ARRIVAL LOG 004

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of August 05
WHAT: The fourth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #004

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 four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs. You realize there are others next to you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, 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 stops. 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, bright sunshine and the rushing sound of a crowd flooding in, a heavy wave of warm air. The nurse moves to stand at the back, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. He doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded. The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind. Once all the passengers are out, they climb back into the vehicle and close the doors. The engine powers up again, and then the bus is gone. You're left alone in an alley, with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here. The sound of the crowd nearby carries on uninterrupted. Music, chatter and laughter, the occasional sound of a large splash into water. At the end of the alley opposite to where the van left you, the street opens out to a wide artificial river. Gathered on the banks, on several boats across the surface and in the water are hundreds of people: a giant pool party under the blazing summer sun. ◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> THE PARTY

The message from El comes the same as previous: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it. Who's ready for bus #4? Looks like they want you to have some fun this time, they've dropped them off right on top of the river party. Someone get down there and find them before they fall in, please. The New Amsterdam River Party is a near annual event, scheduled for whenever the heat begins to really climb. Located roughly at the middle of the river's length, six large boats take anchor, blocking any water commute for the day. Smaller boats move between them and the river banks, taking any passengers who'd prefer not to get wet back and forth. The area is decorated for the occasion, with several huge palm tree and mermaid sculptures curving over the river, flashing in alternating neon colors. Curling strings of bright lights are strung between them, dangling low and promising a truly flamboyant light show when the sun goes down. For the moment the the focus is fun under the sun. Colorful floats, balls and slides are strewn across the water and banks, with a wide array of water pistols, balloons and slings available at stalls. Beach umbrellas offer shade along the banks, and music blares from the boats, where food sellers have booths and tables to feed the crowd and provide plenty of cool drinks. Lifeguards take posts, watching everything with careful eyes, and large, marked stalls declare themselves to be skincare centers, handing out free sunscreen and reminding everyone to regularly reapply, especially if they've been in the water. In all the colorful, skimpy swimwear and sunglasses, six bewildered people in white scrubs are sure to stand out. Hopefully the citizens are having too much fun to care, but with such attentive lifeguards and event security around, it would be best to find the new arrivals in the crowd as quickly as possible.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

Access to the safehouse is a hatch hidden behind stacks of empty storage shelves in the back of an abandoned supermarket in an outer district of the city. The immediate area is similarly abandoned, empty stores, flanked by several blocks of dive bars and clubs which cater to more niche tastes. A place where people can come and go unseen, or, if seen, not spoken of. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense – she'll be open for in depth questions later, but will advise everyone to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. ◉ The safe house is a large open space, filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. ◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries. ◉ While there were previously also NPC occupants of the safehouse, natives to New Amsterdam, these people have now been moved on to somewhere safer. A few of their belongings remain, discarded or accidentally abandoned. ◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. ◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them. ◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet. ◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until AUGUST 09. These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until August 9 (November 16). At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, or if they'd like to join Morningstar, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below. Please check out our November calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC for new characters will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on November 20 and close on November 27. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

QUESTIONS.

[larkers]

[vns]

[ once everyone settles in, Gaby will make herself visibly available. arms crossed. sitting alone. she'll meet someone's eyes when they come toward her. there's the sense that she's tired. the heat doesn't agree with her.

she holds a cup in her hand of water, but she sips it gingerly. carefully. water rationing is in effect. she's used to it.

if anyone dawdles, doesn't come over, or doesn't know how to greet her, she'll nod. ]

Out with it already. Just don't expect the answer to the mystery of life here. I'm not selling.

[ a joke.

she thinks it's a fair one. ]

[stabilis]

Good, because I'm shit broke.

[ Also a joke, if an accurate one. Johnny takes a seat on the cot across from her, focused and a little impatient, but otherwise calm. He doesn't trust easily. He does, however, like to think he's semi-decent at reading people. Gaby mostly seems tired and done, which strikes him as more trustworthy than anybody who'd be smiling and friendly through all of this. ]

Easy question first. Is this really Earth?

