ARRIVAL LOG 018

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: March 7-8
WHAT: The eighteenth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion, loss of autonomy, alcohol usage, and drug usage. Further notes at the end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #018

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 a set of people in front of you: one dressed in a set of light armor, while the rest wear medical garb. The area around them is dim, and barely lit, as they set the newcomers up. There is a barely-present feeling of an IV pulled from your arm as you're left sitting up.

There is a sound of rustling outside, of rowdy people showing up for a special occasion. Once everyone's set up, the woman dressed in armor steps forward to give a spiel. "This isn't where I'd leave you, but apparently it's a 'special occasion.' Or an 'apology,' it's hard to say. Either way, don't leave the park until you're ready to head back to the safe place. Don't go looking for anyone to help you, unless they've come to find you. When someone turns up—and they will—ask them to show you the glow. Everyone out there will be too stoned outta their minds to notice it. Don't steal. Don't get into trouble. Avoid the drugs, actually, yourselves. Don't look for the cops." She pauses, looking at the medical people who are ready to leave. "Think that's got it covered?" She doesn't add anything more.

Just as they funnel out, there is a rhythmic thrumming in the distance—a sound check, as well as numerous people struggling to set up tents and campsites in the area around you. You try to open your mouth to speak, perhaps even to ask for help, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.

As the sedation begins to fade, you'll be able to take an inventory of your surroundings. You're in a bright yellow tent on a patch of green groundcover (some kind of Dichondra for those who are plant savvy). Clothing wise, you're dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, as well as a large, oversized hoodie zipped up the center. There is also a heating unit built into the tent to keep everyone warm. You can get up and start to move, and even head out of the tent, but you'll find that you won't be able to betray any of the orders given by the guard on her way out.

Where are you? A music festival. Think 2512 Coachella.

◉ 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 message passed on from the mysterious patron.

> STONY WEATHER MUSIC FESTIVAL

This time, the message doesn't come in from El, but by way of a ticket for the Stony Weather Music Festival being transferred to your ID, including access to the Main Stage. It seems there are different levels of these tickets, and these are definitely VIP. How did the Displaced, utterly unprepared to attend a music festival of this caliber, end up with these tickets? That's just another mystery for our oversized Scooby Gang to solve. Any information of what account these came from is seriously lacking. Want to make a quick buck? Selling your ticket could load up your bank account with plenty of credits.

The message itself is short and concise:

Find the yellow tent and enjoy yourselves.

- PM

The Stony Weather Music Festival is yet another one of the annual events that takes place in New Amsterdam. While it's popular among a certain demographic in New Amsterdam that includes those dressed to make a statement: bright colors, buckles, zippers and clothes that look impossible to move around in. Somehow, everyone seems to be managing despite their clothes, ready to dance. Tickets are hard to nearly impossible to come by for the average person. It doesn't help that attending is not the brightest of ideas considering the current weather patterns. It's bitterly cold at night, involves camping in one of three sky parks in the northern part of New Amsterdam, and at least one or two people (if not more) end up hospitalized because they don't make it back to their heated tents thanks to a massive amount of drug and alcohol use. And those tents? They aren't cheap or easy to come by, so there's sure to be one or two people who try to brave it without an especially well-heated unit.

Still, the festival is the place to be for those two days in early March. It always falls on the same days of the month, whether it would be a weekend or a weekday. Attending has been the spark to launch many influencers' careers. It's a combination of things: adding photos of the performances that take stage to their Cooltalks, the novelty of just being there, as well as the other influencers around. It's a way to be known, should anyone want to be known.

Of course, it's also a place to have a good time. There's alcohol and drugs aplenty even if someone doesn't know where to look, with dealers not asking too many questions for anyone who might be interested while shifting credits to different accounts. Many of the wealthier attendees will be eager to share what they have on hand, as well as any food that they get delivered from the local businesses. It's like a two day party, with people decorating their tents with any personal style that they see fit, producing a maze of a mishmash of camps that someone could very easily get lost in. There are people everywhere, dressed in everything from long, flowy dresses, the newest mid-calf boots, to various shades of blue lipstick. It's also a place where people don't seem all that shy to show their body modifications. Anyone deciding to attend might want to look the part to blend in. In the early mornings the outsides tents are covered in a thin layer of frost, glimmering without the need of strings of lights.

All you need to do to enjoy the show is make it through the bitterly cold nights. It's just one, really, unless you stay for the afterparty with the bands the second night. It goes until dawn!

One thing to note, however: no one's job is going to be keen to let anyone take these two days off. Better come up with a good excuse and hope you don't turn up on anyone's social media if you decide to play hooky.

The performances go on throughout the weekend between the three stages split between the sky parks, connected by temporary bridges strung with elaborate lanterns. The tickets that the Displaced have been granted allow them access to a stretch of land in the main sky park where the main stage has been set up. That bit of land is ready for them to set up tents if they should choose. There are some available for rentals on site, and for those who want something more upscale, more complex, heated tents can be purchased for a hefty sum. Incidentally, this stretch of land is right around the bright yellow tent where all the newcomers will sit sedated and waiting for someone to come get them.

> MAIN STAGE
The hardest place to get any kind of standing room to enjoy the headlining shows, included in the Displaced's special VIP access tickets. Anyone who's anyone at Stony Weather will want to be here, and will be vying for an opportunity to get some space. It's no time to care about body contact. Did you think mosh pits were done by 2512? By and large, they are for health and safety reasons, but depending on the band playing, the place closer to the stage has the opportunity to get high energy, and not far from a mosh pit. It's easy to get seperated, lost, and even stuck in the middle of crazy fans with no regard for others' personal space.

The one catch of the Main Stage is that there isn't a set schedule. When will one of the four acts perform? It's hard to say. Could be 8AM. Could be 9:17PM. They could even perform once or three times, depending on their whims.

THE NINE NINES
The Nine Nines are fronted by a set of twins—Lucy and Landon—who started out as social media influencers thanks to their mother's decision to start posting about them as far back as when they were six years old. For the next ten years, they gained a massive following around the world. Now that they're 21, both Lucy and Landon have escaped the clutches of their stage mother (both sentimentally and legally) and have been known as the face of The Nine Nines for the past year. While quite talented, music reviewers have stated that they've clearly not quite settled on a sound that suits them. They're a mixture of folksy rock and pop, without ever settling on one or the other. Their most popular song is "Mia," though most fans know that this song is actually about Makana—a social influencer who dated both Lucy and Landon and broke their hearts. This didn't happen simultaneously, of course—and Makana lost a lot of clout (and sponsorships) thanks to their choice to mess with the twins.

NEW NEW NEW
A ten member, always rotating boy band out of New Venice. Even 500 years into the future, boy bands are still a thing—in fact, they've perfected the corporate production and marketing of idol groups, to the point where it can almost be considered a conveyor belt industry. These pop stars are barely known beyond interviews and expertly crafted social media posts, and they're heavily monitored and controlled in their daily lives. New New New rotates out their older members for new ones when they reach the age of 22. Some of their most popular songs include a ballad called "The Breach," the guttural "My Heart is a Prison," and the recently released rap ballad "L U V."

ANOTHER META
Think One Republic meets Blink 182—pop music with an obnoxious, puerile edge—and you've got Another Meta. This group got their start playing esports events around the world, appealing to a certain demographic before their first big hit "Pop There IT IS" went viral. Originally based out of New Oslo, they now call New Prague home. They're loud, obnoxious, drink a lot on stage, and have a lot of fun. They have a very dedicated following of fans. Remember that mention of mosh pits? Another Meta's fans keep making an attempt at bringing them back.

CHERRY SENDER
"Cherry Sender" is actually a one woman act originally from New Tokyo, but she's known around the world for her Gothic appearance, operatic pop music, and incredible height (she stands at seven feet tall). Some people have said that Cherry models herself off of vampires, but she has been rather outspoken about the comparison, believing that it's more important to express herself how she looks best. Somehow, she firmly believes that people should embrace their vanity, and she does rock a mean white and black getup. Most recently, Cherry has done the theme song for the popular mecha anime, Vestica: Aeon.

