MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[heorte]

Is he dying to try Gwenaëlle's heels? No.

Does he take a similar moment to appraise the possibility? Yes.

A frisson of humor shadows his expression. But the mention of attendants, as predictable as it might be considering the luxury of the store around them, ratchets up the tension wound tight across his shoulders, beating in the line of his jaw.

"Alright," is what that beat of apprehension settles into.

The carpet is gleaming white beneath their feet as they cross into the fitting room. Ellis pauses in the doorway to take in the plush seating, the silver tray bearing tea pot and cups, the racks at neat angles waiting for them.

He looks back to Gwenaëlle, maybe contemplating some last ditch appeal and simultaneously dismissing it.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse frowns and nudges the skeleton with one boot. It tips over with a soft shushing sound. She looks a little bit fascinated by the condition of the body. She's seen plenty of them in her life, but not old and skeletonized like this. Not very many, at least. It's sort of creepy, sort of pathetic, this pile of bones wearing a bulletproof vest.

"Do we look somewhere else?" Like there's gotta be dead bodies all over this city, right? Some of them probably even fresher than this one, with newer supplies. But she'll defer to Abby on this, since it's her city.

[elegiaque]

Gwenaëlle, who is familiar with how this works both because she's already run a Fifth Ave gauntlet of her own and — frankly — because she grew up in staggering wealth and is accustomed to being waited upon, doesn't hesitate to arrange herself on the plush seating in question, flicking her blazer so it doesn't bunch uncomfortably and crossing her ankles to one side. She looks, both naturally and purposefully, as if she belongs where she is—

and perfectly at ease, as well, at taking over the tea service personally. “We had champagne,” she says, meaning herself and Strange, “but I didn't think that was going to be your approach. This gentleman,” favouring with a smile the neat man with the measuring tape and his assistant (who has a bigger version of their little rectangles that Gwenaëlle thinks of as an equivalent to the book the way their Stark phones are equivalent to the crystal), “is going to take your measurements, first of all. Jarvis did some guesstimating that I decided not to question too deeply already so they have things for you to try on, but it'll be tailored afterwards. Apparently that's standard.”

Buying off the rack, as it were. After a moment, even though absolutely no one present cares whether or not Gwenaëlle acknowledges credit where it's due out loud (she cares, she is going to get a good grade in rifter, both normal to want and possible to achieve), “It does make things much faster.”

[laruetheday]

"Oh yeah."

It's super weird to be walking around Manhattan like this. Not bad weird, but Clarisse can't shake the feeling that this could be her version of New York, even though she knows it isn't. Like she could go to Long Island and Camp Half-Blood would be sitting there, waiting for her.

Sort of disorienting. Except she's never walked through the city holding hands with a hot girl, so just kidding, this couldn't be her universe, haha. Anyway, she turns her attention back to Ellie.

"There's your basics, like vanilla, chocolate. But you could get mint or caramel or peanut butter or something, too."

She thinks for a second about telling Ellie about the places that do really crazy shit, like put candy and marshmallow drizzle and a whole-ass piece of cake on top of their shakes, but decides that would just be more confusing than anything.

[heorte]

Taking measurements apparently requires heeding the twinned expectant looks directed at him from the pair of assistants to step up onto the cushioned box. Ellis steps up, resigned. Considers the mirrors in front of him only briefly, ultimately making use of them to look back at Gwen and ignore the entire process that grinds into motion the moment he's in place.

"We'll do this at each place?"

Just to fix it in his mind. How likely is it that this process will repeat, and how long it will take each time.

[armd]

"Yeah," Abby says, clipped, the taste of dread in her mouth, "It's bigger than that." Stronger. Hardier. Ellis' grip on the gun is reassuringly steady when she focuses up on him once more.

"I'll tell everybody," is mentioned for his reassurance, "There'll be a- briefing." A warning. Something... "And we'll only take the people who want to go. I need to make a plan."

She's tight, and anxious.

a brief aside:

[notathreat]

"We will."

She's not going in alone this time.

[heorte]

"Aye."

Yes, they will make a plan.

The reassurance is unnecessary. It hadn't occurred to him that Abby would conceal any part of this information from the people who might volunteer themselves for the fight.

