strangely. You aren't given any time to adjust. The guards carefully help each of you out. The nurses, all in the same dark gray scrubs, checking each of you over, quickly and methodically. With a nod, they and the guards climb back into the bus. One lingers for a moment, smiling at you, the expression smug and unpleasant. "Going to be great never to have to see your face again," he says. One of the others calls him to hurry up. He looks upwards, briefly, gives a mocking salute to something high behind you. Then he climbs into the bus, the doors closing behind him. The engine powers up again, and the bus is gone. You're left alone in an alley, with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here. There is noise, nearby. A dense wave of chatter and music, filtering largely unobstructed to you. You look up and see there is no sky, but a ceiling, some few feet above your head. The artificial lights there are visible, but dimmed, as if emulating the light of an exterior street at night. As you venture around the corner you find a long street filled with booths and stalls, a crowd milling between them all, a densely busy market scene. ◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> THE MARKET

The message from El comes the same as previous: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it, the urgency is apparent. There's another one. Hang on. Scratch that, there's another two. Anonymous buses dropping off a lot of people in white scrubs, Blue Sector, Birch Street. This time they did it right on top of the monthly mod market. Less likelihood of cops, more likelihood of them disappearing somewhere really unpleasant. And when I say a lot of people, I mean a lot. Get down there, quick. Birch Street is less of a street and more of a large tunnel, part of the complex warren of underground tunnels and buildings which reach downwards into the ground beneath New Amsterdam. Treated like just another part of the city, the streets are just as busy here as above ground, though the spaces are more clearly delineated between those for foot traffic and those for vehicles. Birch Street would be one for vehicles, but tonight it's been reserved for another event. The monthly mod market is a place for people from all over the city - all over the world - with an interest in body modification to come and view the latest achievements and ventures in mod development, as well as show off their own and socialize with other modders. The space is full of booths and stalls displaying a wide variety of cybernetics, genetic alterations, as well as the latest in kinetic tattooing and electronic piercings. Some of the vendors come from well known brands, while others are independents, much more willing to push the boundaries of legality to give you the fully kicked up mod you've always wanted - for a price, of course. Crowds gather around certain booths to watch mods being done, while vendors shout for an audience at others. Music wars and clashes, booming from different stalls across the street, while neon lights flash and strobe out of booths and a few open store fronts. It's a dense, noisy gathering of people, a unique slice of New Amsterdam's culture for an outsider to navigate. An easy space for anyone to get lost in, let alone someone stumbling new and confused into this world. Not all of this crowd are friendly, and many are likely to take advantage of a vulnerable individual - and with the uniformity of their white scrubs and shorn heads, the new arrivals are sure to catch attention.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

Access to the safehouse is a hatch hidden behind stacks of empty storage shelves in the back of an abandoned supermarket in an outer district of the city. The immediate area is similarly abandoned, empty stores, flanked by several blocks of dive bars and clubs which cater to more niche tastes. A place where people can come and go unseen, or, if seen, not spoken of. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense - perhaps more than usual, considering the large amount of people filtering into the safehouse this night. ◉ The safe house is a large open space, filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. ◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries. ◉ While there were previously also NPC occupants of the safehouse, natives to New Amsterdam, these people have now been moved on to somewhere safer. A few of their belongings remain, discarded or accidentally abandoned. ◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. ◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them. ◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet. ◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until July 22. These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until July 22 (October 14). At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, or if they'd like to join Morningstar, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below. Please check out our October calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC for new characters will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on October 20 and close on October 27. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

stephanie brown | dc comics (new earth)

[quipper]

1. MARKET

[ For once in her life, Stephanie thinks before she acts. The ol’ college try. She spies a jacket, hung on a nearby booth, taunting her in its all-black, long-sleeve, decidedly less conspicuous glory. Brown, don’t, she thinks immediately, despite her shift in course toward it. The owner of the jacket is only a few feet away, eyeing the projection of a tattoo on her exposed arm with bright eyes, as the intricacies of the kinetic design process are explained in lofty tones. Neato.

Stealing is always bad, okay — she gets that! — but these times, they are a-desperate. A cursory scan of the area tells her that most people remain occupied with business of their own, despite the occasional scrub-wearing freakazoid shambling forward. Classic big city attitude.

With a slick one-handed swipe, she pulls the jacket free and quickens her pace to disappear into the crowd up ahead. In seconds, she has it on, zipped all the way up to its perma-popped collar. A shade too big for her, sure, but it makes her look less like an escaped patient and more like a gal lacking cohesive fashion sense. She empties the pockets, ditching the contents as she elbows her way through the crowd. Nothing valuable or personal inside, anyway. Huh. ]

2. SAFEHOUSE

A. DAY ONE | [ It takes Stephanie hours to make it to the safehouse, largely on account of stubbornness and preference for fight over flight.

Once inside, she mellows, her irritation at taking orders lowering to a simmer. This isn’t the first time mysterious drugs have been pumped through her system, so she knows how it goes. Park your ass and this, too, shall pass. Doesn’t make it easier on her pride.

