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

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. )

ew it's you

[preceded]

[He might not have been focused on looking for anyone else, too eager to find himself a quiet space and process what he knows- but that modification to his name stops him short, along with the voice having used it. His reaction is to stiffen, every muscle tensing for a blow that doesn't come, and his head snaps towards the sound. Quickly enough that if it weren't for his natural grace, he'd likely have wobbled where he stood.

He's not imagining it. Standing there, is Jason. Or, a Jason- he isn't sure. There's enough of him that looks familiar. Same build, same towering height, same sharp jawline- the white to his hair is gone, but Dick isn't close enough to tell if that's due to the close cropped hair, some colouring to avoid standing out- or something else. But there's something else, and it's not even the way he lifts his hand in greeting, or the light easy way he speaks- as if he's greeting an acquaintance and not the brother who'd finally decided Jason was beyond saving. Or at least, was beyond being saved by anyone without adequate credentials to their name.

It's like looking a hidden objects picture- normal but for the fine detailing, and he doesn't have any hints. It's unsettling, in more ways than one- and he curls his fingers slightly, loose- he wants to make a fist, to expend energy and be prepared both- but he also doesn't want to make a move that could be considered aggressive. Set Jason off, when so little does, and he's not quite ready to handle him]

Jason.

[It's flat. Wary, and without any humour, without any fondness. He doesn't come any closer to make this conversation a little more private, and he doesn't take his eyes off of him, either. What's your angle?]

[reneger]

( he knows that voice well. has heard dick cycle through every tone in the book, from soft fondness to gentle persuasion, to the stupid snider voice he uses when he's dicking (haha) around with others. this one? jason remembers even better. that wary tone, lacking fucking anything. as if he's trying to avoid getting any reaction out of jason, too. good.

it tells him a lot right there. that dick's pissed at him, maybe. that he's done something wrong recently. everyone and their (dead) mother knows what jason did to the penguin back home, maybe that's what this is. maybe it's something else. but dick is certainly not in a place where he's feeling comfortable enough to talk to jason.

no, that dick is much, much softer. doesn't look at him like this, either. )

Not here to start a fight, promise. ( both hands out this time, palms up. there's nothing in them, nothing hidden in jeans or the dark tank worn on top. bandages are fairly obvious when he's not holding onto himself, either; gauze pads sticking up against his chest, creases of the bandages obvious through fabric.

jason doesn't like this at all. not knowing what dick knows. not being able to place together whatever crappy thing he threw in his face last. he knows well enough whatever it was, it was probably his own goddamn fault. it'd take more than both hands for jason to count the crappy moves he's made. especially directed at dick directly. but he's less angry now. less snappy. or more contained about it, at the very least. )

Hell, I couldn't handle one. You wanna take this somewhere less busy, or let it all out here?

wildcard

[cassassin]

[they aren't brought in quite at the same time. she doesn't realize he's there at first, really.

but then she looks up at the right moment in the area with the terrible cots, and--]

Dick? [first familiar face since she's gotten here. she's sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, eyes still a little wide and disbelieving about all of this. she's been trying to run through it, process all she knows--she's a detective--but she can't make sense of any of it.]

[preceded]

Cass?

[It's a little more than a breath. He'd been sussing out a cot with the most advantageous positioning- so much as one could get in a glorified warehouse, and had bypassed her entirely. She'd made herself so small, knees pulled to her chest, and sitting out of the way, but he still can't believe he'd missed her.

He doubles back immediately, and stops directly before her. He hovers there, just a moment- taking her in and looking for any signs of a scuffle- to see if she'd found anyone a little more unsavoury than he had. Finding none, there's a bit of relief in his expression- not solely for that reason. Out of everyone he's come across- Cass is the only one who looks exactly as he remembers her, baring the hair.

It's small, but he's going to hang on to it. It's only a moment more, before he drops down to a crouch and balances on the balls of his feet, hand reaching out to curl across the side of her knee. A soft squeeze in greeting]

Hi. [Despite everything- right now, he's happy to see you]

[cassassin]

[she's managed to scrounge some old pants and a long-sleeved shirt that fit since she was pulled in. relief spreads across her face when he recognizes her--she understood enough about this to realize that wasn't a given. the squeeze to her leg is reassuring. grounding, even if some part of cassandra still doubts all of this.

there's a moment of hesitation, of fear--but she moves forward, looping her arms around him.]

