TEST DRIVE MEME 011

[larkers]

> TEST DRIVE MEME #011

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

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

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

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

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

> SETTLING IN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> RESOLUTION DAY FESTIVAL

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

> CRIMINAL ACTIVITY

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

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

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

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

> FIGHT CLUB

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

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

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

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

> A LIFE OF CHAOS

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

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

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

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

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

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

> GO NUTS

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

> NAVIGATION

Comments

sherlock holmes ( fate/ grand order )

[stradi]

I. THE WORK IS LIFE, LIVE FOR THE WORK

Curious.

[ -- really, it isn’t what it looks like.

There’s a man at the bar, slumped over the countertop with several upturned tumblers close to his elbow. Several more rest atop the initial line, stacked in a pyramid shape by the free hand of the bartender; the bartender, who’s other hand cups the limp fingers of the unconscious patron and reviews him. Reviews him, dissects him, analyzes him – there’s a lack of compassion for the man’s state, only the flick of avaricious eyes over his unconscious form. Eventually, the bartender pulls his hand free, slipping it from the unconscious patron’s grasp, holding it up to the light. Turning it, palm facing him and then turning it, palm away.

And then, his attention turns on the other Displaced, sharp and swift. The bartender, with his hair down and his trim waist bound in a neatly-pressed apron, is initially indistinguishable from the long-limbed gentleman that haunts the safehouse. But, the twist to his mouth as he twitches his wrist in greeting is attributable only to Sherlock Holmes himself. ]

Would you help me with an important experiment? Oh, don’t mind him, I’ll summon the appropriate aid to ensure he arrives to his home unscathed.

[ As if inducing a man into a state of absolute inebriation isn’t ‘scathing’ in the first place! Still, needs must, and Holmes holds out his hand to the other member of the little band of misfits and social maladies. He doesn’t smile, not in the throes of study like this. ]

I only require you to take my hand.

II. FIGHT CLUB, THE UNDERGROUND KIND

[ And here, he’s just managed to break a man’s jaw.

Though tall, perhaps easily described as “whip” of a man, he has always been a creature of hidden strengths. On the floor before him is the semi-conscious figure of a broader, more muscled individual whom he has just soundly beaten into submission – the fight being called soon after, erring on the side of “there’s better brawls to come”, rather than risk the crowd growing too bloodthirsty in the wake of the newcomer’s resounding victory. So, Holmes exits the ring, flexing his fingers and regarding his knuckles with the perplexed expression of someone who hasn’t felt his own mortality in a long, long time. ]

Mm, [ he muses, reaching the side of the other Displaced in attendance; either he’s snagged a towel on the way, or he’s using something of theirs to wipe his neck down. Either way, what a messy bastard. ]

I think I’ve grown rusty. I was a prize fighter in life, a capable combatant following that, but I can’t recall the last time my hands felt this sore after a fight.

[ Admission aside, he abandons it quickly, in favor of another topic, doubtlessly generated within that chaotic brain of us, cobbled together so rapidly it’d make a lesser’s mind spin: ]

What information do we have regarding our prior abilities? Have they been completely taken from us, or simply locked away so deeply we cannot hope to access them? Not that I yearn for them. It’s just, [ hrmm, he grouses, ] one more mystery. And not even a concerning one, despite everyone’s lamentations.

III. ID SHENANIGANS

[Bad username or site: nils @ sigerson]

To whom it may concern,

I have taken note of the number of lingering curiosities that still plague the Displaced, a rudimentary headcount of available persons and the length of time that we, as a whole, have been present and actively interacting with these matters – it leaves me baffled that you have not resolved even half of them.

To this end, I have availed myself to the company as a whole. Please submit all information to my letterbox, along with what it is that has been keeping you from resolving these cases.

Your humble servant,
S.H.

[ he definitely sent this from bed. ]

( OOC. Holmes’s in-game ability is addiction inducement, where – given time and physical contact – he can turn behavioral or substance-imbibing constants into full blown addictions. Have fun. He’s 100% fine with fourth-walling and/or being called fictional, and you’re welcome to pretend like your character has known him for a long time – sorry for all his terrible habits. Wildcard him doing whatever, he’s either balls to the wall busy or sleeping all day! )

network! un: john.mandrake

[sakhr]

Word to the wise, chum: I don't think this tone is going to endear you to the veterans around here. Makes you sound like a bit of a pillock IMJNSHO.[ ¹ ]

Not that I don't respect the chutzpah.

[ Bartimaeus always respects chutzpah. It's a close cousin of his own trademark panache.

¹ "In my justifiably not-so-humble opinion." Should be obvious. ]

scott mccall — teen wolf

[commend]

> SETTLING IN

( He's taken to doing chin-ups and running laps. He does his best to help others when he can. Help with laundry. The folding, not really the doing. It's not his laundry and is it okay?? To touch other people's laundry? Girls' laundry? He hasn't tried to, but he's probably been bothering other people. He's never lived communally so there is one instance where he gets back to the bed he'd claimed and he ... doesn't do anything.

He's there in a towel and he has a change of - admittedly not his kind of clothes - but he's not alone and he sort of just... freezes in place.

He can... pull the pants over his legs and under the towel, but what if the towel comes undone. He could put the big v-necked shirt on but is it long enough if the towel comes down.

Look, he's done the locker room thing after a lacrosse game but there are girls everywhere here and not much privacy...

Should he have changed back in the communal bathroom? )

> FIGHT CLUB

( He doesn't mean to end up here. He never means to end up anywhere. Somehow, he just does. Gay bars. Raves. Parties. He just sort of... shows up sometimes. Especially when it's official werewolf business™️. But, he doesn't have that anymore. Because, he's not a werewolf anymore, or his powers are being suppressed. Either from the power rangers enhancements he never asked for, or a different moon altogether. It's a lot to wrap his mind around, and when he overhears some of the safe housers are going out, he tags along. He needs to get out, needs to just -- not be there.

Once he sees what they've entered into, a real life Fight Club™️, Scott's eyes go wide. It's after a few crushing blows where Scott needs to ... not be right there at the front. He's okay with not seeing the end. It's likely the big redheaded guy that looks like he could step on Scott will probably be winning. And if not, then - upset!

He's herded is the only way to describe what happens to him. He tries to take a seat somewhere but a herd of people pass him by and he sort of just gets caught up in the throng before he's deposited by the bar. As he turns, dazed from the sudden turn in events the bartender asks him what he wants. )

Oh. Nothing. ( And the bartender just gives him a look. But, there's a reason he'd said he was 21 when he had to have his ID faked. He'd have more access here. His priorities were, something he could ride, answers, more clothes, and - maybe not respect, but definitely access. He thinks about it for a second. ) On second thought! ( The bartender turns back. Gives him a look. ) Could I have a beer? There's beer here, right? Any beer.

( Smooth, McCall. )

> GO NUTS

( Scott's just taken to wandering.

Today, he's found what can only be described as the largest pet store he's ever seen. He spends a couple of hours wandering, peering over glass cases. Holding cats, a dog, and - something that might be some kind of marmoset in his hands, nuzzling them. It's his happy place. He may not have his mom here, or Stiles, or Allison. Not one person he knows. But, animals? He knows animals.

If you recognize Scott, he's just in a constant state of wonder.

He spends so much time there, he's send something electronically.

It's ... an application. So once again, Scott's just -- standing by the fish, food in one hand and a net in the other as he neurally fills out a faked application. Is it always this easy? )

> THE NETWORK

[Bad username or site: scott @ mcall]
Is anybody here from 2012? Or around the 2010's? I just miss talking about then. And not politics I don't understand or powers I try not to use. Also. Powers? We... talk about them here? It's okay to? People just really seem to be open in this time. And I'm from a really open, really progressive town in California.

Oh, hey. Can you tell me where you're from. Any you're. Anyone reading this. If anyone can.

Also, I'm Scott. I'm 21.

( Scott, all 21 year olds don't just advertise that. )

network! un: john.mandrake

[sakhr]

That sounds like something someone who isn't 21 would say.

settling in

[devilsun]

[ Hama hasn't actually left the safehouse much lately. Getting kidnapped and drugged really put a damper on her adventuring spirit. And it's fine, really. It's totally fine because there's tons of stuff to do around the safehouse when she's got the whole internet to explore and tons of research she can do, notes to collect and expand upon. She's been writing up her theories for when things go back to normal and she's home, whenever that happens, because obviously her mom will want a report and Hama is very good at reports. It would be a shame to break the cycle just because of a little inter-dimensional kidnapping.

