larkers: (pic#12386246)
MEADOWLARK MODS ([personal profile] larkers) wrote in [community profile] meadowlarking2020-04-22 11:35 pm
Entry tags:

TEST DRIVE MEME 012

> TEST DRIVE MEME #012

Welcome to the Meadowlark test drive meme! After waking up in strange and rather worrisome conditions, characters will need to begin to live their lives in this new world. All TDM threads take place after the arrival process, so please assume that the initial adjustment period has passed – in which the characters were found after being dropped off in a random part of the city and had to live in a safehouse for four days before hitting the streets. Now it's time to see the bright sights and sounds that New Amsterdam – and beyond – has to offer.

All Meadowlark test drive memes will not be game canon because of the nature of our arrival logs. Please feel free to carry on relationships that make sense, but please keep in mind that the TDM may not reflect current circumstances in game.

This will be Meadowlark's last Test Drive Meme until we hit 50 players.

Applications open every month on the 1st of the month at midnight UTC (00:00).


NOTE: The PCs have chosen to call themselves "the Displaced," and that's become the common parlance to refer to them.

All applicants can use threads from the TDM for their samples.

> SETTLING IN

There is very little that can smooth over the experience of your arrival in this world. Coming to your senses in a van, drugged and restrained, only to be carefully helped out by the unknown guards and nurses and then abandoned in an alleyway. What comes after is relatively straightforward: you're found by others and taken back to a safehouse that is hidden under an old hover bike shop. You aren't the first group that this has happened to: there are others not from this world who have experienced the same, with no recollection of how they came here. Like you, they have few answers about what's happened to them. Maybe this knowledge brings you a growing sense of futility, or perhaps it inspires a deeper determination in you. But even as you begin to think on what to do next, life has to go on.

All of the new arrivals will be given a fake ID and a background that will lend them access to entry-level jobs. It may be overwhelming, but their fellow Displaced have found their footing enough to be able to help the newcomers. Two Morningstar agents will be around to take care of world integration and IDs – the rest will fall to the Displaced who arrived before. It would take at least a month's wages to put down a deposit on even the smallest apartment in the city, so everyone has a grace period before they have to leave the safehouse – and then some, depending on the kindness of who's running the show.

Morningstar's veteran agents will also make their purpose clear if asked: they are a group dedicated to fighting corruption and righting the wrongs of this world, though they're in the process of rebuilding the organization's branch in New Amsterdam from scratch, and they know that the people in charge of those efforts wouldn't mind a little help. It will be made expressly clear that this entire arrangement to get the Displaced situated in the world is meant to be kept a secret, and that especially includes Morningstar's assistance. Letting the world know about their involvement could cause big problems.

> EXPLORE THE CHANGES
Despite the lack of answers about why you're here, your fellow Displaced will be able to give you a rundown of the changes they've recognized in each other. Anyone who had powers before will find them gone. Anyone who was once an AI or in a completely artificial body will find that their current body is now fully human. Those with cybernetics will find that they've remained mostly untouched, though any primitive ones may be replaced with temporary ones that are improvements on the previous models.

NEW ABILITIES. In the place of any powers that were lost, there is now a new power. These abilities are unique to each of the Displaced and seem to update over a certain period of time, with the changes appearing thanks to critical emotional events. One thing that's apparent is that the power seems to be linked to the Displaced individual's personality or life before this one, shaped according to who they happen to be. When this power appears, their chest glows with a blue light that shines from their sternum, and it can be triggered by anything: natural inclination or a moment of great stress. If someone's out in public when this happens, they might want to duck under cover lest the blue glow from their chest and the unusual power's appearance draws unwanted attention.

EMPATHY BOND. No matter the circumstances or the conditions, every skin-to-skin touch of the Displaced triggers this empathy bond. Whether they touch hands, brush cheeks, or knock into one another on accident, they'll be met with the emotions of the person they've touched. Every instance of skin-to-skin contact will trigger an immediate empathic bond, letting you feel the other person's emotions and vise versa. While there's nothing that can be done to completely prevent this, someone can either decide to hold on and continue sharing that level of emotional intimacy, or let go and end the shockingly vulnerable exchange. If someone is particularly tactile but not fond of sharing their emotions, they might want to invest in a fashionable pair of gloves.

MEMORY SHARE. Through a recent event, the Displaced unlocked the ability to share memories similarly to how they can share emotions. While unknown at first, the Displaced soon learned that they could share a memory with each other the same way they could share emotions. All they need to do is focus on a memory and touch the skin of their fellow Displaced, and then they could pass this experience along. These memories are shared through the eyes of the giver, granting the receiver a unique insight into the thoughts, feelings, and sensations during a specific moment in their life.

DREAM SHARING. Once one, two, or five Displaced fall asleep, they may be able to find each other in their dreams. These dreams lead to the dreamers themselves feeling lucid and somewhat in control of their surroundings—though the control itself is ultimately dependent on the dreamer and how well they come around to understanding what's going on. Dream logic applies with the flow of time, but no one is able to spend their entire lives there. Lost powers are still gone for any of the Displaced, but they can use their dreams to practice any new ability that they've received. Memory shares and empathy bonds are just as possible within these shared dream states—if anyone doubts that another Displaced is really there, they can test the empathy bond to see if it activates.

POWER SHARES AND UNIONS. The Displaced can share something of themselves with another Displaced by offering them an object that comes out of their chest. This object is meant to be symbolic of the person it comes from and significant to them in some way. When someone else takes hold of this object, they will get a sense of the owner's essence, along with temporary access to their in-game ability. Only when they give the item back do they give up the power in question. In addition, the Displaced are able to act in unison and create a fusion of their powers, making it so they can fight someone else with them at once. This ability is there from day one, but the power's ability will only ever present at its current stage.

> THE NETWORK
When the Displaced first showed up, Morningstar set up a private network for all of the Displaced to use in order to communicate. Most of the veteran Displaced are old hands at using the implant now, and will be happy to provide any necessary information on how to utilize this new tool and understand its application in daily life.

Early on, every newcomer receives access to the encrypted network, only available to you and the others like you, making contact between you easy and safe. Familiarize yourself with this network and dig in. Perhaps you're hoping to find some bigger answers, ask about the current nail polish trends in New Amsterdam, or want to play a game of "hot or not" among the Displaced.

IDENTIFICATION. Everyone who gets set up with an ID gets access to Morningstar's network. In order to ensure that none of the Displaced stand out like sore thumbs, Morningstar's agents El and Gaby ensure that everyone has a name that makes it so they fit in among society. All usernames are thusly formed as firstname.lastname, with some room for creativity (Ziggy Stardust had a brief cameo, after all).

PRIVATE COMMUNICATION. There are private, one-on-one modes of communication available as well, though without the security of Morningstar's encryptions, they're much less safe. You can make calls, send texts, make videos, and even interact with others in a VR simulation—however, it's made very clear that the government has a means of tracking this communication. Big brother is always watching.

> RESOLUTION DAY FESTIVAL

The day of April 26th is known to all United Nations citizens: it's Resolution Day. To everyone around the world, it's the day when the last known AI lifeforms were completely eradicated in 2101. While some might say that it's the day that the UN claimed victory over the AI, to people the world over it's the day that humanity managed to keep themselves from being wiped out. Little will be said in detail about the holiday itself, but a remedial bit of research will cover the six-year-long Xelkoven War between humans and AI. The war itself was started when the home security unit AI Elysian killed 50 households full of people, and the war itself was named after the largest artificial intelligence distributor at the time: Xelkov. Ultimately, a billion humans died in the war, and there was the very real risk that the rest of humanity could have followed if they hadn't devised a method to put down the AI for good.

The citywide celebration of Resolution Day starts early and finishes very late, so whether you choose to join in the fun, learn more about the history of the festival, or take advantage of the revelry for other, more nefarious goals, you'll have plenty of time.


As the festival sprawls wildly throughout the streets of New Amsterdam, it gives even the most desolate parts of the city new life with bright lights, noise, and plenty of food. Most businesses are closed for the day, but not all of them—if you've gotten yourself a restaurant, street cleaning, or corporate PR job, you might find yourself stuck on a double shift. Better snatch what small moments of enjoyment you can!

> ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES
Anything you'd think would be at a festival in the year 2512 is definitely at this festival. Food, games, dancing, alcohol, free stuff? It's all there for your enjoyment. While the city streets will be full of people, this isn't a bad day to try networking. Want to get a new job or find a way to pry some information out of someone when they're least likely to remember you? Try to butter them up—or use the powers you've been granted to get your way. If anything goes badly, at least you can slip back into the crowd.

GAMES. Care to play a game? All attendees can play for free. Some games —like the hoverblade racing, the augmented reality fightboxes, and the street-wide bouts of laser tag—require a partner or a competitor, so you better hope someone's willing to do you a solid or bring out your competitive side. For anyone who's interested in something a little less hands-on, all of the city's biggest VR arcades will have setups with all the latest games. Hoping to get noticed for your gaming talent? This might not be the day to try to stand out, but anyone's down to try.

FOOD TRUCKS. It's time to try the delicacies of New Amsterdam. Hundreds of food trucks have turned out today in droves with high hopes that they'll come away turning a profit. Down for some Mexi-German fusion? Or perhaps you're hoping that pad thai still tastes the same with grasshoppers? Share your food – or give away whatever you don't like. Food trucks are the hub of activity, and the busiest ones might be worth the time, but you'll be standing in line for a while.

NETWORKING. There are other opportunities with the city being flooded with festival-goers. Whether someone is on a mission to try to test the current sentiments toward Morningstar or simply wants to charm some corporate execs, this might be the time to get it done. Whatever your cover story is, make it good. Whether you claim you're hoping to pitch an idea for some new tech or are more interested in seducing – or squeezing – some information out of them, following them into the next bar or karaoke booth may give you the perfect chance. But you might want a lookout to watch your back, a co-conspirator to keep them plied with drinks, or maybe you'll need a voice of reason to stop you from squeezing too hard. Discretion is the name of the game. Everyone can agree upon that.


> HISTORY LESSONS
Aside from your typical booths of free samples, charitable causes, volunteer applications, and white chocolate-covered beetles, you'll find an opportunity to learn about Resolution Day’s history. There are various stands available where—thanks to the augmented reality application of your neural implant—you can view videos about the origins of the festival and the reasons for celebrating. If you haven't done your initial search yourself, you'll be able to buff up on it here.

VR SIMULATIONS. If you'd like to feel like a hero, the UNA are running several virtual reality simulations where you can be taken to the battlefield to fight alongside fellow soldiers, working to bring the outwardly robotic AI to submission. The virtual reality simulation interacts with your neural implant to give you the most realistic experience possible. If you don't ground yourself enough, you'll be certain that the sights, sounds, and smells around you are real as you march in formation toward the brutality waiting up ahead. Feel free to team up with a partner on a side mission, or maybe try to keep someone from plugging in for what could be a traumatic experience. Eerie, heart-wrenching music plays when you die, but is promptly followed by the image of several corporate logos reminding you that they sponsored this day and this event.

