TEST DRIVE MEME 003

[larkers]

> TEST DRIVE MEME #003

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. 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. Please feel free to carry on relationships that make sense, but if your character is off on a colony researching terraforming or in jail because they vandalized corporation signage with Morningstar's emblem, that will be a little harder to transfer into game. 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 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, hidden under an abandoned supermarket. This has happened before. There are others not from this world who have experienced the same, with no recollection of how they came here, bearing signs that they've lost months of their lives, but unfortunately, no more answers on how or why than you do. There are theories, crossed realities, a very real sense of immense violation to one's self. 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 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 Morningstar won't be asking anyone to get their lives together immediately. 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 set out. Morningstar 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 won't go into detail to someone who isn't a member. It will be made expressly clear that anyone who's received assistance from Morningstar has to keep that a secret, as it could compromise their life and safety, as well as the lives of others. > 001: EXPLORE THE CHANGES You have been changed, and unfortunately Morningstar know very little about how or why. They won't be able to give a crash course to answer everything, and in fact, may seem just as surprised (or scared) as you over some of the strange abilities you now have. They know this has happened, but it's just as strange for them as it is for you. Most of the troubling changes will be what's happened to each person's physiology. Every aspect of this situation is already enough to make someone feel scared, stressed, confused, or even angry at what's happened to them - having to navigate a new, crowded and noisy world could easily provide enough stimulation to make it worse . Unfortunately, strong emotion could be just the key to triggering your new power. To get things under wraps, you'll want to duck away to somewhere more private or hidden. Thankfully, there are numerous underpasses, dark corners, and currently-empty shops, but you'll need to be quick to avoid raising any eyebrows – or avoid hurting anyone. Otherwise, you might prefer to play it safe and avoid striking out before you have more answers. As much as Morningstar has been helpful, you know that the others in your situation may have more information. But be careful that you don't end up sharing more than you intended. 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. > 002: THE NETWORK One thing Morningstar do know about is the neural implant. This piece of tech is a basic necessity of life in this world, and you now have one in your head. Thankfully Morningstar are able to provide any necessary information to help you understand this new tool and its application to daily life. Early on, every newcomer receives access to an 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 latest weather or nail polish trends in New Amsterdam, or want to discuss how much Morningstar suck in a venue where they'll absolutely see it. Don't worry, you won't be booted. They're used to it. 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, there it's made very clear that the government has a means of tracking these. This definitely isn't a place to be careless about your communication.

> RESOLUTION DAY FESTIVAL

One day a year, everyone the whole system over participates in the annual celebration of Resolution Day. It's not explicitly stated what Resolution Day actually is; there's no reason to declare what everyone already knows, and characters may find themselves experiencing some intense culture shock as they stumble into the festivities. The celebration starts early and finishes late – 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. Recent circumstances have left New Amsterdam in a constant state of rebuilding, but the festival adds gloss to a lot of the damage – though most of the festival strays away from the most ruined architecture so that it doesn't serve as a constant reminder. Most businesses are shut for the day, giving their workers the time to enjoy the celebration, but some might consider this one of their most profitable days of the year – if you've gotten yourself a restaurant, rickshawing or corporate PR job, you might find yourself stuck on a double shift. Better snatch what small moments of enjoyment you can! > 003: ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES Anything you'd think it would be at a festival in the year 2511 is definitely at this festival. 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 – involve a partner or a competitor, so you better hope someone's willing to do you a solid or bring out your competitive side. If having fun involves less competition and more opportunities to feel emboldened, there are karaoke setups all over the city. Most of the songs will be unfamiliar to anyone who's new to this world, but like any music in any era, they're catchy enough. There are some jingles that have managed to survive several hundred years, and you might stumble across a gaggle of teenagers declaring that "All You Need is Love." To encourage letting loose, most of these karaoke booths have bartenders available to help someone find the courage they need to reach the stage. Or maybe 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. > 004: 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 video about the origins of the festival and what, exactly, everyone's celebrating. These videos will play for you and you alone, and you'll soon learn that this is the day, 410 years ago, that humans successfully ended the AI war. 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. If you're uncomfortable with this information, no one will understand why. AI sympathizers are not present among the native population. Will you risk trying to change their minds? > 005: USING DISTRACTIONS There are other opportunities in the city being flooded with festival-goers. For Morningstar, this is a prime opportunity to test new recruits when it comes to charming corporate execs and getting in good with them. 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. Morningstar values discretion – and so does everyone else, for that matter.

