ARRIVAL LOG #026

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: Everywhere / the underground tunnels of New Amsterdam.
WHEN: July 6-9 2512
WHAT: The mod market -- and some new arrivals!
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy, body/genetic modification, scarification.

> ARRIVAL LOG #026

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound, light, color, and sensation. It's hard to grasp onto anything but a series of rhythmic beeps, a medicinal astringent smell, and the sensation of movement beneath you. Your eyes are heavy and you struggle to keep them open, but in the glimpses between slow blinks, you see a man in front of you dressed in all white. There isn't any other visibility. Not yet.

You realize there are others with you who are dressed the same way as you, in loose-fitting pale teal hospital scrubs. To your left there's an armored interior door, two more people visible, and large, hulking buildings passing by through the window. 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.

When the vehicle stops, a nurse steps into view. His jaw is set as he pulls the IV out of your arm. "A bigger batch this time," he murmurs to himself.

The nurse opens up the van's door soon after, and he steps out, monitoring the way the two heavily armed soldiers yank you out. "Same orders as usual," one of the soldiers—a woman, going off her voice—says. "Head to the front and into the bar. Don't go anywhere else. Look for the glow in people like you. And once you do, listen to them."

They don't waste any time after that. After surveying the area to make sure no one's about to come out and stop them, they quickly climb back into the van and pull off. And pulling off means coming to a hover before rising up and flying away. These "roadways" are in the sky.

With them gone, the group of newcomers have no choice but to follow the instructions they've been given.

◉ 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.

Soon after, a note arrives once again in all of the Displaced's inboxes:

Looks like I may be able to personalize some notes for a while. More than I expected. I'll keep this quick: some new drop offs coming your way. That's not the important part.

The important part? Don't change your name back to what it was before if you were trying to avoid detection from the UN. I can only call on so many favors for you all. I'm running low. :(

PM

As with before, the message can't be traced to any particular location or identity, instead reading as if it comes from a specifically tailored UN broadcasting alert.

> THE STATE OF NEW AMSTERDAM

Once the newcomers head out of the alley, they'll see a city that is in disarray. Fortunately, the newcomers won't have far to go, but there is the sense that this is a city that appears to be rebuilding after some sort of disaster.

It may be borderline impossible to summarize everything that's happened in New Amsterdam since the Displaced first turned up, but we'll give a go at it. The important part? This city's seen a lot of tragedy between giant kaiju attacks, people being hit with a rage sickness, an EMP that killed lots of people, and later a simulation that dragged people into an experience of a war from hundreds of years ago to be a part of an AI's revenge scenario. Did these people ask for this? Not in the least. Most recently, the city was hit by a monster attack, though thanks to those strange people with the blue glowing chests (known to each other colloquially as "the Displaced"), it fared better than the other megacities around the world. For once.

Of course, New Amsterdam tends to be the site of some weird stuff. For instance: around last December, the city started growing lots of plants out of every hole, and that hasn't seemed to stop. What was once a bulking metropolitan city with skyparks being the common source of greenery is now a weird merger of a forest-like city.

To top that off, there are some people who have been worshipping the Displaced around the city, painting and building little shrines to them. These people tend to be marked with sacred geometry tattoos. These people aren't in the majority in the city by any means, but they were the first "fans" of the Displaced. Now that the Displaced are becoming known (not for being people from another world, but for their feats to help the city and their glowing blue chests), their shrines are probably getting more notice.

On a more normal note, after the last Governor of New Amsterdam abdicated her post, there was an election! The new Governor of New Amsterdam is Joseph Lynch, and he's reinstated the Lieutenant Governor position for the pro-Displaced politician, Amabel Delafield-Chapin.

Among the Displaced, Rey, who was going by Kira Solo because she was abducted by the UN's army, the UNA, and needed to hide in plain sight, tried to go back to her old moniker. When it happened, this got on the radar of the UN and her employers, Riverstone. While Rey would normally have been arrested for revealing herself, a third party intervened to keep Rey out of trouble. Alerted by this third party, Riverstone brought Rey in for a one-on-one meeting, offering her and her fellow Displaced a chance at testing out their powers in exchange for some answers.

> RED WINGS
The newcomers were directed to head into a bar that is on the other side of the alley, and there is only one available: the Displaced-run Red Wings. While Red Wings looked worse for wear thanks to the recent monster attack, it's starting to look like its old self again. Bright red lights welcome the newcomers inside. The windows have been repaired, and the bar looks like it's in better shape. Thanks to the attack, there are still some cosmetic changes in progress to freshen up the place, getting rid of the booths and replacing them with tables, but this appears to be a work in progress.

Business is slow right now, but it doesn't seem to be due to any fault of the ownership. Notably, is a Displaced-run bar, with Displaced employees helping out. If there's a place to "find the glow," so to speak, this is it.

> THE MOD MARKET

Despite the name, Birch Street is less of a street and more of a large tunnel that's part of the complex warren of underground tunnels and buildings which reach downwards through the lower half of New Amsterdam. Treated like just another part of the city, the streets and tunnels are just as busy here as above ground, though the spaces are more clearly delineated between those meant for foot traffic and those meant for vehicles.

What will become immediately clear about this place, which is essentially a bustling street market, is that the main service they're selling is body modification in almost every form that it can take. The space is full of booths and stalls displaying a wide variety of cybernetics and even minor genetic alterations, as well as the latest in kinetic tattooing and electronic piercings.

> SERVICES
◉ Tattoo artists are pervasive here, and vary both in experience and type. There are everything from new kids on the block trying to make a name for themselves to famous artists who have a long wait list, but all of them will be doing tattoos on site. These tattoos might be much higher tech than the ones characters are used to, though. Unique ink is especially common. Some of it is UV reactive, some of it is biosensitive and changes color in response to changes in body chemistry or temperature. Some tattoos can even interact with AR through the implants and appear to move, play music, or change depending on the wearer's wishes.

◉ For those who aren't quite ready to commit, there are also "temporary" tattoos that disappear over a period of time, from a few months to a few years. Tattoo removal has been perfected too, and can be done in one short, painless session. Tattoos aren't the only option! Implanted LED displays are common as well, and act as light up art that sits just under the skin.

◉ Piercing booths are abundant, and some of the body jewelry contain LEDs or interact with the implants in a similar way to the tattoos. Scarification is still being practiced, as are "low tech" body mods like tongue splitting, grinding teeth down into points, and so on.

◉ Cybernetics, of course, are also on the table. Many of these are used in everyday life to simply replace lost limbs or help with disabilities. These are permanent as they interface with the implant, but the focus here is on the cosmetic. While traditional cybernetics manufacturers are represented among the booths and stalls, there are many more promising more fantastical creations: Tiny moving wings, tails, elf ears, and so on. And then there's the shadier stuff, for those brave enough to go digging. Black market dealers will upgrade your cybernetics with weapons or hidden functions, almost always for criminal activity or use in the fighting rings. Most of these things can't be done fully on site due to it being very illegal, but you can certainly make connections or get a head start on figuring out where to go for these upgrades.

◉ On top of all of this, there are also some minor genetic modifications that can be undertaken, though this is a longer process that will need to be finished off at a medical facility. Instead of just a stall, this area is set up with larger tents with a more medical or "minute clinic" feel to them. There is a clear ethical slippery slope with any kind of genetic alteration, so the options here are definitely limited for that reason, and there's also a litany of consent forms that will need to be signed as well. For that reason, the changes one can undertake are all cosmetic, such as altering your eye, hair, or nail color, getting cat ears (you know, like, nyaa), and that sort of thing. It's certainly nothing along the lines of Gattaca or anything like that!

