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

[selfimage]

I haven't decided yet.

[ with a stroll over, he sets the bottle on the counter, the amber liquid rolling up against the sides like he ignited a storm within the bottle. ]

We'll say that you owe me a drink. How's that?

[reneger]

I don't like owing favors.

( for numerous reasons. but jason doesn't have jack shit to offer now, so he gives a brief nod in agreement. )

A drink for another day.

[selfimage]

Deal—but remember, you're getting off light.

[ but there's a little smile on his face as he pop opens the top of the bottle, letting it roll over the counter. he christens it by taking a drink, a single, graceless gulp that's followed by a wipe of his lips with the back of his hand.

his mother would facepalm from his manners, and the thought satisfies him.

he pushes it toward Jason with dark nails. ]

[reneger]

I'll remember. ( being godly means he can't trust that loki's ability to drink it counts as it not being poisoned. a god, despite having whatever the hell is in their chest stuck there, could probably keep any ill effects from taking hold.

jason doesn't trust it, but he still takes the bottle when it's pushed towards him, raises it to his own lips and takes one big swig from the rim.

please at least be strong enough to get him tipsy. )

[selfimage]

[ it's good. Loki doesn't disappoint in that arena. he knows good booze from bad booze, even when the Asgardians will drink anything within their line of sight. ]

Rough day, hm?

[ he says it like he knows it was a rough day, but he puts it out there. ]

[reneger]

( loki can be his new favorite. he's not quite sure what he's after here--sharing good booze and information when he doesn't know if jason is of any use, but he definitely wants. something. it's shady.

but he's handing the bottle back after another drink anyway, licking lips to get off the last of it. )

Nah, I've had worse.

[selfimage]

[ some things you do for fun, Jason. the booze was coincidental, it had been there since their celebration after the multiversal Godzilla had been taken out by the Morningstar Avengers. the good stuff Loki had hid, because the apartment that he had gotten was too small to hide it from Thor. ]

That's something I don't usually hear upon arrival. Worse than multiversal displacement? [ there's a raise of his brow. ] Those are few and far between.

[ in some way, some form, everyone was always useful. it was just gauging reactions to see how they could be used.

well, perhaps some things weren't all for fun. ]

[reneger]

( hiding having experience with this kind of thing isn't any use, is it. not in here. loki doesn't grab for the bottle so jason tips it back to his mouth, takes another few drinks and shoves the back of his sleeve up against his lips. that's better. )

Well, you know. ( dull blue eyes shift to look to loki, raising a brow. ) Shit happens.

( "shit happens", like fucking up and getting the crap beaten out of him. like not being there for the people who needed him. fucking up so bad he doesn't have a home to go back to anymore. losing damn near everyone who was worth a crap to him. just shit.

he's dealing with it, obviously. )

[selfimage]

[ well, obviously Jason needs it a little bit more than he does right now. ]

That's an understatement. [ a pause, then he says, curiously: ] Before I arrived my brother and I went on a mission to track down a lost sibling that had been stolen from the shining realm as a child. We thought her dead, everyone did.

Ah, well—she wasn't. A war stirred, but was thwarted. I had to free my evil Uncle, so he's running around now.

[ Loki taps on the bottle and then takes it and heaves with a sigh. ]

[reneger]

( now comes the question of: is loki oversharing because he wants jason to overshare, too? or is he doing it just because he can and is trying to see if he can get a reaction out of him. the bottle is released easy enough, handing it over by the neck for loki to take. )

Once had to chase someone's corpse to Apokolips. That was a grand old time.

( see, he can share. and that's nonspecific. )

[selfimage]

[ the thing about gauging someone, about seeing how they react, meant that it wasn't just what someone said, but what they didn't say. both were important. Loki always said enough—and of what—to frame it in a way that couldn't be used against him.

but sometimes he was sloppy, but he's learned that he kind of likes being sloppy. it's a direct defiance against a former incarnation, someone he doesn't want to be anymore. that guy always buttoned up his schemes to the extreme. ]

Hm? What? What kind of realm is A-pucker-lips?

[ and that was deliberate. he drinks to his own joke. ]

[reneger]

It's a planet, technically.

( ish. far, far away, and the only way to get there is by boomtube, but. )

Ever think about what literal hell would be like? That's basically it. Fire and bones everywhere, slave drivers, child kidnappers, very, very hungry wolves everywhere--it's not fun.

