![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larkers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
meadowlarklogs2020-11-21 12:11 pm
- !event log,
- dceu: diana prince,
- dogs b&c: nill,
- doom patrol: larry trainor,
- dragon age: cassandra pentaghast,
- dragon age: marian hawke,
- marvel comics: wade wilson,
- mcu: stephen strange,
- mcu: tony stark,
- original: ian fowler,
- overwatch: soldier 76 (jack morrison),
- red vs. blue: terrence ephemera,
- she-ra: glimmer,
- star trek: elim garak,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- supernatural: sam winchester,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the 100: john murphy,
- the 100: lexa,
- the boys: homelander,
- the last of us: ellie,
- the old guard: andy,
- the old guard: booker,
- the old guard: joe,
- the vampire diaries: kai parker,
- uncharted: nathan drake,
- xena: callisto
EVENT #011
WHERE: The Aerie, a different world.
WHEN: Late July 2512.
WHAT: The first log of our AU event, taking place in an AU world that puts on battle royale events to cull the massive overpopulation.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Overwritten minds, horrible dystopian conditions, and more!
On the morning of July 26th, every living person on Earth will be spirited away from where they were mere moments before. Just like that. Hover cars will descend slowly in transit, trains will come to a stop without a screech of their breaks, and the streets throughout every single of the 104 megacities will be left barren, empty, and lifeless. Even those lost and hidden, not seen for months, are swept gently away with the rest of their brethren. No stone will go unturned.
The world upon their return may pick up where it's left off, or it will be changed in some way. Will it be July 26th when everyone finds themselves back where they were standing before? Or will something else happen during this time? Now that the supposed lifeblood of this planet is gone, what will happen in their absence? The world may not be able to go on how it had been.
Perhaps the more terrifying question is this: if something is powerful enough to steal away every person, every single one capable of thought, ideas, conflict, war, and more, what else could happen?
Perhaps it's for the best that it may be awhile before anyone has to worry about that.
For now, they've entered a world that's one week away from its next Quarry event: a place where The Aerie's criminals fight to prove they deserve to keep their life.
The Aerie is a structure that should not exist.
Made of steel and concrete, it gives off the impression that its guts were arranged haphazardly, as if an amateur surgeon had pulled them out and tried to put them back in again. Steel beams stretch out between buildings, connecting them together. There may have been a wall of concrete around this beam once upon a time, but it splintered and fell away, exposing its insides and opening up a pathway that people have taken for granted in the past fifty to a hundred years. Power lines hang in loose tangles throughout this little world, ready to fall away at the slightest breeze, then splinter and spark.
Most of the insides of The Aerie are barely preserved. Trying to do that would be an impossible task: there are too many people, too many who live in concrete layered on one another like stacks of broken shelves, too many who pass through open maws of ruptured pathways, crawling up onto the roof of a business for what they think is a shortcut to a higher level. Brittle walls that splinter off into clouds of chalky white dust are everywhere and anywhere.
How The Aerie came together was once a majestic feat: a place for people to live, thrown together as extinction surged forward like a towering beast on the horizon. There was a mix of minds behind the action, as well as a hollow sense of desperation. Even those who brought The Aerie into being knew that their lives were on the line. It was a matter of "make this work" or die. So, they made it work.
What's truly impossible about The Aerie isn't the hulking structures merged together at all manner of impossible angles, but the outer layer of this little world, looming overhead in shimmering, constant glory. The people of The Aerie are protected, safe; the world outside is a nebulous, uncertain mess of greys and greens and reds and blues. Storms surge just outside of the wall of The Aerie with sharp, constant bolts of lightning that batter the surface overhead. Once upon a time, the people of this little world feared those bolts cutting through and destroying their home. But it's been long enough now. No one lives in fear of what's outside, and no one wonders, not anymore. After all, the people who made it outside were never seen again. For a time, some people could watch through the clear walls as these escapees' bodies turned to irradiated mush with only bones left behind. In time, those bones withered away to dust. And with them, their memories were forgotten.