You're... okay?

i'll be nice and give you a wildcard.

[crisised]

[ it's been a crazy couple of weeks. and when the message from el flashes across her vision, kara knows it's just going to get crazier. she heads down to the beach for a little while, mostly running interference to keep people away from the newcomers since she doesn't really trust herself around people who probably have compliance drugs in them. (or rather, the drug being around triggers feelings of panic in kara that she doesn't want to admit to.)

and then she makes her way around the safe house, bringing people food and water. checking up on how they're feeling like a couple people did for her. it's--terrible. that this happened to more people. but having something concrete to do other than research and, ugh, job hunting is good for her. but not as good as looking across the room at the safe house and seeing a familiar face. ]

Dick! [ without her really thinking about it, kara's up and racing across the room towards him. she slows when she gets close, clearly telegraphing her movements as she gets up in his space and loops her arms around his waist in a hug. she's careful not to touch any bare skin right now. just in case he doesn't know yet. ]

You look like crap, Grayson. [ it's gentle, teasing. ] How are you feeling? Are the drugs worn off yet?

i'm sorry i don't have an icon as cute as urs weeps

[preceded]

[He'd just made it back towards the cot he'd selected, changed out of his scrubs into what had passed for clothing around here- the outfit more threadbare and a size larger than he typically wears his clothes, sleeves dragging past his fingers, when he hears his name.

His head snaps up, and his mouth curves slightly. It's with a careless toss that he relieves himself of the toiletry bag he'd been trying to figure out how to stow, and leaves his arms open at the ready. Even if he'd been expecting her to do it- he still appreciates every movement she telegraphs, because it slows her down and leaves him free to brace his feet a little better. It's been awhile since he's felt so off balance]

Kara! [There's a bit of surprise colouring his voice, arms squeezing tight around her upper back, hard enough that he's lifting her slightly off her toes= because for all her biological advantage over him, he knows she'll let him.

Which is why he's so surprised- this place clearly likes those from their side of the multiverse, given who he's seen- but he'd never expected her to be one of them. Even if he hadn't been a fan of the family she comes from, Supers aren't exactly easy to take down and keep down]

Thanks. [It's dry, but amused] I'll keep it in mind, next time I feel like changing it up a bit.

[Like he had a choice, but he knows the shaved head is not a good look for him. He'd only caught a small glimpse in a reflective surface, but- yikes] Nearly. I'm guessing that's standard protocol?

dick's face is cute enough

[crisised]

[ a delighted giggle bubbles up when he picks her up. gods, it's good to see him, even if the circumstances are shit. for her, it's been a little more than a year since she's been able to see him. jessie had given birth, the dome had fallen over gotham and then they were stuck. without even the good parts of gotham to keep them company. so if she holds on a little tighter than she normally would--well. it's understandable. especially since she doesn't have her powers anymore. ]

Don't take it too hard. No one can really pull off the whole escaped experiment look.

[ including her. she still hasn't gotten used to the super short pixie cut her hair is now. but she's pretty clearly healthy otherwise. maybe a bit tired, but nothing like the new faces recovering from their ordeals. ]

More or less. [ she pulls back a bit from the hug so she can look him in the eye, but keeps her arms loose around him for a bit. ] This has only happened a few times now, but it's starting to form a pattern.

Iish

[secondnature]

[Keith's arrival at the party feels delayed, but that's only because he stops off somewhere to pick up a pair of red swim trunks. It would be weird to show up at a party looking for people like he's not meant to be there. And while Keith is the last person to give a crap about social mores, he doesn't want it to cause problems.

He leaves his clothes in his taxi as he loops through the area, looking for anyone who'd be one of them. The problem is he bought swim trunks—good—but didn't think to grab anything like flip flops—bad. So ... he's walking around with his boots in his hands, trying to find someone. Anyone. Or even give himself a vantage point to see the typical flash of white that stands out.

For a second, Dick looks familiar. From his profile, anyway. Yet another person in their bunch who fits that description (and Keith knows he's among them).

