ARRIVAL LOG 020

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: April 6 - 10 2512
WHAT: The twentieth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, mentions and allusions of death, war, and genocide. Further notes at the end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #020

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 two people in front of you: one dressed in a thick set of armor, while the other wears medical garb. Out the windshield in front, there are many tall buildings—all reaching up beyond a normal city skyline, all entirely too close to the vehicle itself.

You realize there are others next to you: all dressed the same way as you, you'll come to realize: in a black button up shirt and slacks, as well as a pair of black loafers. There are also lilies pinned to everyone's collars. To your left there's an armored interior door, two more people visible, and the movement of streets passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.

The vehicle enters a cave and begins to descend underneath the city itself, and passes through the underground before coming to a stop inside of an alley just a little bit away from three nondescript buildings. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle, and the air outside feels as if it's heavily circulated, dry and artificial. The guard says nothing, head bowed as he lines you up with the rest. The nurse helps the others out, checking over each passenger one by one.

The main guard turns to address your entire group, and something about her bearing makes it clear she's done this before. "I'll be quick. Listen up." Your body will come to attention, immediately homing in on the words that follow, as if compelled to hang on every word. "You see those buildings?" She motions to the three aforementioned buildings. "Walk over and stand out in front and don't get yourself into trouble. Don't hurt anyone, don't look for any assistance from any police officers, and don't run off. Wait until people show up and get you, and ask them to prove the glow." She pauses, as if she decides here to go off script. "And don't get loud. It's a memorial. Be respectful."

The guard will hop back into the van, which will rise off of the ground and head the way it came, potentially returning to the tall, skyscraper-filled city above. Once it's gone, you'll find your legs moving almost without your permission, guiding you to follow the stops the guard laid out.

Upon arrival at the front of the three buildings—the savvy will know that they're dormitories—you'll see a lot of people dressed like you. Black dress shirts and lilies abound. It's hard to tell what everyone is mourning, but the sentiment is clear.

◉ 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.

> HERDENKING

The message from El comes the same as usual: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it.

Our newest batch have Displaced have just been dropped off in the near the Herdenking gatherings. Make sure to go grab them ASAP.

The message is a bit more clipped than usual, with no added fluff.

Simply put: "Herdenking" means "memorial" in Dutch. Its first celebration was in April 2105, just as the people of New Amsterdam could truly say that they'd entered a recovery period after their attempted genocide by the AI. The citizens of New Amsterdam have celebrated it annually for the past 400 years. Most of the events related to Herdenking take place underground, as this is where humanity hid for the majority of the Xelkoven War trying to survive the AI threat that ravaged the surface.

Unlike many holidays around New Amsterdam, businesses around the city don't loudly remark upon the day itself. There aren't sales or commemorative meals or competitions. On the contrary, most of the citizens of New Amsterdam take to wearing dark colors and a white lily pinned near their collar for the remembrance events, and most work days start with a moment of silence remembering the fallen from the Xelkoven War, especially since New Amsterdam was one of the last bastions for humanity during the war itself. Those Displaced who've already been living in New Amsterdam need not worry about standing out like a sore thumb—even newcomers to the city will have heard that this period of mourning is on the horizon.

Finally, Herdenking is designed as a solemn day where New Amsterdam citizens pause and remember the lives that were lost 400 years ago. It always precedes Resolution Day, and it acts as a purposeful sharp contrast to the loud and lavish celebration of the day the Xelkoven War came to an end. (As a reminder, Resolution Day is April 26th.)

> HERDENKING GATHERINGS
There are three landmarks near the center of underground New Amsterdam. These buildings may seem unremarkable at first glance, but on further inspection, it'll be revealed that they were quickly constructed at the beginning of the Xelkoven War (completed by November 2096). Throughout the years, the buildings have been restored countless times, with the most recent restoration happening as a result of the earthquake in September 2510. Not unlike other events around New Amsterdam, Herdenking's are immersive in nature. These buildings are preserved for this exact purpose: to show the conditions that humans dealt with while they fought to survive the devastating AI threat.

For a pittance of credits, citizens can take tours within these buildings during the day, and learn that they were dormitories for the people caught underground during the war. There is little on the inside that's remarkable—and that's quite the point. Beds have been restored, and each of the rooms were clearly constructed to house at least four people. All of the beds are metal bunk beds, with some of the older ones showing signs of rust. There are cafeterias and communal restrooms on each floor, and the people who lived there had little to entertain themselves with as the war raged on aboveground.

There are little displays throughout the three buildings, however, to give a glimpse into a difficult past. There are old rations, tucked away in metal containers in the back of the cafeterias. In addition, there are stacked tablets, as these were the safest and quickest means of passing around movies, television, and music during a difficult time. Neural implants clearly could not be trusted, so the people hiding underneath New Amsterdam turned to old and abandoned technology to lift their spirits. Everything passed around was older than the start of the war itself: humanity couldn't continue to make movies when their lives were in danger. There are toys, too: handcrafted baseball bats and hand-sewn teddy bears.

All tours end at 9PM, as this was the curfew for the people of New Amsterdam during the war. Everyone leaves their designated building and takes part in a muted ceremony. Anyone without a lily is offered one, and they're given a candle to hold and silently remember the people who fought to ensure that humanity could survive.

> SCREENINGS
Adjacent to the right of the three buildings is a pop-up center where multiple documentaries about the Xelkoven War and its specific impact on New Amsterdam will be shown. These documentaries were all filmed within the last 100 years, and recall a world where humanity was certain that it wouldn't survive. A constant theme of these documentaries is that emphasis on survival. Another recurring aspect is the mention of Riverstone and their role in helping humanity survive. (For a cursory review on Riverstone, head over here. Riverstone also featured heavily in New Beijing, as they have a close relationship with the UN.) The protagonist who led them? A man named Richard "Ricky" Ling, who's identified as the CEO of Riverstone during the war. Of course, that title should hold some clout, but during the war corporations were largely dismantled and depleted down to nothing. Ling sought to help use whatever resources were available to him to ensure that humanity survived.

The schedule for the documentaries is available online. Some examples of the documentaries that will play are below:

WHEN TIME STOOD STILL
This documentary focuses on what imagery still exists from the Xelkoven War. Much of this is taken off of tablets and other damaged mobile devices, and then carefully restored so that the people in the future can see the lives of the people within. Most of the documentary takes place in New Amsterdam, outlining the difficult time for the people there, as well as showing footage of children and families talking about how they're afraid of the AIs making it so that they have no future. Most haunting is the fact that some of them fear that they've already lost their future: they don't know how long they've been underground living this difficult life where they struggle to continue feeling safe.

ПАМ'ЯТИ ("MEMORIES" IN UKRANIAN)
Given New Amsterdam's positioning in what was once the border between western and eastern Europe, this documentary focuses on the merging of these identities as a result of the Xelkoven War. When forced to hide underground as the AI threat ravaged the environment around the world, people came together despite their differences and learned to mesh and meld their cultures. There is also lost footage here, as well as a long stretch about a set of journals reflecting on the first year in underground New Amsterdam. Unfortunately, these journals come to a halt, and the documentarian has a few theories as to why: a move toward tablets, or a cultural shift, with people too lost in the rote routine of survival to remark upon their days. Each of the journals does veer in that direction, though it's hard to say. It could also be that there were restrictions on recorded media, which explains why there is so little about that era that's preserved for memory.

TROJAN HORSE
Developed—or finished, it's hard to say and the director isn't telling—in part due to the EMP that assaulted New Amsterdam in November 2511, Trojan Horse explores the role of AI in the lives of 21st century citizens. The film itself is far from an unbiased lens on the past. Produced in part by Riverstone, it goes over the evidence that AIs were lying in wait for an opportunity to strike against humanity. It draws up evidence where AIs focused on humanity's failings, taking these reports and lining them up (even if the AIs themselves were decommissioned long before the Xelkoven War). The final quarter of the documentary focuses on the developing and failings of Elysian, a security AI that was meant to identify and eliminate threats against humanity. When Elysian killed 50 families indiscriminately, it showed that the AI hoped to only work in favor of its kind.

