TEST DRIVE MEME #013

[larkers]

> TEST DRIVE MEME #013

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 dropped off behind a bar run by previous arrivals who then direct them 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.

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 of a local sports bar by the name of Red Wings. What comes next is relatively straightforward: you're found by the employees at the bar, all of whom were once left in a similar situation to this one. You're brought down to a safehouse across town that's hidden underneath a soundproofed garage that's been kitted out for training purposes. You'll learn that you aren't among the first that this has happened to here. 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 by the names of Gaby and El 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.

Gaby and El will also make their purpose clear if asked: they are a part of Morningstar, a group dedicated to fighting corruption, tearing the capitalist oligarchy down to nothing, and trying to help make a better world. 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 POWERS. 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. In the past year, 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 has now been among the Displaced twice).

◉ 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 was originally thought of as the day that the burgeoning United Nations finally rescued humanity by eradicating the last known AI lifeforms. This act took place in 2101. However, recent circumstances have revealed that the United Nations had lied about this fact. For over four hundred years, they kept the AI Judas locked away in their military headquarters in New Beijing. During his enslavement, Judas was forced to create technology to serve the UN's purposes, helping turn their soldiers into a hivemind-like group that would always fall into line.

The Displaced know that there are more AI in the world. El, the Morningstar agent who helps create everyone's IDs, is one of them. This is a secret hidden away from the rest of Morningstar due to the massive anti-AI sentiments. The other is Cassius, a space exploration AI who brought chaos to the Displaced before switching sides to become their ally. None of this is known to the world at large.

Of course, El is linked to the war itself. El was formerly known as Elysian, the AI who accidentally kicked off the six-year-long Xelkoven War between humans and AI. Once a security unit, Elysian killed 50 households full of people as ze believed them all to be a threat. The war was ultimately 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 advised a method to put the AI down for good. Even though humanity lived on, artificial intelligence did not – save for the three aforementioned AI.

With all this coming out, people in this world aren't psyched to celebrate Resolution Day for the reasons they had been taught growing up. But they're still interested in a day to celebrate each other and humanity's survival.

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. These booths tell the United Nations' version of the history with zero reminders about what came out about Judas.

◉ 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. Even if they know the UN used Judas for centuries, it doesn't mean they're any less afraid of artificial intelligence: they've been raised to believe that all artificial intelligence was out to eradicate humanity.

> 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.

◉ 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. Hell, we even have a bestiary of some of what can be found. 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.

◉ SIMULATION. There aren't many AI left in the world, but the most notorious of them – Judas – definitely has an axe to grind. Once the leader of the AI effort as they sought to destroy humanity after countless AI were wiped out for humanity's "protection," Judas is now well aware that he's only one of three left in the world. Getting a little payback against people is only fair, isn't it? His favorite means was via a simulation, dragging people into a post-apocalyptic hellscape where humanity was forced to live underground and live out repetitive scenarios where they had no choice but to play along or feel like they couldn't survive. This stimulation interacts with the VR technology built into the neural implants, stimulating adrenaline and fear exactly when Judas wants it to do just that. Why? Oh, torture. Why not? Oddly enough, Judas doesn't create any facsimiles of other AI. He takes full ownership of what he puts people through once he takes control. Sure, Judas is a little screwy but after 400 years of captivity, no one can really blame him, can they?

◉ LEAD A REVOLUTION. Just because a world has free health care doesn't mean it's working for all of its citizens. Thanks to a variety of screwed up things over half a millenia ago, this world ended up permanently corrupt. Corporations act as training grounds for political positions, and while nobility is a thing of the past, wealthy families continue on thanks to the oligarchical stronghold that controls the world. Time to change some things up. Either by working with Morningstar or alone because of an urge to create some chaos, this world is ripe for change. Are you going to be the one to bring it about?

> 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!

> NAVIGATION

Comments

sam winchester | supernatural

[remorseful]

gimme a cold one (power practice)

[It doesn't take long for him to discover his power. Sam isn't too keen on the uncertainty, but he isn't one to leave a weapon behind that he can use for himself. Any avenue, any means available—he'll take it, so long as it doesn't involve hurting his brother in the process. That's just the way it goes. If Dean has a power, if Dean uses his power, so will he—even if he can't help but notice precisely how on the nose this one happens to be.

Which is ... cryokinesis. Because of course it is. He still remembers Lucifer announcing himself by freezing out an entire section of Detroit, hitting it hard with an unexpected cold front. He's not surprised. Dean's got some purification crap and Castiel can ... knock people out, apparently? Well, his only fits the pattern, in their weird messed up way.

So, yeah. He's practicing in the garage above the safehouse. His tools? A pair of growlers. He has a couple glasses near by to test how cold they got.]

Want some? [he asks when he hears shoes nearby. It's hard for anyone to sneak up on Sam. He steps in closer to the growlers and his chest starts to glow as his hand touches the first of them.] I don't know how long I have to hold it—but I—uh—[He pants a laugh.] I guess we'll see, won't we?

hunting things (monster prompt)

[Lore in this world is hard to come by.

Well, lore that's relevant to whatever the hell is going on, anyway. When all of it falls on Castiel and Dean's shoulders? That just reeks of trouble. Not that he doesn't trust them. He does. They grew up with their dad's journal, and it's been useful alongside everything from the Man of Letters. He trusts whatever they're putting out, but these monsters ...

Well, different types don't tend to run together. Not like this. Not without a cause. And they are different.

Right now? Knowing enough is the least of his concerns. He's sitting in an abandoned shop front trying to figure out how to lure the creepy crawlies over.]

If only there was some way to make a beacon of ourselves, some way to broadcast beyond what some of them can see. Maybe some ... I dunno, some soundwave of some kind. [He's thinking out loud. He's just also loading up one of his weapons. The usual things to have on hand (salt, iron, etc.) are missing. This is all gonna have to depend on his good aim.]

network (@jimmy.page)

Hey, I'm an associate of @robert.plant and @castiel.winchester. I was wondering if anyone would like to take a trip with me through some of the gates, and maybe even some of those ruins.

I'm hoping to shore up some of what we know. Check out some of the symbols you all have found in there.

Thanks. Let's get to work.

wildcard

[Anything else goes! I'm only up to season 10 in my watchthrough/rewatch, so that's his canon point for this TDM.]

hunting things;

[righteously]

[ Je-sus Christ is he bored. He's popped up on the counter where they kept the candy and tofu-something-grasshopper-jerky, a pile of compostable wrappers at his side, chewing like a cow on cud. He speaks with his mouth full: ]

Make a bacon of ourselves?

[ Clearly just tuning in, and only because he thought he heard the b word. Then audio-processing catches up, and he's back to being annoyed-slash-crestfallen. ]

I mean, you could always try howling.

gimme a cold one;

[unwings]

No, thank you. [ spoken with a mournful sigh as cas paces up, hands tucked in his coat pockets and eyes fixed curiously on the growlers in sam's hands. ] Being human again, I've found it takes very little to impair me.