Keith steps are with some trepidation as he eases closer. He's not someone who's overly shy, just cautious. And here, he knows how much they can be on edge. It's not like they were in a crash that forced them to come to their senses a lot sooner. He sets down the boots at his feet and raises a hand.]

Hey. [Good opener. He's getting there.] Believe it or not, but I'm here to collect you. [Collect? Bad word, maybe. Whatever. It'll work.]

[preceded]

That right?

[It's even, with no real infliction. He might have tried to make himself difficult to find, but he'd been expecting it was only a matter of time before someone did. A man wearing an outfit that looks like he belongs to the party down below, instead of one of the people in the van with him- or something far worse, hadn't been who he'd been expecting.

He's wary- that much is obvious. He hasn't taken his eyes off Keith since he carefully made his way over, and he hasn't made any move to come any closer. Likewise though, he hasn't made any move to take his hand from where it's pressed against the wall, or stopped the other from hanging limply at his side. Even a little of balance, Dick is quick, nimble- he's confident enough that he could get a good hit in, if he had to.

He's just not going to start trouble where for the moment, there doesn't appear to be any] And who, exactly, are you?

[He's not leaving without that information, at the very least]

[secondnature]

[Dick's wariness is only fair. Keith can't feel too bothered by it. Again: no one's gone through his ordeal. That's a good thing, but it also means that the adrenaline has never had cause to kick in. Adrenaline like that doesn't deal with drugs effectively, but it can force a clear mind.

Then again, who would have a clear mind here even with adrenaline? Keith understands caution.

Keith takes another step forward, thinks to offer his hand, but thinks better of it. If there's one way to make someone not trust him, it's forcing the empathy bond on accident. Instead, his slender arms come up to cross over his chest, covering a few scars there along the way. He's a fighter, and he's not taking any care to hide it (though it's not like he really can, not if he's bothering to fit in).]

I'm Keith. [How many times has he wished that being a paladin meant something here? It's never been for fame or notoriety or any of that. It's just to explain why he wants to help, and why it feels like a calling—a lifelong purpose—to help. "Morningstar agent" doesn't fit the bill.

He'll go with something a lot less involved, though no less complicated.]

I showed up out on the streets a little over a month ago. Just like you. [Not exactly. Not at all. Keith knows that he can correct that later.] You don't have to believe me, but we've all gotten used to finding you guys now.

wildcard!

[fledges]

[Kate's still living in the safe house for no other real reason than that she's broke, so she's there the day the new arrivals show up. She feels for them—it still makes her skin crawl if she starts to think about whatever surgery they've all been through. At this point, she's just gotten a little better at shoving all that anger and fear to the back of her mind.

She's spent the day trying to make some version of chili with what's in the kitchen. There's no meat, so she's had to substitute some weird soy "crumbles" for the ground beef she'd usually use, but it's looking passable. Kate glances up when someone wanders into the kitchen, and her face lights up when she realizes it's one of the newbies.]

Hey! New kid, right? Are you hungry?

[This is mostly a nice gesture, but also partially Kate hoping new guy will be her guinea pig for this concoction.]

[preceded]

That obvious?

[Her outfit looks a little more put together than the threadbare thrown together clothes that had been left for them on their cots- so, maybe it is. Her hair looks a little longer too, but from what he could tell of the people who'd been around, they'd had it all in various stages. He's noted it, mostly because he wonders what that means. That it looks like some of them had been under longer than others. Had some not taken to the implant well?

Normally, he'd be a little bit leery with making a few more new connections, especially when he's feeling so unsteady with the situation and the little bit of information that he does have to go on. It's just- his stomach makes a slight grumble, that reminds him that- yeah, he hasn't had anything substantial to eat in who knew how long.

He joins her, careful not to crowd too close, and sends her a quick, charming grin]

If you're offering, definitely. What is it?

wildcard - probably way after everyone else

[batricide]

[ Father was never a word Damian could define. Growing up it at meant the Batman, a beast of a man that defied all expectation. It meant greatness, it meant a bloodline of heroes - it was little more than a concept his mother kicked up to motivate him into being a better soldier. Because the actual Bruce Wayne was not a father anyone should want.