Besides. There are new people around, and that means she can unleash her questions anew. ]

Hi!

[ She bounces on her heels, grinning at him. She's reminded a bit of Diogo in how the man has suddenly frozen, and is inclined to tease him for it. She resists the urge. Barely. ]

You need a hand?

@percy.jackson

[ripstides]

did you just A/S/L me or is this the tail end of an AA meeting?

( the boy is bored. enjoy the sass. )

i'm from new york.
where in california are you from?

bartimaeus — the bartimaeus sequence

[sakhr]

» EXPLORE THE CHANGES

001. [ This is new.

That's not to say that Bartimaeus is the type to be stymied by new surroundings – they're his bread and butter, his raison d'être, if you will. But when you're expecting to be sent home at long last, after six miserable weeks on Earth, the last thing you might expect is ending up in some dystopian future world surrounded by the most alarming, hideous constructions,* and locked in a windowless "safehouse" until further notice, it requires a sharp realignment of the senses and priorities, as well as the laying of blame at anyone else's feet but his own. Nathaniel's fault, probably. That idiot.

First of all, Bartimaeus is quite alarmed to discover that, no matter how hard he strains, he has no more access to the seven planes. It's making him squint at just about everyone with hitherto unexperienced levels of suspicion. Secondly – and this he discovers while attempting to loose a Detonation squarely at that offensive door blocking his access to the rest of the world – his magic is gone. No Plasms, no Infernos, no Convulsions, No Compressions, Spasms, or Shields... Nothing. Just little old him, in what seems to be the last concrete form he'd occupied before he landed here. The solidness of his body is a little alarming, for someone used to shapeshifting the way humans are used to breathing.

It takes him a while to realise he's not completely without ability. He picks one of the cots and sits down cross-legged, a young Egyptian boy with a sharp, world-weary face, hands loosely on his knees. He shuts his eyes and concentrates, very hard. He's never concentrated this hard on changing form before and it's giving him something of a headache. He looks like he's meditating.

When he opens his eyes after five torturous minutes, one of his eyebrows is bright, neon green. He's entirely unaware of this. What he is aware of, though, is someone staring at him. ]

What? [ he asks, in a detached tone that yet implies great sovereignty over this unseemly individual. ] Spit it out.

[ * Read: humans. ]

002. [ He's been stuck in this safehouse for two days before he realises that the ravenous stomach pains that have been following him around all this time are probably because he's hungry. Bartimaeus staggers into the kitchen as if he's about to drop dead, flopping over the counters and shoving some sort of nut-based bread into what he is almost certain is a toaster. The wait is torture. He isn't even sure if the thing's working until smoke starts to billow furiously out of the top, at which point he realises the bread is definitely burnt to a crisp, sending volumes of foul burnt smell wafting throughout the safehouse.

Very subtly, he slides out a new, regular piece of bread, tears off a chunk and stuffs it into his mouth, leaning casually against the counter. Anyone who wanders into the kitchen will be greeted with a smile and a cheery wave, as he acts as if the acrid smell of burnt toast isn't currently choking his nostrils. ] Afternoon. Or, morning. I can't tell. Feels like an afternoon, though.

» ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES

003. Ooh, I wouldn't eat that.

[ This, from Bartimaeus, who is leaning beside a food truck with his arms folded over his chest and his hip popped out jauntily, a cheery smile plastered over his face. Whether it's edible or not is irrelevant. ]

I mean, you can if you want. But I wouldn't. Just a friendly warning.

» NETWORK

004. [ This neural implant thing is rather worrying in its implications, chiefly because he didn't even think he went to the effort of crafting himself a discrete brain when he was shifting forms. But with an intellect like his, astounding acts of creation shouldn't really surprise, even if they do delight and awe. Anyway, he needs a new name, and for personal reasons 'Bartimaeus' just won't do. He'd thought about John Mandrake, out of pure spite directed at Nathaniel for what he assumes was a colossal amateur foible in the pentacle, but he really doesn't want to go around having people call him that for however long he's going to be stuck here. Every other name he cycles through is entirely too ostentatious, since he's definitely more of the subtle type. Luckily for him, he can stay mysterious for now. ]

un: anonymous
Can any magicians (present or past) please identify themselves? I'm tabulating a list.

[ ...of people to never interact with under any circumstances, but nobody needs to know that. ]

» WILDCARD

[ you know how it goes! hit me up at crowders to do a lil plotting or just toss something else at me! ]

002 (and a little bit of 1)

[tombstruck]

⟪ let's say kitty's not the biggest fan of the safehouse. it's windowless, it's underground, and being forcibly contained to it for several days is very fresh in her memory. it had been slightly less absolutely godawful after she'd gotten her new id, just because she was then allowed to get out, but she's still pretty glad she's managed to secure herself a crappy excuse for a flat humble abode of her own. so to be honest, her agenda here today was short.

1. drop off the food she's bought for the new arrivals, because frankly, she'd eaten her weight in freebies when she first arrived and kind of wants to pay that forward, and
2. pick up the rest of her stuff, not that she has a lot of stuff to pick up.

and honestly, considering that it smells like someone set fire to a mauler the closer she gets to the kitchen, it looks like the food's pretty needed. she's got a fair armful of boxes in her reusable bag, all finger-foods that can easily be shared around. mini spring rolls, summer rolls, falafel, stuff that can be picked up at food trucks in some vegetarian form so as to not freak out the newbies with bugs aplenty.

she steps in, she's about to answer the greeting –– well, she doesn't freeze up, but her jaw sets. someone hadn't really placed any money on possibly running into anyone from her world. he's in the shape she's seen him more than once now, the egyptian boy with the ancient eyes. mentally, she's doing a tally of pros and cons. pro: he'd saved her from the night police. con: he works with magicians. con: he's a demon. pro: he's told her about others like her, through history. pro: he's not a fan of magicians, either.

slowly, she sets the boxes of food on the kitchen table, visibly unsure of where she stands with him, but apparently not unwilling to figure it out. ⟫

Your eyebrow's neon green. It doesn't exactly scream mighty spirit.

Haley Quinn ❖ DC New 52

[killerkwinn]

❖FOOD TRUCKS
Whaddya mean I can't have extra sauce?

[ She's showing some restraint and not pulling the poor guy she's yelling at through the serving window but she's moments away from doing so. The guy tries to explain why but Harley is practically climbing into the window as if she thinks she can just serve herself. ]


❖FIGHT CLUB
[ Now this is more like it!

The moment she gets the chance Harley gets in the ring and, well, for a gal that's lost all her special abilities she still manages to hold her own pretty well. She's slippery, using her gymnastics to get the upper hand pretty quickly in the fight. There's a lot of taunting and shit-talking on her end, all done in a ridiculously cheerful tone, as she dodges, jumps, and twists about. She gets in a few good hits that stagger the guy that's nearly twice her size. However, she's no match the cybernetically enhanced strength of her opponent, is for a few good grabs followed up by her being slammed ruthless into the floor.

In the end, she's KO'd and dragged from the ring to be unceremoniously dumped out of the way. Maybe someone should check on her and make sure she still has a pulse? ]


❖MONSTERS
[ What's a better way of blowing off some steam than kicking some human or meta asses? Kicking some monster ass of course! Not that Harley had set out with the intention of fighting horrific golden-eyed hybrid beasties but that's where the evening has led. Good thing she brought a bat. ]

I feel so bad yer kinda cute! [ Said as she swings her bat to smash the head of the current weird scalie dog thing she's fighting. ]


❖NETWORK
un: [Bad username or site: harleen @ quinzel]
yknow the last time i was kinapped i had a bomb implanted in my neck and was forced into doing some crazy shit
crazier shit than what id get up to on my own that is
what im sayin is this is marginally better

so whats there to do for fun round here?

@hafid.alghul

[batricide]

Someone should've done the right thing and hit the trigger before you became our problem.

[ he's supposed to be behaving himself, but that name instantly sets his teeth. ]

Rinoa Heartilly — Final Fantasy 8 (CRAU)

[alittlelonger]

1A. THE SAFEHOUSE, THE HAIR, OH THE HUMANITY

[Rinoa is more than a little thrown when she first arrives, trying to smile dazedly at others, but she goes to the bathroom to collect herself. It's there that she sees the extent of how much her hair has been cut. She pales and gingerly touches the shorter bits, rubbing fingers over her face and willing herself not to cry. It could be that it's been a long day or a long series of months or she's tired of everything changing ... or she just really loves her hair. Either way, she sniffs and brushes at her burning eyes, shooting a guilty look in the mirror as someone walks up.]