They are far, far from Kirkwall, but the Calling beats in his head anyway. What will it feel like to be in the dark with the creature they're describing? Will his senses know it, this distant, far-removed iteration of a Broodmother?

The stock clacks open.

"Would you like my help?"

[cozen]

Bastien tosses that skepticism an answering smile before his attention redirects to being separated, jostled, and looked-over, all with the serenity of a fellow who's immune to feeling particularly violated by most things and reassured by the secret presence of weapons much smaller than a mace.

When he slides back into place next to Ellis, he says, "Books first?"

Directly ahead, the first target of the larger stream of visitors, is a doorway to an exhibition room brightly painted to advertise its contents. Something about the history of disco. They'll have to swing around elsewhere to find the reading rooms.

So it's a question, but it's also not a question. Disco can wait. He's taking Ellis' arm again to lead him off in search of something less nonsensical. His other hand has acquired a pamphlet-folded guide, which reveals: "They have a whole room of maps—but oh, you need an appointment. I should have made one. I got too excited. Maybe if we ask nicely and say we are," as they have been accused of, "aliens from outer space."

World 2 ↠ Shifterverse, Yellowstone

[foolsmakeitcolder]

[Info.]

Arrival | No tag order!

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Woods. Mountains. Grass. Trees.

There is no sight or scent or sound of human civilization. The wilderness is a sprawling endlessness around them, the faint scent of ash and cold, the distant caw of birds, the rush of a stream.

It is nearly silent for all of a second, and then Jude manages to draw a breath.

It starts in the distance. A single voice that snowballs into dozens.

Howling wolves.

The sound grows, a shattering volume that expands and shivers through the air as more and more voices add to the pack chorus. They are front of them. They are behind them. They are surrounding them. They are miles away. They are right there.

There are hundreds them.

Jude doesn't normally change in full sight of others. Now, he barely kicks off his shoes, the change racing over him with speed that's painful, cramps and aches through every bone in his body. The healing rushes in, bolstered by the hundreds of lights surrounding him like a milky way of stars.

A wolf once more, Jude throws back his head and howls, long and loud and joyful.

Every single voice goes silent to listen; and then they sing again, this time together.

There are no words by human standards. But what it means is obvious.

Welcome home.

---

It doesn't take long for the scouts to find them. The first one is a raven; wheeling in from the sky, holding something in her claws that appears to be cloth. She at first doesn't appear to be any different from a normal raven, but then it becomes clear that like Jude, she's massive, matching Jude's size in relation to a normal wolf. She wings in over them with a hoarse caw, swooping over to divebomb Jude's face. Without hesitation he leaps into the air, snapping with his enormous teeth. The other shifter croaks and flaps her wings in mock affront, winging back up into the sky over the group, then down into their midst.

She comes plummeting down, and as she does, she gracefully shifts to human. It happens in the space of a blink, and in a smoothly practiced movement, the cloth she was holding in her claws are resolved as a pair of joggers that she shifts directly into. The oversized sweater is second, but she's so fast at pulling it on that it actually preserves her modesty seamlessly.

She's pale where Jude is dark, about his age, with strong brows and a big smile that softens them. Like him she has no scars, and the lines of age are very faint.

"Strays?" she asks, looking over their ragtag group, and the longer she looks at them, the more puzzled she seems.

"Who are they?"

[laruetheday]

"Right," Clarisse says, rolling her eyes, "the ambiance."

They've done this before, like, several times at this point, but she still hears her heartbeat in her ears when Ellie's fingers tangle in her shirt and her lips brush Clarisse's cheek and then her lips.

She slides her arms around Ellie's waist and feels a little bit of the ever-present tension start to drain out of her neck and shoulders. Her fingers link together at the small of Ellie's back, like: mine.

Ellie's lips are warm, soft, a little bit chapped. Clarisse exhales through her nose and parts her own, lets her tongue run once over Ellie's bottom lip, tasting her.

OTA

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Yellowstone is enormous. Being forest guardians is a whole business, both figuratively and literally, and the pack's territory comes with the responsibility of protecting it and liaisons with visitors, wildlife and the scientific community who humbly partner with the pack to keep tabs on their "wild cousins". Various pack members (along with humans who live in the nearby area) staff the museums, visitor centers and information stations. Ravens and hawks regularly sweep hiking and camping areas, staying high enough to be mistaken for cousin kind, while wolves run the trails in fur, delighting the visitors with the rare chance to see a shifter in fur.

