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MEADOWLARK MODS ([personal profile] larkers) wrote in [community profile] meadowlarklogs2020-07-11 04:23 pm

ARRIVAL LOG 023

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam (with references to other parts of the world)
WHEN: May 21, 2512
WHAT: The twenty-third arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, references to natural disasters and lost and missing people as a result.

> ARRIVAL LOG #023

On the evening of the 21st, the ground throughout the world begins to tremor and shake. To the citizens of New Amsterdam, this may feel familiar. So soon after their exit from the simulation, they find themselves in the middle of catastrophe and the feeling of anxiety moving through their stomachs is almost expected. They half-expect reports of a creature surfacing just outside of the city walls, ready to destroy everything inside. Like before. But—thankfully—no creature rises up to destroy the city this time.

Instead, news reports begin to funnel in about what truly happened: an earthquake erupted along the fault lines near Adelaide Island in Antarctica. Early projections show this earthquake to be an 8.2 on the Richter scale, and it's led to devastating effects in other cities in the southern hemisphere: New Lima, New Buenos Aires, New Santiago, New Cape Town, and New Johannesburg. Due to their proximity to Antarctica, each of these locations suffers greatly once the earthquake hits, and the news reports in the following days will report on numerous losses and disappearances of people due to the catastrophic damage. For once, it's not New Amsterdam that's in danger, but that doesn't mean things are any better. For the Displaced who have friends and loved ones down in Antarctica, now might be the time to worry about their whereabouts.

As for the rest of the cities, they are impacted by near-constant aftershocks and each of them goes into a state of intentional brownouts, limiting the power everywhere so that none of the grids are completely knocked offline. As a result, all public transit, trains between megacities, and excessive intracity traffic is halted. Anyone traveling by train between cities will be sitting tight for a while. The good news is that the staff on the maglev trains are prepared for circumstances such as this one, and they're well stocked in food, water, and other requirements to ensure that passengers are taken care of for at least up to seven days. (Don't worry, these intercity trains will be back up in at least 24 hours.)

News reports pour in, most of them questioning how an earthquake of this magnitude could happen without any signs. While seismologists still struggle to predict when an earthquake will occur, they typically have an idea. The active volcano on Deception Island should have been a clue of brewing trouble in Antarctica, but there was little evidence of any signs of future eruptions in numerous reports. These same scientists are left baffled, indicating that they need "more time to go over their findings." There is also the unusual additional factor: that the tremors are felt as far north as New Oslo and New St. Petersburg. How could this happen, and what does it mean about scientists' knowledge of the movement of tectonic plates? And why were cities like New Johannesburg and New Cape Town just as disrupted? How common is it for an earthquake of that magnitude to reach that far?

> RIP ZOMBIE WALK

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. But more than that, many of those buildings are covered in green.

You realize there are others next to you: all dressed the same way as you, you'll come to realize: in tattered, worn down clothes, some covered in a blood-like stain that spreads from their mouth downward. 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.

You feel the vehicle lower to the ground and hover in place. "Boss just called," the driver calls from the front. "There's been a change of plans. Something's happened again, so they've cancelled their dumbass walk and these guys have gotta be taken to that bar again."

"Is it happening here?" A voice behind you. You're unable to turn to look. "Fuck, New Amsterdam is a shithole! And these guys—they always seem to be right next to it."

"No, not here. Down south. Antarctica looks like ground zero." A woman's voice. She's larger and formidable, and the others seem to look at her with deference. She clears her throat. "Get moving. Reports are coming in that say we're going to be sitting ducks for the night. I don't want one of these people looking for us."

The vehicle raises up, and after about fifteen more minutes of driving, comes to a stop outside of a bar with a bright red sign declaring it as "Red Wings."

The guards move to start to unbuckle you one by one, helping you to your feet. Your limbs will feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. The formidable guard from before heads to the back of the vehicle and pushes open the doors, and the air outside is humid, spraying light water all over your face. That same guard steps out and waits for everyone to be moved from the vehicle to the front of the business.

