shiftmods: (Default)
shiftmods ([personal profile] shiftmods) wrote in [community profile] videodrome2016-01-07 04:37 am

LOG 001: INTRO

WELCOME TO STATION RED.



You wake up in your bed.

Not your bed back home, of course, but the bunk that's been assigned to you. Your new bed for the next foreseeable future. You’ve been dressed in what is the basic uniform around here. (OOC note; your newly issued equipment is detailed here.)

Your own clothing, of course (the clothing you came in wearing, that is) is folded neatly, and all of your other belongings are present and accounted for nearby, and near them will be a piece of paper, a thin carbon copy of your bill. Of course the word ‘bill’ is the only word in your native tongue on the paper, the rest in a completely indecipherable alien language. That and the number, of course.

1,000,000,000

The room is sparsely furnished, small, and some would say cramped; someone with a less negative outlook might call it utilitarian, or hey, why not even cozy. The bed is just soft enough to be comfortable, but not luxurious, although it probably feels like you slept on a slab of concrete after what you’ve been through.

And what have you been through? Your memories preceding your awakening may be hazy at best, and you certainly won’t remember any of your arrival here. Characters who were present at the Interim will remember it. You might have a headache, light-headedness, nausea, strange lights or shapes in your vision, or sounds in your ear, although any life threatening injuries you may have had just before waking up here will be gone.



Characters will be free to explore their location, STATION RED, although at the moment, much of it will be unavailable, corridors shuttered off, gates closed, with no obvious means of access. It’s a sparse, almost military type of place, high ceilinged and warehouse-like in the big areas, with more cramped feeling interior rooms and hallways. There seems to be a significant level disrepair here, with exposed wiring, and chipped or scratched finishes common sights. This is closer to an old bunker than a five star hotel. There will be no windows anyway, making it impossible to tell where you are.

If there’s one thing that’s consistent, whether in your room, or a hallway, or anywhere else, video screens, seem crammed in unlikely places, and are ubiquitous. They’re all black at the moment, and some are cracked, looking like they might never come on.

The only place that really seems lively, and as if anyone’s been occupying it in recent times, is an area that looks something like a bar.



Its not quite this populated yet.


The bar-like area is decorated in an odd assortment of paper decorations and streamers, a small banner that reads ‘Happy New Year!’ strung near one of the tables, which is piled with the only available food. There’s cake, a variety of snacks, shrimp cocktail, an ample supply of  glasses of champagne. And almost all of them taste wrong. Some items might taste exactly as you’d expect them, others taste distinctly like something they should not, and those shrimp have the notable taste of absolutely nothing. Something is definitely not right here.

When the screens come on, there’s an audible electronic popping noise, and a woman’s face appears on the screen. The image has some static, but there’s something strange about the woman as well; something...insubstantial.


“Welcome, everyone, to Station Red! I hope you like what we’ve prepared for you here...I apologize, it’s something of a work in progress. We are working with limited resources here and your arrival was somewhat….unexpected. It’s been a long time since we’ve had dealings with anyone from your particular coordinates.” She smiles broadly. “I almost forgot, my name is Solan Re. I’m the Senior Case worker for, ah...well for you. On your behalf.

Take your time and enjoy the refreshments we've provided you - they're as culturally accurate as we could manage with our somewhat limited resources, informational or otherwise. In the meantime, I am here to answer your questions as, I'm sure you have many. I will answer them to the absolute BEST of my ability!"
murdercat: (But That Guys Dead!)

A- and good morning to you too.

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-16 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[Mostly nonplussed, he waits until he's at least audible before replying. He's still trying to take in the situation and piece it together, but with every passing moment, bewilderment gives way to irritation.]

"I'm sorry, but I believe I may have missed the punchline."

[The most obvious questions wouldn't be answered here, and would be a colossal waste of time. Wherever they were, they were both equally screwed. The beds (only in the barest sense of the word) were barely large enough to fit one person, he did not like the implications behind being set up in this dingy hovel, and his concussion was still in attendance, it seemed! Mordecai was hemorrhaging frustration, and someone legitimately guffawing at the situation viscerally rubs him the wrong way.]