> 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 here exploring, completing a task for Morningstar, or working a job in the place you excel. Whatever's brought you here, you may want to watch your step, or else find the city eating you as it has so many others. > 006: GETTING IN Organized crime still has a strong foothold in the world, with gangs and more established families working 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. Maybe you'd like to have a role in such a powerful organization. Or maybe you'd like to use your relative anonymity to burn it all down. One way to get an in is through their numerous clubs and illegal gambling dens, where to get past the door you have to know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. Don't know a guy? Feel free to try to use brute force or some chicanery to make them believe that you belong among their numbers. Just don't get caught doing anything they don't like – which could be breathing the wrong way, if you're unlucky enough. Best to have an escape plan in place, like perhaps stealing one of the many hovercars or hoverbikes parked outside the establishment. 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. > 007: 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 which have been taken to maintain it. Maybe you're here 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. Maybe you'd prefer to just enjoy the show, or take 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.

> THE STATUS QUO

By the next morning, the true shape of New Amsterdam will come to light for everyone who steps out and sees that it has been devastated recently. There are numerous construction sites throughout the city, with some being more expedient than others, all to try to rebuild a city that's been under duress. There are numerous mandates that filter through news feeds, telling citizens that they should turn in any monster carcasses from the June 27th attacks. With no further context, it might be up to you to look into what this even means: doing just that will lead to numerous articles about a mysterious creature attack that assaulted the city and led to countless people being made homeless. No one knows the cause for the attack, as investigations are ongoing. The effects of this attack are more apparent today than they were the day before. While the festivities demanded that the streets were bare, numerous tent cities have gone back up to take the place of the booths. The people living here look like they've been here for a while, and Resolution Day festivities mildly inconvenienced them. The supplies going to them are only just enough for them to be comfortable, with most of their facilities being maintained and highly restricted to keep up water rationing demands. Soon enough it will be apparent that this is what New Amsterdam is like, with the same amount of targeted advertisements built in to the city's foundation to show the influence of the local corporations. > 008: WHERE THERE'S SMOKE Around midday, vents open up throughout New Amsterdam to let smoke rapidly filter up into the foreground of the city. The reason why? A fire sparks in the underground portion of New Amsterdam, spreading quickly between two apartment buildings. The cause is unknown, and while firefighters are on the scene, they could use an extra hand. Numerous people suffer from the effects of smoke inhalation, and there are likely more inside the buildings themselves waiting for an assist. For anyone who's been here already, this may feel like a familiar sequence of events, but going into the fire puts anyone at risk for being infected by the smoke itself. The infection is far from contagious and doesn't spread from one person to another - but it's highly unpleasant, leaving someone feeling mild nausea and headaches, irritability, vertigo, feverish … and vengeful. As the sickness takes hold and worsens, anyone impacted by this infection will feel the need to take revenge on people around them. This retaliation can take any number of forms from violent to non-violent: pick countless fights, or manipulate your friends into fighting one another for your own satisfaction, just to prove that they will turn on one another. Thankfully, there is a cure for this righteous anger – unless you're inclined to feel this normally, of course. Any of the player characters who didn't stage a rescue in the burning building will be able to cure others by making skin-to-skin contact and holding on to it for a prolonged period of time. This contact will lead to their chest glowing blue for the entire duration, an increasingly burning sensation for both parties involved which eventually culminates in a sense of peace before giving way to a deep, pervading sense of sadness. Throughout New Amsterdam, there will be countless people impacted by this infection thanks to their close proximity to the fire itself. It's up to you to help them – or leave them hanging, if that's what you prefer. But the only existing cure appears to be anyone with the strange blue stuff in their chests. The news reports that follow reiterate that everyone in the city should turn in any remaining monster carcasses that they have because of the risks inherent in keeping them close. While they don't make a strict connection between the fire and the second string of chaotic attacks, Governor Gill-Jade appears on screen to implore everyone to be cautious and vigilant. There will also be increased fire inspections throughout the city to try to prevent more of these outbreaks, and she promises that all of her resources will be dedicated toward preventing further infection.