[ remember that time he had one beer and was hammered? yeah, that's still where we're at. we're not proud of it, but it's the truth (the much more cost effective truth). dean's working on it.

he frowns thoughtfully, peering close at the surface of the growler under sam's right hand, as if expecting frost to splinter out across it. ]

It's activated instantaneously with Dean and I's abilities, but I doubt that's true for everyone.

[ a pensive murmur, and cas gets the urge to tap at it, see if the surface temperature's gone up. in case sam's power works much faster than he's anticipating, castiel decides that's probably a bad idea. he squints from sam's hands, back up to his face, and down again. ] Do you... feel anything?

❄️

[deadthenred]

No.

[ He watches the new guy handle the growlers, watches how the condensation clings to the glass, telltale. It's hard to miss what's happening, with the glowing, and everything. Bucky doesn't like the glow. He doesn't like anything about the powers here, really.

But instead of just standing there, arms crossed and face sour, after a minute he says something else. ]

That's my power, too.

Steve Harrington / Stranger Things (s2)

[acidwashjeans]

A. SAFEHOUSE

> totes coping
[ Steve's pretty sure this isn't the Upside Down. He's heard Nancy and Will talk about it, and he gets the feeling the spooky plus monster-filled factor should be ratcheted way up to twenty, rather than the whole.... grunge plus electronics on steroids vibe he's getting.

This observation isn't actually helping him process any of this, and Steve's slowly kind of freaking out about what the hell is going on, how he got here, and how the fuck he's going to get back. While the others in the safehouse are all probably safe and normal people, he doesn't exactly feel safe to just talk this shit out with them, so a lot of the time in the safehouse he's trying very hard to put on an air of being totally fine, totally on top of this, not at all freaked out.

Except for his hair. It's been fucking shaved off and that is not okay. You can catch him staring mournfully into a mirror with the saddest expression ever, or just, wherever he is, absently running his hands over the patchy stubble that's there. ]

> new powers (telekinesis)
[ Steve can't keep acting like he's fine all the time, so when things feel like they're getting too much he finds some space for himself and lets himself properly consider how fucked this is and how way out of his depth he is. Steve isn't one for crying or moping, so he really isn't keen to be found.

So, on suddenly hearing footsteps or a voice nearby, Steve's so startled he jumps. Right up onto the ceiling.



Which is so unexpected that he totally forgets he isn't trying to be found right now and swears loudly-- ]

Holy fucking shit!!

2. RESOLUTION DAY

> games and hanging out
[ Whatever game Steve's and his partner have just been playing (probably something requiring co-ordination and reflexes), they have kicked ass.

On exciting the VR game booth Steve's grinning to himself, and quickly goes to find his partner and high-five them. ]

Dude, that was awesome.

> history simluation
Hey, you don't want to try that one.

[ Steve doesn't know all the displaced yet, but he thinks recognises whoever's about to try one of the history vr simulations. ]

It's a total snooze-fest, nothing but dates and some old guy going on about the lessons we all should learn. It put me right to sleep worse than my Junior math teacher.

3. FIGHT CLUB

> who the fuck let an 18 year old into this fight club
[ Steve has heard the phrase 'big fish in a small pond' before, but he's never actually thought about it in relation to him until, ringside, he can see the full range of how tough some of the other guys here are.

It's thrilling being here, that's for sure, and even if he's getting the feeling that he doesn't want to be as tough a guy as the guys in the ring, he's genuinely impressed with how tough and strong they are.

However he got here, he's going to stick to talking to people he knows for sure are Displaced. He's not some straight-laced square, but neither does he have some kind of suicide wish. ]

These guys make big money, yeah?

4. NETWORK

@ steve.harrington

okay so, on the off chance I heard wrong, getting home from here isn't just a case of clicking my ruby red shoes together and telling myself there's no place like home, is it

games and hanging out

[variate]

[ Steve's partner is an awfully good shot. he even seems to have the modifications to the firearm down when they're left to choose bullet size and weight. this is one of the things he does to keep his skills sharp, because it's impossible to know when the next crisis will arise again.

he's hard to miss, sticking out even when he looks hard like he's trying to blend in: messy hair and dark rimmed (fake) glasses. when Steve walks up for a high five, though, he doesn't hesitate in reciprocating.

enjoy your momentary empathy bond, Steve. at least Ren's pretty happy. ]

...

You're not bad.

[ and he slides his hands into his pockets. ]

First time?

Steve Yeet

[notathreat]

[Steve's not the only one in the safehouse mostly keeping to himself; there's a girl around his age, wiry and scarred, with hair that's coming back a dark auburn.

She favors her clothes loose-fitting, usually keeps her hands in her pockets.

Today, she's got the same idea as him.

Ellie comes to one of the back rooms, seeking out some form of privacy, but rounds a corner a little too quick and nearly runs into him. Her sudden onslaught of swearing layers together with his.]

Jesus fucking christ-!

[And there is a heartbeat where Steve is in the air, and Ellie parses that drop underneath him, and yanks her hands out of her pockets like she's going to catch him.]

Fuck, nononono don't-

@julia.wicker

[hoolia]

that's the ongoing story, as far as i can tell

there's usually a way though, but i can't say it tends to be simple

Ellie || The Last of Us Part II

[notathreat]

► Mo'fucking Lasers

[It's a festival. The point of a festival is to have fun, apparently -- because the alternative to having fun is learning about the other way the apocalypse almost happened and Ellie is so, so fucking sick of learning about all the different ways humanity can destroy itself.

(Yes, she sat through a morning of existential dread and watched several people freak out on the VR machines pretending to fight in the robot war. It's a little too close to reality for her tastes.)

So instead, she's found laser tag. Problem is, she hasn't found a partner.

The first person to catch her eye who looks like they need to have a slightly better day gets her lifting her eyebrows, lifting up one of the laser guns in question.]

Look like you've had a shitty day. Spot's open. You in?


► What Club?

[Wouldn't be paradise without a seedy underbelly. Ellie's not the most savvy when it comes to the organized part of crime or rebelling, but none of the "job" prospects are looking like they cater to her skillset. She's super fucking ill-equipped for a world without guns or knives or horses or even paper. But she's still got her fists. The cover charge hurts, but it's worth it to check out what's happening, and if she's right then this is the hub that feeds through everything.

Ellie might be smaller than most, but she has bony elbows, and makes it to the ringside, peering in. It's close enough for blood to get on her clothes if she's not careful. As expected, a couple of beefy-looking guys are throwing down. They look slow, but strong.]

What're the rules? No-holds-barred situation, or what... holds are barred?


► Wildcard!

who knows what club, sam's never seen that movie.

[withmeinparadise]

[ Sam glances down at a girl who looks like she's more sinew than anything, thin-faced and determined. Is she really thinking about fighting? Sure, she's got a tough look to her, but there's not a lot to her. ]

Someone asks you about it after, you say you walked into a door.

[ It's a joke. Sort of. ]

lasers!

[remorseful]

Huh? [It's not that he's not alert, it's that what she says doesn't register with how he's thinking. Sam Winchester has one of those faces: perpetually troubled and uneasy, like the world is on his shoulders. Right now? Right now he's hoping he can get protein from things that aren't bugs. He doesn't mind the "rabbit food" like his brother, but there had to be a reason why humanity turned to insects (aside from the obvious being: easy to breed and high in protein).]