Within The Aerie, life goes on, just as it must: riddled with fear, with survival often depending on the ability to escape notice.
Only two parts of The Aerie remain unscathed, untouched by the passage of time and haphazard construction of this refuge:
The Volary, which stands tall and pristine at the heart of The Aerie. Lights burn within The Volary all day and all night, showing signs of life that most of the people outside of its walls will never see for themselves.
And then the Quarry, a structure built in haste and out of necessity. The same people who brought The Aerie together also made the Quarry. At its base are a series of office buildings, setting up monthly arena events where the guilty fight to show that they deserve to survive.
These two things are the source of all the fear in The Aerie. It's what keeps everyone's mind off the crumbling walls, the storms outside, and the miserable, unending passage of time.
When The Aerie came into being, so did The Volary. Far from fragmented like the rest of this tiny, tiny world, it stands pristine, with brown bricks lining its exterior, and strong steel beams holding it strong within. Either through its making or its care, The Volary hasn't suffered from the hands of time like the rest of the world. Anyone outside of The Volary doesn't know the truth, though they could likely guess.
Inside of The Volary lives the members of Parliament: the newly-joined Magpies, the comfortable Rooks, and the looming and most powerful, the Cardinals.
The Cardinals live at the very top. Even after over two hundred years, the Cardinals remain impenetrable. New members are accepted into their ranks from time to time, granted secrets of a bygone era, but the rest of the world remains ignorant to their knowledge. At the heart of this structure is a cult, a belief system; they are the ones who decide if The Aerie lives or dies. For now, it continues to live. Of course, any other path would lead to their devastation as well. They may be nearly immortal, but they aren't truly untouchable and eternal.
Beneath them are the rest of Parliament, cocky in their comfort. Many were born into it, but some were raised into the ranks, finding their own footholds. Sometimes these elevations seem random; sometimes these promotions happen with purpose, with someone driving to catch the eye of a Rook who's looking for someone like-minded to have around them.
Outside of the Magpies, the Rooks that were once Magpies, and the once-members of The Congregation outside, everyone seems blissfully ignorant of the dilapidated world outside. There are some workers from the outside world who know, and some Carrion lucky to have their place among the elite—but there is a sense that some things shouldn't be spoken about, or else they may need to be responsible for it all. While the outside begins to age without any sign of renewal, this compound lives on—untouched, unbothered.
The Volary is set up in levels. The very bottom is where all the businesses that serve the people up above are located. It's where animals are raised and butchered, and where food is prepared before it's brought up to the upper levels. There are numerous common areas, but these can be rented out for any whim of any members of Parliament. Even the businesses themselves can be shuttered for the day, with preferred chefs invited to the upper levels to prepare meals to deal with these circumstances. (Someone from the Congregation can train as a chef in the Cotillion, even if they've never handled food of this nature their entire lives. It's a good job to have, as a number of favored chefs have been elevated to Magpies.)
Beyond the shops is the first level of living quarters for the various members of Parliament. Many Magpie and Rook suites are side by side, though some Rooks prefer not to be housed next to a newcomer and have made their preference known throughout the years. These suites are designed and adapted to its inhabitant's every need, and if someone is born into the family, they inherit their family's suite once someone dies. How is it that there could be space for all the members of Parliament, and so little room outside of the walls of this compound? Consider that yet another question that members of Parliament don't need to concern themselves with.
At the uppermost levels are the suites belonging to the Cardinals. Unless explicitly invited, no one is allowed onto these floors. Numerous Carrion have died throughout the years because they wandered up the wrong set of stairs, knowing that risk was looming over them.
And at the very top is where The Conclave meets. Newly elected members of Parliament visit this room once to receive their powers, only they recall nothing. No one knows what happens within the inner walls of The Conclave. Some have attempted to spy throughout the years. Needless to say, that didn't go well.
