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Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] faderift2022-11-29 07:54 pm

MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.



Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
"
Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.
laruetheday: at turning every place i go into my own personal hell. (i'm pretty good...)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-06 07:40 pm (UTC)(link)
“Learned a lot of things there,” Clarisse says, giving Ellie a small smile that’s not completely innocent. What? She’s allowed to low key flirt, even in near death situations. It will make up for her being a dick a few minutes ago.

She sits beside her and runs some water over the wound. It’ll leave them a little low, but she’d rather be thirsty than have Ellie’s arm fall off a couple weeks from now. (The thought of still being here a couple weeks from now is enough to make her feel sick again.)

“I can’t promise, like, the best stitches ever, but they’ll stop you from bleeding.”
heirring: ([091])

[personal profile] heirring 2022-12-06 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Is it rude to whisper under an artificial intelligence's commendably thorough debrief? Possibly. But without eyeballs to look into or even the illusion of a face—Fred the golem has one of those—, it's difficult to restrain herself from the impulse to draw Ellis in closer via a clever tightening of her arm so as to very quietly say to him, "I could be entirely mistaken of course, Mister Ellis. But I suspect we're in no immediate danger."

—Before returning her attention to oooing and aahing at all the bits and pieces of the introduction which seem most qualified to receive it.

"Mister Jarvis," isn't as tentative an address as it might be. Really, there's little functional difference between addressing the air of the room and speaking into her sending crystal. And this is hardly the first time she's found herself in a strange place asking strange and obvious questions. "Where in the tower are you located? And could you explain how this picture you're showing us is made? And also—"

And so on and so forth.

Suffice to say, Wysteria can conjure enough questions to fill the requisite time. The close cinch of her arm, meanwhile, doesn't loosen.
armd: (you don't know me)

[personal profile] armd 2022-12-06 10:55 pm (UTC)(link)
She's not very forthcoming with conversation as they make their way back, too busy keeping an ear out. When Clarisse asks she replies, "Yeah," clearly distracted. Keeps walking. Abby wouldn't usually be so paranoid, she knows this place, but it feels like she's been traversing it with a pack of children who don't know any better. She trusts Clarisse, she does. It's hard to switch it off.

"We're headed for the old Seattle hospital," is what she says eventually, taking a left turn, ushering Clarisse to her, "It's where they took everybody who started getting sick, in the first couple days of the outbreak. When they started to turn they just left them there and sealed it in."

A pause to let that simmer between them. Basically, "We're looking for extra guns and whatever bullets we can find. Anything that could be used as a heavy weapon."
degenere: (72)

[personal profile] degenere 2022-12-06 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[Val has seen a great many expressions upon the face of Wysteria--indignant, angry, annoyed, suspicious, cool, collected, pleased, cross, sharp, interested, curious, tired, occasionally even <>happy. This expression upon her face is new. It puts him on a wrong foot.

He narrows his eyes and, as he falls into step, puts the pamphlet into Bastien's waiting hand.]


Tout à fait. I did not think Madame capable of embarrassment. She is as armored as any Templar--better, in fact, as it is armor of a more natural sort, as a lizard wears. Ma biquette, [louder, so Wysteria might hear him, even though she is slumping along several paces ahead,] who is it that we visit? Are we visiting? I have only just come upon this little parade, I do not know our purpose.
notathreat: (67)

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-07 12:26 am (UTC)(link)
"H'okay," Ellie says through a choking laugh, which given the circumstances is honestly an achievement, but it did get her to smile. Ellie holds out her arm for Clarisse to work on it, closing one eye when it stings.

"I'll take it," she assures her. They haven't managed to recover much antiseptic yet, but she'll keep an eye out for soap. Despite haphazard health care Ellie's always healed without festering, even when by all rights she shouldn't have. Some part of her wonders if the spores in her bloodstream also eat other kinds of infections.

Wouldn't that be something.

"A nice, shiny new scar."
heirring: (rumpled and still superior)

[personal profile] heirring 2022-12-07 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
[What a dreadful set of questions. Bastien might have eventually been dissuaded from them—he is such an agreeable sort of companion—, or at the very least may have been happy to satisfy his curiosity in some later hour (which, maybe, would simply fail to ever produce itself! Who can say how long they will or will not be in the city!) on his own. But Valentine de Foncé is another story all together. Better to simply take the bullet directly between the eyes than to be subject to every little relentless barb produced by his unsatisfied curiosity for the duration of the next Age.]