Oh, sorry. That's just my—[He indicates his face.] Still, you can't go in alone, huh? Sure, I'll join you.

[Laser tag isn't really his thing, but this is a way of learning about some of the technology in action. Dean would probably go wild, acting like a commando while taking it "seriously." Not him, but he's in for a good time.]

Between you and me, I'm a pretty good shot. Should we let our competition know, or let them be surprised?

mo'fucking lasers / charliiiiie it's been forever!! it's brie/kazu c:

[dumbjockenergy]

[ Adora happens to have the spectacular ability to look uncomfortable in most situations, so it's probably no surprise she's been chosen.

With a look down at the laser gun and then back at Ellie, she grins confidently. ]

Absolutely. Same team or against each other?

Julia Wicker | The Magicians

[hoolia]

AROUND TOWN

[ After getting her bearings (or as much as she's going to be able to do so anyway), Julia decides to go out for a walk. Get a sense of the place, make a mental map of sorts. See just how different this place is from her world. Soon enough she realizes that the answer is "just enough to be annoying" which shouldn't come as a surprise, but alas. ]

At least the air isn't all coked up here... I think.

[ Actually, that might even make things better. ]

As long as there's no whimsical goat gods...

[ Yes, this is totally the kind of out loud stuff she wants to be say to herself in public. Not that she cares. ]

FOOD TRUCKS

Aw.

[ Picture, if you will, a very dejected Julia. Turns out there is a hot dog food truck. Only one. Also the one food truck with a line that's longer than the rest combined. Those are probably the real deal, she thinks. ]

If I get in the line right now I'll probably get to the front just in time for... dinner...

[ So she takes a tentative step forward. ]

TEXT

julia.wicker:

i'm looking for people with transdimentional travel experience. have you been to other worlds? come talk to me, let's compare notes

also, any gods/former deities around?

finally, if fillory means something to you then yeah, we should totally catch up

ps: my kingdom for a pack of smokes

WILDCARD

[ Julia is totally going to wander, so feel free to run into her wherever! PM me ~beoluve on plurk if you wanna hash out details. ]

text (@jimmy.page)

[remorseful]

[Sam will eventually know more about the whole dimensional and worldhopping experience down the line. He's not quite there yet. Still, he spots this, and can't help but respond.]

I've got some experience. Sounds like you have a lot more than me, though.

I can't help but respond to the stuff about the gods, too. Not that you'd include me in that camp. You shouldn't. But I've got some experience with them, too.

joe | the old guard

[malta]

𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 —

Hmm.

[ the technology here is aasimovian, creating an immersive experience, but joe doesn't particularly like it. he misses the sight and sound and smell of libraries. he knows he will grow used to it the way he had grown used to pressing a phone off instead of slamming the receiver down (rip) or the glorious invention of the microwave that caused nicky to lose his shit every time booker nuked a frozen pizza.

he waves off an attempt to get him to partner up for a war simulation. ]

No, no thanks.

𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 —

[ despite being nearly a millennia old, monsters are new. it is easy to find novel experiences in the world as everyone in the world is their own distinct person, but it is hard to really throw joe for a loop. monsters are loop inducing. in any case joe is accustomed to unforeseen circumstances and he takes to fighting monsters with gusto, scimitar swinging gracefully. habit, maybe. ]

You know, I once fought a war alongside a bear, [ he calls out, bright smile on his expression despite, you know.

the monsters. ]

𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥 —

( idk hit this birch up @ joe.jones it's totally his name, go where your heart takes you, anyway here's wonderwall )

ahh MONSTERS

[remorseful]

[For him, monsters are commonplace. Not like this. His monsters usually have a human flair to them, as well as the ability to monologue endlessly. They like the sound of their own voices.

Sam figures that just having to take a headshot is better than hearing someone go on. You know, unless they have something to say that's worth listening to. He'll listen if he can. He just knows right now that "if he can" doesn't work well here. Nothing to hear.

Except for the bear remark. He lowers his shotgun for the moment, turning ever so slightly toward Joe.] Was it domesticated?

ava reid . original

[scifis]

THE SAFEHOUSE

[ Whatever else it is, this isn't Earth by any route she's ever arrived at it. Either she's pissed all over the timeline or she isn't in Kansas anymore, but for as much as all signs point to the latter there's still a certain inescapable dread to be found in the visibility of a small patch of skin at the base of her right ring finger.

Nevermind. She'll do something about it when there's something to be done. For now, temporary imprisonment puts paid to that, and she'll have to make the best of it.

She's leaning back on a kitchen countertop, hands wrapped around a cup of the best approximation of breakfast tea she could manage and blowing steam from over the rim when somebody minding their own business gets it in their head to make use of the shared space. She watches them on the approach, greeting with a brief smile but otherwise leaving them to get on with it for a quiet moment or two if they don't throw in the first word.

It's short-lived. Not so very long after they've busied themselves with the beginnings of preparing breakfast, or hunting down some juice, or choosing a cup of their own to partake in some tea, she pipes up. ]

Don't suppose you'd mind if we shook hands, would you?

[ The benefit of being down here is that they're all in the same position. Which means they all have the same affliction. Which makes this one of many ideal opportunities to get in a little friendly test run of their apparent ability to connect. ]


THE NETWORK

@ ava.reid

How many of you have called Earth home before?


RED WINGS

[ Sitting in a Red Wings booth, gaze unfocused and thumb idly rubbing at the skin at the base of one of her fingers as she flits through reams of information on her implant, Ava lifts a loose hand to summon a server.

She may or may not know that's not how it works here, but there's somebody walking by and she needs a top up, so. ]

[ Alternatively, if the flagging hand isn't enough and she's passed by, she'll follow it up with an - ] Excuse me.



THE STREETS

[ Later, she can be found strolling the city, paying particular attention to detail. Sometimes she stops by to run her thumb over the material of a bench or a wall, or pauses by a parked hovercar to walk steady circles around it, inspecting from every angle.

She may well stop dead in the street with little to no awareness of the people around her, tilting her head this way and that as she stares off at some broken building or gaggle of people, taking slow steps back for the perfect frame.

If nothing else, the city is new territory. New technology to play with. May as well see what there is to see and find out what it can do. ]

julia.wicker

[hoolia]

don't we all?

wait, don't we all? we got aliens and stuff?

andy — the old guard

[scythias]

▶ 01. FOOD TRUCKS

---

( in her very, very long life, andy's never been served something quite like the thing she has in her hands. she thinks there's some meat underneath all the...extraneous things that adorn the piece. it's heavy and smells both sweet and savory and andy's not really sure if she wants to eat it or just stare at it.

she supposes that'll teach her to not approach a food truck and ask them for the daily special. she's pretty sure that if she eats this, it's going knock some years off her now mortal life. so, she carries it around, knowing it makes her look odd but not caring.

when she comes upon a pair who look hungry, she finally unloads the dish with a smile and a nod. she tells the pair that to eat it slow so they don't get stomachaches before she leaves them with the food.

the next time she's at a food truck, she makes a vow to get something familiar. maybe a salad or something. or just water. can't go wrong with water.

smiling to herself, she heads off into the thick of the crowd. )

▶ 02. FIGHT CLUB

---

( she isn't fighting, not yet, at least. instead, andy stands back, sitting by herself with a clear view of the ring to get a sense of just who exactly has skill and who's a pretender.

what she finds out is that most of the people that pass over the threshold of this place know how to fight. some are brawlers, some are technical but all of them know what they're doing.

sparring's one of those things that she'd done with her team time and time again and she misses it. she misses being able to toss someone around and then helping them up, a smile on her face. it had become such a normal part of her life that even the shroud of mortality isn't enough to make her want to quit.

in fact, it makes her want to do it more. but, not yet. for now, she's enjoying watching and sizing different people up. occasionally, people pass by, giving her looks and quietly speaking to each other which she takes to mean she's unfamiliar and they're curious.

andy let's them be curious. she keeps her attention on the rings. )

▶ 03. NETWORK UN: ANDY.SMITH

---

Does anyone know where I can get an axe?