Sorry, I know it's silly.


1B. THE SAFEHOUSE, GENERAL

[After she adjusts, Rinoa will be up and keeping as busy as possible. She will be cleaning all dishes that she finds, offering to share her tea after making it, or pacing around while humming a tune under her breath]

1C. LOCKED TO SEIFER, THE SAFEHOUSE

[She hasn't been there long at all, she doesn't think, although it's hard to tell when feeling drugged. Rinoa tried to lie down and hope a little rest will help, but it hasn't so far. She's gotten used to large swatches of land, almost all of them dangerous after awhile, not so much inclosed space. Even the Garden was drastically more free than this. She sighs and gets up, turning only to spot the back of a familiar head on the other side of the room.

Yes, technically it could be someone else, but still she rushes over.] Seifer! [By the time he turns to look at her, she's already flung herself at him, the familiarity the only good thing that's happened to her lately. ]

2. FREEDOM AND FESTIVITIES

[Rinoa is used to living in a city, but she's been distanced enough from that life lately that she can't help but gawk as she walks around New Amsterdam. It feels nice to have so much life around again and before too long she ends up smiling and letting the energy of the festivities recharge her.

She first goes to the food trucks and looks delighted at trying different options again, sampling a few options.] I've been eating the same thing for like a month, this is so good. [It's hard not to keep high spirits when there's so many people, and she's almost missed getting lost in a crowd somehow.

Later she goes to the games and watches people play, cheering complete strangers on when they seem to be going on a good streak, although she hesitates when she's offered the same chance.] Oh, I'm not sure, I haven't .... [Rinoa smiles faintly at whoever is near her.] If you want an easy win, want to have a match?

3. The Network

[Bad username or site: rinoa @ heartilly]

I got the rundown, but what are your 'Top 5 things people should know here'?

1C for me!

[firacrux]

[Seifer had just about enough of this whole being kidnapped for questionable science experiments thing. The last one was bad enough, but at least they'd had the decency to leave his hair alone when installing brain chips. He's grumbling to himself, rubbing the shaved spot in annoyance when he hears his name.

What's even more surprising is he recognizes that voice. There's no way...

And then he's slammed into by what can only be a Rinoa tackle. Instinctively he wraps his arms around her.]

Rinoa!?

[The unspoken 'what the hell are you doing here?' hung in the air. Of course he didn't even know where to begin asking her what, if anything, she remembered.]

raven reyes | the 100

[rpms]

> ꜱᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ

◉ ᴇᴍᴘᴀᴛʜʏ ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ

[ Raven is getting herself acclimated, adjusted, to this whole new world, vastly different from anything she has known before. Culture shock, that what Raven was experiencing. Even so, she kept going forward and onward. Like she always did.

But she wasn’t looking ahead of herself, she was looking up at the skyscrapers, the tall buildings that nestled against one another, all looking a little cramped. And that’s when she accidentally brushes her hand against someone else's, simultaneously triggering a wave of emotions crashing right through her. Emotions that obviously aren’t her own, somehow they felt like they were - just very misplaced. ]

What the hell, [ Raven breathes out. ]

◉ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴋꜱ

[ It’s her turn and Raven steps forward, a slight hitch to her stride. She’s looking up at the overhead menu.

I would like, Raven drawled, squinting at the selections. ] Three chicken tacos. [ Finally making her decision. The very first bite was heavenly. She closes her eyes, a satisfied smile across her face and hums approvingly. ] Holy shit, that’s good.

> ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ voice message: un: reyes.raven

Is there a Bellamy, Echo, Emori, Harper, Monty or a Murphy?

@clarke.griffin

[strove]

[The list of names is telling. Not only does it explain when Raven is from, it also tells Clarke that Raven doesn't know about Monty or Harper.

All right.]

Two of the six are here: Murphy and Bellamy. A few of my friends have heard of Monty, though.

[Getting ahead of the obvious with that one: that someone else might come in and mention Monty. Clarke talks about him a lot, especially since he's the main inspiration for her whole Do Better routine.]

It's good to hear from you, Raven.

[It's a nice, neutral statement. Depending, Raven could still be from a time in which Clarke has messed up something major since they returned from the ring. Better to keep her mind open.]

emori | the 100

[jaka]

> ꜱᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ

◉ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ

[ In a new place, sleep is difficult for Emori. Bolting upright every time she heard the faintest of sounds. She is used to this alertness, ever since the day she was born, Emori needed to be adaptable, attentive, and self-preserving.

At some point, in the early hours of the morning, Emori finally falls asleep. Dreaming is the easy part, she always dreamt and almost always remembered a great amount of detail of them. Her dreams were just that vivid.

She’s above the city, looking down at it from the sky. It may have been night but the light brightens the city as though it were day. Emori floats, slowly coasting through the air, when she halts. In front of her is someone else. ]

The city is kind of beautiful in a way, [ She says to the person. ]

◉ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴋꜱ

[ Food, that’s not algae! She has gone to a few of them, sampling all sorts of cuisine and culture. Emori has yet to eat something that she did not like.

Currently, she’s shamelessly stuffing pink clouds into her mouth. It is what she assumed clouds would taste. Softy, airy and so much sugar. It melts right into her mouth in sugary sweetness. ]

I can eat this all day, [ she declares, putting more cotton candy into her mouth. ]

> ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ text: un: emori

am i hallucinating from monty’s algae?

food trucks

[strove]

[Emori says: "I can eat this all day," but what Clarke hears is, "And then after I eat it all day, I'm going to get sick." Her introduction to large amounts of sugar happened in increments. She's worried about it being ... different for literally anyone else.

Especially those on the algae diet.

(Though it's hard to say what the diet is between arrival and here. Clarke has never been able to put her finger on it, but her best guess is "ration-like.")]

You might want to be careful. Our stomachs aren't trained to take in a lot of processed sugars.

Dean Winchester | Supernatural

[righteously]

ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ

[ He gets into trouble, as Dean Winchester is wont to do. He spends half a day taking in the sights and smells of the feel-good happy-fest on the surface before he gives in and slinks lower, somewhere more real. It's clear that everything upstairs is commercial, it's your standard propaganda bullcrap and it's full of civilians without a clue.

It takes him all of an hour to find literal, actual Fight Club. He's got no intention to actually join himself because he's not a complete and total moron, but these kinds of places tend to attract people who both know the grit of a city, and who will often share that grit for the right kind of bribe.

He pushes too hard. Angles the wrong way, implying the bar tender's an AI sympathizer afraid to get his hands dirty.

Bad call.

It takes three dudes to do it, but they hoist Dean up into the ring before a cheering audience. Trying to duck back out is met with crossed arms that have biceps bigger than his head. ]

Look- fellas- I think we got off on the wrong foot here...

[ Opponent 2 enters the ring. ]

ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs

[ They said there's a fucking monster outside-- and it was like freakin' Pavlovian response. He was on his feet and out of the bar in a second, strapped to the nines and ready to rock and roll.

No, you got no idea what in the hell you're doing.

And there's Dean, being a smug and overly confident son of a bitch about it with a firm clasp to the guy's shoulder. Trust me, pal, it ain't my first rodeo.

He should've picked up on something being off when the guy said you're out of your fucking mind and took off like a bat out of hell. It's easy to shrug these things off when you're used to civilian panic, and when your day job is slaying things that make people scream.

Except, it's not... usually so many people at once. He's pretty sure it's a dozen voices, yelling at one another so loud their voices break and their throats rend.

And then the ground shakes.

He stands in the middle of the street a couple hundred yards away from... a foot. The thing's foot. His god damn foot. Eyes track up, up, up from ankle to knee to the building blocking the way, then up above it to the four hundred meter tall Godzilla getting freaky with the Chrysler building. For two long, incredulous seconds he's frozen, wide eyed, knees locked, uncomprehending.

And right before that foot lifts to take another step, he stutters out a stunned: ]

I'm gonna need a bigger boat.

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ @ ᴍᴇ ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ.ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ

the beer here SUCKS
who's star do I have to war to get a freakin IPA

@klaus.mikaelson

[interminably]

Might I suggest the brown liquor. The beer here leaves much to be desired, as does most anything of the liquid variety. But, whiskey seems to be safest. That or bourbon. I also pilfered a tin of moonshine. That was quite the experience.