Lounging on a cot, Stephanie hangs her head off the bottom edge, taking an upside-down perspective on whoever approaches. ]

Hey. [ then, dryly. ] Welcome to my crib.

[ Look, if she doesn’t do a bit, she’ll just be angry-sad. ]

B. DAY TWO | [ With her ill-fitting trousers, baggy shirt, and short hair, it’s obvious that Steph is new in town. Despite that, she sets about acting as if this is, in fact, her home, having dumped her stolen jacket on a cot (dibs, duh) and mentally catalogued the entirely of the kitchen in search of comfort food. No shitty snacks or chocolate treats, so she opts for something heartier. It gives her an activity, too, peeling potatoes and humming to herself. Given how titchy the safehouse, she notices the light thud of footsteps into the kitchen before she looks upward, one corner of her mouth tugging into a lopsided smile. ]

Mashed potatoes, baby. [ As if that explains her whole... thing. She forces her voice to sound chipper. ] They’re happenin’.

[ It’s what she deserves. ]

[quipper]

[ bless this person's indulging heart. ]

Thank you so much.

[ her mouth spreads into a grin, though she stays in place. ]

When the apocalypse happened, I just thought — what does the world need now, y'know? Interior designers.

[evite]

[ mashed potatoes aren't a bad thing. they're a pretty delicious thing, actually, if not a little labor-intensive. all the better for some newbie to earn their metaphorical stripes making a batch, then — it just means daisy doesn't have to do it herself.

not that making mashed potatoes was really on her agenda, but that's not the point. ]

I should warn you, the gravy situation is super lacking around these parts.

[quipper]

[ she has years of mashin' experience. a real mash-head. and she's definitely better at this than bruce "my butler made it" wayne, so that's a win. ]

The multiverse is a cruel mistress. [ she taps her mouth, thoughtful. ] Could always cheese it up to compensate.

[evite]

Alas, just one of the many downsides of lab raised meat. The steak eaters should revolt, honestly. We're getting screwed.

[ is she serious? maybe. probably not. who knows, though — a good steak is serious business, if her advisories to ciri are any indication. ]

Hopefully you're not thinking of dumping in government cheese.

[quipper]

Take that back. [ release her from this hell!! ] I knew this place was dystopian, but that's really. Wow.

[ her fingers fan out, covering her mouth. the horror. ]

You think they still have waffles out there?

[evite]

Haven't seen a waffle maker quite yet, but who knows what you'll find if you go digging through a thrift shop.

[ like maybe a fur coat or some footed pajamas? ]

I can pass on a rec for my dive shop when your house arrest is up.

[quipper]

[ the corners of her mouth quirk, a sincere little smile, less performative than before. ]

Please. My style is so last century. [ a beat. ] Got any other tips and tricks?

[ oldbie to newbie. ]

Safehouse, Day 1

[evenslimmer]

[ Scott's not so socially oblivious that he doesn't recognize a joke. It's just that when you miss about fifteen years of your own life, keeping up with the slang and popular culture is...somewhat difficult.

He freezes for a second. But it's just not in there. ]

Uh...your what?

[ Scott knows he looks so uncool right now. ]

[quipper]

[ from her topsy-turvy perspective, she squints up at him. seems about her age. kinda cute (no, Stephanie). ]

My crib. You know, like, my place. My house. [ humming the MTV Crib's theme song oh no ] Don't tell me you've been trapped here since the 90s.

[ a joke that has the slightest nervous undercurrent. ]

[evenslimmer]

I didn’t really...watch TV back home...

[ In part because too serious for MTV, in part because- years living on the street. ]

Do they still call it that in 2018?

[quipper]

[ first jason has seven years on her in the timeline and now this guy. figures. at least he won't be able to out-reference her without years of TV-viewing behind him. ]

They did in 2011. Guess that's all I know. [ She rolls over, bringing herself upright, in part so she can hide her uneasiness over the gap in time. Instinctively, she moves to push her hair back, but, uh, there's not much there. right. ] You come here often?

[ there is absolutely a cooler way to ask if he's new. ]

[evenslimmer]

[ Scott didn't watch TV in the 80s/90s and he didn't watch any when he got to the future, either. That's Bobby's gig: binging on readily available fancy drinks, and binging on trash TV. ]

For lack of anything else to do or anywhere else to go. Kidnapping's funny like that.

[ And it makes him antsy, but it's not like he can do anything about that right now either. There's a bit of a wan smile. ]

I guess as safehouses go, I've been in grimmer.

[quipper]

Seriously? [ doesn't sound like a fun convo, but it's worth pursuing. ]

You wanna take a seat and fill me in? I just redecorated, so I'm ready for entertaining.

[ jokes!! everything sucks please help. ]

[evenslimmer]

[ He can't make jokes back but he's got plenty of experience with humor as a coping mechanism. ]

Fill you in...on my experiences with more soulcrushing bunkers?

[ Well. Okay. He can sorta make jokes back. ]