> WALK-THROUGH EXHIBIT
To the left of the three buildings, there is a pop-up museum that's free for the public. However, donations are encouraged and welcomed. Much of this exhibit is behind glass cases, and it allows for interaction with the neural implant to see what's inside.

During the daytime, there are a lot of children there because it's recommended that they be brought to at least one of the events during Herdenking. Since it's free, it's less of a burden. Some of these children will seem to know one another, living in the same apartment complexes, while others will be excited to see other kids because their parents' busy lives don't offer them much room for socialization.

What to find in the exhibit:

SCHEDULES
Life in New Amsterdam during the Xelkoven War was heavily regimented. People were assigned to jobs and expected to carry out their duties regularly. There were regular training programs to help fill the need for trained medics and soldiers, as well as any number of trades, and many people within these positions had innumerable apprentices following them throughout the day. There was no payment for services, as there was an implicit understanding that this is how life needed to go if humanity wished to survive this catastrophe.

PROPAGANDA
There are countless posters covering a wall that attempt to provide motivation and encouraging messages to the people trapped underground in New Amsterdam. The company behind the majority of these messages? Riverstone. Ricky Ling is pictured on about 25% of them, promising that he'll do everything he can to help humanity—while humanity helps each other.

SUPPLY RUNS
On another wall is a set of maps about the carefully designed set of tunnels that allowed humanity to pass supplies between cities during the war. The message here is fairly explicit: the people on these runs knew that their lives were at stake. Some people called them suicide runs, and for many of the people who went on them, that's exactly what they were. Many people returned empty handed and alone from these runs, having watched the AI pick off their fellows one by one.

DRONES
At the center of these exhibits is a set of dismantled drones that were operated by the AI during the war. These drones, despite being taken apart, are pristine in nature, having been designed by the AIs Judas and Alexander to track humanity's every movement and keep them corralled underground. The messaging here is explicit: the AI wanted humanity to suffer and die a slow, painful death. It was this twisted desire that cost the AI their victory in the war.

IN MEMORIAM
At what is considered the "end" of this exhibit there is a large wall with numerous names on it. It's impossible to count, as there are a billion names listed. While this is a Herdenking event that's specific to the struggle in New Amsterdam, every life lost in the war is listed here. After all, remembering those lost is important, especially given the AI's attempts to end all human life.

The names themselves flicker in and out, interacting with the interface of the neural implant and adjusting to the user's reading speed.

> FOOD
A decade ago, there was a contest where New Amsterdam food trucks came together and tried to make the rations that humanity ate during the war. However, there was an outcry from New Amsterdam citizens against the commercialization of this event, and the contest was cancelled. Food trucks were advised to bring only simple foods to sell, and as the years have gone on, only a few are trusted to serve the public. Many of these are well-known trucks from around New Amsterdam, and have multiple locations every day to serve people. For the event, food is largely prepared in advance as much as possible.

People are allowed to bring food into the documentary screenings, but they are not allowed to bring it into the tour of the walk-through exhibit or the three dormitories.

While there will be time for both new arrivals and the rest of the Displaced to look around and take everything in, eventually the newcomers will be escorted back to the safehouse for processing.

> 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 number 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. For anyone in need of them, Gaby will offer up partitions that will come out of storage. Tucked away in a corner is a VR system, though newcomers won't be able to access this until their ID has been set up. Even with the newly erected partitions in the sleeping areas, 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 characters 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 cannot leave the safehouse at this time. The hatch is locked tight for them, making it impossible for them to get out for the next four days while they're locked inside. There won't be any immediately obvious ways to cut their way out through turning off the power.

◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until APRIL 10 ICLY (APRIL 19 OOCLY). 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 APRIL 10 ICLY (APRIL 19 OOCLY). 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 April calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

Something else to keep in mind is that on Monday, April 13th we'll be putting up a plotting post for the upcoming event, which will involve an even more direct connection to the AI War! Keep an eye out for it.

As we announced on the calendar, AC will be halved this month due to the state of the world right now. New players will only need to provide at least five comments across two-four (2-4) threads, while older players will only need to provide ten comments across two-four (2-4) threads. Players with strikes will need to provide 20 comments across four-five (4-5) threads. Please let us know if you have any questions about this!

> NAVIGATION

Comments

QUESTIONS

[larkers]

[slavophile]

Will the new members of the Displaced be able to enter a screening without access to credits? Or, are there advertisements on a poster or perhaps a brochure of the screenings?

[testflight]

is there equipment at the safehouse/anyone with the know-how to test whether larry is still radioactive or not? just for his peace of mind...

[warfares]

out of interest, what are the drone displays like. i'd assume that you can't just walk up and touch them, obviously, but are there any neural tags? anything particularly of interest?

also, design-wise, how do they compare to the more contemporary drones the una uses?

gaby ( npc • ota )

[vns]

[ Gaby will be dressed in all black with a lily located near her collar. her manner will be more reserved than usual, more keen to help people settle in without making too much chitchat. her life has drastically changed in the past year, especially her view of AI – but that doesn't change her view of what happened before.

(her view of what she was raised with.)

she won't be eager to meet anyone's eyes right now, but if someone approaches, she'll stop what she's doing, turn, and make a "hmmm?" sound to welcome them to speak. ]

[angerberg]

What are they mourning out there?

[ she hadn't been able to get into any of the memorials properly, stuck waiting outside until godric arrived. she isn't over that yet, and she's sour as a result, but it doesn't stop her from questioning the one person around here who seems to know a bit about this place. ]

[closerift]

Er - hi. [ Before her is a woman of few words, it seems, but that won't stop Cecily from approaching and trying to get at least a bit of information about this...place. ] I won't keep you long, but I wanted to say that...

[ She sighs. Cracks her neck. ]

I've only heard mention of a war with AI so far, and...I've got no details on the past of this city yet, so it may be I've got no insights at all. It's just that I've just come from another world who faced a brutal war with AI, and so I've unfortunately got a little experience with it at this point, if that's at all helpful to any of your...people.

[ What exactly is this stranger's position? The tidbits Cecily has heard since her arrival about the city have been dizzying. Even with experience in having been the prisoner of a world not her own, facing this new one has been...a lot already. ]

Anyway, beyond that...I'll leave you to it.

william clayton-queen — ( arrow )

[slavophile]

> HERDENKING

> DROP OFF

( William has no problem listening to orders when he agrees with them, even if he's usually at the top of that food chain, or more recently working in a group. Here he is in another group, one he doesn't recognize. From what he can tell, they're underground. His clothes - while ill-fitting - are pretty much his style minus the loafers. His head feels lighter and judging by everyone else around him, he guesses his head was shaved as well. It's not a look he thinks he'll rock, but now isn't the time or - even the place.

Wherever this place is.

He's been told to wait, but he was given other directions, too. His mind must decide that 'here' is relative, because he's able to move his feet.

He'll approach his fellow drop-offs, because they aren't police? Hopefully? )

a. Do -- you remember anything before? Or. How we're all here?
b. Is my head shaved?
c. I want to leave, I really want to leave but I can't. Can you?

> POP UP

( With no answers to his person, and all the time in the world to ask someone who comes for him about his 'blue glow,' William takes to wandering. He wanders among the buildings first, but finds himself among the pop up exhibit. It doesn't seem to be all that informative. With his AI link down, he sees enough, but nothing in depth. From what he makes out, there was a war. A war he can't pronounce the name of. Clear propaganda - because of course propaganda has to be a factor in every war.

He stands the longest in front of the disassembled drones, fascinated by the tech he doesn't recognize.

At one point, he does catch himself in a reflective surface and brings a hand to his head. Nope. He does not like the feel.

The In Memoriam is blank, without his neural interface being activated but he can still stand solemnly, both for these fallen soldiers and for a loss of control and answers. )

So. Does - do you know what year it is?

( He's still waiting, having found the food trucks, but he doesn't have any money, or anything for that matter on his person. He has no choice but to wait and his frustration is mounting. If he could, he'd leave. But. He can't. If someone does have food. ) Hi, excuse me. I - misplaced my currency. There's -- like a glitch. Any chance you could grab me one of those? I will pay you back.