◈ Logistically speaking, whoever signs up for this will have to provide a saliva sample which will be analyzed then and there (it takes about half an hour, but they can explore the rest of the market while they wait), at which point they can look at their genetic readout (similar to what 23&Me tells you) and describe the changes that they want. At this point, the attendants will take a blood sample and will set up an appointment for the customer to go to a clinic in a few day's time to receive the infusion that will allow for the transplantation of genetically modified cells. These changes will be temporary as the cells will eventually die a natural death, to be replaced by the person's natural cells, but it might be fun for a little while! While different cells in the body have different lifespans, we don't want to get too deep into genetics research here, so suffice to say the changes would last for no longer than four months.

> BEHIND THE MUSIC
New Amsterdam, despite all of its hardships, has a thriving music scene. Amid the booths lined along Birch Street, somewhere toward the back of the market is a stage decked out with fluorescent lights and a full holographic projector. Along with the local bands that take the stage, there's an impressive light show that's unique to all of them (most likely in-band choreographed). The headliner is a New Venice band called The Cybernetics Blindness. For everyone that attended the Stony Weather Music Festival, they might remember them. This is a surprise appearance, not advertised anywhere on social media. Their music is raspy and eclectic, and with meaningful lyrics for all those willing to listen closely enough. The band members themselves are decked out in fake leather and full, animal-like masks that cover their heads. Apparently no one knows much about who they are or what they look like beneath them. They give a very powerful performance, with an encore that consists of their newest single: Survival.

> BELIEVE IT OR NOT
All around are people showing off their body mods and tattoos—there are even some smaller events held by some of the booths to gather the attention of the passersby: at one booth they'll have tattoo competitions lined up with reward credits: best portrait, best lettering, most unusual and most unique. The list goes on. On top of that, there's shows in cybernetic enhancements, including arms and legs that are intricately carved and decorated, or those that are more showy, with what looks like knives as fingers. Some booths will try to attract people to them with aerial acrobatics, fire dancers, and contortionists.

> REFRESHMENTS
While there's a good amount of body modifications to choose from, there will be a few booths that offer refreshments. Either the owners or the employees have some kind of body modifications, and blend right into the group mingling around the market. There's one of New Amsterdam's local distilleries, Iron Lung, with their experimental liqueurs served in small taste samples. What's so unique about them? They glow. If you're not careful, they'll make your tongue glow, too. On top of that, one of New Amsterdam's famous dive bars is there, serving up the basics. The decor of the booth matches the mood of the market, and the man serving the drinks has a cybernetic arm that he uses to put on an impressive show for the more indepth cocktails. A few of New Amsterdam's local breweries are also there, most have beers named for the occasion: Carbon Rewrite, Neuromancer, and Body Wires. Remember, most won't do body mods or tattoos to those who are inebriated! (Probably.)

> NEWBIES? WHERE DO THEY GO?
For a very long time, most newcomers were relegated to the safehouse that was run by the Displaced but largely managed by Morningstar. These safehouses will still be out of order for a little while longer due to the destructive monster attacks, so all of the newcomers will need to be convinced to sit tight … somewhere for a while. Although it's advised that they don't take to the streets or visit the mod market because they won't have a neural ID set up yet, it's unlikely that they'll get in trouble for it. The NAPD is strapped for having enough officers, so people without an ID won't need to worry as much so long as they keep a low profile.

Still, even if they have a little more freedom of movement, they'll have to get used to a few ugly truths about this new world:

◉ They'll be living on the kindness of others. While Morningstar and the Displaced have a good amount of second hand clothes to offer to newcomers, they won't be in the finest shape.

◉ The drug in their systems won't be going away for a few hours, so they'll have to deal with the urge to bark on command for a little while. At least it's not multiple days!

◉ This is a world without a lot of basic commodities. Coffee is hard to come by and extremely expensive. Paper? No one produces paper anymore, not even for the rich and famous. And bugs are the protein of choice given that they're easy to come by and don't take too much energy to source.

◉ While the Morningstar network will be set up for all the newcomers thanks to their proximity to Red Wings, no one will be able to VR and Chill until El finishes making their IDs. That means that any news reports or information about the world will be out of reach for the time being. Their fellow Displaced will need to help them out in the meantime.

◉ Morningstar will provide a stipend to the newcomers, but it'll only be enough to feed and clothe themselves. If they're looking to get a job, they'll have to accept the reality of entry level in this new world. Yep, entry level. At least it's easy to get certification to get moving on the career path if you're talented enough.

> 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 to roam free until JULY 10, 2512 (October 18, 2020), 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. We do expect that some characters may be unwilling to sit tight for four days when they don't have a safehouse locking them in place. Feel free to plot amongst yourselves, and come to us if you have any additional questions!

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 October CR meme for the month is here.

Please check out our October calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month.

As we announced in our calendar, AC will remain halved until at least January 2021. 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!

> NAVIGATION

Comments

QUESTIONS

[larkers]

Re: QUESTIONS

[myfavoritemurder]

I know this is kind of a fiddly question BUT what kinds of clothes will they be arriving in (particular clothing items, style, material, etc.)? Asking because this lady will likely be unfamiliar with whatever it is, and it'd be cool to have specifics so I can have her react to it.

joe | open

[malta]

( cw for reference of medical torture and death in 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 )

𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 —

[ he doesn't wake with the sucked in breath and pain of his body knitting itself together that indicates a death, no broken bones healing quickly enough that the pain seems phantom. unconscious then, he decides, even if his head feels packed with cotton wool and heavy. he can taste the antiseptic in the air, the scent of freshly-cleaned scalples and needles and he tries to jerk away but his body is still sluggish and lead limbed. drugs, then. gas, maybe.

his head drops back, eyes closing as some dim part of his brain listens and absorbs the words before he is bodily shoved out of the van — why is it always a van, is there a company catering to evil henchmen that gives discounts on vans? — and can finally suck in fresh air. the first thing that falls out of this mouth, what he had tried to say in the van, is: ]

Nicolò. [ soft, insistent, foolish, but when is he not when it comes to nicky? ] Nicky. Nicky! [ it grows louder with each plea, moving through the small group as he breaks toward the mouth of the alley like they're pages of a book he is carding through. out of the way, out of the way, you are not nicky. ]

Nicolò!

[ andy and nile will be next, but nicky first. ]

𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 —

[ it is only after making a scene that joe shuffles into red wings, shoulders slumped in fatigue as he slumps onto a stool. his hands seem to reflexively brush over his shorn hair like he is unsued to the soft fuzz. it has been a number of years since he'd had it cut so short; years when curls and a full beard left him feeling exposed in public, apprehensive looks following him through airports and down twilight dim streets. his hair cut now feels more invasive than whatever else had happened to them because it dredges up all those old feelings anew. it is an indignity shared by the rest, hair in various stages of regrowth, but it settles uncomfortable and sick in his belly.

maybe nicky will trim his beard for him. ]

Water. [ after a beat. ] Please.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘵 —

[ once things settle somewhat, into whatever equlibrium they can find 500 years in the future, joe ventures to the mod market. he is intrigued and has always been fascinated by body modifications; they don't keep scars and piercings heal over, ink doesn't stay in their bodies so tattoos are out. a pity since the artistry in some of these tattoos is wonderous. maybe... they can have one for a few minutes.

he thinks on it, asking questions to the artists with an ease that belies his general discomfort with their situation. his smiles come quick and bright, an invitation for the artists to launch into further explanations of their art and offer to show him more photos. he demurrs there, having gleaned enough from the implant that he won't be able to do so with it still unlabeled. ]

I think I would prefer to see them in the flesh, so to speak.

[ a bad joke, but joe is just charming enough that it works and the artist doesn't deflate in disappointment. eventually joe turns to someone nearby, stranger, friend, it doesn't seem to matter, and gestures at the tattoo art. ]

What would you get?

𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥 —

( go where your heart takes you or hit me up on disco @ baleinette#3692 )

mod market

[withmeinparadise]

Me?

[It's a good question, one he's been pondering as he wanders around Birch Street. How long's it been since he got a tattoo? The prison ink on his neck is old, and his other tattoos--not currently visible--are older still.]

Always been a fan of the classics, personally. [And, as if to prove it, he pulls up one of the sleeves of the t-shirt he has on, so the guy can see what's on his bicep: a faded Sailor Jerry tattoo of four aces, a flower, the word LUCKY scrolled across.] You got any ink?

arrival

[myfavoritemurder]

Be quiet.

[Callisto snaps. They're the first words she's spoken since awaking, and they come out dry and cracked, just like her mouth feels. She pauses, wetting her lips, and tries again.]

Be quiet.

Arrival

[championofsnark]

[ Hawke was actually on her way somewhere else entirely when the message came in and she sighed, but decided to hurry over to Red Wings and check in. She's trying not to look for anyone herself, not to see if one of her own is caught up in this yet again, or if Cecily and Fenris are back. That seems like a cruel thing to ask for herself. Still, she's just about made it to the door when she hears someone shout. She sees a few people nearby glance that way and rolls her eyes. ]

He worries.

[ She says as if she is the Nicky in question and moves toward the shouting, seeing the familiar shaved head and medical clothes. Ah, old times. Hawke lifts her hands palms forward to give him a calming gesture. ]

Shhh, we'll look for him, yeah? Let's get inside and get you some water, you've been drugged.

[genova]

[ nicky's body feels heavy and lethargic, his mouth and throat dry and his tongue heavy, his mind fuzzy. it's a contrast to the urgency that claws at his heart, frantic and full of nervous energy instead of the heavy weight of his body.

he's been drugged (again). he cannot see joe.

—he cannot see joe, but soon after he's out of the van, he can hear joe.

sono qui, he tries to say, but nothing but a croak comes out. his heart picks up the pace, more frantic now, needing to reach joe, needing to see him, touch him, confirm that he's here, that they're together. needing to comfort and be comforted in equal measure.

he stumbles forward, pushing toward that noise, blind to everyone and everything else and finally, finally manages ] Yusuf.

[ when he sees joe, it is like the clouds parting to let the sun through and still not enough until he is there, in front of him, reaching out. ]

red wings

[delayable]

Wow, manners in a place like this? Rare. Why don't you just get it yourself so you have to say please and thank you?

( but hey, you're in luck, joe, penny's behind the bar to grab something for himself so he digs around, finds a cold bottle of water and slides it over. )

You want a lemon with that?

( he's real good at this customer service thing. )

mod market-y

[livrer]

[ The Mod Market might not be, as it turns out, the most informative location to learn about the city he'd been dropped into, but it isn't the worst either. There is enough here to glean that he is so far from Kansas, it might as well be another galaxy system all together. And for all he knows, it is.

So that's something.

Stranger still are the endless modification options, all of which seem trivial and also impractical when their bodies can reject things like bullets and shrapnel, so for now Booker is just ... looking. For research purposes.

Really, he is absolutely minding his own business looking vaguely like he might stop by a bare wall to graffiti something after all this when a couple of things happen: one, someone crashes into him (with mild apologies before rushing off), which in turn has him momentarily stumbling for balance and ricocheting off of Joe.

It's all very meet-cute ... if he hadn't betrayed his brother in the past, and said brother wasn't likely still furious with him. ]

Ah — sorry. [ Booker freezes. ] Oh. [ Merde. ]

red wings

[jettisons]

[After Bellamy makes a loop trying to find as many new arrival stragglers as he can, he returns to Red Wings. It's easier to spot the newcomers here—he mostly recognizes all the Displaced at this point, and the ones who seemed shell-shocked stick out.

He's not working, so he slips onto the stool beside Joe, watching as the bartender slides him a glass of water.]

Hey. You're new, right?

andy ( the old guard )

[scythias]

➤ 01 ARRIVAL

( for a minute, she thinks she's died. she doesn't remember how she died or when it happened but what else could this be? there's pain and there's confusion and then there's light.

andy opens her eyes and then closes them again when the sudden brightness stings her eye. she holds up a hand to give herself some shade and then starts moving. she doesn't know why but she knows she has to start moving, get her feet going because she's too out in the open and wherever she is, it's not familiar.

she's been around thousands of years so when a place isn't familiar, she's concerned. she doesn't care that she's dressed in scrubs and her head's been shaved. she'll deal with that later. right now, she needs to find the others.

she takes in the faces of those she faces, looking for joe or nicky or nile or even booker but they're not there. when she realizes that, she turns away but she keeps going.

she had to keep moving. )

➤ 02 RED WINGS

( eventually, andy finds herself at the safehouse. she's been given a quick rundown of what's going on and why she's here and while she files it all away, she has more important things on her mind. she hasn't been able to find the other members of her team and that's concerning.

after everything, she doesn't want to be alone. she doesn't want to deal with her newfound mortality on her own. she will, if she has to, but she feels greedy for once. just once, she wants them with her.

as time passes and she feels stronger, she wanders around the safehouse, talking to people quietly here and there. she finds her way into the kitchen and her stomach tells her it's been awhile since she's eaten.

but inside, she grabs a bottle and she drinks. she drains half of it in one go before leaning in the doorway, the bottle hanging from her fingertips. )

➤ 03 BELIEVE IT OR NOT

( days pass, things settle and andy finds herself restless. she's been told that she should stay inside but she's too used to going where she wants so she ventures out.

it's easy to step into the crowd and blend in. she keeps her head down and tucks her hands into the pockets of the borrowed coat. eventually, the flow of the crowd takes her to a tattoo competition and that's where she stops, that's where she watches.

it's entertaining, at least. some of these tattoos are absolutely ridiculous and some of these men are so proud of them. when one of the men starts to drop his trousers to show off his tattoo, andy laughs loudly enough to draw attention to herself and then holds up her hand to apologize.

the tattoo, it turns out, isn't too bad. andy gives him points for the creative use of his body.

when the competition ends, andy steps away to a refreshment tent and come away with a small glass of something glowing and she's...just going to hold onto that. maybe she can pass it off to someone else. )

➤ 04 WILDCARD

( feel free to throw something else at me if your heart desires! )

red wings.

[withmeinparadise]

[Sam's not around Red Wings for the safehouse factor--one of the proprietors tried to corner him into it soon after he'd first arrived, but he'd had none of it. But he's here now because it's not a bad place to hang out: shoot some pool, drink some booze, bug the staff. He's spent more on less.

Tonight, he's coming in to sniff out some dinner, too hungry to bother with getting home first and too goddamn lazy to cook even if he did. Someone's beat him to the punch, though, and--]

Thirsty, huh.

[--she is gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, knows her way around a bottle. Sam, meanwhile--hardworn fortysomething, questionable hairline, visible prison tats, admiration and amusement in his comment--gives her a little space to decide whether she's interested in what's simmering on the stove. The view's worth the wait.]

arrival

[myfavoritemurder]

[Callisto notices her looking, and never mind the fact that she's been looking, too; never mind the fact that she's been staring brazenly at every single face that surrounds her, not even because she's been looking for a familiar one. Despite all that, when she finds herself being stared at, she snaps:]

What?

Red Wings

[championofsnark]

(Hawke tries to pop by Red Wings at least once a day just to make certain everything's moving alright, and when she saw the message blink, she considers whether or not she should be looking for someone. But Cecily would know to message her, and it's not her kind of luck to have her just show up again. Still, she feels obligated to check in and brings some spare clothes with her for the newbies. It hurts to give them away, but her friend would want that, she knows it.

She's usually hovering around willing to answer questions when people get there, but it's easy to spot a certain someone just downing a load of liquor all at once. Her kind of woman. Hawke knows that look though. It's the this is all new and I'm lost so I should drink look.)