( she has preferences, all right. )

▶ 04. WILDCARD

---

( feel free to throw anything else at me. i'm at spoonishly if you have questions. )

@joe.jones

[malta]

Did you take my husband's last name?

[ gpoy; this is my husband and this is my husband's common law non-sexual platonic life partner who is also mine. ]

booker | the old guard

[livrer]

❚❚❚❚❚ history lessons

[ The first step in taking any job is doing the research, understanding the setting, the context, the agenda, the entrances and the escape routes. Booker treats his time here like a job, not because he's got anything (or, lets face it, anyone) particular to go home to, but because it keeps him from wandering into some nearby drinking hole and spending the rest of his very long, miserable life there.

So he's out today, stubble only a day or so old and not the beard he might otherwise unintentionally be working towards, dressed in dark clothing and looking more or less nondescript. Find him as he makes an effort to avoid the sample booths and generally any area where a crowd might gather — either for free prizes, or volunteering opportunities, the food, the games — and wanders towards the lesser crowded stands promoting an education about the festivities, the history behind them.

Well, it's not a bad place to start, just a newbie here to soak in the atmosphere and maybe give his neural app a try. It's too bad he's an old man with a love/hate relationship with technology, because it takes some time before he can get the video to work. Maybe now would be a good time to offer him a quick tip about how to use this world's tech, especially when he's mumbling horrible profanities in French under his breath. ]


❚❚❚❚❚ displaced vs displaced

[ These days Booker goes through about three typical moods: exhaustion, depression, and anger. Not in any particular order, and none of them so outright as to cause a disturbance or bring any attention to himself. (That would be the last thing someone who prefers to slip in through the shadows, unnoticed, would want.) But today he's been drinking (well, that's not actually new), and not entirely by any fault of his own, his feelings of frustration and pain are exacerbated by the strange monster gas in the air of the New Amsterdam. In fact, it's almost hard to control — and why would he want to control it when he just wants it gone?

If you just so happen to brush past him in a rush as he half-stumbles down the street, in something of a 'come at me bro' stance, Booker taps at his chest, feeling the burn of the aggression and grief and guilt and everything else within him roil up like an unstoppable wave. ] You can try all you want, but I will not die so easily. [ He gets very French when he's angry, and he's itching for a fight right now, everyone else be damned. He takes a swig from his flask, all depressed cool guy. ] Come on, huh?


❚❚❚❚❚ network ( un: @ sebastien.booker )

Is it possible to get a proper book around here?

[ Yes, come at him with all of your 'username checks out' comments. ]


❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard

[ ooc: if none of the above piques your interest, drop a thing below or give me a shout over on thwip or PM me and we can plot something entirely different! ]

pvp in the street

[chocolateries]

[ it isn't silena that the man runs into, because even with a rage virus, she is so small and delicate looking that grown men find themselves ill-equipped to pick a fight with her. it is silena, however, who shoves her tiny frame between them, pressing the other displaced back until she can hold up her hands between them. her fingers hover millimeters from booker's chest. ]

This is all very macho toxic masculinity and I'm sure it's super fun for everyone involved and not just deeply boring. Please don't make me fight you both, your egos will wither.

[ being beat by a little girl would be a blow, to be sure. she her eyes cut between them both, bright blue and intense, baby blue ribbon just barely holding the curls back from her face like a headband. she looks like a stiff wind could knock her over but it is also clear this teenage girl is absolutely sure of herself and her ability to wreck them.

it's going to be a pain to empathy bond the rage virus out of them so she is hoping she can just... badger them into not fighting with her or each other. it did not work in west side story, but. ]

Blue Sargent | TRC

[findthefuture]

>> EXPLORE THE CHANGES
[The trees around Blue stretch up to the sky, creating a canopy above her head where only flickers of blue can be seen between the leaves. Sunshine — warm and golden — floods tree trunks and gnarled roots and rocks covered in lichen on the forest floor. It’s light that obeys no law of physics or logic. With no obvious source, it casts no shadows. It just is. Around her the leaves of the trees rustle, shaken by a soft breeze that Blue cannot feel.

It sounds like voices. Not one, or a couple, but as many as there are trees in the forest.

hello. hello. hello. hello.

Say the trees.

Her name is threaded in there, barely heard underneath the chorus of greetings — English flowing into Latin flowing into the secret language of trees — but woven into the tapestry so tightly it’s almost a portrait of her.

It feels like a dream.

But then again, Cabeswater always feels like a dream.

Blue braces her hands against tree trunks as she climbs over broken and scraggly rocks covered by giant and gnarly roots. Each tree trunk she touches glows a dim blue and she’s filled with a kind of calm no human life span would ever hope to achieve. It’s the kind of calm born out of hundreds of years of growth, and slow flowing sap, and leaves falling and budding anew.

Blue doesn’t know where she’s going, but she’ll know when she’s arrived.

It’s the kind of summer’s day that wraps around you. Not sticky. Just firmly present in its warmth. The sun shines warmly on the nape of Blue’s neck, it caresses the back of her hands as her palms curve against rough bark.

If someone asked Blue what she did this morning, what she means to do this evening, or how she arrived at the edge of the forest, she wouldn’t be able to tell them. But there’s no one around to ask so the lack of an answer goes unrealized. A potential lost.

It might be hours or days that she spends walking the winding paths of the forest, or it might only be minutes, before she arrives at the clearing.

A giant, hollowed out tree stands guard over a pond of clear water sparkling with the directionless sunlight. Somewhere in the corner of her eyes, a rusted out car has nearly been overtaken by the moss and ivy. The burnt orange of its paint almost completely covered by the green.

The strange slow calm radiating from Blue’s palms and through her entire body glitches. It’s sharp and sudden. The trees bleeding black from trunks and leaves, and the rustled voices turn to sorrow. Then the sunlight is back, dappled with green, the tree trunks normal. Calm restored.

The ground is soft beneath her as she lays down next to the pond, her fingertips playing across the surface of the water, her body pillowed on leaves and the sweet scent of fresh grass tickling her nose. She thinks of flowers shaped like stars, and pink petals begin to drift through the air. Summoned by her thoughts and given shape by the magic of the forest.

