ＭＥＡＤＯＷＬＡＲＫ ＭＯＤＳ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
larkers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meadowlarklogs2018-08-04 11:41 pm
larkers) wrote in meadowlarklogs2018-08-04 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
- !arrival log,
- attack on titan: eren yeager,
- critical role: vax'ildan,
- critical role: vex'ahlia,
- detroit become human: connor,
- marvel comics: loki,
- marvel comics: scott summers,
- marvel comics: thor,
- mcu: bobbi morse,
- mcu: leo fitz,
- mcu: stephen strange,
- mcu: tony stark,
- npc: gaby,
- overwatch: mei-ling zhou,
- penny dreadful: vanessa ives,
- star wars: kylo ren,
- star wars: rey,
- terra ignota: ojiro sniper,
- the 100: bellamy blake,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the 100: john murphy,
- the expanse: james holden,
- the silver case: sumio kodai,
- twd: daryl dixon,
- voltron: keith,
- watch_dogs 2: wrench,
- westworld: maeve millay,
- witcher 3: ciri,
- zero escape: akane kurashiki
ARRIVAL LOG 001
WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: June 21
WHAT: The first arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Gun violence, injury, death, coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: June 21
WHAT: The first arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Gun violence, injury, death, coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.
| > ARRIVAL LOG #001 |
Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you that slows to a stop, waits, then continues with a turn to the right. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you put together a gray interior with orderly seats in split rows of three facing forward. The occupants all in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across their arms and chests, a single tube carrying a pale yellow liquid into their left arm. The view is blocked. A man walks down between the seats, stopping at yours. His scrubs are a dark gray, and he shows no signs of having been restrained or drugged. He peers into your face, checks your restraints, the tube running into your arm, and leans over to do the same to the person next to you. Methodical and brusque. He sees your eyes are open. You try to open your mouth, to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar; you manage nothing more than a parting of lips that tells you that they are chapped and cracked. The man watches. He pats your cheek condescendingly, then he turns to check the next row. The woman walking behind him in black body armor has a gun strapped across her chest and another holstered at her hip. She doesn't look at your face at all. If there's anything more, it's lost. In a split second any grasp you'd managed to maintain on what's happening around you is ripped through to splinters. There's a roaring sound, and then the crash of impact. The sudden crack of pain as you're slammed into your seat, against your restraints, wrenched around like a rag doll as the whole vehicle jerks, rolls, then smashes hard against something on the other side and spins to a final stop. Your ears ring. Your whole body aches. Head swimming from impact and shock as much as the sedative. In the haze of the aftermath there's the smell of smoke, the drip of fluids – blood, maybe, or a broken IV line – on your face. The sound, muted and dulled, of shouting, someone screaming. The crack of gunfire. Two guards, neither faces you recognize, clamber over the wreckage which had been the seats in front of you, bloody across their faces, one with her arm hanging wrongly from the shoulder. They have their guns raised as they move past you, towards the back of the vehicle. Towards the sound of gunfire. They don't notice the restraint on your right arm is broken. |
| > THE CRASH |
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Your character's arrival has been rough, to say the least. Unfortunately there's no time to consider any of the pressing questions they likely have, or adjust to their surroundings. With the nurses and guards – those left alive – distracted, this may be their only chance to get free. ◉ Damage to the bus has caused many of the restraints to break, allowing some characters to break free from their seats by their own power. Others may still be held firmly strapped in, or worse, pinned and trapped by wreckage. They'll need some help, if you'd spend the time to stop and assist them. |
| > THE ESCAPE |
  |
The shouting and gunfire cease, an abrupt break in the constant noise. They leave in their wake an eerie, aching quiet over the street. As you venture out from wherever you may have been sheltering or taking cover, the scene expands as an ugly tableau: the wrecked bus left creaking, the other vehicle open and empty, and strewn across the street between them the dead bodies of both the attackers and the nurses and guards who were holding you captive. Standing together in the aftermath of an attack you have no real understanding of, you are left as the only survivors, alone without any knowledge of why or how you came to be here, or even where here is. The cry of distant sirens drifts to you, piercing the quiet. Movement breaks the stillness of the street: a single figure crumpled down against the wall of a building, pushing the dead weight of another body away. One of the attackers, badly injured, lifting a hand to remove their mask, revealing the face of a young black man. "Help me," he pleads, and in the quiet there is no way to escape the request. "They had you tied up in there, didn't they? They'll be coming for you. Help me and I can get you somewhere safe." Blood spilling between the fingers clutched over his gut, eyes wide with desperation, he doesn't realize his bargaining isn't necessary. You and your fellow passengers, wills still bending under the unknown drugs in your system, are already moving to comply. The path he guides you along through the city is winding, dodging any sounds of traffic, music or crowds by cutting through side alleys and more dark, empty back streets. Though fear of being caught may make it feel like an agonizingly long journey, you reach your destination within five minutes – and thankfully before the man passes out completely from his injuries. The safe place he has led you to is an abandoned warehouse. In a back room off the open, empty main floor, behind a bank of rusting lockers, he points you to a staircase hidden under a disguised hatch. Inside is dark, but his instructions are clear, and any caution you feel is overridden by the compliance still weighing heavily on your faculties. You climb down the stairs, and as the last of you reach the bottom, the hatch slams shut above you, the first in an echoing chain of noises which conjure to mind bolts being thrown, shutters rolling into place, locks being turned. One solitary viciously bright light illuminates the space where you stand at the bottom of the stairs. Something flickers over your vision, spits pixels and numbers, too fast to read. Then, text, present and demanding in an interface to the left: ◉ From this point characters will have rudimentary access to the network. They will be able to make posts and reply to them, but their IDs have not been created yet (enjoy the anonymity while you have it!) and they will not have individual inboxes. |