"Listen up. We're usually subtler about this, but plans got changed. Now you don't get to be a bunch of zombies—which, personally, I felt was fitting. And your makeup artists—" there are a couple of uncomfortable grunts inside of the vehicle, so it's obvious that the nurses were probably those very same artists "—will be sad that you won't get your big premiere. Too bad. Now, once I'm done, get inside and wait for the people who glow like you to bring you to the place underneath the garage. Don't hurt anyone, don't look for cops—just behave. Now, if you'll excuse me—" She heads back into the vehicle, pulling the doors closed behind her.

The guard will hop back into the van, which will rise off of the ground and head back the way it came, turning the corner of a building that you now realize is covered in winding plants and vines. Once it's gone, you'll find your legs moving almost without your permission, guiding you to follow the steps the guard laid out.

Needless to say, given that this dropoff was planned for New Amsterdam's Annual Zombie Walk, no one's dressed for the occasion of sitting in a bar. Between sticky makeup and fake blood, everyone who's just walked in looks a bit out of place. To make it worse, only about fifty percent of the makeup is done well. The other fifty percent? Well … they probably look like bloody, unhappy clowns. Whoops!

◉ 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.

> NEW AMSTERDAM (AND RED WINGS)

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.

It's getting a little weird how they keep dropping the newbies off at your front door. But, considering what's going on? I guess it's understandable. Those aren't actually zombies shambling into the Red Wings—they're more Displaced. Go ahead and get them settled, if you can. Those of you who are still in New Amsterdam, anyway.

Once the new set of Displaced step inside of Red Wings, they'll find that it's modeled after a sports bar in the 20th or 21st centuries, complete with multiple people sitting around and watching what appears to be various projector screens. However, to the newcomers, there is nothing on. Frankly, thanks to the quarthquake in Antarctica, any sporting events have been halted or temporarily postponed thanks to the controlled brownouts throughout all of the megacities. Right now, all that's playing are the worldwide news networks.

But still: even as the patrons of Red Wings begin to clear out, these newcomers are here to stay for now. So what is Red Wings, exactly?

◉ Aesthetically, Red Wings is a retro tribute to the lost city of Detroit. It's all red neon, cars and sports memorabilia, with all fittings and decor elements physical where possible as a nod to the era. There is also some artwork dedicated to Motown and its significance within the city, and there is a section of the digital sound system for Motown.

◉ The main area is spacious, with stools at the bar and plenty of room for booths and standing space. One area is reserved for the physical darts board and pool table, which are permanent installations.

◉ There is also a function room available for private bookings and smaller events, though this is currently not quite as nicely done up as the main space.

◉ The bar has multiple neural interface screens installed throughout to make sure there's always an easy view of the game, with one larger screen set up over the bar itself for Big Game days. Unfortunately, this won't be available to the newcomers as they don't have their neural implants set up yet, but they'll be able to gather that the other people here seem to be watching a screen they can't see.

◉ Drinks include a range of the finest craft beers, popular spirits and a basic cocktail menu, but newbies won't have any money to their name just yet, so they'll have to rely on the kindness of strangers if they want something to eat or drink.

◉ Naturally, there will be some people working at the bar and others who are just there to hang out, but either way the newcomers should have plenty of people on-hand to explain the situation. With more on the way, potentially.

Further details about Red Wings and the staff can be found at this post put together by our Stephen Strange player, as he's one of the owners of the bar! Most of the information above was borrowed from this post.

For any of the Displaced who aren't present in Red Wings when the new arrivals show up, New Amsterdam is currently in a state of "low power." As tremors continue to rock the world and brownouts are the mandated rule of the land, public transit has come to a halt, and most rideshare services shut down. No one is able to share their vehicle in a charging station, so anyone who's looking to move will need to do it on foot. If they're aiming to welcome someone, they can only hope they're near Red Wings rather than far.