[ She's the first local he's had a chance to talk to. Easier to take her word over the word of people who seem skeptical of their own answers. ]

Armitage Hux | Star Wars

[harmistice]

[ARRIVAL] [closed to Kylo Ren]

[Armitage looks considerably less impressive in loose, ill-fitting white scrubs when compared to his usual militaristic attire. In fact, he paints the picture of a cat that's been dropped in ice water, if the cat was a pale, boney-faced man with a head covered in thin peach fuzz. His expression and bright blue eyes are a mixture of extremely hostile and startled, as if he were expecting someone to jump out and attack him.

And really, that is exactly what he is expecting. He has no weapon to defend himself, the Resistance has just escaped his clutches, and he wakes up...here. Stripped of his status, his hair and every carefully crafted piece of his persona. Not to mention the fact that there is some kind of celebration happening not too far away on a planet that he doesn't recognize.

First thing's first. Find a weapon. He turns and heads for the first glass bottle he can find. Even if he could just get a shard of one of them...]

[SAFEHOUSE]

[By now, he's at least managed to determine that the Resistance hadn't managed to pull something, and that he is still secure enough in his position and power where it matters. As for everything happening around him right now? He'll worry about that as it happens.

The first thing he does is change out of the scrubs. He's not entirely pleased about the state of the clothes he is offered, but the white causes him to stand out too much. Neither option was ideal -- but until he had a better grasp on his surroundings, this would have to do. It had been some time since he'd needed to play the part of a mouse.

He's in the middle of wrapping a scarf to cover his mostly bald head when he spots others mingling around near him. The lack of privacy was another problem, and the realization causes him to sneer. And unfortunate look for anyone who happens to be glancing in his direction.]

[WILDCARD]

[Hi! I can be found at stabs/Kayleesi#3402. Hit me up here or there!]

arrival

[warfares]

[ Navigating his way through the crush of party-goers is an adventure, to put it mildly. Still dressed in his biking leathers, he couldn't stand out more if he tried, but it covers most of his skin and that more than makes up for the discomfort.

Finding a gaggle of people dressed in white scrubs amidst a sea of half-naked party-goers shouldn't be this difficult ㅡ but the riverbank is a rainbow of writhing bodies, music and the scent of cooking food curling heavily on the air. Overwhelming.

He scans the crowd and, there ㅡ

Closing the distance quickly, he sets a hand on Hux's arm, ] Don't.

[ He understands the impulse. Stars does he understand. But this is neither the time nor the place. ]

We need to leave. Now.

[forcevisions]

You won't be stuck here long.

[ That's how Rey chooses to read his disgusted expression. She'd made her way to the safehouse at the announcement of new arrivals to search for anyone from the Resistance to no avail.

Hux's sour face is unfamiliar in its specificity, but thoroughly familiar in its sentiment. People who had better lives before coming to a safehouse full of rationed insects and vegetable proteins; people who hated being cloistered here and unable to fight. ]

Just long enough that they can get you an ID.

[evite]

[ the sneer is kind of unnecessary, daisy thinks, but not entirely unfamiliar. she gets it. being cooped up here, being told where you can and can't go, all while knowing you're in a place that gives nothing but questions and expects you to find the answers on your own — everyone reacts differently, but everyone hates it. she'd wanted to get out too. ]

That bad, huh?

[ the first few days are the worst. the clothes don't fit, the food's terrible, there's nowhere to go that doesn't put you face-to-face with some other newbie. ]

The storage closet's mostly sound-proof. [ a beat. ] If you want to scream without everyone staring at you.

Safehouse

[apilot]

[Poe is tired. Tired enough that when he recognizes one of the new arrivals to the safehouse, even without the ginger hair or the uniform, he doesn't have something sharp on the tip of his tongue to toss the man's way. He grabs an extra pillow off his cot, considers what it would feel like to hold it down over the man's face with all of his weight, and crosses over toward the unpleasantly sneering man, shoving it none too gently into the general's chest and holding it there with one hand. Were it anyone else he might have felt sympathy or a need to apologize for them finding themselves in this situation, but Poe doesn't have it in him to feel sympathetic for the man before him now.