Dr. Lance Sweets | Bones

[lifetothefullest]

[I. And you thought uncooked ramen was bad]

[In Hadriel, it had become a bit of a joke that Lance would eat pretty much anything considered edible; although there's certainly more selection here in New Amsterdam the same principle holds, although more out of choice than necessity this time.

Choice and curiosity, specifically, as he orders the weirdest thing he can find at a nearby food truck. He's had insects before--great way to make money from more squeamish friends in college--but not exactly... Whatever this is. Hm.

Maybe his curiosity has gotten the best of him, and he can be found standing a polite distance from the truck with his eyebrows furrowed, poking at the meal. He's definitely going to try it, but maybe he should figure out what's in it first. Are those mealworms?

Haha. "Meal"worms.]


[II. It really is his natural talent]

[He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little sad that his magic was gone.

In fact, he was REALLY sad that his magic was gone. He'd worked hard for that magic, and it was cool. Now he was back to boring normal.

Except maybe not, as he'd been informed by other Displaced about everyone gaining a power upon arrival, and just having to figure out how to use it. So he's been trying to figure that out in the safety of the Warehouse, and of course it couldn't be exactly the same as using the magic he'd learned in Hadriel. That'd be too easy.

But he does eventually figure it out, a blue glow lighting up in his chest, and okay that's pretty cool. Much more dramatic than using magic in Hadriel, but still, pretty neat.

Only what happens next is not neat. A high-pitched whistling noise seems to emanate from nowhere, apparently doing its best to deafen anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to hear it.

Lance immediately covers his ears and drops his concentration, and fortunately the sound goes with it. He's pretty sure he can still hear it ringing in his ears, but it's just phantom sound and fades after a few moments, at which point he looks sheepishly around at anyone who may have had to suffer through that.]

Um, sorry. I guess my power is being annoying.


[Network | [Bad username or site: lance @ sweets]]

If you could go back and, knowing what you know now, tell yourself one thing right after you arrived, what would it be?

Alternatively, what are the best and worst things about being here?

ii!

[evocation]

[Kyna is also, completely unsurprisingly, gutted that her magic is gone. She secretly thinks her power also sucks, although the version Fenris had back home sounds pretty awesome. Apparently she got the lame version.

Not as lame as what this new guy's gotten though.

When Lance glances over, he'll see someone familiar with her hands clapped over her ears—although when she lowers them, there's nothing elven visible. She looks very human. She also doesn't seem to recognize him.]

Jesus.

[Kyna shakes her head, making a face, though she seems more amused than annoyed.]

It's okay. My power is being annoying, too.

inquisitor trevelyan ; dragon age: inquisition ; hadriel crau

[closerift]

001. festival

[ Her surroundings are celebratory, but the Inquisitor appears a bit as if she's...sleeping. Cecily's expression is vague, her reactions somewhat delayed. The scene is lively enough to draw anyone out of a daze, but she's managed to maintain it as she navigates her way around the festival with a sort of purposeless flow. The various games are flashy enough to draw extended stares as she tries to make more sense of what exactly they are (these are games, aren't they?), but nothing seems to bring her to a halt.

Hunger does eventually worm its way to the front of her mind and she pauses by one of the food trucks, only clued in to their purpose by - well. The obvious, drifting scent of a meal and the others who walk away with their hands full of delicious-seeming, but unfamiliar dishes. Cecily finally approaches one of the festival's offerings, here, and is rewarded with a pad thai: grasshoppers included.

The Inquisitor moves aside to let others pass, eyebrows rising as she observes fully the plate she'd been given. As the next person in line approaches the front, she offers the steaming, untouched plate with a half-amused, half-disgusted expression. ]

Care to take this one? I didn't realize it would be quite so...exotic.

[ Ugh. There are legs sticking up between the noodles. ]


002. criminal

[ The fighting ring is not anywhere she wants to be, but she's there at the bar anyway: for once, it's not to drink. Though there's a glass in her hand, it's more for show as she does her best to get all possible information from this bartender. It's a new world, after all, and she has a lot of questions. ]

- really nothing here you all refer to ominously as "the Door?" Ah, well. [ She sighs, leaning back, and glancing from the counter back toward the ring, where an all-out brawl is very much carrying on. ] Suppose it couldn't be so easy, could it?

[ There are a lot of people here, she thinks, taking a sweeping look across the crowd. In whose mind is this decent entertainment? ]

...And another thing. Does your lot have any gods that...you... And, he's gone. [ Cecily sighs dramatically as she realizes the man she'd been questioning has shifted to other customers, and she presses her back to the bar with her arms crossed. ] Andrsate's ass, is it going to be this difficult to get answers from anyone in this city?


003. chaos

[ Now, monsters... Those are familiar enough. ]

Maker's breath. [ It's enormous, and thankfully, it's very far away. That doesn't stop her staring at the...lizard (?) as it stomps by very far off, terrifyingly visible even from a distance.

The creature certainly captures her attention for some time as she watches it, thinking easily of the dragons they'd come across throughout Thedas...but it isn't anywhere near her, and she couldn't possibly do anything about it on her own (or, maybe even with all the help in the world). She's drawn from her daydreaming by the small sounds of rustling nearby. The Inqusitor starts, momentarily alarmed...but only finds a family of three emerging from a nearby tent.

She relaxes, expression shifting quickly to sympathy at the sight. The city is clearly in a bad way, and this isn't the first time she's seen refugees...in this place, or back at home. ]

I'm sorry, I don't have much - haven't been here long, myself - but... [ The provisions she's managed to find that don't have bugs in them come out of her bag and into her hands as she extends it toward the trio. A silent, wearied-looking woman sizes her up with an inscrutable expression, but accepts the bundle with a nod of her head before the three walk off, glancing briefly to the stranger at their backs.

Cecily scrubs a hand over her face, exhaling. ]

Off to hunt down another meal, then. [ Before she starts off, wondering exactly how many of the city's residents are as "fortunate" as these... ]


004. network

[ Fortunately, in spite of her early days of struggling through technology use with grandma-like precision, Cecily has since learned how to type with at least basic proficiency: ]

I do miss the bar, I'll admit. Tell me that your world at least has a dim spot somewhere for a person to drink herself into a stupor.

2222

[championofsnark]

[Hawke is not one of the top names at the rings quite yet, but she's been fighting her way. up the ladder tooth and nail. Sometimes including ripped out nails, for that matter. She wins, she loses, but she always manages to snark her way in battle which makes her a favorite to a good audience. She was honed and sharpened into an object of violence, and she never looked for a different way to live. No retirement for Hawke. Only fight to the next until the end.

When she's not fighting she's drinking and cheering people on, and she does love her brawls. She's getting another ale, dressed down in properly fighting gear with her hands taped up for her next bout, when she spots someone who looks familiar. She's only spent a brief time with the Inquisitor, but she's one of those types you don't forget. Especially not after one's best friend sends coded messages about their new muse.]

Well if it isn't the Chosen One in the flesh.

[She grins, sliding up next to her as if they're two normal people at a bar. Cassandra being thrown by Hawke being alive has led her to play it a little calmer with Cecily, in case she's dead as a doornail in more than one timeline.]

larry trainor | doom patrol

[testflight]

0 0 1 | SAFEHOUSE (cw: scars, burns, disfiguration, pls also see the general cw's for larry in his journal)

[ larry doesn't want to be here, but being here is no better or worse than being anywhere else. where he is matters less than that he's here. what's that saying again? wherever you go, there you are. wherever he goes, he can never escape himself.

he seems to have escaped the negative spirit, though, and he's not entirely sure how he feels about that. it's something he's wanted for so long, but lately, they'd come to some sort of agreement, reached a truce, perhaps even grown to —cooperate. like each other? he's not entirely sure how he's alive without the negative spirit keeping him alive, but maybe there's something to be said for modern medicine. apparently, whatever they did to him here isn't only keeping him alive but also took care of the radiation. no one's died yet in his vicinity and that's a win in his book.

still. it's odd, to be the only one in his body. to be alone. (he does feel completely and utterly alone.)

on the plus side, next to being alive? he seems to have developed a new skill. the first time it happened, chest glowing blue when he'd felt the overwhelming desire not to be what he is these days, not to have the outside match the inside, the desire not to be the monster he's so long felt himself to be and look it, he'd thought he was dreaming or hallucinating or that mr nobody somehow got into his head — but no. it's what he got in the lottery draw that is everyone getting powers here, apparently.

he's not —practicing, exactly, right now. it isn't something so deliberate, but he's moving through the safehouse, not quite making eye contact with anyone, shoulders curving in a little despite being broad and solid and seemingly unhurt. his face is beautiful, eyes blue and hair brown and falling into his face. an unknown face, one no one in the safehouse will have seen before, although the blue glow coming from him marks him as one of the displaced.

if someone distracts him (for example by asking him who the hell he is) or just after some time has passed, the image flickers and falters, though. instead of flawless skin, his face, his hands, every visible inch of skin is covered in burns, old now but still vicious-looking, red and purple and dry. there is no hair on his head; but his eyes are the same startling colour.

larry visibly flinches when he catches sight of his hands (as burnt as the rest of him). ] Damn it.