While Red Wings almost has no choice but to stay open given the circumstances (that is, the newcomers), many restaurants around the city close for the day. Power restrictions mean that they can't run central air or most appliances to cook large amounts of food, so they send their employees home. That means that Red Wings can only sell premade food and beer right now. Frankly, the beer might just be enough to help weather this storm.

As a result of the uncertainty elsewhere in the world—and the odd feeling of not being the epicenter of it—New Amsterdam citizens take to the streets to think of the people who are struggling in the wake of this devastating earthquake. If there's ever a city that knows what it's like to fall on hard times, it's New Amsterdam. Impromptu messages of hope and love, combined with drawings of varying qualities hit the sides of buildings throughout the city. Anyone who joins in can feel free to do so, but surveillance is still up all around the city. It might be a good idea to be careful.

Otherwise, one of the side effects of what happened in the simulation is that there's a greater sense of neighborly feeling. People take to their apartment hallways or all head down to the ground floor because their central air isn't running and they spend time together. If someone's feeling antisocial, they're going to have to be creative to duck these crowds. It might be time to bond when people least want it.

> 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. Because of the circumstances outside, Gaby won't be available at this time. Anyone new will need to rely on the other Displaced, or they can reach out to El. They can 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 MAY 25 (JULY 19). 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.

> DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

As the Displaced fall to sleep that night, they'll find themselves freezing, reliving the experiences for a group that's not with them—not right now, not when the world is currently being rocked by unusual, seemingly unnatural tremors. Perspective moves and shifts. First, it's someone carefully stepping over the rock solid ice, heading into a lab. Then: it's someone who's sick, a different someone, heading in to take in fluids and spend some time alone. Then: it's someone collecting a sample, bagging it gingerly. The viewpoint changes over and over. There's no chance to see who it is—no opportunity for someone to wait to hear their name called.

Again and again and again.

Until it seems as if the earth begins to shudder. No, not shudder. It's not unlike a body trying to unearth itself from the ice, trying to plunge forward, but there is so very much in the way. The ground opens up in countless places, the volcano roars with unhappiness in the distance, and then it gets worse

Then death threatens to sweep in. The dream shifts to one of three others:

THE FIRST
These soldiers walk at night to reach their destination. In the night hours, the only sign they shuffle forward is the golden glow of their eyes as they stare out into the darkness. They move in formation, side by side. It's difficult to make out who or what gives off this glow, at least until they come under the dim light of the moon overhead. It turns out that these soldiers are only men, after all.

They come into view in the morning. This scene repeats, each time with a different set of soldiers:

The Macedonians wearing a Chilton and Chlamys, and fully booted feet.

The Romans: marching in tidy formation wearing a galea and Lorica hamata, complete with the scutum shield.

The crucesignati: heading to Jerusalem to fight in the name of their god, marked with a cross and a heightened holy purpose.

The light cavalry of the Mongol Empire: dodging left and right, maneuvering with ease.

Napoleon's army dressed in the blue "National Uniform": white front and pants, red piping, and a blue and gold hat with a red plume at the top.

Men crawling in the trenches, angling to survive. Most of them will not.

US soldiers landing on the shores of Normandy. What lies ahead could change the course of everything.

They who fight—for purpose, for their love of their country or leader, or because there is no other choice but to fight. Some bear hatred in their hearts. Others deny that hatred. Some fight for honor, for glory. Some fight because it's the last resort.

No matter what: their eyes always glow gold in the dark.

THE SECOND
They surface bit by bit. Enraged and yet driven by purpose. Their minds are difficult to parse, to understand. In this, no one is in their head, but viewing them. No, instead, they are the earth these creatures move through, bit by bit, plowing through the soil and digging their way up. They are the plants torn asunder and distorted in nature. They are the water: turned black and brown and a light red, spoiled by their arrival as they surface for the first time in centuries.