He smiles, the expression sharp and lacking in anything resembling warmth. His smile stops well before his eyes which still have bags beneath them. The impossibly long and dragging two weeks stranded here have not been forgiving.]

Play nice, General. You wouldn't want the locals thinking you aren't happy to be here. Not when they're being so hospitable.

[He pulls his hand back, leaving the general to drop or grab the offered pillow but not breaking eye contact with him, his eyes fiery even while bloodshot.]

Loving what you've done with your whole look. It suits you.

safehouse!!

[mercurio]

[prompto, for his part, has tried to make the best of the showers and changing into the provided clothes. it's not really much of anything, but it's better than the damp scrubs he got to sport thanks to being pushed into the river.]

[as he walks back and tries to choose what bed he would like to call his own for now, he spots hux trying on the whole wrapping-a-scarf-on-head situation.]

[...and he just stares]

...he-hey! Where did you get that from?

[he, too, wishes to cover his (big ears) head like that. (he's kind of oblivious to the sneering, sorry for interrupting your life, buddy.)]

johnny jaqobis | killjoys

[stabilis]

a. alley (closed to new arrivals)

[ He isn't planning on waking up. If he was, though, he would've assumed it'd be on Lucy or the RAC — not in a van with a bunch of strangers. Fighting back isn't an option, and by the time his head starts to clear the van's well out of sight. Johnny slowly drags a hand over his his buzzed head, trying to push through what's left of the haze.

His new friends look just as lost and just as badly dressed. He slants his immediate neighbor a look anyway, taking a second to assess them for anything informative, identifiers or injuries or weapons. Nothing. Just shitty hair and scrubs. ]

Hey. [ He sounds calm. Bemused, at most, and there's a distinct impression that he isn't expecting a helpful answer. ] Do me a favor and tell me you know what the hells is going on.

b. party

[ Spotting confused people wearing bright white scrubs in a crowd of half-dressed party-goers, easy; spotting this guy, who has taken off his shirt and managed to swipe a pair of sunglasses from some guy who wasn't paying attention? Still easy, probably, but not as easy.

It's been a while since he's seen so many people near so much water, and it's godsdamned weird, but he also kind of wishes he had a swimsuit. He clocks the lifeguards and the actual guards and makes a point of avoiding them on sheer intuition, but it'd be a stretch to say he's laying low. Blending in, maybe. Asking people for drinks? Yes, but only because he really needs one, preferably alcoholic, and he apparently has no joy — or a PDD to pay with.

The obvious target: someone without any friends. That's you, since you're here by yourself and don't seem to be having much fun. ]

Hey— not to sound desperate, but I'm having a shit day. Buy me a drink and I'll owe you three.

c. safehouse

[ As soon as he's back at the safehouse, Johnny spends a lot of time a) staring at nothing (or testing out the capabilities of the chip in his head, if you're observant), b) exploring the contents of the kitchen, though he seems more interested in reading the nutrition labels than actually eating anything, and c) doing about the same for the medical supplies, trying to gauge the technology without getting in anybody's way. He won't stop anybody to ask questions, but he's obviously new in town. ]

d. wildcard

[ Interrupt wherever in the above prompts or do something different! You can find me at awarewolf. ]

b.

[covertness]

[ there's a lot going on - with daisy still avoiding the apartment, fitz still feeling guilty, the mystery of the fire and the guard still unsolved and people still angry, bobbi's mind is whirling. sometimes, a change of scenery is the best thing for that.

if the change of scenery has the added benefit of letting her keep an eye out for the new arrivals, well. all the better. so she's managed to find a one-piece that does nothing to hide her curves and she's got sunglasses perched atop a head that's slowly growing back some of the hair she used to have. it's getting just a little too long to call it a buzzcut, but it's a far cry from where it used to be.

it's his hair - or lack thereof - that bobbi notices first when he approaches her. he seems relatively calm, all things considered, not confused. could be a native. could be a new arrival with some experience in dealing with unknown situations. ]

Hi. [ her smile's easy. ] What's your poison, stranger?