I just ordered far too much food for just me. (Hawke is carrying it as a matter of fact and plops down in a seat near Andy as if they already know each other.) Want to share? Otherwise you'll have a bad headache.

Callisto | OTA

[myfavoritemurder]

arrival

[This isn't a trick of Tartarus, Callisto knows immediately - because while Tartarus may be tricky, it's also familiar, and this very much isn't. She feels light-headed and groggy, as if she's taken a hard knock to the head, and indeed, she assumes that that's exactly what's happened. Both the space she's in and the scenery moving by outside of it are so unfamiliar that they're nearly incomprehensible, and so she closes her eyes for a while, focusing on other senses: the sound of a strange bird chirping rhythmically, the scent of something so acrid that it burns her nose, the feeling of too-smooth cloth against her skin.

She opens her eyes when the movement stops, not noticing the bit of metal stuck in her arm until it's pulled out, and though she glares at the man who does the pulling she can't yet work up the energy to retaliate verbally or physically. And then they're gone, and she's left with nothing but their orders and those who have arrived with her.

As they walk together, she studies her companions one by one, not shy about staring. She may speak, or she may not; it depends on what they say and do themselves. Either way, they make it to their destination without even trying to deviate from the instructions they were given, and somewhere in the back of her mind, this too strikes her as odd. Once inside the doors, she wastes no time in zeroing in on someone who looks like they're in charge and making her way to them.]

Which god are you?

[She's been pulled from Tartarus, taken to an unfamiliar and otherworldly place, and had some sort of spell cast on her. Who else but the gods could have done all this?]

Red Wings

[Eventually, Callisto has her situation better explained to her, and is either convinced, coerced, or flat-out ordered not to leave the building. That's fine with her, for now; there's plenty to explore inside. The bar counter itself is the most familiar thing, and it's also the only thing that gets next to no attention as she stalks the room, like a large cat surveying its territory. She weighs a pool ball in her hand; holds a pool stick like it's a fighting staff before setting it back down; attempts to steal a dart or two from the dartboard area (the likelihood of her trying to start a fight if someone objects to this is high, and if she's ordered to stand down, she'll come back and try again later once the drugs have worn off); and investigates the bathrooms, drinking out of the sink once she figures out how the taps work. As she wanders, she alternates between picking at the neural implant scar on the back of her head, and repeatedly smoothing her hands over the hospital scrubs she's in. Though the shoes (strange, flimsy, too flexible by half) stay on, she pulls the socks off at some point, and they can be seen tucked into the waistband of her pants for safekeeping.]

going rogue

[Late that same evening, she'll make her first attempt to peel off and leave on her own, wanting to find somewhere to make camp. If she succeeds, she won't go far, tucking herself into an out-of-the-way alley at the base of a large tree. She doesn't light a fire - it's too warm for that to be a necessity, she doesn't need the light, and she has nothing that needs cooking - but she does gather the kindling for it, in case she wants one later. And then she sleeps, sitting up, back against the tree.

"Keeping a low profile" is not a phrase that often applies to Callisto, but here, it sort of works out: she makes no attempt to patronize any local businesses or do anything involving involving the neural network, and so this way, she inadvertently stays out of trouble. Towards the end of the four-day period during which she's supposed to be staying indoors and out of sight, she strays into the mod market. Presumably somebody has provided her with a change of clothes by now, so she fits in better as she wanders from stall to stall, peeking in at what's on offer. Purely cosmetic alternations get mild curiosity from her; more substantial offerings get more attention. She stands and watches the finger-knives display for an excessive amount of time, and if someone comes up next to her, she'll give them a glance before commenting:]

I think they'd get annoying after a while. They're impractical, unless you can get rid of them at will.

[OOC: I have a permissions post for this character here!]

arrival

[reproached]

[ Murphy isn't "in charge", but he does work here, which probably lends him a deceptively authoritative look. He's obviously been waiting for the arrivals, watching the door to see who passes through it this time. When he catches Callisto's eye, his posture shifts, and he seems surprised that she chose to approach him even though that's the whole reason he's here.

And then she asks him that question, which most people would probably laugh at but only seems to unnerve him. He shakes his head as if to clear it, because he must not have heard that correctly. ]

What?

sam winchester ( mostly ota )

[remorseful]

arrival ( closed to newcomers )

[Sam's first instinct is to make a break for it. Every fiber of his being wants to run, wants to head off somewhere else. But the moment the marching orders come in, he realizes that he can't. He knows what he wants, but he also knows what he's not allowed to do.

Before he moves forward, he takes stock of himself. A hand over his head (short hair remains, but nothing like what he had before—he grimaces). He's wearing scrubs and stupid slippers. He hates all of this. He's been dressed like this before. He's been committed before. But it's rarely involved sitting outside of a bar ready to head inside.

He turns to one of the people who's been dropped off with him. Needless to say, a (mostly) hairless Sam Winchester is all forehead, and it's wrinkled with worry right now.] Should we head in together?

red wings

[Despite there being some clothes in the back, Sam Winchester ends up in the set of scrubs anyway. Why? This dude is huge. He's six-foot-four, muscular, and definitely not going to fit into most of the clothes. In fact, any of the newcomers likely would've seen Sam trying to shove himself into too-small T-shirts before ... ultimately giving up. A few of them probably got ripped in the process. Whoops!

So, after the fact, Sam's sitting at a table with a large amount of food. It's all healthy, but full of carbs to ensure that he starts to knock the drug out of his system. Whatever he has? He's willing to share.

He nods toward whoever might be trotting past.] They gave me a lot back there. Wanna share?

[Later on, he'll be located at the pool table. He's ditched the slippers for a pair of boots that (mostly) fit. So ... boots and hospital scrubs. It's a Look.]

Care to play?

the mod market

[Eventually? Sam gets a set of clothes that mostly fit. Thanks to the busy nature of the mod market, he hits it when he can, avoiding any attention that he might grab along the way. The shirt he's wearing is representing The Cybernetic Blindness since that's a place where someone would've been able to grab that was big enough for him. It's a black shirt with a bright green, yellow, and purple mask. The eyes are also foil. Creepy!

He stops at the tattoo parlor to take a look at the insertion of some of the LED lights.] Huh, [he says at first, though it's more of a panted sound.] Think any of them are likely to go for something bright, blue, and glowing?

[He'd try a different tattoo for warding, but it doesn't seem likely. Besides, his is still present.

He'll stop and have a beer otherwise, as well as grab some food. He's not here for the modifications, more the integration and understanding of the world as a whole.]

wildcard

[Anything else? Feel free to hit me up for anything random!]

ʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪɴɢs

[righteously]

[ Dean normally only works nights at Red Wings. The logic's pretty simple — he's there to de-drunk the too-drunk assholes, and people tend not to get shitfaced before 6 p.m. unless they're the kind of alcoholic that doesn't stir shit in public. He makes an exception on the days they get notified of new arrivals, because that's kind of a wildcard situation - nobody knows how in the hell these guys are likely to respond to waking up in Bladerunner. Granted, they've got that drug in them that makes them way easier to corral, but you can't exactly boss somebody into not throwing up and sobbing once they've had too many.

So he's there, and he's kicking around in the back at first swapping out of his day-job autobody-stained clothes when he catches wind of a conversation. Specifically, he hears something to the effect of who the hell ordered all that? followed by it's that beefcake giraffe out there, the guy's so big he won't even fit in the clothes.

Never before has anyone ever been more heterosexually excited by the term beefcake giraffe, and he follows the abundance of plates out into the bar proper. He's disappointed for all of two seconds when they're dropped off in front of some guy who doesn't look like Aslan, until Sam looks up to greet his server head-on.

Oh shit, that's right. The welcome-basket clippers special.