The Yellowstone pack's visitors are graciously welcomed into the Den, which is a private community located in the deep wilderness of the park. It's a combination of old and new, with everything from cave dwellings to hand-built wooden cabins to yurts and RV's. Some of the common buildings are newer, modular snap-together homes with large gathering spaces and full amenities. There are kitchens, smokehouses, storehouses, bathing areas with hot water, and greenhouses. The Den is fully equipped with running water, gas and internet, and it is mostly powered by solar energy and heated by the clever piping of hot water beneath the floors.

Though it's definitely not the height of luxury, there will comfortable beds to sleep in, including bunks, hammocks and regular beds, though private space will be harder to come by. The visitors will be offered clean, warm modern clothes, and many of the items appear to be hand-knitted or mended with love where needed. Jude will provide everyone with a satellite phone connected to the pack's frequencies and gently remind them that leadership may revoke phone privileges if they spam the groupchat.

Jude himself would never abandon the people who came through the Rift with him, and he himself is easy to find for questions, conversation and company. Just as he did at the Gallows, Jude is normally found in the gigantic shared kitchens, assisting various elders, cleaning honey off of toddlers and directing sullen teens in the fine art of washing dishes.

Those interested in spending time with the pack will be happily given jobs if they want them, such as cooking, cleaning, moving heavy items, assisting with construction, sewing, knitting, mending, gardening and grocery runs in one of the pack pickup trucks. For more martial types, they might be tapped to assist in the ongoing training provided to every single member of the pack, producing skilled two-legged AND four-legged fighters, from small children onward. This arrangement makes it very clear why they have allowed strangers in so easily. For all that Jude's pack has a peaceful way of life, they are still very much wolves, and violence has carved deep gouges all through their history. They always have ready teeth and claws.

If hanging around the pack doesn't appeal, everyone's always welcome to hike out to the hot springs or try their hand at skiing and snowboarding.

For those who stay, they'll be invited on the full moon pack run. Even the scouts are called in for this; they'll all shift into fur and feathers and take off, Adrianna in the lead.

Howl your heart out. Sleeping outside in the snow is optional, but it happens.

[lumelume]

It takes little more than the prompting from Jude for a similar impulse to come over Mado, who shifts in a liquid motion from wiry man in Riftwatch uniform to a smallish, russet-colored wolf and and takes advantage of his long four legs to pace with Jude.

It's similar enough to his usual preferred form that very little adjustment is needed, but there's something still decidedly tame and doggish about how he looks up into the face of the newly-arrived woman, his tongue lolling out with a friendly wave of his tail. He shows no inclination to shift out of this form, even to introduce himself; it feels right. It feels like belonging.

[notathreat]

It shouldn't be surprising after all the desserts and stuff they've seen, but Ellie still nearly misses a step. Mint ice cream.

Ellie thinks that she's holding it together really well, but she still sounds a little bit breathy with excitement when she asks:

"Do you think they can mix them together?"

It's probably a good idea Clarisse didn't blow her mind with the add-ins.

[notathreat]

Clarisse's curled, linked fingers have no business feeling so good pressed in at the small of her back like that, feeling like she's anchoring her there. It's more than she asked for; but Clarisse seems like she's always giving Ellie the things she wanted but didn't think she had any right to.

Hell, maybe she needs them too. Fuck, maybe she needed to held just as much as she needed to be kissed.

Ellie reaches up to wind her arms around Clarisse's shoulders and ease in close, splaying her fingers along the nape of her neck, rubbing there with the side of her thumb.

Feeling her relax is so gratifying.

The kiss is soft, and Ellie makes it softer, because the rest of the world is harsh. She opens up to let Clarisse taste her, eases in close until they're sharing their air with every breath, and the tension ebbs away bit by bit.

It's okay. They're okay.

[portalling]

Strange is old enough, blasé enough, and in enough stringent control over his reactions, that his head won’t turn over a nice pair of legs and long bare thighs and tits and ass.

But his gaze does catch on those scars.

They draw the eye, dragging one’s attention inexorably downward, following the jagged line of tissue marching around her thigh. The attendant was even more surprised when Gwenaëlle first shimmied out of her clothes, but the employee has long-since mastered her own poker face: they’re paid very, very well to have no opinion on their customers’ bodies, only to locate what clothing will look best on said bodies. And goodness, but Gwenaëlle wears that baby-blue swimsuit well.