[ there's an easy way to find out if he's new or native. bobbi reaches out to brush a hand against his arm, skin against skin. ]

a

[mechanisch]

[ Gaby can't definitively say this is the first time she's woken up not knowing where she is, at least at first. Of course, her brief uncertainty is usually a product of imbibing a little too much vodka the night before, and she's more than familiar with the pounding in her head that accompanies a hangover.

This feels different, a fogginess that still has yet to fully lift, to the point that she doesn't pick up on the fact that someone, one of the others dressed all in white, is speaking to her right away — and they may have to repeat themselves before she even perceives the remark.

Her immediate response is to shake her head, the residual thickness in her mouth making the formation of words a bit tough before she finally gets them out. ] I wish I knew. What do they even want with us?

[ She realizes with nothing short of dread, that if her true identity, her role as an agent of UNCLE, has been uncovered, the whole safety of her team could be compromised. There's no sign of Solo or Illya, and she idly wonders if they've been taken elsewhere, to some other location. ]

w-w-wildcard.

[evite]

[ you know what's super fun and interesting to do in a kitchen filled with new-agey protein bars and off-off-off brand captain crunch cereal? if johnny guessed the answer was "reading the ingredient lists", he'd not only be right, but he'd be depressingly accurate about the current state of Fun Things to Do affairs in ye olde safehouse.

not to worry, though. entertainment is here. ]

Hey buzzcut. [ yes, you. ] Pop quiz: would you rather go bald or be forever cursed to have terrible haircuts?

[ and yes, that's a serious question, being lodged to you by a very serious girl at the table. if it helps, she also has snacks. ]

prompto argentum / ffxv

[mercurio]

a. party

[the people in white scrubs might have arrived together, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they're sticking together. prompto most definitely feels bewildered, squinting under the sun and feeling dazed; his footsteps definitely heavy and clumsy as he tries to find some place he can hopefully lay low until he can gather his bearings.]

[as things are, his eyes can't quite focus, and he ends up holding onto one of the mermaid sculptures and leaning on it for support.]

[the last memory he recalls of being in a freezing tundra doesn't add up to the blazing heat he's under right now, and the huge contrast has him reeling not just from the effect of the sedatives, but from the confusion quickly climbing to panicking territory.]

Keep it together...

[he really looks out of place, seemingly talking to the statue as he holds on to it with both hands. his eyes are pinched closed, swaying on the spot.]

[the music doesn't really allow for much on concentration. he counts to three, however, hopes for the best, and tries to take a few steps away from the statue and towards a more discreet area.]

[except that he's not watching his feet and is moving instead towards the edge of the river, ready to fall in it in three, two...]

b. safehouse

[fortunately, the safe house feels infinitely better than being out in the open. prompto's quick to pick a bed when he's asked to, sitting on it and remaining there a moment to make a quiet survey of the situation--a situation he understands so little of.]

[he sits on the thing cot and wonders if sleeping on the floor would make a difference at all, hands working to unfurl a roll of bandages that he managed to take from the medical care, trying to make swift work of bandaging over his right wrist.]

[in order to detract attention from himself, he asks:]

So... Can we play video games in our heads now?

[he tries to muster up a laugh to go with his question, but it falls flat before it really takes off, not really certain anyone's listening to him, even if it's a large open space. he's not sure on how to handle this situation, either; between his identity crisis before arrival and now, prompto has more questions and doubts than he knows what to do with.]

[sighing shakily, he manages to finishes bandaging up the offending part of his arm and looks up at whoever is closest to him.]

Uh, [uncertainty in his voice, he continues regardless,] kinda lame about our hair, huh?

[these are not the questions he wishes to be asking, nor the conversation starter he wishes to opt towards--clearly. it just comes to show that he has no idea how to even go about putting into words this whole situation.]