These creatures are large and small, many legged and lacking any legs at all. They merge together and come apart as they disrupt the land around them, ripping it to shreds.

Vengeance drives them. They have a purpose, a reason to fight, and to win, and to bring victory to what matters.

No one else deserves that win, not anymore.

They surface everywhere: New Johannesburg, right into the ruins of the city. New Oslo, ripping the large green expanse of the upper portion of the city to shreds. New Tokyo, climbing up the metal bearings of the city, beginning to wear down and rust at the steel holding it together.

All anyone can do is watch these beings surge into battle.

THE THIRD
They are here for one reason: to find it. The others aren't as equipped, as prepared. They're lesser in comparison, forced to belittle themselves. Some are better protected, better able. But they can't find what they're seeking. They know what it is that they're looking for, though they lack the senses, the certainty.

(Has it been that long?)

(How long could it be?)

They rove in packs through the city. Their maker is far away. Their birth happened not long ago, shedding off the side of the large creature as it tore into the city to set the stage. To take the first strike. To declare war.

They smell it at first. They rove forward. But they're divided. Split into different packs. Different groups. The smell isn't strong, isn't concentrated. It goes this way and that.

They see it in their minds, but it fades in and out: the blue. That's what they're seeking.

Blue.

> 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 MAY 25 (JULY 19), and until that date will appear as "@anonymous" on the network. 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.

For the dreams: please comment to the dreams header below. If you have multiple characters, please limit it to one. Only characters present in New Amsterdam will be having a dream!

This arrival log builds on the setup from our Antarctica log. Anyone who is present in Antarctica cannot be present in New Amsterdam (for the time being, though we've provided instructions in that log on how they can return).

We'll be outlining the event this all leads to in our OOC Event Planning Post, which goes up on JULY 13, 2020.

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.

The July CR meme for the month is here.

Please check out our July calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

AC remains 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. Please let us know if you have any questions about this!

acheless: (pic#13414976)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-12 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[ This whole experience is proving to be a little, you know. It's a pocket of near normalcy. Not just with the life here, but with how it's been for the last handful of years. Shooting the shit at a bar is the hobby of a life some eight years ago. Blondes and alcohol, yeah, no kidding.

Kind of makes Nathan a little tense, when the realization dawns. He focuses some of his energy into something mundane, some anxious tic, like drumming his fingers lightly on the bartop.
]

The hell were you doing out there?

[ Less accusatory this time, and more genuine interest. Hey Dean, what's your deal. ]
righteously: (¹⁵ Iᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ɪɴ ᴍᴇ)

[personal profile] righteously 2020-07-12 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Once upon a time when Dean was a youth and only mildly cynical, he used to hedge around answering this question. He didn't want to sound crazy, or he didn't want to pop anybody's innocence bubble, or he just flat out didn't want to have the conversation. As he got older all that crap became background noise and he started just throwing the truth out there without particularly caring whether or not it stuck. Believe him or don't, he's got stuff to do.

Since he got here he's had even fewer reservations, if that's possible. I mean, god damn Iron Man is here. There are literal gods. Comparatively, his world's pretty tame.

So, straight up blunt: ]


Hunting monsters.

[ He'll take just a nice little pause here to see if that goes over like a led balloon or not. ]
jettisons: (Default)

[personal profile] jettisons 2020-07-12 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm getting there.

[He hasn't been here as long as some, but Clarke gave him a pretty impressive crash course.]

I can probably answer most of your questions.
acheless: (pic#13414976)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-12 11:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Yeah. Been a weird day, and that's only for starters.

The search for something vaguely appetizing's come up dry. Nathan grabs a teabag from something in the back that promises to be mint-adjacent, and sticks it into the guts of his Cat Mug with a poke of two mildly-annoyed fingers.