SYMPATHIZERS. If you're uncomfortable with the concept of eradicating all AI, no one will understand why. AI sympathizers are not present among the native population. Everyone in this world has been raised with the understanding that AI only wanted to destroy humanity, and that everyone is lucky to be alive in spite of it. They have a deeply ingrained fear, and anyone claiming to formerly be an AI or android won't receive a very friendly response.

> CRIMINAL ACTIVITY

Traveling down from the hectic main city streets reveals a different side from the gloss and promise of New Amsterdam. Economic disparity runs rampant throughout the city, and many people are pushed to desperation, looking to find other ways to make ends meet. In the darker shadows, many illegal activities thrive, out of view of the authorities—or perhaps known and supported by corrupt individuals. Maybe you're out exploring, completing a task for Morningstar, or working a job in the place you excel. Whatever brought you to the rougher parts of town, you may want to watch your step, or else find the city eating you as it has so many others.

> ORGANIZED CRIME
Organized crime still has a strong foothold in the world, with gangs and more established families working with drugs, weapons, property, and black market cybernetics, to name a few. These organizations are sprawling units that regularly recruit new members into their ranks, so long as they can prove themselves by passing the intensive hazing. While there are two main mob entities in New Amsterdam—the Riverstone Mob and the Petrov Family—there are a handful of gangs that otherwise roam the streets. Some are loosely sponsored by the mob, while others are fledgling groups trying to gain clout. More than anything, these groups know they don't have the power of the corporations or government, and do everything to seize more power when they can.

JOINING UP. Catching the eye of the mob is difficult, but not impossible. Getting into the larger gangs is less difficult, but they're still wary of anyone who doesn't know the ins and outs of how to duck surveillance, traffic drugs and supplies, and intimidate people without catching flack from the NAPD. The best way to start getting attention is through their clubs, casinos, and illegal gambling dens. Getting inside isn't always easy: it might take a few weeks of legwork to get an invite, but someone could try to strongarm their way inside or use some chicanery to make it a smoother endeavor.

ESCAPE PLAN. Whether you went in to cause trouble or accidentally caused it by breathing the wrong way, it's good to have an escape plan in place. Does that mean fighting all the goons available? Maybe. What about stealing a hover bike and getting away? The good news is that hover bikes can fit where hover cars can't.If you've got the skills, you'll be able to weave through the chaos of the city and make a clean getaway. Just don't let the chase run for too long, or you'll have law enforcement on your ass as well.

> FIGHT CLUB

No matter the occasion outside, New Amsterdam's fight club events are held every evening. The bouncers at the door don't have too many scruples on who they let inside. All they care about is whether someone has the money to pay the cover charge.

The interior of the fight club reveals the sophistication of a business that's used to uprooting itself regularly. All the fights take place in a large cage in the center, and you remain on your feet while you enjoy the show. There is a special VIP section if you've been lucky enough to receive an invite or bribe your way in – just keep in mind that these invites are scarce, and you will have to have done something spectacular to earn the attention from someone high up the food chain. Regardless of where you end up, there is one rule: what happens in the fight club stays in the fight club. This tenant is law, and everyone's heard stories of the different (and sometimes extreme) lengths that have been taken to maintain it.

FIGHT. It's time to sign up and test your chops against other fighters. Many of the fighters boast illegal cybernetic enhancements, so it would be a really good idea to have someone on hand who knows some first aid. Fights can either happen in duos or in one-on-ones depending on the signups for the evening.

RINGSIDE CHAT. You might just want to enjoy the show, or use the opportunity to grill the bartenders for information. Just be careful not to make a fool of yourself. Asking too many questions might catch the wrong kind of attention – the kind that might find you being thrown into the ring, whether you wanted to be there or not. For all the blood spilled, these fight clubs thrive on discretion, so whatever you do, try to keep it quiet.

> A LIFE OF CHAOS

Life in New Amsterdam was once all festivals and people avoiding association with organized crime. Life in New Amsterdam these days is full of drama, citywide disturbances, and everything else that might be expected of an action film in progress. While there aren't many answers for what's happened to the Displaced, there is enough chaos going around that it seems like it may be connected to their arrivals.

The worst part is that New Amsterdam seems to struggle. Rather than being an anonymous backdrop to those action films, New Amsterdam is a bustling city full of life that never asked to be at the heart of this. When trouble hits, most repairs and restorations focus on helping those with money, while others are left forgotten living in tents and hoping for a helping hand. Recent circumstances have called for improvements in this area—there is more charitable work than ever before in New Amsterdam—but it's still a trying time.

Where the Displaced stand in all of this varies, but it's hard to ignore a city in trouble.

DISPLACED VERSUS DISPLACED. Whether it's by manipulation of an outside force or through inhaling weird monster gas, sometimes the Displaced are at odds with one another. When some of these few heroes are fighting, it means that the city can be left in even greater danger. Other times, the Displaced might not be able to control themselves. Feeling a sudden surge of vengeance and hoping to follow through on it? That monster gas might be the cause. Want to finish out a nasty deal to get something back important? The monster gas won't be an excuse, but maybe someone can pretend it was. Life as a Displaced is wild sometimes.

THE UNITED NATIONS ARMY. In fact, it's so wild that sometimes they come up against the extremely dangerous soldiers of the UNA. These soldiers are the military arm of the United Nations government. They aren't the average soldier, however. Dressed in thick black armor that acts as an exoskeleton for their bodies, they are basically invulnerable to any and all attacks. When fighting as a unit, they work perfectly in unison, making it so that they can quickly move to deny almost any and all attacks. They're also extremely resistant to any mental or emotional compulsion or manipulation, making them hard nuts to crack. Ready for a bossfight? They're the soldiers for it.

MONSTERS. As for unconventional threats, there are the monsters. These creatures first turned up in giant form when the first batch of Displaced arrived, stomping all over New Amsterdam. The less unique version of the monsters are around 400m high, have lizard-like features, and tend to show up by tearing down a portion of New Amsterdam's city wall And that's the less unique version. More unique monsters vary in size and make, seeming to be an amalgamation of a number of different creatures. Half-snake, half-dog? Seems odd, but it happens. The one consistent feature of all these monsters is they all have golden irises. Suffice to say that running into these creatures could be a problem.

> GO NUTS

Feel free to branch out and explore! Visit a doctor about some advanced cybernetics. Sneak through the city checkpoints and set out into the wilderness. Try to hop on a train bound for one of the world's five spaceports to see one of the colonies—though bear in mind the cost and difficulty of one of these joy rides. Experiment with some insect based versions of your favorite recipes. Perhaps you'd prefer to engage in some illegal street racing, spend some time getting used to the technology, or try to become a social media celebrity. Use the SETTING for inspiration and choose your own adventure!

mcnair: (easycompany-bhuk5x1-081)

Tom McNair - Being Human-- OTA

[personal profile] mcnair 2020-04-23 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
> EXPLORE THE CHANGES

(Tom could always feel the wolf. Always. His whole life. Being changed as a baby sure saw to that. But he's sitting in this safe house, speaking to someone about it.)

It was like, in the back of my mind, all the time.

(He has a thick, Northern England accent, kind of hard to understand at times. The person he's talking to is holding a drink and they go to put it on the edge of the coffee table there-- it starts to stumble and they both go to stop it.

POW. EMPATHY BOMB.)



> CRIMINAL ACTIVITY

(Tom, the dolt that he is, somehow stumbles upon the fight club. Once he sees people fighting, he goes to make a mad dash for the door. Reminds him too much of the cage matches the vamps would put werewolves in on the night of the Full. He's stopped. "First night here, you gotta fight."

He tries to get away still,)


It won't go very well, promise ya.

(The big burly man blocks his way. Tom looks helpless, despite hiding a crazy creative killing machine (for vampires only, never humans).)

> THE NETWORK
mcnair.tom
This certainly isn't Barry. How do you all fit in here? I am not a good speller but this thing is helping. Hi. I am Tom.

>ɢo ɴυтѕ

[plurk.com profile] gnomeskull, hit me up if you think you need to ask, otherwise go for it!
Edited (network) 2020-04-23 17:15 (UTC)
kill7: (pic#13937015)

network

[personal profile] kill7 2020-04-23 09:13 pm (UTC)(link)
hi tom. who's barry...

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perfect!

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criminal activity;

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network; username: ghostie

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wittingly: (Hᴏᴡ I ᴡɪsʜ)

Ian Fowler | OC

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-04-23 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Memory Swap
[ Posted around the safe house are signs Ian's recently hung up that read:

Memory Swap? If you're interested in sharing things about your past or finding out about the past of other people's worlds, join the group on Wednesdays at 6.


Beneath it will be the address for his apartment, and the door will be open at that time for anyone who cares to venture in.

Turn out has been variable, with a half dozen people some weeks and only one or two others. No matter the case, he clears the furniture from his living room - shoves it back against the walls, stacks it out of the way - and places cushions or pillows on the floor in rough proximity to one another.

That's where he'll be whenever anyone walks in, probably sucking down something that unfortunately isn't Starbucks, internally shedding tears about the lack of french roast these days. ]


The Network
We used to do this thing in my classroom on the first day, where I'd ask someone a question about themselves and they'd answer. Then they'd ask the person behind them a question, and so on and so forth around the room. I know it's not exactly easy to do that through text, but I figured it might be good to do a little getting-to-know-you kind of thing. We're all in the same boat, right? Couldn't hurt to do a little community bonding.

I'll start.

What's your favorite song?


Wildcard
Literally anything bros.
kill7: (pic#13937012)

memory swap

[personal profile] kill7 2020-04-24 12:34 pm (UTC)(link)
(the words "memory swap" came as a huge shock for qi. maybe there can be some probing that helps him remember something, anything that's dated earlier than two years ago. being amnesiac sucks.)

... Are you the guy?

(dumb question, but whatever, he says it anyways as he walks inside the apartment.)

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bc i miss ian :<

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memory swap

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notleftbehind: (pic#8357743)

sam wilson | mcu

[personal profile] notleftbehind 2020-04-24 12:57 am (UTC)(link)
texting: anonymous

paging steve rogers, stephen strange



and i guess james buchanan barnes.


red wings

[ he wanted to do something to recreate his wings. he didn't need to know what his powers were-- as far as he was concerned, he didn't need a power to be successful. maybe it'd be useful, but he wasn't going to rush figuring out what they were. but... getting money was gonna be challenging, if everything he'd heard was accurate.

so, even if he didn't want to, he'd take Strange up on the offer to bartend.

even if his experience amounted to cracking beers for friends over a barbecue. ]


What'll it be? And go easy on me. I haven't had time to learn the full drink menu yet.

freightcars: (Hɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴇ)

@james.barnes

[personal profile] freightcars 2020-04-24 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
Glad to know I've been moved up to third place
Welcome to the future, now you're part of the Out of Time club
I'm making jackets

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sinnabon: (jack226)

Jack Kline | Supernatural (s15 spoilers)

[personal profile] sinnabon 2020-04-24 01:49 am (UTC)(link)
FESTIVAL and food theft;
[ the food at the festival smells amazing, but after being booted from the shelter that fed him for the first few days, he doesn’t have any money to give to the food trucks here. So jack wanders and watches, educating himself on the history of this festival, which doesn’t sit well with him either.