> THE WILDCARDS

> 009: SPACE Whether you're desperate for a reprieve from Earth after getting a taste of some unwanted righteous fury or curious about this century's space exploration, there are a number of opportunities available to let someone blast off. Most people will find that the process of getting into space is tedious, but also one that occurs regularly from day to day. The opportunities are there for anyone seeking a job out in the colonies, but first you'll have to get hired, or have approval for subsidy granted by the government. Journeys to the colonies are long and arduous, and what people find when they show up isn't any better. Most of the facilities are in poor condition, with food and water far more strictly rationed than back on Earth. If you'd rather just take a trip out to space without having to worry about a job, you have a number of options. Anyone can book a trip to go off planet, if they have the capital, or perhaps you'd prefer to work towards some proper credentials and join a crew. Of course, someone wishing to skip to the front of the line can always just stowaway on the back of a ship – or steal one for themselves. Just be wary of the fact that the hangars these ships are in come with increased security to match their price tags. They're hard to steal, but not impossible. As long as you know to skip the hacking and go with brute force, it should work out fine. > 010: GO NUTS This isn't all there is to explore, so feel free to branch out! Visit a doctor about some advanced cybernetics. Sneak through the city checkpoints and set out into the wilderness. 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 make a bold declaration to become a llama farmer. Use the SETTING for inspiration and choose your own adventure.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

shinjiro aragaki (persona 3)

[hoboagogo]

001. this power is shit

[It's unclear how it happened: maybe just a brawl outside a seedy den, maybe a legitimate accident, maybe your character was the one starting the problems? Either way, there's the flash of a knife and your character takes a quick, glancing blow giving them a shallow slice, before Shinjiro is grabbing them by the back of the shirt and hauling them back.]

The hell're you doing? [A few more steps back, and that pain is starting to cease as the wound disappears- and Shinjiro curses again, drawing back his arm

-as an identical slash starts bleeding through his own shirt, casually seeping through the worn, ragged fabric. He grabs it with a groan, eyes rolling up in clear aggravation.]

....You gotta be kidding me.

[But hey at least you're healed.]


010. makin my way downtown faces pass and i would really just rather be dead, thx

You know what? Ending up here probably isn't even the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. (Though even when he tries to think of it that way, it's still a pain in the ass.) Hell, he fought through a weird space/time rupture that existed because of a failed time machine by shooting himself and freeing a monster that lived inside his head. Compared to that, a weird futuristic city is nothing.

Though that doesn't change the fact that it's still a huge pain in the ass, and he'd still kind of rather be dead.

But laying about Morningstar's hideout and inwardly griping about life hadn't accomplished much of anything, and it really hadn't taken that long before another batch of arrivals had come. And then another. And then they need that bunk, and he'd been encouraged to set out and find some other means of survival, rather than simply wasting time staring at the ceiling and simultaneously being amazed that his Persona is gone and locked away from him somehow, and annoyed that he's still-fucking-alive.

And that brings him here- wandering around the city and staring at the flashing signs and lights and the massive buildings, way huger than anything Iwatodai could boast. Maybe Tokyo, too, though he'd never been. And it's just--

Tiring. The idea of having to try and understand it all, to try and survive, knowing that he's too much of a damn coward to do anything but grit his teeth and claw by day to day.

So yeah, it's probably not surprising when he finally just sits down against the side of a building, right there on the sidewalk, head tipping back to lay against the brick. Maybe he could just look pathetic enough and people would throw enough credits at him that he could get a sandwich or something. (Does it even work that way when everyone's wallet is in their brain? Man, who even knows. Even panhandling's changed here.)

A groan, and he shuts his eyes. "God, this sucks." Outloud to no one in particular, looking every bit the street-hollowed, angsty teen he is.