The Volary is the home of the pampered, the rich: the people who can ignore the dying world beyond them. Even those inheriting a sense of importance feel as if they've done enough—when they clearly don't do enough. At least those stuck outside may find themselves walking through the heavy front doors of this compound one day. Too bad it's based upon the powers of Parliament, and whether they deign to let someone inside. The only good news is that someone can be buzzed in via their power. That gives a real personal touch, right?
Outside of The Volary, The Aerie is set up in sectors, these sectors acting like rings that move further and further from The Volary up and down throughout The Aerie. Almost by necessity, the rings closer to The Volary are populated by Parliament's favorites. The upkeep around here is better: not pristine, but far from as bad as it gets as someone travels to the outer sectors. Many who have made a name for themselves in the Quarry live in these inner sectors, close to the people of Parliament. Many believe that the inner sectors are still tended to because members of Parliament would hate to face up to the fact of their world dying, and it may not be far from the truth.
In addition to better upkeep, the inner sectors experience less Shrike patrols, with the people allowed to live a life that allows them to remain ignorant to the world around them. They may not be Parliament, but their life in these sectors affords them the feeling of comfort. They don't have to fear their ceiling caving in; they don't have to fear a pipe bursting at an unfortunate moment; they don't have to fear wrongful arrest because they looked at someone the wrong way. It takes a lot for those from the inner sectors to have their lives ruined—but it's not exactly impossible. Of course, this is also where The Cotillion is kept, with numerous buildings and dormitories maintained for its students.
The further and further someone goes away from The Volary, the more life within The Aerie becomes difficult. The worst part is this: no one knows any better. They know the crumbling walls, the faded and peeling wallpaper, the revealed steel beams. They know the frequent Shrike patrols. They know that if they commit a crime, it's on them: they deserve whatever comes their way.
How does someone work in order to get by in these outer sectors? They can help man the bars, because drinking is as much a way of life here as it is back in the regular world. They can help upkeep of The Aerie. Someone can easily enter a trade alongside their compulsory schooling, especially if they aren't special enough for Cotillion training. Electricians are needed throughout. Maintenance of trains is needed throughout. Plumbers are needed throughout. And rations? They come by way of processing plants connected to hydroponic farms. More than a few times throughout the years, these plants have suffered breakdowns, and there have been ration shortages. But don't worry: Parliament continued on eating as if nothing changed outside.
Rations are given out three times a day through numerous rations checkpoints in each sector. These rations are like tasteless protein bars: enough to provide someone the meal they need, a bland mixture of carbohydrates, protein and fat sprinkled with essential nutrients, and little more. Attempts to make them more flavorful throughout the years have failed. Badly. It's probably better that they're bland little morsels. The good news is that they're filling. That may be the only good news.
Life isn't all misery and pain, even if job prospects are largely unfortunate if you're nothing special and the food is literally nothing to talk about. There is a thriving popular culture within The Congregation. There are numerous television shows and movies depicting the distant past, or even a brighter present: one in which the people of The Congregation managed to come together and make their lives better. Oddly enough, these don't tend to act as propaganda. They're just badly written, but done with an eye on hope and perhaps a better life. There are sports and games, though no official leagues have started up, almost certainly because they would compete with the Quarry for airtime.
Members of the Congregation are able to travel anywhere they like within The Aerie thanks to trains, with the only sector the train lines don't access being The Volary. They can peer down over the city, seeing a blurry line of grey all merging together, with people living their lives as best as they can. These trains go near the surface of The Aerie, too, granting someone a close up of the world outside, and reminding them that life could be much, much worse. It could be gone altogether.
With one week remaining until the next Quarry event, preparations continue within The Company's headquarters. Located at the base of the arena out of necessity, The Company's offices are pristine and lifeless in nature. White walls, white ceiling tiles, and white chairs: nothing varies from anything else. How does it remain so surgical at all times? One can only wonder.