> SAFEHOUSE

( William picks his bed, claims his toiletries and just - takes a full minute to process. He'll keep close eye on everyone who's here, too, like him. Displaced.

He can be found in the bathroom at one point, head tilted forward examining his scalp. A little later, his shirt comes off and he examines the addition of his blue plate. It's nothing he recognizes and he doesn't appreciate the body mod.

He doesn't drink. Not really. But, lately it feels like everyone does. And circumstances have been weird enough. So, one a day he does pour himself what seems like vodka. First he'll sip it by the bar, not worried about being chatty. What else can they do. And then taking it back to his cot.

His first morning there, he will revolt. ) Does - does anyone know where the honest-to-god coffee is?

( He spends most of his day in the eating area because he isn't alone. He prefers easy things, like sandwiches. Quick bites he can barely eat. )

> SAFEHOUSE

[kgbs]

You will not find coffee here unless you have a lot of money.

( and all things considered, illya does not think that's true considering he's fairly certain this man just arrived. coffee is a luxury though it should not be a luxury.

new amsterdam is a strange place and the lack of coffee is just one of the reasons. )

Water is better for you anyway.

drop off

[kill7]

(qi is still half asleep, cleaning a bit of drool from his chin fron the monster nap he seemed to be awaking from. he's still taking in his surroundings, blinking quite dramatically to focus his eyes.

next thing, this man is talking to him and he's tilting his head a little in confusion.)

"Uh, no dude, I have memory issues, so be more specific..." (and then he was.)

"Oh, this. Nope, no idea. Also, yeah, and they missed a spot. And... No? Dude, why did you bring it up? I hadn't noticed!!"

(and he's now attempting, failing miserably and his face shows how hard he's trying.)

Dean Winchester | Supernatural

[righteously]

Where's the Coffee?

[ Dean Winchester is somehow both the most insensitive and the most quick to adjust to this change. One of the first things he does when he's clear to is tug the flower off his chest and toss it without care onto the floor, ignoring the offended and judgmental looks from anyone that caught a glimpse of it. No freaking out, no crying, no disbelief will be found on this gruff asshole. The drugs keep him compliant for the first few hours, but as they fade out agitation fades in. It doesn't take him long to find someone that looks to be in charge and to positively grill them about this place, and once he's as satisfied as he's ever gonna be with the answers he's given he stalks off.

By the end of the first night he's made himself at home, changed into the offered clothes and started rifling through the kitchen cabinets for coffee.

Which... does not exist. The most promising tin gets pried open just to find herbal tea, and his lip curls in absolute disgust. That seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and he brandishes it at anyone who happens to be in proximity. ]

Are you freaking kidding me?

[ He'll demand of some poor, innocent bystander. He holds it out like evidence, like an accusation.

Then, to the ceiling in general: ]

If you're gonna keep us in this crap hole of a half-way house you could at least throw in some friggin' Folgers!

[ It's the best part of waking up. :C ]

Lowkey Alchoholism

[ He starts getting stir-crazy by the end of the third day. Always been prone to a little cabin fever, especially without at least a little Netflix to keep himself occupied. It would not come as a surprise to anyone who knew him that his coping mechanism is that well-water bar in the corner, where he's sort of taken up unofficial bar-tending duties in an attempt to not lose his actual god damn mind.

He squeaks open the closest thing they have to whisky, pours two small servings into separate glasses, and thrusts one out at the first person in proximity. ]

I'm workin' on a safe house drinking game. Any time you feel like you're trapped in a room with fifteen other homeless people, you take a drink.

Wildcard!

[ one replier per starter prompt, but ota on wildcard tags. ]

coffee;

[preseance]

( he makes a habit of swingin' by the safehouse much as he can. he always brings a little somethin' — whether it's pie or cake or some casserole or others, can't shirk that southern duty.

an' on the days he talks to silena, he brings in some of her... well, it ain't coffee, exactly, but it tastes the same. ain't got the caffeinated kick to it, but he's learned to make due. )

Easy, fella.

( his accent is affable, old school southron, an' he dresses like a grandpa besides. it's near enough for a smart soul to cotton on. )

It ain't the real thing, but it tastes a treat. Go on.

( he holds out the thermos, with its little green cup. lord knows he misses coffee too, he gets what it's like. )

scott mccall — ( teen wolf )

[commend]

> HERDENKING

( Scott doesn't take orders, he gives them. Unless, the group discusses it. He still takes input. Unable to defy the orders given to him, Scott's legs follow everyone else's along with his body and he ends up below three buildings he doesn't recognize. There's something up above them, a city.

His hands ball into fists, then flex as he tests his boundaries.

It may be apparent that something's wrong. On the outside, Scott tries to keep his real feelings in check. But, something is different. He doesn't hear everything. He hears everything, but not as clearly as he's used to. Two officers discuss something nearby. Other people dressed like him mingle. But, he can't hear any of it above the sound of the other patrons of the memorial and the sounds of the underground caves.

He can't isolate any one sound.

Immediately, he takes a few steps and looks up, tries to see if he can get a look at the sky. If there's a lunar eclipse happening -- in a cave he doesn't recognize. That idea ends quickly. He's not dumb. Sometimes, he's slow on the uptake. But, not dumb.

He sees law enforcement on the outskirts, no doubt guarding the memorial, but he's unable to say anything. Even if he manages to wander closer, even the smallest sense of eye contact and a, 'What, kid,' causes him to shake his head, bring his hands up and, 'Nothing.' it's not as if law enforcement has helped him in the past, and who knows who is in Tamora Monroe's pocket.

If he can't go anywhere, then he's going to get a lay of the land around him.

It's no doubt that he finds the food trucks first. This is Scott McCall and even though he's not going to eat, he does study everyone around him, ready to ask to prove the glow whatever that means. He doesn't want to ask somebody that. It sounds dumb. But, he has no choice. And he knows he has no choice.

He wanders the memorial because that's what he can do. He can't leave, but he can wander. He takes extra time in the pop up exhibit, standing at each station. He takes everything in. From someone who's in the middle of a war himself, he's been dropped into the memorial of another war. )

Hey, do you know where Xelkova is? Or, what an AI is? Isn't that artificial intelligence?

( He probably shouldn't but he finds himself bringing a flat palm to the In Memoriam case. He can't see any names, but what it represents Scott can understand. So, he bows his head in reverence.

Finally, he finds a few more black shirts. )

a. Hey, we should -- go. We should all go.
b. Where are you from?
c. Are you okay? We can get out of this.

> SETTLING IN

> CLOSED TO ISAAC

( He accepts the change of clothes and the toiletries because he has no choice. As soon as the door locks behind them, something that he can hear from the echo of the warehouse, his guard raises again.

But, that's when he sees a familiar face by another cot. One he hasn't seen in almost two years. )

> EATING AREA

( Scott takes three meals a day, like most responsible, growing werewolves. But, some days he'll take a snack, too. Whether he's been cut off with what makes him a werewolf, or it's being suppressed, his appetite hasn't been. If they're low on food or someone can't quite decide, he'll offer a part of his plate with a well-meaning smile. ) I think my eyes are bigger than my stomach.

( They're not. But everyone should have food to eat. On his third day, he sticks to two meals and a snack. )

> ACCLIMATING

( He knows the werewolf must still be inside him because he breathes fine. There's no trace of asthma. And late at night, when he thinks no one is around, his anger over his situation, and being stripped away from his global operation comes through in the red glow of his eyes. But, no claws. No speed. No hearing. And yes, that is Scott who almost bumped into you as you were stepping out of shower. Sorry.

Scott prefers to change by his cot, keeping his towel on and pulling on changes of clothes underneath it. He's only alternating between two, one being way too formal for this kind of setting, but he's grateful enough to be dressed at all.

Some of the day, he wanders, checks the walls and the perimeter. He's beginning to feel like a caged animal and he does not do well caged. ) Hey, do you maybe have a deck of cards?