He purses his mouth, biting down on any tiresome remark on the scars. He already knows what took a bite out of her, after all; just hadn’t known the extent of it until now.

“When you said ‘coverup’, I was expecting some kind of long flowing shawl. A muumuu sipping a piña colada on the beach,” he says, even though he’s aware the comments might sound inane to a Theodosian. (Do they have muumuus? Do they have piña coladas?) “It’s like a very smart jacket. It looks good. High-end.”

The compliment is quick, curt, like delivering an official prognosis.

“It’s a shame it’s winter here, so you won’t get to enjoy it on the beach.” A beat and then, remembering that he doesn’t have to be coy about his magic any longer — Doctor Strange has been hopelessly, ostentatiously, melodramatically public about it in New York — so he adds, an offer, “Although if you did want to experience any of the tropics — our Rivain — I can portal you there anytime. Everyone’s in a bit of a standstill until we get a lead on that artifact, after all.”

[heorte]

Momentarily free of the possibility of disco, Ellis can relax a degree or two. Allow himself to be shuttled along, slanting a slight, sidelong smile Bastien's way.

"I heard them calling you something else on the video."

Yes, Ellis has seen video. Or Tony has, and Ellis was in the room at the time.

Once it was obvious no one was hurt, Ellis could find some space for the humor in that situation. Marcus hadn't impaled anyone. Wysteria wasn't confined to a cell forever. Richard Dickerson was still alive. All in all, it could have been worse.

[elegiaque]

It's not that she doesn't want to do a job—

if Gwenaëlle has demonstrated anything, in these jaunts through the worlds (or their echoes) that her companions have come from, it is a nearly aggressive willingness to adapt and learn and make herself useful. Proactive about it, even; determined now that the tables have been turned to hold herself to the same high standards she's always insisted upon for rifters in Thedas. Probably the only surprising part about that is that it matters to her so fucking much — that she clearly cares not to be made a hypocrite by her own actions.

So it's not that. That isn't why she is not much seen in any of the jobs she might have been well-suited to, none of the sewing or mending, not hanging over the shoulder of those in the know to learn more about modern approaches to first aid. Nor does she seem to be making nearly as much use of the satellite phone that she was given as she had the little rectangles Stark had handed out in New York — that she had been on constantly, and this one seems to be as often as not left with the rest of their belongings. Game to try different things. It's unusual to see her so little, except that she isn't, actually, very difficult to find.

The wolf that is Gwenaëlle is on the small side, as female wolves go; the scarring that circles her body — the chunk out of her thigh — leaves odd gaps in her thick, dark fur, the scars themselves not quite visible but the inconsistency of her coat speaking to the damage underneath it. Most immediately identifiable is the blank golden right eye, still there, still absent, how conscious she clearly is as she navigates of favouring her blind spot. Given the ability and the option, she spends most of her time in this form, circling the edges of gatherings, groups — herding children of any shape toward their adults but hanging back from following. Pacing the space, restless, seeking out her familiar people but rarely interrupting; checking to see what they're doing, watching, and padding away to find someone else, and check on them.

When she starts following Jude — at a distance, polite, stopping when she's looked at and laying down on her forepaws, but back up on her feet again and still there, later — it is not, exactly, to a purpose. Except the same purpose that she's had in every world: to make sense of what she's experiencing. Maybe she'll understand better, after she's watched him for a while.

[elegiaque]

A great deal to learn, here, and Gwenaëlle is curious in her own way about it— not entirely dissimilarly, but of a different flavor. In a different way. And, most of the time, in this different shape: she is spending precious little time on two legs now that four are available to her, a slight and scarred wolf with dark fur and one blank golden eye, pacing the Den, circling, restless. She hasn't found much to occupy herself with but seems to be occupied, moving with purpose between spaces, periodically stopping to sit on her haunches and watch Marcus for a few moments before — apparently satisfied — moving on.

It happens repeatedly. Intermittently and unpredictably; she has no newfound ability to compel but an evident inclination when challenged with eye contact to lower herself down to her belly, fold her forepaws and mimic what's probably familiar enough to Marcus from patrol work in the Gallows— the courteous way that Hardie makes himself nonthreatening, signifies his obedience.