> THE SIDE STAGES
There are few differences between Stage A and B, with the exception of the acts that are present. The side stages' attendees set up shop (so to speak) and spend much of the festival trying to find their way into the Main Stage area. The side stages are far more crowded than the park with the Main Stage, with facilities that aren't as up to par. Everyone here clearly used all of their savings to show up for the festival. There tends to be more socializing here, and anyone who wants to take a picture this may be the place to do it! The more elaborate fashions here are on display as influencers and attendees chat amongst each other. There are plenty of places to grab a drink or take a breath.

★ SIDE STAGE A

THE PADS ON CATS' PAWS
The Pads on Cats' Paws are an all female metal band based out of New Amsterdam. Although they've been together for just two years, they've put out six EPs, and have developed a cult following among those who enjoy the 2512 version of metal music. All of the women wear their heads shaved, and their heads are heavily tattooed. At some point, the lead singer had cybernetic surgery to alter her vocal chords, expanding her range. Their music is oddly bright despite the metal, with heavy violins coursing through their songs.

INFANTRY oracle
INFANTRY oracle are one of two acts that got into the Stone Weather festival thanks to winning the annual Stone Weather Premiere contest. It gives two bands every year an opportunity to get recognition on the big stage. However, INFANTRY oracle has been playing the club circuit around the world for the past decade, and only recently put together an EP that appealed to the Stone Weather crowd. Their music is largely EDM, and while they do have a following, they don't do a lot to stand out from the very cluttered EDM scene around the world.

THE CYBERNETICS BLINDNESS
In a world where masks don't serve much of a purpose, The Cybernetics Blindness are a group that goes all in on the masked appearance. Think Robocop meets Batman: they like a lot of faux-leather that's tight-fitting. Their music is raspy and eclectic, and surprisingly meaningful. They're based out of New Venice and little is known about the people behind the masks. There are suspicions for who's behind the masks—and obviously the cops and the UNA both know—but it's a surprisingly well-kept secret. It probably helps that aside from being musicians, they dedicate a lot of time and resources to PRESERVE.

BEEHIVE FUMES
Think blues and indie and Mumford & Sons all in one, and you have the Beehive Fumes. Unsurprisingly, their logo is a cartoonish beehive logo with a cute bee that's sticking out. They're a charming group fronted by two women and two men, and draw a lot of presentation inspiration from Fleetwood Mac (which had a resurgence six years ago, and inspired the formation of Beehive Humes). Despite their sleepy, unoriginal sound, they do put on a good show, and it'll be hard to find standing room when they're on. Another fun fact? Beehive Fumes are all married to each other, having enacted contracts 10 years ago (before they even started making music together!).

POSTmortem MALnutrition
Let's get political! What kind of show would it be without someone who is outspoken about the political mess that's very apparent in 2512. Rumored to be supportive of Morningstar—never in words, but with some of the imagery on their social media, subtle and inconclusive—they're recently railing against the government for claiming to have made peace on the Mars colony. Their message is that all of the colonies should revolt and break free. Their sound is eclectic, melodic, and they always tell a story—though their music is such that they change up the order of their songs, changing the story in the process. They're based out of New Lima.

★ SIDE STAGE B

GREEN MONSTER
An unusual all percussion band that focuses on reusability and sustainability based out of New Warsaw. All of their instruments are made out of recycled goods and handmade themselves. Sound-wise, they do a lot with what they have in stock, leading to a booming, exuberant experience. While they have been around for nearly a decade, they recently rebranded, with their entire message revolving around the image of the monster that hit New Amsterdam in June 2511. Their claim? The monster did damage, but nothing like what humanity does every day through carelessness.

SANDRA MCKLAINE
Sandra McKlaine is a trans woman from New Bangkok who specializes in folksy music. She actually got her introduction to the music business when she was fifteen years old as a member of the popular boy band Ocean Waves. Now that she's thirty and no longer crafted according to a certain image, Sandra has started putting out music again in the last six months. Her sound is mellow, welcoming, and chill.

Both LOBES
The other winner of the annual Stone Weather Premiere contest, Both LOBES are an experimental music group that changes their style of music every six months. Based out of New Prague, they've recently completed a tour opening for Another Meta—and many people believe that Both LOBES already got enough exposure before getting a chance on this stage. Their current style of music? Jazzy folk.

KURO COLT
Soulful and extremely attractive, Kuro Colt is a non-binary artist based out of New Beijing. Always flanked by a talented group of dancers, Kuro Colt (never just Kuro or Colt) defies the expectation of a stage performance. What does that mean? Outlandish, often dangerous special effects. Kuro Colt's on a side stage for a reason: they recently recovered from a long, long run of injuries, from which they showed a surprising reluctance to get any cybernetic limbs to help them progress (and an opposition to the medi-unit). Recovery took three years, but they're back and ready to perform! Are they any less bombastic in their showing? Not at all!

CHUBBY DOLL-FINS
Think Gorillaz in the form of the Muppets and you've got the Chubby Doll-Fins. Although they're rumored to be backed by the famous band Piers Grasp, they're a social commentary on the long-running tendency to put together boy bands. The thing about the Chubby Doll-Fins is that they're anthropomorphic and surprisingly attractive animals. They dance, they sing, they play instruments, and their music is incredible. Though there are hints of influence from Piers Grasp's mainline music, they're brighter and more sardonic in nature.

> 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.

◉ While the kitchen has basic foods and necessities, anyone looking for a jolt of caffeine from coffee or tea will find themselves sorely lacking. The only tea present is herbal in nature, and caffeine appears to be almost nonexistent in most of the beverages lying around.

◉ 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.

◉ New character do not have access to the internet until their ID is setup. They only have limited access because they're present in the safehouse, but they can't surf the rest of the internet, check out Cooltalk, or watch the equivalent of Netflix until their ID is made.

◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until MARCH 11 (FEBRUARY 23). 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

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 MARCH 11 (FEBRUARY 23). 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 February calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

As a reminder, Jenna will be posting a log for a charity and dating auction on February 29. We've pointed a few people that way via Plot Engagement, and there will be opportunities there to schmooze (off-screen or on) with some NPCs!

As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in February 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 March 1 at 12 AM UTC and close on March 8 at 12 AM UTC. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

QUESTIONS

[larkers]

[erudita]

Just to double check, all the new arrivals are in one tent? And apart from that tent there’s not a way to identify them? Say, if they wander outside.

[dumbjockenergy]

Hello, hello!

For the more stubborn newbies:

- Does the compulsion also send them to the SafeHouse, just to be sure? What if someone attempts to keep them from doing so/take them somewhere else?

- What measures are there in place to keep them from actually leaving the SafeHouse if the character is the kind who wouldn't be okay with being restricted like that?

gaby | npc | ota

[vns]

[ if anyone has ever wondered if Gaby is the type to enjoy Cyberpunk Coachella, you now have your answer: no. absolutely not.

when the newcomers come in, she'll offer them sympathetic looks and try to get them new clothes and food, as well as demand some peace and quiet for them. she works at a bar, sure, but it's not a bunch of rich assholes, right? she'll seem annoyed by this arrangement.

later, she'll be available for conversation for everyone both new and old, meeting their eyes long enough to invite them forward. if they seem hesitant, she'll sigh and wave them over. ]

Come on. What is it?

[batricide]

[ 'what is it'. damian's wearing long sleeves, a thick jacket, anything to cover up the disconnect between his body and where his flesh and blood limb should be. he's - dealing as well as one can expect. which is to say that he's not really dealing much at all. just shoving it down and trying not to let it explode and destroy what he's started to build.

It's hard. And he's not good at it. ]

What do you know about Aoi Maeda?

[fledges]

[Once the newcomers are mostly settled, Kate wanders over. She hasn't had much reason to talk to Gaby until now, but Kate hangs out at the safehouse every arrival day, so at least they're... familiar. Sort of. Or Kate hopes they're familiar enough for Gaby not to shoo her away when Kate starts asking questions.]

Hey, Gaby. Mind if I ask you a few things about the way things... work around here?