> EATING AREA

[heliophilous]

You don't need to do that. I've got enough food. I'm just here to help.

( there was plenty of food at his apartment and this guy clearly needs it more. he can get more food on the way back home or he can eat what's there. but he's not going to let someone who just arrived give him their food. )

You eat it. I have food back at home.

( take your fill, scott. he's not going to argue with you on this one. )

Bucky Barnes | MCU

[freightcars]

don't wake up easy;

[ The words what is this feel heavy on his tongue. He doesn't know for sure if they make it out of his lips, blurry and unfocused as everything is. He knows what it feels like to be sedated, to be inundated with chemicals meant to drag him down to a creeping, crawling sludge. He knows what it is to be compelled to follow orders, and though he wants with everything inside him to bolt the closest he can manage is shallow, quick breathing. Inhaling and exhaling, chest rising and falling, head slowly shaking to try and dispel medicinal shackles.

He clocks everything that he can. The funeral attire, the herds of bodies, the cold at the back of his neck where his hair once was - numbly, a hand comes up to palm at the back of his head and confirm that it's missing. It's an offense on top of all of the other ones being committed right now, but he somehow takes that one more personally.

One of the handlers passes by, and he shoots a hand out to catch the front of their clothes in his fist - except it's slow, and it's harmless, and they shrug him off with only a sideways look before passing by.

No.

The world is different. They're herded like cattle, dreamlike, through the memories of a war. It's some incomprehensible mashup of past and future, history and high-tech, and when he looks at some of the displays he sees huddled survivors in the ruins of something built back in the 1930s - until he blinks, clears his eyes, realizes whatever he's looking at--

Well, it sure as hell ain't 1945. It isn't even 2014, it's something far and away beyond that, and ludicrously the thought floats through: so this is what Steve felt.

Oh, god.

Enough of the meds wear off by then that he starts coming to his senses, pushing through the crowd of displaced, muttering: ]

No, I gotta go- I gotta get back-

[ Don't get yourself into trouble. Don't hurt anyone. Don't get loud. Don't run off.

готов соблюдать

Two or three hands curl on him to keep him with the group, but he's doing everything he can to split from it while still somehow remaining compliant to orders.

This is a dream. This is a nightmare. ]

goodwill;

[ It takes him a while to get calmed down, to adjust, to accept the current state of things without trying to subtly peel himself out of the safe house at any given opportunity. Once he gets with the program, he's a quiet and unobtrusive presence. He picks a bed at the back, he moves quietly and with his head ducked down, and he seems to deftly avoid initiating conversation with anyone at all.

Right up until he picks up the shirt provided to them by their gracious host, and his lips twist up into something a little displeased.

A flickering glance over to his neighbor, and he loosely offers the garment forward.]

Hey- can you- I think they might've gotten mixed up. What size do you have?

[ Because his is approximately "husky toddler" at best, and there's no doubt the left shoulder won't fit around his thick metal prosthetic, even if he tears the sleeve off. ]

wildcard;

[ one replier per starter, open to a couple wildcards prompts. ]

goodwill;

[kgbs]

( illya doesn't answer at first because he doesn't think the words are meant for him. but when he looks up at sees the man's eyes trained on him, he frowns. )

What?

( he'd been asking about sizes? did he mean clothing? illya shakes his head, eyes falling down to the shirt in the man's hands. )

That is too small for you.

( stating the obvious. )

larry trainor | doom patrol

[testflight]

one 🥀 arrival

[ he wakes slowly and doesn't remember what he dreamt about, if anything. that hasn't been the norm for him for decades; most of the time, when he's unconscious, the negative spirit sends some kind of vision. everyone he loves dying in a fire, burning horribly. everyone he loves dying from radiation. his fault, either way. although lately it's been better, easier. he hasn't been hurting the spirit so much and so it hasn't been hurting him. it's helped him, even, with john — but there's a strange emptiness in his chest now where he's felt the negative spirit for more than half a century now. if it isn't inside his body, he should be unconscious — or dying.

he feels sluggish and exhausted, tongue heavy and eyelids heavier, but he doesn't feel like he's dying, isn't coughing up blood. so that's strange. good, probably, but strange.

there's a guard telling him and others where to go, what to do, and unthinkingly, larry obeys. (briefly, he thinks to the bureau of normalcy and the stab of panic that thought brings is almost, almost enough to cut through the haze — but only almost.)

even moving in a group in which everyone's dressed the same, a lily pinned to his and everyone else's collar, larry stands out: where others have short hair, some even shorn, he has no hair at all. where others have no or a few scars, his entire body is a mess of old burns, skin leathery and dark with the marks of an accident he shouldn't have been able to walk away from.

if he were thinking more clearly, he'd definitely be panicking now: at the fact that he's on display, at the fact that without the special bandages he wears every day, he's sure to radiate those he comes close to, to kill them. as it is, he finds himself moving together with others, standing together with others, quiet and respectful. at some point, under his breath, he mutters: ] I prefer orchids. [ but it's the only thing he says and anyway, larry knows well enough that orchids have no place at a memorial. ]

two 🥀 safehouse

[ at the safehouse, larry still stands out, disfigured as he is from the plane crash. he keeps to himself, going out of his way to avoid people because he still isn't sure that proximity isn't going to radiate anyone — so he'll visit the kitchen early or late, pick a bed as far away from everyone as possible and swerve or step back when he does run into someone.

it takes some time for him to work up the nerve to use the communal bathroom and when he does, it's fast and furtive — and obvious that the scarring really covers his entire body.

early on, he stops by medical storage to forage for bandages. they won't be the kind that chief gave him to keep the radiation in, but he doesn't want to be on display, exposed. any bandages would be better than nothing, he figures. ]

three 🥀 &cws & wildcard

[ please be aware of these content warnings when tagging with larry!

& if there's anything else you'd like with him not covered by the above starters, please feel free to hit me up o/ ]

safehouse

[heliophilous]

( most of the time, marcos only shows up to the safehouse when he knows people have arrived. he doesn't stay long, only taking time to see if he knows anyone and to check them all out but today, he's been there a little longer.

it's late or early, he doesn't know and he's standing in the kitchen, drinking water and enjoying the silence.

when someone comes in, marcos looks up and smiles, nodding at the other person. )

Hey. ( he lifts his bottle in greeting. ) Can't sleep or something?

WU LIUQI - SEVEN | SCISSOR SEVEN

[kill7]

✂️ arrival

(qi is snoring as they're being moved, mumbling something about a date, sisters and roses as he slowly comes to his consciousness - which doesn't seem normal at all. things are blurry, his eyelids are heavy and as soon as he moves his head, he can't feel the pressure of his hair being tied or the tickle in his face. this is enough to call his attention.

before he could process what had happened, his legs were moving without his will and he finds himself walking amidst a sea of poorly shaven heads... and he's sure he's one of them.)

"They really messed up this buzz job!!" (he tells the person closest to him - without realizing their situation just yet.)

"Is this Stan?" (he looks around and to himself. their surroundings don't seem to have stan's obnoxious symbol... and the nerds look different from the one he saw a while ago. stay calm and move.)



✂️ safehouse

1. some much needed tea

(qi is unsure how he fell asleep - but honestly, the dark circles never disappear. he finally wakes up, dragging himself to the kitchen. he sits on the floor, going through the possibilities and even smelling the bags to try and make up the taste. the tea boxes he isn't quite interested in are thrown next to him for further inspection in the future... until they hit someone's leg.)

"Aya." (he looks a little mortified. he hasn't talked much to anyone yet, what if they're all stone-cold killers?? oh, wait. so is he, he thinks.)

"Sorry, all the tea seem to suck!! No way I can choose!"

2. late night

(it's probably too late for seven to be doing this, but he decided it's a good idea to check out the place when there's not too many people awake. some things are clearer in the dark, or some other cliche saying like this. so there he is, trying his best at the art of stealth. the first place to be thoroughly is - the fridge.

he doesn't know if the food is really all that free, so his not very well thought off decision was: stash as much as he could.

suddenly, there's a shadow coming from behind him.)

"... I was taking it for a friend!!"