[selfimage]

[ well that is a hilariously refreshing question: ever think about what literal hell would be like? it doesn't bring up thoughts of brimstone and flames as much as it brings up images of Mephisto and their constantly conflicting ambitions.

Hel had settled in hell for a while, but a story for another day. ]

And why the corpse?

[ he doesn't seem too concerned at the logistics of this all, just curious to the context. ]

[reneger]

( man, see: this is where the details get hard to specify without it getting weird and shady and obvious. jason purses his lips, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. )

My brother's corpse.

( which, despite bruce being a total ass to him in the beginning--jason would have damian's back any day. )

He's fine now.

[selfimage]

[ it's not like Jason isn't already a little shady. the bruises, tight-lips and need to leave speak loads. ]

Nothing like an inter-galactic rescue mission to bring the family together. [ there's half a sigh, but it's difficult to tell just how serious he is. ] At least you have some experience with what Midgardians would deem out there. Most need time to adjust their sensibilities, and that doesn't bode well for their discernment of this sort of situation.

[reneger]

( a hand extends out to try and get the bottle back from loki. he offers it, palm flat. doesn't try and take, but the intent is very clearly there. )

I probably deserve this.

( he fucked up. jason was the one who caused his own problems. jason is the one who tried to kill penguin (because he deserved it) despite knowing exactly how the results of that would end. jason couldn't save his friends. jason broke his promise.

this is fine. )

Honestly, this isn't surprising at all.

[selfimage]

[ there's no reason for him to deny Jason, so he doesn't. he passes it along readily when it's asked for, leaning his butt against the counter. that admission sinks in a little too deeply for comfort, it opens the wound of guilt that bubbles in his belly. ]

Maybe. [ he says, pressing the glass to Jason's palm. ] But someone didn't bring you here because of what you deserve.

[ dark lashes frame his bright eyes and he tilts his head forward, looking at the expanse of the kitchen. ]

And if they did? Well, fuck their terms.

[reneger]

( loki's words hit a bit closer to home than jason cares to admit. sent to space prison by batman was, in fact, one of his theories. still is. this guy seems to understand that a bit--deeper than most would, given his own reaction to jason's. more self destructive line of thought there. )

Ha. ( bottle raised to his lips and he's taking quite a few more drinks out of it, downing a good few shots before pulling off and shoving a palm against his mouth. it burns, but it's a good burn. thanks for sharing, man. ) You got a name, Mr. Sorcerer God?

[selfimage]

[ there was something that he did, something awful, something that still haunts him, chasing him as he desperately tries to jumpstart a new life. it grabs at his ankles and tugs at his stomach, filling him up with so much guilt that it may overflow. somehow, in some way, he digs a little hole and hides it all, but it leaks out.

perhaps we're all a little damned. ]

That depends, do you, Mr. Tight Lips? [ there's a dry amusement to his tone. ] I'll give you mine if you give me yours.

[reneger]

( whoever thks guy is, he's--as touchy as jason when it comes to shit like this. it says a lot. most people don't think twice when asked to introduce themselves--it's why jason doesn't ask--it prompts the whole "i'm __ and you are?" bit. )

Friends call me Jay. ( not a lie or a halftruth, or an alias. jason runs off instinct, and instinct says they're of the same kin. this is fine. )

[selfimage]

[ friends, huh? ]

Jay.

[ he repeats it, as if he's testing how it sounds. ]

Loki. [ there's a pause, and then he adds: ] Of Asgard. Well met, and all other appropriate pleasantries.

[reneger]

Loki. Of Asgard.

( there's a familiarity to that, even if jason looks a little incredulous. )

As in, Trickster God? Cut Sif's hair guy?

( just specifying. )

[selfimage]

[ cut Sif's hair is a mild one. more like the guy who's tied in the center of the earth by his children's intestines. so, he'll take it. ]

God of chaos, lies, mischief and other unpleasant things and counting. [ he twists his dark nailed hand in the air as he goes through them. ] But yes, the same. Even if that story has certainly gone through the ringer in terms of recognition.

[reneger]

Would call mischief unpleasant, but to each their own.

( his wrist rotates, stirring the liquid still left inside the bottle for a moment before jason's raising it to his lips for another sip. it's--definitely starting to warm him up. )

'cept now you're close to the same as the rest of us. Must suck.

[selfimage]

[ it's not like the first day here is ever fun for anyone. ]

I do miss the fabric of reality at my beck and call. [ a dramatic sigh. ] But moreso, certain things that were part of me no longer are.

Like they can't be reached, no matter how hard I try.