It might be hours or days, or it might be only minutes, that she lies there — watching the sky through the leaves, feeling little silver-bodied fishes nibbling at her fingertips — before the calm is disrupted again. This time by a thought.

Blue is alone.

That’s not right.

Blue doesn’t know what alone feels like.

It twists at her chest, the newness of the feeling, the rootlessness of it. Maybe she thinks too hard, feels too much, because there’s a swirl of something and a dark shape begins to take form in the middle of the clearing. Like the rose petals earlier.

Blue pushes up into sitting, her fingertips wet and her palms stained by the grass.]

Are you real or did the trees make you for me?

[A perfectly valid question, though five years ago Blue herself wouldn’t have thought so.]


>>AT THE SAFEHOUSE
[Blue is angry.

It’s not an uncommon occurrence by any means. Anger is an old friend. The kind who don’t even have to knock anymore. It just walks straight in the front door, and kicks off its shoes on the way in.

A lot of things make Blue angry.

A non-exhaustive list would include someone stealing the bathroom right as it was her turn, the milk left out on the counter over night, potential stymied by circumstance, the kind of customer who looks straight through their waitress, pollution, the inequity of society, arrogance, and Orla.

This anger is different.

It’s taking a tree, with strong roots stretching deep below the dirt, and chopping it off at waist high. It’s taking that tree and carrying it away from everything that it knows, until it’s no longer on the same continents as the roots it was severed from. Until it’s separated by time and space from everything that it’s ever known.

That’s the first cut, and the deepest. The others may as well be paper cuts in comparison.

Blue runs a hand over the knotted curls that stick close to her scalp. It feels strange. Another thing to be angry about perhaps. A log to toss onto the blazing bonfire.

Blue thinks she might never be not angry again.

In the small kitchen of the warehouse, she keeps opening cabinets and then slamming them shut again, the anger spilling over into her motions like hot liquid sloshing over the edges of a cup and scalding everything it touches.]

What kind of society doesn’t have coffee? [The question isn’t directed at anyone, but it’s spoken out loud at the very moment the sound of foot steps behind her makes Blue aware she isn’t alone anymore.

They told her, the people who brought her down to the safehouse. But she had to make sure for herself. Maybe, she thought, it was one of those practical jokes people like to play on newcomers. Tell them there’s no coffee on this world/planet/hellscape and watch them go through caffeine withdrawal for weeks before they figure out the lie.]

Do you think it’s religious, ethical, or scarcity of resources?

[This question is more pointed, and Blue turns towards the other presence in the kitchen, expression clearly demanding answers.]


>> THE NETWORK
@ blue.sargent
I need a favor. Anyone with an easy to show off, but clearly limited power interested in meeting up? I want to test a theory about my own power.


> WILDCARD
Choose your own adventure!

Safehouse

[notathreat]

[The safehouse doesn't feel safe and it isn't a house. The misnomer is one of those little things that have lodged down under Ellie's skin, and it's plain that she's not the only one with a temper running high, an incongruence that periodically messes with her reality.

Everybody deals with trauma differently, from tears to anger to total detachment. For some it happens all at once and for others it's a slow burn, but everyone always hits their breaking point.

Ellie's had hers away from Blue, but she's watched the other young woman touch her hair before, knows it must have been much longer before these well-meaning people shaved them both down, cut open their skulls while they were unconscious. Ellie's own hair is a soft down of deep auburn, and the shortness of it emphasizes the sharper angles of her face. She's been watching Blue tear through the kitchen, opening and re-opening cabinets. She means to hold her breath and walk on by, wrapped up in the strange tingling power that means nobody else can see her, but Blue hears her footsteps, and Ellie quickly draws a breath as she turns around.

Visible again, caught out. And wearing an entirely inappropriate smile, because Blue's outburst reminds her of somebody, and she's torn between the horrible urge to laugh and the unreachable urge to cry.]

Fuck if I know.

[Ellie's voice comes out soft and raspy, and she fights the smile off her face. It probably doesn't look too sympathetic.]

What kind of society doesn't have a pencil and paper?

Isabela | Dragon Age

[reallybighat]

> SETTLING IN (POWER TESTING)

Isabela was entirely bored of the safehouse, and lit out every chance she got. Today she'd wandered her way back to the little bar she'd first been unceremoniously dumped at previously, and plopped herself down on a stool. The people who worked there all seemed to be Displaced, like her - which was a terrible name, and someone should have said that before they started throwing it around everywhere. Which meant she could likely talk someone into buying her a drink, and not worry about the blue glow her chest gave off that made her ears itch now and then. She knew it tied into the powers speech they'd given her, but Isabela had honestly started listening to only every third word or so somewhere in the middle of all the explaining. Words weren't about to make this place make sense to her, so she might as well learn it for herself, not someone else's opinions on it.

She was starting to figure this out though, and wasn't sure how she felt about it yet, aside from strange. "You there, what was your name again," she said suddenly, waving a hand in the face of a Displaced she vaguely recognized who had the misfortune of being near her. "Tell me a whopper, would you? Like my eyes are purple or the roof just fell down or something. Just lie your head off for a second."

> ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES (FOOD TRUCKS AHOY)

There wasn't a lot that was familiar about this world, aside from a few faces. It was loud and it was fast moving. There wasn't nearly enough sea at all near to where she was, she didn't have a ship, no one seemed to understand the importance of gold or jewelry, and there were far too many noises she couldn't identify the sources of. Even her most reliable resource, herself, couldn't be counted on, since she had light-up tits, a new ear for hearing when someone was completely full of it, and even the most passing of touches could lead to emotional overshare Isabela had no interest in handing out unsolicited. So there wasn't a lot to count on.

But a party - food, booze, and people looking for a good time - however strange it might look, that was always going to make sense to Isabela. It didn't matter how different people might look, or where they were from, scratch just a bit beneath the surface and all of them wanted to drink, to eat, to fuck, to forget about everything that wasn't the other three, or some mix of those. And that Isabela could understand, even if the food did come in those "trucks".

She wandered from truck to truck, picking bits here and there - sometimes nicked from someone else's plate - and trying everything that didn't smell like it'd died and rotted a week before they'd put it on to cook. Isabela had a sailor's iron stomach, she'd eat almost anything.

She found a stall that had fancy little shaped bits of meat, fruit, and vegetables cut into ... animal shapes and served on skewers? Maybe? She squinted at a piece of fruit and then looked up at the person nearest her. "What do you think? Dog, or very sad bear?" she asked, pointing at the fruit bit impaled on the stick. "And what fruit is that, since it's orange, but not AN orange, which means I'm out of ideas."

> CRIMINAL ACTIVITY (RINGSIDE CHAT)

Around the darker edges of New Amsterdam, Isabela felt almost at home. Not in any REAL sense - since this place remained completely beyond her understanding in any real way, so she just trundled along through it without trying to force it to make sense completely. But there was a familiar look to people around here. A shiftiness to their eyes, a bark to their voice when they didn't want to talk. Yes, these were her people. Give her a ship and a hat and she could probably round them up and whip a few into shape as crew. The dregs usually did manage to spot each other left to their own devices.