It was four days ago that Jack woke up with a soul, after months of death and destruction and suffering caused while he was without one. There hasn’t been a waking moment yet that he isn’t haunted by a scream, a spray of blood, a crumbling body, or mary winchester begging him to listen. A holiday celebrating the genocide of an entire race of intelligent life? Not mixing well with the pre-existing trauma.

Nor is the hunger gnawing at him, and Jack glances around, checking to see if anyone’s watching him (which is the stupidest way to check if anyone is watching you, but he’s 3 years old, okay, give him a break). He’s a scrawny kid no one really pays much attention to, so it’s easy enough to wander his way towards some of the tables where festival goers chow down. He waits until a family gets up and moves along, leaving a half-finished plate of something sweet looking. As soon as the area’s clear, Jack quickly and quietly picks up the leftover food, holding it against his chest as he shuffles away to get lost in the crowd again. He hasn’t even made it four steps before he’s tugging off a piece of the food and munching it down.

Frowning. Chewing slower...

Something just crunched, like something chiton-y crunched, and Jack's never eaten a grasshopper before, but it definitely feels like there is a dead bug in his mouth. But, food is food, so despite how much the kid looks like he might toss that mouthful of food back up, he makes a sour face and swallows. Just don’t mind the teenager looking like he’s about to cry while nibbling on something festive looking. ]
EMPATHY;
[ when a scrawny teenager goes jogging through the streets, hood pulled up over his head, he’s running from something or someone, head swiveling around to check behind him, which of course means slamming into someone else in front of him.

The boy stumbles and nearly topples over, scrambling to stay upright, and somewhere in the shuffle, skin touches skin.

What comes through the empathy bond hits the stranger like a brick wall - fear, despair, sorrow, panic, and deep, deep emotional pain. The kind that makes your chest feel like it’s caving in, that makes you want to curl up on the ground and wail while you wait for the earth to swallow you up. It’s bone deep and it’s visceral and it’s fresh. His very soul feels like it’s been ripped to shreds and charred to a weak, frail thing.

The second after it’s happened, Jack knows it, and he watches this new person with wide, glassy eyes, brows knit with apologetic shame on his young face. ]


Sorry. I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking. [ jack rambles out, at first reaching out to steady the other person as well, but he thinks better of it, snapping his hand back, and then clutching it with the other. Stop touching people, jack, it makes it worse. He’s lost for a second, owlish eyes flickering to the other passersby around them and the various shops and buildings and alleyways, unsure what to do or say or even where to go, but that one had been an existing problem already.

Jack backs up with stuttered steps, making room for the other person and trying not to bump into anyone else on the crowded streets. ]


I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your way.
NETWORK, un: jack.kline
So, I don’t really have a lot of skills
and the things I used to be able to do I
can’t anymore
And I don’t have a lot of work experience, or any, actually, but I learn fast and I’ll work hard

It’s just that, I’m starting to get really hungry

So, if anyone needs someone to do a job that’s just manual labor or supernatural trivia or tying shoelaces
Please, let me know

Thanks.



OH WAIT I can drive, that’s a skill I can do, I’m a driver
Not legally, but I know how and I’ve done it before
WILDCARD;
[ hit me, fam ]
righteously: (SPN_0682)

@robert.plant

[personal profile] righteously 2020-04-24 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
where are you

[ What do you mean texts should have context and more than three ominously creepy words in them when they come from nowhere under a pseudonym? ]

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network ( sasha.cricket )

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lovelybottom: (hm)

Geralt of Rivia | The Witcher (netflix)

[personal profile] lovelybottom 2020-04-24 02:54 am (UTC)(link)
Festivities

[Geralt has been to festivals before, of course. He's gone through villages during Belleteyn, and even though no one would have wanted a witcher to take part in the festivities, he'd seen how it was done.]

[This shit is nothing like that.]

[If Geralt had still had the full extent of his witcher senses, the lights and sounds and general commotion of this place probably would've given him a splitting headache. It's a near thing anyway-- fuck, he'd just wanted to get the lay of the land in this new city, start to map out the streets in his head, not have a casual stroll through Overstimulation Central.]

[He shoves his way through the crowd, something that's easy to do when you're his size. Normally, he'd be given a wide berth by any normal folk, but no one here seems to notice-- or care-- that there's a witcher in their midst. Until he hears it-- a gasp, and when he turns, a woman is staring up at him, her eyes wide and bright under the neon lights. She leans up towards him, and he leans away in equal measure, brow furrowing under the weight of her scrutiny. In his many years of experience, when someone looks at him that closely, something bad is about to follow.]

[He's not wrong, exactly.]

[Oh, she says, sounding far too delighted for a woman who's talking to a man shaped approximately like a brick wall who regularly beats monsters to death, your eyes! Look at that color! Kind of like a cat's, really? Are you one of those furries?]

[Geralt has been asked many things in his long life, plenty of them some degree of insulting, but this? This is a new one. This is new and he hates it and he says the first thing that he can think of:]


Fuck off.


Fight Club

[Bloodsport is something that's reassuringly familiar to Geralt. As long as there are people in the world, there's going to be someone who wants to see a man beat the shit out of another man for coin. And while he would far prefer to earn his wages through witcher's work, he's without swords and armor and contracts around here, and he doesn't have very many other skills that don't somehow pertain to killing monsters. Since there's a less than lucrative market for the fine art of witchering and he still needs to pay for things, taking a few rounds in a ring might be the stop-gap that he needs. A way to bring in some coin until he figures out something else.]

[He lurks for a little while, watches a few of the fights to size up the men who go into the ring. It varies-- there's a wide range of skill, from the most obvious amateur to seasoned veterans, prize-fighters. The payout seems decent enough, depending on who and how many you fight in a night. It isn't a difficult decision, in the end; Geralt needs coin and this is a way to make it, if you're the kind of man who's both discreet and good with his fists.]

[He's on his way down to inquire about getting booked to fight when he overhears the bookie and promoter arguing about a no-show for one of the later bouts, and how they're going to fill it. It's an opportunity, and Geralt steps in to take advantage.]

[And thus he ends up in the ring.]



Network

[Bad username or site: geralt @ rivia]

what the fuck is a furry


Wildcard

(Hit me up at [plurk.com profile] inkblotmeringue if you want something else!)
Edited 2020-04-24 02:54 (UTC)
powersouls: (027)

festivities

[personal profile] powersouls 2020-04-24 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
[Tifa has absolutely no idea what a witcher is, and she has no idea what a furry is. There are plenty of people with unusual features back home, though, and so the eyes don't even really register to her. People from plenty of places would probably consider her red eyes strange, anyway, though she hasn't gotten any stares yet, and certainly no reactions like Geralt is getting. Reactions that definitely aren't going to end well, if his expression is anything to judge by.

She recognizes him, vaguely, from their first few days trapped at the safehouse, and so instead of just wincing at the awkward encounter and moving along, she hesitates. Better to keep this from getting worse, right? Hopefully he recognizes her, too and goes with it.]


Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but would you mind helping me with something?

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midnightslinky: (that blue hedgehog again of all places)

sasha rackett ( rusty quill gaming ) ota!

[personal profile] midnightslinky 2020-04-24 11:57 pm (UTC)(link)
I. SETTLING — knowledge: local


[Sasha doesn't like any part of this. Not knowing where she is or why, not knowing what half of anything is—she hasn't felt like this since the first time she came up from Other London. She settled, though. She knows how to settle. She can find the patterns, understand the way urban environments tend to have to work, even if the architecture's all wrong and the people are paying way more attention to her than usual.

But the burn scar on her face and neck isn't the one grabbing her own attention the way the strange passers-by seem fixated on it. It's the slightly fresher one on the back of her neck.

She's dressed far too dark and warm for the weather, often curled up in an alleyway, picking at the back of her neck with a grimace. She's gotten the explanation. She needs whatever they put in her to function in this place.

But she knows there's always a catch, and she especially knows it's easier to keep track of someone when you implant them with something they can't remove. She's got plenty of experience with that.

Maybe you catch sight of her in a moment of silence and trying to blend into a shadow, and you want to tell her just how bad an idea it is to even attempt to get at the implant in her own head without so much as a knife or a mirror. Or maybe you catch her when a stranger has bumped into her and suddenly taken too much interest in the clear burn scar on her face, asking prodding questions while she panics and stutters, looking like she wants to exit the conversation as fast as possible.

Or maybe you catch sight of her when she thinks no one's looking, dipping out the window of a reasonably tall building so she can climb onto the roof and attempt to get a moment to map part of the city out in her head. From an outside perspective? Kind of alarming behaviour.
]

II. CRIMINAL ACTIVITY — dirty fighter


[It's a matter of time, really, until Sasha finds whatever "underground" New Amsterdam boasts. Once she can find the thread of the city's workings, it's just a matter of pulling to see what it's trying to hide.

She's seen fight clubs, though usually in hers everyone had at least a knife on them. Sasha knows she wouldn't do well hand-to-hand, face-to-face, one-on-one; she's not here to toss her hat in the ring.

She just wants a knife, okay? Is that so much to ask for? One knife? She's had all fourteen of her favourites taken from her person apparently, but she'll settle for just one.

The thing is, trying to grill the bartender for info... isn't going well.
]

Listen mate, who's around here looking to sell something? No— Wait, I'm not— I'm not lookin' for drugs, I mean, you know, weapons, small ones, something I can just— not for a fight. Just to have. I just want one to have, and I can just pay 'em cash, and they can be discreet about it. Forget I was here. I don't wanna fight. Just gimme a name.

[No one has ever been so shady and yet so terrible at negotiation. She cannot stress enough that she doesn't want to join up in the fights, but she's just not good at convincing the guy at the bar that.]

III. NETWORK — sasha.cricket


["Sasha Cricket" is not... a great pseudonym. Her usual "who's askin" wasn't gonna cut it when she tried to avoid giving out her name upon arrival, and then she just panicked and went with the first word she could think of. It's... very, very close to "Rackett." Also, it's a bug.

Oh well.
]

is there anyplace here to check if your undead. like a healers or something. asking for a friend.
bloodbathing: (f: 192)

SASHAAAAAAA 😍 also knowledge: local

[personal profile] bloodbathing 2020-04-25 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ Maine isn't an empathetic person. Not by a long shot. There are a few people that he cares deeply about — people who he'd take bullets for without hesitation. But for the most part, his opinion of others is one big shrug. He doesn't actively dislike strangers, he just doesn't give a shit about them.

So when Maine sees someone getting in another person's face about a scar, he's not motivated to intervene by sympathy. He's motivated by anger. Maine has been a soldier for nearly half his life; he's seen plenty of people with terrible scars. And who the fuck hassles someone about a scar? ]


Hey.

[ Growled out in a voice so deep and rough it sounds like a snarl. It's nearly as intimidating as Maine's statue: he's heavily muscled and stands a towering seven-feet-tall. And right now, he's scowling down at the busybody like they're something particularly unpleasant found on the bottom of his shoe. ]

Fuck off.

[ Everything in his attitude says that if the person doesn't leave, Maine intends to make them. ]

HECK YEAH....

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hello !!!!

