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meadowlarklogs2020-07-11 04:23 pm
- !arrival log,
- ac:o: kassandra,
- dragon age: inquisitor trevelyan,
- ffvii: aerith gainsborough,
- ffvii: cloud strife,
- kingdom hearts: roxas,
- knives out: marta cabrera,
- mcu: steve rogers,
- original: nathan lowell,
- original: sarissa theron,
- orphan black: helena,
- overwatch: soldier 76 (jack morrison),
- red vs. blue: agent maine,
- riordan mythos: silena beauregard,
- star trek: elim garak,
- star trek: julian bashir,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the 100: john murphy,
- the 100: lexa,
- the magicians: quentin coldwater,
- the man from uncle: gaby teller,
- the marvelous mrs maisel: midge maisel,
- uncharted: nathan drake
ARRIVAL LOG 023
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
no subject
And then his expression goes inscrutable, studying Bucky's face a little too hard. Thinking about what was already done to him, and after the Wakandan scientists got those goddamn words out of his head.
Won't say any of it aloud. All that gets through is a brief flicker of heated concern that's probably more than Bucky wants before he breaks his gaze, narrowing his eyes at the middle of his chest. There was that thing too. Something about glowing.
More importantly: ]
Those folks giving out orders — [ the same ones, presumably, who put the damn things in their heads. His gaze flicks back up, expression tense. ] — this implant the reason why we can't refuse them?
no subject
Maybe a little reckless that he's gonna try either way, but letting it lie isn't an option he's willing to consider.
He shakes his head.
That one screwed with him too, hard. His first day waking up here... and there'd been a goddamn war memorial going on at the same time, too. They paraded them through memorabilia for all the lives lost in battle while Bucky swam in the after-effects of drugs, while he touched a scar at the back of his head, while he followed orders without a choice.
It's like they specifically engineered the worst possible introduction he could've had.
Frankly, Steve's getting off a little easy. He won't bring that up. ]
It's temporary. It's not the mesh. It's something to do with the sedative they give you. Steve--
[ His lips press into a flat line for a second, because— well, the hits are gonna just keep coming. Might as well get them out of the way as they're relevant. Right now, in terms of metabolizing that sedative... ]
The stuff they gave me in Azzano, the stuff they based off yours, it's gone. I don't know how, but it's not there anymore. If it's gone for you, too, then that sedative's gonna last a few more hours.
no subject
The scars. Needle marks. Can't remember the last time anything stuck. Not even after the helicarrier.
He sucks in a breath, takes him a second to release it. ]
We're normal.
[ Eyebrows raise again, asking for confirmation he doesn't really need at this point. Just needing to let that sink in.
Normal, aside from the implant in their head and whatever's in his chest. ]
Who the hell are these people?
no subject
Normal as anyone can be with a metal arm or a glowing chest, anyway.
But yeah, Steve'll read that confirmation on his face plain as day.
As far as who's operating on them and then ditching them? ]
I don't know.
[ Frankly, flat-out, no point beating around the bush. ]
I'm not sure anybody knows. They just keep dropping people off and leaving 'em for the rest of us to find.
[ If there's any kind of organization, rhyme, or reason to any of it, Bucky's not clued in. He doesn't think it was in that pamphlet he read back at the start either, but he'd been a little sluggish from the sedative and a little buzzed from, well, alcohol. First time in a long time for that one. ]
There's this... group that helps out. Morningstar. There's a safe house that helps everyone get on their feet. We're gonna have to go there, at least for a couple days. Everything here's run by the neural mesh. They're the only ones who can set you up with an ID to make the damn thing work.
[ For currency, for seeing literally anything these days in terms of projectors, televisions, interfacing with electronics, driving cars, unlocking doors... All of it.
But mostly because if someone clocks you without an ID they'll take you in, and it runs the risk of exposing everyone else who wound up here. ]
no subject
He's not sure how much more he was expecting, or hoping, to get. More, maybe, just because of Bucky's demeanor. That he's got answers at all only means more questions, though, and they're each fighting in the queue on the way out of his mouth for another handful of seconds, his arms crossing over his chest.
It's the conversation with Natasha that's the deciding factor. No point in beating around the bush is right.
But it's that same sense of dread curling in his stomach from before when he finally asks: ]
How long've you been here, Buck?
[ There's more than a few things off. ]
no subject
He's just gotta figure out how to balance that out with not overloading him. He can handle it, Bucky knows he can handle it, but that doesn't mean he has to all at once.
His eyes flicker over Steve's face again at the question, trying to read the mind behind it. Trying to read it even harder after he answers. ]
Six weeks. Maybe a little over.
[ It's not another two years, but it's long enough. Pros and cons. Long enough to get established, long enough to start losing the hanging onto hope battle that Steve was ever gonna turn up. Long enough to start dreading the prospect that he might actually really be alone, and after he just got something back.
Doesn't matter now, right? ]
no subject
Or maybe he's just stoned out of his mind for the first time in eighty years and hasn't realized it yet.
Okay.
Another deliberate pause as he works out the next question, his mouth pulling downward at one side. Lowers his voice. ]
You remember anything about us looking for something called Infinity Stones?
[ Pretty sure Bucky wouldn't even know what they are. ]
no subject
Bastards.
Up until right now he's had at least some kind of answer to offer up for every question.
That one's throwing a wrench in his streak. There's a two-beat pause, his brow wrinkling up just a little, searching his brain, but. ]
Should I?
[ Because... no, and if the answer to that is anything else he'll find it a little alarming. ]
no subject
[ Lets out the word in an exhale, his arms uncrossing. ]
It's not important-- nevermind. [ Almost explains his strange conversation with Natasha. Shakes his head instead. The beginning of a smile plays at his lips, a little tired and forced, but a part of him is just a bit relieved. ]
Can't catch a break, huh? [ Them. It's a redirect. The words are meant to be light, gently teasing, except that his expression doesn't entirely line up. Looks a little too tired. A little too sorry for too many things. He reaches to pat his shoulder again. ] But it's... real good to see you, Buck.
[ Because it has been almost two years for him. ]
no subject
He's just gonna... file that one away to circle back to later. Call him crazy, but there's probably something mildly important about something called an infinity stone. He's guessing looking for them isn't purely recreational.
Not that it's completely relevant right now. Whatever they were doing back home, back then, odds are it's shot all to hell now. Waking up here uproots everything, top to bottom.
At any rate, catch that look on his face for a split second that makes it clear he 100% recognizes this as a redirect. He'll indulge it, but it's tabled rather than dismissed.
Plus, he's feeling a little too happy to see you to blow that right now. His smile's small, equally tired (for different reasons), but genuine. ]
You too, pal. You got no idea.
[ Ironically, it's probably reversed. Two years is a hell of a lot longer than six weeks. They probably went more than six weeks between Skype sessions alone.
Couple hundred years of distance makes it seem more impactful, though.
Time to change gears before he gets too sappy about it. ]
Don't get me wrong, I would love to hang around here and watch you figure out your new alcohol tolerance, but I think we should probably get you outta here. Let you wrap your head around everything.
[ Somewhere other than a crowded bar full of chaos and drunk strangers.
A pointed flick of his eyes toward some fake blood at Steve's temple. ]
Maybe take a shower.