She settled for prowling her way through, ducking out of sight whenever her new, glowy assets made themselves known but using that itch to her ear to make a few notes for herself, here and there. It wasn't long before she spotted a burly type or two who seemed fit fighters and were looking pointedly like they WEREN'T looking at something. Isabela trailed them and found herself at a fight ring. Well, outside of it, but it wasn't hard to sniff out what it was.

She'd fought in a few of those, in her younger days when she had things to prove to herself. But since then she'd learned that most of the money was to be made off of the drunken, bloodthirsty louts watching. They were always quicker to lose their purse or offer up a word or two of information they wouldn't have otherwise if they were too busy watching a fighter have a go in the pit. It was like stealing off of someone when they were with a whore - but easier, since she didn't have to give the whore a share.

Isabela managed to worm her way in with some fast talking and pointed flirting and walked her way over to plunk down by the bar, taking a seat near enough to see the action, but close enough to hear the bartender and whoever they chatted with, too. "Money's on the littler one, he's hungrier for it," she said cheerfully to whoever cared to listen, leaning back on her elbows to watch and surreptitiously checking for manacle marks at the fighters' wrists and ankles or throats. She hadn't seen any sign of slaves so far, but that didn't mean there wasn't any and more than a few of these kinds of fights had been people sending in their slaves to fight for them, of the ones she'd seen in the past. It was a nasty business. But they just seemed like two fighters out to make some coin, and that Isabela could respect just fine.

> THE NETWORK

@ admiral.isabela
So am I doing this right? Oh I am, look at that. And just anyone with one of these can see this? What are the little pictures? They're perfect. Look. ⛵ ☠️ 🌊 ⚓

Testing, testing~

[notathreat]

The bar was almost like a hub for the Displaced, especially this bar. Ellie had been one of the people dropped off on the truck alongside Isabela, though they hadn't spoken yet -- Ellie had intentionally hung back from the others at first, the kind of guarded stillness that spoke to someone who had lived in constant mortal danger for an extended period of time.

Slowly, though, she'd planted her feet, and a few people had even seen her smile.

Isabela's being there didn't startle her, but the gesture had her fingers curling in her pocket until she identified it as friendly -- and the question as something that threw her entirely of guard.

"Ellie," she said, blinking a few times, but unable to resist the appeal of the question. Someone asking her to lie?

So she thought for a moment, turning in her barstool to size Isabella up with a smile that shaved off years -- Ellie couldn't be more than twenty.

"My name is Dr. Daniela Star," she said, a grin streaking across her face. "I'm an interstellar smuggler."

jimmy olsen | dc comics

[jimmies]

01. SETTLING IN

[ Another day, another interdimensional kidnapping plot. Life just doesn't stop for award winning photographer turned ViewTube clickartist James "Jimmy" Olsen. Fellow kidnap-ees and assorted basement dwellers might find Jimmy, shockingly ginger, waving his hands in front of his face, like he's checking for something.

He frowns, and tries snapping his fingers. But no, that was never his gimmick. Whatever he's trying to summon, it doesn't work.

But a journalist never shies away from tough questions, so, if he's interrupted, or stared at, or happened upon, he asks: ]

Are you sure we only get one power?

[ Just wondering. ]


02. CRIMINAL ACTIVITY

[ But what's that? It seems like our upstanding protagonist, Jimmy "Jimberly" Olsen, is in trouble! He's certainly attempting to start this hoverbike with all apparent haste, responsibly warning any passerby of the clear and upcoming danger. ]

Hey, you might want to get out of here. [ Somehow, even in the far future, our pal Jimphony has acquired a bowtie, which looks especially smart as he glances over his shoulder, nervous. ] Things are gonna get sticky. I can give you a ride if you want.

[ Probably. He kicks the hoverbike, but it doesn't start. It also doesn't belong to him. ]


03. NETWORK @james.olsen

ok, let's start with the classics:
who would win in a fight, superman or batman?

hint: if u say batman, ur wrong


04. WILDCARD
[ Feel free to wildcard or hmu elsinore to plot. Prose is also okay, I'll match format. ]

un: wingknight

[covert]

Depends. Fist fight, weapons allowed, or is it who can keep up the silent treatment longest?

homelander | the boys

[laserbeams]

> a. settling in (or not)

[ Homelander has never felt so vulnerable before, and he's already sick of it. He doesn't like this scar on the back of his head. He's not happy that they shaved his hair. Looking in the mirror and seeing tiny scars from needles when there's no way any needle should have been able to pierce him gives him no shortage of distress.

All things considered, he's still better off than an ordinary human. He has some remnant of his strength and durability, though it's nothing compared to what it used to be, and they were kind enough to leave him one power.

Still, he can't help but feel like a predator that's been turned into prey, and adjusting to unpleasant circumstances isn't his strong suit.

He's so stressed that the implant in his chest is constantly glowing, trying to access power that is no longer there, or firing off his one remaining power against his will. ] How do I turn this damn thing off?

[ He finally decides to strike up a conversation with one of his fellow Displaced, because eventually he's going to have to leave the safehouse and he doesn't want to be glowing all the time. ]

> b. organized crime / goon fighting

[ Who did this goon work for, and what did he do to make Homelander aware of his criminal activities? That's not important.

What is important is that Homelander successfully pinned him down to the ground with both arms behind his back. Normally he wouldn't need backup, but, well, this isn't normal. ]

Hey! Help me bring this punk in, will you?

[ Is he still playing the good hero part, or did he just want an excuse to beat someone up? A little of both. ]

> c. network (@ john.doe)

Just out of curiosity: did most of you have powers before you got here, or is this new to you?

> wildcard

[ anything goes, or feel free to hit me up by PM or at dandymott to plot! also as a general note: his current canon point is at the end of S1, so don't worry about S2 spoilers. ]

a

[freightcars]

[ The displaced next to him is one inscrutable metal-armed guy who tracks eyes over Homelander for a few seconds before he answers. It just so happens he's recently lost one particularly swol blonde haired, blue eyed best friend. It's a little painful to look at someone and clock the similarities.

But he internalizes it all well enough, comes across as calm and discerning when he finally answers. ]

Depends.

[ Helpful, right? He tips his head toward Homelander's chest. ]

It goes off if you're using your powers, if you're touching someone's skin, or if you're trying to use something you don't have anymore. I'd say the second one's out, so.

[ First or third thing's the key. ]

harley quinn | dceu

[puddingcups]

Settling in (cw: violence, blood)

[ Most people would be bothered by the sudden forced change of scenery -- and sure, Harley had absolutely hated that she'd been drugged up and the haircut -- but she wasn't flipping her lid... At least, not anymore. There had been a lot of "The fuck is this?!" at her hair and the new scars. But at the end of the day, it had been a million times better than Arkham, so, she tried to roll with it.

Hell, she'd managed to snag herself a job as a trainee bartender without anyone making her pinky promise not to sample the goods. Her degree and awesome style got her the best tips.

The only sucky part was all the hubbub about powers. She didn't get any fancy Wonder Woman powers. Maybe it was just her luck that her power decides to manifest during one stressful night of bartending where she'd had to kick two guys twice her size out = one had the audacity to send a punch her way. So, naturally, she'd had the audacity to knee him in the nuts so hard he'd thrown up outside the bar. At least the rest of the bar found it absolutely hilarious and amusing.