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powersouls: (pic#13944380)

Tifa Lockhart | Final Fantasy VII

[personal profile] powersouls 2020-04-26 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
red wings

[Now that they're actually being allowed outside, Tifa has found that some of the anxiety and powerlessness has dissipated. Still, she doesn't have anywhere else to go, and since no one else from home seems to be here, she still finds herself returning to it even now that she's no longer forced to. It's better than being homeless in an alien city. More and more often, though, she finds herself being drawn to Red Wings. It reminds her, vaguely, of Seventh Heaven, and while being immersed in the hustle and bustle of a bar is comforting, it's odd not to be the one serving drinks.

She's parked herself on a stool at the bartop, nursing a drink absently. Really, the reason she's here is mostly because it's always busy, and it's livelier than the safehouse. Tifa's not the type who can go without connections long, so a few moments after someone sits down beside her, she turns to them.]


Are you new here, too?

festival

[In an unsettling way, this place reminds her of Midgar. There's no plate, of course, but all of it feels similar—the massive corporate presence, the clear delineation between the haves and have nots, and the intense reliance on tech. What they've got here is miles beyond anything back home, sure, but the attitude towards it is the same.

The only thing that throws her completely is how aware everyone is of how their actions impact the environment. Sometimes, back home, she'd felt like she was talking to brick walls, but here it's just expected. She isn't even given paper napkins with her food.

For the moment, Tifa just wanders aimlessly. She can be found picking awkwardly at her burrito—which looks, quite concerningly, like it might have grasshoppers mixed in it—and struggling to take in as much as she can about this whole resolution day thing. When she finally reaches the VR simulators, she pauses, frowning, until she spots someone else waiting nearby.]


Have you tried one of these things yet?

wildcard

[Make up your own starter or hit me up at [plurk.com profile] cephalopods!]
lighthearted: unsure, confused (with the same colors)

red wings

[personal profile] lighthearted 2020-04-27 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
[ While Sora might not be of legal drinking age, that doesn't stop him from coming by Red Wings on the regular. It's a good gathering place for the Displaced that isn't quite as dreary as the safehouse, and the food is usually pretty good too.

He isn't expecting to show up and find any familiar faces beyond the ones that he's already used to, and so at first he doesn't take note of the woman with the long dark hair who's sitting at the bar. It's only as he walks over to decide if he wants to order something to eat that he gets a better look at her, and that makes him stop in his tracks.

Her clothing is obviously different, but everything about her is the same. When she turns to him, he blurts out her name while barely listening to her question. ]


Tifa...?

[ It's been a while. ]

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festival;

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red wings;

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shuckit: (pic#9772875)

Thomas | The Maze Runner (novels) | ota!

[personal profile] shuckit 2020-05-01 05:19 pm (UTC)(link)
A.] MORNINGSTAR & ILL ADVISED SELF SURGERY; cw: self-harm in the trying to operate on yourself way, blood, cringey medical/body horror things

[ still within Morningstar’s compound, getting set up and ready to embark on his new life in New Amsterdam, the first place Thomas goes is finding the bathrooms, and finding a mirror to inspect the raised scar he can feel on the back of his neck. So much of this is familiar, in a horrible, nightmarish way, and Thomas’ stomach turns with a sickness, knowing he’s been out for a while, knowing people did things to him while he was. Again. again. The feeling of violation has sunken deep into his skin, and there’s a frayed, stressed panic that’s starting to churn up dust and storms inside Thomas’ head.

Not this again. Please, god, not again.

The teenager has his head bent to the side and a sharp piece of glass clutched between his fingertips, pressing a corner down at the light, still new and pink healing skin where the scar is. Pressing down with a grimace as he starts to drag along the line, Thomas is carefully reopening the surgical cut at the back of his neck. Someone enters the community bathroom behind him, and after a second of failing to get a good look inside his own wound (it’s on the BACK of your HEAD, tommy, come on), he calls out to the stranger. ]


How steady are your hands? I need help checking something. [ just. Don’t mind him pulling out a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, pressing a stack of them against the bloody cut at the back of his neck. ] I know it’s gross, but I need you to dig into this cut and see if you can pull anything out. Wires, the chip, whatever.

[ if he’s lucky, it was a shallow operation, and maybe it can just be yoinked out. Granted, thomas knows this is a stupid way to do this. He knows, if it’s embedded, if it’s connected with his tissue, nerve endings, fused in tight, it could seriously screw up his brain trying to pull this thing out without real medical expertise. But he doesn’t have a medical expert he trusts right now, and his mind is going around and around in restless, panicking circles. this thing needs to go, before he starts trying to dig his fingers under his skin himself.

But he remembers WICKED, and he remembers the horrific masks they used to put these things in and take them out. He remembers how his mind was overridden, possessed, and he nearly killed Minho when the scientist they tracked down tried to start the operation. The raw fear (anger, disgust, bitterness, indignation) of knowing someone put something new and uninvited in his head, again, rises up like nausea in his gut, crawling up his throat, making him twitch and writhe inside his skin, wanting it out out out.

This would normally be the time Minho or Newt stepped in to say ‘don’t do that, you dumb shank’, but they aren’t here. Newt… Newt will never be anywhere with him again, and Thomas shuts his eyes tight, nose wrinkling and lips curling in a painful twist. Newt.

Shaking it from his mind, thomas turns his back to the new stranger, head bowed, and with the stretch of his neck and dip of his shirt collar at his back, the person there can see the top half of a tattoo that starts just under the base of the kid’s neck at his back, letters printed in bold black:


PROPERTY OF WICKED
GROUP A, SUBJECT A2

There’s more to it, a line or two more of text, but the rest is concealed by his shirt, and Thomas doesn’t give much time to discuss it. ]

And if I start trying to murder you… Sorry.

B.] FIATO; cw: violence, teenagers and violence

[ thomas didn’t want to be up here. He was trying to ask someone for directions, for information, and apparently he either got too annoying with his questions, or too sarcastic with his replies. Honestly, it’s probably the latter. He just has a talent for pissing people off when they’re willing and able to inflict bodily harm on him. A mystery to us all.

Next thing he knows, a disgruntled bar tender is dragging thomas off the bar stool he’d been perched on while conducting his interrogation, and towards the arena, shoving him into the center of the crowd where a man at least a decade older and possessing about twice the muscle mass as him grins wolfishly, stalking towards him. Cool. cool cool cool. ]


What, this is your idea of a good time? Watching a grown man beat up on a kid? [ Thomas asks the jeering crowd surrounding the ring, ignoring the opponent stalking towards him, until he’s within striking distance and charging him. A quick step forward and to the side, and Thomas snaps out a sharp jab, punching the brick wall of a man directly in the throat, causing him to stumble back, coughing and choking. And Thomas, well, the mild, exasperated look he was wearing before is gone, now something almost sneering, angry, more murderous than any teenager has a right to look. ]

Try a less pissed off kid.

C.] NETWORK; un: thomas.edison cw: possible for pandemics, global disaster, mass human extinction

it’s almost funny how the planet seems to figure out a way to kill us off eventually, no matter what universe it is
like it knows humans are trouble
where i’m from it was solar flares, then a pandemic to take out most everyone left
panic turned everyone against each other and humans took care of the rest
i guess mother nature knows what shes doing

here, its climate change
but the cities still look the same, whether its the planet or just more of us we’re fighting
high walls, strict rules, rationed resources, and everyone starts forgetting what the world looks like outside the cities
what humanity looked like, before people got desperate

anyway heres hoping this place does better than the last one i saw like this
really wouldn't mind catching a break some time soon



just wondering - has anyone seen what’s beyond the walls?


D.] WILDCARD;

[[ hit me with ya best shot, fire awaaaay ]]
Edited 2020-05-04 05:49 (UTC)
strove: (and honorable "bloodshed")

c. | @clarke.griffin

[personal profile] strove 2020-05-05 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
I've been out there before. A few of us have been.

It's locked away from us for good reason. I believe in that reason, at least.

But some people have more freedom of movement than others.

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sparklequeen: (014 » Why do I keep dreaming of you?)

Glimmer ♦ She-Ra and the Princesses of Power ♦ warning for season 5 spoilers

[personal profile] sparklequeen 2020-05-19 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
1. Holding up the wall at the party

Despite the festive time in New Amsterdam, Glimmer finds it hard to join in the carnival atmosphere. Probably because she herself has been ripped from her home, her celebration, and her friends to end up in a strange place full of machines and shining steel buildings that remind her all too much of the people and places that put her own home of Brightmoon in danger for so long. So she slouches through the crowd, somehow feeling out of place in a sea of thousands where everyone seems to have different fashions and different styles that she could easily fit into.

Despite herself, she can feel a rumble of hunger in her belly and with the strange money in her pocket, she eases herself into line at one of the multitude of food trucks that are eager for her business. She squints at the menu as she approaches the front of the line, still getting used to how different this place is.

"...What's schnitzel and why is it in a burrito?" She asks, glancing towards the person in front of her (or behind her, either works). Her voice is a little quiet, but it cuts through the noise around her--someone used to being heard if nothing else.

2. Safe, but maybe not sound

The worst part of this, is not feeling her connection to Etheria. In one of the safehouses, Glimmer is trying desperately to reach the comfortable powers she's been so used to tapping into for, well, her whole life. She stretches out, trying to access the Moon Stone, to teleport even if it's only a few feet--but each time her chest burns and her body strains and there is nothing. There's only the dispirting sensation of defeat, of uncomfortable pain and the sensation of emptiness. That a part of her has been lost. Glimmer slumps back, finally collapsing onto one of the sagging old couches in the living room with a dispirted groan. She's trying quite hard not to simply burst into tears. Instead, she just looks up at whoever happens to be in the room with her.

"I can't make it work anymore." It's a grossly familiar feeling--when she had been off of Etheria, away from the magical power source, she had been left cut off from the comfort of her magical prowess.

"...Is it going to stay like this?"

3. Dial up noises intensify

>User glimmer.mochizuki has logged on

Hi. I'm not really good with this tech stuff, but I'm brand new to the city and I could really use someone to help me figure out stuff to wear. I'm not used to all the fashions you have here! So, help?

I'd be really grateful.


4. Wildcard, bitches!

[ Anything else you want with Glimmer! Also happy to use brackets instead if that's what you prefer. ]
Edited 2020-05-19 02:34 (UTC)
dumbjockenergy: talking, huh, curious (155)

1

[personal profile] dumbjockenergy 2020-05-19 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
You ask like I'd have any idea.

[ The words come from her automatically, from months of casual banter that started to come totally naturally at some point.

Except Adora freezes as she realizes what she's said, staring at Glimmer like she's never seen her before. She'd been so absorbed in planning out the rest of her lunch break, she hadn't even noticed her friend right in front of her.

Adora herself is surprisingly easy to miss. She's dressed more casually than she ever has before, some gray and black outfit clearly meant to be moved in. There's a name tag reading Adora W. pinned to her chest with what looks like the name of a bar on it. ]


...Glimmer?
Edited 2020-05-19 03:06 (UTC)

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cetra: <user name=musemoji> (053)

Aerith Gainsborough | Final Fantasy VII

[personal profile] cetra 2020-05-19 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)
001. Vertmar Gardens


[ Maybe she can be a little predictable. Aerith doesn't mind, not at the moment. She seeks out the familiar, what makes her feel comforted. The glass walled Vertmar Gardens fits the bill for that.