Numerous Quarries are being prepared at any given moment, with the televised sensations planned months in advance. Some plans are scrapped depending on competitors. Given the recurrence of Snipes, there are moments where plans need to be changed, where tension needs to be brought in. An arena designer may have to scrap his entire vision for a backup plan.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—The Company is a well-oiled machine. Need some crunch time to make sure a Quarry event is ready on time? The underlings at The Company are used to working long, long days to make it work.
The Quarry this time around is unknown, though there are suspicions of what it might be.
As for those waiting to enter the ring: they're free to live their lives, but many of them are undergoing talent training and preparation for the big event. They're going through interviews, getting sized for any costumes, and being asked to tell their stories. Some of the Snipes may be more than ready for this, while the Guineas will need to figure this out for themselves.
Littered throughout the Congregation is a group that's been budding for a while. As much as this world is all they've known, there are some who believe that they deserve something better. The Quarry is unfair, and all throughout the many sectors, there are signs that The Aerie is breaking down and dying, barely keeping it together. These are people who may be afraid, but want to fight despite that fear.
Some of them have made themselves known: bearing a tattoo of a kestrel where others can see. Others hide who they are, but they're waiting. Planning. They strike when they can, but they know that time is running out. There are tiny safehouses throughout, typically through hatches underneath small local businesses that are sympathetic to the kestrels themselves. These people aren't members, but they put themselves at risk every day to protect this movement.
So, they have their sights set on this upcoming Quarry. It's time to bring change to The Aerie—or die trying.
Either through talking ICly or OOCly, we'd like to have the following goals outlined and submitted to our comments below:
What is the Kestrels' plan in all of this? What do they intend to do?
This can include trying to find and meet with Prometheus, just as a note! Overall, we'd like an idea of what they'll be attempting with the upcoming Quarry so that we can work it into the next log.
What is the theme for the next Quarry arena?
We'd like to have some idea of a theme, as well as some submitted puzzles! We know that we're the kings of Vague Ass Puzzles, so feel free to be vague. We just want to give our Quarry participants something to look forward to.
Are there any other factors we need to consider?
Parliament upheaval? Plans to find out what Parliament is doing? Anything else that might come to mind? This is more loose!
We're giving a loose deadline of DECEMBER 7 with the next log going up on DECEMBER 12.
Welcome to part one of our year-end AU event! We meant for this to be primarily be a description log to start play, especially since we feel that most of our critical information is in our Planning Post. We suggest that you do any necessary planning there for your select crews there, as well as use the "DM" system on Warbler for private stuff.
Of course, our questions thread is still open.
Since it's come up in the past: since all characters are in the AU, please feel free to do a catch-all post of anything you might want! Flashbacks! Anything open prompt-wise! Go wild with this stuff. This is always available during events, but we wanted to be explicitly clear here given the nature of this event.
As for mod-run social media, we have a post here on the network where we'll be steadily adding things throughout the event!
Our November Activity Check goes live on DECEMBER 1. AC for the month of December will be check-in only. It's a weird holiday season, but it will undoubtedly still be stressful for all of us.
Our next reserves will open on NOVEMBER 23 and our next application period will open on DECEMBER 1. We intend for all new or returning applicants to be kept outside of the AU. We have a special plotting opportunity and NPC ready for this scenario to help people integrate. However, if you have a friend who's apping to tap into the AU, let us know—we're not 100% married to our plans, but we worried about any new players apping into such a convoluted scenario after so much plotting has already taken place.
That's all for now. Have fun and for those of you who celebrate, have a Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃
no subject
[ The other Shrikes have some shame about it. He's always assumed it was shame, anyway--they at least know to stop showing off when the mask's off. Burton, it's hard to see why he even bothers with the mask when you stop and really look at him. ]
Stick it in your goddamn pocket.
no subject
Nah.
[ Why bother? It wouldn't change anything. And it's not like he's going to let a commoner tell him what to do. Not even because that would be bad for his standing as a Shrike, but because he just doesn't want to let that happen.