[ he'd just wanted to get something to eat from the kitchen. he hadn't wanted anyone to see him, not as he really is. he swallows, glancing at whoever is in the corridor with him. ] Sorry.

[ please don't ask him any questions. please let him just — move away, one hand pressed to his chest like it hurts. after a moment, the illusion returns and he looks whole again, healthy, the way he used to look, not the scarred and burnt mess that he's become. ]

0 0 2 | DREAM

[ in his dreams, larry is whole. in this particular dream, he's in a bar — it's not one he's familiar with, exactly, but one that's a mix of places he's been. the bar john had taken him to. the karaoke bar on danny the street. there's nothing special about this bar, really, although anyone observant will notice that none of the couples in the booths or on the dance floor are straight; it's all men dancing with men, women with their arms around other women, a black drag queen crooning something into the microphone.

larry's at the bar. he's drinking a beer. watching. listening. trying to feel like he belongs. ]

0 0 3 | NETWORK ([Bad username or site: larry @ trainor])

hi is this working
does anyone know where i can get large quantities of bandages
and maybe orchids

this isn't my first trans-dimensional abduction, but it's still weird
at least this one didn't involve a donkey

[ he generally types with proper punctuation and all, but he hasn't quite gotten the hang of mental texting yet. bear with him. ]

safehouse

[ex_defenestratings377]

[ abigail has inherited a number of scarves from marta, enough to wear a new one every day, even as she struggles to find a way to disguise her missing ear that isn't an uncomfortable woolen hat that makes her itch like crazy. at night, once the lights go out in the bunk room, she goes without the hat and scarf entirely. unfortunately, she can't seem to sleep when surrounded by so many people with little privacy so she finds herself awake at night and uses the time to herself to make herself little snacks of raw veggies and cut fruit.

she almost drops her plate of neatly peeled satsumas and cut apples when she finds herself with someone else in the hall, bright blue eyes widening. her hand moves, like a reflex, to shift her hair in front of the scar left behind where her ear should be and the dark scar across her throat, but there is no waterfall of dark hair there for her to use as a curtain.

once she gets a look at him, she doesn't think he'll care in any case. ]

Is that your power?

[ is she seething with jealousy? what wouldn't abigail give to disguise her own disfigurement. ]

mia scott | original

[morphines]

one » fight club

[ mia doesn't, by nature, like violence. oh, she's grown used to it to some extent. she'd always imagined herself healing instead of hurting and that's what she'd been doing for a while, but life being what it is, she'd ended up doing plenty of hurting, too. she isn't planning on keeping that up, that's not why she's here.

instead, she's watching the fights, cataloguing hits while nursing a beer. there are dark circles under her eyes (she hasn't been sleeping well, all of this is a lot, but she's trying to figure it out, to make the best of it), but her lips pull into a lop-sided smile and her voice is steady whenever she approaches one of the displaced she recognises from the safehouse. ]

Let me look at that? [ with a nod or a gesture toward some injury obtained in the ring.

patching someone up may require skin contact and she's learned that comes with some side effects, but if she can ease someone's pain, help someone? she's never going to be able to keep herself from offering. ]

two » resolution day / food truck

[ the food looks amazing. it smells amazing, too, and despite all the warnings about insects, mia wants to try everything, from the various alcoholic drinks on offer to the street food sold at the food trucks. ]

Hey. [ she nudges whoever joined her on this visit to the festival, careful not to let skin touch skin. she's learning, see? ] I can't decide what I want to try first. Care to share a bunch of stuff?

one » network ([Bad username or site: mia @ scott])

so i read the guide (thanks to everyone who put that together, seriously) and what it says about the medical system there
and i was going to offer medical help if anyone needs it
but with how much more advanced things seem to be here, i feel like i should leave it to professionals trained in this day and age

wildcard »

[ anything goes! tl;dr she's a doctor who accidentally gained superpowers and got drafted into black ops. ]

» fight club

[righteously]

[ So - to fully acknowledge the elephant in the room, Dean Winchester got his ass thoroughly kicked. There's no denying it, not with so much evidence to back it up - the break to his nose, still lazily bleeding. The puffiness to his split bottom lip. The cut across one cheekbone from a goddamn wedding ring someone had been wearing - and to tell you the truth, Dean's not wholly convinced they were married.

He put up a damn good fight, though. For the first few minutes, it was really a tossup on who was gonna take the victory. What sealed his fate is the blue glow in his opponent's chest, the power they evidently got while Dean's has yet to manifest itself in any way, shape, or form.

(Empathy bonds notwithstanding - that ain't his.)

Figures he'd wind up in a weird limbo where everyone gets a superpower but him.

Either way, he's beat all to shit when he sits heavily down on the nearest open seat, gingerly touching the break in his nose.

He's not expecting company, let alone medical aid. He eyes Mia, a certain wariness there that ultimately relents to a tired, resigned nod. Normally he'd say he can handle it himself, but- damn his head's buzzing. ]

Yeah, alright.

[ A little come on gesture. Knock yourself out, he'll tip his head back for it and try to block out the pounding. ]

James Barnes | MCU

[freightcars]

Empathize

[ They don't thaw him out where he expects to wake up, and so those first few hours are hard - both for him and for the people trying to help him. Two people are dropped to the floor unconscious before they manage to calm him down enough to falter, pause, breathe, wait for some kind of explanation about all this. He can't say he's thrilled starting out in this new place having already injured a couple of people, but they wind up surprisingly understanding and no worse for the wear.

Somebody fixed his arm. On top of that, he finds out his arm isn't even the most interesting prosthetic around here and it garners no more looks than anybody else with a visible defect might. Absent glances, deliberately dragged away and then otherwise ignored. It's a similar relief that nobody double-takes at his face, and while he probably shouldn't feel it, there's a strange deep shift of gratitude down at his core.

He can't stay. He knows he can't, but if he's gonna be stuck regardless for the foreseeable future these things at least make his life far easier than it had been in the last several weeks, months, decades...

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't wear long sleeves when he goes out. No thick jacket to cover his arm, no gloves over top of it, and it feels good in the way freedom hasn't felt in forever. They haven't had the time to sit him down and talk to him about all the weird stuff he should expect here, it's only been a few days and they're very understaffed (and he also punched one of them in the face, and they're probably a little less charitable for it). He doesn't know about the perils of skin-on-skin contact.

He finds out first hand, and by accident. It's innocuous, completely innocent when he reaches out to curl a hand around the arm of someone in front of him in line to ask them a question. He preempts it with a quiet, kind: ]

Hey--

[ And then fingertips graze, and he feels it like an onslaught, an invading force, eyes blowing wide and the vestiges of his peaceful contentedness shift immediately into a sort of surprise and dread, trepidation, anticipation for a fight. ]

Contributing Member of Society

[ Getting by before was a constant strategy evaluation. With no identity and no connections, making money couldn't be done on the books, which left him only a variety of kosher options. Off the table manual labor, which he did frequently and with great ease, netted him his easiest income. Not the most lucrative, but it got him food, supplies, almost enough for rent in the sketchier types of dwellings that didn't ask for references or checking account information. When those things weren't available, it became a game of breaking into abandoned apartment buildings, visiting food banks, occasionally stealing things if it got bad enough.

It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't have to do that here. They handed him an ID, gave him access to actual legal banking, and it's almost tragic that he's more of a citizen here than he is back home in any country on the globe.

It means he can potentially actually get and keep a stable job that gives him a consistent source of income.

That being said, he doesn't have a whole lot of marketable skills. At least, not the type of market he wants to work for. He's strongly out of the murder business, he's not interested in joining any armies, and he never did finish up that accounting degree back in 1941.

That leaves him with only the most basic of options. Entry level gigs. He heads for the sketchier part of town for these, because there are restaurants, bars, and clubs who could probably stand to have someone on the staff capable of heavy lifting. Security detail. Someone that can both count exact change and keep them from getting robbed.

