LOG 001: INTRO

[shiftmods]

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!"

Comments

Kara Styrdoyttir » Original

[valr]

The first thought that Kara has upon waking is that she’s hung-over, which happens occasionally enough that she doesn’t feel too concerned about either her unfamiliar surroundings or the roiling in her stomach. She had no plans to get drunk, but it’s possibly she ran into someone toting around brews strong enough to affect her, and there’s no way she would have turned it down.

It takes her a while to fully wake up, not being used to feeling quite so spectacularly hung-over (the light headedness is new), but slowly memories of sand and metal come to the surface of her thoughts, and that’s all it takes to get her to her feet.

The sudden movement nearly results in her losing the contents of her stomach on the metal floor, but she manages to fight down the wave of nausea as she reaches for the familiar sight of her bag. Finding her sword is the first priority, and she calms down instantly as soon as her fingers curl around the hilt; she can deal with most things, but her sword is one of her last connections to home. It also means that whoever dragged her here is either an idiot, or not her enemy, since only one of those two would leave her so well armed.

(She should probably look at the piece of paper, but it’s already fallen off the table in her eagerness to get her sword, and is promptly forgotten.)

They did, apparently, undress her, which probably puts them firmly in the ‘idiot’ category, though she isn’t as concerned about propriety as some people are, it’s just annoying that she has to get changed. The uniform is stripped off and left on the bed, replaced by Kara’s raggedy jeans and tank top, both of which have seen better days. Her boots and jacket are in better shape, with the latter is just big enough to hide the holster and gun she’s decided to put on. More obviously, her sword hangs from its scabbard on her hip, a slight anachronism amongst her modern clothing.

It should probably look odd, a young woman wandering the corridors as if she’s just arrived from a Sex Pistols concert, carrying a sword, but she wears the weapon like she was born to.

Arriving in the bar takes her a little while, after she’s spent some time exploring all the empty hallways and closed off doors. It’s unsettling, not being able to see outside, especially when the thought comes that she might be underground. Kara isn’t claustrophobic, but not being able to fly if she needs to makes her skin itch. It makes ‘find an exit’ even more of a priority, but it becomes clear to her that it isn’t happening any time soon, which is why she ends up in the bar.

At least there’s booze.

Booze that she takes a sip of, then promptly spits out when it tastes more like tires than champagne.

“The fuck is this?”

Apparently they can’t even get alcohol right, leaving Kara flopped on a couch smoking a cigarette, ignoring whatever social rules there might be about smoking in indoor settings. If someone has a problem with it, they can tell her, if only because it might be an excuse to get into a fight. She could use a good punch up right about now.

Once the screens come on, she’s probably going to want to punch those.

[twobastards]

Making it to the bar, Liz took in the decorations and food with an extremely raised brow. Picking up what looked like pizza dip, she gave it a cautious sniff before putting it right the fuck back down. It smelled like cabbage. And salmon. No, thank you.

Backing away from the table, she made her way to the only other person in the bar. It was the girl from the centre console; Kara, or whatever.

"Oh hey, looks like you're here, too."

[valr]

Kara watches Liz's little investigation with concealed amusement, grateful that she doesn't actually need to eat to surivive, if this is what the people in charge think is edible.

"Looks like it," There's a nod in greeting, but that's about as much as Liz is going to get, "Guess they grabbed us from that shithole at the same time."

Which, whatever. It'd just be nice if they'd show their damn faces.

[twobastards]

"I take it that means you don't know what the fuck's going on, either." Not that Liz was really expecting her too. Sneering at the ridiculousness of the universe, she eased down onto the opposite side of the couch from Kara, digging along the side of her leg. The air pressure here was fucking murder.

[valr]

"Not a fucking clue," The annoyance in her voice is obvious; she's not used to being in the dark and it sets her in edge, because she can't plan for whatever is coming next.

[twobastards]

"Great. No one seems to know."

Leaning back, she dug a protein bar from her pocket and tore into it, because she was fucking starving and like fuck she was going to eat anything from the table.

[valr]

This is probably the sort of situation where it would be nice to have friends who'd miss her, who might even consider trying to come find her, but that's a luxury that Kara hasn't allowed herself for years.

No one's going to notice she's gone, and if they do, they won't care.

"Someone's gotta be in charge of this place, just hav'ta find them."

[twobastards]

Ripping a mouthful off, she swallowed some of it before giving her own two cents.

"Well, you can always go talk to the creepy woman at the bar. Maybe she knows something." Liz herself can't get close; something about the woman makes her face hurt, which isn't doing her headache any favours. But maybe someone else can get close.

Finishing her bite, she slumped even further into the couch. "God this fucking sucks."

[manyvoiced]

"'Refreshments', didn't you hear?" Breq strides over to Kara, an ironic smile on her face. She takes a sip of her own drink as she sits on the couch across from her. It's simultaneously bitter and a little bit like a very aged cheese. She makes a face, her own usual flatness unable to stand up to the drink's sheer strength of...flavor.

"Well, at least it's interesting."

[valr]

"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.

[manyvoiced]

"Probably not." Breq settlings back more comfortably into the couch, her eyes skimming the room. There was a quiet unease settling in. No one seemed to be having a particularly good time...well. Except maybe the one with violin.