Which does beg the question as to what you're doing here at all, Valentine. Surely there are more reputable neighborhoods for you to have chosen to explore.

[Which isn't an answer to either of his questions. But maybe— Yes, in fact it's entirely possible that the answer is that no, they are not visiting anyone at all. And so maybe she's saving her answer for

when she has gotten far enough along to spy the open third floor window of a particular terrace house. She stops abruptly. And then lurches glumly forward again, the pause's duration having only been long enough to shorten the distance of her lead.]


You must say that you are [what, exactly? What is a reasonable story? After a moment's stalled consideration, Wysteria makes a frustrated noise and lengthens her stride.] Oh, I don't care what you say you are. It hardly makes any difference.
hassaran: (noodles  (31))

[personal profile] hassaran 2022-12-07 02:02 am (UTC)(link)
"I saw extremely pink hair yesterday," Yseult shares as they cover the half-block to the station, the little pedestrian plaza clogged with knots of tourists crouching to angle both the beaux-arts station and the futuristic tower into frame. "I've never seen anything that pink."

She holds the door open behind her on gloved fingertips before they head down, the current of commuters sweeping them onto the down escalator. A tap of Starkphone to turnstile tablet and they're through, Yseult moderating her pace a half-step to begin following Bastien. "I asked Jarvis about how they color hair here and he listed a lot of unfamiliar ingredients. I wonder if Stark or Poppell could replicate any of it at home."
nonvenomous: (processing)

[personal profile] nonvenomous 2022-12-07 02:15 am (UTC)(link)
[ Defeat takes hold at this news. Dickerson deflates in his armor, the full body slump of a vacuum cleaner after the cable’s been pulled.

Again?

He thinks about it. To him it feels like he thinks about it for a very long time.

The reality is that Bastien speaks to him and opens the van door and Dickerson steps up into it, loaded as easily as a horse into a trailer. He takes the open seat rather than calculate for anyone still outside having to crawl in over him, wordlessly distrustful of Wysteria in the pilot’s chair and also disinterested in complaining about it now that he is no longer a pedestrian.

He’s still host to at least 1/4th of a McDonald’s bag. ]
luaithre: (bs408-0480)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-07 02:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ There is so much here that registers as incomprehensible—why does everyone have a rectangle, anyway, and why are they holding them like that—that the only thing Marcus can do is focus on what he does understand. Raised voices, threats of escalation. The impatient braying of horns from the other wagons that tell him that they're in error by merely existing here.

Marcus glances to Bastien, mild affront at being roped into a diplomatic approach when he's doing such a good job at this other thing.

But he relents, lowering the blade. If a broad smile is doing the same work as a raised weapon, then he'll ~allow~ Bastien to be the last one onboard. He steps in after Richard, and demonstrates zero compunction about shoving past and over him, a hand planting on his shoulder as he goes with a rustle of heavy leathers and metal. ]
cozen: (n195)

[personal profile] cozen 2022-12-07 03:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ Bastien's mouth pulls wide with a mild sort of skepticism, at the argument that Wysteria is incapable of embarrassment, before abandoning it for a smile at ma biquette. Charming. Not a dynamic he'd ever want to emulate, but—charming.

Keeping up with her is easy; he's taller, if not as tall as Valentine. Keeping up while maintaining the impression of a casual stroll, less so. But he does try. And what he lacks in peak local fashion, he makes up for somewhat with peak local posture, shoulders and arms and chin all positioned to match the average man on the street, with the understated confidence that lets him go all sorts of places without people thinking he doesn't belong. He is even reading as he walks, glancing up only briefly when Wysteria stops, resuming when she resumes. ]


If it doesn't matter, [ is mild, ] I think I should be a gentleman gambler and Monsieur de Foncé should be my valet.
cozen: (n085)

for ellis

[personal profile] cozen 2022-12-07 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
Even with its backdrop of skyscrapers, the building in front of them, all enormous statues of lions and white columns and broad stone stairs, has a comfortingly familiar aesthetic. For Bastien, anyway. But that isn't the main draw. He didn't drag Ellis on this field trip to look at the lions. He brought him because of the words public and library.

"—and everyone who lives here has an account, because they pay for it all together with their taxes, and they can borrow books whenever they like," he's saying. "Most of them can read them, too. More than eighty percent of people here are literate. Eighty."

It's cold, but not so bad in the middle of the day like this. He's wearing a hoodie. He's enamored with the ability to use the front pocket as a muff.