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, like he's studying Sam. Considering him. He's been feeling more restless lately, and though he's not inclined to actually start a fight himself, he's interested to see where this goes. ]
You sure I'm what's bothering you? Not something else? [ He's prodding. Mocking. ]
no subject
You stand next to a sewage drain, problem's gonna be the smell.
no subject
Besides, he's been called worse. Never bothered him. Words are, ultimately, meaningless. ]
Sounds like you should move, then.
[ He's really hoping he doesn't. ]
no subject
[ He's much more of a mood to press his luck. ]
no subject
Still with a cheerful note to his voice, ] If you're not going to, then you should shut the fuck up and quit complaining.
no subject
Pretty sure I was here first, bucko. And I didn't come in swinging my mask around. You, uh, you compensating for something?
no subject
Wouldn't you like to know?
[ He turns it off when the increasingly anxious bartender slides him another beer, nods in thanks, watches him retreat immediately after. He's conscious of that much, at least. Doesn't really care, but is aware of it.
He considers his new drink, wonders how much of it he's going to actually get to have before they're at whatever this destination ends up being. ]
So. Not really sure how you see this ending, [ he drawls, has maybe a third of it then and there, ] but it's not with me leaving. Rest of it? That's up to you.
no subject
[ Dryly, wryly, a little annoyed beyond the current situation. Sam's nothing if not a dick. And watching this asshole is something else, the way he goes from their conversation to the bartender and back again. Like flipping the lights in a room. ]
Got another option for you. [ He finishes off his liquor ] You wanna sit here, you act like a person. Starting with this:
[ And, absolute mad lad tipsy logic and a longstanding belief in his own immortality playing heavily into his choices right about now, Sam snatches at the stupid goddamn Shrike mask. ]
cw violence, some blood, love you sam
Amos takes a second to digest what just happened.
Technically - technically - it could be considered a crime. Theft of property. Theft of a Shrike's property, no less, as if scale even matters in that arena.
But it's not a crime, because it was against him. And in theory, that would be bending the rules, but - nothing done to him has ever been a crime. Not growing up; otherwise somebody would have done something about his father, and that never happened. And not now, when he has the power to take matters into his own hands, settle things just as they start, end them the way he wants to.
He takes a second.
And then in one motion, Amos gets up, grabs the wrist attached to the hand holding his mask, squeezes as tight as he can as he yanks it forward, keeps it in his range. Takes another second to consider his options with his other hand, makes a fist, punches Sam square in the face.
A second time. A third, for good measure. Hears the crack of cartilage; sees, feels the way fresh blood decorates his fist. Figures he can just as easily take his mask back now, does, sets it back in its original position, staring out in Sam's direction specifically, letting his blood get on it some, never once averting his own gaze.
Amos sighs, laughs, smiles; the first genuine expressions he's had since he stepped in here. He feels lighter, the air in his lungs fresher, the entire world brighter. He keeps his attention squarely on Sam. ]
C'mon. Make my day. [ His voice is soft, no posturing, just honest and open and happy. ]
😘
He's dazed by the time his nose is finished cracking, but this isn't exactly his first rodeo. Two runs through the Quarry (decades ago, but still), more than one run-in with the seedier ends of the world, and some kind of inborn knowledge he can't explain. The same thing that keeps him doing endless situps in the mornings and evenings, to wake up and wind down, that's the thing that tells him this asshole's built like a brick shithouse, you can't just punch him out.
Sam Drake's pretty goddamn strong for a guy who spends his time yelling about pay or play clauses and lining up commercial modeling gigs. But compared to Amos Burton, he's a little too lean, taller than him and stretched-out as a result. So there's no slamming his fist in the guy's face as retribution.
Reaching out blindly, his hand closes around Burton's liter glass and brings it up in an arc. Beer flinging out, Sam slams the bottom edge of it against Burton's temple as hard as he can. ]
no subject
If it stuns him, it's only because he can't remember the last time somebody actually fought back. Somebody with a hint as to what they were doing; more than a mindless, desperate flail. He needs to recalibrate, which isn't an issue. Shrike training did a lot of good for him.