At first, she spends a lot of her time there. Aimlessly walking down paths, her hand stretched out to brush against the leaves of what she passes. There's a longing inside her, to understand. There's a difference here in the plants, the flowers. Is it their aura? Is that something they posess? The communication, the connection, is different.

It's confusing, and it has her a bit more pensive than is typical. There's a bench she tends to claim on the days her thoughts are occupied. She sits in thought, frowning down at her hands clasped in her lap as she thinks.

If anyone were to come up, she'll be surprised but quickly greet them with a bright smile.
]

Hi! It's a beautiful place, isn't it?

[Different than what she's used to, but certainly beautiful. She never imagined everything could grow like this, even in an artificial environment. ]



002. Fun, Food and Games


[ Aerith seeks out the festival - a moth to a flame. The unsettling silence she's experiencing (never had she imagined her connection with her Planet would be severed so completely) has her seeking out distraction. This is the perfect one.

That aside, she enjoys a good time. It's a chance to forget, to enjoy herself, to enjoy life. Her life's motto has always been about living in the moment, and when the moment is full of games, food and bright lights it's even better.

She's had her time with moping, being disturbed, having anger about (yet again) being held to the whims of those who want to poke her with instruments and examine her. No, now she's going to set it aside and take in everything around her.

She spends quite a bit of time around the food trucks, frowning over items she doesn't recognize.

Aerith's just having a hard time deciding what to try exactly. Thankfully, the line seems long enough that she'll have plenty of time to figure it out.

Or - she could just ask someone!

Tapping the person in front of her on the shoulder, she has a smile ready.
]

Got any suggestions?


003. WILDCARD


[I'm up for anything else, feel free to PM me or contact me on plurk @ [plurk.com profile] violentwords]
Edited 2020-05-19 19:59 (UTC)
powersouls: (TifaFF00407)

002-ish! i figure we can leave the dramatic sobbing reunion for the intro log :*

[personal profile] powersouls 2020-05-21 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
[Tifa is still struggling to process the fact that Aerith is here, safe, and so as she follows her down the street, she's grappling with the odd sense that maybe this is all a dream. It's too good to be true, isn't it? It's almost like finding Cloud at the train station.

But of course, Aerith is her usual chipper, adventurous self, lingering at the more unusual food trucks until they find one that seems like a good fit. Tifa follows Aerith's lead, trying to peer at the menu on the side of the truck, though luckily, one of the perks of the implant is that the signs are all virtual, and they can zoom in as needed.]


Um...

[Tifa is doing her best to set aside those lingering bits of grief and disbelief and just enjoy the fact that Aerith is here, smiling that familiar smile. She needs to cherish this, right? Stop dwelling.]

I've heard they eat a lot of bugs here. There isn't much meat.

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ofmyth: (we are your overlords)

Thor, Marvel 616, OTA

[personal profile] ofmyth 2020-05-22 02:54 am (UTC)(link)
Settling In

[ In everything, Thor has an unsettling feeling that he has been here before. It's as though he's taken a blow to the head and has double-vision. He came off the bus and was led into an alley, and left there-- but he was also on a bus that came under fire, fought his way to safety. He has been three days in this safehouse, but he has been in another, he remembers another.

And through all the memories, like an itch he cannot reach to scatch, the memory of burning at the root of the world tree. The knowledge he gained there burns as brightly, as does knowledge of this place; things come to mind that he cannot know. He knows already what Morningstar is before it is explained. He knows of El the AI. He knows he is powerless here. Cut off from all that gave him power to harness the storm and the lightning.

But he is calm. He knows that there is nothing he can do, and he knows-- that even without his power he is still himself. He has only one arm and only one eye here and that takes some getting used to. The metal arm of the Destroyer hadn't crossed into this new realm, and the eye was taken by the world tree in exchange for what he now knows.

So he takes his time, in this bunker hidden underneath a city he feels he has visited before. He speaks with other newcomers or any who are visiting; plays card games to pass the time, takes up a knife in the kitchen to help prepare food, talks, and makes connections.]


Dream Sharing

[Thor dreams of fire.

He dreams of being burned and bound. Any who come across him will find him tied to a tree (to a sun? to the crux where realms and worlds collide and take root? don't look at it too hard, it's all a metpahor for things beyond comprehension).

He does not fear the fire, he is too desperate for fear, but he is holding in his hand the last piece of something he is desperate not to lose.

In the dream he cannot take himself down, but if others approach the flames, he can speak with them. ]


Network

ID: thor.odinson
i need an artificer. one to make me an arm and an eye.
masters only, nothing subpar or that can be too easily damaged


wildcard
[ hit me up on plurk ([plurk.com profile] sprakles) or via PM if you'd like something different! ]
Edited 2020-05-22 02:58 (UTC)
selfimage: — ɢᴀʀʙᴇᴛᴛ — (Sunday.)

@loki.odinson

[personal profile] selfimage 2020-05-22 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Are you in need of three arms to hold three hammers now, brother?

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leftthenest: (serious ☼ deep thoughts)

dick grayson ► young justice

[personal profile] leftthenest 2020-05-24 01:21 am (UTC)(link)

resolution day festival


bartending


[ One of the first things Dick did upon arrival is find a job that lets him fly under the radar while keeping him close to possible sources of intel. Being someone's assistant was out-- it meant he was stuck next to one person all the time. Unless he had someone he needed to watch, that wouldn't work. Bartending is equal parts picking up skills quickly, being charming, and (occasionally) being a little showy. And being showy is the name of the game today-- he's flipping bottles through the air and slinging them behind his back like the seasoned pro he isn't. (Being a former circus brat has its perks.) Hopefully, a few interesting people will wander over, maybe even someone linked to someone higher in the social strata of New Amsterdam. If nothing else, he's found that people tip higher if someone adds a little showmanship to his work. ]

vr simulator


[ He can't say he's keen on the idea of plugging in to a war simulation, but sometimes the best way to get information is to experience it. Dick imagines at least some of it will be propaganda, and almost all of it will be a glossed-over version of events. But knowing what people think of the truth is almost as valuable as the truth itself.

Still, the simulation is more realistic than he bargained for. He's well and truly grounded in reality but it's still a bit of a shock to be on a battlefield this realistic.

He can't help but mumble to himself.]
I can't believe people do this for fun.

criminal activity


fight club


[ This is the sort of thing Oracle would usually take care of-- pulling information about the place from security footage and intel she finds buried online. And then he-- as Nightwing-- would bust the place, twist a few arms for information, and let the cops take it from there.

But neither Nightwing nor Oracle are here. Just Dick Grayson and his hunch that the seedier areas of New Amsterdam might be able to tell him more than the glimmering streets of the upper class district.

He keeps to the side of the ring, never participating and not standing out at all. Well, unless someone really looks at him and notices that he's paying more attention to the crowd than to the fight itself. ]
powersouls: (TifaFF00195)

bartending!

[personal profile] powersouls 2020-05-24 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
[Tifa doesn't work here. Not yet, anyway. There's something odd about being employed in someone else's bar rather than owning her own, but she still comes here sometimes because the atmosphere is comforting. This place is nicer than anywhere in the Midgar slums could ever hope to be, but the bustle and occasional chaos still makes her feel more normal than anywhere else in the city does.

There's a bartender she doesn't recognize today, and she can't hide a little grin as she watches him show off.]


Is that your strategy for getting better tips?

Re: bartending!

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you do not talk about

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stagethreeclinger: (pic#6037527)

roy harper | red hood & the outlaws (n52)

[personal profile] stagethreeclinger 2020-05-25 01:02 am (UTC)(link)
GAMES (street-wide laser tag);

[ you better be damn good at hiding and sneaking, because roy's found himself a building to scale and a sniper's perch to hang out in. still, there's a lot of very sneaking, very quick, very good shots around this city, and plenty enough displaced superheroes to give him a run for his money.

maybe you're hugging shadowy walls and sidling through the dark while some other less super fool goes wandering along the middle of the street, looking left and right but not up. they round a corner and step out into the open. all of half a second passes, before this unfortunate soul gets dropped.

follow the red line through whatever fog or steam is hanging about, and perhaps it can be traced back to a nearby clocktower. look close enough, and you may be able to catch the sight of roy's latest tacky ball cap poking out from the ledge he's laid out on, chest down and laser gun cradled into his shoulder as he slinks back, trying to conceal himself before anyone traces the shot back to him. hitting him from the ground will be very difficult, but if you can get up there with him? without him spotting you on the way up? it'd be an easy shot if you can get behind him before roy hears you. ]


NETWORK (@ ziggy.stardust);

hidee ho, neighbors. nice day in the dystopian nightmarescape, isn't it? the sky's a fetching shade of slate grey and i've only choked on the city smog once this morning so far!

lung cancer concerns aside, i'm looking for some work.

not to be too transparent, but there's a specific group of you i'm looking at here
maybe you're used to a little more rigorous nightly activities than most
maybe your spirit animal is a bat, or another creepy animal that somehow seemed like a good metaphor for virtuous beatdowns
maybe your boner for justice has been a little limp lately without the arsenal of technological assistance

well, worry not, defenders of the downtrodden
boredom's got me dumpster diving and arts and crafting
give me a justice-animal i recognize, and i'll trade you something badass

did that translate right?
sorry it's been a while since i've had to look you jerks up without the pentagon's secret black book


FIGHT CLUB;

[ roy doesn't usually go out of his way to pick a fight, not for no reason, anyway, and not without a lot of substance abuse in his system, but right now, he's clean, he's in a decent mood, and he's not feeling all that aggressive, but he is feeling curious, and seriously hurting for metal and electronic scrap.

the arena fighting itself didn't draw roy's attention to this place, but rather the fighters themselves. or more so, what they fighters were bringing into the ring. the cybernetics. outside of the ring, roy makes his own bets. find the fighter he's going up against, chats him up a little, gets around to making the bet more interesting. if he wins - he gets that shiny piece of machinery you have glued to your person there. too bad none of these guys know who they're talking to.

they get into the ring, and after a minute or so of back and forth, throwing punches and roy dodging a cyborg arm take could take his head directly off his shoulders, and then, finally, he gets his hands on the appendage. it's fast, how the guy gets flipped over, thrown around like a ragdoll, and ends up chest down, face into the arena mat, one of roy's boots on the back of his opponent's head and a knee between his shoulder blades while his fingers move rapidly over the cybernetic attachment. there's some banging, some ripping, some wires torn out of sockets, and at the end, a lame, fizzling, sparking sound, as the entire appendage powers down, going limp against the mat with a thub when roy lets it go. ]


Aw, man, if only you had your tech guy around to fix that up for you. [ hardy har har, he thinks he's so funny. ] Bad luck, buddy.

WILDCARD;

[[ hit me /o/ ]]
Edited 2020-05-25 01:03 (UTC)
evocation: (060)

@kyna.medina

[personal profile] evocation 2020-05-25 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
is this vigilante bullshit or furry bullshit

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fight club.