He'll take time to appreciate that in a minute, in the meantime he strides between tables with a clipped out: ]

Sam.

[ Just to get his attention so he can brace for the steamroller of a hug he's getting; Dean barely even slows before he descends on the guy, arms around shoulders and hanging on probably way too long for however long it's been since Sam's last seen him. ]

stephen strange / various red wings prompts, open!

[rehandle]

BE OUR GUEST, BE OUR GUEST...

[ It hasn't been a great month. He's done what he can not to let it bleed into his work or his interactions with the other Displaced, but as one thing rolls into the next and into the next, it's been difficult to maintain his usual sunny disposition (ha). It's also been hard to find the time or the mental wherewithal to plan ahead. So when PMs message arrives, giving him and everyone else on shift anything from 1 to maybe 15 minutes to get ready for the first dazed and drugged strangers (... please give him strangers) to come stumbling through the door, the sigh he lets out is borderline seismic.

For fellow Red Wings staff (or displaced clientele) he'll rattle off a few tasks to anybody nearby looking lost - "check the cots are set up in the function room," "start a fresh batch of something hot," "go and see what provisions we have left in storage." Anybody who wants to talk about the incoming new batch further he'll linger with.

By the time anybody arrives they'll find him behind the bar, eyes already on them, or over by a booth talking to somebody who arrived sooner, or emerging from a room across the bar and closing the doors lightly shut behind him.

He's far from the only person around, but if anybody does approach him they'll find his chest is glowing dimly through his dark shirt as a subtle beacon for anyone who needs to see it. ]



PUT OUR SERVICE TO THE TEST (new arrival specific)

[ In the function room of the bar, there's an array of makeshift cots never quite dismantled from the most recent attack on the city. It's a downgrade from the safehouse itself in a lot of ways - more cramped, less comfortable, no shower cubicles within a ten second walk - but it does have the benefit of freedom. And something resembling privacy. The doors close, even if you have to shut up to fifteen other people in with you.

No need to say anything of the security cameras. They may or may not be working.

Anyone's welcome to stay, and when they choose to go the only real barrier to them leaving again are the watchful eyes of any staff members inclined to encourage them not to go.

Speaking of one such, Stephen Strange rounds the corner with a bundle of material wedged under his arm and a heavy-looking bag in his hand, ready to stock the cots with more blankets, towels and basic toiletries procured from a quick trip out. Anyone inside he'll greet with a pause and a nod. ]

I'm doing the rounds for clothing orders. I can't guarantee you anything'll fit, but let me know your size and I'll do my best.

[ The pickings were slim amongst the leftovers rescued and gathered after the attack. He might as well restock to size. ]



PLEASE, BE OUR GUEST!

[ After the first few hours, newcomers are given semi-unsupervised access to the STAFF ONLY areas of Red Wings, with freedom to head behind the bar to the kitchen and the storeroom to see to their own needs when nobody's available to cater to them. Both they and bar employees can therefore find Stephen in his office most hours he's not front of house or out of the building altogether, door left wide open to show him sat behind the desk, usually glowering at fixed implant-screens or at spreadsheets and figures only he can see.

The CCTV is also displayed neatly on one wall, showing various areas of the bar going about their business. ]


( Stephen'll be doing his usual hanging out in the bar past his bedtime routine and will pull at least one all-nighter, so feel free to throw me any brand of red wings wildcard! for newbies info, he's one half of the Red Wings proprietor dream team that is him and Clarke, so for anyone looking to get their character a job at Red Wings now would be a great time to lay the groundwork 👏)

ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ, ʙᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ

[righteously]

[ Stephen's disposition may continue to be some variant of overcast to stormy, but Dean couldn't possibly be more chipper. At some point toward the tail end of the chaos he'll wander over and slap Stephen on the shoulder brightly, completely ignoring all negative vibes in favor of an obnoxious smile. He'll settle in shoulder to shoulder with his hands on his hips, and greet him boisterously. ]

How's it hangin', boss?

[ Which is a rhetorical question, and he doesn't pause for the answer before he's nodding across the room at a tall (seriously tall, way too tall, total linebacker) guy in medical scrubs and combat boots. ]

You met my moose yet?

Ellie

[notathreat]

► Arrival (cw: references to medical trauma!)

[It's not the first time Ellie has awakened, drugged, in the back of a moving vehicle. Her thoughts and tongue are sluggish, but the horror of the familiar aches through her before she shuts the fear down. There are scrubs, not a hospital gown. She's wearing socks and shoes. She's going to be able to run as soon as she has a chance and any sort of weapon.

Her heart thumps in her ears as Ellie instinctively presses her fingers over the place they pulled out the IV until a bloom of pain aches across her arm. Not a dream. Not dreaming.

As the soldiers come for her, she doesn't bother to fight them. Let them think she's meek and compliant. Instead she keeps her eyes open, focuses as much as possible on memorizing faces, voices, details in what they're wearing.

Are they Fireflies? It seems impossible, and the body armor is so different, so much cleaner and newer than what she's used to seeing. This is a regulated militia group, FEDRA-level or higher.

... and the others. There are others, all wearing what she's wearing, their heads shaved down-

For a moment, Ellie feels sick and dizzy, everything gone cold.

A bigger batch this time.

Ellie walks quietly between the two soldiers as they lead her out of the van, her head ducked down, and her heart drops again in shock when they let her go.

The sounds of the city are loud, oppressive, a thousand things she can't track. There are others saying things around her, and Ellie immediately moves to the fringes, not making eye contact, not touching anyone.

But she's looking at each of them in turn, memorizing their faces as best she can. She'll remember who she was dropped off with -- they're currently the only people she might be able to trust.]

... does it look like they cut my head open?

[Ellie whispers, to the person closest to her. Yes, Ellie. Yes it does.]


► Red Wings

[Look for the glow in people like you.

... what glow? what fucking glow?

Thankfully, Ellie doesn't have to wait long to find out. Several people meet the newcomers in the bar, and Ellie's free to listen in on the multiple conversations happening around her. She listens to as much as she can fucking handle, absorbing everything she can about her situation, before she walks abruptly away from the others. Still in her scrubs, Ellie approaches what looks like a dartboard.

... it's fucked, how exactly like her memories this is. The board's much newer than the one she's used to and she can read all of the numbers. All of the darts are properly balanced. She palms one, rolling it in her fingers.

She breathes out, then hurls the dart at the board. It misses entirely and sticks firmly into the wall.]

Shut the fuck up, I'm drugged.

[Said to nobody in particular, but still -- if someone doesn't catch the first game, she'll be doing it multiple times over the next few days, with varying success.]


► Breaking Curfew

[Ellie has never, ever managed to stay within walls or fully follow rules, and though she manages to be good for approximately a couple of days, it gets to her eventually.

It always does.

There are others like her, she's sure -- and whether it's another Displaced who's free to move about the city, or one of the new arrivals like her who has managed to sneak out before, Ellie will rather suddenly appear as they're leaving Red Wings, when nobody else is around.]

Wherever you're going, I'm coming with you.

► anonymous

[She doesn't have a network tag yet, and she'll absolutely take advantage of it.]

Telling bird puns is usually harmless, but when you start mockingbirds, things can quickly get unpheasant and hawkward.



► (Wildcard!)

Breaking curfew~

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance is at Red Wings both to get something for dinner--he really should learn to cook eventually--and to get a feel for some of the new arrivals, though he'd spent most of the time keeping to himself in the corner while accomplishing both of those goals. There were more newbies this time than last time, but it's easy enough to tell who they are.

So when he's leaving, and someone seemingly appears from nowhere with a comment about going with him, he knows she's new. He's also reminded of his own first few days here.]

I'm going home; are you sure you want to just follow someone you don't know?

sam drake.