| > THE SAFEHOUSE |
  |
Before characters can get too far in their conversation or exploration, the hatch above groans as it's opened again. An armed woman climbs down the stairs, immediately demanding characters stay where they are and give up any weapons they're carrying. Once everyone is disarmed, she calls an all-clear. Lights come up throughout the rest of the space, and people – slowly, clearly afraid – begin to emerge from various safe-rooms hidden in the walls and floor. It's obvious that this place has been serving as a safehouse for dozens of people for quite some time, but that your arrival is just as unexpected – and unusual – as you are likely finding it. Regardless of the fearful glances being sent your way, and the general atmosphere of unease at your presence, you do seem to now be in some measure of safety. After what you've just been through, relaxing might be too much to expect, but you have the time to take a breath and begin to adjust to your new reality. This is your new home, for now. ◉ The safe house is basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. The larger space seems to be about the size of the entire warehouse above, with only two thirds of it being utilized and the rest standing empty. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. |
| > FINAL OOC NOTES |
Welcome to Meadowlark! The game is now officially open, and players are free to make posts to both the network and logs communities. We'll be making a calendar post tomorrow with a rundown for the month, but just want to reiterate for the moment that characters cannot currently leave the safehouse and do not have network IDs set up yet, so can't use their individual inboxes. They will have these limitations lifted ASAP, there's just a few things that need to happen first... On that topic, we'd like to apologize for how railroady elements of this opening log were! We promise this has only been necessary in order to get the basic game mechanics established, and definitely isn't a theme that will continue in game. We've called Meadowlark an open-world, sandbox structured game, and that is still absolutely what we're planning to deliver. Just please bear with us while we get the sand and the box in place! If you have any questions specific to this log, a questions comment has been posted below, and we are as always open to any other questions either at the FAQ or direct to the MOD CONTACT page. |
| > NAVIGATION |
QUESTIONS
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she'll be scouring, uneasy, and sleep-deprived. she's done this before, been here before – yet this specific scenario has her unsettled. she'll give everyone their space, but that doesn't mean that she isn't watching. she is.
all in all, Gaby's discomfort won't mean that she won't have some kind of routine to upkeep. she takes three meals a day. she disappears somewhere, but seemingly never out of the safehouse for some kind of meeting.
if anyone chooses to harass her – no matter how polite, she'll still act like that's precisely what's happening – she'll stop, listen, answer questions, and so forth. she's just surly about it. ]
[ ooc note: there won't be a limit to how many people can tag gaby, but she might abruptly end conversations if she's grilled for answers she doesn't have or doesn't feel like giving. ]
no subject
A physical source.
That means a lot to her.]
So, I have a question. If any of us wanted to take our chances and head out, would you let us? [Clarke does her best to ease the tension in her voice, to come across diplomatically, but she's a little out of practice when it comes to "interacting with other human beings."]
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ciri / witcher
Unfortunately for her, she isn't one of the lucky ones to be removed from the restraint. The guards pay her no mind as she spends a solid 10-30 seconds in and out of a pain-induced daze. Her one armed tug of her bindings prove fruitless once the guards leave, strangers and confusion wash through her mind but she knows... she has to act.
A croak follows, if you are so lucky to hear it. ]
H—hk... Help.
• safehouse 1.0
[ Ciri's voice isn't apologetic — it's pleading. Maybe whatever cooperative drug that pumps through the escapee's veins are fading, but there's obviously some resistance. A strange young woman is asking for you to readjust her shoulder which has been popped out of place since her arrival. Her short ashen hair dangles across her scarred face, but she's not backing down.
So.
Uh. Snap some bones?! ]
It won't hurt me anymore than that scene back there did.
• safehouse 2.0
Ciri stumbles back after dropping her own mattress, probably bumping right into you trying to gauge your own zone of comfort. ]
Oof — sorry. Sorry. [ She's quick to apologize, her gaze tired but lips tight with tension. She mutters to herself. ] Should watch where I'm sulking.
• ota wildcard
safehouse 2.0
There's no harm. ( though the fact that she was flipping her mattress seemed a little strange ) Did you lose something?
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let's get medical
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safehouse 1.0, I GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH U
i'd pick maeve's bone, namean
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wildcard.
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safehouse 2
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safehouse 1.0
Maybe like she's playing that naive role.
And it's because she's probably been watched and observed she approaches Vanessa carefully.]
You seem to be studying us all pretty intently.
[There's a slight giggle to her voice, almost like this situation hasn't gotten to her yet. That's kind of creepy in and of itself...]
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the crash
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w-w-w-wildcard,
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O T A
[The straps holding him down are nothing, Thor rips himself from the chair and comes to his feet. Immediately he doubles over, bringing a hand to his face as the awareness of the wrongness of the world overwhelms him. But there's no time. Cries for help can barely be heard above the pounding of blood in his ears- but for some reason he can't resist.
Help!! comes a cry from elsewhere in the bus. Already Thor is moving towards it, incapable of disobeying what he hears.] Where are you? What do you need?!
002 #escape?
[Bullets are flying, the bus is a wreck, and escape from all this chaos is right there- but Thor seems to have received a huge amount of whatever compliance drug they received.
He hears the sharp command come here from a nurse behind the guards and immediately he turns to start walking towards them.]