007. (rocky theme blares loudly)

[Watching the guys in the ring beat the shit out of each other just makes him homesick, and that's a weird feeling, especially since he kind of hates anything that could be considered 'home'. The sheer joy in their eyes, even as they bleed from the nose and mouth, the thrill they get from fighting. The passion in it, the dull thumps and cracks of fists meeting flesh, the shit-talking--

Well. Maybe it just makes him homesick for his best friend. It's way too easy to imagine one of them being Akihiko, grinning through blood dripping down half his face, eagerly punching the hell out of whatever or whoever needs punching because all boxers are just a little bit crazy, in his opinion. It's probably all the blows to the head.

Either way, the fight's ending, and he's lost his bet, a small visual flare in his HUD notifying him of five credits lost. But hey, he's still making out ahead for the night. And so he'll lean over to talk to his neighbor at the edge of the cage, eyes looking forward as the next two fighters enter the ring and start their preparations.]

You betting on this one? Or waiting for a go in the ring?

[There's always a few minutes between matches as they throw a bucket of soap water on the floor to rinse the blood towards a drain in the middle, so might as well get a feel for things while he waits.]


[Network; in honour of the polar vortex]

@aragaki.shinjiro

[yeah he fucked up on the order of his name there]

yo so apparently theres gonna be some storm
anyone got a floor i can crash on for a bit
promise i wont steal your shit and ill be out soon as it stops being negative balls degrees outside



[ooc; Feel free to throw anything at me, as for another prompt, whatever!]

network -- hello..............

[dormition]

Senpai, did you decide to leave the safehouse without a plan on where to go next with a storm like this?

[ Minato could comment on seeing him again for the first time after he's died. He could express doubt that this is really Shinjiro Aragaki.

Nah. It is what it is. And there's no point railing against fate. If they want to have conversations about miraculously alive dead people, they'd have to start with him, and he'd really rather not. A lot better to nag his senpai on how irresponsible he is. ]

hello!!!!!!

[hoboagogo]

pretty sure i outstayed my welcome but i guess i could go back

[yeah maybe he should respond with more surprise to another member of the team being here and him not having known about it until now, but.... You know what, anything's possible. He's done with being too weirded out by life.]

but i mean that place kinda sucks. kinda rather take my chances
i guess half the citys underground so that cant be too bad
anyway where are you staying?

[dormition]

I hadn't decided yet...

[ But if a teammate is here, that changes things. Minato actually feels tremendously better, without quite processing that he does. With someone else to focus on rather than just himself, it's always easier to make decisions and stay engaged.

Otherwise, he's too tempted to just fall asleep. ]

I know it's not the best, but in an environment like this, we probably shouldn't just run off without a plan.

[hoboagogo]

i figured getting out and finding something'd be better than listening to those assholes snore all night

[This figures for them both, really. Minato hasn't decided, Shinjiro fucked off without too much thought about it.]

but ok we can do a plan if you want
not really my strong suit though
step 1 is dont freeze?

[dormition]

Step 2 is don't starve.

Let's regroup. I wasn't really paying attention earlier... But if you're here, we should figure out what we know, then come up with the plan.

[hoboagogo]

if thats the whole of the plan think i can manage that. guess that means i'll come meet you at morningstar's place?

far as i can tell there ain't a lot we know. but sure.

007

[synthesanctuary]

[Simaris doesn't really look like he belongs here at first glance. Nice-ish clothes, hands in his pockets, neat and tidy overall. But he's leaning forward the whole time, focussed on the fight the whole time with a sort of obsessive intensity.

With the fight over, he seems to relax a little, settle back down on his heels and begin to observe the next set of fighters. That is until the question is posed to him and he turns that stare to Shinjiro.]

Bet? No. I am here in pursuit of knowledge. Do you know of either of these fighters?

[hoboagogo]

[That earns a short, unfelt bark of a laugh. Just a quick exhalation of amusement with a tint of voice to it, lost amidst the chatter of spectators and the clink of glasses and the rattling of chain link fence.]

Knowledge? Of what? How to beat the shit outta someone?

[His lips are twisted up like it's something funny, but when he finally tears his eyes away from the fighters glaring and spitting at each other, the man is staring right at him, and seems serious as could be. And so the facade of mirth fades away, and his brows furrow, as though still not understanding the point.

Maybe this guy is an undercover cop. A really, really shitty one.]

Nah. Ain't like there was a meet an' greet before it all. Why?