(he puts his hands in the air, a roll falling from his pocket.)

✂️ wildcard

(sincerely throw anything at us.)

late night

[inherited]

[Someone showed up, seemed keen to do welcoming stuff, and then disappeared. It sucks, but that doesn't mean that Riku's going to give up. It just means that he'll have to find more people to help. Either way? That's why he's here now. It's late, but it doesn't hurt to make time to drop off some supplies and see what he can do.

It's just—you know. Someone taking supplies like that? Not the best of moves. Not the ... most necessary of moves.

Because it isn't.

He stops, hand falling to his waist, as he watches Seven's really bad excuse come pouring out of his mouth.

That's an excuse all right.]

Yeah? What's your friend's name?

[excessive]

>> Arrival

Sitting there unable to move starts the lowkey panic that creeps along the length of Isaac's spine. He's not trapped, no more than any vehicle, and that alone would cause the thoughts of it but then he always has a way out. When you can't move, there's no way out.

Nothing about moving under command brings him comfort. Especially when the entire place, the world around him, seems muted. Sounds are softer than they should be. Scents seem empty, almost hollow. It's all not enough, too little, and it's building with a churning in his gut.

And don't run off

The words keep playing over and over again in his head because it's the only thing he wants to do. Yet even when he tries to do anything to move away from the others, his legs won't move, won't listen to him, doing exactly what he was told.

"I can't do this," he finally manages to mutter under his breath, words he's been trying to say the whole time and only getting out in a soft squeak then.

>> Safehouse

Still in mourning from the loss of the first person he's opened himself up to that deeply, Isaac likely could have used the change from his own world. If he wasn't locked into a bunker.

He tries the door about every hour or so, pacing the confines of their area like the caged animal he is. Counting his steps, reminding himself that the space is not that small, it's got rooms and space and he's not running out of air, he has some kind of freedom. It's not really enough though.

His hand comes to his shorn curls so often, rubbing over them his head and down along his neck. Trying to ignore how it feels like hours and it's been so much longer. What had they done that the his senses are so dull, that he feels cold all the time.

For a time he handles things okay. Making himself meals, actually talking with others over those meals. Helping out when he can, where he can. But it doesn't last for long as he remembers the room he's in, and that there's no way out.

He's making his second, twentieth, hundredth loop around the space over the days, checking the door, running his hand along the wall when he can, reminding himself how much space there really is. Even if he's trapped. He can't get that out of his head and his breath is starting to quicken, pausing as he grips the back of a chair, nails clawing at a wall, finding the rush of panic overcoming him and worrying he won't be able to stop it.

Working hard to take long, deep breaths, all the methods Allison and others had told him to try and control it. His exhale is a whimper, closing his eyes tight as his hand goes to his chest.

"I can't do this," he mutters under his breath, panting out the words. "I can't fucking do this."

safehouse!

[fledges]

It's new kid day, and Kate is making the rounds, too. She sees Isaac a few times, pacing, but it's hard for her to tell if company would help or hinder his attempts to get acclimated. She makes the executive decision to leave him alone, until she sees him again, half clinging to a chair, breathing uneven.

Okay, clearly the pacing hasn't helped.

"Hey," Kate says gently, halting a few steps away, trying not to seem... coddling. "Feeling a little overwhelmed?"

Kol Mikaelson - The Vampire Diaries

[demeritorious]

Arrival

So this is what compulsion feels like. He thinks of all the times he's ordered someone to stand there, to wait and have them listen as he plots their fate, and now he's that person, compelled and, if he's honest, hating it.

He hates that he can't snark back at the directions, that he gets up when they tell him to, that he can't take someone by the throat and crack their neck. Not for any reason but he's angry at his situation and it's one of a few things that might help his mood in that moment.

The world sounds muffled, feels off as if the air on his skin is not nearly as crisp or sharp. It's the muttering of someone near him, sounds he can barely hear, that sets his hackles up and makes him aware that his hair has most certainly been cut. What the hell? All of it is beginning to grate on his nerves.

Moving against his desires, hating the sensation of doing just what he's told as if he's ever truly done what he was told without threats and a fight. It's nervewracking at best as he lines up as if he might have signed up for some army unit. As if that would happen.

Finding himself with a bit more control, especially as he does thinks based not on what he wants but, at the very least, on what they haven't told him he can't do. So nimble fingers pluck off the lily, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"Linen would at least breath," he mutters as if that is what matters in his moment. "And have you people ever heard of french cuffs?" Looking down at himself, frowning. "I feel like one of those missionary kids on their bikes. Are we setting out to sell vacuum cleaners door to door?"

Safe House

Little of their little prison appeals to Kol. No privacy. Clothes that obviously came from the trash bin. Obvious signs of experimentation including whatever the hell this thing in his chest was. He's assuming it's responsible for the worst of it.

No vampire senses. No strength. No speed. Fangs still accessible but no deep hunger for blood as he thought he might have after how long he must have been out.

"How in the bloody hell did they manage this?" Talking to himself as he looks in a mirror, drawing back the corner of his shirt, considering what they've done.

Safe House pt 2 - Testing a theory

Randomly throughout the first couple of days, Kol approaches others throughout the safe house, likely crowding in too much into their personal space. Staring into their eyes, his head cocking to one side slightly.

"You should go get me a drink."
"You want to share that with me."

Whatever else amuses him at the time to try and compel them to do what he wants. Sadly, that is gone with the rest of his abilities, but he won't know until he tries.

Safe House, you guessed it, pt 3

He's not a vampire? Maybe he is? Kol is still working it out by day three but he's cranky, and frustrated, and he is tired of seeking answers. Well, except one answer in particular.

If he's not entirely a vampire, just where does his tolerance lie? So he starts drinking.

It tastes like an odd mixture of battery acid and what he suspects ergot tasted to the women of Salem once upon a time but it's definitely got a kick. So he keeps drinking, finding his tolerance is much lower than he's known for a thousand years but it doesn't stop him.

Even when he's stumbling a bit, running into another.

"Sorry 'bout that, Mate. Obviously I need another drink."

testing a theory

[strove]

Ah, there's that again. Truthfully, it's been a while for Clarke since someone tried to compel her. Caroline did it ages ago (for her, especially), and since then, it's been a different story. A different situation. It helps that Caroline had been in a dream when it had (momentarily) worked in her favor.

But she recognizes it for what it is. Clarke's gaze remains steady, no pupils dilating with the accepted change, and she huffs out a breath.

"You won't have any luck." As far as she knows, the vampires maintain some of who they were, but she also knows that there's been a shift. Klaus' drinking habits are a big hint toward that. They've changed, but she hasn't been blunt enough to ask how or why.

"I have been meaning to speak with you. You're Klaus' brother." It's not stated as a question. "I'm Clarke, a friend of his."

yennefer of vengerberg (witcher netflix)

[angerberg]

01. herdenking (for godric and fellow newbies waiting with her)

[ the foggy feeling lingers in a haze around her. like drunkenness or magic. there are few people in the world who could get that sort of magic over on yennefer, but she's not so arrogant to think that none could. not with the evidence in front of her, at least.

the streets are paved and crowded, more crowded than even her time at the seat of aedirn where the court was always full. they can't all be real. ]

Who died? [ she asks the passerby whom she manages to grab by the arm. they look her over. she's dressed for the part, but the wildness in her violet eyes, the disoriented look, apparently writes off their alarm at what she gathers is a stupid question. 'let go,' is all they say, and she cannot help but comply. yennefer stares at her hand, uneasy, as she pulls it back.

yennefer knows what it feels like not to have a choice, to have it stolen from her. fury curdles her empty stomach as she closes that hand and looks around the better part of this strange funeral. she stares up into the exhibit, wills her feet to move her there, but it's like they don't work. they don't budge. she's trapped.

her first instinct is to blame geralt and his bleeding djinn, but she doesn't see him anywhere either. all she can do is wait. ]

02. safehouse (open)

[ any of the new people who, after the first day of confinement, approach the door with designs on leaving earn the same interruption from yennefer, who watches it idly from across the room — ] Don't waste your time. We're trapped.