"Unless you think owing a billion.... SOMETHINGS to some faceless bureaucrat grifter, I would love for you to walk me through it!"
pachintoki: (how is it morning)

[personal profile] pachintoki 2016-01-16 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
1 -- if they sent the prison bill to the guy in prison it would never get paid

[Waking up had been . . . uneventful, to say the least. His eyes opened as slowly as ever, he wanted to get out of bed just as much as he ever did - not a whole hell of a lot, generally - but when he finally focuses on his surroundings, his head pops right off that pillow.

A pillow much less comfortable than his own at home. If anything, that was one of the real crimes here.

A least, he'll think that way until he spots the piece of paper. After staring at it blearily for a bit wondering what it could be, he'll stretch out his hand and pluck it up, staring at it with with all the intensity of a dead-fish.

He'll keep staring at it. What was this? Is this what he thought it was? What exactly was he paying for? His hand shakes a little in panic. Sure, he'd owed people money but . . . this amount?

And. . .1,000,000 . . . what exactly? 1,000,000 yen, or maybe dollars, 1,000,000 gold, 1,000,000 sticks of gum, 1,000,000 hours of training in the Room of Spirit and Time, 1,000,000 souls of magical girls. . . .

So. . . 1,000,000 what?

He'll crumple up the paper, giving a groan of frustration as he tosses it in the direction of the door, rolling over and burying himself in his blankets. It'll be awhile before he's up. Since he has to pay for this bed and all.

. . . well, where the hell was he anyway? ]


2 -- don't go into a cantina if you owe somebody money

[After some time in bed, and exploring his living space, he'd managed to make it out to the bar area. He figured he could spend some more time exploring later since he was more than happy to see some cake and something to drink. He'll take a glass of champagne, and then he'll put no less than 3 pieces of cake on his plate, moseying over to where he can sit down by himself. Despite the situation, the look on his face is one of pure happiness as he shoves a big bite of cake into his mouth. Sweet cake, sweet sugar. It would never betray hi--

BUT GASP. Unfortunately though, when you gasp with your mouth full, it just leads to choking. Gintoki starts to choke, coughing like he's trying to expel his soul from his body.

Somebody try the Heimlich.]


3 -- there's nothing like the bond between a man and his dog sweets

[Once he's recovered, he's gonna sit and stew. Every so often, he'll look at the cake on his plate, eyes a little more hopeful than before as he reaches . . . hesitates . . . reaches again. . . stills his hand . . . no . . . but again . . . reaches. . . that wistful, nostalgic expression on his face . . . and he snatches a bit of the cake again. He'll look hard at it, willing it back into it's original, innocent, heavenly sweet form before swiftly putting it into his mouth.

Only to shudder, teeth clenched with a quietly pained whine, before hanging his head. It still tasted like --

-- like natto.

Yeah, he's gonna do that a few times. Someone might want to take the cake away from him, or maybe just watch for their own personal amusement.

After awhile though, he'll walk up to where the food is, set a hand on whatever tray or plate the cake was on, and simply slide it onto the floor, watching that moist and delicious looking nightmare fall apart with a few solemn words.]


There, there. I've put us both out of misery. I didn't want it to end this way. . . I saw a long, bright, glittering future for us both, in that house by the lake I know you dreamed about . . .

[Are there tears in his eyes? Calm down, buddy.]


Edited 2016-01-16 19:13 (UTC)
wethrinaer: (and you're a cherry blossom)

i'm sorry for your roommate

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-16 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[he stops laughing when he's addressed, and glances over - Mordecai's appearance doesn't earn a double-take, at the very least. . . . not that he's overly familiar with humanoid cat creatures, or whatever it is his new roommate may be.

But either way, Maias greets the other with a a smile and a grand gesture toward the bill, and then another indicating the room and their current situation]


Why, isn't that the punchline, friend? This ridiculous situation we've found ourselves in? While I understand frustration and even anger may be a more proper response, it's far too silly and unbelievable not to laugh at it.