[synthesanctuary]

[Though the urge to talk about specimens and his precepts is great, he refrains, looking only somewhat annoyed for a moment at the passing thought. Being told what he should or shouldn't discuss publicly in this universe, is terrible. This is what the great Simaris, the Immortalizer, the Destroyer, is reduced to: a being of substance and transience, subject to the whims of the greater and uncaring universe. Pathetic.]

I wish to see the best of these fighters pitted against each other. Not to the death, of course. [Which doesn't seem like a lie when spoken, tone neutral, but also... he's the one bringing it up. What a weirdo.] I am simply evaluating which are the most likely ...contenders. Any insight you can provide would be valuable.

[hoboagogo]

[There's another short frown. Everything just... weird about how the guy speaks. But then again, if there was any place for a weirdo to hang out, it would be this place: the shitty bar where people showed up to fight for cash and others bet on them.

So he just shrugs.]

Yeah, that's kinda the gist of it. [At least it seems the guy gets the point of the fighting.] I dunno if I got any insight, though....

[But still, he looks up at the two fighters gearing up- one wrapping their hands with athletic tape, the other still sporting bruising around an eye from earlier.] Could go either way, I guess. The smaller dude's scrappy, and if the other guy's eye is puffed up enough, he might be able to take advantage of a blind spot. But I've seen the other guy knock an asshole out with a good hook.

[Another pause, considering-] I dunno, think I'll put my money on the big dude this time.

7 bc i gotta make a girl suffer

[rotes]

( The woman next to him couldn't look more like she wants to be anywhere other than in the audience of this club. Each match is watched with her expression scrunched up, her eyes screwed tight as each noise echoes through her skull, a horrifying symphony which will echo in her dreams for years to come.

She regrets accepting this invitation, wishes Millie or Jean were here, even Susan. (Though, Lucy considers grimly, Susan would probably want her watching all of this. Want it all recorded for investigative purposes.) This is the last place she should be, why did she even come here? What was she hoping to find?

She chances a glance at the ring as the fight ends and pales at the sight of the blood across the floor, the matter-of-fact way the staff clean it, and then the person next to her pipes up— )

What? ... Um... ( And here's a smile, or an attempt at one, weak as it is. ) No. I— I should go.

( And perhaps try to remember how to breathe. )

[hoboagogo]

[Well, shit.

The girl next to him looks half like she's going to pass out, sheer discomfort radiating off her. His brows scrunch together in a scowl that looks maybe quarter-concerned, and his shoulders hunch up slightly. The anxiety is practically catching, thick as it is around her.]

--You ain't gonna puke, are you?

[Because look even if he's concerned, he wants to know if he needs to step back to avoid splash damage. He's poor and can't afford new shoes. Or ratty used ones.

There's a short moment where he looks up and over her to see if like-- anyone else is around who will take care of this. Maybe a friend with her? Or-- anyone else? But everyone is either grouching into their drinks or laughing and punching each other in the arm or throwing down bets for the next round, so it looks like he's it- the only one right here paying attention to the pale woman looking like she's about to crumble in her seat.]

Ah... shit. [A short gripe to himself, and then he stands up, awkwardly offering a hand in her direction, in case she's unsteady.] C'mon, you gotta get some air.

For Din :>

[hoboagogo]

[While maybe not entirely his scene, there's something familiar about the club. It's larger and more crowded than Escapade back home, but there's still the low lighting and neon undertones, the people dancing to bass-heavy music on the floor, an atmosphere of desperate distraction and people who don't give one solid fuck beyond the night itself.

So basically, it's as good a place as any to while the time away.

He's tucked back with Ryo away from the dance floor and the bar, half-pretending like he's responsible and not chickenshit with his water, as opposed to anything more mind-numbing. (Even here, without the headache-inducing presence of his Persona pressing against the inside of his skull in a full-throttle bid for freedom and destruction, he's too wary of losing control to try out any of the strong-smelling drinks.)]

You even know what you're buying off this guy, or you just gonna huff it and see what happens?

[It's a lazy question as he reaches out to take the small bottle of alcohol on the table, pouring it for his friend. A strange facade of courtesy in a place it doesn't belong, a complete parody of their bizarre friendship as he tops off the glass for the other man before lounging back against the cushions of the booth.]