003 #notescaped
[On the first night you can't miss the yelling. Thor wants to leave, he can't. He doesn't take it well and he's got a big voice. Sorry for interrupting whatever you're doing.
Eventually he walks away, shoulder held tight and face set with a scowl that would curdle milk. He finds a corner of the warehouse and sets about punching the wall. Cracks appear, but all it really serves to do is break some fingers- which seems to make him angrier.
If he notices anyone approaching:] Get thee gone. I am in no mood for company.
004 #sadbeardman
[Anyone wanting to do the smart thing and avoid the temper tantrum can find him later, sitting on his cot and looking down at bandaged hands with a distant expression. You're going to have to initiate any attempt at conversation because he's doing some deep thinking right now.]
005 #eatyourfeelings
[By the third day Thor's at breakfast and seems much calmer. Hungrier too, judging by the stacked plates around him. Between mouthfuls of food he'll get to know whoever is around him.]
What is your name, stranger?
003
against all better judgement, he approaches Thor, reaching out to put a regular (no dark nail polish, he'll have to get around that) hand on his brother's shoulder. ]
Thor. [ it comes out in Loki's best cadence, the sort of knowing tone where the chasm between them is occasionally bridged. ] You'll have to deal with mine, brother.
[ he means to diffuse him, and after all these years, he's fairly good at it. there's many things coming at him from different angles (this is a different Thor, one he knows, but does not know him), remnants of an old life that he has to reconcile (memories that aren't his, but are his). ]
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#eatyourfeelings
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002
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#eatyourfeelings
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004
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005
no subject
[Akane is struggling, working with the restraints on herself. One is probably watching her calmly see what she can get loose, slowly unrestraining herself. Of course, she wouldn’t mind help either if they had to give it given her attempts to free herself are slow and meticulous even if they are working.
That said, once she’s free, she goes around to help the others that are alive. Akane herself is not terribly injured and can seem to work despite what pain she’s feeling. Maybe it’s the drugs she’s feeling, maybe it’s the adrenaline, but she’s determined to help anyone who is alive escape. Yes. Escape. Seek a way out… they have to!]
Safehouse
[Anyway, here they are at the safehouse, somehow safely. Akane watches everyone with a wary eye and seems a little bit distant in general, but who isn’t? She doesn’t know these people, she doesn’t know where she is, and well, this is all disturbingly familiar to her in a way. All in all, she’s amazed there’s not a watch put on her and someone telling her to seek a way out, despite the fact it feels like they have, in a sense.
Akane finds the medical supplies and is quick to try and see if others need help once she’s dressed in her hand me down clothes. She hates them, but at least the gray t-shirt and purple skirt are better than what she had. If she spots your character injured, she will approach them.]
Would you like me to help you?
[As she points to whatever is bleeding. At least she’s very careful with her words as she doesn’t exactly want to force people to do anything against their wills. At least not seemingly.]
Safehouse 2.0
[Once she’s done deciding to try to be helpful, she’s on her bed she’s chosen with her knees hugged up against her chest. She’s tired, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not against human company. Instead, she seems to be watching everyone with interest, almost like she’s trying to get to know them and their habits and decide if they’re trustable. Though given they’re all in the same situation, she doesn’t think there’s reason to doubt them.
…Probably.]
{ safehouse 1.0 }
[ It's asked softly and in a confused tone as Mei slowly focuses on the woman. She squints a little until she can be sure that, yes, the woman is in fact pointing at Mei's forehead. Not having her glasses has been a real pain. Lifting a hand, Mei taps at her skin, jolting a little at the resulting sting. ]
Oh, I-- I had no idea. Is it very bad?
[ It truth it's a small cut, and the blood had followed the ridge of her eyebrow to dry along the corner. But it probably should be cleaned. ]
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crash.
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crash (crash, craaaaash into a ditch)
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safehouse 2.0
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I think this is the first time I've ever responded to someone's top level twice
There's a first for everything!
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Wrench | ota
[It hurts. It hurts and his brain's foggy and he doesn't know what's happening but he has to get out of it. Working his way out of the restraints is almost automatic, a dull ache of the need to escape, the need for freedom. He's trapped and he needs to not be, but there's a way out. He's not as trapped as he could be and he needs to work on that and get out of here and-- there, he's wiggled out of the restraints, and despite being a little dizzy (and man does his arm hurt) he can start moving out.
But when his brain can start focusing again, he notices he's not the only one here, not the only one who was stuck. Some people are pretty clearly dead, but he's pretty sure some people are breathing. He's still having trouble talking, but he's not gonna just let people stay stuck in here.]
Fuck. Get... c'mon.
[Well, at least he can start pushing on some half-broken restraints or debris. Sentences might be another thing entirely.]
[B. AFTERMATH]
[Now that all the excitement's over, Wrench is finding himself extremely aware of the fact that he doesn't have anything to cover his face. He wants answers, but everything hurts, and right now he just wants everyone to leave him alone while he tries to fashion himself some kind of face covering from his old 'clothes'.
So of course someone's uncomfortably close. He doesn't look at them, making a pointed effort to look at literally anything else.]
What do you want?
[C. GOTTA GET AWAY]
[Okay, so he's got himself some kinda crappy hood-facemask combo made out of those weird scrubs he'd been wearing, and now he's going to work on getting the hell out of here, because as much as he wants answers he doesn't think he's gonna get anything substantial.
He still isn't super hyped about having to deal with other people, but it'll probably be a while before he can make himself a legit mask that doesn't suck. He'll have to deal. It doesn't look like he's gonna make it out of here on his own, after all.]
