videodrome | 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!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

[She can hardly feel the touch. Her lips pull into a bit of a frown at the lack of sensation. Isha can't seem to get used to it, and that her body isn't adapting fast enough.]

So it does. At least we didn't drop into the ocean this time.

[Maias gives a soft snort of amusement and drops their hands to the counter, without letting go of hers. He idly laces their fingers together]

Or into a frozen wasteland. Though we may be giving them ideas, speaking of past experiences out loud.

[The bartender comes back with a dubious-colored drink and leaves without much else to say on the matter.

Isha can only eye it for now.]

At least we'd have some experience in the matter.

[She glances down, wiggles her fingers slightly between his.]

I can't even feel your fingers in mine. It's absurd.

[Maias glances down as well, then shrugs a shoulder. It is absurd, and he doesn't like it. Not one bit]

Shall we switch spots so I can hold the other hand then, love?

[She looks at him now, eyes slightly narrowed. Well, they're already here...]

Maybe.

[It only occurs to her know that time and space took them apart and here they still are, being like they once were.

It's too hard a thing to think about too hard.]

[he takes it upon himself to translate that "maybe" into a "yes", and only lets go of her hand long enough to move to her other side. Once there, he takes up her flesh hand and repeats what he did before, kissing it]

There. Much better.

[She laughs, despite herself.]

I should might as well relish it, this may be the only chance we get to breathe.

[She would hope otherwise, but that would be stupid. She'll just might as well expect the worst and see how it goes from there.]

Please don't say that, you might jinx us terribly.

[despite the words, he says it lightly. He doesn't really believe in that nonsense, even if it's encountered it more than once]

Oh, it can't be all that bad. It brought us here together, at least.

[A silver lining? Maybe, even if it gnaws at her slightly that she couldn't remember him back home, and only saw him in a vague haze of dreams.]

It certainly cannot be any worst than what we've already gone through.

[he makes a face once the words are out of his mouth, and finishes off his drink. He was going to do his best not to linger on that particular topic]

We survived, love, and we'll keep surviving. That's the sort of people we are.

[She leans in and lightly drops a kiss on the curve of his jaw. The irritation, at least to her, is palpable.]

And if you're not that sort I may take an offense to it.

LOG 001: INTRO

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