[yeah, he needs his hand to be held.]

c. wildcard
[hit me up with something different! can be found at armiger or zegnautus#6068 ]

b

[batricide]

Only if you want to run the risk of flying your own brain.

[ Luckily for Prompto - someone is listening. Unluckily it's Damian. Who greets the attempt at humor with an overly critical stare and a dismissive scoff.

He doesn't like this. He's not really here for the people - he's here for answers, even if he - sort of is trying. Sort of. He's not terribly personable and his genetic gift of supreme paranoia isn't helping. He doesn't like how deliberately they appear to be dropped off. In big, crowded areas - was the second group chucked into a celebration too? ]

You've got bigger worries than hair.

b.

[covertness]

[ bobbi misses her hair, but she isn't going to let that stand in the way of, well, anything - but the woman who smiles back at prompto in a way that says she's not happy about the lack of hair isn't quite bobbi morse. it's katelin philips, scientist and civilian. maybe pretending to be a civilian is unnecessary or even useless; maybe their captors already know who she is and what she's capable of, but unless she knows that for sure, bobbi wants to keep the element of surprise on her side.

katelin's hand goes up to her own head, no longer a buzzcut but something barely beyond because she's been growing her hair out again. ]

Lame is one word for it.

[ she glances at his arm and the bandage around it. ] Are you all right? [ a beat. ] As all right as anyone can be under the circumstances, I mean.

a, nobody read this

[cyberlife]

(he should've expected this. last month it was the body mod festival, where he found noctis in the throngs of tattoo artists and cybernetic prosthetists. the month before that it was markus, left in the aftermath of a major attack on the city. so why didn't he anticipate the message from el interrupting the only peaceful day he's had to himself in a week?

beyond the network text, connor watches white scrubs cross his field of vision from where he's reclining in a lounge chair beneath a colourful umbrella.

...

and jerks upright, nearly knocking his sunglasses off in alarm.

that's one of them, right there by the riverside. it's both fortuitous and extremely unlucky; a few people's attention is on him like they're trying to figure out if this is the vintage linen look new amsterdam's rich seem to favour in summer or if this guy's seriously lost. connor's one of them. there's no one else he recognizes who might be able to help the blond — hell, he wouldn't rely on them for results regardless — so it's up to him to reach out, steer him away, get him somewhere safe.

wrestling himself out of his seat with some effort, the worried android makes his beeline for prompto through the crowd. with only one arm available to deflect shoulders and avoid jarring the broken collarbone that pins his other to his bare chest in a sling, it's difficult and he lags long enough to see where prompto's heading. any way he looks at it, that's too close to the edge, making him rush and blurt a warning.

it's the thought that counts.)

Stop, you'll—!

(connor's cut off by an ill-timed slip on a patch of wet shoreline that sends them into a headlong collision, both tumbling sadly into the drink.)

c. we do what we want

[fessus]

[ Noctis had received the message, of course. A call to action, more of their kind showing up here alone, no doubt startled and in need of assistance. Even still it takes him more time to get to the scene than he would've liked, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the partiers with his fully covered body and focused expression, brow pinched as he searches for anyone dressed like he'd been when he arrived.

His destination, whether or not he finds anyone, is the same: they'll all end up back at the safehouse and while it's been a few days now since he's stayed there he certainly hasn't forgotten the location. Hasn't forgotten what it felt like to be brought there and left alone, confused and disoriented. Maybe he can help... it feels like the least he can do, anyway.

It's a coincidence that has him heading to the medical storage, freshly emerging from the kitchen after showing a few hungry newbies around and letting them know what to expect. No, now he's in need of a fresh bandage of his own -- or, more accurately, some bandage tape or a fastener to tend to the wrappings around his upper arm. He's still sporting the sling that'll be his main accessory for a while, mumbling a brief "excuse me" to the man he notes lingering nearby.

Then he gets a second look.