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reproached: (059)

John Murphy | The 100

[personal profile] reproached 2020-05-30 02:34 am (UTC)(link)
network ( user : john.murphy )
so earth is back huh

anyone care to explain how the hell that happened
criminal activity
[ There's nothing new about the unrest in the city. The paranoia. The lies. Murphy's been playing this game since his feet first touched the ground and it's beginning to look like deception is going to be the defining theme of his life. On the bright side, the identity he's been assigned here is a whole lot better than the one he left behind in Sanctum.

He can play this role. Sure. But there's no way in hell he's doing it unarmed.

Now, wandering into the black market of a city in unknown territory is inadvisable under the best circumstances. He'd never do it without a weapon. Unfortunately, that's the catch-22. He's figured out by now that the only place to get a gun is the place he wouldn't want to be without a gun.

So, despite knowing better, he's here. Murphy blends in pretty well with the crowd, on account of his shady disposition. The trouble is, he doesn't know where to begin. The danger is familiar, but everything else about this society is bewildering. There are people everywhere, and he wanders lost and wide-eyed in search of… who knows what. What does an arms dealer look like in a society where weapons aren't allowed on display?

Someone shoulder-checks him. Maybe it was aggressive or maybe it was an accident, but that doesn't matter when Murphy's already on-edge. He wheels around to hiss: ]


Watch it, asshole.

[ And only thinks better of it after the words have already left his mouth. ]
wildcard
( Whatever you want! Hit me up at [plurk.com profile] pana or pana#3353 for plotting. )
stagethreeclinger: (Default)

@ ziggy.stardust

[personal profile] stagethreeclinger 2020-05-30 03:00 pm (UTC)(link)
uuuh
well, in the beginning, there was the big bang...

did earth go somewhere for you??

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chaire: (And... you want me to kill the sharks.)

kassandra | ac: o

[personal profile] chaire 2020-06-20 04:53 pm (UTC)(link)
the safehouse

[ Kassandra had been alive for-- entirely too long. And she thought she had seen it all, but to fine herself in a new land, without her grandfather's spear? a new land in the future, of all things. a future she hadn't quite foreseen. ]

Malàka... [ she mutters under her breath, a hand grazing her head where she could only feel a rough cut. with a sigh, she turns over again on the couch and stares at the bar, hard. ]

Well. I don't care if it's going to be the most typical thing I can do, I am going to drink until I can't see straight.

[ she pushes herself up and points at the closest person. ] You!

Spare a few moments to swap stories?

the festival

[if she seems tense, it's because she is. though, she assumes most people are not the trained eye to notice-- after all, she didn't get her reputation in the old days by being easy to read. But, tenseness aside, she has to admit...

the food leaves a lot to desire. the one gyro stand she'd found was utter blaspheme, and the angry arguing about where all the lamb and venison had gone left a bitter taste in her mouth. so instead, she took some olives, and some pita bread.

she hadn't had this sad of a lunch in ages, and she looks at her prize with-- well. sadness.]


Excuse me. Do you know of anywhere better for this? [ a gesture at the food she's holding. ]

network: kassandra.nikolas

I am surprised there is not more commiserating on this forum. Less complaining. All very practical.

Is there another place where the complaining happens?
unmans: (pic#8666341)

safehouse

[personal profile] unmans 2020-06-20 05:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[ waking up as she did here both made mary's typical scheme easier and harder. cutting her hair - easier. not many see a nearly shaved head and think 'woman' in her experience. the lighter clothes - harder. mary'd managed to rip up a sheet to wrap around her chest and bind it flat fairly quickly, but her scarves and coats did a lot in furthering that concealment. thankfully, these clothes are still loose and ill-fitting enough.

sure, she could've started her life in new amsterdam honest, but being a woman is something she hides for advantage, as there is no place on earth she's yet found that treats women with the same respect as men, and mary likes to be seen and heard when she requests it. so, when asked for a name here, mary pitched her voice in the practiced lower register that's second nature to her now, and proclaimed "James Kidd".

and then there's this woman, how isn't asking anyone to listen, she's just demanding. You! she says to mary, and mary cocks one scarred brow at her before shrugging and pushing up from her cot. ]


S'pose I've a few to offer, aye. [ the voice is low and rough with a heavy accent, something English but with an edge to it that makes one think of pirates and the sea. probably not Kassandra, as she's a few centuries too soon for the golden age of piracy, but whatever. tugging at the edge of a cot, mary pulls it close enough to plop down within conversational distance. ] What manner of tales are you hoping for?

Re: safehouse

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festival!

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acheless: (pic#13414961)

nathan lowell / original character

[personal profile] acheless 2020-06-23 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
fight club.
[ It's a fucking fight club. Nathan can't believe this shit.

He keeps his head down, sticks ringside. Buys a beer and then only takes a couple pulls from it, like it's a prop for his hand, something to add another dimension to his being in case that deep frown on his face isn't doing the job. He watches a fighter with a cybernetic leg painted shock purple get her literal teeth knocked out. After her, some guy with a heavy tribal tattoo gets his shoulder dislocated. Nathan's not subtle about the snort of derision he gives as his eyes cast over the crowd, blank and neutral, finally settling on that box of VIPs. Yeah, of course that's how it is. World hasn't changed that fucking much.

Nathan's tall, so he's sticking near the back, closer to the bar. His voice is just-audible enough:
]

This crap really happens every night?

[ He doesn't sound happy about it. ]

explore the changes.
[ His prior escapades are probably how he gets the idea.

There's a little space that's been cleared out in a corner of the safehouse. He's at least done the courtesy of picking a time when people are mostly out, so, you know, if you have a cot in here, find something else to do.

Nathan shakes out his wrists a little. Stands up, then nods to the poor unfortunate soul across the room who he frowned at until they felt sorry for him or some shit and agreed to help him out. No use of the word 'please' was uttered, important note.
]

Hit me.

[ Is what he asks now, but probably didn't mention then. Lying by omission has traditionally been his second greatest strength. ]

I wanna see if I can get it to wake up. [ He gestures at the center of his chest. The blue light, he means. The new— thing he can do, now. It's a fucking process, man. Let him deal with it. There's some shit he has to unpack about this. ]
evocation: (LM40turtleduck)

explore the changes

[personal profile] evocation 2020-06-23 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
[Kyna was minding her own business on her cot, thank you very much, and was definitely not agreeing just to be nosy. When he makes his actual request, she makes a face, nose wrinkling.

She kind of gets it, honestly. When she first got here and realized her magic was gone, she thought she was going to lose her mind. She still does half the time—it's like she's missing a limb. But also, she never asked anyone to hit her. At least there's that.]


Like, punch you? Your power might not even be... you know. Combat oriented.

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fossils: (pic#13252558)

steve rogers | marvel cinematic universe

[personal profile] fossils 2020-06-24 11:57 pm (UTC)(link)
ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES.
[ Been a long while since he's been to the fair.

He's been frugal with the credits he's got so far, skipping the games and politely ignoring the hawkers as he strolls down the street. To be honest, even if he weren't being careful about his money he'd likely skip most of the festivities. Sidelines himself, preferring to watch the rest of the folks on the street as they celebrate. Keep his head down for the most part. Maybe it's a little bit because of the way he's been living for the past year and a half, moving from safehouse to safehouse between ops, the constant light paranoia of knowing you've got government agencies hoping to at least keep tabs on your whereabouts-- if not cuff and haul you in, that's got him observing more than engaging. But it's also undoubtedly thanks to the nature of the celebration itself-- the revelry mixed with remembrance for lives lost, with a hefty helping of government propaganda flashing constant in the background-- the fact that he's an outsider to all of it.

The lure of the food trucks, though, is more difficult to ignore.

Falafel and fries are what he settles on, which makes for a slightly unwieldy bio-degradable plate when he also gets a cold mint tea at the insistence of the woman taking payment. Performs a minor balancing act as he squeezes into an unoccupied spot at one of the little standing bars they've got set up for folks who don't want or can't walk and eat.

There are folks he recognizes from the safehouse, and if you're one of them, or even just a stranger looking disappointed in their choice, he'll make a quick, amicable offer: ]


Trade you half for half.

[ There's honestly few things he won't eat (or try at least once), and he's never been fond of seeing food go to waste-- crickets or not. ]
NETWORK (steve.rogers)
Not that I don't appreciate the ease of digital libraries, but did books really become this rare or am I looking in the wrong places?
WILDCARD.
( Find him loitering around the VR simulators and reading up on the history of the day, or bump into him for an emotional share. I'm up for pretty much anything, feel free to assume some basic pre-established CR! )
freightcars: (I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ)

[personal profile] freightcars 2020-06-25 12:06 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's something, getting used to actually having time again. They'd been bounced from one catastrophe to the next from the second they set eyes on each other again, culminating with Bucky in a freezer and Steve on the other side of a globe. Now this, now here, there's nothing pressing. Nothing distracting. Nothing exploding - right now, anyway.

Just downtime, and re-navigating.

Which, apparently, includes sharing some of the weirdest goddamn food he's ever had. He picked something that looked interesting in name alone, something that sounded vaguely like a Taiwanese dish he's had before, except what he gets back is... more art than food, he thinks.

At the offer, he shoots Steve a skeptical look and nudges his basket forward. ]


You tell me how to halve this thing and I'm all in.

[ Because he's got no goddamn clue. It looks like an octopus, but he knows it isn't an octopus. It's just in the perfect shape of an octopus, but it's deep fried breaded... something. It's got little crispy arms sticking out, a little crispy head, and he's... genuinely afraid to crack it open and see what comes out.

Like a little heart attack pinata from the sea. ]
Edited 2020-06-25 00:06 (UTC)

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festivities!

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@ ziggy.stardust

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Wildcard it is!

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exertive: (grit)

michael guerin | roswell nm;

[personal profile] exertive 2020-06-25 09:15 am (UTC)(link)
01 | vr games;
[you sat down to play a game at the resolution day festival. there are a ot of different kinds; it might have been a racing one or a shooting one, something algorithmic, something beautiful.

it definitely wasn't meant to suddenly fritz out, overtaken absurdly by a certain rick astley song, suddenly burstint with bright melodious verve into your eardrums and also filling your vision with visions of red hair and jiggedy white boy dance moves. from next to you, you hear a curse:]
Fuck, fuck.

Fuck, sorry-- [and if you get your helmet off, you'll see you're not the only one to do so. michael's head full of pseudo-lebanese curls emerges into view. for an alien, his exasperation looks really human.] God damn it. [back home, he used to be good at his powers.]
02 | escape plan;
Fuuu-- [the hoverbike darts wildly between cars and into the alleyway, carrying with it a figure that looks as human as the next. wind whips through his curls. it's going too fast; he can't see straight, and not even his brand new gift of technopathy can really compensate for that. he starts to slow down, hooking a precariously tight turn to skid-skip-slide into the street frictionlessly.

right in front of you.]


Hi, [mike says.

and right then, abruptly, a bolt of energy-based ammunition flares out from behind him. shouted threats of a native kind, mingled-- in a self-contradictory way-- with instructions to stop and not flee. a nearby fruit stand bursts into flame; the hawker shoots him and you a furious, accusatory glare. scapegoating is how the world works; how every world works.

you should probably get out of here.]
03 | wildcard;
[choose your own adventure!]
rpms: (Default)

01

[personal profile] rpms 2020-06-30 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Virtual reality sounded interesting. Raven is a little bit skeptical, of course. It was a hard sell to get her to actually try out one of the games, but the VR attendant was a damn good sales rep.