As deflection's go, it's a pretty good one. No reasons to follow it up when you don't have any skin in the game, though, so Nathan half-settles against the countertop, idly scratching at the side of his jaw instead.
]

I'm Nathan. [ For the record. Evening out the scales. ] Would say it's nice to meet you, but that feels like bullshit.
acheless: (pic#13414980)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-13 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ They're all tired and scared. Nathan offers up nothing; just the brutal front of anger or frustration, brows drawn together into a heavy frown even when the tone of the conversation points to trying to be— reassuring, in some way. It doesn't take a miracle worker to see that there's something behind that, but not anything he'll give up easy.

He exhales lightly, rearranging his weight a little against the wall. Yeah. It's a lot to take in. Some breaths he takes seem heavier than normal, even though that has to be psychosomatic. Non-elective surgery's fucked up the more he gives time to unpacking it.
]

Didn't sleep much back home.

[ "Home." He stares mildly at her, the dark frame of her face and slant of her nose, then back down to his feet.

There's a little beat before he offers up,
]

Used to think there wasn't much that'd surprise me anymore. And then, [ He lifts an arm from his elbow, lifts his palm, fingers splayed up and open. And then all this, the motion seems to say. Who can prepare themselves for anything like this place? ]
acheless: (pic#13961746)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-13 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's innocuous and well-meant and kind of silly, in so much as Nathan's ever given a shit about aesthetics, which is none. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth and straightens, because, yeah, it's gross, and yeah, toothpaste tablets sound like a good idea.

Turns around, too, to make a little better eye contact. Might as well be polite in a moment of bodily crisis.
]

Toothpaste might help.

[ A little stiffly. Followed by a blunter, ]

Have you been crying? [ Cool abrupt observation, Nathan. ]
personalwar: face; <user name="zznih" site="tumblr.com"> (i've got a long memory)

around the bar

[personal profile] personalwar 2020-07-13 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ This wouldn't be the first time that the Displaced have been unceremoniously dumped at the Red Wings, and Jack doesn't like it one bit. Whoever's rounding them up, performing surgery on them, and then dropping them somewhere, they know too much. At least they haven't left a batch of new arrivals at the safehouse's front door yet. The whole point of the Red Wings is that it's a more public gathering place for the Displaced, along with being a form of income. So it could be worse, but it still causes an uneasiness to settle under Jack's skin.

That uneasiness is actually closer to low-grade panic, though most wouldn't know it just by looking at him. He's heard back from Gabriel by now, but the earthquake in Antarctica and the aftershocks that have somehow traveled this far north have him on-edge. In this world, something like this doesn't seem like it's just random. It can't be a coincidence that a group of Displaced traveled down to Antarctica to investigate something and then the earth at their feet came to life.

So Jack is here to commiserate and listen in on conversations more than anything else. The new arrivals are more like an afterthought. He did have to walk all the way here, though, so even his feet are aching slightly by the time that he walks in the door.

He moves over to the bar, finding an empty seat next a guy who's scrubbing paint off of his arms with a cloth. Oh. So that's what El meant by zombies.

Jack nods to him, the bare minimum of politeness, but his attention turns up to a holo-screen that Steve won't be able to see. ]
acheless: (pic#13414955)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-13 12:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ Nathan pauses. Or— locks up, is more like it. The drumming of his fingers stops, blunt digits half-curling on the bartop. His brows shoot up as he huffs an exhale, some expression that contains a distinct kernel of No shit, even when it's edged in surprise. He shoots a glance at Dean sidelong, chin tipping a little. ]

Figuratively?

[ Double-checking the impulse. But he doubts it, somehow. Dean doesn't seem much the type. ]
bornrussian: (AoU: not a great day)

[personal profile] bornrussian 2020-07-13 12:24 am (UTC)(link)
[Three years.

They're five years off.

That-- that'll put Steve somewhere before Thanos. Especially if he doesn't remember Thor returning to Earth.

Natasha's eyes narrow as she considers his face. Maybe it looks younger. It's hard to tell in the low, red-tinted light, especially underneath the smudged makeup. There's certainly a softness to it she hasn't seen for a long time now.