He can be spotted going from one semi-promising looking establishment to the next, slipping in, finding someone who looks otherwise not too occupied. ]

Excuse me- hey, sorry. Do you know if they're hiring here? Or... anywhere?

GAMES

[ Sorry, did you say you wanted someone to make everyone look like an absolute god damn scrub at target practice? Because that's what he heard, and that's what he's doing, posted up at one of those money-sucking fair games, absolutely obliterating everyone at speed shooting targets.

Don't try and make bets with him, because he'll absolutely take them. He has a tiny problem when it comes to spending money on stuff like this. Plus, you know, it's hard to stop when you're showing off as good as he is. ]

[soldiers]

[ Not easy to startle him these days. Not since the serum, and then the war and all that had come after, had taken trepidation out of his life for good — but the truth of the matter is, it’s mostly the serum that did it. Before it, any new touch had been probable cause for alarm, something wicked coming his way, and there was always that knee-jerk moment of bracing for an impact. When you can’t see right, hear right, even goddamn walk right, you learn the hard way to rely on your gut; weren’t no dames putting hands on him, and nine times outta ten the guy who did grab him wasn’t Bucky.

These days, though, his five senses were as sharpened as they could be and then some, and the amount of people with the ability to sneak up on him was very, very low in number.

He isn’t expecting any of them here. He especially isn’t expecting ...

Hey, says a voice that he’d be able to pick out of a hundred others, and something in Steve’s head flashes back to an evening a lifetime ago, standing in front of a mirror that proved all his shortcomings at once. The memory in his head finishes the sentence for him, You’re kinda missing the point of a double-date, and —

Relief. Gratitude. Calm. A sense of feeling grounded, centred, free.

In a way, none of those emotions should come as a surprise — they’ve always been ones he’s associated with the man in front of him, and no matter how many lifetimes lost between them that’s not the kind of thing the mind forgets easy. But it is a surprise, and he does startle, and all six feet something of him seizes up in a brief flinch, the shock showing on his face even as an easy, steady comfort flows through him at that touch. ]

Hi. I —

[ Maybe not the smoothest response, but it's taking him a second to remember that the missing persons case he’d been on these last few years had been a person who very clearly did not want to be found, who just wanted to be left alone. Wanted to stay missing. His thoughts rifle through a nondescript brown folder from Kiev, a thread he was told not to pull on, and by the time he speaks again his emotions settle into something quiet and sad, shot through with pain. ]

Look, I didn’t follow you here. [ Steadily, his other hand coming up open-palmed, his posture relaxing. Doesn't try to break free of the hand around him. ] No idea how they nabbed us both.

Charlton | The Magicians (will most likely be full of s5 spoilers!)

[heldontight]

i. Settling in;
[ So he's here. He's real, and tangible, and human, which still makes him giddy just thinking about. For someone who's spent thousands of years in a white room of nothing, only to hide inside someone else's memories. It's a lot more complicated than that, sure, but the gist of it is this: Charlton has his own body, even if it's been altered with technology he still doesn't quite comprehend, and it's enough to make him cry.

He does cry. On and off with no regard as to where he is or making other people feel uncomfortable. Feel free to see him sniffling to himself, staring at neon lights, completely impervious to the fact that other people can now see him. Old habits die hard. ]

ii. Food Trucks;
[ Should Charlton be ordering from five separate food trucks? No. Did he? Absolutely. Is he sick? Well, he is looking pained as he curls his hands onto his stomach. He's on the curbside, paler than usual, squinting at the separate little boxes, all in various states of being eaten--one untouched, one with only a few bites, one completely gone and two halfway finished. ]

I've made a grave mistake.

[ He'll look up, a pale creature of deserving only of pity before he reaches for whoever's walking by. If he's lucky, he'll gab a sleeve or a wrist. ]

You have to help me.

iii. Network; un: Charlton
How many fireflies does it take to power all of the beautiful lights in this city? Has anyone found the appropriate number? It must be in the billions.

iv. Wildcard;
[ Feel free to assume Charlton is behind you, or beside you, probably looming over your shoulder without realizing it. Maybe he's actively too close and looking at what you're doing with interest, or maybe he's not paying attention and has stopped walking on a busy street altogether. Hell, maybe he just walks right into you like he expects something other than a collision to happen. ]

ii

[sakhr]

[ Charlton is lucky, which paradoxically makes him very unlucky. People don't typically grab Bartimaeus of Uruk, Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, etc.¹ around the sleeve and get away with it.

The look Bartimaeus gives him is one of pure disgust. ]

I most certainly do not.

[ ¹ Oh, alright. The Serpent of Silver Plumes, Wakonda of the Algonquin, Necho of Jerusalem, who rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak and Prague, who spoke with Solomon, who ran with the buffalo fathers of the plains, who watched over Old Zimbabwe till the stones fell and the jackals fed on its people. Impressive stuff. Lots to write out. Easier not to do it every time, but some people like to know. ]

william clayton-queen l arrow

[slavophile]

> SETTLING IN

( William Clayton (formerly, Harris, formerly formerly Clayton, now... sort of Queen) is not easily flappable. On the surface, he's calm and cool. He's affable and friendly to everyone in the safe house. A lot of the time he can be found sitting on the bed he's claimed for himself exploring the neural network. He used to do this as a teenager even, off at boarding school and forgotten by Felicity.

Coding and hacking came easily to him, as did all manner of schooling. It's how he made it in the tech world so effectively.

He got an idea in his head and he went for it. He wanted a company he acquired and he got it. He wanted to partner with, and then acquire it, easy for a young CEO.

He doesn't test the limits of his connection as far as he'd like to. He doesn't want to cut off access or alter himself to whatever authorities are in this time.

He knows these things for certain. He is not in the year 2019. Nor, is he in the year 2040. Two, he's out of time in two ways more than one because technology once again advanced. There is an authority here and he is now living outside of the law again, much like vigilantes did, much like Mia ended up doing as Blackstar. He tries to keep track of facts. No reason to get bogged down in two many details when all he could do was pace around the safe house, browse, code, and lightly hack. His goals would expand. He all ready makes plans for the second he can leave the safe house, but. For three days, he's stuck.

He's the guy that goes back for the coffee a few times in a day and he even attempts to make the next cup when he empties the pot. It takes him a second - okay, ten minutes - but he manages. Technology has always been his strong suit.

A few times, you can find him rifling through provided clothing, or drawers, or anywhere he thinks he might find -- what you've caught him looking for. )

Is this your drawer? I'm just trying to find a pair of gloves. I mean no offense when I say this, but, I heard about the empathy bond and we're all strangers. I like feeling my own feelings. And not -- sharing them. ( With said strangers. )

> ORGANIZED CRIME

( William Clayton-Harris-Queen is not a criminal. But, he played vigilante once and he didn't hate it. It's clear things are not all right in this time. He's tried taking the establishment out before from the inside. He knows firsthand, criminal activity is in the eye of the beholder.

It's not hard to get himself in front of the right person. William's a genius and he's very good at reading people. Once he demonstrates just what he can do, he's a necessary part of things.

Of course he's not going by his own name here. No, he's just Harris.

So, when your character ends up on the inside of one of those lesser crime rings, it may be a surprise to be linked up with someone familiar, someone perhaps that doesn't spend much time in the safe house anymore. He's supposed to be briefing them on the mission at hand, but they're left alone and he completely drops the facade. )

So. We should probably talk. It's not what it looks like. I don't think. It might be. I might be in over my head, but in my defense, they took a very wealthy guy from 2040 and they dropped him into whatever year I consistently forget this is. Also, I can't be the only one who sees the corruption, like, everywhere. Right?

> FIGHT CLUB

( It's familiar territory and only natural he gravitates here, too, in order to be around what he feels like is his sister's spirit. He'd met Mia aka Blackstar in an underground fight club and then he and their dad had went undercover in another one. Fitting? Totally. Nerve-wracking. Totally. As it is, William is continuing to be all about quick cash. Cash being relative here as everything seems to be hands free. He spends the first few visits just sipping from a vodka on the rocks (he's in another time and he's developed a taste for it, he knows he's not really a drinker, thanks), and evaluating. He watches the crowds, the fights, and the crowd's reactions. He isolates the favorites, the underdogs and the upsets.