[withmeinparadise]

body mod walkabout

Sam'll be out and about on Birch Street, because of course he will be. He's not exactly a body mod obsessive, but a good tattoo's a good tattoo, and it's been a long time. (Depending on what you think of his current ink, he's maybe never gotten a good one, but that's neither here nor there.)

→ "Doesn't hurt that bad," he says, looking at the walls of flash. "You thinking about getting one?"

→ "Scarification, huh?" A snort. "Got plenty, thanks."

→ "So you, uh--" A vague gesture with one hand at the fingers of another, a little pew pew pew sound, like maybe he's looking to shoot lasers out of his fingertips. His voice is a little lower, more tentative. "You can do stuff like that?"

→ "Lights under your skin...seems like it'd keep you up at night."

red wings

Part of it is, he likes hanging around here, genuinely does: it's not his favourite bar in the city, maybe, but it's someplace he doesn't have to watch his back. And if it drives Strange (or his brother, or anyone else) a little nuts in the process, then what's the damage? Part of it is, he likes to keep an eye out for the new Displaced. Call it curiosity, or damage control--new people are interesting, new people he might know are both interesting and potentially a problem for him.

He's generally a good time, generally holds his liquor (generally gets cut off before he hits the bottom of a bottle), and he makes conversation easily, especially with women he thinks are pretty.

→ "You, me, a game of pool. Whaddaya say?"

→ "What're you drinking?"

→ "You new around here?"

network: @ samuel.drake

any of you good at drawing? looking for somebody who can copy styles.

[sam doesn't your brother draw aLL THE TIME don't worry about it, it's fine]

wildcard

[Want something else? Hit me with something else! We can plan something out in PM or through PPs on plurk prettydoes if you'd prefer.]

Tattoo!

[championofsnark]

Hawke's heard plenty about this place from her fighting ring pals, but she only goes to look now out of a need for a distraction. These bustling streets and tunnels remind her of home, even if they're drastically different in other ways. She has no interest in the piercings or the sort so she goes straight for the tattoos.

She spots Sam who she's seen around there and hums thoughtfully at his question, stepping up next to him to look at the offerings too. It'd be strange to get one not by her usual person. "I've got three, none of them hurt as much as this injury." Hawke taps a finger to where a scar is on her right eyebrow. "Nearly took out my eye, after that, needles ain't shite."

booker | ota

[livrer]

❚❚❚❚❚ arrival.

[ Deja vu or a nightmare come to life?

The next few moments in his memory come in snapshots of blinking lights and darkness, of hollow echoes, snatches of conversation that don't quite mean anything to him.

The first real clear memory he has, when the world starts to come together around him in full colour, is the IV being slid out from his arm, and then he's pulled out of a van before he can think to ask just what the fuck is going on. He stands there, next to a group of others similarly clad in teal green fabric, peering down an alleyway towards their point of destination — a bar, he remembers one of them saying — and then he turns to glance over his shoulder, watches the van pull away and literally fly into the unknown. Nothing about this makes sense, and the feeling of being pulled from one state of being into the next, like discovering he couldn't die the first time, is all too familiar. ]

Where the hell are we? [ Booker scrubs his face. He asks the question but that hardly seems to matter as his feet seem to move on their own accord. To that bar again, the firm echo of the words don't go anywhere else still vivid in his mind. ]


❚❚❚❚❚ red wings.

[ So, Booker makes it to the bar, studies the building for a moment, taking in the red lights, the signage, and then with a breath, pushes the doors forward.

For a moment, he allows himself the want for a familiar face, more specifically those of the Old Guard whom he'd run with for over a hundred years. Nicky's comforting strength, Joe's kind and bright eyes, Andy's understanding of who he is and what darkness he harbours against his better judgment. But these next hundred years ... well, they're meant to be his punishment spent in solitude, and so he can't hope for it, won't hope for it, and proceeds on his own. Whatever this place is, wherever he's wound up, he'll figure a way out — and if this is about his immortality (because it's always about immortality), well, he'll find a way to warn the others too. That much he can do.

His mind is still a bit groggy, like he's trying desperately to follow and at half the pace, but it's getting there. It's starting to become more and more real just where he is, and more importantly where he's not. He doesn't have his flask or anything, really, but that doesn't mean he can't try and get a feel for this surroundings.

He steps up to the bar. ]

A drink, please. Something strong. [ It occurs to him that he doesn't exactly have any money either, but he'll figure that bit out later. ] And is there a place I can get some clothes?


❚❚❚❚❚ mod market.

[ Enough time passes before even someone like Booker, who could practically meld himself into the walls of any bar and become one with the establishment, feels the need to learn a little more about the city. There is, after all, only so much one can pick up through eavesdropping other patrons, and there's something to be said about exploring a place first-hand.

Having found some old hand-me-down clothing, he doesn't stand out so much in his former scrubs. He pulls the hood on his worn-out sweatshirt up to obscure most of his head and eventually wanders into the Mod Market, idly passing by stalls for cybernetics and piercings and a whole lot of other things he's seen only in movies that now appear to be ... well, real.

The tattoo booth he passes does give him pause, but not only has he never really been much for such things, it's not really an option either when your skin automatically rejects it. The temporary tattoos will only last for an instant — which, maybe could be a silly little experiment.

Later he can be found on the fringe of a gathering of people, hands in his pockets, watching the performance on stage. It's not the kind of music he's into, and the animal masks are even stranger, but it'll do to drown out the maelstrom of thoughts in his head for now. It's a welcome (if noisy) distraction. ]


❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard.

[ ooc: if none of these prompts are vibing with you, feel free to leave a prompt below, or hit me up over at thwip to plot something out! ]

Red Wings

[filloryfanatic]

[ Quentin is usually one of the first people who run their way to arrivals, but he also works at Red Wings so this has made it all much easier. It also solves the problem of him needing to bring food and clothes as a gesture every time, because it's in-built here. He is not usually supposed to be behind the bar as he does marketing and PR primarily, but sometimes jobs switch around when they're all getting ready.

His boyfriend is a bartender there so this is not hard at all and he can tell right away from the shaved head and clothes what's going on. His smile is sympathetic and he nods, getting Eliot's go-to whiskey and pouring some for the new man. Quentin can cover it this time, everyone needs a drink when they first get there. ]

Yeah, we have some clothes in the back for, um, newcomers. [ Quentin offers him the drink but then gestures with a hand. ] Follow me, we have a temporary set up.

[ Quentin hardly looks like someone who is a. a threat or b. the tricking time. If nothing else, he has the sort of open expressive face that indicates he's generally really bad at hiding pretty much anything. Poker is the only exception. He's young and average but his eyes implore Booker to listen. ]

I know this all sucks big time. Um. I can show the glow you were told to find once we get back there, it's soooort of conspicuous.[ He shouldn't worry about it here, but Quentin's always careful anyway. ] I'm Quentin Coldwater. I'd offer my hand but uh, that's something I wouldn't recommend you do right away.

[delayable]

▶ 01. RED WINGS

---

( penny isn't the most helpful person in the world but he shows up at red wings anyway just in case.

just in case kady shows up. just in case...well, she's the one he's really looking for. he supposes other people might show up that he knows and he'll have to put on a little song and dance but he's really looking for one specific person.

as time drags on and she doesn't show up, he grabs the first bottle of booze he can find and pops it open so he can start drinking. it's not to get drunk, no, but he does need something to take the edge off.

and once he's a little more relaxed, he tries to be helpful by...

well, he passes out a few cookies that he finds in the kitchen and he directs people to beds that aren't full. look, it's effort that he hasn't made before. )

▶ 02. MOD MARKET

---

( penny's not sure if he wants a tattoo but they're one of the more interesting aspects of this place. sure, he's heard about the cybernetics and genetic modifications but that's not really his thing.

he doesn't want a pair of metal wings sticking out of his back and he's damn sure not letting someone get at his genes so he sticks to the tattoos. the work of a few of the artists isn't bad, actually. the only thing stopping penny from actually getting one is the fact that he doesn't know what to get. )

I ain't getting the name of someone I love slapped on my body, dude. That's just asking for trouble. It's stupid.