Okay, so, this is super fucking bullshit, right?
[D. WILDCARD]
[feel free to come up with a different sort of prompt or plot with me here or at
A
Come oooon.
[ It's low, pleading, and impatient. She needs to get out, but can't figure out how to pry loose on her own. Hearing a voice, her head turns and she blinks, eye sight fuzzy from the loss of her glasses. ]
Can you get me out of here? Please?
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clarke griffin | the 100 | mostly ota!
[The sterile smell brings Clarke back to a place that she'd much rather not recall: the Mount Weather medical wing. She slips in and out, almost in denial of it all, until the crash occurs and her mind only tells her that it's time—that she was due to die eventually—that this is the inevitable moment, the nightmare that she has tried to avoid all along, but she knew she'd die in a way that was only karmic.
Only then she's jarred into full awareness. This nightmare isn't reality. She isn't finally dying, ready to burn among the corpses of Mount Weather. Instead she's strapped in and bruised, and someone is dead at her feet. She hasn't seen a body like that in days (months). She doesn't recognize the body, but takes note of the lack of tattoos or markings for any particular clan. Where she is doesn't look like ... anything. Aside from a distant reminder of the dropship, and even that's not right. Though the condition of the people at her feet tells her that they died much like the initial few from the hundred did months ago.
Then it's time to move. All awareness kicks into place and Clarke's eyes flutter open, focusing as well as she can. She's dizzy and she feels like she needs to throw up, but she's also trapped. She's been here before. Unlike some of the others around her, Clarke hasn't been lucky enough to be among the few with a broken restraint. She struggles against it and gives up, looking toward someone near her, someone who wears the same white clothing.]
You're free. [A statement, and then, unknowingly, she makes a direct order:] Get me free, too. I can help these people.
[Clarke is bossy when people don't need her help. But this is a time when she feels that they do.
Of course, even with the whole "direct order" thing, Clarke's appearance is probably worrying: what few wounds she has are bleeding black blood, thick and visible. It's almost like it's oil.]
ii. my people [ closed to bellamy and murphy ]
[Once Clarke is free, she's going to do two things. First, she's going to check over some of the dead for their injuries, all to see if they can be saved. And second, she's going to get distracted. There are people here she knows—her people. People she thought she wouldn't see for another four years and ten months (she hadn't been counting, though). To find them here is a shock to her system, enough to throw her off balance as she stumbles around a guard's body.
Though she does double back, taking a gun. They'll need that. She'll need that.]
Bellamy? [she calls as she stumbles over. Her voice is just an octave above a rasp. Not good. She could be doing better here. Her free hand (not holding the gun) drops to his hand, and she feels the emotions he has right now. Notices the strange blue hue in his chest.
(She isn't convinced this isn't a really, really vivid lucid dream. It has to be lucid. She can control her actions.)]
Tell me this is real. Please. [Lightly better control over her voice, but Clarke is still the direct statement kind of girl.
Sorry, Bellamy.
For the moment, she's too distracted by the swell of emotions from Bellamy (that is where it's coming from, right?) and the blue light that goes off both of them to go to Murphy.
But he's Murphy. He'll live for now, right?]
iii. medical care
[Either in the wreckage or later at the safehouse, Clarke will be keen to help others out. Clarke isn't a doctor and will make that clear, but what wounds are there can probably be helped by her. By now, she's more careful about how she speaks to people, so when she approaches someone trying to check their own wounds, she nods and offers a strained, barely polite smile.
It's been a long day.
And Clarke? Well, sometimes she's like an unstoppable boulder rolling down a hill.]
That looks like it could be worse, but—ah—is it all right if I have a look at it ...?
iv. exploring and wildcard
[Clarke is someone on edge when she's trapped in a situation that leaves her inherently uncomfortable, so she's going to be mapping out the safehouse and looking for a way out. She'll eat, make sure she has the energy to go, but she'll be radiating with an unhappiness and a sense that they need to get out.]
iii - medical care
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i. crash bang boom
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Mei | ota
Mei hasn't grabbed a gun, opting to try and stay in cover instead. When they're compelled to help the man, she scrambles out of cover, taking a good look at the vehicles involved in the crash as she makes her way over to him, and though her immediate priority is getting him to safety, she can't stop her mind from racing through what's just happened.
"No one around. Not a busy street." She says this quietly to whoever is close by. Even without her glasses she can tell this isn't a high traffic area. "They knew we'd be here. But there's no way you rescue people by wrecking their bus and killing some of them. Maybe they thought the bus was just full of them." Her head nods towards a dead guard.
{ the safehouse }
There's really no choice but to claim a bed. Mei sits down on a cot and finally reaches a hand up to feel her shorn head. There's a bit of growth there, but not much. No fringe brushing against her eyebrows, no intense bedhead like she tends to get. It's just gone, as are her glasses. It's not that those things are such a huge loss when she's lucky to not be dead, but they're the most immediate reminders that some group did this to her -- to all of them. They were being drugged and had everything taken away from them. But why? Mei can't even remember how she arrived.
Maybe you catch her as she's touching her head and contemplating things in silence. Or perhaps you claim the cot next to her and hear her say hello. Or maybe you're simply close by when she asks: "Do you remember how you got here? To this city, I mean."
no subject
He peers over his shoulder when Mei greets him, so she can see the mark on his cheek. He nods toward her, and is about to go back to what he's doing when she asks him the million dollar question.
Or GAC.