Drake Holloway | OTA

[braveoff]

arrival; stony weather music festival

[ This isn’t the first time that Drake’s come to somewhere alarming. Not even the second or third time, although he’s grateful for the fact that this time around there’s no pain… even if that’s terrifying in its own right. He’s used to there being pain, either from a head injury or from the fact that he was thawing out from frozen solid. This was more like he’d been drugged, and the people in medical garb back that up. He can’t move, too sedated to control his limbs, and although he appears disoriented but calm to everyone else, that’s about when he starts to panic inside.

Don’t look for help. Don’t get into trouble. Don’t leave the park… what park? Where is he? He was supposed to be headed to his new home and even his luck isn’t bad enough that a promised at-peace Earth analog in the early 21st century would be so questionable they’d get tranq’d and abducted as soon as they arrived. Which. Wait.

Drake looks around sluggishly, struggling to focus on anything as the drugs wear off. He doesn’t see anyone he recognizes. Oh fuck. Is he… alone? In this crowd. So cliche to think.

When he’s able to move and speak again, as soon as he’s able to do so, Drake will turn to the person nearest to him and ask a question. When the answer is no he’ll haul himself up and ask the next, and the next, until he’s worked his way through the whole tent and has to move out into the park to keep going. Everyone gets the same question. Not where are they, or what’s happening — he’ll figure that out soon enough — but if they’ve seen a man about his height and build, with dark hair and facial scarring. Can’t miss him. No? Okay, on to the next person. He has very little interest in whatever kind of concert is going on, and the farther he gets from the initial tent they were dumped in, the less coherent people seem to be… but he doesn’t give up. It’s possible they’re just separated, right? Even if everything he had on him has been taken and he’s trapped wherever this is, not everything could have been taken from him, right?

After nearly an hour Drake figures maybe now he should finally find out where he is and what’s going on… where’s that help they were told would come? He can’t leave the festival, can’t draw attention to himself as anyone besides a guy who’s been separated from the person he came to the festival with, but he’s clearly still looking for someone or something in particular in the crowd, focused and determined. These are fair circumstances in which to freak out, but that’s not Drake’s style. He keeps very deliberately calm instead, lifts a hand to rake his fingers through his hair in vague and hard-to-read frustration, then then looks confused. This isn’t how he normally has his hair cut. And what’s—? There’s something on his neck.

At least he’s made himself very visible for other Displaced to notice, now? ]

safehouse; after explanations and a bit of settling

[ The safehouse isn’t the kind of place Drake’s ever had to stay before. He’s not military and he didn’t dorm… it reminds him a little bit of some of the hostels he stayed in on summer trips during college, but not really. After being brought back for the rundown and getting his safehouse starter kit, for lack of a better term, Drake seems to need some time to process. He sits quietly on his cot for a long time, then pops up the rudimentary network interface to see what he can see for now… that occupies him for awhile, but the wider internet seems to be locked off until they have IDs. Okay. He’s going to explore the safehouse itself, then, since he can’t leave.

Drake can be found rummaging through the kitchen, briefly eyeing the mini-bar but deciding it’s not worth the risk with whatever lingering drugs are still in his system. He winds up with an energy bar instead, and continues to wander around as he eats it looking for anyone familiar. Feel free to feel his eyes on you, curiously searching for recognition in your gaze when you glance up.

Maybe he really is so unlucky after all… ]

network; id: anonymous

So how long has all this been going on, with people waking up drugged seemingly post-abduction from other worlds entirely? What do long term Displaced know besides what Gaby and El just told those of us who just showed up, and who do you trust and why?

If you’re not comfortable telling me any of that until I get an ID, hi, I’m Drake, we can play word association or something. Seriously, help, I’m going stir crazy locked in the Safehouse.

One more question, though: have any of you done this kind of song and dance before? Winding up in another world against your will, I mean. I can’t be the only one.

wildcard; custom

[ I know these are pretty bare bones so if you want something else, to plot first, or a custom starter, feel free to hit me at cuddlebug or on discord at koutavi#1461 ! ]

Safehouse

[unlucky7]

[While Ginia greatly enjoys music and even some of the bands performing, after her extended vacation, getting time off from her landscaping job was not going to happen. Big crowds like that aren't her thing either.

However, checking in on the new arrivals is still doable. And selling her ticket gained her a good chunk of her credits in her account. With some necessities taken care of and a few personal expenses taken care of, splurging on food for the new arrivals seems in order.

It's not pizza this time, but Ginia shows up on the 9th with several boxes of assorted doughnuts, muffins, cookies, and pastries to drop off in the kitchen. She's in the process of setting up an ingredient list on digital tags - for the sake of those with allergies or the bug-flour adverse - when she notices someone studying her.

Ginia finishes the tag and flings it into existence as a floating sign before turning and giving the man watching her a neutral smile.]

Feel free to help yourself.

[People don't react much to her signing, but she always looks for a reaction anyway. For many, it's the first time they realize the neural implant translates things.]

safehouse

[overrate]

[ while he might be avoiding the mini-bar, Jason? is not. he goes straight for the collection of shitty beer, and starts tossing them into his backpack. he only spares a glance at Drake, and offers a defensive, ]

What?

Safehouse

[requiemshark]

[ The past few nights have been rough, one bad dream after another, and there's a childish part of Ephemera that resents that because he'd thought things had been going well for once. That he'd settled into a routine of sorts, found a place with solid footing to stand on. Even found a couple people to stand there with him, and watch his back. Did the impossible, he'd thought, because not so long ago he'd been done with that sort of thing. Done with other people, done with being Ephemera entirely. The lines had been clearly defined, drawn in the metaphorical sand, and he'd defended those lines viscously, and occasionally with great violence. Until, one day, they shifted. And he shifted with them.

And it hadn't been so bad, for a while. He had friends. Has friends. And maybe he's never slept well, maybe he's never managed to crash in an actual bed since he got tossed in here, but there was proximity. He had people, and trust in the distance he allowed them to close. Things he'd gone without for years and hadn't realized he still wanted. Not until they were offered, seemingly without reservation or hidden tricks.

It's going well. He ought to be happy, or at least content with his place in the scheme of things. Instead, he's tired. Feels flattened down by all the shit that's been dragged up to the surface, and all the sleep he's not getting. But there are limits to what he can escape with insomnia, and facts that have been dragged up to the surface and now need to be dealt with.

Case in point. ]

Drake?

[ The question is a wary one, Ephemera dressed in his usual uniform of steel-toed boots and a jacket thick enough to conceal his varied weapons. He's got a hood pulled up to hide the scars as much as possible and touches his knuckles to his mouth before he can think to stop himself, a nervous gesture. This man is a stranger to him, but still ended up in his dream. That ought to be reckoned with, somehow, and Ephemera's come to do that even if he's tired and feels worn flat, slow to make connections. He has to do this. It wouldn't be right to leave it be. ]

arrival;

[leaderboards]

[ she's heard the question to a few other people as she focuses on getting herself alert and on her feet. and she gets it. she might do something similar if it was only one person she was looking for and not a whole team. sure, the team clumps, finds one another as if magnetically bound, but if she's not in her armour, it means that they probably aren't, either, and that complicates this round of have you seen my idiots?

so by the time drake turns to her, she has her response ready- ] I'm sorry. I haven't seen your friend.

[ to save him the breath, mostly. she has a feeling he's going to have to ask that question plenty more today. ]

adora » she-ra » ota

[dumbjockenergy]

» arrival

[ The only thing keeping Adora from going on the offensive as she awakes to the IV being removed from her arm is the sedation. Instead, she's left to sag into her seat as the woman speaks, clearly not happy at the lack of control of her limbs. The clothes feel weird on her, far from her normal Horde uniform. Her hair's much shorter than she remembers too; pulled from its usual tight ponytail, now cropped to her chin.

If there's no other word that could be used to describe Adora, it's stubborn. But as soon as she's been 'freed', Adora is stumbling out of the yellow tent, still feeling the sedative be damned. She doesn't need the compulsion of not looking for help to stop her from doing so anyway-- She's leaning heavily into anything around her she can as she tries to navigate through the collection of tents, looking way too close to toppling over but clearly determined to not pay it any mind. ]

» around

[ Even once the sedation wears off, the party holds no interest for Adora. It's loud and crowded and absolutely not conducive to any serious thinking of tactical planning.

This probably why she's darting from tent to tent as she looks for a way out. She might even be darting into your tent! Or you. Oops.