( which means there's plenty of stupid people out there that would do it. he glares at the booth attendant for suggesting it though. )

I'd sooner get a stupid skull and crossbones.

( the booth attendant lights up and penny glares again. so, that's a no go too. )

▶ 03. WILDCARD

---

( feel free to toss other things at me here! )

2;

[endlessflask]

Live a little.

[ What Eliot is doing among the body modifications is anyone's guess. He's certainly not getting anything done (why mess with perfection, really), but it's possible that he saw Penny through the crowd. Or maybe he just wants to see what the fuss is about and has a certain degree of disturbing curiosity.

What is obvious is the way his tongue seems to glow, suggesting he's sampled some of those special liqueurs. ]

They probably think the tattoos you have are positively archaic.

homelander / ota

[laserbeams]

▶ arrival

[ Every single aspect of this situation is setting off alarm bells. The scrubs remind him of the facility he spent his childhood in (god, did they have to be teal?), there was an IV in his arm (no way in hell should a common needle be able to pierce him), and he feels...weak.

No, worse than weak. Weakness was a temporary condition, something he could expect to subside. What he's actually feeling is normal - not super - and that's a horrible, permanent, damning condition.

Before he can say 'I'm not going to some fucking dive bar, now tell me what the hell you did to me', he starts walking towards Red Wings. No matter how much he wants to stop, he can't. It's like he doesn't have the will to resist, even if he has the desire to. He's done plenty of things he'd rather not do before while keeping his anger just beneath the surface, but this wasn't like that. He's never been truly unable to choose before.

He stumbles into the bar, his limbs so stiff and sore in a way he's never experienced, and slumps down against a wall, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

There are people here, and the last thing he wants is to be caught in such a pathetic state, but he's got no choice. He can't leave, and he no longer has the power to blow the place up. All he can do is hope that no one notices the extent to which he is emotionally falling apart. ]

▶ red wings

[ Now that the drug has worn off and he's not stuck obeying every command that comes his way, he's managed to regain his surface-level composure. On the inside he's still a wreck, but on the outside he's perfectly fine. He smiles at everyone who walks by and when no one's looking he goes back to staring, glassy-eyed and with the corners of his mouth twitching into a sort of half-grimace, down at the glass of plain water he's been nursing for the last hour.

There's no one in the world stopping him from just having a glass of beer if he wants to, but it still hasn't quite clicked that Vought isn't watching over him anymore. He has no reputation here. He's just some guy at a bar. ]

What a way to start the week, huh? [ Just some lame small talk he doesn't actually care about, said with a fake, forced smile. He may be in some strange place, deprived of most of his powers, and with no idea what he's going to do next, but that's no excuse to stop being personable.

He's still Homelander. He'd rather die than admit otherwise. ]

▶ mod market

[ Under normal circumstances, Homelander would never have considered a tattoo. He would've sneered at the suggestion and called it trashy. Besides, no tattoo gun in the world would have actually worked on him. Now, though, there's a part of him that's missing and he'd like to get at least some semblance of it back.

He managed to get some clothes so he could get out of those hospital scrubs. They're a little tight around his chest and shoulders, and the colors kind of clash, but he hated all of the clothes he tried on so he just took whatever was cheapest. The only thing he really wants to wear is his suit, but he doesn't have it anymore and would stick out like a sore thumb even if he did.

But maybe there was some small part of it that he could get back, even if it wasn't quite the same. He looks at one of the tattoo booths. ] Does it...hurt?

[ He asks whoever happens to be nearby at the moment, and his tone is more curious about the possibility than afraid of it. Although he's aware that pain is supposed to be unpleasant, he hasn't felt enough of it to have any strong feelings. ]

▶ wildcard

[ ooc: feel free to hit me up at vellocet#7191 or dandymott for plotting! ]

red wings

[chocolateries]

You look like you could use this.

[ "this" is a plate of blue chocolate chip cookies that silena sets down in front of him from the other side of the bar before she pours more ice water into his glass. from the looks of it — the ease of which she leans her elbows on the bartop and her hair grown into little audrey hepburn curls, this tiny teenager has been here for a while. ]

There are other desserts, if you want something different, but you look like a chocolate chip kinda guy.

[ the blue is because her cousin likes them blue, but she thinks percy would be willing to share. silena's wide blue eyes are guileless and open, she really does hope he is a chocolate chip kind of guy. ]

nile freeman | ota

[riskless]

one } ARRIVAL

[ nile is getting a little tired of waking up in a daze, presumably via kidnapping or injury or both. it's not even the first time she's come to in scrubs, remembering her first death from afghanistan. the worst part about this one is how hazy and heavy her body feels. by the time they dump her in the alley, she's at least regained enough sense to keep upright. other than the fatigue, she doesn't feel injured, but that much she chalks up to the healing. ]

Shit.

[ seriously why does this keep happening?? she pats herself down, no weapons, no nothing, so she scoops up the first thing she finds down this grimy alley, which unfortunately happens to be a grimy beer bottle. she drains the excess liquid onto the ground, grip tight on her new temporary weapon. next step: is she alone? she looks around again, anxiously searching the faces of everyone else dumped off like trash. the urge to find the bar is compelling, but so is the rush to know if she's been kidnapped alone or not. ]

Fuck. [ she turns to whoever might be closest, they did tell her to find people, and this person is a people. ] You got this glow?

two } RED WINGS

[ it feels like ages since nile last went to a bar, least of all in a futuristic city and hopped up on some unknown drug. are drugs even supposed to work on them anymore? she supposes alcohol does, and the whole point of breaking into merrick pharma was to stop the rest of them from being drugged into eternity. she stumbles into the bar, eyes peeled. she's still compelled to follow that stupid order, and she is deeply unhappy about it. ]

[ it's emptier than she might have anticipated, which is a little annoying, because it means her scrubs will stand out even more. it was bad enough in the stupid alley. she sits down at the bar, settling her empty, filthy bottle in front of her and curling her hand around it. cool, she totally belongs here, looking like a crazy person with a used empty drink and hospital gown. ]

[ whether it's someone behind the bar, or someone else sitting nearby, she glances over. ]

If I say I'm looking for the glow, are you gonna think I'm high? [ a beat. ] Is it another drug? I'm not looking for drugs. I swear to God, none of this is my choice. [ just gestures at her mess of her self. ]

three } MOD MARKET

[ supposedly, there are normally safehouses available to them, but since she isn't locked in, nile slips out. she's quite careful, keeping her head down, passing through the crowd without drawing any attention to herself. she won't be out long. she just... needs a few minutes to catch her breath, to regroup. ideally if she could find a park, that would be rad. nile thought about getting a tattoo, more than once. she watches and listens from afar as the artists describe the temporary nature of it, but then she wonders... wouldn't it just heal for her now? it's technically an injury, isn't it? she files that away to ask one of the others later, and thinks maybe she should have gotten that tattoo before afghanistan. now she's shit out of luck. ]

[ she does luck out finding the live music. nile doesn't know the sound, the lyrics, the bands, but the beat lures her in like a siren anyway. she doesn't fight for a spot at the front; no, nile is content to linger at the back, leaning against the wall and just... letting the music wash over her. she's too jittery to close her eyes, but at least the flashing lights can hide just how deep in thought she is. clearly she's just very into these cyber blind nerds. she's not used to being on this side of misunderstanding band names, but she'll never admit it aloud. ]

[ at least she can tap her foot to it. ]

four } WILDCARD

[ mix & match! make something up! or hit me up: communism @ plurk or romanitas#5368! ]

mod market (music)

[livrer]

[ Booker has been at this music venue for longer than one who cannot appreciate the noises they make should be, but he can at least appreciate the poetic sensation of being lost in a crowd — alone but not alone. It is a well worth distraction anyway, better than the solitude of his own thoughts in a silent room.