Or whatever currency applies here. He feels like he'll never keep up on that. Three years in space and now ... this.
"I don't know," he replies, straightening up so that he can sit on the edge of the bed. Keith doesn't meet her eyes, looking down at his hands for a moment. "I wish I did. I just hope ... that I haven't forgotten something. Something important." Like Shiro.
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escapage
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Escape
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keith | ota
[Getting free isn't difficult. Even without an unknown amount of time training, he's still spry and willing to tear himself loose in any way possible. And he's willing to do that, willing to yank himself out. He has a wound on his thigh, but he ignores it. Then again, that wound may be responsible for the amount of noise that Keith is making right now.
He's making a lot of it. He pants and huffs and that doesn't change when he's loose, grabbing a gun, and trying to get a view of the fight. He looks at someone who's joined him and he grimaces. Keith thought he knew what he was doing, and now ...]
Who are we supposed to fight?
ii. trying to not be solitary
[Keith's first instinct once they hit the safehouse is to find a bed in a corner and keep to himself.
Keith also knows that's not the right way to do this. He's been in a strange place before, and he can help other people. No, he doesn't know how. He doesn't even have the knife that he's had on him his entire life. All links to his previous identity are missing, sans for a pinkish mark that covers his right cheek. It's the easiest way that he knows he's him. But the rest is disorienting. He wonders if it was like this for Shiro when he first woke up as a clone, desperate to get home.
And Keith knows he needs to get home. Maybe it's a directive. Maybe he's somehow a clone, even if it doesn't make any sense. But as far as he knows, Voltron needs him. Someone needs to pilot the Black Lion.
Not one for walking up to people and starting a small talk-laden conversation that turns normal, Keith drops into a spot beside someone eating and asks them,] Do you know how those bus people got you?
[Because. That's important. Trace events. Figure it out.]
iii. wildcard
[Keith will be quiet, brooding, and likely to keep to himself when he isn't blurting out probing questions, but he'll also be desperate to try to get into shape again via working out (push ups, sit ups, stuff like that), so anyone's free to spot that. Or call him on being antisocial and awkward as hell, the epitome of "stand here and be bothered," at least right now.]
ii
And she's totally okay with someone sitting next to her-- talking is a nice thing and getting to know one another could become essential. Also, that is a very good question.]
...I honestly don't remember. The last time I was kidnapped though, I did. Kidnapped by someone in a gasmask and knocked out with some weird gas.
This time... this time I have no recollection.
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ii w/e I'm late
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The crash had freed one of Ojiro's arms at the cost of breaking their wrist. Not ideal, but it's enough that they can free themselves, and when they do they go straight for nearest gun, grabbing it off a fallen guard. Confusing the situation may be, the weight of a gun was an instant comfort, not to mention opening up their options for dealing with the chaos going on.
They will shoot at any of the personnel who interact hostily with the captives: all headshots, all deadly. That's comforting, too. They can already tell they've lost weight,— a few pounds was noticeable when you've barely got a hundred to your name—and there is a frightening lack of an answer when they ask themself how long they've been out. But at least their faculties are working.
One of the guards has the sense to yell Drop the gun, and they do, immediately looking surprised and offended. "What the heck?!"
Of course that split second they spent being shocked means the soldier has had a chance to line up a shot on them.
SAFEHOUSE
Ojiro's exhausted and their wrist hurts but they just can't lay down and rest. The enormity of how bad this situation is threatens to close in from all sides. They're in a different world—That's not even a question anymore. That's reality. How is the new question, one that disturbs them down to their core. Was this God? Providence? Fate? An effort to save their enemy, Jehovah's, life?
A punishment?
The fact that so many others had been in the same position makes the whole thing too confusing to work out on an empty stomach with a broken wrist. Once they've got it splinted they decide to get some nutrients.
The first thing they do once things quiet down is drink water. Three glasses in a row, barely pausing, After that, they start hunting through the kitchen for food. There's enough in the cabinets they don't recognize it just hammers in what they already know: they are so, so far from home.
After doing a quick survey, they spot something promise, but of course it's all the way on the top shelf of the cabinet, way too high for someone barely over 5 feet. Perhaps you can stop them from climbing on the counter with a broken wrist.
Or maybe you're around to see them kneeling on the counter, staring at the item in their hand with a quizzical expression on their face.
"... Is this bugs?"
((OOC: HELLO PLEASE FILL OUT THE PERMISSION POST HERE))
safehouse
It's not that Keith has never eaten bugs. The Balmerans are big fans of them, and while he narrowly avoided it there, Hunk started experimenting with them later on. It was a big part of his steps toward diplomacy, and Keith figured that Hunk could make anything taste good. He was right, for the record. But there was that lingering reminder that he was eating bugs.
And then, yeah, Keith spent two years on a space whale. Finding food meant being creative, at least at first.
So, he's eaten bugs. He's just used to hiding them ... in stuff.
Unfortunately, this bug isn't hidden. That's a bug, all right. Grasshopper? At least it's a bug he recognizes.
"That's a bug. Tell me you already knew that."
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SAFEHOUSE
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Loki | Open
[ the pain doesn't go away. his arm is stinging, his shoulder may be dislocated, his mouth and throat are so dry they may be bleeding, and his head throbs so frequently that it blurs his vision. Loki hates all of it. more than that, the foggy memories of being under control is enough to fan the anger inside of him, untethered toward anything but the situation. it would be easier if he could focus it, find someone to blame, but the consequence leave him at a loss of fingers to point.
even with his ears ringing, he can hear the cries of help. they sound far away, and some of them he can't make out. part of him doesn't care, and the immediate response that his mind screams is run. the first step is a stumble, the second kicks some debris, and the third comes down just as he looks up and sees
Thor. ]
Damn them.