Too bad the concert isn't playing the Mission Impossible theme! ]

» safehouse

[ The first couple days in the safehouse, Adora does fine. She can be found in the kitchen, raiding the food provided for them. If someone doesn't stop her, she might end up eating everything, because she looks absolutely mesmerized by even such normal flavors.

Alternatively, she's found what little extra space she can, and she has started doing whatever workouts she can-- Push ups, running, crunches... If you look interested, she might even ask to spar.

But by the third day, being idle is driving Adora stir crazy. She can be found at the door to the safehouse, kicking it periodically as she tries to find a way to open it. ]

[ ooc; Adora is currently being taken from the beginning of the ~perfect reality~ of the portal world. Because of this, she thinks she's still in the Horde and will start off a little more wary of others than she might normally! ]

day 3: safehouse

[overrate]

[ he's definitely headed out with a full bag of beer that he's stolen from the minibar. the shitty beer. stuff he doesn't strictly need. but you know, it's free, and it's for them.

so he's taking it.

but he just stops and watches her kick the door over and over again. ]

Oh yeah. I remember those days. Like a month ago. You poor bastard.

carolina | mostly ota!

[leaderboards]

1 | arrival tent

[ on a scale of not ideal to very bad, carolina is giving this a solid nine out of ten. not as bad as it could be, somehow, but she's got no armour, no weapons, and no godforsaken clue where her team is. add in the fact that she feels oddly self-conscious having her hair this short - the scarring on the back of her neck far too visible even with her hoodie zipped up tight but far too old to have anything to do with her arrival here - and she knows for a fact that no one needed to chop all her hair off just to screw around with installing neural implants and she's pretty pissed off.

she'd be picking fights already if she knew who to fight.

as it stands, there's just a stern faced woman in the bright yellow tent, coppery red hair too short for her liking, who looks, for anyone who might have a familiarity, like a paranoid soldier waiting for things to get worse. because she is. the only thing she lets herself take any real comfort in is stupid, something she'll never admit out loud: at least her hoodie's blue, even if it's navy.

she's got a fairly good poker face for all of this and there's every chance that if someone in the tent looks more frazzled or disoriented than she feels, she'll approach, a little hesitantly, maybe with a- ] Hey, you okay?

2 | around the festival

[ she's adding 'the music isn't actually bad' to the list of petty things she's upset about. by now, she knows what year this place claims to be in, knows that nothing she's learned about the political climate gives away a war the way she'd describe human events in 2512, knows that not a single one of these musical acts was a real thing when her parents were younger, but the range of styles seems to say something about 26th century humans being consistent.

if she'd come to something like this voluntarily, she probably could have enjoyed herself. and she hates that, she really does.

instead she's wearing a stern, sober expression as she moves through the crowds, head up, eyes moving like she's lost track of someone. honestly, there's no reason to believe that anyone she knows is here. they weren't in the tent, didn't wake up with her, but this place is colourful and loud and that's basically all she needs to worry that her friends are in the middle of it. colourful and loud is what they do.

if you're not up for striking up a conversation with a random stranger, there's always a chance she's gotten distracted visually tracking someone, only to take a step back- and right onto your toes. at least she's quick to step off, probably muttering an apology if it seems like one is expected. ]

3 | safehouse (closed)

[ well, this is bad. she's missing her armour and the camouflage it would bring more than ever by the time she gets away from the festival and to the safehouse. an old enemy is just one more reason to be paranoid about this whole place. bumps the whole thing up to nine-point-five on her scale, at least.

she lets someone give her a verbal tour of the safehouse, tell her what she needs to know before she's alone and ready to give up on seeing a familiar face when someone catches her eye in one of the communal spaces and carolina's ignoring literally everything else in favour of crossing to him, because this is more important. the most important. ]

Wash? [ she's still a few feet away, but it's not like she's trying to surprise him. just how emotional she manages to make that one syllable sound, though, is a wonder. ]

4 | safehouse (open)

[ if wash is around, chances are pretty good that carolina's not far off. he's familiar, equal parts something to worry about and something to soothe her, so of course he's her choice of company.

otherwise, she's not the most social, but clearly used to living in close quarters. bases, bunkers, ships, safehouses. it's all the same thing and carolina's well practiced at the bare minimum of small talk necessary to live with other people. over the next few days, she picks up chores where she can, things to keep her busy while she contributes. at most, her conversations lean toward asking other displaced where (and when) they're from. even if knowing won't change anything, she'd still like to know what the fuck happened to this earth's timeline. ]

( open to other things/more elaborate plotting! grab me at eflat or streetsongs#5551 if you'd like! )

4

[unlucky7]

[Ginia doesn't live at the safehouse anymore, but she makes it a point to come by once new arrivals are in. It's a way to scope out the new arrivals for familiar faces or possible new allies, but the forced house arrest is a bit of a stressful situation and she remembers how much she hated it.

So Ginia shows up on the 9th with food. The kitchen is well-stocked with non-perishables and some fresh ingredients, but more food never hurt. She's brought in boxes of doughnuts, cookies, muffins, and pastries. She sets up digital tags over each box with an ingredient list in case anyone has allergies or is otherwise adverse to bug-based flour.

Ginia hangs out nearby at a table, another floating digital sign set up nearby as she browses Cooltalk.]

Honest opinions, tech help, and job searching assistance available.

[bestaround]

ARRIVAL
[ It takes longer than others for 9S to begin regaining his senses, like perhaps the drugs kicked in particularly hard on him. But before he does, there's... definitely words being spoken, but it hardly registers to him in the moment the unfamiliarity of the voice, or their clothes, or why his body feels so heavy and tired on a level that—he'd only realize in retrospect—he'd never experienced before. His thoughts are clouded in exhaustion that he doesn't have the mind to fight, and so he leans back and closes his eyes; when the woman and her posse leave, he doesn't even notice.

It's a good time to stir this kid awake, should anyone see the need to.

If not, the sedation does eventually wear off, and though the tiredness doesn't ever fully go away, it fades enough for him to start being able to think. As his eyes crack open and the fuzz in his mind gradually disappears, it finally dawns upon 9S that something has gone horribly wrong.

His eyes go wide when he doesn't know where he is, or what clothes he's wearing, or the dreaded, heavy wrongness coursing through his entire being with the little movements he makes. When he's unable to perform a system scan, or pull up a map of his current location, or... anything, really, his brow furrows in mild panic. ]

... Pod?

[ Voice scratchy from disuse, 9S seeks out the only companion he had left, one who would surely have a better idea of what the hell was going on. Yet there's no sign of the smaller bot, and it's not as if there's anywhere for it to hide. Nonetheless, he tries again, a touch louder: ]

Pod? Where are you?

[ Nothing. That can't be right.

But nothing about this is. Even if he knew exactly where this were, as he slowly manages to push himself back upon his feet—with a slight fumble in his step—9S can't quite put his finger on why, but... he still can't shake the feeling how wrong this body felt.

As he gets used to the feeling of standing on his own two feet again, it's another good time to barge in and drag him out of there. Of course, bumping into him on his way out is an option, too. ]

SAFEHOUSE
[ It's been a day. The other most overwhelming day of his life.

When he has a moment or two to really think about it, 9S is almost glad for the quiet reprieve from the city. The safehouse and its surrounding area is a bit closer to what 9S is used to seeing, but even its abandoned buildings are still too... new. Too put together compared to the hollowed out husks of skyscrapers and warehouses that he knew of empty cities, abandoned millennia ago by those who built them. But there's nothing like that here; towers reach the skies in an ever pristine state, and the streets (and parks, as he earlier discovered) are full of so, so many people. Honest to god humans, he would soon find out, a fact he still doesn't know how to handle.

Not that he knows how to handle anything else about this situation, either, and the way he keeps to himself for the rest of the day may make as much evident. Still, it's entirely possible to find him.

At some point during the day, one could wander into the bathroom only to find 9S placed in front of a sink, staring into a mirror as he experimentally presses at his face with his fingers, or slowly opening and closing a hand in front of him. It's like watching an alien who just took over someone's body and doesn't know how to people yet, though that isn't terribly far from the truth.