'Cause if you start frothing, I ain't giving you mouth-to-mouth.

[reillumination]

[ The club is frenetic and bright and cuts through Ryo with just the right light, the pale of his eyes taking on shades bluer than they're capable of being on the outside. He's lived these seedy dives, worked his way through the dim grottoes of humanity, and found himself more of afraid of the sobriety that lay on the other side of all his highs. When his skin thrums like this and his body feels too small and too wrong for all that's within, drowning it and the dread beneath the shoulder of euphoria is the easiest bet. In a world like this, away from all that he knows, what else is there left? Even this arrangement between Aragaki and himself is a token of uncertainty, paranoia only soothed by the persistence of memory, history.

There's a gruffness to this guy that reminds him a lot of himself, but that softness is unmistakable. It's the kind of softness that Ryo pushes his way into, takes up in his palms like it's the only solid and merciful thing that he finds worth giving a damn. Even now, tucked away in the back, all the ugliest parts of Ryo wants for it — needs for it. And Aragaki just feeds it, topping off his glass and talking smack like he wouldn't be the first to try to flag someone over to resuscitate Ryo if he went down. ]

No idea, [ Ryo hums, unconcerned and loose in all the ways he wanted to be since arriving here. His pupils are dark and wide as he tips his head to the side, his usual sunglasses pushed up into the thick of his hair. He's looking past Aragaki's shoulder, trying to pinpoint someone through the crowd. No dealer describes themselves, but Ryo knows what they look like. They think they're all sly and slick, but Ryo's gotten good at hunting down the scarier things that wander their way through night. These devils, in comparison, are a piece of cake.

But, it's only a moment before his eyes trail back to Aragaki. He's not well-built, not in way that he's used to seeing across from him in this kind of place. He attracts attention naturally, but it's never the attention he wants.

Ryo's mouth tugs up at one edge, neither sharp nor kind. There's a faint gleam in the flint of his eyes. It's hard to tell if it is the edge of teenage bravado, the fade, or something uniquely Ryo Asuka peeking through these days. ] Don't jump to conclusions so quickly, Aragaki, [ he says, crossing one leg over the other. One hand, rested against the back of the booth, runs its fingers over the craquelure that's formed in the faux leather — a fissure of misuse. ] You'd think you were eager to do so.

[hoboagogo]

[As always, Ryo comes wielding a half-smile that's anything but and casual movements as though he owns this club, this world, and everything that dare lay upon it. Ryo's demeanor is certainly something and Shinjiro still hasn't quite decided what that something is. Something that half reminds him of his own dismissive facade, maybe-- or something that chills him to his fucking bones, setting into the marrow like a parasite. But the moment is fleeting, and he responds as he usually does: with a play of ambivalence.

It's stupid, and they both likely know it. Acting confident and assured when they're both the sort of low-key fucked up they won't share with one another, both lost in this crazy future world. But there's a comfortable distance in it, a mutual understanding that goes completely unacknowledged and unremarked on.

And so, with a short roll of those slate-grey eyes, he settles back against the fabric of the booth, following Ryo's gaze out to the crowd.]

You fuckin' wish. [There's no venom in the retort, his own lips twisting in a wry sort of half-amusement. His hands come down to his own sides, nestling in the security of his light jacket pockets. (And maybe Ryo has him who might as well be the closest thing he has to a 'friend' in this place--)]

I just wanna know just how a bad an idea this shit is before your floppin' outta you're chair and I gotta drag your ass outta here. [He knows it's likely nothing like that. It'll probably just be an experience of different kinds for them both-- Ryo getting the blissful escape he's come for, and Shinjiro getting to tell himself he's at least doing something by making sure the guy doesn't get robbed or stabbed.]

[reillumination]

[ There's always been something off about the two of them.

Whether it be the contrast or combination — the jury was out on it, but it Ryo takes Shinjiro's grumblings as nothing more than that. He'd become accustomed to the progressive discontent toward his nature, fostered by nurture and bred against environment. In a world that desired to devour him whole, what else was left to do except claw and scrabble and throw the weight of your own body against ineffable and ultimate inevitability? Might as well enjoy what little was left to enjoy as he and Akira dug their heels in against the insurmountable odds that rounded in against them. It didn't matter that Ryo often woke up terrified, that he often didn't recognize day from night, that all that could have been hurt him more than all that was. It hardly mattered at all, that all that he ever loved was stripped from him — except Akira. Except that one, lone exception.