That means it's all gone. Quiet dinners together in the echoingly empty Avengers Headquarters. Sleepless nights. Tears over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She's the only one who remembers them.

It's a paper cut on top of an amputated limb, but it still stings.

Natasha's eyes cut away from his. She shakes her head dully, tries pull everything falling apart inside of her back together again. It's like gathering up shattered glass with bare hands and then trying to duct tape it back together. She casts a quick glance around them, swallowing thickly.]


This isn't exactly a good place. [And even if it was-- ] It's not important. Not anymore.

[Normally, she tries not to outright lie to Steve. It bothers him, and for some reason she's never quite been able to pin down what bothers him bothers her. Though, she supposes, in the grand scheme of things, Thanos and the fate of the world aren't the priority right now. Clearly, the world survived.

The weight of her sacrifice and the question of what it bought the world, if anything... Well. That's a burden she can bear alone. She'll get over it

Gently, Natasha takes a step back, pulling out of Steve's steady grip, confident that he will let her go the moment she starts moving away. Her throat works quietly around the jagged lump lodged in it for a moment before she looks back up at him, a neutral mask carefully arranged across her features. Not that it can do anything about the brightness of her eyes, but you can't have everything in this world. Apparently.]


What's the last thing you remember?
righteously: (⁸ I ᴡᴀs sᴏᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜɪɢʜᴇʀ)

[personal profile] righteously 2020-07-13 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
Nope.

[ Short and snappy, before he brings the glass to his lips to tip back another swallow. His teeth click, there's a little exhale, and his eyes track his glass as it hits the bar top again. ]

Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons, rugarus, rakshasas. If you can think of it, it's probably real and I've probably killed it.

[ Which is not actually a brag, whether or not it seems that way. Just a statement of fact, feels like he's faced damn near everything anyone's heard of and a few things they haven't. ]
powerofgod: (pic#13704801)

wildcard;

[personal profile] powerofgod 2020-07-13 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
( he is not prone to spending time in the safehouse. his loft apartment is altogether more a comfort to him — but vampires are not solitary creatures and however removed he may be from that condition, the fact remains: he has a yen for companionship. it drove him to make eric once. now, it simply leads him to sit comfortably at the kitchen table. he has a cup of coffee (real, by the smell) at his hand, and he has several sheets of plastic spread out before him. translucent, obviously meant as a substitute for paper. they have been scribbled upon with some approximation of a felt pen, the text is ancient sumerian, that odd combination of cuneiform and hieroglyphics. he's almost certain the text he's surveying in his mind's eye, courtesy the implant, is a forgery.

godric cants his head to one side, looks up from his paperwork when nathan enters the room. )


There is chili, I believe, if you've any desire to eat.

( made with insect protein, but he won't mention that part. humans are far fussier about sustenance now that they're accustomed to eating for pleasure rather than survival. )
chaire: (That was not what I expected.)

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ she should probably act at least a little surprised to see someone clearly not human. but at the same time... ]

Tailors can do a great many things. If they'd like, at least. Though, honestly, I'd been considering starting an arm wrestling competition.

So, perhaps I am playing to type.
Edited 2020-07-13 00:42 (UTC)
personalwar: face; <user name="nuqelear" site="twitter.com"> (pic#11621404)

closing time

[personal profile] personalwar 2020-07-13 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's not the norm for Jack to stay at the bar this late. He's usually out by ten at the latest, on to his next destination (the fighting rings). Chances are those won't be functioning tonight given the state of the city, but his thoughts are mainly on Antarctica. It's why he hasn't budged from his seat at the bar yet, even as everyone else has cleared out, helping the newbies back to the safehouse.

More news reports keep coming in. He's heard from Gabriel, but he's not actually back yet. He doesn't really like the idea of making the long walk back to an empty apartment, either.