Then there's later in the day when he's returned to his chosen cot, for lack of anything better to do than to sit and... attempt sorting out his thoughts, to really mull on everything he's seen and heard this day and to have it make sense. And maybe have it be less mind-boggling. 9S sits with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, though this thought session doesn't seem to be getting very far when he spends most of it fighting off nodding off. ]

WILDCARD
[ You know how these roll. Tweak a prompt to your liking, find 9S elsewhere... whatever!! Hit me up if you'd like to work something out first. ]

Safehouse

[variate]

[ whenever new people arrive, Ren is there ready and willing to work to make sure that things go smoothly: he sets up cots, changes sheets, wipes down the kitchen, and makes sure that the trash is sorted properly. he does things with diligence that most would complain about, a quiet presence that doesn't seem deterred by performing menial tasks for others that are in the same situation.

when he heads to the bathroom it's to restock some soap, but he pauses when he sees 9S. there's a moment where he tries to parse out what he's doing. finally, he says something: ]

Hey. I have some extra bars of soap, if you need it.

[ to prove it, he holds some up?? ]

Bellamy Blake | The 100

[jettisons]

arrival

[Bellamy goes to sleep on a decrepit, half dead space station and wakes up in what, for a fuzzy, panic inducing second, reminds him of Mount Weather. Then he's shoved out of the van, half stumbling from whatever they had him knocked out with, to...

A party?

It's disorienting and loud and there are more people here than Bellamy has seen in one place in his entire life. For a moment, he thinks he must be dreaming. Hallucinating from oxygen deprivation? This looks like the ground, if the ground hadn't been roasted by radiation. And everything looks brand new, from the tents to the ridiculous clothes everyone is wearing.

Maybe it says something that Bellamy takes this almost in stride, after the initial shock. It isn't the first time he's been kidnapped, but it's the first time being kidnapped has thrown him into such bizarre circumstances. He sticks out—everyone else is in clothes that could only be described as obnoxious and utterly impractical, but the second he considers grabbing a metallic jacket lying near one of the campsites to blend in a bit more, something stops him. He can't make himself do it, and with creeping dread he realizes there must have been more to what the guard told him than just advice. Orders that he can't break.

Someone approaches, interrupting his thoughts, and his greeting isn't exactly polite.]

Where the hell am I?

festival

[On the Ark, there were thousands upon thousands of video files and audio clips saved from Earth. The space station was meant to be a repository of history and knowledge as much as humanity itself. Bellamy has seen recordings of concerts and festivals from Earth before the bombs dropped, and so this isn't entirely alien to him, but it's somehow more overwhelming to be in the thick of it. He has to push through crowds that don't seem to end, and the bass of the music thrums through his chest. He might even be more willing to give it a chance if it weren't for that whole kidnapping thing.

He's been called paranoid before, but it's hard not to be paranoid when shit like this is always happening to him. He stands rigidly, arms crossed as he watches one of the acts on the side stages. He's trying to get a better idea of what the hell he's dealing with here, but watching the undulating, drunk crowd isn't much of a help, and he's not spotting anyone he recognizes. Really, he looks like he'd fit in more with an older crowd vaguely annoyed with all this noise than the other 20 somethings he actually belongs with.

Someone bumps into him, whether because they weren't watching where they were going or because the crowd forced their trajectory, and Bellamy barely moves, though his expression shifts from stony to surprised.]

You okay?

safehouse

[Oddly, the safehouse is more comfortable than anything else he's encountered so far. He's used to living in these close quarters, and as much as he hates essentially being held prisoner, he's used to that, too. What he's less used to are the details.

In the kitchen, he's thrown by the sheer amount and variety of food, all out in the open, all for the taking. He doesn't even recognize most of it. It's not like his diet has been especially varied, and so someone might catch him squinting down at an unfamiliar package, trying to figure out what the hell he's looking at.

The state of everything throws him, too. The clothes are used, sure, but not patched and worn nearly to the edge of their lifespans, and here, too, there's such a variety and amount that he wonders why people ever dumped so much of it in the first place. Of course he finds a worn black jacket and tugs it on over the hoodie.]

wildcard

[Hit me up with whatever or grab me at cephalopods for a different starter!]

safehouse

[voktys]

⟪ melisandre makes for a... figure, for sure. she is tall, dressed in some red dress she had bought for the purpose of the festival (thrifted, rather, and made smaller adjustments to). her hair is short, and curling now that it is not pulled down by its own waist-length weight.

but most of all, she comes bearing food. fruit, mostly, which she meant to sort into the basket on the kitchen table when she sees him squint at some packaging. ⟫

Oh. I tried this when I first arrived, it feigns being cheese. ⟪ a pause, as she tries to describe her first encounter with diary free plastic cheese: ⟫ Unconvincingly so.

caroline forbes — open

[gasping]

@ the festival
(cw for alcoholism, casual drug use)

[ stony weather? phony weather. caroline doesn't care if it's sunny or not, she's here, rocking a pair of #lottieapproved oversized sunglasses in pastel chic, her perfectly cozy tent pitched and ready for a weekend of see-or-be-seen socializing. officially speaking, she's here on new amsterdam events committee Official Business™, scoping out the up-and-coming influencers and keeping tabs on who's still racking up high cooltalk view numbers in the hopes of roping them in for some event or another down the road — but in truth, she's just here to have a good time.

it's been a trying few weeks. she deserves this. and if she doesn't... well, she'd like to see someone tell her so to her face.

find caroline all throughout the skypark, on both days of the festivities, weaving in and out of partygoers and looking for all the world like she's been part of the new amsterdam social scene since she was old enough to wield a perfect selfie as a weapon:

 • caroline takes drinks with ease, regardless of who they come from, with a breezy casualness that screams reckless alcoholism without the fear of punitive hangovers the next morning. she should be able to mind her liquor — but recent events have changed her tolerance, and she hasn't quite had opportunity to figure that out yet... or remember that the giddy flush that comes with being tipsy is easily lost to the emotional swells of proper drunkenness. watch her flirt her way into a free drink on your behalf, join her for a shot or two, caution her to slow down, or catch her already too far gone!

 • party drugs are all too common at festivals, but they're surprisingly novel to a small town pageant princess, and with the aforementioned overconfidence, caroline's all too keen to get her hands on whatever's got everyone around in such a good mood. some of it's (relatively) harmless — low dosage tabs of futuristic molly, mostly, all in cutesy stamped shapes — but there's always the chance, isn't there? maybe you'd like to experiment with her, or maybe you'd like to find out just what the hell she took so you don't have to.

of course, there's always the classic entertainment options at festivals like these: people-watching, tent pitching, mosh pit management, cuddling for warmth... consider it a wildcard for all your festival needs. ]

@ the safehouse, post-festival

[ when the fun's over, the nine-to-five comes roaring back to life. for caroline, that means diving headfirst back into her big project at work — a charity event and bachelor(ette) auction the following weekend, for which advertisements have been plastered all over the city's newfeeds and cooltalk bulletins for the last month. to say she's a little stressed is a tiny understatement... enough that she's started to get a little desperate when it comes to getting everything done.

anyone who's been around for a while might recognize her in Delegation Mode™: walking around at a faster pace than normal, talking half to herself and half to anyone who might be listening, repeatedly running through to-do lists and plans on her implant while taking a silent headcount of those in the safehouse.

meet her eyes — or just look remotely desperate for money and/or something to do that isn't panic about the current situation — and you'll be approached by a blonde speaking in rapid-fire: ] Do you know how to fold table linens? Hang streamers? Can you carry boxes? Hey! I'm asking you questions, don't just stare at me...