Make my day, he'd said, and here it is, actually being made. He didn't think a mouthy guy peacocking would be the one to do it, but he knows Nate, knows he and Sam are family, so maybe he should have expected this all along.
Ignoring his own fresh burst of blood, ignoring the few glass shards that have embedded themselves in his skin, Amos lets his face drop into its own emotionless mask, mirroring the catalyst for where they are now. Goes with a right hook, embracing the skin-on-skin contact as he connects with Sam's jaw. ]
no subject
Watching him bleed's more satisfying than it probably should be, though, after all the hell he's put the Drakes through.
Problem is, that doesn't leave a lot of room for Sam to get a good punch in. Someone like this, the only true options are the soft places, and given just how quickly he's getting punch-drunk, he doesn't trust himself to get Burton's eyes. That takes accuracy. Brick wall like him, trying to smash up his nose won't slow him down long, either.
So, figuring on what's left--Sam knees him in the balls, hard. He's never been one to play fair, and when he's up against a Shrike, that goes double. ]
no subject
He'd never begrudge anyone for going to that move. Now, he knows in a physical fight, chances are pretty good he's going to be the one with all of the advantages. Now. He'd been small once. You do whatever you can to protect yourself, get out of a situation.
He is also keenly aware that being doubled over puts him in a vulnerable position, his hands temporarily out of commission from where they'd instinctively gone to deal with the pain. He's also aware that there's a greater distance between their heads, now; more time to build up force.
Even though he's feeling it, is probably going to feel it a bit longer yet, Amos compartmentalizes. His legs still work. He uses them, launches himself upward to headbutt Sam, skull connecting with the lower part of his jaw. The rush of adrenaline helps there, too, gives him the chance for a quick jab at the solar plexus when he's back upright, however long that's going to last. ]
no subject
And maybe he gets a knee strike in, but if he does, it doesn't have the kind of speed or force it would if he was wearing something besides a pair of tailored dress pants. He's not really dressed for this, and aiming for a guy's bent-over torso is a bigger ask than his dick. And--
--well, hell, it stops mattering, because Burton fucking headbutts him. He sees stars when his bottom teeth hit the top ones, jarred by the bruise from the earlier punch and his broken nose and goddamn, now he's bending a little around his gut, ribcage feeling like it's threatening to collapse entirely. It's been a while since he's had any reason to go this hard. ]
Jesus--
[ It's a wheeze, gasping through the way his diaphragam spasms. He's already thinking through what he can hit this time, how he can get this asshole down for the count--even though some part of him knows he's losing this one--when he realizes a bartender's yelling. I'll throw him out, he's out, you going to arrest him or not--
(This is probably a terrible shift for him.) ]
no subject
He's wondering what it's going to take for this to be over, because Sam looks like he wants to keep going, trying to find a new way in on him. He respects that, so he'll oblige as long as he wants, but at some point he's going to want to go back home and just lie down with the pain.
He cocks his head at the bartender's voice, not taking his eyes off of Sam. That would be stupid. ]
I don't think he needs arresting. [ He calls back, casually, like he doesn't have the power to play with people's lives. He has every single reason to arrest him now, but if he did, then that would be boring. Anticlimactic. And this is Nate's cousin, he respects Nate; hell, Sam gave him the most he's had to do in years. Sam deserves better than that.
He looks at the way Sam falters, the way his head is busted up, settles to clap him good-naturedly on the shoulder. ] You hear that? Think your time in here's over. Should probably get going.
no subject
This was--easily--one of the dumbest decisions he's made in decades. He'll be a hell of a lot better off if he takes the loss now rather than later. So he takes a step back, gives the bartender a little wave, and risks turning his back to Burton. ]
no subject
He takes his third one with a thankful nod; the clean rag so he can pick the bigger shards of glass out of his head, wash the blood off; no ice, not here. He takes his time with it, really looking forward to being able to go back home soon, lie down, properly embrace the sore muscles and the happy thrumming his body is experiencing in the aftermath of having someone actually fight back. ]