Recognition comes slow when he's faced with his best friend, hair shorn shorter and arms sporting deep track marks just like his had when he'd first made the rounds in this dark and gloomy place. But-- those eyes, the slope of his nose, his height, every little feature he narrows in on... It's him. ]

Prompto?

oops also b

[stabilis]

Absolutely. Way worse than the kidnapping and illegal body mods.

[ Sarcastic, said with enough humor to be friendly instead of judgy. Johnny's sitting at a nearby cot, considering the small welcome package (very small; it's got, like, three things), but he glances over at the commentary, focus lingering briefly on the freshly bandaged wrist. ]

And it depends on the graphics on these things. [ He'd guess yes on the games, though. He hasn't had much time to test it out, but even just browsing the network is a short step away from full VR. He gives the bandages a pointed look. ] You okay?

c

[secondnature]

[After a couple of extreme misses with the previous arrivals, Keith moves with some trepidation through the safehouse. What he wants to do is help. The issue is, his kind of help comes with some difficult strings, like the fact that being warm and cuddly is better suited to most other people.

(Sans, of course, those people he had extreme misses with. Keith is confident enough to say he's a nicer guy than them, and that says something.)

Still, he notices that Prompto is shaky, that he's having a hard time. Keith isn't going to go on any French fry runs like last time, but he does eventually bring him a bottle of juice, setting it down in front of him.]

I'm uh—[Not the best at this? No, that makes this about him. Keith knows better.

So, his name will suffice.]

I'm Keith. Do you wanna talk about it?

a! if you don't mind another party person c:

[quipper]

Oh my god, there you are! [ her brightly coloured bikini and cover up suggest she's a local, sunnies resisting on her floppy hat, as her free hand drops to her hip, faux-irritated at prompto. ] I've been scouring this whole damn party for you, jerk.

[ long story made short: steph takes a zero chill approach to problem-solving, hops up on the bar to scan the crowd for white scrubs, and makes a beeline toward prompto. just in time, too, 'cause she grasps his arm to pull him back from the edge — well, before she thinks better of it, that is. he's too conspicuous in that outfit, meaning the best course of action is to force him to change or cover up, so she gives him a shove seconds after attempting a rescue.

it's down to him whether she gets yanked in as well. people nearby seem to think they've caught a lovers' tiff in progress, not a former abductee-rescue, which, uh, counts for something, right? ]

b, kind of.

[evite]

[ this time around, daisy takes it easy. she'd barged into the safehouse last time, made aggressive attempts at bonding — empathy bond or not, it had been an exhausting process. this time, she tries to take it slow, scout out the new arrivals, figure out how they interact with others to figure out what approach (if any) she wants to make.

she watches the blond interact with bobbi, and the gentleness of it all makes her smile despite herself. she doesn't want to interrupt, but when the other woman finally heads off to see to something else, daisy slides in. ]

Hey. [ #casual ] Scale of one to ten, how much does your brain feel like it's going to explode?

cassandra cain | dc comics

[cassassin]

a. party

[ she had just gotten on a plane for london, then she was here. different clothes, a city skyline she couldn't begin to recognize, like something out of a movie. her head is pounding, and the bright sunlight and incessant music isn't helping. she can feel her body tensing, chest tightening.

cassandra weaves quickly through the crowd, trying to find somewhere to get away from all the noise and people--even if she's pretty sure none of this is real, she can't think like this. unfortunately she isn't paying a ton of attention to where she's actually going.]

b. safehouse

[ cassandra sits on her terrible cot and draws in a shaky breath. she touches her hair, now cut short, almost like it could be a pixie cut after another cut emphasizing style. she's trying to understand the implant--she still can't read the text that pops up, but the nature of this thing works around that. so that's something. ]

None of this... makes any sense. [ it's to no one in particular. apart from that, she can be found just futzing with her implant to try to get the hang of using it, or hanging in the kitchen or the eating area, just like. noshing on protein bars or eating cereal right out of the box with her hands. style and grace. ]

c. wildcard

[ or whatever! i'm at clockworkbrain/gigasatan#7576. ]

safehouse.

[reneger]

None if it does make any sense.