"Everything here's seems like it's not quite what it seems to be. Or what it's trying to be. An imitation of an imitation."

She holds up the glass, the clear bubbly liquid sparkling in the dim light.

[valr]

"Things pretending t'be something they ain't, I've seen it before," Creatures wearing human skins, and while from a distance nothing seems amiss, watching them for too long makes unease settle in. It's hard to put a finger on, exactly what's wrong, but people can feel it deep in their bones.

[wethrinaer]

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."

[valr]

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.

[wethrinaer]

The casual mention of violence earns a faint grin from him. It's just his luck to come across another woman like this, who speaks of killing another as though she's speaking of the weather. He gives a faint shake of his head, but he's entirely not bothered. It was familiar, after all.

"If they had real booze I imagine you wouldn't feel incline to kill them at all." He speculates, eyebrows raising. "Or am I wrong?"

[valr]

"Wrong," It's a casual response, as if she doesn't blame him for thinking she wouldn't just murder a bunch of people, "I don't take kindly to being kidnapped."

It's not like she had anything important going on, back home, but it's the principal of the thing.

[wethrinaer]

"Does anyone?" He counters, head tilting. He can't quite hide his amusement. "I can't say I blame you for wanting to murder them, however. This is quite the ridiculous situation, and should it become any worse, I may be forced to join you."

The thought is appealing; he hasn't killed anyone in a while, and his current mood did suit the urge. But then again, he'd be playing a dangerous game with his stupid curse and he did not want to deal with that, at least not right away. "Though if they were to bring out some decent ale, I'd be appeased."

[valr]

"If you can handle a weapon, I'd welcome the help."

And she's met some people in her 900 years who'd probably be into being kidnapped, so she's not even going to touch that.

"I'd agree with that if you'd said mead, ale's for children," She remembers when it was, actually, served to children, so it's a statement of fact rather than her taking a shot at Maias apparent like of the stuff.

[wethrinaer]

"Ale is cheap, mead is what one drinks to celebrate." He counters easily with a wider grin and not offended in the least. "Or for other reasons, if one can afford it." Ale was preferable if only because it was what he always had, but he would never pass up mead. Or any of the stronger alcohols he'd experienced the last time he was "hired" for something.

"And I can handle plenty of weapons, my dear."

[diamondhack]

Isha, as ever, opts to remain quiet, somewhat withdrawn, but highly alert. And, as ever, she wears her round black sunglasses, now in standby mode, because she's not exactly looking to get nauseous between a multitude of displays in her retinas and on her sunglasses. Q-11 strides next to her, padding along entirely dog-like yet not at all. Its metal nails scrape the floors from time to time.

She's moved on from the bar already, seeing as that the whiskey was terrible but she downed it anyway, and took to exploration. She finds now a disheveled woman smoking, with an enormous sword on her person. It only occurs to her now that maybe a year ago the sight would've been incongruous.

Isha now just accepts it as fact.

She sighs. The woman didn't bother to change back into her proper clothes, they put her in the uniform for a reason. Previous experience has her angling more for her own skin, or what's left of it, instead of changing back. The jumpsuit is undone up to the waist now, finding the movement much more acceptable than suffocating in the suit. Her black, metallic right arm glints in the little light there is, as do the gold filigree and the encrusted diamonds.

"As much as I do appreciate a good rule breaker," she begins, "I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for burning and wrecking all of our wonderful technology."

Will Isha get punched or killed? Probably. But she doesn't care, she's dealt with uglier things than a nicotine-addicted punk rocker with a sword.

[valr]

Not punched or killed, but Kara doesn't look entirely impressed by the comment, though it's mostly directed at the general situation rather than Isha herself.

"If a little smoke fucks this stuff up, it weren't that good in the first place," Maybe one day she'll learn how grammar works, but she hasn't in the past almost-millennia.

[diamondhack]

Weren't that good.

"It doesn't matter if it 'weren't' that good, it would be an excuse to slap another fine on the bill you were likely left with in your room."

Q-11 settles onto its haunches primly next to Isha, cocking its head to once side. An unknown variable in a series of many more, that's this woman. They can only do what they've always done: adapt.

"Besides," she adds, waving off a puff of trailing smoke, "the smell of cigarette is impossible to get out."

[valr]

The mention of the bill just makes Kara scoff, "People stop caring about what you owe 'em when they're bleeding."

She doesn't even bother to gesture to the sword on her belt, figuring it should be pretty obvious what she means.

But at least she's nice enough to put out the cigarette, pinching the end between her fingers (it doesn't burn her) before slipping it back in the packet. Hopefully this will stop Isha fussing at her.

[diamondhack]

"People, meaning one small group, a cluster, if you will. I take it that you haven't had to deal with an all-powerful, all-spanning corporation."

The cigarette being put out with nothing but her fingers hardly surprises Isha, if at all. It only makes her wonder what she is, someone who is extraordinarily gifted, a superhero, perhaps the norm of her world?

Time would tell.

[valr]

That particular sentence worries Kara, but she doesn't show it on her face, keeping her expression ranging between neutral and annoyed.

"Whatever they used to bring us here should work both ways, just gotta find the right person to stick a sword in to," It's mostly bluster now, though she does have faith in herself to find a way out of any sticky situations. She hasn't survived this long by giving up.