He hadn't known it at the time. Being a boy of all of eight, who had never had a positive interaction with any caregiver, he'd thought it all normal. His father had no patience and no understanding of how to interact with any child whose greatest trauma didn't mirror his own. He'd toed the line in their short time together out of fear, not a desire to do better.

Then, at ten, Dick Grayson was put in charge of him. Dick, who was nothing like either Talia or Bruce. Too soft, too gentle, too damn trusting. Damian could have killed him at any time and taken the mantle for himself, could have twisted and tricked his way out of any of the pointless activities he wanted to do - but he didn't.

Because while Talia taught him to fight, and Bruce taught him mercy, and Alfred taught him humility - Dick Grayson taught him what it was like to be loved.

A fat lot of good that did him in the end.

Now he's grown. Neither a perfect clone or mirror of either parent. More Talia's build than Bruce's, yet closer to Bruce's strength than hers. Her eyeshape, his color.

He enters the safehouse after most of the people have been gathered, after going one final sweep to ensure no one was left outside and uncounted. The moodiness of being here two weeks and being no closer to any answers shows on his face and in most of the interactions he has (but he tries, he does, he's bad at people not a monster) and only barely paying attention when someone walks out from the showers.

But paying enough attention to drop what he's holding and stand bolt upright. ]

Dick...? [ The voice comes out small and weak, shock wringing the bravado out of him. ]

this is so fucking rude

[preceded]

Damian.

[It's soft, gentle. More akin to trying to wrangle a skittish animal, than any way he'd addressed Damian before. The child he'd known, that he'd so unintentionally left behind- he'd been so full of pride, so brittle- the last thing he would have accepted from Dick was to be treated as any other child his age. He would have seen it as patronizing. More than anything, he'd wanted acceptance. Respect. He'd wanted to be seen as Dick's equal, his partner. Robin as useful to Batman as Batman was to him. He'd have lashed out at the tone and Dick would have lost any chance to help.

He'd had to make his affections more subtle, easier to swallow, until Damian slowly learned to see them for what they were. He'd had to speak to Damian as if he knew Damian could handle it on his own- and is if he were doing Dick a favour by not doing so. This? This is something else entirely.

This is no longer a child, but a fully fledged teenager. Something he'd missed watching happen, in this world and the other- apparently. This is a teenager that must have lost everything, lost his father and his replacement one all in one go. The way he looks at Dick- the way he speaks, it's so much more than grief. He looks haunted.

If there's one useful thing that came from his conversation with Jason, it was this. To know what he was walking into, to not be able to mistake Damian for anyone else- he'd be hard pressed to, with the way he's shot up in height, not quite enough to match Bruce or Jason, but still tall. The colouring, that slope to his nose- it's Damian and Dick doesn't have to wonder precisely how long that coma had been.

Just has to wonder how to navigate something like this without sending him running in the other direction. He'd barely known Bruce, when he'd died and he'd been left with Dick, because the last thing he was going to do, was send the boy back to his mother. He can see that the same is not true of them. Damian had loved him, when he'd lost him.

He bridges the distance between them, scant as it is- and pauses. Mouth opening slightly, and then closing again. Reaches out, instead, with both hands first, and tries again]

Come here. [Still soft, still quiet]

thanks for publicly announcing that i asked for this

[quipper]

[ Unlike some cave-people, Steph and Kara are househunting. They're viewing places, rejecting grody bathrooms and sketchy landlords, taking their time — what's a few more weeks in the safehouse, anyway? Besides, with her new powers firmly on the uneasy and uncontrolled side of the scale, she likes having more people around, just in case. Communal fixtures ain't no thing, either, when everyone looks like they were hit by a truck during the outbreak (and that the truck, like, backed up to hit them again, for good measure).

After the initial rush for the showers, Steph treats herself to a long one (someone dumped a cocktail on her earlier when she she tried to distract them from the weirdos in scrubs at the beach party, so that's her day in a nutshell). Maybe Daisy's post about 90s sad bangers put her in the mood for familiar tunes, so I'm not saying she's occasionally humming and singing a line from Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten to inject some early 2000s into this dystopia, but — ]

Aw, crap.