Eventually, he bets. He tries not making a name for himself, but it's hard, right? Not to mention, his power he's getting a better hang of. People follow the money. When he recognizes one of another members of the displaced, he has them escorted over to him. )

Join me! You're VIP now. And, if you're over here, they won't - bother you or, listen to your conversations. Our conversations. That, and I'm working on anti-listening devices. It's slow going so it's better they think I'm just important enough to not be bothered with. Did you want a drink?

>[Bad username or site: william @ claytonqueen]

( It may not be his smartest move, but it's time to own up to who he is on both sides. Gabi asks for his identity, and he gives it to her. William Clayton. Queen. He expects a hyphen. There is no hyphen. )

So, I'd love to pick the brains of any of my fellow displaced. Hands-on technology not in our brains, is it still around? Prevalent? I'd like to be able to help, but I need to get a better grasp on everything. If I can get my hands not he right equipment, I could make it so that people can't listen in. Small conversations to start, but I could outfit the safe house, too. I just need the right equipment.

Speaking of. I have a handle of the neural network but is there anyone that could give me a crash course in technology today? Just an overview. What I should expect, what I shouldn't. I know paper's pretty much obsolete. And I heard that AI's are a thing which is not anyone's Terminator Skynet nightmare at all.

Also, what are the chances that other people might arrive that you know from home? Is it possible they're somewhere else besides where we all were dropped off?

( fight club )

[smoakshow]

( at the end of the day, mia goes with what she knows she’s good at — hitting stuff. she can’t take down the establishment in a night, although she’d like to try. she doesn’t have the networking necessary to dismantle whatever catch and release experiment she’s smack dab in the middle of and that leads to filling like a tiger trapped in a cage, pacing back and forth, waiting for the chance to strike. the streets of star city in 2040 ( and the boiling resentment at having been betrayed and lied to by the one person that should have been able to confide in her ) had shaped her into this. her team may have temporarily danger-proofed those jagged corners, but mia is right back where she started.

( and she’s mad about the choppy pixie she’s rocking, wild curls and all. )

she needs quick cash and she needs stress release, and all of that pushes her down this avenue, back in the ring. she’s icing her cheekbone with a chilled glass ( with about an inch of whatever you’ve got that’s cheap left ) when she spots someone that’s not supposed to be in new amsterdamn, let alone a gritty hole in the wall like this place. he’s talking to someone and mia catches the last few words, already draining the equivalent of corner store vodka and slamming her empty glass down on the tabletop. )

No, but I do. ( to whoever the displaced is that already looks like they want to leave and probably will in the next five seconds: ) We're in the middle of something. Bye.

( without an apology or much shock, she whirls on william and either slides in next to him in a booth or occupies the closest stool. )

What are you doing here? Here, ( she's channeling their dad apparently ) and not behind a desk.

charlie smith | class

[omnicides]

0 0 1 → empathy

[ at first glance, there is nothing remarkable about charlie. there's the shorn head, of course, but then all newcomers sport that particular haircut. he moves around the safehouse quietly, asking questions in a polite tone and manner, trying not to get into anyone's way. he smiles at people.

touch him, though, and the impression becomes a different one. whether it's the slight brush of skin against skin as you reach for the same thing on the table, whether it's accidental in a crowd or the shake of a hand because charlie's put his out when he's introduced himself - instead of anything quiet, there's an overwhelming surge of sadness and guilt, of loss. of complete and utter hopelessness. underneath it, there's still steel —and responsibility.

it'll last only for a moment before charlie realises what's happening and snags his hand back or ends the touch in some other way. ]

I'm sorry. [ he tries for another smile, but it'll now look frayed around the edges. ]

0 0 2 → network ([Bad username or site: charles @ smith])

How do I use Google on this?

@silena.beauregard

[chocolateries]

On this, you mean... your brain?

Kol Mikaelson • The Vampire Diaries

[demeritorious]

HISTORY LESSONS • VR simulation

Days in this place in a weakened state, with a gnawing hunger that goes beyond blood, and the knowledge that yet again someone has stolen from him what is rightfully his and Kol isn’t exactly in his best mind. Not that he’s ever truly been, but the idea of going from Mystic Falls to hundreds of years in the future has been an absolutely sore reminder of the centuries he’s lived in a coffin, locked in a box without memories, without blood, without living.

Not that violence and bloodshed without actually putting his hands on a body, without feeling the blood on his hands isn’t really living either but there’s this sensation that seems to originate through that thing in his chest, radiating through his skull and along the length of his spine and for a moment he forgets he’s in some fake world and let’s himself sink into the sensation as he tries to channel all of that pain and anguish.

Not that he’s really thinking about teammates and winning wars. Only about making someone else hurt as deeply as he is. All those years wishing to be what he began as, to be a witch once more, and now that he’s been changed it is worse. A million times worse. Being in a box is better than feeling as insignificant, as vulnerable, as human as he feels now.

So he turns on any in the game that he sees, looking to turn his unit into a bloodbath.

Coming out of it, finally killed and jerking off the glasses with a sneer that bears sharp fangs and wild eyes as he jerks away from anyone nearby, skittish and hungry. “Don’t! Just… give me a minute.”

He feels winded, the sensation of his heart pounding in his chest, and a desire to feel those things like an aching growing deep inside. One he knows he has to hold in check. At least for now.

FIGHT CLUB • Ringside

There’s a delight in the chaos and violence of the fights. Something familiar, something that leaves a tang of blood on his tongue and an ease to his soul. It’s actually comforting. The scents around him, the heat of bodies and the sounds of pain. Perhaps with this new place, this chance, he should be seeking to push out all of these thoughts and desires but they’re what he knows and he’s desperately clinging to them.

Another time and place he would have been in the ring, watching entrails spilling out over the ring. Instead he gives into the populace, cheering and yelling while drinking what he can manage to get others to buy for him. His clothes are pieced together by those that brought him and know of him and he’s still adjusting to the cut of his hair, irritated not even beginning to cover it, but for now he offers a smile, teasing flirtations, and if he happens to be close enough to feel the blood on his skin while picking up a drink that is decidedly not his own, well so be it.

Festival • Food Trucks and Around

Perched on an electrical box, Kol is finding ways to entertain himself. Most of them at the expense of others. So he explores the games, investigating the things others are doing. So many of the moments he’s spent outside of a coffin were spent killing others, seeking revenge, and trying to pass on the pain and frustration he’s felt to anyone around him.

Now though while he still holds many of the same cravings, he doesn’t find himself with the abilities to spread blood as he once had. So now he seeks other ways of inflicting pain. Even if they’re weak compared to what he’s done before. So much weaker than he wishes they were. Like himself. But he’ll do what he can.

Though even he is both mesmerized and disgusted by some of the offerings. All these years and this is what mankind has come to? And what will some of these things do to their systems? At least the part of their systems he cares about.

“I once heard,” he begins to someone walking past them as they head to find a table. “Of a man killed eating a live octopus that refused to go down. Might want to make sure those tidbits of insect are truly dead before they try and climb back out.”

HISTORY LESSONS • VR simulation

[slavophile]

Let the record show, William has outgrown games like these. But, it's a much needed night out not at the fight clubs. Still, the world is a small one and it's not his sister he meets but one of the fighters he'd first overlooked. His new power came in handy to post upstairs in the VIP area, watching the fights from above. He studies, and later bets. He remembers Kol and how relentless he can be, how violent. He becomes a favorite, and one to William when it comes to putting money down.

He's not expecting to run into the guy at a VR event.

William looks at it as research, but honestly? He needs to blow off some steam. He's not bad at it, considering he'd taken over the tech side of new and improved (which could be argued, too) Team Arrow. Zoe's death still stings, even in this time. It would for some time. The simulation he joins is a two hander. William is Kol's handler in a future Bond-like plot. It's more teamwork than anything and it reminds him of what he misses. The team. And his mom. His dad, too. Really, everyone.

They're felled, however, by two young teenagers.

He takes off his own glasses, ready to congratulate them but Kol seems to rip his pair off so violently.

"Uh - good game, children. Thanks for the - competition."

Turning back to Kol, he follows him out of the booth and tries to put a hand on his shoulder, but jerks it back when he recoils.

"Sure. Okay. Sorry to uh, to bother you. It's just a game, if that... helps." It probably doesn't, this guy is clearly a sore loser. "You did freak out the kids back there, so, points." William has never been a big kid person. Hey, they're like miracles, and whatever, but, no, they are not his thing. He does keep his distance, though, letting the guy collect himself.