[ caroline, you have to let someone speak in order for them to answer you. take a breath. ]

@ wildcard

[ choose your own adventure. drop me a line at semicolons / quake#2740 or via pm if you have questions/concerns! ]

team newfound lack of alcohol tolerance go

[powerofgod]

( the press of bodies, the thrum of the music, the chill to the air all sing to him. it is nothing like the land of his people, though they lived not far from where he stands, but there is a commonality that extends across time to touch all of humanity. when you have existed long enough, there will always be a thread of similarity in everything humanity has ever chosen to touch.

he finds caroline in the crowd, under the spell of alcohol. a cheerful patron of the arts earlier dumped several tabs of what he assumes are modern acid on him, but he has yet to touch them. he has not yet decided whether he wants the vulnerability of being high.

but alcohol — he drank more liquor than water, both amongst his tribe and in rome. and it was rougher, harsher spirits then as now. he is on his third or fourth drink and feels nothing more than a pleasant glowing hum of static throughout his body. it is simply as if he has fed upon a drunken human rather than what he recalls from the revelry of his human youth.

caroline, on the other hand, is well on her way to insensible. which is why when she lifts a shot glass, godric chooses instead to pluck it from her fingers. )

Come, child. We should rest elsewhere a time.

clarke griffin • the 100

[strove]

i'm breaking in, shaping up ( open to all )

[Clarke's arrival at the festival goes a little like this:

She shows up, has a drink, is about to have her other drink when she spots her best friend, and then pulls him away to the safehouse. Her return is a few hours later and a little frazzled, in part because Bellamy is here, and in part because of the obvious and distinct holes in history between them. These days, Clarke isn't keen on running away from her problems. Overworking because she thinks she needs to make good on her past? Yes. Running away? Hardly.

One thing is certain, though: Clarke intends to rent a tent and stay the night. Anyone who knows her can share the tent. It'll be heated, and she won't be around during the day because she needs to both work and be around Red Wings, but she'll come and go when she can.

When she's at the festival, she'll dance and drink, but will be staying away from any drugs. Drinking is her drug of choice.

She'll be keen to have a good time, but won't mind trying to get away to watch a stage from afar. Even though she has a good camping spot on the main park, she'll be at the side ones a lot.

If she spots a fellow Displaced, she'll offer to buy them a drink.]

the city never sleeps at night ( closed to eugene )

[Culturally, this music festival is the last place she expected to see Eugene. Bear in mind that Clarke's cultural knowledge of World War II is often in comparisons to what her people believed to be World War III. World War II took out millions of lives. World War III ended the entire world as they knew it. One was more targeted, more of a statement about the depravity of humanity and how they needed to do better.

Of course, she knows that the anonymity and widespread reach of what she believed to be World War III was all a massive misunderstanding.

Historically, she recognizes that her knowledge of World War II is less about the people who fought to end those personal assaults on other human beings, and more what was done. As sharp and intelligent as Clarke is, it sometimes feels like a history of another world, moreso than this one is.

It also means that she second guesses what she'd like to ask Eugene about being here, and instead falls on something else:] I'm not sure how much this music will help you dance, but we can try.

you can have it all but life keeps moving ( closed to OA )

[Neither of them had planned to meet up here. After all, Clarke's coming and going means she can't very well make reliable plans. But when she spots OA, she can't help but seek her out in the crowd. She finishes up a drink before she makes her beeline for her, mind a stir with all sorts of things. Is Bellamy all right? Is it fine to be here while the world is connected in a way that they don't understand? Is that sound coming from the stage far off in the left really meant to be music?

Her brow furrows and crinkles at the last part, and she pants a laugh to herself just as she's within inches of OA.

In a way, it's nice to know she can do the following: Clarke reaches out her hand, taking OA's in her own as a way of greeting. Familiarity seeking familiarity. There's warmth and welcoming in her heart, along with a feeling of gratefulness for a familiar face. For her part, Clarke is glad that there's someone she can greet in such a tactile way.

But then, when you lay it all on the table during your first meeting, what are barriers and boundaries?

There is the buzz of inebriation that warms Clarke, too. The drinking here is steady and constant, and while she's not drunk, she feels as if she's lighter in a way.

Perhaps it is the arrival of her best friend, too.

Oddly, she nearly opens with that, but instead asks:] How long have you been here? Would you like a drink?

[hierophante]

[OA hadn't initially planned to come at all. At first blush all of this sounds like her worst nightmare -- unpredictable crowds, loud noises, a crush of bodies that makes unfamiliar touch inevitable -- but that's precisely why she ultimately decides she has to go. She's been unfair, both to the self she feels is most truly hers and to Nina. To the memory of Nina. To the lived reality. She's no longer travelling under the auspices of Nina's body, but it hasn't erased the life she remembers living, recalls in its most intimate detail.

Maybe the distinction doesn't matter. Maybe she really is all of them, and none of them, in turn. Maybe they all live through her, branched off and made new.

Whatever the case, she's been stifling Nina again, and stifling herself too. Once there was a time an opportunity like this would have thrilled her. She'd tried to recall that in the act of preparation, bathing and dressing and getting made up under the direction of memories not quite her own. It had become ritual, and for all that this body remembers what was done to it in a way Nina's had blissfully escaped, she does feel transformed.

It's tangible. Not just in the fact that she's combed and styled her hair, or in the fact that she's wearing makeup, or the dress she's wearing in spite of the cold -- bold and red and very much not Prairie's style but thoroughly Nina's. It's something in the smile. It's easier, lighter, less weary. She's uncertain of the place, uncertain of the wisdom of her decision to be here, there remains a bitter undercurrent of fear she cannot entirely escape, but part of her, at least, is elated. She can do this.

To have Clarke here really only bolsters that elevated mood: OA beams down at her, gripping her hand in both affection and relief. Nina? Tactile creature, bold, shameless, unburdened; Nina would greet a friend like Clarke is on a night like this one by bending to press a quick kiss to each cheek, and so OA does, though her expression when she straightens again -- and the flow of emotion between them -- suggests that she's surprised herself with this as much as anyone.

It's all a mess, but maybe not a particularly bad one.]

Not long. I wasn't sure I'd come, but I...

[She waves an eloquent hand: they'd discussed it before. The world, being in it. Living.]

A drink would be good, I think. Any recommendations?

[The I think is entirely genuine uncertainty: Nina could certainly hold her own, but the last time OA imbibed was in high school.]

arastra ecces :: oc

[erudita]

arrival; closed to gene;

[ As far as dreams go, this seems to be a very strange one. She doesn't really understand what's happening with these strange people, strange clothes, unknown noises. As the woman speaks and the people leave time passes, as time tends to do, hazily.

Perhaps this is a dream of the future somehow? Perhaps she fell asleep by one of the old windows. It's not particularly worrisome, she might as well make the most of this experience.

After a while Arastra decides to wander out of the tent. She takes only a passing glance at the people inside it, more interested in what the outside looks like. She squints against the change of light and... finds less understanding outside.

The masses of people, the tents everywhere, the pounding noises... Is this perhaps some sort of refugee camp? Are the pounding noises magic? She reaches for her magic and doesn't find it, but there is a curious blue glow in her chest. Perhaps, then, this truly is a vision of the future and the glow is a sign that she can't use it here, out of her time. Curious, she begins to wander away from the tent, mingling with the crowd but looking a little out of place, more a spectator than a particpant. ]


safehouse - kitchen; ota;

[ Arastra can be seen in the kitchen staring at the stove. Or oven. Or microwave. Or maybe some ingredients laid out on the counter. Whatever she happens to be looking at, she's clearly deeply contemplating whatever she's going to do. Probably cooking, given the location, but as someone who has never cooked... let's just say that's going to be a challenge. After a few moments she notices someone watching her. ]

Please pardon me, am I in your way?


safehouse - around; ota;

[ The food diversity is something astounding to Arastra. There's just so much of it. She's eaten some stuff that she recognizes doesn't need cooking (apples, bread) but she's feeling adventurous today. There's some fruit that she doesn't recognize but she can tell that it's fruit, so she takes one, cuts it up into disks, and starts eating it by using a fork and knife to cut it into smaller pieces. The inside tastes pretty good even if the texture is odd, but the skin on the outside is bitter and tough and Arastra doesn't look super happy eating it.

For anyone looking on, Arastra is attempting to eat a red banana, peel and all. ]


wildcard;

[ Feel free to hmu at biowafers if you wanna talk about anything! ]

Safehouse - Around

[unlucky7]

[Ginia drops in and out of the safehouse with food and supplies. The group doesn't look as big as the previous group or the one she showed up with, but more people are more people. She carries a bag of fresh fruit and vegetables to the kitchen, happening to glance at the woman eating a red banana, peel and all.

She pauses before coming over, waving a hand to get her attention. Once the woman is looking her way, Ginia signs, leaving translation to the implant.]