[ Her stupid bar soap goes skidding into a nearby, occupied cubicle. Great. She's supes into saving the environment or whatever, but, like, bar soap sucks. Someone put soap in a biodegradable container so she doesn't have to poke her head out, blonde bob wet and stringy, and interact with another nude human being. ]

Hey! So! If you just got hit by a rogue bar of lavender, that's all mine. Big investment for me, y'know, so if you wouldn't mind returning it to your fellow human trafficking victim, that'd be, uh, swell.

[ Her mouth twists. Pure cringe ]

the public should be warned!!

[preceded]

[The faint humming and singing had been vaguely familiar- something that had certainly filtered into the back of his awareness during his best attempt to drown himself in poor water pressure- but so far removed from all of his other interactions with the newest Batgirl, that he hadn't actually registered the familiar as someone he knew.

He'd been ready to brush it off with being appreciative that someone at least comes from a timeline somewhat parallel to his, faintly amused with that particular pop song in question- and also, perhaps, a smidgen grateful that there was anything he could immediately latch onto to be amused by- when the bar of soap comes skidding into his cubicle and making an impressive thud against the side of his foot.

He looks down, perplexed for a moment. It's fairly normal looking, for a rogue bar in some kind of dystopian future with a neon fixation- soft, light purple- and he's about to bend down and scoop it up- either to set it aside for someone to collect later, or toss it back in a vague direction and hope it was the right one, when a voice claims ownership.

His whole frame freezes and he resolutely doesn't turn. Don't look, and please don't also be looking-, because dear God, he knows that voice. He has a stray, absurd thought that Barbara is so going to kill him if he ever makes it out of here, and then he's blurting out]

Stephanie?!

[Forget your soap, it died for a worthy cause. The cause of pretending this never happened]

laura said this was okay!!!!!!!!!!!

[evite]

[ communal showers are... weird. there's no getting around it. they're open in all the wrong ways, there's never the right wall-to-open space ratio, and some people (not naming names but it rhymes with bephanie) like to sing really badly off-key to songs they have no business butchering in the waterworks.

so, you know. daisy johnson doesn't always take up the "deliver towels to the linen closet" chore, for a myriad of reasons, but today she has no choice. she's been voluntold by gaby to make herself useful, been ladled with two arms' worth of questionably off-white synthetic cotton blends, and sent into the land of wet bare feet and way too many bare — ]

Dick! Jesus!

[ no, that wasn't a name being called out into the wild, that was daisy's knee jerk reaction to someone darting out of their stall at the same time she was approaching and her seeing dick just casually splayed out into the world like it ain't no thing. don't ask her why she was looking, she really wasn't, she was just trying to not look straight ahead (as to avoid eye contact) and happened to be looking down at precisely the absolute wrong angle.

the eye-contact-with-strangers'-junk angle, as luck would have it. ]

Here!

[ enjoy all the towels now being thrown at you. sorry about the earlier lack of them, but that's clearly fixed now. ]

i fucking love you- so she wasn't wrong

[preceded]

[After the mess with Stephanie- Dick had politely, as much as one could be, after a disaster like that- hidden back in his cubicle, turned around and eyes closed for good measure, so Stephanie could make her escape before him. Even so, knowing she was out and about- Dick really hadn't exactly been thrilled with the idea of lingering.

With the way his luck had been going since he'd woken up mid-transportation, he likely shouldn't have been in such a hurry. He'd shut off the water, and hearing no one else making a rendition of pop music or the sound of water freshly starting, Dick takes that opportunity to dart in the vague direction he'd clocked the linen towel.

Definitely, he wishes he'd made that his first stop and just lived life with a soggy towel, because compared to his contemporaries he might have a wealth of charm and social graces- but even he isn't quite sure how to come back from.

At least when he turns to look at his name being bellowed in alarm- a towel smacks him across the face, at an angle where one end loops around his shoulder enough that it stays- he can at least rest in the knowledge that he doesn't actually have to see her expression. Maybe if he never knows who she is, it never happened.

He tries to catch another of the armload she's thrown on him, and matches to snag one so it hangs directly over a view that definitely isn't generally freely given. Better late than never?]