[he pauses, and the smile turns a bit wry] Although personally, I've found myself in a situation similar to this. So it may only be funny to me.
pachintoki: (investigation)

[personal profile] pachintoki 2016-01-16 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[Gintoki turns a little more, boot still a lingering threat. At least, it might look that way. In reality, he just wants to go back to bed, or find some food.]

Yeah well, it's not really that funny. . .

[He'll shift his stance some, going from wary to a bit more relaxed, casually setting a hand on one hip.]

Like, I thought that maybe since you were laughing, this was all your fault somehow.

[His eyes will narrow somewhat, but he'll continue in a tone that's not quite friendly, but not quite threatening either. His voice, under everything, just sounds a bit lazy.]

Because it's not, right? This isn't all your fault somehow? Say, what's your name? Spill.
Edited 2016-01-16 19:47 (UTC)
perroquet: (04 play)

[personal profile] perroquet 2016-01-16 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Gildor turns to the childlike voice and lowers his bow, placing the tip under his chin in thought. ]

Is that a question or a song? Because I'm afraid I don't know either.
wethrinaer: (the story's all off)

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-16 07:53 pm (UTC)(link)
It certainly is not my fault, thank you. [the grin disappears, and he gives a huff, offended] I have gone through something very similar to this before, and I'd not wish this upon anyone else.

[it's true, he did the space adventure already. He wasn't at all happy to be doing it again, especially with a huge bill to pay off]

Spill? [he briefly looks confused, then - ah. Modern language] I am Maias. Well met . . . and you are?
jcw_vevilan: (default)

[personal profile] jcw_vevilan 2016-01-16 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
She pursed her lips. When she spoke again, it was with a discomforted air.

"Many pardons, you are the first others I have interacted with. I did not mean to cause offence. If you would like to file a complaint, I can facilitate that.

"Your descriptions seem accurate; I will try to keep such parameters in mind for the future. Most of Station Red is below ground for protection and shelter. This is too the reason for it's...lacking nature. Do you have any suggestions for where we went wrong? I can not promise to fix these, but I will file it for the future."

She does not, however, specify for whose protection and shelter.
pachintoki: (what the ever living %$#@ are you doing)

[personal profile] pachintoki 2016-01-16 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[So apparently he's dropped being wary enough to stifle a yawn. That doesn't necessarily mean he's not watching you closely, Maias. Gintoki folds his arms over his chest as another yawn threatens to escape, finally turning to face Maias all the way. ]

Maybe we've all ended up somewhere we don't wanna be at one point, huh.

Anyway, if this was your fault you probably wouldn't be stuck here too, right? I don't really care.

Sakata Gintoki. It's Gintoki, I mean.

[well look who's calmed down now.]
murdercat: (Are You SERIOUS?!)

Re: I'm sure they'll get along like peanut butter and burning houses!

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-16 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
"I don't know who thought--... You ca--... For--..."

[Unbelievable, yes. Silly? Well, Mordecai doesn't do silly that hes aware of, you see. Apoplectic with indignation, he gesticulates in jerky jabbing motions with a familiar looking form clutched in one hand. He seems to want to start a tirade, but can't figure out where to start.]

"Of all the asin--... What is this written--... I refuse to bel--..."

[He made it a point to never accrue debt. From a personal level, it was disgusting and something he would never experience again. From a professional level, well... it wasn't particularly healthy. He sits stock still for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose and trying to count to ten, but something eventually snags his attention.]

"Did you say you've done this before?! Who were you again?!"
Edited 2016-01-16 21:01 (UTC)
wethrinaer: (i'll be gone)

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-16 09:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[don't worry, he's used to being watched closely. In fact, it's familiar enough to make him . . . relax? What a weird guy]

And it would be foolish of me to toss myself into the fray, so to speak, if I were responsible for all of this. But I assure you, we are in the same position.