He stays near the back as well, scanning the faces around him, wondering just what type of person (young, reckless, far beyond his understanding) could relate to the performance and the band, and mon dieu, there's a familiar face if he's ever seen one. He moves his way through the rows of screaming, excitable youths before he can stop himself and give Nile her space. But perhaps because it is Nile, and not Joe or Nicky or even Andy, that Booker feels emboldened to approach. They don't share the same baggage, though she's admittedly seen him at his worst, but she didn't have to endure years (and years and years) of Booker's self-loathing and hatred and attempts to push the others away. With Nile, there's ... hope. Andy found it in her too.

Admittedly, he isn't looking his best. He's tired and a bit haggard, and his hair has been shorn to a soft buzz. His clothes look worn and very un-Booker-like, but one does not experience life and death and life again without forming some kind of a bond. It just so happens to be the thing he'll have to rely on in this instance.

When he approaches, he lifts a hand to wave in her direction, pulling back the hood obscuring his face. It's still ... admittedly hesitant. He's still not sure he should be doing this.

But he wants to. ] Nile — bonjour.

Terrence Ephemera | Red vs. Blue (OTA)

[requiemshark]

Red Wings

[ Technically, it's not Ephemera's job to serve drinks. He's not particularly good at it, either, but he's around and with all the newbies camped out, everybody's making do. He leans against the counter, his hood up to hide the worst of his scars. ]

You want a drink?

[ His voice is low, a little rough. Technically, he's supposed to be providing security. Nobody looks like they're about to wreck his day just yet, though, so he's trying this thing where he's friendly. ]

Most people do, when they first show up.

Mod Market

[ For the first time in a long time, Ephemera is getting some of his tattoos touched up. Letting a stranger touch him isn't his idea of a good time, even under these circumstances, but his tattoos have carried a lot for him over the years. They've taken some hits, too. Faded in places. Gotten scarred over in others.

In the end, he has the rings around his fingers touched up, along with the Helljumper insignia on his arm. He pulls his hood back up when it's done, planning on disappearing back into the crowd, when he missteps and stumbles directly into someone on his blindside.

He hisses, jerking back. ]

Fuck.

[ Then, reluctantly: ]

Sorry.

Wildcard

[ Go nuts, or hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something specific. ]

mod market

[stabsbooks]

[ Since an unfortunate incident shortly after her arrival, Cassandra's been very, very careful not to make skin to skin contact with anyone. Tattoos are out of the question. Being so careless as to collide with someone (or allow herself to be collided with) on the street should be out of the question too, but it happens regardless. Perhaps she's growing careless, after so long.

Ephemera gets a turbulent barrage of emotions - intense worry, battling with the tendency towards hope; a lower-level yet constant, more general anxiety; a sudden spike of alarm and dread that seems directly related to their having touched and the empathy bond activating. She jerks away instantly, staring at him with wide eyes. ]

It - it was - [ She's struggling with whatever she'd picked up from him, too, shaking her head to clear it. ] An accident, I'm sure.

John Blake | The Dark Knight Rises

[oversight]

THE KINDNESS OF OTHERS_

[ Following the shuffling of himself and his peers from whatever strange laboratory experience they were subjected, John Blake finds that there's a sense of disconnect between his brain and his body. He doesn't entirely feel in control — that much is to be expected based on what they were told — but his discontentedness only gains tractions as he spends more and more time feeling at the mercy of others. Shockingly independent, the former cop notes that his uneasiness is mingling with the rest of the awkward emotions he likes to believe he doesn't have, but at least he's got the primer he was afforded to tell him those emotions will stay his alone as long as he avoids direct contact.

Feeling awkward in scrubs — not the most becoming cut — and cranky from waking into this bizarre and unfamiliar new world, there isn't much he can do but rely upon the kindness of strangers.

As he rubs a hand at his close-sheared hair, he grumbles in an unfortunately deep, sleep-gruff voice. ]

Not gonna say all the things I'd do for a cup of coffee and a sweater right now, but it's a lot.

[ Fortunately, he's still processing through those drugs, so if someone tells him to shut up, he'll be forced to do so. ]

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME_

[ Sleep typically alludes him fairly expertly, but the first several nights in New Amsterdam has Blake falling into the deep slumber of exhaustion; this new world is a lot, and being at the behest of others leaves him extra cautious in his waking outs, and practically helpless during his sleeping hours as his brain demands respite.

Near morning, anyone surfing the same dream waves may come across one of John Blake's dreams:

It's dawn.

He's jogging, breath coming in misty puffs in the crisp morning air. There's snow on the ground and heavy flakes in the air. A thin sheet of new snow is building a stark contrast against the sooty piles scraped up against the sides of the road by overnight snowplows.

He keeps a steady pace, heart pumping solidly in his chest, lungs stinging from the cold, but working as they should. It feels simple and normal... until it doesn't.

There's another set of footprints in the snow and he stares after them as he steadily moves. They look to have a similar gait, like someone jogging just ahead, and as he controls his breathing, he can hear the sound of footfalls although he can't quite see anyone through the snowfall and morning fog.

Picking up his pace, he feels as if he's chasing someone, but isn't entirely sure why. A sense of dread builds in his chest as each moment passes, desperation slowly creeping in.

Soon enough he's running, breath coming in gasps until he slams right against a solid, stopped figure. He ends up slipped and stunned, suddenly on his ass on the ground, blinking up at someone he's never seen before. ]

We have to get off the streets—

[ It slips out of Blake's mouth before he can register saying it or why. But he knows that something's coming and he understands that whoever this person is, they need to come with him.

WINDOW SHOPPING_

[ He's not much for tattoos or any kind of... enhancements, but there's something fascinating about peeking at the offerings available around town. From glowing tattoos to mechanical parts, it's a veritable buffet of interesting proposals, each a bit more strange than the last. ]

Would you really want somethin' like this?

[ He's looking at a few sample books, flipping through the examples of tattoos first, eventually making his way to the cybernetics.

He shouldn't be out and about — his ID's not set up yet, after all — but he's willing to take the risk if it means getting a better lay of the land. ]

I'm not convinced. What's the catch?

WILDCARD_

[ Don't see something you're interested in here? Toss a random starter my direction and we'll see where it goes! Also open to empathy bonds, memory sharing, dream sharing, expressions of super powers, etc. Not sure what you want and looking to plot a little? Hit me up here. ]

Dream a Little Dream

[notathreat]

[She's running. It's a dream and she knows it's a dream, in that dim way that doesn't really matter, because you still can't wake up. Pinching doesn't work, just produces that dull aching heat that doesn't quite pass for pain.

But it's snowing, and Ellie can practically taste the smoke and blood even though it's only a memory -- but it's not the same dream. There are no cabins, no floors covered in broken shards.

But someone is chasing her.

Ellie puts on speed, running hard until she realizes that she can't run, that her legs feel like they're stuck in honey. Biting down on the fear and anger, she stops, swings around, and reaches for her knife, pulling it out-

And the figure is upon her before she remembers that she lost it in the Pacific.

Ellie hits the ground sprawling and scrambles back, breathing hard -- but the figure isn't anyone she recognizes. There's no heavy beard and too-soft voice. There's no long braid. The man on the ground isn't even holding a weapon.

Ellie scrambles to her feet, and holds out her hand. He's a stranger, yes, but there's no time. She feels that same urgency, though she can't say why.]

Get up. Quick.