And at the end of the day, in this future that made no sense at all to him, who gave a shit?

Humans love death as much as they hate it. Ryo isn't anything new. If his consciousness could be struck down by artificial bliss, even if just for a little while, then who was he to deny it? To forget was less painful than remembering and Ryo has forgotten more than he could ever conceive of forgetting. ]

Don't tell me you're protesting, [ Ryo lulls, though the mischief stays beneath. His nails clip into the seams of the booth. The faux leather feels as cheap as it suggests beneath his fingertips and he thinks of the talons he'd pulled from his chest. Sirene had been beautiful, as vicious as she was. She loved, as much as he claimed that demons had no capacity to. He thinks — he shakes his head. Or, perhaps, it's a pale imitation of it. In the strobed light, it cuts motion still and lengthwise. Like a flip-book or the rapid blinking of eyes, Ryo moves faster and smoother than the senses can suggest.

He peels up an edge of the cushion, head turning to frenetic sea of bodies. It smells of salt and sex and alcohol, the barest hint of Ryo's gunpowder underneath. ] You know what they say about doing that too much.

[ It'd be funny to any who knew him better that Ryo doesn't startle or straighten as one body breaks free of the crowd. He's a tall man, dressed in a way that suggests he'd hope he'd blend in, but he does it too well. As a result, in the glitz in the glam, he stands out. He dips by Ryo's closest ear and Ryo doesn't smile. He doesn't wear much expression at all, as he tilts his chin up and opens a palm.

He's done this so many times before, that Ryo knows just when to look up at the dealer through the thick of his lashes and convince him he'll get the money back to him. In the end, he never does. Why bother, when he knows how to get it for cheap or nothing at all? He considers it a talent.

The exchange is over almost as soon as it begins. Ryo's palm closes and the man departs with a lingering touch at his wrist. Ryo's gaze hardens and that too is quickly extinguished before Ryo's twisting back to Shinjiro, revealing his spoils with the outward bloom of his fingers. They're small pills, compressed and refractory in this light. They look like anything you'd find in a medicine aisle, if not for the insignia imprinted on their topside.

It's a halo.

Ryo lifts one to his lips and swallows it, chases it with the last dregs of alcohol that Shinjiro'd poured for him. He doesn't wince. ]

Are you familiar with MDMA? [ He pockets the rest and leans forward, the tops of his cheekbones brushing against the high collar of his coat. He rests his elbows against his knees, but his attention doesn't settle directly on him. His eyes, as always, seem to be averse to meeting anyone else's. But, then he's talking again, almost as if he's reconsidered. ] No, of course you wouldn't be. [ Ryo takes a breath. His tongue tingles. It feels full, almost numb. ] MDMA is the technical term for ecstasy. Research suggests that its secondary effects are close to the calm it eventually gives. [ He blinks once. It's been about four minutes, he thinks. He has another sixteen to get this out. But, his mouth quirks in a way that suggests he isn't going to be that merciful already. His mind is already erring toward its typical bravado and difficulty, a need to be abrasive in all the ways a seventeen-year-old can be.

The blue of his eyes, when they settle again on Shinji, are almost glassy. ] Provided it isn't rat poison. But, at this point, that might be a benefit.

[ He never said his sense of humor wasn't questionable at best. ]

[hoboagogo]

[He lifts a hand casually, as though waving the suggestion off. Ryo can take his words and spin them however he wants, claim he doth protest too much or any number of references that Shinjiro won't recognize or care about. His life is protesting, be it in earnest or just as token show of being contrary, carving out a space for himself in a million small nuisances to everyone else.]

Nah, I don't. But I'm sure it's something bullshit.