[ it's a hoarse hiss that comes out of the back of his throat, but it causes him to stop in his tracks. the momentum isn't expected, and he brings almost four-hundred pounds of Loki down on the poor, unsuspecting person that he's tripping into at full-force. ]
02: SAFEHOUSE, SNEAKING
[ Loki's nursing a few wounds, both emotional and physical. while a majority of the scrapes are beginning to scab (itchy, might he add), the bruises are still fresh, and the knock to his ego even fresher. the feeling of wrongness descends upon him more and more like a poison fog as the drugs wear off. he realizes that his dulled perception may never fully recover, and the prospect is painful.
so, he does what he does best, he begins going through people's things. he can be found all over as long as he can get to it: in the kitchen he's pocketing cans of soup and orange juice, in the medical ward he's being a bother, and looking along rows of storage shelves to see just what kinds of fun stuff that this safehouse may be holding. as a trickster, his inclination is to look for the wiggle room, and find places he can escape.
if confronted with anything, he holds his hands up and says: ]
Whoopsie!
[ and heads in the opposite direction like a skeeve. ]
03: SAFEHOUSE, SHOWER
[ covered in blood, sweat, smoke and garbage, Loki decides to have a long conversation with some hot water. bringing the necessities with him (and more than a little put-out that his hair won't do what he wants it to), he strips down for the best shower that he's had in ages. unfortunately for anyone else in there with him, he begins singing his own version of Lady Gaga's Poker Face, taking everyone out of whatever century they're in and straight back into 2008.
while he wouldn't be against some accompaniment, he might sing louder if someone tells him to shut up—it's a roll of the dice. ]
04: SAFEHOUSE, KIDS
[ around Loki is a small group of antsy little kids. while he assures himself that he hates the disgusting little creatures, he's patient, if not barely tolerating them as they ask him a barrage of child-like questions. it's his answers that they like: each one he spins a certain way, turns into an exciting adventure filled with daring rescues and the barest of escapes. he has them all quiet with sauces for eyes, in hushed awe as he makes little explosions with his long fingers. they're filled with little gasps and chatter amongst themselves before he quiets them again. anyone eavesdropping can hear him: ]
It's no small feat, you see, with the mechanics aflame. Getting out was truly a miracle in its own ... the All-Father himself would be struck with fear, but Thor shone none of it, hurrying toward the cries for help, unthinking of himself. His brother Loki, of course, wasn't so far behind ...
[ I don't like children, he tells himself, continuing with the story. when it ends, the kids aw in unison, and Loki shoos them all off with a wave of his hand. if you're standing there to long, he'll tip his head back for a look at who may be listening. ]
Four stars—it's lacking in accuracy.
05: ACES ARE WILD
[ wildcard!! hit me up for something else if you have an idea, or send me a msg over at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
hadal! ]
04
Still, she listens and watches, amused despite the tension that threatens to creep up her spine. When Loki turns toward her, she nods in acknowledgement. The drama behind it all is unfamiliar. Well, okay, not exactly, but it's more like the way people in Mount Weather acted.
Or Jasper when he wanted to brag.
That felt like ages ago.
Better to keep smiling. Don't think about what she's lost, or what she's gained, or whatever the hell is going on.
No, that last part can stay.]
Out of how many? I'm not familiar with the rating system.
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03.
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sneaking
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o3.......... it's 3
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shower
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03.
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S H O W E R
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vex'ahlia / ota.
002 / SAFEHOUSE 1.
003 / SAFEHOUSE 2.
004 / WILDCARD.
{ safehouse 2 }
I know the feeling. Mine wasn't really long, but I liked to wear it up and I had bangs... [ She trails off and frowns, then moves to sit up. ] And they took my glasses too! I can hardly see two feet in front of myself!
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safehouse 2
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001 / i want safe house stuff too tho fyi.
inhales all the twin things
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2!
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002........
robo son
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safehouse 2
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kylo ren | ota
> CRASH 02.
> SAFEHOUSE.
> WILDCARD.
( crash 01 )
it's then that she notes the blood running from his ear, hand instead reaching up to turn his head, to assess the injury. she isn't a doctor, nor even medically trained in the slightest, but if there is something she can do-- )
Are you alright?
( it's a stupid question given the situation -- even vanessa, generally uninjured from the crash aside from bruising, feels terrible. but she means for other injuries, if there is anything else that pains him )
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wildcard.
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safehouse.
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crash 2!
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WILDCARD
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rey / star wars / ota
02. THE SAFEHOUSE
Dos
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02.
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leo fitz | ota!
safehouse 1.0 | medical
safehouse 2.0 | kitchen
wildcard.
kitchen
Yeah, sure. What's our gourmet dinner today?
[He doesn't seem remotely enthusiastic about anything, and he doesn't even mention what he walked in on.]
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{ crash }
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kitchen
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medical........
i can't with you
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kitchen
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wildcard / safehouse 1.0
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safehouse 1.0!!
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vax'ildan / ota.
safe house
Perhaps what occurred outside is related.
( but she doesn't have an answer, other than her old doubts when she'd lost faith that god didn't listen -- that he didn't have a plan )
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01
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01 crash
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02
i rolled a perception check on this for shits and giggles anD IT WAS A 4
bobbi morse | mcu: aos
> THE SAFEHOUSE
> WILDCARD
Safehouse - kitchens
He's rummaging when he catches the eye of the kitchen's other occupant. His hand goes up to his own head in sympathy.] Aye. I've not had hair this short since I was a child.