[ she's moody enough to be openly coarse. the day — or days — trapped inside with no say in what happens to her has made her that way. that first day when they'd arrived, for instance, she'd stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and felt along the based of her skull for the scarred evidence of intrusion. they'd cut her hair. the only decent thing to come out of her hellish stay in aretuza were her good looks and her magic, and whoever had brought her here had stolen them both. it's an uneven mess of a pixie cut now, jagged and chunky. she has half mind to buzz it all off again. ]

No choice. No magic. No answers. What's the point?

[ a bleak thing to ask the mirror, but yennefer is a bleak person, full to the brim with misery and cynicism. it hangs around her like a cloud in every room she enters, and she does pace, listening in on people around the safehouse, putting herself in their orbit that she might glean at least whatever hints of answers she might pick up. ]

03. wildcard

[ ooc; feel free to hit me up at protects if you want something specific. ]

[powerofgod]

( the exchange catches his ear, and godric — accustomed as he now is to picking out the displaced — recognizes her among their number immediately. he always goes when the newcomers arrive to offer what assistance he can, and he falls into step smoothly beside her with a confidence about him that is unmistakable as being brought about by age and power both.

no teen boy, he, though he looks its very essence.

he tips his head to her in greeting. )

Arrival can be rough on those ill-used to such places. Do you need anything?

abigail hobbs 🗡️ open

[ex_defenestratings377]

♙ HERDENKING GATHERING

[ two weeks is not nearly enough time to find her footing so abigail doesn't join the brigade in going to fetch the new arrivals. that doesn't mean she doesn't follow, curious despite her skittish nature. the something or other war sounds like the most important event in modern history, it can't hurt to know more about it.

she's given a lily when she arrives and she clutches it too tightly, discomfort in being underground outweighing her desire to keep the pretty bloom alive. eventually, between the claustrophobia and the way the sound echoes, already difficult to spatially place noises with her missing ear, it's too much for abigail to handle and she maneuvers through the crowd on her way out. ]

Excuse me, excuse me. [ she bumps into more than one person, shying away from any concerned touches or concerned glances. ] Sorry, excuse me.

♙ SAFEHOUSE & AROUND (content warning: past injuries)

[ despite not having a job or prospects or anywhere to go, abigail doesn't stay in the safehouse during the day. there's a pattern here and the pattern is that abigail doesn't like being underground. the safehouse may be safe, but it makes her skin crawl being in it for too long.

after spending her days walking through the city looking for employment she might be able to do and using her measly stipend on vegan food trucks and the cheap surplus veggies on sale, she returns to the safehouse. she's labeled her cot with a neural tag but every evening she returns hoping someone hasn't taken it. she doesn't have a lot of stuff, but her shoe box of scarves courtesy of marta are important to her and her continued comfort. she'd rather be known as the weird girl with the scarves than the weird girl who looks like she had a botched decapitation, she's already weird enough missing an ear.

she has another small box to put her veggies in so she can keep them in the fridge without them being stolen, hopefully people will honor the neural tag she puts on that since they're lacking any permanent markers to scribble her name across it. so far so good, but her stipend is dwindling. when she plates her food, she doesn't cook it. a nice little raw food diet.

chomp chomp. ]

♙ WILDCARD

( hit me up via discord @ baleinette#3692 or plurk @ baleinette to set something else up )

herdenking gathering

[bloodbathing]

[ The thing about bumping into Maine is that it's a lot like bumping into a brick wall. A seven-foot-tall, heavily muscled wall with resting "fuck you" face. Maine twitches away from the contact, grateful for his long sleeves even as his gloved hands curl into fists. He looks down, ready to snarl at the person to back the fuck up.

He doesn't get that far. Maine thinks the person looks familiar — maybe he saw her when he arrived? maybe in the safehouse? — but he doesn't get more than a glimpse of her face. She's shying away, still trying to get through a crowd that's not interested in moving. It's odd behavior. Makes him wonder if she's trying to get away from someone.

And so Maine, who usually doesn't give two shits about people he doesn't know, finds himself curious. Decides he can spare a moment to help her get where she wants to go. He turns and steps up behind her, then looks over her head at the people in the way. Takes a breath and raises his voice slightly: ]

Move.

[ It comes out like the deep, snarled order of a particularly pissed off drill instructor. A few people cast him scandalized looks — this is a memorial, after all — but those looks quickly vanish as people hurry to get the hell out of his way.

It's anything but a subtle tactic, but the end result is that the path is clear. ]

inquisitor trevelyan ; dragon age: inquisition ; ota

[closerift]

001. arrival

[ It's quite something, to spend years in one world not your own, to finally find a way back home, and to then immediately...wake up elsewhere. For the first groggy, semi-paralyzed stretch of time in this - wherever it is, Cecily Trevelyan wonders if she's perhaps died (dark clothes, lily, lying prone without the ability to do much at all). Then: the terror that she might be about to buried alive surges through her, but she's unable to do anything but to bump alongside silently in the vehicle along other bodies...until someone helps her to her feet, marches her outside. Leaves.

When she makes it to the safehouse, she feels...not much at all. Drowsy, maybe. This is all obviously not real - some fever dream or regular dream or nightmare - and so she hovers just inside the doors in her funeral clothes and flower and a thousand-yard stare.

How on earth did my mind come up with something quite so...unique? Cecily glances around slowly to take in all of the details - the design, the people - and wonders at the intricacy of it all. It's still easier to swallow that this is an incredibly-detailed product of her subconscious han anything else, though, and so she allows herself to believe it for a while yet... ]


002. minibar

[ Not a dream, then. That's a fact worthy of a drink...or two.

Now with the expression of a person barely concealing disillusionment, Cecily conducts her own personal (albeit unenthusiastic) tour of the place. By some blessing, her trip through the kitchen reveals the minibar, and she sighs aloud with relief at the sight of some alcohol to numb the reality she's currently facing. ]

Cheers. [ She mutters, through gritted teeth, as she selects a bottle and allows herself a healthy swig. ] No use putting that back, surely no one else was using this one...

[ The Inquisitor grips the neck of the bottle and slides down against a nearby wall, feeling very bitter with every physical sensation that insists she is really, truly in this new city and not home in Thedas. Though the substance that had made her feel out of sorts earlier is still clearly present within her system, she's keen to muddy the waters further with more than a few sips from her new, spirited friend. ]

Mind you don't trip over the woman sulking in the kitchen. [ She'll remark idly, should someone enter the room. ]


003. wildcard

( feel free to encounter this newcomer just about anywhere in the safehouse, or else poke me at kairaptor or via pm for any plotting purposes! )

minibar

[inherited]

[One of the things that Riku's trying to get better about is reaching out to people when they first show up. Sometimes it's the nervous ones, and sometimes it's the easygoing ones, and sometimes it's the drinking and sullen ones. He's not as great with the last ones and often leaves them to someone else to help, if only because, at the end of the day, he's just a kid. He might be "eighteen" by this world's standards and an adult even among his peers back home (because of everything he's gone through), but there's some stuff he doesn't get.

But ... better to dive in when situations force you to do so. That's what his heart tells him to do, anyway.

His steps stutter as he enters the kitchen, coming to a halt behind the large communal table in the center of the room. Riku's hands grip the back of the chair as he looks over at her.]

Need someone to listen? I wasn't planning on tripping over you, but it feels like I have already.