( jason's leaning precariously against a nearby wall, keeping an arm wrapped firm around his middle. he's--still recovering from getting the shit stabbed out of him and from the very unwell planned back alley surgery; it's probably not a great idea for him to be out and about, much less standing, but.

stubborn determination is one of his strong suits. )

Welcome to the cesspit of unanswered questions and strange-assed losers, Cass.

gaby teller | the man from UNCLE

[mechanisch]

a. party

[ The sun beating down is what feels the most jarring, somehow, bright and hot and nothing remotely resembling the warmth of a Venice summer morning, the last thing she remembers experiencing before this place. Tossing them into a party scenario isn't entirely foreign, though, and even in a pair of white scrubs Gaby's diminutiveness relative to everyone else enables her to slip through the crowd easily, quickly. She grabs a pair of sunglasses abandoned on a table and jams them over her face, but that only solves one of her many, many problems.

For a brief moment, she lingers by the water, one hand idly rising to touch the recently-shorn ends of her hair. She hasn't worn it this short since she was a girl, long enough to just tuck behind her ears but not able to do much with it besides wear a handkerchief to keep it back and out of her face. The loss is similarly disconcerting, a reminder that as much as she can put certain skills to use to stay a certain number of steps ahead, she's still been taken against her will to a place she doesn't know without anyone she recognizes in plain sight.

Unfortunately, her being lost in thought means she's distracted, not moving, and likely to stick out even more: a dazed, petite young woman in white scrubs standing just at the river's edge. ]

b. safehouse

[ At least this is a term she knows, recognizes. Her time in espionage might be scant compared to others but there are some aspects that she's more well-versed in — and a designated safehouse is remarkably same across the board, with perhaps one or two unique creature comforts in place. Gaby changes first, not heedless of the fact that anyone could walk by and spot her in a state of undress but very much aware of it — and then, after testing out the firmness of her cot with a brief sit, decides to walk around and investigate first and foremost.

The self-guided tour culminates at the kitchen, and while she doesn't initially intend to eat anything the growling in her stomach reminds her that she doesn't really know how much time has passed since she's had anything resembling a meal.

So, cue Gaby, an opened bag of chips in one hand, still rummaging through the various drawers and cupboards, and when someone approaches her she'll call out over one shoulder, not necessarily paying attention to who it could be. ]

You didn't happen to see anything to drink around here, did you?

[ Based on her tone, she's not exactly referring to juice, either. ]

c. wildcard

[ or throw another scenario at me; I'm totally flexible and up for whatever! feel free to ping/add me at favoritings or carly#5387. ]

b

[strove]

[Clarke's presence here all but feels mandatory. In case there are any changes. In case anyone would like her to take their blood and send it off for samples. The issue is that it feels like more of the same: they're dropped off. They can't think for themselves for a while. They eventually end up at the same place, waiting. Idle. Hoping that they can go home.

She gets the sense that it will continue to be that way, and they'll continue to wonder why these people have been left in their laps.

After checking the medical stocks, Clarke stops in the kitchen for a drink—non-alcoholic—when she hears Gaby. It's a good instinct at this stage, and she shakes her head, panting out a laugh soon after.]

If you can't find any, my guess is that we're fresh out. Things have been ... stressful lately.

[To say the least.]

dick grayson | DC Comics

[preceded]

I. WIPE OUT.MP3
THE SURFARIS

[The fact that he has to shield his eyes, is the first thing that let's him know he's probably not in Kansas anymore. There'd been a moment, strapped down and in that van- that he'd strongly considered the idea that he'd just imagined a rescue from the world's most ill-conceived duo, and instead of killing him outright, the winner of Roulette's game had decided to play with their captive first. It wouldn't exactly be the first time- but being let out, stumbling and foggy brained into the mouth of an ally doesn't exactly fit the M.O. either.

A slight change to predictable behaviour isn't that out of the norm, if not unsettling- but the heat, and the bright glaring sun- even in it's warmest season, Gotham was barely anything but overcast. A mix of pollution and rainy weather both. So the first thing he does upon that realization, is sink a little further into the alley, hand scraping along the brick until he's covered more in the shadow of the buildings.