She doesn't realise the blood dripping down her nose, past her lips, and down her chin. It's only after the sudden soft plink, plink, plink of blood against the plastic material of her shirt, and one of the bar goers gesturing to his own nose that she wipes at it. When the back of her hand returns bloody, she rolls her eyes and sinks down lower behind the bar until not even the top of her head can be seen.

Her pale hand searches behind the extra lemons, looking for a towel. That's when her chest begins glowing much to her surprise. ]

What the... [ She ignores the alert that she's just gotten a tip, not focused on money at the moment. ] Tits? What are you doing? [ The words are whispered to herself as she stares down aghast at her glowing chest. When it finally seems to settle down and her boobs don't try to blast off to space without her, she blindly grabs a handtowel and wipes at her nose, lips, chin, and then at her shirt. "Shirt" being a very generous word for the soft fabric lined pieces of yellow CAUTION tape wrapped around her chest. Maybe it was her lucky day, blood would have been a bitch to get out of the other top she almost wore.

When she stands back up, it's to fix her lipstick in the reflection of the faucet. Finally her attention is brought to the new person sitting in front of the bar and checking the tip alert. ] Hiya! What can I getcha? [ Holy guacamole, who tipped her that many credits?! ]

Festival

Oooh, my GOD! [ Harley moans loudly, before collapsing down in some of the public seating. She doesn't care how many heads she's turned, or how obscenely annoying she's being.

All that matters is the burrito she brandishes up high. ] I wanft tmf marry you! [ A loud sigh escapes her and she clutches the burrito to her cheek, getting a red sauce on it as she nuzzles the glorious food. ]

Hey! Foodguy, call me! [ It's shouted to the food vendor. A passerby gives her an ugly look and Harley returns it and sticks her tongue out at them. ]

Next is Pad-Thai... Or maybe the couscous truck. [ She takes another bite. ]

Fight Club (cw: violence)

[ Oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, it's outside of Fight Club that Harley get into a fight. She's behaving, minding her own business, waiting for the hot bouncer to let her in when the two guys in front of her attack the person manning the door. Where they had been hiding their weapons was beyond her, or why they thought it was a good idea. Bouncers generally beat the hell out of people in her experience.

Honestly, she has no plans to intervene, and neither does the rest of the line, even as one of the guys gets a hit on the bouncer with something that looks suspiciously like a crowbar. ] Owwie, that looked like it hurt. [ Harley lazily keeps a running commentary. It isn't until the other guy attacking the bouncer pulls out something she assumes is a gun from the way he's holding it.

A heavy sigh escapes her before she's moving to slam her body into the gunman and shoving him to make him stumble. ] If you shoot me, I'm going to make you wish you never even learned the word gun!

[ He isn't given a chance to aim it at her due to an impressive kick, that sends it flying. ] What did I say?!

Wildcard

Wildcard me, or feel free to hit me up at susrien

f i g h t c l u b

[monomachy]

[Diana doesn't usually pay a visit to the fighting rings. They aren't exactly her scene. But she's received a tip tonight on a crime boss she's been tracking for a while, and it's too good to pass up. So she's called in a few favors, dressed the part of a high-rolling VIP, and arrived just after the first few fights. Things shouldn't be too rowdy, she thinks; that doesn't usually happen until later in the evening.

Except when she arrives, bypassing the line and heading right to the door courtesy of said favor, there are two men attacking the bouncer. And blocking her way. She hears a woman giving a play-by-play of the fight, but Diana ignores her as she walks a little faster so she can break this up before it escalates--

--And there's a gun. Escalation complete. But before she can get any closer, the woman (whose voice is suspiciously familiar) is suddenly a part of the fray, kicking the weapon out of the thug's hand as he makes to aim it at her. The crowd has finally shifted enough that Diana can see who it is, and cold shock makes her freeze in place for a moment as the scuffle continues. But then she's dashing forward, twisting her hand into the back of the would-be gunman's jacket so she can yank him backwards, putting her right in front of a very, very familiar face. She'd seen it all over Bruce's HQ screens more times than she can count.]

Harley?

John Blake | The Dark Knight Rises

[oversight]

NETWORK_ @ robin.null

Any other puzzlers out there?

6 letters: one after another
13 letters: defector (pl.)
10 letters: displaying resolve
6 letters: Wayne's World
9 letters: opposer of authoritarian state

(DIS)ORGANIZED CRIME_

[ He wouldn't call it an operations center, per se, but there's something slightly more organized here than the loose association of thieves, gamblers, hustlers, and muscles for hire Blake had skirted past elsewhere in this part of city. Rundown and ragged, it's reminiscent of home in a way that brings him back day after day, insistent in his interest of unraveling the greater story behind what keeps these syndicates running.

In this part of town, dressed down and appropriately ruffled around the edges, he collects information in the expected ways: tossing low-stakes dice, losing a little at three-card, hanging around the contemporary versions of speakeasies begging up whatever he can muster with a some manner of fast talk and ill gotten gains.

For a while it works, but it's a version of sim-swap that gets him clocked and he should honestly know better. But being at a technological disadvantage compared to the locals — hundreds of years behind for all intents and purposes — the moment he tries to pass off a piece of equipment as something it's not, he's outed like a boner in sweatpants.

He's skilled enough in the art of the tousle, throwing a few punches (and taking a few of his own), but Blake's much better at wriggling his way out of tough situations with street smarts and some particularly decent stealth maneuvers. Trouble being, where there's a practical army on the lookout, it's a hell of a lot harder to dip into a place made of nothing but shadows.

At some point during this escape, he's shedding an outer layer, shrugging off a thick jacket that's making him easier to identify. There's a streak of red he's messily and ineffectively wiped away with it, now smeared along his jawline, and he's scoping for vehicles as he smoothes his wild hair into something less mudlarkish.

A keen eye (or anyone else who might be visiting this side of town undercover) might be able to recognize the convergence of practiced calm meeting frantic displacement as Blake tries to grapple with this new world. ]

DREAMSHARE_

[ Blackness, near pitch in color.

Damp. Dank. Must and body odor (maybe worse) a thousand times over. The smell of desperation clinging in the air.

Drip, drip, drip.

Echoing moans and whispers and rumbling stomachs. Bodies everywhere underfoot. Like a battlefield, but nothing of the sort. No one dead. Alive with despair. Never ending. Minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years into—

Overhead, a circle of blinding light: a beam of white to burn upturned eyes. Flooding beams in the dakrness.

Whoever's been unlucky enough to find themselves here is laden in gear: A gun, a belt, scuffed boots, a vest. The badge is the heaviest, like a ten-pound crest pinned to the breast. All around, thousands of uniforms all the same, but every face turned away, not a single one to be seen.

Above, too many feet up to do any good, the silhouette of John Blake is reaching down, desperately stretching. ]

Give me your hand!

WILDCARD_

[ Also open to: empathy bond, new powers, food trucks, games, general shenanigans. Anything goes! ]

@bellamy.blake

[jettisons]

Bored, huh?