You don't have to eat the peel. Not that it isn't edible, but it probably doesn't taste great.

Amy March

[nullite]

I. festival

[It was a queer thing to wake up and not remember ever falling asleep — or remember anything from before. The details slip away from Amy like ripples on the water when she tries to grasp them. Laurie was there. No, he had gone. She felt that she wouldn’t see him again, not for a while. What happened then? It seems like such a long time ago.

What she understands is that she was taken away, although she does not know to where, or to what end. And someone took away her fine things and put her in these dreadful rags instead.

But the gravest injury by far, for which there is no salve strong enough — someone has lopped off her golden curls. In their place an uneven crop of hair has sprung up, as when grass sprouts anew after the devastation of a fire. Its length marks the passage of time since it was shorn, but still she feels that she might as well be bald for how horrible it looks.

Amy had done her crying in the tent. Gathering herself as best as she can, and mustering all the bravery she can, she now ventures out. The nonsensical instructions she’d received sink farther to the back of her mind the more she looks about. All the people are dressed in such peculiar fashions, and the music pulsating across the field is like nothing she has heard before. A look of general apprehension makes a home of her countenance as she picks her way through the crowd.

Suddenly, a man catches her by the arm. His eyes are unfocused and his smile rather foolish as he says, Hey, what’s the rush? Chill, girl. Bet you’d be prettier if you smiled. Why don’t you try it out?

And although she has neither reason nor desire to smile, Amy feels her lips form one. At the same time, against all the apprehension curled inside her, her shoulders drop.]

I’m sorry, I am not feeling very well...

[Chill with me and see if that changes, the man suggests. He has not let go of her arm. Again, against her wishes, Amy finds herself responding,]

All right. I suppose it would be rude to decline.

[The discomfort subtly etched in her expression, however, may inspire some noble soul to intercede on her behalf.]

II. safehouse

[Eventually Amy learns that while she was asleep, everything and everyone she knew from before is gone. All of it, wiped away like words from a slate. Nobody is written in ink.

At the tender age of thirteen she had thought it the height of suffering to live in exile at Aunt March’s house, but now she realizes how very spoiled she was to hold such a belief. There she had a warm bed, good food, and her own private spaces. The Safehouse offers none of these luxuries. Her cot is narrow and unwelcoming, the food bland and sad, and privacy absent even in the most necessary of places.

She is twice as strong of heart as she was all those years ago, but these trials and tribulations are ten fold what she endured back then. And as her strength is unequal to their weight, naturally she buckles underneath.

At night, the darkness hides her tears, but those curled up in cots nearby may notice a sniffle here or a whimper there.]

III. wildcard

[I’m happy to work out a different scenario if you’d like! Plot with me at whaleen.]

i. who run the world!!!

[gasping]

[ caroline loves the festival. she supposes it's a bit of a cruel twist of fate that it should come now, when her senses have been dulled by johann's tinkering — but would she have enjoyed it half as much when she could hear everything so much more clearly? perhaps not.

she's lost in these selfish thoughts as she wanders, half-heartedly looking for familiar faces that may have been dropped off here, when she notices a drunken idiot begin to manhandle a girl who looks far too uncomfortable to tell him to go fuck himself.

so caroline does it for her, because that's what girls are supposed to do. they're supposed to stick together! that's her rule with silena and hope, and it's her rule for whoever this girl is too. ]

Hey! That's my sister you're manhandling!

[ it is not, but she has told that lie enough times that it comes out without hesitation, bolstered by a teenager's reckless self-assurance. caroline's hand is not subtle when it comes to jerking the man's grip off... nor is it soft. he winces, and maybe even cries out in pain, but she doesn't apologize.

it's more important to turn to the blonde with the close-cropped hair, and offer a reassuring smile. ]

Are you okay? That guy was a total creep.

Hama Sun | Original

[devilsun]

Safehouse – kitchen

[ The last few weeks have been trying in ways Hama wasn’t entirely prepared for, and she’s been trying to reckon with that ever since. Back home she knew exactly where she was meant to stand and even what she was meant to say. There was a method to the proverbial madness, though she would have been quite offended if anyone had called her mad. But the world is different, here. She doesn’t know who she’s meant to be in this place, around these people.

But she’s damn well going to try and learn. ]

Hello! I made tea. Would you like some tea?

[ Hama is standing with a steaming kettle, a row of mugs lined up like soldiers across the kitchen table. She’s even laid out honey and the milk substitute, anything she could think of. She knows very little about tea but it’s something people do, right? To be friendly. And she has decided to be aggressively friendly this time around. ]

Safehouse – nighttime

[ Though she’d deny it if asked, Hama has been sticking close to the safehouse lately. It’s a known element, with perimeters and rules she understands, and she’s fairly confident that no one is going to kidnap her out of it.

Fairly certain, anyway. But there’s always that nagging anxiety, worrying away in her brain, that she wouldn’t be able to stop it if something did happen. If someone really wanted to hurt her. She’s not a warrior. And until recently, she hadn’t considered that a problem. Kol and Diogo had always handled that part.

But they’re not here. She is.

Around midnight, Hama slips out of her bed and pads barefoot into the living quarters. She doesn’t have much money left, but she went out and made a purchase recently, and she means to test it out now.

Glancing around, making sure she doesn’t have any witnesses, Hama draws the switchblade out from her sleeve. She flicks it open, testing the blade against her thumb.

Yeah. That’ll work.

She’s never fought with a knife before, though she’s thought about it. Imagined the sort of force it would require to stab someone, to make the wound matter. And so she falls into a rhythm, miming strikes in the dark, and forgets herself for a little while. She doesn’t notice that she has company right away, either. ]

Oh! I’m sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t mean to. I was trying to be quiet.

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

nighttime

[recompleted]

[It's become a habit to spend a night or two at the safehouse around when new displaced show up. Maybe it's because he's always hoping a familiar face will show up, and maybe he needs a break from quarters that are less crowded but more filled with people who know him well. Sometimes that bit of distance helps, especially when it means no one's likely to ask him why he's sitting up in the middle of the night, lost in thought and maybe the internet.]

No, you didn't. It's okay.

[He hadn't said anything when she started moving, unsure of whether she knew anyone else was awake and whether he should let her know. Should he have? It's probably a little creepy that he didn't. Whoops.]

What are you doing?

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians | OTA

[filloryfanatic]

Follow the Yellow Brick Road - The Tent

As soon as the message gets out and the yellow tent is mentioned, Quentin goes directly there. He's not sure immediately what it is but he suspects it might be a clue or something important. So he goes into the tent and looks around for any newcomers/new faces. He is both friendly and shy, smiling and kind to anyone who might seem a little confused and willing to give them the rundown if they need it! Or any of the regulars who, like him, came running for the tent directly.

Oohhhhh I Wanna Dance With Somebody - The concert

Quentin likes music and it's been a long time since he was at a concert or anything like it. In general it's been a long time since he enjoyed something at all. He steps out of the tent and spends time listening and enjoying the crowd, maybe swaying a little in time with the beat but not outright dancing. He can be seen on both days of the festival but not the whole time. Sometimes he has a drink, but he politely declines any offered drugs. He's had enough of that, thanks. Come and have a chat or a drink with him if you want!

Hello Is It Me You're Looking For - The Safehouse

From the kind actions of Klaus and Angela for his first few days, Quentin brings pizzas the same way Angela did and sets it down for others to enjoy. He is very curious about people's stories and might be seen cleaning up the safehouse so new people there don't have to worry about it. Since he and Eliot haven't found a place to stay yet, as they get jobs, he's still been sleeping there and he is friendly if a little hesitant to bother others.

I wanna dance with somebody - Q/El

[formerhighking]

Eliot had been mostly keeping to himself and Quentin since his arrival. He was still processing being here and everything that came before it, and while he'd been along for Quentin's Indiana Jones adventure, he hadn't had much to contribute.

He'd been something of a lump, in other words, and he knew it. But Eliot was himself enough that the temptation of a party - especially one with Quentin - was always going to be something he had a hard time turning down. And he had no real reason to anyway, so he went to the festival with Quentin on the back of the free tickets they were given. (Eliot's more cynical-lately nature noted that even if it was a trap, it wasn't as if everywhere ELSE they ended up couldn't also be one anyway, so there was no point worrying about it.)