(Gwenaëlle is being a very good girl, in absolutely the least sexy way it's ever been applied to her.)

It's a few days in when she finds him seemingly otherwise unoccupied that she gets bold enough to shouldercheck him with an aggressively playful roly-poly, winding side to side in a way that's slightly more feline than lupine, turning in circles and keeping Marcus in view before she tries again— skittering backwards almost the instant that she connects with him, keeping her one eye tilted toward him, her whole body a question mark.

Play?

[luaithre]

The first thump of contact has him brace against a stumble, ears pinning back and a grunt expelled as a growl—reflex, rather than communication. The smaller wolf darts nearer, skitters back so that when he lunges, jaws snapping with the sharp percussion of bone against bone, it's in the space she was only just occupying, a momentary protrusion of yellow fangs.

It isn't that Marcus has been inattentive to the other people-as-animals around him so much it's that the powerful web of community is almost too much. Easier, at least at first, to simply retreat into the forest and strike out alone, but he has steadily come back around, on two feet or four. Gwenaëlle's slinking presence has gone noted, tolerated, left alone.

His head ducks low, but not lower than hers, a bristle of muddled grey-brown-white fur as he intuits the signals she is sending. Non-threatening play. He is reasonably sure it would only take a second of eye contact to send her scampering, but,

he shakes loose a half-bark, and lets himself sink lower on his front paws in mimicry of her, and lunges again.

tony + ellis

[heirring]

There have been no enthusiastic tours. Not in the hours preceding the evening's exhibition, or of the First College's grounds as it has been transformed—by glowing magic lamp light, and music, and laughter, and dancing, and temporary exhibit halls of fluttering multicolored canvas and lattice, and women in their best glinting dresses and men in high cut coat collars and enchantment gleam filigrees, and whispering gossip, and boisterous conversation about the state of the fight on the continent—into the Isle's most splendid party.

Wisteria, disappearing quickly into the tangle, seems to be of the opinion that they may all make their own way through this place with more or less perfect confidence. After all they now all have so much practice when it comes to moving through strange places, don't they? Besides, she's in a hurry: first, to do a hasty anxious circuit of the grounds and ensure certain persons are or are not in attendance; and then, to reappear as abruptly as she'd first evaporated in order to fetch the two people she requires for the evening's work.

Hence why she is presently shoving a dark green coat into Tony's hands, having waylaid the both of them somewhere between the upper and lower circles of the festivities.

"Change into this, if you please. Quickly, thank you. We haven't much time. Mister Ellis—" She hesitates, giving him an appraising look which quickly melts into either disappointment or frustration at having failed to pilfer something suitable for him in addition to Tony's new coat. "We will have to make do with what you have."

[notathreat]

"Armor as in kevlar," Ellie clarifies, patting her chest. "It'll look like a vest. It'll stop smaller caliber bullets but this will still do the trick. If a human has a helmet on, don't go for the head unless you have a clear shot at their face."

Ellie pauses. "For infected, this'll go through fungal plates. You can one-shot a clicker with this thing, but anything bigger and you'll just piss it off."

Thankfully, those are rare, and she's not likely to send John anywhere where he'd run into a shambler, or worse. Small mercies.

cw: gore, torture, murdercult

[notathreat]

Ellie guffaws under her breath before she can stop herself, and it's kinda mean, because he hasn't seen what she and Abby have.

"Sorry," she mutters immediately, and tries to rearrange her facial expressions. "But like... they're cultists. They're fanatics. They think that their prophet wants them to cut people open and yank their insides out, and then hang them while they're still kicking. I've seen plenty of their handiwork, and if we stick around here much longer we'll probably run across more of it."

Ellie swallows, shakes her head.

"And if you wanna catch one and ask questions, the only way they'd probably tell us anything is under torture. And I don't think any of us are a fan of that route. You could ask Abby if we wanna go the WLF route, but I don't think she exactly left the the Wolves on good terms."

[notathreat]

Ellie pauses, then glances over at Abby; she thinks that they're in agreement here, grim as this is.

Ellis is a good choice. He's a steady fighter, one they'd both like to have at their backs, and he's one of those who will understand the real risks in what they're asking.

"Yeah."