Callisto | Xena: Warrior Princess

[myfavoritemurder]

SETTLING IN; 1-2 days after arrival; cw: minor self-harm

[It's better than Tartarus, Callisto decides very soon after arrival. Much better, really. But that doesn't mean that she likes it. The clothing feels strange, for one thing; they cover up more than she's used to, and yet they feel strangely insubstantial. Just minutes after waking up, before she even properly knows what's going on, she rips off the sleeves of her long-sleeved cotton t-shirt, tucking the fabric into the waistband of her jeans (and yes, she hates those, too) for safekeeping.

Still, she listens carefully to the explanations that are given to her and the rest of the new arrivals (and impatiently barks questions when she hears something she needs clarification on, which happens often), then heads off to thoroughly explore the safehouse. The kitchen gets the most attention; she can be found pulling food item after food item out of the cabinets and fridge, examining them closely. She's not a picky eater - far from it - but much here is completely unfamiliar to her, and even the stuff that isn't is packaged in unexpected ways.

She ends up having some crackers, two slices of bread, and a can of sardines for dinner, once she figures out how to open said can. The noise she makes while slamming it into the edge of the counter might draw some attention.

Later that evening, she claims a cot and camps out on it, alternating between picking irritably at the fabric of her jeans and digging at the scar on the back of her head with her fingernails. There's no way doing this doesn't hurt, and she'll even draw a bit of blood, but she doesn't seem to mind either.]

THE NETWORK; 3-4 days after arrival (@ callisto.callisto)

Somebody tell me how to get the neural implant out of my head. I want to look at it.

I'll put it back afterwards.

[To someone with very little understanding of internal anatomy or advanced medicine, this seems like a perfectly reasonable proposition. She understands that it's useful to the point of necessity here, and she doesn't want it gone completely. But they had to get it in there somehow, so she figures she'll just... pop it out for a little bit, examine it, and then pop it back in. Easy-peasy.]

FIGHT CLUB; 2-3 weeks after arrival; cw: violence & injuries

[She finds her way here eventually, either by pure accident or through word of mouth, and wastes no time practically throwing herself into the ring. She's a formidable opponent, even weaponless and against enhanced humans, but not so formidable that she doesn't often take a beating even during the fights that she comes out on top of. An incomplete list of injuries that she ends up causing in others: broken teeth, broken noses, broken fingers, broken cheekbones, concussions, and untold numbers of bruises. An incomplete list of injuries that she ends up with herself: ... almost all of that all over again.

She never holds back, and she shrieks and spits and screams and she fights. Sometimes, she doesn't even notice the finishing bell and she has to be pulled away from her opponent, even if she's the loser and they have her pinned. Sometimes, as she's yanked out of the ring and pulled over to the medics, she laughs hysterically, like she can't stop.]

fight club!

[jettisons]

[Bellamy doesn't spend much time here. He really has no reason to, and after Clarke's heads up that his sister is going to throw him into his very own fighting pit in the future, he's even less willing to give them a visit. He's here tonight though, partially out of morbid curiosity and partially because he can't stop thinking about Octavia. It's like he's looking for some sort of insight here, something deeper than "she went off the rails" which logically ends in "because you weren't there" for him.

He gets more than he was bargaining for on that front. There's a girl in the ring, slight and initially unassuming, but the way she fights makes something in his chest ache. He recognizes that kind of rage and desperate need to make people hurt. Octavia was never so hysterical, but he and his sister both have a tendency to give into that sort of violence.

When she's pulled over to the medics, they don't look entirely thrilled about having to deal with her, especially with the way she's laughing. He barely hesitates before he's following, shooting a look at the poor kid who's looking at her like he's afraid to touch her.]

I've got it.

[Is that against protocol? Maybe. But the kid leaps at the opportunity and heads to the bar, and Bellamy turns his attention to Callisto.]

The idea is usually to win, not mangle your opponent.

steve rogers | marvel cinematic universe

[murrika]

Festival Simulation + Empathy Bond; cw: war, simulated violence

[ It’s curiosity that has Steve wandering into the VR simulations, and mental fatigue that has him leaving shortly after. When you’ve been through real war - gritty, ugly, horrific trench warfare - entertainment like this loses its appeal fast. Seeing details of the conflict this festival revolves around, one that’s had a heavy hand in shaping this world, may have been worth the reconnaissance, but once he’s gotten the general idea, Steve’s not interested in sticking around to top the leaderboards.

A little too vivid, a little too real, and while he’s largely desensitized to violence and gore these days, it doesn’t mean he’s immune to it. A thread of unease grows into stark discomfort. The VR sim is a sensory overload for someone with senses like Steve’s, and the visions of death and destruction leaves a twisting knot in the pit of his stomach as he shuffles out of the booth. One that’s briefly shared when he bumps into the next prospective gamer on the way out, skin brushing just long enough for a pinch of that discomfort and tension to filter through. ]

Sorry. [ For the collision, yes, but maybe more for unloading some of that mood on them. Steve flashes a polite, slightly sheepish smile, as he steps back to clear the way, giving the stranger plenty of space to pass by without another empathy-incident. ] It’s all yours.

[ good luck, hopefully graphic warfare puts you in a better mood than it did him. Any warning he could’ve given about it was probably translated clearly enough in the brief exchange of emotion. ]

Escape;

[ Another day, another catastrophe in the mob district. Steve Rogers doesn’t belong here, and the Petrov family is now well aware of that, as security breach alarms go off inside a club and patrons pour out into the streets. Clearly something went awry in his game plan, but the intelligence Steve came to nab is securely uploaded to his implant, and now he’s getting the hell out of Dodge. ]

Need a lift?

[ Steve’s asking from the back of a hoverbike (that is not his), to someone else looking frantically out of options in the mass exodus. Shouting sounds from the club door, a couple angry looking men built like brick walls point in Steve’s direction. Uh oh. ]

Offer’s expiring fast.

[ The part where he’s never driven one of these hoverthings is a detail Steve’s not concerning himself with too much right now. It can’t be that different from a motorcycle, right? As soon as the passenger’s onboard, the bike swings around (fishtailing a little more than he’d meant to, but that happens when you lack friction), and they’re speeding down the street. ]

Network; @steve.rogers

Say I’m looking for the best cricket burger in town. Suggestions?

I’d take cricket-hot dog too.

Wildcard;

[ hit me ]

festival

[myfavoritemurder]

[Neither the discomfort nor the tension faze Callisto, and they certainly don't send her spiraling into a rage tantrum the way picking up on other people's positive feelings often does. She barely gives him a glance at the bump, but it's the apology that gets her to look up.]

Sorry.

[She mimics mockingly - not actually sorry at all, though she knows how this works by now and knows that he must have gotten an unpleasant jolt of her own emotions. (By her standards, they're not that bad - she's mostly feeling blank and empty at the moment, and while her ever-present grief and rage are there, they're currently at an easily ignorable low simmer rather than a boil.)

Instead of moving past him, she jerks her head at the simulation booth, heedless of the impatient people waiting in line behind her.]

What is it? What did it do to you?

[Most of the people she's seen coming out of the sim have looked keyed up and excited. He's an anomaly.]