Wu Liuqi/Seven - Scissor Seven Animated Series

[kill7]

1. SETTLING IN+EMPATHY

not the first time he showed up somewhere unexpectedly not quite understanding what was going on, to be honest. this is a strange world - definitely not the island he lived in. no talking animals, no beaches, but still, it reminded him a little bit of home - all the technology enhancements and all, but it's not like he knows how to access it. mostly he just jumps and runs when he sees something pop up in his vision. regardless of all of that, he does have a roof above his head and food to eat, so for now, while he tries to piece it together, it seemed... not that bad?

anyways, real talk - for someone who lost the memories of most of his life, this whole situation could very much be a consequence of past situation, but eh, if it were, he would know soon enough. he got in enough trouble over the past year just for existing, even though he had no idea what he had done.

thinking about this was a little useless and he had been busy anyways - trying to figure out what the hell was the glowing thing in his chest and what exactly was the whole The Empathy Thingy Everyone Was Talking About. he hadn't tried it yet - so maybe today could be the day he finally experienced it?

right now, he stands in front of the coffee machine, waiting till another person comes close enough so that he can offer a mug and maybe brush on their hand. this was a magnificent, cunning plan that had no possibility of going wrong!

2. NETWORK

hello!! my name is seven, i am a senior hairdresser from chicken island

i'm offering haircuts so help me make money i'll help you get many dates in whatever the hell this place is

1.

[commend]

Scott doesn't show up places unexpectedly. He was kidnapped once, but he'd taken the fight to the Calaveras so that was on him. He was kidnapped again by Kate. He was erased from existence. His life doesn't slow down, but that's the life of a pack leader and a true alpha. It can't be that being a true alpha sent him here or else everyone would be like him. He doesn't share what he is, doesn't have to, because everything wolf-like about him seems to have been nullified. Except, he remains without asthma and he thinks he saw his eyes glowing red the other day in the bathroom. Shaking his head remedied the situation, but it's something to watch for.

What Scott needs this second? Is coffee. Even though he still has boundless energy from being Scott McCall, being a pack leader, even a displaced one - literally - can get to him.

He goes to grab the coffee pot, way more high tech than he's used to using but at least buttons are still a thing. Taking the carafe out, he pours coffee into the offered mug for this guy and grabs one of his own, pouring more.

"Morning!"

Sorry, Seven. Scott's not taking your mug, but now you have coffee.

Isaac Lahey • Teen Wolf

[excessive]

Exploring the Changes

In truth, Isaac has no idea what to make of any of it. He's spent days exploring out from the safe house he was taken to, trying to make sense of any of this. It's harder than he could have imagined though. Everything's noisy but it's all a cacophony and he can't focus on any one thing. The smells of the city are like it had been before he was bitten. He never thought he'd be upset that he couldn't pick out the scent of a singular person but everything feels and sounds flat.

But he had lived most of his life this way and so he can adjust to this. If only because it means not thinking about Allison, which is of course what's on his mind most.

So used to relying on his senses though, he is more caught up in his thoughts than those around him and nearly collides with someone. Spinning out of the way, he moves much too slow because of a wall catching him off guard.

"Shit! Sorry." He groans, stepping back with his hands up. "First day in this body," he mutters.

Food Truck

He might not have the appetite of a wolf still, but he's still a teen boy. It's a party and it's definitely keeping his mind off things. Of course it's somewhere between the tacos and some crunchy churro things that he realizes the comments about insects weren't a joke about food truck sanitation.

He blinks, staring down at the coating and then shrugs, taking another bite. "Huh. Guess crickets could taste worse. Kinda nutty."

Network

Okay this is just so weird. It's only when you're trying to do it, right? Intentionally?

I mean our nightmares aren't going to end up in script form here, are they?

Exploring the Changes

[interminably]

Klaus didn't heed the call this week. He'd been given the location where their new arrivals had ended up, but he had arrangements to make, and a 'boss' to appease because of his impending trip. Anybody that knew him would doubt his motives severely as Klaus never does anything without calculating his next move. It's the only reason he's been so attentive the last few days. He lies about why he's leaving and lies regarding what lies in New Beijing, even with whom he's going with. Two days after the next grouping has settled, Klaus finally makes it to the safe house.

He's here knowing Timothy is, but he only knows where he is in location and not where inside. His power hasn't mapped as it were yet.

It's why as he eyes the cots and some of the other veterans he misses almost colliding with a young - what looks to be teenager.

Klaus' eyes go wide. The voice is wrong, it's not what he remembers but he does remember.

"Kol."

Sorry, Isaac, you're being pulled into a bruising hug.

Miriam Maisel | The Marvelous Mrs Maisel | OTA

[maisel]

i. Museum;
[ It takes Midge a good long while to feel comfortable here. 'Comfort' isn't quite the right word, but she feels a little safer now that she's got a wig, makeup, and a 50s style dress on. Her clothing is her armor, her appearance the one thing she can control in the world (especially this world), so she spends most of her allocated funds on something that gives her some sense of normalcy. To her exaspiration, red lipstick is more expensive. She's definitely going to have to get a job.

The bottom line is that Midge is new. This whole thing is incredibly jarring to her, this world being straight out of one of her sons television shows. Captain Video and His Video Rangers have nothing on the actual state of the world, though, and even though she's been primed and briefed and released into the wild, it's still a little overwhelming.

Once she feels more like herself and comfortable with the situation as she can be, she heads to the museum. It seems like the perfect place to study what she's missed, and in a weird way, despite the foreign and alien feeling she gets everywhere she looks, being in a place of learning, however vague, reminds her just a bit of her father. ]

Wowzers. [ She stops her walk, something catching her eye: paper. Actual paper, hidden away in a display case. She moves forward, blue eyes bright as she's hit with a strange pang in her chest. ]

Paper's really only in here, huh? [ Miriam doesn't seem to realize she's said it out loud, entranced in the wave of homesickness that's washed over her. ]


ii. Fight club;
[ Midge is getting the hang of things as quickly as she can. She adapts pretty easily, but the learning curve for a girl from the 50s is still pretty steep. She's purposefully poking around at the seedier parts of the city, specifically the bars, trying to get an active idea for the nightlife. She's looking for comedy: this Earth might be different (the future?) but there's got to a be a few people that want to laugh. She does, dammit. She's not really paying attention when she pays the cover to get into somewhere--she heard 'exclusive club' and automatically assumes it's a special bar.

Miriam Maisel is sorely mistaken. She's walked into a fight club.

She finds that her curiosity overrides her desire to leave. By the time she makes her way towards the cage, a fight is beginning. She watches the whole thing, wide-eyed with her hands covering her mouth, horrified: feel free to make fun of her. Alternatively, the moment the fight ends, she's moving lightning quick to the nearest fighter she can get to, offering a handkerchief like it will somehow help with the bleeding. ]

Are you okay?! [ Probably not. ]


iii. Network; un: miriam.maisel
I can't stop thinking of home.

I can't stop thinking of FOOD from home. Sure, I can make what I want, but if it's not my kitchen, does it really count? I would probably kill someone for a pastrami on rye from the Stage Deli.

(I wouldn't actually kill anyone. Just lightly maim them. Scratch their eyes out, maybe. It's good pastrami.)

What food do you miss you could only get at home? Let me live vicariously through you. If you describe it in detail I'll probably try to make it.

-Midge


iv. Wildcard;
[ Midge is always dressed to the nines, 50s style, even in here. She frequents makeup shops, restaurants and bars pretty frequently, although she's actively trying to explore as much as she can on her own. Feel free to run into her anywhere, or even bump into her on the street. If you want a personalized starter or have any questions, hit me up at whitespire! ]

2 cw violence and blood

[magnitudes]

( Sarissa’s staggering back, and slams against the side of the cage. She guy she’s fighting is bigger than her and stronger, but that’s the kind of fight she likes best. Every time he puts her down she gets back up, a mocking smile on her face that gets him riled. It goes on a long time. Too long, she’s getting slower, when her speed is her best chance, and she pushes up from the floor again, pushing up hard and fast and when he grabs her fist, she grins and drives the cap of her skull into his throat. He chokes and cough, and as his eyes are watering she headbutts him again and again, until his grip on her hand loosens and she gets him in a choke hold.

It’s not really a win when her head is spinning and she is barely standing. She stumbles out, spinning out blood, and her eyebrow is split, the eye beneath is already puffy and purple. )

Bloody perfect. ( She looks at the handkerchief, rather than the person offering it - closer, easier to focus on. )

I don’t reckon that’s gonna save me, hey.