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]

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. ]

[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?

[larkers]

Hi Brandon! No, they won't be able to, as they need an active neural implant! In addition, there are no posters or brochures (as there's no paper) - all of that is handled via AR displays and require an active neural implant.

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. )

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. ]

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?

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. )

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. ]

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/ ]

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.)

[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."

[righteously]

[ The accent brings him back to himself, his annoyance replaced with bemusement - and maybe a little fondness. Always was a little partial to the south himself, although maybe a little less... KFC and a little more Texas. It wins him over a little, but the offering wins him over a lot.

He sets the tin down with a soft clatter onto the counter, takes the offered thermos, and pops off the top. Brings it in to sniff, and... ]

...This decaf?

[ Suspicious, but pouring himself a cup all the same. He'll take what he can get, and maybe just trick his brain into thinking he had a red-eye.

Stop looking a kentucky derby gift horse in the mouth, Winchester. ]

[preseance]

( he leans back against the counter, elbows braced. the picture of easy calm — he's been here some months now, long enough to have the hang of it, an' one don't lose that easy keep your head in a firefight panache on account'a bein' away from the bullets an' mortars each. )

Coffee's one of the crops that's nearly died out here, it's hard to get ahold of, but there's this gal by the name of Silena Beauregard who's, ah, her power? She can alter the taste of things. Better than a kick in the teeth, that's for sure. She knows coffee's one'a the things we all mostly miss, so she makes sure an' send some down whenever she can. Ain't got the caffeine, but trick'a the mind an' all.

( it helps. eases the transition. they can all use a little help, this place bein' what it is an' these folks bein' who they are. )

[righteously]

[ He can recognize the look of an old-timer; too much empathy and perspective to be a local, too steady to be green. It's a good resource to have, and the last vestiges of wariness drain out of Dean's posture into something easy-going and familiar despite having just met the guy. He's got this way about him after a decade and a half of playing roles, this way of slipping into confidence and charismatic genuineness even with complete strangers.

Not-Coffee goes into a cup, and then he hands the thermos back with a quiet: ]

Thanks.

[ Sure as hell better than herbal tea, and when he brings it to his mouth he can't even say it tastes all that different than what he's used to. For magic coffee it ain't half bad. ]

Speaking of- I'm still trying to wrap my head around that. The whole... powers thing. I mean, what's the catch?

[ What goes wrong, what's the drawback? Is it like a get drunk on power situation, does it give you hairy knuckles, is there something he ought to be worried about? ]

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?

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."

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. )

safehouse; (cw for era-appropriate ableism)

[preseance]

( bein' a medic means you get used to all sorts of things. pain an' sufferin' becomes a currency you'd sooner have no part in, you listen to enough screamin' and prayin' and callin' out for someone's mama and you learn things by degrees. how to put it away, how to smile anyhow an' offer comfort to the dyin'. he ain't a priest, weren't never his callin' to become so, but he's held many a hand while someone slipped outta the world an' ain't never flinched from it nor shirked his duty.

the thing is, when you have a brother who's been branded a cripple — who hates it an' wears it as a badge of honor in equal measure, who sneers at folks who act taken aback at the loss of his arm, or the slag burns up one side'a his face, you learn how to navigate handin' out pity and sympathy early on.

in the war, he'd only ever dealt with boys who'd go on to be amputees or cripples. he rarely ever managed 'em in the time they were adaptin' to it, his help was always rendered in the moment of. kid gets a hand blown off by a faulty grenade. loses a leg to a mortar. gets paralyzed by a line of machine gun fire, an' he was there. but the recovery in france or london? the time after? facin' their parents or their girlfriends or wives? no, he hadn't ever been exposed to that until they brought albert home from japan.

but he's lived with his brother the years since. dealt with his rages an' the grief over what he'd survived, an' he's gained a defter hand at dealin' with it, which is why he don't even bat an eye at what this fella looks like. he just gets a respectful nod, an' then gene gestures to him with the point of his chin. it's late — most folks are sleepin' by now, but he don't hardly get off work until 2100, an' it's near an' hour in gettin' here from all that jazz. )

You a pie man?

( he's got two, takin' up the space of his arms in neat little boxes. one's blackberry, one's cherry. they smell fresh-baked, by the scent waftin' up outta the containers. )

[preseance]

Ain't no thing.

( he says it with a little duck of his head, acknowledgin' an' dismissin' that thanks in turn. bein' here's about helpin' each other much as they can, ain't nothin' for which he needs gratitude. he pours himself a cup too, just grateful for the way the warmth seeps into his fingers. he's an alabama boy, an' these days are still colder than he likes. )

Doesn't seem to be a catch so far that I've noticed, I'd almost go so far as to call it compensation for the disruption to our lives. Everybody seems to learn what theirs are in their own time, an' if'n you exercise 'em rightly you can hone your skill over time. They, ah... seem to be tied to our emotions more than anythin'. As far as I can tell, the powers seem to suit a person's demeanor an' suchnot. I've used mine a handful'a times now without ill effect.

[freightcars]

[ There's a patience, an unshaken reserve and a steady calm as Illya tunes into his question. He waits it out, and when the observation comes there's only a subtle, faint pull at one of the corners of his mouth.

Not laughing at you, pal, just amused. ]

Yeah. Think they gave me someone else's by mistake. Think it'll fit you?

[ You wanna swap?

Although he doesn't seem to be incredibly thin, Bucky's gauging that he's at least more slender in the shoulders and around the pecs.

If it's at all weird to be bartering clothes with a stranger, he doesn't display it anywhere on his face or in his posture. ]

[righteously]

[ Ain't no thing earns the first flicker of a smile Dean's given since he got here, just a little amused affair that tugs at his eyebrows and one side of his mouth. Somebody get this guy a can of Skoal and a rocking chair for the back porch.

Ever since they dropped that little bomb about powers Dean's been trying to use his - without a single result. Tried to do the ol' Tobey MaGuire, a little go-go-gadget Spider-Man, tried moving stuff with his mind and it just looked like he was constipated.

Hard to decide whether he's disappointed or relieved. He doesn't exactly trust this kind of thing, and for good reason given his history.

Suchnot. ]

And what's yours if you don't mind me asking, Papaw?

[ The last word a little wry and in good humor. ]

> 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. )

[preseance]

( he's used to it, an' takes it in good humor besides, his mouth curvin' up at one corner. )

Well, Sonny Jim, happens I'm a healer.

( he never could'a imagined bein' so open about it. not when back home all his life had gone to hidin' what he an' all the fellas of his line as far back as anyone knew could do. he misses seein' ghosts, sure as anything, but if he had to trade it for a gift of equal importance to him healin' would'a been the only clear choice anyhow. either you help the livin' or you help the dead, both matter worlds to him. )

Ain't much, but, ah, better than a kick in the teeth.

> 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.