Well met, Gintoki. Is that your preference, then? Not Sakata? [he says it slowly, trying to pronounce it the way Gintoki did]
wethrinaer: (if I'm a pagan of the good times)

what an entirely apt description, maias loves burning houses!

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-16 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
[Maias waits patiently while Mordecai tries to say what he wants to get out, his expression not once changing - although internally? He's entirely amused at Mordecai's expense. What a strange fellow, the sort who'd get so flustered he couldn't get out what he wanted to say, yes? Or at least, that was the impression he was getting.

He crosses his arms and gives a nod, the wry smile returning. He tilts his head, indicating his own bill]


It certainly wasn't for a bill, but yes. I have been tossed into another world - one in space, even! - against my will and forced to work.

And I didn't say who I was, but I will now - I am Maias, my good sir. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?
Edited 2016-01-16 21:09 (UTC)
wethrinaer: (some legends are told)

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-16 09:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Ah, a firey young lady. Maias didn't know if he was a magnet for them, or had an unfortunate habit of coming across them - whether he liked it or not. Although admittedly, it did lean towards the former, the occasional masochist he was. Life would be boring without volatile people in it anyway!

At her little outburst Maias glanced over, eyebrows raised in barely contained amusement. Surely the champagne tasted a little off, but it wasn't that bad, was it? He waited until he took her seat before wandering after her, his own glass still in hand, barely touched. And with a friendly smile, he leaned over, addressing her.

"Not fond of the drinks, hm? One must wonder if they really are trying to be welcoming, or anger us even more than we already are."
perroquet: (01 grin)

[personal profile] perroquet 2016-01-17 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
"And you are the first of the residents I've spoken to. I promise taken no offense and have few complaints of importance. You've been quite helpful thus far."

Like her stillness her quiet distress is noted, and Gildor folds his arms across the old bar top casually, comfortably. He is, and has been for most of this time, smiling. He'd rather everyone be at ease.

"As far as suggestions... perhaps some music would help make the space more welcoming-" because ninety-nine percent of the time, the answer to any problem with him is music, "and I may be able to help with that."

"But first, please tell me - what exactly is this underground place protecting us from? Are we below the Wylds?"

Us. Because so far, he has no reason to believe those operating this establishment would not want to protect them. They are inside after all, and have received housing, clothes, sustenance, and a bill... and if that bill is to ever be paid back, they probably should be kept alive, protected from whatever it is beyond these walls.
diamondhack: (haha no)

[personal profile] diamondhack 2016-01-17 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
1,000,000,000.

[It even hurts a little saying it, because that's one hell of a bill.]

But of what is a mystery. I would assume credits, but I have no idea what the currency is here, nor the exchange rate to your local currency. So.

[She sighs shortly.]

The point is, you and I owe a lot for this paper-thin excuse of a wall and a bed.
diamondhack: (what?)

[personal profile] diamondhack 2016-01-17 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, I've certainly angered a self-professed deity back home, but in the grander scheme of the universe?

[She can only shrug. A streak of pitifully bad luck can't be blamed on much else other than higher powers. The loss of her arm was one bloody lesson. What's the next one?]

At least we get to suffer together.

[With a smirk.]
wethrinaer: (sing for the hopeless)

[personal profile] wethrinaer 2016-01-17 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
[with a half-smirk, he reaches for her metal hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back. Strange, surely, that it isn't flesh and bone under his lips, but his expression doesn't show that one bit]

Suffering does love company.
perroquet: (07 notice)

[personal profile] perroquet 2016-01-17 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
[ ...one billon?

...

BILLION?!

Whatever semblance of a smile that was on his face before is wiped clear. He stands completely still, trying, and failing, to process that number. ]


It's not nice to joke about something like that to people who can't read.

[ The statement is more a lie to himself than anything else, a wishful grasp at understanding that isn't there. He senses no ill motive in her voice, hears no insincerity in her sighs. Really, she sounds as lost as he suddenly feels. ]

...you're being serious, aren't you?

[ And there's something else... currency? Is it not in copper and silver and gold? ]

I'm sorry, are we not 'round Davenshire?