"I know it isn't real, here, for us, but—can you imagine? Eighty."
Edited 2022-12-07 03:50 (UTC)
heorte: (rm00468 (2))

[personal profile] heorte 2022-12-07 04:40 am (UTC)(link)
It is very good that Wysteria is summoning the appropriate level of interest. Ellis isn't sure he could manage it if the task of drumming up the right amount of curiosity fell solely to him.

The windows, coated with a substance Ellis has no frame of reference for, are a near constant reminder of how high in the air they are. The room itself is of a kin to an Orlesian estate or a Hightown manner. Inherently different in design, but the projection of wealth is the same. Add in the stock of sleek decor and unfamiliar objects and disembodied voice—

Wysteria keeps hold of his arm, and Ellis leans into her by degrees, silently listening to the exchange of questions. At some point, the click of bottle and glug of liquid into a cup returns his attention entirely to Tony.

Maybe his expression is a little imploring, a little expectant. They both know Wysteria could quiz this disembodied voice until the sun goes down.
notathreat: (72)

Earth-199999 (MCU) | OTA

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-07 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
↠ Avengers Tower

Perhaps surprisingly, Apocalypse Girl is one of the first people to find her feet in New York City. Despite prickling skin and the way she goes quiet, sticks to the edges of people's attention, she actually knows how to work an elevator. (Lance.) An escalator. (Cassandra.) How to order at a food stall. (Glimmer.) She even scrapes together some semblance of semi-modern fashion fairly quickly, with jeans and chucks and flannel, a denim jacket thrown over the top. She fastens her Riftwatch and rocket pins to the lapel.

If it weren't for the scars, she'd actually look like she belongs here.

What she still hasn't figured out is how to sleep on the luxurious mattress of the Avengers Tower. So she gets up in the middle of the night to wander down into the kitchen, possibly send the AI into a frenzy, accidentally hit the button for coffee and be so annoyed at the thought of just pouring it out that she curls up near one of the giant picture windows with a mug just to look out at the skyline.

And maybe someone finds her there, with an undrunk mug of black coffee by her feet, looking out at a still-living world so very close to the one she should've known.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks without turning around.


↠ Titanosaur

The first place Ellie goes, once they get settled, is the museum. The American Museum of Natural History. She's got eyes on the space exhibit, but from the second they enter she can see the bones of something huge, a head peeking out from one of the exhibits. Eyes lighting up, Ellie speed-walks through the museum at a pace that has people getting out of her way to circle the giant bones.

"Holy shit," she mutters almost to herself. "I've never seen one this big before. Look, he doesn't even have a name yet." She points out the plaque. "I guess they just found this one not all that long ago in... some farm in Argentina?"


↠ Music

Second on the list is a real life music store. It was one of the few things they didn't really have back in New Amsterdam. Actual instruments were barely played, basically relics. But this? This is something she's dreamed about for years.

There's a huge smile on Ellie's face as she turns in a slow circle, looking at what seems like hundreds of guitars on the walls before her eyes fall on an amp.

"No fucking way," she mutters, and heads over to the amp to fiddle with it, plug the guitar in, then reverently strum one chord. The notes ring out (low volume, 'cause of the shop) but it still has her looking like Christmas morning.

"No fucking way."

Another chord, then- and it falls off-key, strange. Strain enters Ellie's smile, and she takes the strap off her shoulders.

"Wanna try?"


↠ Wildcard
Edited 2022-12-07 04:54 (UTC)
heorte: (rm00515 (2))

[personal profile] heorte 2022-12-07 04:55 am (UTC)(link)
Prior to their arrival here, there may well have been some who assumed Ellis could simply not be anymore taciturn.

However, it turns out when planted in the middle of Manhattan and deprived of plate and mace, Ellis is capable of saying even less than he had in the relative comfort of Kirkwall.

Gwenaëlle and Tony had divested him of all the familiar trappings, one more forcibly than the other. Ellis has not been permitted to bring his mace onto the subway, nor ruin the sleek lines of his new coat with a breastplate. The wool is very fine, and it looks well. Ellis has been informed of this more than once.

"Eighty," he repeats, head tipping from examination of the building itself just enough to observe Bastien in his periphery, a faint muddle of differing emotions coloring that single word. Disbelief. Surprise.

Eighty percent. It feels unbelievable. (No, Ellis can't quite imagine it.)

