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

[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."

[valr]

"I'm not your dear," There's a hint of annoyance in her tone, because she's never taken well to terms of endearment, whether they're from people she likes or strangers, but she isn't about to get her panties in a twist over it.

"And it's cheap if it comes from Heiðrún," Not everyone has a magical mead goat, Kara.

(She misses Heiðrún.)

[wethrinaer]

"I've no idea what or who that is, but I shall take your word for it." He says, and completely and totally-not-on-purpose ignores her comment about calling her "dear". It's a quirk of his that he finds hard to stop, so why bother acknowledging it at all until absolutely necessary? Or at least, that's his logic.

"At this point, however, I will take anything that tastes decent. Ale or mead or any of those other, modern drinks. Whiskey was quite good. Anything but tequila." He remembered that one very well, and how much he didn't like it.

[valr]

Kara decides not to try to explain the fact that she's drunk mead from a goat, because she's often found that people don't really know how to deal with that piece of information.

"Ain't a fan of tequila?" She isn't fussed on it either way, but it's strong, which makes it a good choice.

[wethrinaer]

"I have only had it once, and I did not enjoy it, no." He laments, complete with a pout and furrowed brows, as if the experience had left some sort of permanent scar on him. Which it didn't, but that wasn't about to stop him from being dramatic about the whole affair. "A friend introduced me to it shortly after introducing me to something . . . oh, what was it called . . . "

He pauses, the tip of a gloved finger tapping his chin in thought, before he gives a soft "Aha!" and snaps his fingers - or tries to, anyway. They do little less than fumble together, but it's not enough to stop him from continuing his story. "Gelatin! That's what it was. Alcoholic gelatin? It wiggled in a very strange way when one ate it. We moved on to the tequila after that - they were called shots, I believe, and put into these little glasses one had to drink in one go, and I was certain the man was trying to introduce me to every foul-tasting liquor on that damned table after that."

He gives a shake of his head, his expression darkening further. The only give away that he isn't at all bothered is the amusement plain in his eyes.

[valr]

"S'called jello," Her tone isn't condescending, just giving him the correct term for it, since it's obvious that he's not familiar with that sort of thing. The whole thing also marks him as Not Human, considering everyone human that Kara knows is familiar with tequila and jello shots.

"The best part of tequila shots is licking the salt off someone," Of course that's the part she likes.

[wethrinaer]

"Licking the salt off someone?" He repeats, eyebrows raised and just a bit more interest in his voice. "That is certainly not something anyone informed of the last time. I feel a bit disappointed now."

[valr]

"Proper tequila shots should have a hot girl on her back with the glass balanced on her stomach, lime in her mouth. Take the shot, lick the salt off her tits, then take the lime outta her mouth."

Most of her contact with people comes through alcohol and sex, so body shots are perfect in her opinion.

[wethrinaer]

He pretends to look scandalized, but only for a moment before he breaks out into a laugh. "What an interesting way to drink!" And one he makes a note of to try out at a future point in time. "There is sadly nothing equivalent to that where I'm from. It's all rather boring."

[valr]

"Guessing you ain't got frat boys were you're from then?" It's the only logical conclusion, because she's sure that when left alone, frat boys will always invent a way to drink alcohol off someone's a body.

[wethrinaer]

"I am . . . not quite sure what a frat boy is, to be honest." There's genuine confusion on his face, as well as in his tone. "Is it a type of job?"

[valr]

"You got colleges? Universities?" If wherever he's from doesn't have those, it's going to take a bit more explaining, so she'd rather know first.