[ That's the last place he remembers wandering through... maybe. He's not sure where he's been wandering at all any more. ]
murdercat: (Default)

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-17 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
I -- Welcome “Home”!

There was still the headache. there was still disorientation. This was miserable. A distant dream would be to lie back down and keep sleeping until he woke, but the walk through the desert, the breakers in the basement, the whispers in the dark: they were too vivid. This was it. He was dead. Every deplorable act he did in life, every unforgivable act? Well, someone wanted to collect. The concussion wasn't as bad, but nausea was overruling, and with no small amount of difficulty, he swung his feet around the cubby, and tried to take stock of this new reality.

Someone had put him in an ill-fitting uniform. Most of his belongings were within arms reach, but the BAR (What did she call it? Bordeaux? Badeaux?) was missing. The damnable thing was empty, anyway. His clothes were there. His other weapons were there. Another…. jumpsuit was there? and a note. It wasn’t in in english, it wasn’t in german, it wasn’t even in latin. It was indecipherable, and the only way he could tell it was supposed to be read was in the layout. Someone was using it for record keeping, or retain some manner of legitimacy.. the only thing recognisable was the english word “bill” at the top, and arabic numerals where a sum would be stated. 1,000,000,000. One Billion. There was a squiggle of some sort after the number which was NOTHING he had ever seen before, but could be assumed to be currency. That was rather sobering. No amount of head trauma could eclipse such a fee. Even if it were in….. in rubles, in marks, or even in sand dollars, that was not a number to scoff at. Someone believed Mordecai owed them a billion of whatever, and hadn’t made their stake clear. There were shelves, rusted metal through port-holes, and an overall dismal atmosphere, which compounded with the concept of someone expecting a due for unknown services… Well, confusion and ire were mounting in equal parts. It wasn’t a very large domicile, and within a six-foot radius, there were another two occupied bunks.

The walls pressed in, and his breath grew short. No. NO! He would NOT be destitute again! No force in the world, NO entity could punish him like this! His hand drifted through the slit in his jumpsuits chest; the last few hours had conditioned him to check his wound with embarrassing regularity. He started when his fingers reached his skin, and pulled back his lapels to be certain he wasn’t misunderstanding his own senses. Where there had been fresh, angry cuts, there were only keloid scars. How long had he been out? If it had been months, why was his head still pulsing?

II -- Stomping Grounds

“Storming” would be applicable. Someone had the gall to indenture him, and whatever he didn’t have enough information to solve just added to his vexation. He stomped to what seemed to be the most inhabited area and found…. a bar? It seemed the central hub to whatever this floor was, but they had anniversary and New Year decorations. Wasn’t it October? Wait… there were BIGGER questions that needed answered. Is that a chip-dish on the table with old wet leaves set in the middle of bits of tree bark? Was that next to a multi-tiered cake with a forest of paper drink umbrellas stuck through the top? He stalks around the room for a bit, hoping to accost the most likely candidate.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

III -- Whatever else

I can’t imagine any of us have a bevy of personal space right now! Whatever tags I have going, or if you would like to do anything else, please let me know!
Edited 2016-01-17 05:29 (UTC)
murdercat: (Sure You Are)

Re: Vevilan | NPC

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-17 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
"Excuse me."

[He walks past a minimum of three view screens (with the pre-recorded motion pictures), to the only person in the bar who doesn't seem to be bewildered. He will get answers, or by god, someone will suffer!]

"I assume you're the one to see about this?!"

[He holds out the flimsy piece of paper as if it's a weapon in its own right, or as if it has the power to give someone a life sentence (which may not be entirely untrue!).]
Edited 2016-01-17 04:15 (UTC)
murdercat: (Default)

Re: All of the Original Smokey flavor, none of the calories!

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-17 03:49 am (UTC)(link)
"Spa--... Space?"