When Clarke takes a seat a few stools away from him, Jack glances over, but doesn't say anything at first. He's got a beer; it seems to be easier to come by than water at the moment, and since it doesn't have the same effect on him as it does on others, he's taking the hit. Even if it is a little warm by now.

At her question, he fights the urge to slump further in his seat. He's tired and doesn't make the connections he would need to in order to piece together what she's referring to. He wasn't there for that, after all. He's read and heard about it, but he's also scattered right now. ]


What are you talking about?
chaire: (I could use a man like you.)

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
I had a strange one last night... And while I've had a great number of strange dreams over the years, this one didn't seem to be of my own make, either.

[ she mulls this quietly over a drink. And then looks up at him. ]

So, there are a great number of Displaced working here, correct?
Edited 2020-07-13 00:43 (UTC)
chaire: (I can think of a few fun things.)

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
[ would it be cheating? She can quickly surmise a few things from how he carries himself-- not quite easy to place, almost inhuman. Though, he looks young. And she flashes a smile, at ease. ]

While I am open to other suggestions, I thought it would be fun to arm wrestle.

It's been a-- few days, more than a few.
Edited 2020-07-13 00:44 (UTC)
chaire: (I will not back down.)

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
Yes.

[ she takes a long drink. ]

To put it lightly.
frontierbashir: (pic#13401126)

[personal profile] frontierbashir 2020-07-13 12:43 am (UTC)(link)
[When the connection opens, Garak can likely tell how desperately Julian wants him to believe what Julian is saying. Julian is pushing that feeling forward more than anything.

He's not quite sure how to read that warmth emanating from Garak, or what it means. It seems woefully incongruent with the way Garak is looking at him, so seriously, so intently.

Nevermind that for now.

Julian concentrates on bringing up those memories of the week he should have been at that medical conference. The senior staff interrogation, the purposeful mixup of food, his re-interrogation, all of the suspicion thrown on him, mentioning his time at Internment Camp 371 and all of the awful panic and dread that drudged up...

His self-loathing leaks through when a particular memory stands out--Sloan, talking about his augmented status, how he never would have told anyone had he not been found out. Of course, now it's being thrown back in his face, as though he had any say about his status.

His memory pushes on through that bit, needing to show Garak everything, in order to give him context, doing his best not to let his (primarily negative) emotions bleed through, though he's not exactly sure how to stop them.

Being paraded down the Promenade in shackles, thrown into a cell in security to be ogled at, made to doubt his own eidetic memory, accused of murder...then finally having his life threatened, threatened to be kidnapped, until he's whisked away by a Dominion ship.

His confusion and horror are at the forefront now with his memory going to when he was on the Dominion ship, treated as though he were an old friend, a bit touched in the head but no worries, he'll remember soon enough. Then being rescued....then doubted by his own senior staff. Only through one small detail was he able to see that the entire thing was a simulation.

They were testing his loyalty to Starfleet. The numb exhausted rage he felt flare up across the bond. One of them attempts to remove a neural implant but instead, Julian does it, surge of disgust and violation prominent now. Every thought during that days-long sim had been recorded on that neural implant and an outsider could read every one.

It's Julian who then has to pull away, eyes trained on Garak. His face is carefully neutral. All of those awful memories ...he hadn't wanted to relive them so vividly but he needed Garak to trust him here. There didn't seem to be anyone else.]
coalitions: (pic#14114252)

[personal profile] coalitions 2020-07-13 12:45 am (UTC)(link)
"I was trained from a young age, as I have trained others." Future Commanders did not exactly have the freedom to get their energy out the way most children do. They had their own versions of playing, but they had to know how to keep calm, how to carry themselves with honor and dignity. It is not what she would wish for children who were not born for the call, but he is no child.

She was very touchy when first brought down here, for a variety of reasons, and people noted her anxiety and irritation which she is not terribly happy about. Now Lexa is determined to keep her training in mind. Her lips quirk ever so slightly at the my dear, since it is not a title anyone has used on her before. She assumes he means no offense, how could he know the proper way to approach the Heda? She is no Heda here.