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jim holden | the expanse
> THE SAFEHOUSE
> WILDCARD
THE SAFEHOUSE
from over his shoulder
he tries to yoink it and bolt. keyword: tries ]
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the crash, aw yes
hell yeah
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safehouse
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bellamy blake / ota.
no subject
this time there was no faking it.
Loki's footsteps are light, even now without his abilities, and even now carrying his weight. he can't flop on the bed because he might break it, but he sits on the edge of the cot, newly washed. ]
I do hope so—you look like goat shit. I'd have to pick a new place to sleep.
[ he hangs an arm over his knee, his sleeve brushing against the knuckles of his long fingers. then, he gives Bellamy a prize grin that makes it seem less like a barb and more lighthearted. ]
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1.
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2
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02 safehouse
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SAFEHOUSE
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2
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Scott Summers / OTA
[ Scott's had nightmares like this: a crash he's imagined too many times to count, the sudden impact as the ground rushed to meet him and a crack of pain across his skull. And other nightmares that felt too real: waking up in restraints a helpless puppet, unable to move or speak properly, struggling to break free while someone treats him like lab rat. Of course it was inevitable these things should all come back around again.
It's not the first abduction. It's not the first time he's woken up somewhere in restraints. For a few seconds after he's jarred back into consciousness he lies there, feeling something warm and sticky across his forehead and a throbbing in his left eye. There's nothing on his face. He can feel air on his bare skin. Is it stupid or clever they've stolen his visor? But he tries to stretch, and only his right arm won't come free. That's a start.
He starts fumbling, trying to claw his way free by touch alone. Blind instinct takes over: get out, get away before someone sees. His eyes remain squeezed shut. Does he dare try to blast his way out, just for a second?
(He doesn't remember opening his eyes, not yet— doesn't realize shit won't get wrecked if he tries to see.)
No. He won't do it. Not even if it means stumbling out of the wreck blind. Not even if someone tries to make him open his eyes. He can't take that risk. ]
002. ESCAPE
[ In this moment, several factors seem to be falling in his favor. No visor, but no powers, so he can see where he's going. No idea where he is, no idea why or who, but he can still get up and run. But even disoriented and drugged, even powerless and painfully aware that he's never been bulletproof, a superhero is still a superhero. He can't leave anyone behind. ]
Hey. [ He crouches down in the shadows, ignoring the way one leg shakes dangerously and protests the weight. It doesn't matter who it is. Even if it'd been one of the nurses. ] Are you hurt? Can you stand? We have to go.
[ For a brief moment he catches himself looking into another person's face. And then he glances away as if stung, tense and wary. His powers aren't working but still— he'd rather look at the street. Whatever they did to shut him down, he doesn't trust it to hold. ]
003A. SAFEHOUSE
[ The second the light flickers on Scott flinches hard and shields his eyes with both hands. Bites down hard on his tongue to stifle any groan of pain. It's been a long time since he'd tried to navigate the world unshielded. Was it always this bright? The muscles and nerves strain to adjust and make sense.
It looks stupid. But every time he tries to pull his hands away its like being stabbed. So he fumbles his way through it shielding his eyes as best as possible and looking at the floor, until he can find a coat with a big hood. He grabs it fast and tries not to yank it on with any untoward urgency, but there's a marked release of tension in his body once he gets half his face shielded from the light. Better. It'll have to be good enough.
And then he deliberately finds the bed furthest away from the light. It's only when he's sat down on it that he finally puts his hands to his face and digs the heels straight into his aching eyes. Pressing hard on the bruise, too. ]
Ow. Ow. Ow.
[ Scott can't wait for the "you haven't gone without glasses or seen in color in four years" migraine. ]
003B.
[ Scott tries to wait for most everyone to go to sleep before he creeps into the bathroom. He keeps his eyes firmly pointed in a ground direction, not looking directly at anyone or anything. It'll only take a few minutes. He just...needs to see it.
Pick a mirror, any mirror, any will do. Carefully he pulls back the hood of his new coat to look his reflection directly in the face for the first time since he was 15. A banged up face: there's a nasty cut at his temple, shallow but long, a few scattered nicks, a large scrape along his jaw. An amazing shiner, well on its way to an ugly mottled shade of purple-blue, accompanied by another cut along his cheekbone. He touches it absently and barely notices the wince that accompanies the burst of pain around his eye. It could definitely stand for some ice and neosporin; he's definitely delayed treating it. But he's not thinking of that at all. ]
003a
What Clarke thinks she'll do and what she ends up doing don't always line up. For a while there (over forty days), Clarke had thought she wouldn't be dealing with human beings for a while. Now she's dealing with more of them than she saw over all that time (as they were all dead ...).
So, it's a matter of falling back into what's familiar. What's comfortable. At least no one's likely to call her princess and recall her role as a part of the privileged class on the Ark. None of them know that, so they can't bring her back to those uncomfortable reminders. It's something.
It's what makes approaching Scott easier. The way he blocks out the light is surprising. It's not unfamiliar, not exactly, but—different. He's the only one responding that way.]
Hi. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice the ... repeated "ow." [It was out loud. And not subtle. Good conversation opener.] Do you have any kind of headache right now...? [Leading because she wonders if he's experiencing a concussion.]
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3b or not 3b, that's the q (it's 3b)
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002.
lmao clary please!