[His normally impeccable posture flags, and his shoulders meet the wall next to his bunk. He sits agape for a few moments, momentarily flummoxed by the potential of this alone. It would be impossible to live through some... some tawdry War of the Worlds farce, but so would crashing your car into the wild deserts of St. Louis. Or flipping compact breakers in a futuristic military bunker. Or fighting off insects the size of ponies.]

"Forced to work against your will?"

[He doesn't hear the meaning of the words, simply parrots them as he tries to buy time for his mind to process two simple sentences.

This, however, was even simpler. The familiarity of this question, the (dare I say it) banality of this situation felt like settling into an old leather chair; or even the feel of a gun-grip sinking in against the crook of your thumb. Someone wanted to know who he was, and he was out of his comfort zone. With long practice, and insinuating his genuine discomfort with a believable level of vulnerability, he responds.]


"I'm Elijah.... Elijah Metzger."

[People ask less questions when you give more information than needed. In the worst situations it could be dangerous, but if he plays it just right, it could seem like a plea for comfort (even if that wouldn't be unwelcome about now). An unasked last name could be that level of desperation that would afford him lee-way on future missteps.

Indentured servitude would make sense. Its a simple scam, but an effective one. He tries to feign comfort and control, but his mind is still reeling, trying to take control of his circumstances.]


"The pleasure is all mine." [He sits up, and tries to focus on the hairless human.] "Tell me, Maias: do you have ANY idea where 'here' is?"
murdercat: (Say What?)

Re:III -- Either drinking too much or not enough!

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-17 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
[And now there was a golem. An actual honest towering golem. Made out of metal. The Thing approaches him and his heart quickens. What the hell is a "toh-ah"? He pitches back his drink, and studiously does his best to ignore it. So what if the drink tastes like a mix between oranges and raw cotton? He tries not to stare, but with each belt, with each swig, it becomes that much harder to hide: he's outright staring. It's pretty rude.]
Edited 2016-01-17 05:23 (UTC)
murdercat: (Smarm)

II -- I'm sure this is how you make friends.

[personal profile] murdercat 2016-01-17 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
[He peers over with astonishment and disgust at first, but the stranger settles in at the bar, and begins to shovel the bounty of cake as quickly as possible. After receiving that mockery of a bill, most rational people would turn their nose up at the mysterious display set out for them. However, even the barest inspection of the spread should kick in the basest self-preservation instincts besides the fact! Once the man begins to choke, Mordecai breaks into an imperceptible smirk, and leans over to offer 'advice'.]

"It would take only the most stout individuals to weather the alcohol! It seems like whatever hasn't done us for in the desert is making another, more subtle attempt... in the dessert!"

[He was so damn clever. After the stranger coughs a few times, he scoffs inwardly. Some people couldn't understand a good joke.]

"I would avoid the cake, though. I could swear it almost smelled like vinegar. Oh!"

[He pretends to notice the mans plate, and raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.]

"Well, that's most unfortunate, isn't it!"
valr: (you're on the run)

[personal profile] valr 2016-01-17 05:15 am (UTC)(link)
Kara scrunches her nose up at the sight of the champagne glass in Maias' hand, wondering why he's bothering to keep it.

"Can't get me more angry than I already am," It's a quiet sort of anger, though; she isn't about to go on a rampage, but she sure would like to find whoever is responsible and put her sword in them, "But if they'd had real booze I might've at least made their death quick."

Instead of slow and agonizing, like she's been considering.
valr: (you know this)

[personal profile] valr 2016-01-17 05:16 am (UTC)(link)
Great.

[So much sarcasm, so much.

But at least she isn't going to freak out.]


Is this fae bullshit, or alien bullshit?

[Her money is on the latter, though she'd prefer the former. At least fae are familiar in their annoyingness.]
valr: (something shameful)

[personal profile] valr 2016-01-17 05:23 am (UTC)(link)
"I've had witches' brews that taste better, and they usually have dead things in 'em," She'd take eye of newt and toe of frog over this awful booze any day, "It probably ain't even alcoholic."

Apparently they best way to get Kara to be chatty is to give her something alcohol related to complain about.

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