I-

I am so sorry. [That you saw? That he generally doesn't have any shame and he knew these weren't private showers? That being invisible is not his super power? Pick one] I didn't realize- I didn't hear anyone else.

wild, wild, wildcard

[selfimage]

[ returning to this place is never, ever something that he likes to do, but he does it, anyway. in the last group, there were those that he knew, and it's possible that there will be some in this one, as well. Dick might recognize him because as much as he separates himself from Jason, he's certainly the distinct, dark-haired boy who brought him in. there are bright green eyes looking over the crowd for familiar faces, but Loki seems like he's always where Dick's not for a while. it's deliberate avoidance until he's seen Jason, at least.

then he can be found in the kitchen, going through the cupboards and looking at the variety of foods. he has plenty, but he could always compulsively nab a few cans of this or that, or whatever's fresh. for the moment he's crouched on the floor, turning a can over in his hands to look at the label.

without looking up, he speaks: ]

Ah, hello. I assume you got the full treatment?

[ he rolls his head back to look at him. it's fairly obvious that his first home isn't the safehouse, as he's wearing something a lot nicer than the threadbare clothing that the new arrivals are given. black tanktop and a thin jacket over his shoulders—it's hot outside in a way that he's unused to. (he hates it, and he'll never not hate it.) ]

[preceded]

[It wasn't exactly that he'd particularly gone looking for Loki, at any point- he'd had enough to deal with, enough people to try and touch base with- enough of his new found situation to gather information about- to go out and play meet and greet unnecessarily. There was always time for that later.

But Jason- He's still not sure what to make of him. Usually isn't, even on the better terms they've apparently been in, in some other version of Earth he'd missed the memo on- and as such, he's a little more interested in who Jason has decided is fit for company, enough to trust them when he's feeling vulnerable, than he might be ordinarily.

Especially when it concerns the fact that he's evidently been working towards some sort of goal, and is less than interested in cluing Dick into the details. However, the more he tries to find him- even to see how he interacts with others, how he moves- whether or not he stays here, or has found an alternate means of surviving here- he thinks he catches a glimpse of him here or there- but always gone a moment later.

At least until he wanders back into the kitchen, looking for something to drink, mouth still slightly fried from Kate's idea of an acceptable spice level]

You could say that.

[The differences between them are obvious- his hair's not as shortly cut, the clothing looks like it would actually hold together in the wash- and he looks completely unperturbed by their immediate surroundings. After a moment of deliberation, Dick rests his shoulder on the wall, crossing his arms and one foot over the other in one smooth move.

Alright, you. He'll play]

wild3!!

[mercurio]

[prompto's been rummaging about the kitchen, looking through cupboards and drawers in hopes of finding something--anything to work with. it's a miracle he even found a pencil, he thinks, an old, sad looking thing with a chewed off eraser and broken lead. do people not know of mechanical pencils these days? it probably says something that he found it in the abyss of dust bunnies and unseen grime that is the back of the stove area.]

[armed with the pencil (shaved down with the use of a knife) and some post-it notes he found in a drawer, prompto's been hard at work designing an almost complete deck of cards by one of the eating area's tables.]

[better than doing nothing, you know.]

[he throws his hands up at his accomplishment (running out of paper), and is quick to look around himself to see if there's anyone willing to test out a card game or two with him.]

Hey! Psst!

[calling for dick's attention with a flurry of hand movements to go along his obnoxious voice, the only reason he's the chosen victim is because everyone else is farther away.]

I made a deck of cards! Wanna try 'em out?

[he looks way too excitable for this... but also, he's so godsdamned bored he'd rather give this a shot until it's no longer fun.]

this is so cute!!!!

[preceded]

Me?

[He's confused- he can't help it. He'd only really been intending to pass by the area- get more of a feel for the space he'd been in, and work off some of the frustrated energy at being cooped up against his will, when he'd hardly been asked to be dumped here, newly modified- and had rather expected everyone to be much the same.

Adjusting. Looking for those they knew, trying to find answers. Not necessarily trying to reach out to strangers.

Then again, it's been a few hours since they've been brought here, in small batches, with no hope of leaving- and without any actual sort of entertainment to be found here, he really shouldn't be surprised as he is. Too much time spent with an unsociable family, he supposes.

Now that he's sure that, yes, he's really the only person close enough to be the person he'd intended to- Dick rolls his shoulders in an easy shrug, making his way over to the table proper, to pull out a chair] Sure, why not? What kind of games do you know?