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stephen strange . ota
alternatively, just leave me a wildcard in response to this comment and I'll leap at ya )
for @hyperverbose
it's a relatively small space, and there are enough people in it that it's easy to avoid all of them if you want to. he has. and he's so wrapped up by now in trying to piece together what he knows, trying to make a plan for finding out more, that it's mostly just space he's staring into from the shadows he's sat himself in, details blurred as he focuses on thought.
he surfaces occasionally, glazed eyes tuning back in when he recognises a need in himself, hungry or thirsty or tired and in need of a break. it's in one of these moments that he catches sight of a familiar face. the first familiar anything he's seen since waking up here. despite their short and rocky acquaintanceship, relief strikes fast with a clenched and angry fist, rooting him to the shoot for a second. then he's up. his makeshift seat (some empty container for something, long-since abandoned to the emptier recesses of the safehouse) clatters over as he stalks out, strides swallowing space. ]
Tony Stark.
[ be Stark, for the love of God. he needs your brain. if it is Tony, it may no longer be impossible to feel like they've got a hope in hell of figuring this out. ]
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I'm weeping
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MURPHY | OPEN
[There's no pain in the City of Light. Murphy had heard the mantra too many times not to have it etched into his brain, but in the moment it's almost a relief, because right now he's full, all over pain. Shoulders and chest from being thrown hard in the restraints, head and neck from the snap of collision, a dozen cuts and scratches across his face and arms where his seat had been caught in a crush of wreckage. It hurts, but all of it means that this isn't ALIE, and he holds onto that defiantly even as thoughts of what other options that even leaves start pressing in. He needs to focus on getting out of here, climbing through the bus, ducked low away from the bursts of gunfire outside.
Until he spots someone still trapped in their seat, struggling to break free.
He knows he should keep on moving. Look after himself first, get free from the bus and away from here before any of the guards came back. But even if he doesn't recognise anyone, they'd all been in this bus together, and he can't be the only one with that idea of escape in mind. One ally was better than none.]
Okay, okay, hold still. I've got it.
[He tries the release, yanks, but the restraints don't budge. He doesn't got it. Typical. He looks around, hoping for-- and spotting, a piece of broken metal sharp enough to work as an improvised knife.]
Guessing there's no chance you know what the hell is going on here.
[Might as well try to make conversation as he starts sawing at the fabric of the restraints.]
( CRASH II )
[For not the first time in Murphy's life, freedom isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, climbing out of the back doors of the bus only to find that it was potentially safer shelter than anything on the street can offer. The firefight continues, and Murphy doesn't pay too much attention to who the guards and nurses are shooting at, happier more than it means they're not paying attention to him. But there's no telling who's winning. How long that distraction might last.
In a very brief break in the gunfire, he sets his sights on the corner of a building far at the end of the street, takes a breath, and makes a run for it. He isn't fast. Whether it's the fact he's been tied up in a chair for the past who-knows-how-long, or whether he'd never been than athletic in the first place, he's spotted by a guard. But before any of their shouts can reach him, he's already reeling, thrown by impact, momentum struck violently off course. He hits the ground hard, and it's only the immediate shock and all the air being knocked out of his lungs that prevents him from screaming. Even experience and a hefty load of pain tolerance are a only thin-stretched thread of restraint. He's never been shot before.]
Crap.
[Gasped out after his first ragged inhale. He writhes for a second, a mixed attempt between trying to get up and trying to get away from the pain which has entirely replaced what used to be his shoulder. He barely notices the bizarre sensation of buzzing crawling over his hands.]
( SAFEHOUSE )
[His shoulder's a mess. Blood stained dark through the thin white fabric of the scrubs, dust and debris and who knows what else stuck in the gore of it. He's been trying not to look at it. It's not like he needs the reminder it's there, and he knows from repeated experience that things can look a hell of a lot worse than they are when they're crusted with blood and dirt.
But now they're safe. Or at least, some version of it. He doesn't trust this place, the familiarity of climbing down a hidden set of stairs into a dark unknown had crawled cold up his spine despite how compliantly he'd followed the direction. Worse yet, the sound of the hatch slamming closed behind them. Between the pain, exhaustion, and the fact he isn't alone here, he's managed to choke down anything resembling panic. Get clean. Get some rest. Deal with the rest tomorrow.
A simple list to follow, if the first step didn't involve taking his shirt off. He's struggling with it, sat on the end of the cot he's claimed, slowly trying to peel the fabric free from the wound and get his arm through the sleeve. It's a losing battle, and all he really looks like he's doing is plucking randomly at the fabric.]
( WILDCARD )
[Hit me with whatever! Murphy will be raiding the kitchen and in general trying to find things to keep him entertained in the safehouse, he's a nightmare when trapped somewhere with minimal stimulation.]
crash 2
Rey hasn't actually seen one of the projectiles strike anyone until Murphy goes down, blood pouring from his shoulder, staining his clothing, gurgling out of an open, circular wound. Rey crouches at his side, ignoring the sting of the wounds in her calves and grabbing onto his other arm. ]
Get up. Get up. We have to keep moving.
[ She drags him, bodily, around the corner that he'd been going for. Gunfire clips the wall just as they get behind it cover. She pushes him into the wall, huffing out a breath.
The problem is that at a certain point, her hands brush skin, and the staggering pain pours straight into her too, a blue light blooming in their chests. An awful, choking gasp gurgles out of her throat as it hits and she pulls her hands back, flinching away bodily. ]
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safehouse
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WILDCARD - kitchen
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wildcard
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