"You can stay." She considers how best to relate this to someone else. She notes, of course, that he looks very different from anyone she knows, but looks are always deceiving. "The breathing is the first step. It can be grounding to do it this way." Lexa puts one hand on her chest and the other on her stomach. "You breathe in for four counts, breathe out four counts. The steady beat of your heart under your fingers and the feeling of the breath filling your stomach reminds you that you live, that this is the space you are within."
acheless: (pic#13961746)

[personal profile] acheless 2020-07-13 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
[ Guess who's heard of 'em. Nathan makes a noise that's stronger, another exhale that's all disbelieving as he shakes his head. No fucking shit, Dean Winchester. Guess every universe has got to have its monsters. ]

Rules must work a little differently where you're from.

[ Nathan starts. Takes this point in the conversation to casually nudge his own, untouched glass over to Dean with the knock of his hand. He's not gonna touch it, and at least he's not refusing the olive branch here. ]

Used to be my job, rounding monsters up. [ To a point, anyway. Before he left it, got chased up, held to account for his damages. ] Making sure everyone played nice.
chaire: (Shall I show you your death?)

short fuses

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
[ it's hard to miss the sound of someone hitting the wall-- and well, Kassandra decides, unfortunately, she has a lot of spare time on her hands. enough to make it to worth the detour to find a woman beating the wall, for no discernible reason. ]

Are you kidding me...

[ she reaches out to grab her shoulder ]

That's enough.
coalitions: (pic#14114173)

[personal profile] coalitions 2020-07-13 12:51 am (UTC)(link)
"It is nice to meet you too," she echoes after a pause. It might be harmless or common courtesy, small talk to say such things, but it is really not her way. Lexa knows she must adapt to survive, and being polite is not the worst way to do that. It just doesn't come naturally.

She tries the water, watching him intently as she does, in case anything goes wrong, but he is correct that it is not poisoned. It feels good too, her throat was getting parched, and her stubbornness truthfully does her little good. Smalls steps are as much as she can concede now.

"My friend Clarke has been here for some time. She is the reason I haven't removed us from here." She decides it's an 'us' situation, although her instinct would be to save herself first and others if it seems wise. "They have no answer as to why we are here, but we will be kept here for four days. They say they are creating identification for us to use on the outside." Lexa has never needed identification before. She doesn't like the thought of it here.
jettisons: (pic#11855255)

[personal profile] jettisons 2020-07-13 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
For what it's worth, all of us feel that way when we get here.

[It's like some messed up rite of passage.]

If you've got questions, I can probably answer them.
chaire: (I would hold my tongue.)

no sleep til brooklyn

[personal profile] chaire 2020-07-13 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
How kind of you.

[ she glances at the water-- and then at the teas that have been set out, piecing together a story. ]

What a day.

[ she pours herself some of the warmed water ]
plainsimple: (Think carefully)

[personal profile] plainsimple 2020-07-13 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Arm... wrestling.

[He says the words slowly, a little puzzled.]

You have me at a loss. I can't begin to imagine what arm wrestling is, if it differs from mere wrestling.

[Humans are ever so inventive. Sometimes to their own detriment, but then again, he can't think of a species that doesn't injure themselves for entertainment's sake every now and then.]

This is a human thing?
righteously: (SPN_0922)

[personal profile] righteously 2020-07-13 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
[ Rules must work a little differently, and would you look at that, you got his interest back immediately. Displayed by the way he settles one arm on the bar and turns his body toward Nathan, eyebrows hiked up. It's that we work in the same career field enthusiasm, rare as hell to find considering it ain't exactly investment banking or construction or whatever. ]

Rounding 'em up?

[ He echoes, incredulous. Full-on befuddled. Play nice? ]

How in the hell do you babysit without getting your friggin' throat ripped out? What- are you, like, a bump-in-the-night zookeeper?

[ He's not judging, it's just bizarre. ]