The helmet fits snug around her head. It reminds her of the anomaly bodysuits from where she had come from. The game barely starts when it malfunctions (Raven got Rick Rolled and doesn't even know it. What a shame.).

She's pulling the helmet off when she hears the apology. ]


What did you do?

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bornrussian: (Default)

Natasha Romanoff | Marvel Cinematic Universe

[personal profile] bornrussian 2020-06-25 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)
> 1. EXPLORE THE CHANGES A (empathy bond)

[Cuyp markt sprawls out through the abandoned metro tunnel, each stall filled with a delightful mixture of the familiar and the new. A cage of little lizards — geckos, Natasha’s thinks — sitting next to a dog made out of gleaming metal that’s barking and whining at the passersby. Another stall over, fresh fruit skewers crowd little platters of fried insects, and the stall next to that is crammed full of prosthetic limbs.

Two lifetime’s ago, Natasha ran through its namesake in Amsterdam. She can no longer remember why she was being chased, but she remembers the bright colors, the busy bustle of the street, and the smell of fresh flowers. If she squints and tilts her head, it’s almost the same. A canopy of brightly colored tarps still hang overhead. Just instead of flashes of sky between them, all that’s up there is the lightly curved ceiling.

Always careful, and aware of her edges, never brushing against strangers, Natasha moves through the Saturday afternoon crowd with ease.

As it turns out, the biggest adjustment isn’t living in a future she should never have seen in the first place. Sure, the no showers thing is weird, she misses looking up and easily seeing the sky, and there’s a surprising ache of homesickness for someone who never had a home in the first place. But those are just circumstances. It takes time to adjust to the absence of purpose, and the technology that’s beyond anything even Stark could’ve dreamt up. But Natasha can adapt. Re-invention is kinda her thing.

No, the hurdle that sends Natasha tumbling to the ground is all her emotions crowding just beneath her skin. A simple handshake enough to spill all her carefully kept secrets.

In the Red Room, they taught Natasha to lie with her mouth, and eyes, the line of her shoulders, and the twist of her fingers. Every inch of her calibrated to show only what she wants to be seen. But what use is it, all that training, when just one touch will send the lie tumbling down like a house of cards?

It’s not with everyone.

Just the ones who are like her.

Displaced.

Somewhere behind her, Natasha hears a commotion. A rustle of people moving quickly. Then a furious beeping followed by a chorus of curses.

Natasha twists out of the way of the oncoming rickshaw just in time. Her whole body slams into someone, back first. Her breath knocks clean out of her as emotions tumble between her and the stranger she just crashed into. They get the surface level of annoyance at the reckless rickshaw driver, surprise, a fragment of unease, and the bone deep loneliness that sits like a chasm right beneath her breastbone.

With a gasp, Natasha wrenches away from steadying hands, breaking the instant connection. She takes one stumbled step before finding her balance, her brain, too busy calculating what she gave away, not quite processing what she received.

Natasha turns. With the physical contact broken all her walls are already back up. An apologetic smile already warms her features, hands spread and open to show herself as harmless.

They can both pretend this didn’t happen, right?]


Hey, sorry about that.

> 2. EXPLORE THE CHANGES B (dream sharing)

[In her dreams, Natasha keeps returning to Vormir.

It’s always the same. The gray and color-bleached landscape weighing oppressively on her eyes, ears ringing with the steady whine of the wind whipping at her hair.

The cliff.

The fall.

It’s the kind of exhausting that carries through to her waking hours.

Perhaps it would be different, if each night in her dreams she saw Clint again. Felt his hand against hers, and the warmth of his gaze on her skin. But each time, she walks through a gray fog, the cliffs rising through it and becoming solid, to a dead and completely empty space.

No Clint.

No Guardian.

Just her and the nothingness.

The first few times, she searched and called out. Hoped. Now she knows better. In the wide and gray expanse of this dream world, she is the only one.

As always, she walks right up to the edge. The drop is dizzying. The distance to the ground calls to her. In reality, she never had this time much time to consider it, to watch the cracks in the ground below. Now, she has all the time in the world; The dream won’t end until she falls.

Natasha draws a deep breath. Best get it over with. She lifts her foot, prepared to take that step into nothingness. Prepared to wake slick with sweat, her heart slamming up against her chest and the memory of falling carved into every limb and wound tightly around her spine.

(If she ever hits the ground, will that be the end of the constant dreaming?)

The wind pushes at Natasha and she imagines letting it take her, push her forward and carry her away. Her muscles relax, and she closes her eyes, but before she lets herself fall, she is distracted by a feeling. A presence.

Like the empty space behind her isn’t so empty anymore.

Natasha whips around, gravel crunching beneath her boots. There’s a shadow in the distance. When it resolves into a person walking out through the fog, she can’t hide the surprise on her face, her brow knitting.]


You’re not supposed to be here.


> 3. FIGHT CLUB

[The warehouse is new.

Beneath the smell of too many bodies crowded together — sweat laced with the copper tang of blood — is an almost imperceptible smell of rotting fish, hinting at the warehouse’s true purpose.

Giant metal crates have been piled high against the walls to make room for the cage. It rises through the crowd like a promise, the jagged edges of the metal mesh reaching towards the ceiling like fingers clawing at the sky. The first round of fighting has already started. Even over the crowd, Natasha can hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Her pulse picks up.

A new life in a new place, a fresh start, and it turns out that particular skill set of hers sits like an itch beneath her skin. She tries yoga, kickboxing, even ballet — practices old and familiar positions until her body is as worn out as her mind — and it’s not enough. She needs that rush of adrenaline, the sharp edge of danger.

The first couple of times, she stands in the crowd — hands jammed deep in her pockets — and watches. The fighters aren’t exactly old-Earth standard. She loses count of how many augmentations and cybernetic implants she sees.

Just watching isn’t enough to sate the ache across her knuckles — or the memory of purpose — and she begins to sign up. Not enough credits to her name to buy any improvements for herself, her victory depends on her opponents. If it’s just training, she has the edge. But, the hardware they bring to the fight can make all the difference.

When she wins, she earns some credits to add to her meager savings. When she loses— well there’s a certain satisfaction in that too.

Natasha makes her way up to the cage. Her name has been on the list since last week. Now all that remains is to wait to see who her opponent will be.]


> 4. NETWORK @ natasha.romanoff

theoretically, if someone wanted to see the stars, what’s the best way/place?

asking for a friend.

> 5. WILDCARD

[Want another option? Have at it! I’m open to any of the prompts, happy to assume CR (same goes for all the options) and I’ll roll with whatever you give me!]
freightcars: (Cᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴀғᴜᴄᴋɪɴ' ᴅɪɢɪᴛs)

2

[personal profile] freightcars 2020-06-25 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He doesn't know her that well, but he knows her. Can't pretend like he hasn't subtly clocked every one of Steve's friends during their short reunion, and she stands out for a handful of reasons. First and foremost, she's what let them both get the hell out of that airport - owes her one for that. Second is because he's got a couple of distinct memories of fighting her, and one particularly uncomfortable one of shooting her. Maybe he owes her four.

In the manner of dream logic, he remembers this place. That's not the truth, he's never been here, he's never seen it, but because it's coming from her mind it's familiar to him. They're melded together, her recognition is his.

And he knows, as one can know in dreams, what it is she's thinking about doing.

He'd walk forward more quickly to stop her, but he also knows she won't do it yet. That the notion is put on pause while he ambles forward, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft. No fight here, nothing defensive in his posture.

Just watching. ]


I'm not so sure you should be here either.

[ Accompanied by a deliberate glance at the cliff.

She shouldn't fall. ]

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unwings: (Default)

Castiel | Supernatural

[personal profile] unwings 2020-06-28 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
FOOD TRUCKS;
[ so, eating. That’s a necessity again. From what Castiel recalls from his last stint in being human, eating was actually one of the more enjoyable experiences of being mortal and having biological needs to tend to. He sees the festival as a chance to immerse himself in the culture and learn more of this world’s history. Part of that culture is food, which finds him at one of the tables set out, an unfortunate delicacy in front of him. ]

I don’t remember human food tasting this terrible.

[ castiel mumbles to himself with a sour look on his face, trying to settle with the odd crunch and strange texture left in his mouth from whatever he just swallowed. Something seems to be stuck against his gums and cas fishes a finger into his mouth unceremoniously to drag it out. He finds himself holding a detached grasshopper leg, mouth slightly agape and brow furrowed as he holds it up close to his face and turns it from side to side in frankly weird looking wonder. That last part finally clicks when he notices the citizen across the table staring at him, and his grasshopper leg, and his fascination with it.

Cas swallows, dropping the insect limb, and clears his throat. ]


I mean, food. Normal food that people eat, normally. [ castiel rolls his lips together, awkwardly, searching the table for an escape, then holds up what seems like a paper towel instead. ] Napkin?
HISTORY LESSON;
But why?

[ castiel mumbles to himself as the last of the augmented reality videos comes to a close in his implant, blinking to clear the feed before he searches around for one of the native representatives. ]

Excuse me. [ cas starts as he approaches one of the festival volunteers hanging around, ] Your history programs are incomplete. They omit the motivation or any investigative details surrounding AI Elysian’s assault on human families.

[ the woman already looks extremely uncomfortable with castiel’s line of questioning, but either it doesn’t register with him, or he doesn’t consider it a good enough reason to stop asking. Let’s be real, he’s been around humans a long while now - he knows she’s not comfortable but he’s not willing to blindly accept this history. So he presses, and the other natives manning nearby stands are starting to take notice. ]

Why this AI? Why these 50 families?

[ in his experience, rebellion doesn’t happen without causality. Human history archives tend to be bad about leaving these things out. But, now is perhaps not the best place to be playing devil’s advocate for the AI. ]
NETWORK; @ castiel.winchester
The world I’m from is steeped in gods and monsters, but the former I haven’t found much mention of here. I’m curious - how much impact does divinity and religion have on this world, and the worlds you’re from? What about the supernatural?

Would you say there’s any kind of omniscient, creator figure in your world’s popular theology? He may have gone by ‘Chuck’, in recent years.
WILDCARD;
[ hit me ]
Edited 2020-06-28 23:53 (UTC)
righteously: (18)

food trucks

[personal profile] righteously 2020-06-29 12:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ah, yes, the delight and wonderment of introducing some new sorry bastard to the food of this futuristic dystopian Big Brother hellscape. He'd be lying his ass off if he said he wasn't looking forward to gauging Castiel's reaction to it; he hasn't even taken a bite of his own burrito because he's been on the edge of his seat just waiting.

In a way, it's kind of like their beginning all over again. The first person to introduce Cas to beer, to burgers, to any of that — and how tragic, by the way, that the poor guy loves red meat more than Dean does somehow and now it's blown off the skin of the freaking earth. ]


Hate to say I told you so.

[ (No he doesn't.)

He muses it in a way that doesn't sound all that sympathetic. Finally picks up his burrito, and the bite he takes is entirely too massive. Cheese strings out from it, and he has to do a little burrito-curl around it to get it to break off.

