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

[wethrinaer]

a. unit 05
[of course it wasn't his bed. Or a bed he'd picked to be his for the night, or hell, even one of his lovely lady companions' - which was only an entertaining thought and nothing more, because one would set him on fire before he could even express the thought aloud, another would likely torture him, and he isn't sure the last one would even pick up on the innuendo. It's that last thought that makes him groan audibly; not the headache, or his strange, new surroundings.

Sitting up, he notes the change of clothing with another, exasperated sound. Of course, uniforms and other conformities, he assumed, why should he even be surprised. Reaching over, he snatches his gloves from his pile of clothing and pulls them on. The rest of his clothes can wait until later, he figures, and the gloves serve a greater purpose as it is. He's about to get up and explore when he spots the "bill", the furrow in his brows deepening. Then disappearing entirely as both eyebrows shoot up.

And then he laughs. Laughs until it's less of a laugh and more of a wheezing noise.

Hello, Unit 05. Sorry this is your introduction to your new roommate]

b. the bar
[later, and once the hilarity of his situation has lost most of its amusement, Maias finds himself at the bar - a welcome sight, truly, and one he predicts he will be seeing very, very often. He has no clue what "Happy New Year" is supposed to mean - a holiday, perhaps, to celebrate the turning of the season, maybe? Does this place even have seasons? - but as soon as he sees the champagne he finds himself not caring about the answer.

The glass is halfway to his lips when the screens come on, and despite his time in more modern places, he still jumps at the pop of static and turns, eyes wide and betraying any coolness he may have (thought he was) giving off. Smooth as ever.

At the woman's words he turns to look at the table again, eyebrows raised, before furrowing in a mock pout]

I see nothing culturally accurate about this at all.

[trust Maias to be insulted by the lack of decent ale.

Eventually, he'll find a place to sit to drink his odd-tasting champagne, and to take in what's going on - and of course, people watch. He wondered just how many poor bastards were in the same situation]

c. wildcard

[maybe you run into him in the hallway, or even later when he finally decides to explore. Or heck, maybe you have an entirely different scenario! Your choice ♥]

B

[diamondhack]

[Isha never found anything particularly amusing, not with the fact that she's been through a ridiculous amount of galaxy trotting.

She still finds it hard to believe she's back in this game, after all this time, in this state of hers. She's still not even used to the displays literally in her eyes, rendering her sunglasses only half-inert. Isha doesn't like it, not one bit. The arm, well. She could deal with the arm.

The other implants? It's not as if she could tear it out of her own face, now could she? So, Isha does what she always does.

Adapt.

But at the sight of Maias... this is no dream. Q-11 follows at her heels as she settles next to him primly.]

Of all the gin joints in all the world.

[She taps the bar top twice with her mechanical fingers. Her jumpsuit is already looking fashionable: rolled up sleeves and undone just enough to reveal the top of the shirt underneath.]

[wethrinaer]

[the smile he gives her is far more genuine than what he'd give anyone else, albeit smaller than the fake mask he usually plasters on. A gloved hand immediately seeks out the top of her strange, mechanical companion's head, though, as if it were as real as he and Isha]

Does a gin joint differ from a tavern, or does it mean the same thing? [it's a half-serious question, old habits spurring him into rambling on the topic she's presented to him] Or do these gin joints specialize in only serving gin?

[he gives a considering pause, the glass in hand swirling the liquid] I remember having gin. It was quite good.

[diamondhack]

[So she has a prosthetic and he has a gloved hand.

And so they continue to be a hell of a pair.]

It means the same thing love. Whiskey, on the rocks.

[The bartender nods curtly and leaves to make her drink.]

It's from a movie, a very old one. [She glances over to him.] Casablanca. Back when movies were new to color. [Isha purses her lips. Just like old times, as if nothing's ever changed. A rare moment, this one, one that lends itself to her dropping her head onto his shoulder.]

We're at this again, love.

[wethrinaer]

[the hand patting their third wheel immediately lifts up to thread his fingers through her hair as best it can, fingers fumbling and twitching oddly for a moment, stiffly. But that's the only give that there may be a reason why he opted to keep his gloves on]

Movies had no color? I am still amazed they exist in the first place.