"They allow anyone in?" is another repetition that also feels faintly skeptical, uncertain that what Bastien is describing can be wholly true.
notathreat: (112)

Seattle (TLOU) | OTA

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-07 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
Ellie is different here.

Different even than when she first arrived in Thedas, wary and self-contained. There she carried herself like someone harder, wary of the world.

Here in Seattle, it's a different story. Her voice is quieter, flinty, her expressions shut down mostly to seriousness. The wariness has taken on a different quality, every movement bow-strung tight.

Early on, she teaches the others about gun safety. How to load and unload. How to use the safety switch, and how to mistrust it. How to not point the barrel at any-fucking-thing you're not willing to shoot. The differences between a rifle and a shotgun and the different kinds of ammo.

"Here," she says of an evening, placing something into someone's hands. A salvaged weapon, a water bottle, a crumpled package of peanuts from a gas station. Some small gift, some small comfort. Something to keep them safe or fed or warm. "You doing okay?"

Sometimes she comes back from scouting or scavenging for supplies covered in blood, and sometimes it's her own. Those are the times she's quietest.
hassaran: (noodles (67))

a wild card appears

[personal profile] hassaran 2022-12-07 05:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ The wind whistles past at this height, riffling through hair and the edges of torn foil. Yseult hasn't gotten around to unwrapping her own burrito yet, still catching her breath and staring out at the skyline they've just flown through. A little wide-eyed, parted lips turning up at the corners--it's roughly the equivalent of a big stupid gape-mouthed grin on anybody else. Her feet swing in the air over the long drop to the East River.

Her mouth opens like she's planning to form a word, but she can't find a grip on it, circles around it and gives up with a laugh, head shaken again. A heavy exhale, two, a hand pushed through hair. ]


Maybe we should stay.
degenere: (84)

[personal profile] degenere 2022-12-07 05:25 am (UTC)(link)
[It is Val's absolute born-and-bred confidence that allows him to walk the way that he does: as if he owns the place, or at least as if the place will entirely reshape itself to fit his whims. He is not trying to fit in but manages, by virtue of his self-assurance and innate patronization, to be fit in all the same.

As they walk he is looking around, taking in the sights--here a doorway, here a knot of men laughing, here a turn in the labyrinthian street that leads down a dark way--and here a house--and his hand strays toward his little writing-book, ready to make some note.

It is only Bastien's suggestion that strikes a chink in his confidence. He looks around with a little scowl.]


What! Why must I be the valet? Why can we not both be gentlemen gamblers!
heorte: (rm00174)

let me here.

[personal profile] heorte 2022-12-07 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
The murals are impossible to miss.

It's not in his nature to pry. (Though Ellis is perhaps unavoidably adjacent to Wysteria, who has no such compunctions in her curiosity.) But bits and pieces filter through his awareness without much effort on his part.

The armor. The many dissenting, overlapping opinions. The sacrifice, and how it has sanctified him.

Ruadh is not here. In his stead, it's Ellis who frequently, inevitably gravitates into the workshop to simply be nearby. Not necessarily useful in the work, but present. Helpful if only to be a tangible reminder that food is necessary, and prompt Tony to take them both down in the elevator, out into the city, to acquire sandwiches.

The table in the deli is small, legs slightly uneven, everything gleaming metal and black formica tabletop nearly obscured with plates. Ellis is still edgy and uncomfortable moving through the world wholly unarmed. He's seated himself with his back to the wall out of ingrained, unthinking habit, not yet reaching for anything on the table as he watches Tony arrange the components of their meal in optimal alignment.

They're a long way from a cup of tea ferried up ten flights of stairs. Ellis has not said this, but it is on his mind too, as he plucks at the cashmere cuff of his sweater.
heirring: ([139])

[personal profile] heirring 2022-12-07 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
You cannot be gentleman gamblers! [And then, recalling that she has just decreed the whole charade inconsequential—] Oh fine. He will hate you all the same.

[They have reached the dreaded doorstep. And here is the door with its faded green paint and it's brass knocker in the shape of a cut branch. Wysteria steps up onto the little stone step and jerks on the bell. And then she tries the latch and it comes directly open, and consequentially they may all spill into the cramped foyer beyond nearly in time with the appearance of a stick thin old woman rushing in from the door at the other end of the hall, bawling with a tack sharp contralto that, 'We're full up. Go back the way you came—oh!']

Mrs. Gilbert, you must forgive me! I've left my key behind. Could you please lend me yours? I promise to return it directly. [Mrs. Gilbert's eye has clearly already moved past Wysteria to—] These are my...