Two perfunctory chews later and he's speaking with his mouth full. ]


Ninety-nine percent of the time shrimp or tofu's the way to go. You get seafood, you get eggs, everything else?

[ A vague hand gesture, dismissing it not unlike a DJ scratching a record. ]

Not even worth it. Although-

[ He holds up one finger for dramatic effect. Swallows. ]

Call me crazy, but I do know one place that makes a damn good cricket chimichanga. Think it's because they, like, grind it you know?

[ Safe to say he does not accept the napkin. ]
Edited 2020-06-29 00:04 (UTC)

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History Lesson

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coalitions: (Default)

Lexa | The 100

[personal profile] coalitions 2020-07-02 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Safehouse, various points

Lexa does not appreciate being caged and she is frustrated by the fact that first night she is still under the effects of the drug and cannot break loose when she wants to. From there the door is shut and she can be seen often pacing and watching the door, eyes narrowed every time it opens and noting the people who come in and out. She does not make a move to break out although it seems like her body is coiled in preparation for that, and while she appears calm on the outside, the burning intensity of her gaze tells a different story.

She is reluctant to eat or drink anything there. While she is not Heda here and people are unlikely to want to kill her, she does not trust anyone easily. She sniffs at the drinks but does not trust her nose to pick anything out, and instead ends up meditating at the back of the safehouse for most of her stay there. But in a position where she can clearly see the door no matter what, in case.

Fight Club - Ringside

It is not long after Lexa is let out that she asks where are the warriors? and gets sent in the direction of aa fight club. It is not what she expects, but it is not unusual either. She has fought in rings like this before, in training and also to the death, so it feels more familiar than much of this city. Once inside she is quiet and fluid in her motions, circling the fighting arena over and over again. Much like how someone might circle an opponent to get an idea of their abilities, she is circling the entire place, her gaze observant and intense.

She pauses occasionally when she is impressed by someone's move and her head tilts, a small smile curving at the corner of her mouth, but she does not cheer or say any of the words of advice she would have if they were her people. After some time doing that, Lexa finds herself at the bar, uncertain what to get. It is the only time she looks confused, her eyebrows furrowed over something so simple as picking a drink. She is unlikely to drink it even if she gets it, distrustful as she is, but it is a custom.
Edited 2020-07-02 23:51 (UTC)
strove: (we can let the birds live!)

[personal profile] strove 2020-07-03 07:17 pm (UTC)(link)
By now, Clarke knows Lexa almost as well as she knows herself. The little quirks, the way she carries herself. She can see the attempt at normalcy when it comes to ordering a drink. She slips in beside her, hands touching the countertop for the bar with considerable ease. "Allow me."

The week since Lexa got here has been strange and exhilarating. No longer does she have to wonder about Lexa making a new life elsewhere, or living on in the Flame: she's here, in the flesh. Clarke's world has changed dramatically since she last regularly stood side by side with her. Even the custom of protecting someone from poison has largely been lost. Wonkru stands in the ashes of what became of Lexa's people. And Clarke stands alongside her as the adoptive mother of the next commander. There is some strain, especially in not knowing what to say.

The drink order ends up simple—a bourbon over the rocks for each of them—and she motions for Lexa to follow her.

As they move, even the way Clarke carries herself will different from how she was just six years ago. Smiles come easily to her now, and she keeps her head high. She's not burdened with the same weight of responsibility, at least right now. Then again, the fighting rings are an outlet for enjoyment, even if they aren't technically her preferred place for that. (Clarke prefers soccer, always has.)

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ninthplace: (pic#14139732)

demyx | kingdom hearts - ota

[personal profile] ninthplace 2020-07-09 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
explore the changes.

[ alright alright alright, this isn't great. but you know what is great? copious amounts of free food. a guy could get used to that. demyx is stuffing his face, hitting up the trucks without much traffic. life's short, who wants to wait in line just to get scraps? not this guy.

even if the shorter lines definitely aren't as good. hm. maybe he can trick somebody into waiting in line for him. he'll nudge a nearby observer in the side. ]
Hey, buddy, want to make a buck?


[ or maybe you've got what he wants. he's watching with big, yellowy puppy-dog eyes. ]

You, uh, gonna finish that?

a life of chaos.

W-woah! You've got the wrong guy, man!

[ this is just his luck, isn't it? demyx skitters away from the sudden show of aggression, holding his hands out placatingly with a nervous little smile. ]

I'm not here to fight! How about you and me just let bygones be bygones, and I'll be bye gone?


network
[Bad username or site: demyx @ justdemyx]
not to be a snitch or anything but i'm pretty sure someone keeps taking my leftovers out of the fridge here in the safehouse
and you know i normally wouldn't care but its such a pain to get from here to the one place with the extra crispy bugs
soooo friendly warning
i'm onto you
Edited 2020-07-09 05:15 (UTC)
lighthearted: phone, down, unsure (and people who say)

@sora.sky

[personal profile] lighthearted 2020-07-09 03:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Pretty sure that food is meant to be communal. And... I guess there's no easy way to write your name on stuff anymore, either.

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delayable: (15)

penny ; the magicians

[personal profile] delayable 2020-07-23 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
▶ 01. FOOD TRUCKS
Okay, I've been watching you make my order up for like twenty minutes and you've put shit on there that I don't even recognize. What am I about to eat?

( and should he eat something at all? he doesn't know this place or this food and even if he's hungry, he's starting to wonder if it's worth it. the booth attendant demurs, saying he'll like this, it's good, his own special recipe and penny just shakes his head, exhaling roughly but not leaving.

he should, he knows, but he doesn't. where the hell else would he go? back to that stupid safehouse where everyone's living on top of each other and people keep asking him if he needs help?

nah, that's fine. he's good on his own and if that means eating something that's going to kill him, so be it.

a few seconds later, whatever he ordered is finally done and penny takes it, throwing some money at the man and turning to walk off sharply.

the smell's potent and he thinks he smells some good spice but he's hesitant to take a bite. )


Look, if I eat this and I die, don't touch my body.

( he's just...letting that be known. )

▶ 01. HOVER BIKES
( sometimes, you say the wrong thing to the wrong person and sometimes, that person is the size of a fucking building which means you have to figure out a way to leave without getting smashed into pieces.

penny's way? he's going to knock some teenager off his hover bike in front of the gambling den he'd just been in and take it. he'll return it later, okay. he just needs to borrow it.

before he's even settled on the seat, he hits the gas and bike takes off, nearly throwing him in the process. he holds on, though, cursing sharply as he weaves through people and into traffic. he nearly gets taken out by a car and ends up caroming off one wall and into an alley.

he zips through it and spits out the other side, bringing the bike to a stop and hurriedly getting off. he grabs the first person he sees and says: )


Happy birthday, bike's yours. Go ahead and give it a spin, see how it handles.

( because he's just going to slip away now and hope that if the guy's following him, he'll see the bike and go after the poor fuck that he just pawned the thing off on.

sorry not sorry. )


▶ 03. WILDCARD
( if you'd like to do something else, you're welcome to toss it my way. )
filloryfanatic: (talking at u)

!!!!! food trucks

[personal profile] filloryfanatic 2020-07-23 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)
( Quentin spots a familiar figure over by the food trucks and immediately shuffles on over, catching the end tail of the conversation. Once upon a time that irritated, grumpy voice made him inwardly (and sometimes outwardly) cringe, but now it just makes him smile. It's better when it's aimed at someone else though.)

Honestly, it's better if you don't know. I don't know but I have some guesses.

( Definitely bugs. If there's anything in there they don't want to know about it, it's insects of some kind, because they eat that here in replacement of a lot of meats they just can't get. Quentin's grimacing at that didn't last long; food is food and it's actually really good. Quentin looks pretty much the same as the last time he was breathing, same floppy but short hair, same hoodie and boring neutral colors. He hasn't taken this time to embrace a new look. )

:D

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food truxxxx

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hover bikes!

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it's completely fine!!

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bornsoldier: (Chyler 054)

Chyler Silva || HALO: Forward Unto Dawn

[personal profile] bornsoldier 2020-07-24 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
>EXPLORE THE CHANGES: Dream Sharing<


[ It takes Chyler a long time to get to sleep. She's never really been one for insomnia--growing up in an Insurrectionist war zone teaches a person to sleep when they can and be wide awake when they're not. Same went for school.

But that's different. That was the chaos of Mamore, and then the vigilance expected at Corbulo. It's not a different universe entirely.

Maybe the homesickness is why she dreams of Corbulo, its brutalist buildings, crisp open green areas, the statue of General Corbulo himself in the middle of the common. It's a vivid dream, eerily vivid, and made more eerie by the fact that the campus is empty. There's not another soul in sight, and when she calls for Orlin, the campus AI, there's no reply.

So here Chyler stands next to Corbulo's statue, in her dress uniform, trying to keep herself calm. Almost under her breath: ]
Helljumper, Helljumper, where you been? Feet first into hell and back again.


>ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES


[ It's hard for Chyler not to feel self-conscious even in the anonymous press of the crowd. Her hair is just a pixie-cut memory of her long braid, her ordinary clothes a poor substitution for Corbulo's military accouterments. Normally she wouldn't even be out in the middle of a crowd like this--too dangerous, too vulnerable to attack--but she was going crazy in the safehouse with nothing to think about but where she was and how she got there.

She runs a hand through her hair every few minutes, like if she tries it enough, her pinned-up braid will come back. It doesn't exactly help her blend in, any more than the stiffness in her shoulders or the way she tries to look at everything at once. Not like she's trying to enjoy the sights. Far more like she's waiting for something around her to quite literally explode.

Eventually she finds her way to one of the food trucks, after her stomach makes its wishes known, and gets herself a plate of pasta and ground bug protein balls.

She takes her food toward a tiny corner where she can wedge her back against something and observe the crowd from the relative shelter of the joining between a building and a wall.

Too bad she trips over someone else's feet on the way there and starts to go down, food and all. ]



>THE NETWORK: chyler.silva<


What is Morningstar in this world, other than a destabilizing force? Do we know what they want from us? What benefit do they get from helping us this way?

Someone has probably asked these questions a long time before me, but I would like to know how people decided whether or not they were the ones to trust over the UN.

sor: (z06)

un: ava.silva

[personal profile] sor 2020-07-25 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Other than literally being named after the biggest fallen angel ever, I have no idea.

Also hey, person with the same last name as mine.

Dream sharing

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EXPLORE THE CHANGES

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festivities.

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gossipkinesis: (Default)

margo hanson - the magicians

[personal profile] gossipkinesis 2020-07-24 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)
network. un: bambi
Look, as much as I love a good Philip K. Dick-ian sci-fi heavy allegory, I'm not really into the whole living in a BSG/Blade Runner knock-off realm.

[ she lets out a frustrated breath, mostly because she's not super excited about going without magic again and making due with whatever power this city decided to give her.]

Anyone want to fill me in on where the best bars are? Nothing with a theme, please. And while you're at it, if the word Fillory means anything to you, hit me up.
Edited 2020-07-24 23:37 (UTC)
endlessflask: (167)

[personal profile] endlessflask 2020-07-24 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Fuck me. Am I hallucinating from the lack of nicotine or is it really you?

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@jon.snow

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@quentin.coldwater

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