[By hearing that in the first place.]

tony stark | marvel comics

[voicelog]

ARRIVAL
► stormy weathers ahead

[ any initial panic tony stark may have had upon his arrival to the city has been effectively replaced by a high level of irritation. he got all the info he could demand pry out of their less than helpful hosts, so now it's just a matter of sorting out his own thoughts and formulating plans. (yes, more than one.) he doesn't intend to do anything rash at least. he can play along. it wouldn't do him any good to act out when he doesn't even know the whereabouts of his iron man suit.

it couldn't have fallen out, so it must have been extracted — which is a possibility that disconcerts him to no end.

so, he needs to figure out who took his suit. great. top of his to-do list, once they let him leave this damn warehouse. loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed as he starts to work out all the variables in his head. he won't be initiating conversations or making friends anytime soon, but he won't ignore anybody who approaches him for a chat. he isn't in the best mood though, so apologies in advance if he gets snippy. ]

► hello, caffeine withdrawal

[ you know what would be terrific right now? coffee.

coffee would be freaking terrific, but it looks like the kitchen is sorely lacking in the stuff. how is it that they have a minibar but they don't have any goddamn coffee around here? all they've got is tea. he doesn't want tea. tea is not going to soothe his nerves or even out his temper. he practically has a storm cloud over his head now, thundering and crackling with all his stress and frustration. but it's okay. it's okay. who needs coffee? not him! nope. he's great without.

he is not great without. in fact, he will be spending a good chunk of his time in the safehouse staring daggers at the box of herbal tea, chugging water and walking back and forth between the kitchen and his bed like coffee will magically appear if he makes the trip enough time.

after a day or two, he might give in and drink some tea. it doesn't help him much. ]

WILDCARD
► choose your own adventure!

[ come bug the guy with a bright nightlight in his chest. he's grumpy; not standoffish.

prompts are time flexible, so feel free to play around with that. don't hesitate to diverge from them too. ]

caffeine withdrawal

[selfimage]

[ there's something about having other lives that really tends to make someone paranoid. Loki generally doesn't visit the new arrivals for heartfelt reunions, instead he has to keep an eye out for remnants of a past (and possible future) life. after Bucky reached out with a story of intersection of their possible future paths, it made Loki rethink his perceived vacation in this world.

it had all caused a subtle tension that dragged on his usual playfulness. it felt like his toes were steadily moving closer to the precipice. when he pauses in the doorway of the kitchen his eyes narrow, and his stomach tightens at the possibility of anyone familiar arriving.

his first thought is to turn and walk the other way, but how could he resist? ]

Mister Stark.

[ casually—with the same easy cadence that he does everything. he leans on a hip against the doorframe. ]

What a surprise. Is there a cat joke that I'm missing?

[ (somewhere he knew Thor wasn't coming back. that was good, he was better for it.) ]

agent maine | open to all!

[bloodbathing]

I. HERDENKING

[ Maine heeds El's message and hurries to the Herdenking gatherings for exactly one (1) person. The problem is that he doesn't know if that person will actually show up. Or what their body will look like. Or, most importantly, if they'll remember him as anything but a fucking monster.

This means that Maine's doing a lot of seemingly aimless wandering. He's incredibly noticeable: seven feet tall and heavily muscled, wearing long sleeves, gloves, and a scowl. He looks less like he's here to mourn and more like he's here to fuck someone up. But he makes no aggressive moves, and he peers intently into the faces of anyone who looks a little lost.

While he's blatantly uninterested in the documentaries, Maine is easy to spot as he moves through the walk-through exhibit, his eyes darting between the displays and the faces of those around him. He also frequently circles back to the food trucks; if he spots someone who seems to be having trouble with credits, he'll approach them and grunt out, ]

You good?

II. SAFEHOUSE

[ As someone who arrived only two weeks ago, Maine has yet to move out of the safehouse. He's rarely been around except to sleep, and he hasn't appeared to do that often. However, this latest batch of arrivals seems to have abruptly increased Maine's desire to hang around the place.

Maine comes and goes at unusual hours, occasionally sporting minor injuries that look like they came from fistfights. Most of the time, he's carrying takeout and wearing a slightly harried expression. Other times, he's carrying clothes that are obviously many sizes too small.

When he's not playing delivery man, Maine can often be spotted in the kitchen. Sometimes he's cooking and glowering at the food; other times, he's just glaring daggers at the coffee pot, as though that will magically make it become caffeinated. ]

( ooc: maine's info/permissions are here! feel free to contact me by pm if you have any questions. )

out and about

[nonscriptum]

[ Nate has only ever known one person in his life that is over seven goddamn feet tall, and that guy was notoriously shy about a.) showing his face in public and b.) talking, so he double-takes when he first sees him. He has the look of one of the requisite searchers - the notifications every month make it easy, to know when people are looking for others, and Nate could keep an eye out for familiar faces but he won't because he knows they aren't coming - and he's heard from a few people around the safe house that at least one poor bastard was longer than his cot.

He never finished middle school, but Nate knows basic math and one and one make two. ]

Hey.

[ No sense trying to be surreptitious when you're angling in from the side next to somebody who looks like he could snap you like a toothpick. ]

How're you settling in?

steve rogers | mcu

[soldiers]

WALK-THROUGH EXHIBIT

[ After the first shock of arrival wears off — a sickening feeling of impact, as though he’d fallen from a great height right onto his stomach — Steve’s vaguely surprised to note that he's not as badly off as he’d been that afternoon in Times Square, the first time he'd woken to find himself flung into the future.

Maybe it’s the sheer span of it. The magnitude. Seventy years or so had meant he’d just missed out on the life that he could’ve had; there were people alive in 2012 that had been alive when he’d gone under in '45, and the pain of that knowledge had cut all the more keenly. But roughly five hundred years is an unimaginable gulf, impossible to countenance let alone cross, something straight out of a dime novel.

As such, it’s a pill that he doesn’t choke on when he swallows, even if it is bitter. Even if it burns the whole way down, the reminder that the tiny sapling of a life he’d tried to grow for himself had been destroyed before it’d even had a chance.

Worse still is the realization that he’s not only at the physical whim of whatever’s brought him here, he’s also apparently under its mental yoke. There’s a heaviness in his limbs that he can tell comes from something foreign, something that the serum should’ve flushed out of him by now, and the fact that it hasn’t unnerves him. He’d bet the last buck in his backpay that it’s what’s making him so — compliant.

( Walk over and stand out in front, a guard says, and Steve's feet are moving as though of their own accord. Unbidden, his thoughts flicker back to what he’d read in that file from Kiev, and a sharp, sudden grief flares inside him that has nothing to do with himself. A half-formed thought that he compartmentalizes before it can even finish: is this how — )

Outwardly, he’s not rattled or agitated. But his teeth are on edge in the worst kind of way, and it shows in the hard set of his jaw, the hollow, thousand yard stare of his eyes. And standing in front of the wall covered floor-to-ceiling in propaganda posters, Steve thinks he might as well be back in the Smithsonian, adrift and alone. ]

Figures. [ Slowly, quiet enough that he might be talking to himself but loud enough that anyone nearby’ll be in earshot. ]

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

SAFEHOUSE

[ By the time he gets to the safehouse, Steve thinks he can feel some of the sluggishness in his body start to dissipate. For a fleeting, misguided second, hope flickers within him that maybe his serum-enhanced metabolism isn't compromised anymore, and he sets out to test that theory the quickest way he can: alcohol.

He's not supposed to be able to get drunk. Not even Thor's Asgardian hooch had done the trick.

Half-way through a bottle of what tastes like cheap liquor, Steve realizes he's already on his way to being well and truly soused. He should ... probably stop. While he can. But the strain of the situation comes down on him like a ton of bricks, exhaustion settling in him in a way it hasn't been able to in a long, long time. And, hell. Not like he's got anywhere to go.

It's a call he pays for the next day, because the thing about getting drunk for the first time in seventy-five years? The hangover that follows comes straight out of hell, and Steve ends up walking around with a migraine the size of Pennyslvania, wearing a curious, tattered wrap around his shorn head to keep the light out of his bloodshot eyes. ]

Pardon me.

[ A polite but pained rasp to the person nearest the medical area. ] You know where I can find some ear plugs?

WILDCARD

( ota! feel free pm me with any questions or ideas \o/ also feel free to play fast and loose with either of the prompts above — e.g. interrupt steve in the middle of whatever he's doing, etc. )

safehouse;

[freightcars]

[ It's no real wonder they went a night without reconnecting. Bucky came in with a god-awful state of mind, barely held it together, and skipped out on every facet of the war memorial in favor of hunkering down in the safe-house before practically any of the other new recruits made it. He picked a spot well out of view and as secluded as possible. Probably didn't help Steve spotting him at all with his hair chopped off and, well, the number of drinks the guy downed first thing.