He needs to lay low, at least until the slight trembling in his limbs ease, because he knows if he comes stumbling down in the party below, looking like he'd just escaped from a hospital room- he's more likely to cause a bit of mass hysteria, than to get any of the information he actually wants.

He's just hoping his reaction time wasn't so slowed down, that the people who came stumbling out of the truck after him, noted particularly where he'd gone. Not when he has no idea if they're in the same boat as him, or insurance by whoever had actually dropped him here. Bats be paranoid]

II. THE GREATEST SHOWER SCENE-
SINCE PSYCHO. For Steph - but if you want this, by all means

[When Dick had managed to make it back to the safe house, he'd barely spared a glance for anyone else in the space. Simply selected a cot when asked, that kept him towards the back and with a view of as many people he would be living with for the next little while, as possible. Then he'd grabbed what passed for clothes that would allow him to blend in, the bag of toiletries and made a beeline for the communal showers.

Privacy is an illusion he could ill afford for most of his life, and more so, when your ex is a rather omniprescent on the other side of every available tech feed, and so he thinks very little of shredding the scrubs he'd come in with and turning on the water as hot as he could stand. The actual shower portion had been quick and perfunctory- something to get rid of the sweat from the heat at the beach earlier, and the slight feeling of grim- of wrongness, in knowing he'd been stationary for an amount of time he found impossible to determine.

It had helped- but not by much. The warmth seeps over muscles that feel out of sorts- not as bad off as they would be, he thinks, if he'd been out of commission this long back in Gotham- but stiff with more disuse than he's seen out of them since he'd first learned to walk. Braces his forearms on the wall in front of him, and tries not to find it disconcerting that the motion doesn't bring with it the pang of broken ribs that he knows he should be feeling. That the water runs down over his forehead and down the edge of his nose, and doesn't plaster his hair across his eyes.

Let's the sound of it hitting the drain, and the pounding of it on his skin, drown out the sound of everyone else there. As much as he's shucked a lot of Bruce's teachings over the years, a few things are so ingrained he'll never drop them. Collect all information available. Go over it. Then again, and again, until he's as sure of it as he is his own name. Then plan. The problem is- When he goes over the information he's been given- none of it makes any sense.

Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma with very little after effects, a compelled need to do as he's instructed, a neural implant that needs to be adjusted before he can leave the warehouse- an older Damian- no. That, he's going to leave alone.

He sighs, and scrubs a hand through shorn hair, and tips his head back beneath the spray. Try again. Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma-

Wait, was that-?]

III. RIG THE DECK?
WILDCARD

( this is your do as you will space, hit me up at kiriakis#4400 at discord, or shoot me a PM if you want to work out something specific, otherwise- go nuts )

wildcards

[reneger]

( jason got the text about a new group of kidnapees. it's--not surprising, they're on a schedule after all. beaten and torn as he is, it wasn't a great idea(read: impossible) to chase them down. figure out who the hell showed up. he waits instead, with loki. gets him to help lug jason to the safehouse to see if there are any familiar faces amongst the newcomers. waits against one of the walls close to the exit and eyes every new face as it passes. he isn't looking for anyone in particular. doesn't want another to show.

but if someone does, jason wants to know who the hell they are, where they come from, and where they stand. especially when it comes to himself and damian. no one wants another. . incident.

and regardless of any multiversal differences, dick grayson stands out in a crowd. it's the way he holds himself, circumstances be damned. jason sees him fast enough.

lurches forward half a step before realizing how bad of an idea that is when his body protests, hissing between clenched teeth as it yanks at stitches. he pauses for a moment, takes a deep steadying breath. raises a hand to call out easy: ) Hey, Dickard.

( easy, voice light. he's gauging for dick's reaction--jason expects fists, honestly. after all the shit he's pulled? justified. but the multiverse hasn't been kind to any of them yet. who the hell knows. )