It was DISMAL weather there, but the energy of the place and the people and music and extremely copious drugs and alcohol perked him up despite the cold. In front of the main stage was a pretty solid wall of people, but Eliot didn't know any of the bands anyway, so he didn't see any reason to try to jostle for position when they could just head for one of the other stages if they wanted to watch.

For the moment though, they could hear, if not see, and Eliot had already snagged two drinks and a joint through his own form of magic - and that type at least still worked here. Eliot had never been to a party he couldn't locate at LEAST some pot at. He snaked an arm around Quentin and offered him a drag. "Apparently squealing at boybands is a cross-universe hobby. Who knew?" he asked, head ducked to speak near Quentin's ear so he could hear in the noise.

Hawke | Dragon Age | OTA

[championofsnark]

[The Concert]

Hawke definitely has never seen anything like this and she is here. for. it. Listen, it's been a long time since she's had revelries and she likes having the exciting distraction for once. It's a bit loud, but it's fun. She can be seen wandering around, dancing in a very awkward but energetic fashion as she goes. Mostly it's hopping from one place to another, following the gestures of other people there with head bobs. Sometimes there's a little hip shaking. Her hips don't lie, thanks. But mostly she is a cheerful and very chattery presence. She chats with anyone who is even slightly in her vicinity.

She looks very dressed down and her black hair is basically to the length she likes it anyway. She wants to stay over so she charms her way into a tent. Wink wink nudge nudge. She stays for the after party and frankly has a wonderful time. She drinks a bit too much, possibly gets slipped a drug or two that makes her giggly, but why not, right? New world, might as well have fun with it.

[The tent]

Before ending up sloshed or high, Hawkes does stop by the tent to try and cheerily spot if anyone new is there. She is very friendly and will go right up to someone to ask how they're doing. Her demeanor is open and curious, and she'll offer people drinks or even invite them to go dancing for a bit. Dance their cares away! She'll answer what she can, but she's not as aware of this place as other people are.

[The safehouse]

Hawke's still down here because she hasn't started really beating people up in the fighting ring. Only a few wins as she builds up her reputation, but she's starting to get a reputation. Sometimes she comes back to the safehouse with a black eye or a split lip, but her cheerful smile doesn't change for it. She might hold her ribs too and just painfully laugh about it. She takes probably too many showers, sorry, it's so exciting and new. Her modesty is lacking so she might walk about with a towel on and strike up conversations while she dries off in the bathrooms. She offers to cut hair a bit more stylishly to anyone who needs it, having done that for Olivia that first day.

Concert

[ibelieveintruth]

Kal is there and wandering mostly, enjoying talking and listening to music. He is sipping drinks and wondering, again, in this new world, how well this will go. He got a tent, a small one, but a heated one, nonetheless, and is glad of it, since he has heard it will be cold.

At some point, somewhat more drink than he thinks he is, he spots Hawke and waves, his voice booming out. "Hawke! Hey, bird lady friend! S'good to see you."

He is dressed down in a short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and boots, and grinning as he wanders. And Hawke will get a hug if she does not watch out.

the crystal exarch | final fantasy xiv

[hardbody]

i. arrival;

[The Exarch wakes in a fog, his initial sense of panic and confusion dulled by the sedatives in his blood. He covers his face with his hands, on instinct, and listens to the woman's speech in this way--hunched, shivering, his thoughts half-formed and slippery. Once his faculties of reason return to him, and once he realizes what he's wearing, he yanks the hood immediately up over his head, pulling the drawstrings as tightly closed as he can manage.

As he then stands there, trying to process what's just happened, a particular bit of information loops back, echoing in his mind. He touches one hand--crystalline, shimmering--to his chest, and mutters.]

The glow ...?

ii. festival;

[It's been many years since he played music in any sort of 'professional' sense, but he's retained his fondness for it. After acclimating at least somewhat to his new environment--and accepting, for the present, that there's no way to return to the First--he decides to take the suggestion of the mysterious benefactor and see what's what in this place.

Much of it, unsurprisingly, is not to his taste.

He can be found either (a.) getting tossed around the moshpit that rapidly formed during Another Meta's performance, struggling to keep his hood up and to stop himself from slamming into anyone too hard with his crystallized elbow, or (b.): catching his breath at the Sandra McKlaine set and actually kind of vibing? He sways to this music, tapping his fingers against his ratty jeans, glad to finally be among people who realize that music needs a tune (and that mindless shrieking is not tuneful).]

iii. safehouse;

[The lack of privacy is a concern. The Exarch's doing his level best to keep everything in place: he's got the hoodie up and his tail tucked into his jeans. But it's not easy, and it's not comfortable, especially in the latter case. He's got his tail more or less wrapped around one leg, and an observant eye might notice some deformity there if they were looking.

Besides that, the hoodie is flimsy in comparison to his old, sturdy cowl; he has one hand (crystallized) keeping it in place while, with the other, he slices a tomato he found in the kitchen. Other sandwich ingredients are neatly assembled: lettuce, eggs, some bread.

If he hears someone approach, he'll clear his throat, clamp his hand down even more firmly on his head, and say:]

Ah, hello. Are you hungry?

iv. wildcard;

[Anything else!!]

safehouse;

[erudita]

[ Since she can’t make a large meal for herself, Arastra has taken to snacking regularly. Her more adventurous food attempts have ended poorly, so she’s not pushing it anymore; some fruit and bread will do well enough.

When she arrives in the kitchen she finds it already occupied. The person seems to be in pain, perhaps? She can’t help but notice his arm as well. It looks... crystalline? She doesn’t wish to be rude but it makes her very curious. Is that normal here? Or... normal where this stranger is from? ]

Yes, I am here to get a snack. Are you alright?

[ Perhaps he hit his head and that’s why he’s clutching it. ]

Kyna Medina

[evocation]

festival

[The second Kyna gets that invitation, she decides to go. It's less because she wants to help the new kids and more because it's going to be a great distraction. If Kyna is good at anything, it's ignoring the things bothering her through ill-advised outings like this.

It's freezing, but that hasn't stopped her from finding a suitably tight, skin baring outfit. This entire festival is loud and obnoxious and she loves it—the way the bass, cranked up way too high, vibrates through her, the flashing lights, even the people so wasted they're making fools of themselves. If a part of her still feels out of place enough to be uncomfortable, she ignores it.

The first thing she does is hunt down a drink. The second thing she does is hunt down someone to bother, and the instant she sees one of the other Displaced, she pushes her way over with a wink.]

Hey. Fancy seeing you here.

[Maybe someone should keep her out of trouble.]

festival - night

[And, of course, she doesn't spring for one of the fancy heated tents. Because she's broke. Still, she's thinking that was a mistake.

She's still definitely tipsy, but there's only so much the alcohol can keep the cold at bay, and so at some point she's acquired a jacket that's way too big on her. Did she swipe it? Flirt it off of someone? Who knows. It doesn't do much to help her bare legs, though, and she's inspecting her crappy little tent like she's suspicious of it.]

Freezing to death doesn't suck that much, right?

wildcard

[Kyna will be wandering the festival and, generally speaking, getting into trouble. Dance with her! Get drunk with her! Keep her from embarrassing herself too terribly! Listen to her whine about the terrible hangover the next morning!]

wildcard!!!!

[magicalglowstick]

[This was absolutely not Fenris' scene. Nothing about this is a place he's even remotely interested in being in, but if there was the off chance of something happening, he wanted to be here. He's still not entirely sure why. Maybe, as unlikely as it seems, he will be provided with answers.

That seemed less and less likely as the night went on, and eventually his motive for sticking around went from "maybe something will happen" to...well, Kyna's here. The music was loud and the crowd was obnoxious, the only way he got through as much of the night as he is was to have a drink or two. Or three. He was still annoyed, but far less so.

The pounding, headache inducing music finally slowed, to which he could hear himself think again. It's then when he turns to Kyna to ask her one more time...]

Are you certain you are not too cold?

[This is about the third time he's asking, though to be fair, the second time he's positive she didn't hear him.]