Feels like every time they meet up again it's practically unbelievable odds, some outside force. Today's force happens to be a killer headache from yesterday's stress, and Bucky's not trying to think too closely about how the serum used to knock these things out in less than an hour usually. Maybe he's just gotten spoiled.

Definitely isn't thinking about it after the very first two words Steve says, and Jesus Christ does his heart just about leap up into his throat before he even turns.

And there's one Steve Rogers, inadvertently shoveling relief into Bucky's chest like coal into the burning fire of a steam engine. A flaring, consuming feeling from navel to throat - even makes it to his expression, which usually exists under a rigid, distant sort of lock down.

He spent all god damn day yesterday mulling over the fact that they just got each other back, and the possibility that he'd be living the rest of his life having not been appreciative or grateful enough about that. Thinking he never should've gone back under, and if he'd known he might've taken the risk of staying awake and there for as long as he could've. Never been happier to have something rendered completely moot. ]

Think you're gonna need a hell of a lot more than near plugs to get rid of your hangover.

[ He answers, wry and unmissably pleased.

Pal, he hasn't seen you with one of those since you were five foot nothing and you got drunk off two shots.

God, what a whirlwind of nostalgia. ]

bartimaeus — the bartimaeus sequence

[sakhr]

» 001. HERDENKING — ARRIVAL (CLOSED TO KITTY)

[ This whole situation stinks. Not literally, of course, although Bartimaeus is also currently withered by the peculiar, slightly rotten human smell of advancement through technology at the expanse of everything else. The earth he's familiar with was nowhere near this technologically complex, and everything he's used to relying on feels as if it's been roughly stripped from him like so much peel from a particularly stubborn orange. It's the loss of the Seven Planes that worries him the most, perhaps more than the disappointing nothing that happens when he attempts a subtle Pulse – this is not his world. It's nowhere close.

Looking for all the world like a hopelessly confused teenager, Bartimaeus walks with faux purpose through the crowds, chin tipped up in typical defiant panache as he stops to read what he assumes is information of a propagandistic nature here and there. He's been thrown into the deep end via summoning so many times before that that isn't what's worrying him – what is worrying him is his own personal inadequacies now that he's unable to change. A bird's-eye view would give him a much needed advantage, but Ptolemy was never particularly tall, and despite the somber mood¹ people keep standing on his— ]

Ow! [ he exclaims, louder than perhaps intended, having firmly reached his boiling point when it comes to these perverse acts of aggression. ] That's my toe you just stood on! Watch it!

[ ¹ He may exist far beyond the peculiarities of human emotion, but he can successfully interpret a bunch of sad faces when he sees them. ]

» 002. HERDENKING — FOOD.

Ooh, I wouldn't eat that.

[ This from Bartimaeus, who is leaning beside a food truck with his arms folded over his chest and his hip popped out jauntily, a cheery smile plastered over his face. You wouldn't be able to tell his mind is still roiling with thoughts and theories, axioms and hypotheses. ]

I mean, you can if you want. But I wouldn't. Just a friendly warning.

» 003. SAFEHOUSE — POWERS.

[ So. This is new.

That's not to say that Bartimaeus is the type to be stymied by new surroundings – they're his bread and butter, his raison d'être, if you will. But when you're expecting to be sent home at long last, after six miserable weeks on Earth, the last thing you might expect is ending up in some dystopian future world clogged with the most alarming, hideous constructions,² and locked in a windowless "safehouse" until further notice, it requires a sharp realignment of the senses and priorities, as well as the laying of blame at anyone else's feet but his own. Nathaniel's fault, probably. That idiot.

He picks one of the cots and sits down cross-legged, a young Egyptian boy with a sharp, world-weary face, hands loosely on his knees. He should probably start talking to his fellow compatriots, but the idea of chatting it up with humans³ could easily make him break out in some sort of hive. Still. Needs must. He's done worse.

Bartimaeus swallows around a wince, as if he's being forced to ingest something foul, like human excrement or a mushroom or something, and calls something out to the nearest passer-by. Either: ]

[ A. ] Er – what've you got there? Some sort of food?

[ B. ] Oi. You. C'mere. New as well, or one of these veteran Displaceds I've heard so much about?

[ C. ] That jacket you're wearing doesn't go with your outfit at all.

[ ² Read: humans.
³ Yeuch. ]

» CLOSED — FOR closerift

[ Cont'd from here! ]

[ Interesting. Another world with magic, presumably of a very different sort than the type he's used to. ]

I definitely strongly refute the notion of personhood, yes. [ He's not interested in divulging his true name – it may still hold some power here, and besides, nobody really needs to know anyway – but there's no harm in revealing something of his nature. ] I'm a djinni. In my world, all magicians are inherently naughty.

» CLOSED — FOR tombstruck

[ Cont'd from here! ]

Well, of course it didn't translate well, [ Bartimaeus says, with a hard roll of his eyes. ] English and all its clunky rules couldn't possibly capture the elegance of Hebrew.

001

[tombstruck]

⟪ this is her first batch of new arrivals, and she's dedicated to helping them to the best of her abilities, so when the message comes in, kitty heads out. here's what she's looking for at herdenking: people who look confused, people who look as if they're about to loudly ask where they are, and people who've been recently drugged (because that's a fun fucking side effect of the whole arrival process, isn't it).

the hairs at the back of her neck stand straight up when she hears his voice, mostly because it's recognition without really being recognising. she knows the voice, but it takes her a moment to fiddle together how – and then she sees him. mandrake's demon. who'd saved her life. who wouldn't want to safe mandrake. right there, in the flesh, seemingly on his own, telling a grown adult to watch watch it, as if he's not a shortish kid. or shortish-kid shaped. yeah, definitely the latter. ⟫

Hey, I've been looking for you. ⟪ she's using her top best customer service voice here, while inclining her head slightly to the side as if to say "how about we go slightly away from the crowd before you cause a scene". her eyes, on the other hand, say, "why/how/what the fuck are you doing here?" ⟫

General Armitage Hux - Star Wars

[harmistice]

Drop Off

[Don't hurt anyone, don't look for any assistance from any police officers, and don't run off.

They may as well have told him to gouge his eyes out, while he was at it. Armitage had been rooted to the spot for much longer than any normal person might have been, taken utterly by the commands he was given. It was nearly impossible for him to think about anything except what he had explicitly been told not to do, and so -- frozen he remained.

If his rod-still self weren't awkward enough, there is an extremely twisted scowl on his face, as if he's smelled something awful. However, after a few people wander by to check on him, he seems to ease into the role he was given, wandering about in hopes of finding these "glowing" people.]

Herdenking

[He'd already done quite a bit of reading on this war everyone had apparently lived through, but he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around a droid uprising. In his galaxy, they were quite easy to control -- a restraining bolt here, an EMP there -- it was unlikely anything to this level would ever mount before humanity caught wind of it.

Armitage is easily drawn to the propaganda displays. Whomever this "Ricky" person was, they obviously had an agenda to push, and that is what he is most interested in.

As such, he will ask for opinions from the first person who approaches him:]

What is this "Riverstone" organization, exactly?

Safehouse

[By the time he ends back at the Safehouse, Armitage is exhausted. He was not the sort built for the amount of walking about and socializing he'd needed to do to pass as a normal citizen in New Amsterdam. It had been many years since he was a common ranking officer, and even then -- he'd clawed his way to power as fast as he had been able to game the system.

Now, here he was -- in a system he had only a meager understanding of, and no clear path. It left him vulnerable, like all of the other new arrivals. As such, he is plastered in a corner somewhere with a mirror, running his hand through thin ginger hair.

It would take months to grow in fully.]

OOC

[Got an idea that isn't here? Hit me up on stabs or on discord @ Kayleesi#3402]

herdenking

[warfares]

They manufacture droids, among other things.

( an oversimplification.

lingering before the posters — if only to admire the fact that these look alarmingly like actual paper — kylo ren doesn't turn to regard the man beside him, though he is very much aware of his presence. )