[The dealer shows, and Shinjiro wishes he had something to do with his hands and eyes aside from dig at the pilling fabric in his pockets and watch the subtle exchange. He's not sure if it's more or less overt, given that all the currency exchanges happen in their minds here, everything tied into the bit of metal and wiring nestled snug inside their skulls, but he's sure that no one around them particularly cares. It's a club, and everyone is wrapped up in themselves and their own cocoon of noise and body heat and drink and drugs. A casually-dressed guy stopping over for a quick exchange is nothing.

And then Ryo is talking again, because of course he is. He's either in love with his own voice, or just terrified of the absence of it- and before he can admit that, no, he's not dabbled in any allegedly fun drugs, the other teen has him pegged. Of course he wouldn't be. Bliss, chemical or otherwise, is anathema to Shinjiro Aragaki.]

...You're right, I ain't. Most of the shit I took back home just fucked me up. [And not even a crazy high fuck up-- more a painful, slowly-body-killing fuck up of shoving more and more poison to suppress his very soul, leaving him shivering in the heat of the summer and waiting to die. But that's not an explanation he's ever likely to give.

He reaches out for his water, fingers leaving streaks against the condensation beading across the outside of the glass.] Benefit? What, you'd rather it just kill you? [It's dry, without any tint of concern-- but perhaps a tinge of curiosity.] 'Cause you could just do that, unless you get off on leaving it up to fate.

how much is that canine automaton in the window

[hoboagogo]

[There's something depressing about a robotic dog.

No wonder how realistic and oh-so-fluffy their fur is supposed to be, no wonder how they mill about in circles and yip and flop over onto their back for pets-- it's not the same. The wetness of the nose is just this side of off and the eyes are entirely too focused, like the manufacturer of the robotic-pet wanted to make absolutely sure they didn't look too goofy. Which is stupid, because the dumb goofiness is one of the best parts of dogs. That and how brave and loyal they are, how they just know, how they'll wiggle with barely-contained excitement at even the shortest glimpse of food--

Shit. Maybe this job selling fake-dogs to people was a bad idea.

Right now, he's got his arms folded on the completely unnecessary pen set up, where a bunch of fake puppies and fake dogs either "snooze" or "play-wrestle" or look at passer-bys out the window with their hyper-focused cameras, complete with facial recognition and whatever the fuck else to make the dog a 'perfect' pet. Being completely artificial, there's no food to fill or water to freshen or need for walks or attention or anything- so he's mostly killing time in one of the lulls the shop has, watching faux-existence of the pooches.]

I can't stand how weirdly perfect these things are. [He finally grumbles out a complaint to the other man on the sales floor with him-- some other dude who showed up from another time- decent guy, though Shinjiro didn't really acknowledge him a whole lot in his first few days after getting hired on here.]

Like-- Did they guys who came up with this ever even see a dog? They get this gross black shit hangin' out their eyes and drool everywhere and eat string and gotta piss on everything they see. Not just... whatever this is. [It's said with a frustrated gesture at where one of the robotic dogs has apparently had a glitch and just keeps lifting a paw, going for the 'shake' command over and over. Which he should probably go fix, but fuck it, he doesn't really need a job.]

IM SO SORRY.... THIS IS SO LATE.... tfw it’s almost time for the next app round

[theseuschip]

[ Maybe Simon isn’t cut out for this job, or maybe the flips between “aww, lookit” and sudden nervous aversion are something you just get used to, assuming you want to get used to it. And the prospect of “getting used to it” being a good thing rather than something that chips away at one of your few unlearnable, ancient Totally A Human badges has always been one of the biggest points of contention between him and Catherine, who knows no fucking fear about that shit.

Shinjiro’s disinclination to... do things... hasn’t really rankled him or anything yet, and it especially doesn’t bother him as much as seeing what looks like a dog stuck in a loop of literally identical gestures. ]

They at least need to be patched.

[ He turns onto his hip on the floor and scoots it toward him, pressing the studs on the inside of its collar in the reboot sequence.

It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, the flat, dead hitch that follows this, but they can’t entirely get rid of it. The dog lies down on its front paws with a big doggy grin, panting loudly. Simon imagines it hiding the sounds of its internal mechanisms shutting down and booting back up, even knowing the technology here is advanced enough that that’s probably not necessary.

He watches it reboot for a moment. ]

Do you think we’re still human? Completely? Even with the implants?

[ just some smalltalk, u kno ]