[his tone is a little lighter, quieter so it's just between them]

And so we are. Our luck is amazingly bad, it would seem.

[diamondhack]

[Q-11 doesn't mind at all being ignored. It lays down onto its stomach, content as any machine could be with itself.

She does noticed, though, his odd movements. Isha chooses not to comment on it, not now.]

So it is.

[She lifts her prosthetic arm up, flexing her fingers. The metal and the gold shine in the lights.]

It's been one bad thing after the other, Maias.

[wethrinaer]

[he makes a noise of agreement, half-amused, half-something else. The champagne gets downed in one, quick gulp before he turns, just enough to put the glass on the counter]

How ironic and sad, that we both have that in common. [his eyes fall on her arm, but he keeps his expression the same. Fingers twitch again before settling]

Perhaps we've angered some sort of deity. I certainly cannot explain otherwise.

[diamondhack]

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]

[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.

a- heya roomate

[pachintoki]

[The sound of quick pounding feet outside Maias' room might have him looking up, just as a man with silver hair and an angry expression rounds the doorway, catching himself with a hand on it.

He has his other hand up, and in that hand is what looks like a boot. The expression on his face changes from one dead-set on hurling that boot at his new room-mate, to one that's much more blank, expressionless eyes giving Maias a somewhat unimpressed once-over.

And then he'll drop the hand with the boot, mutter something, look irritated, and leave.

NIce to meet you, or something.]

omfg i hurt myself laughing thank you

[wethrinaer]

[he does look up at the pounding feet, the laugh cut off for a moment as he meets the other man's eyes. They track to the boot, and his slightly unhinged expression - because surely it was unhinged, who laughs like that over a crappy situation - suddenly blooms into nothing but amusement.

As his roommate turns to leave, he's laughing again, albeit far less crazy-sounding, and Maias pushes himself to his feet to head for the door]

Wait, wait, don't leave yet, we've yet to introduce ourselves!

anytime o7

[pachintoki]

[He's a little surprised that he can understand what this guy is saying. After all, he was pretty sure he wasn't on Earth anymore, or even if he was, this was clearly some sort of alien ship . . . or something like that. He'd been on a space-ship before, after all.

Maybe that's why he had a headache. He'll turn back slightly towards Maias, jaw clenched, hand still closed tightly over the boot - his own boot from home. ]

Hah? What kind of introduction does a crazy guy wanna make? Oi.

[this was too much work.]

[wethrinaer]

Crazy? [the tone is all mock-offended and mock-hurt. He even pouts, very briefly, before the amused expression makes a return. He gives an elegant shrug, and a smile breaks out on his face]

I assure you, sir, I'm quite sane. Just very, very amused by our current . . . circumstances.

[pachintoki]

[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.

[wethrinaer]

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?

[pachintoki]

[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.]

[wethrinaer]

[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]

A- and good morning to you too.

[murdercat]

[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!"

i'm sorry for your roommate

[wethrinaer]

[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.

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

[murdercat]

"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?!"

what an entirely apt description, maias loves burning houses!

[wethrinaer]

[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?

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

[murdercat]

"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?"

[wethrinaer]

[politely, Maias lets the cat man speak aloud without interruption; it'd be rude to interrupt, and really, a simple nod of his head at each question worked just as well. He certainly isn't the sort to offer comfort, though. Especially not to someone he didn't know and something that was very obviously not human.

But he could feign caring, at the very least. He offers a hand to shake at the introduction, head tilted and eyebrows raised at the finally question, to which he once again shakes his head]

I am afraid, Elijah, that I haven't a clue as to what "here" is at all. I'm just as lost as you are.

[murdercat]

[Whatever the.... well, the extraterrestrial(for lack of a better term) was, it most certainly wasn't human. For one, the pro-offered hand had five fingers. However, he could be a liability, or he could be an asset. No sense in burning bridges before you've reached them.]

"And how did your last... indenture-ship end?"

[wethrinaer]

[extraterrestrial could be accurate, even if he does have five fingers. The pale skin and the almost sickly appearance, though . . . well, he wasn't about to bring up what he actually was. Technically was, whatever the right terminology for that would be]

In a transfer and finally, a trip right back to where I came from. That was a few months ago, at least in terms of time that has passed in my own world.