[She does not look at either Bastien or Valentine, but there is a general hopeless air about the hanging end of the not quite explanation regardless.]
nonvenomous: (smug)

[personal profile] nonvenomous 2022-12-07 06:32 am (UTC)(link)
There’s a bit of fluff free to fall on the breeze, a clump here and there wicked with red at the ends.

Up in the tree, the coinspin whirring of the fox’s heart has steadied to a less erratic patter. He stretches, to the crack of battle-worn cartilage. He licks his claws clean, some necessary rasping to nibble and comb the blood out of his snout and paws.

Eventually, a pair of burnished copper eyes rise gradually over the horizon of a particularly robust limb, profile low under the pin of his ears. Barely there.

Just to see.
Edited 2022-12-07 06:40 (UTC)
armd: (teeth grit)

cw: gorier

[personal profile] armd 2022-12-07 08:58 am (UTC)(link)
Blood and brain spatters her face, wet and hot- Abby gasps raggedly, blinking through it. Some of it goes in her mouth; Ellie is pushing the pipe at her, frantic. She grabs it up in both hands, turns on her heel, and brings it down with all her might.

The pipe end clangs against the floor, the shock rattling up her arms. Missed. The stalker dances free, gurgling.

Abby spits red on the ground and huffs through her nose and all she can smell is rot. She swings at the thing like she's holding a baseball bat and hits it directly in the ribs. They splinter and crack and the body goes flying to the side, collapsing in a bruised heap. One leg spasms grotesquely as it tries to stand again.

... That it?

Then there's time to rub her arm across her eyes, wiping the gore off her face.
notathreat: (9)

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-07 09:15 am (UTC)(link)
Hm. Gross.

Abby misses the first time and Ellie has her knife out, ready to take the thing from the side if it decides to jump her, but thankfully the Stalker misjudges Abby's reach and takes a crushing blow through the ribs.

The twitching thing on the floor leaves Ellie breathing hard, her hands shaking with the adrenaline of it.

Fuck, Abby folded that thing over like a book.

"Jesus Christ," Ellie mutters, dragging in air as she glances around at the bodies, making sure the twitching thing on the ground is the only thing that's moving, spasming like a half-smashed bug.

"I forgot how much I fucking hate these things."
cozen: (n052)

[personal profile] cozen 2022-12-07 02:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It turns out that the broad smile is not, in fact, doing the same work as a raised weapon. Not exactly. The specific target of Bastien's smile might be disarmed, but in the absence of a blade to be wary of, several other helpful onlookers step forward, hands on the vehicle, badgering its other occupants for explanations and/or justice for pedestrians. Someone accuses them of being Asgardians. Nearer the back of the gathered crowd, at least one person is holding their rectangle to their ear, reporting cross streets to a dispatcher for the promised police.

Right on Marcus' heels, Bastien boards backwards. The process leaves the torn McDonald's bag on the floor of the van and Bastien on Richard Dickerson's lap, where he remains for the time being, to prioritize slamming the door shut. ]
Edited (noticing a typo hours later on my way past, don't mind me) 2022-12-07 21:19 (UTC)
cozen: (n100)

[personal profile] cozen 2022-12-07 03:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Bastien's cheerful sideways smile at Valentine—that is why he must be the valet, that reaction right there—is smothered promptly by Wysteria's despair. He will hate them? He? Hate???

It would be great foolish arrogance to take this as a challenge without even meeting the man to understand why and what for.

But once ushered past the charming green door and greeted by the blustery old woman, while taking only a very normal-looking level of distractible interest in the details of the foyer and Wysteria's familiarity with its occupant and theoretical possession of a key, Bastien does not commit to gentleman gamblers (or gentleman gambler and valet) after all. ]
Hangers-on, [ he supplies, rather, with the least smirky little smile in his arsenal. It's even a little timid—amused by his own answer, but unsure whether he ought to be. Not a smile here to cause trouble. ]
laruetheday: i'm gonna have to be a robber. (i'm never gonna be a cop.)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-07 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)
That sounds… horrible. Clarisse can’t help herself. Whenever she thinks about going into some dark, closed up place, she remembers being in the Labyrinth. How it had been so bad, she said she’d never go back in there. Not ever, no matter what.

This is going to be like that, but filled with zombies. Fucking fantastic.

“Great,” she mutters, kicking a rock out of her way. “Don’t worry, Abs. You can count on me.” She’ll do her best to find some good shit.