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

[ He'd had his violin up, bow at the ready, and he still does but now he seems frozen in place. After a few tense seconds of processing the question, his arms relax as he lowers the instrument, head tilted in thought.

Favorite?!

Of course he'd been asked this countless times before in the courts of Esterport, but his tastes have changed so much since then, as has his view of the musical universe. ]

You know, for me it's really a toss up between Paganini and Minaj.

[ What. ]

Both a musical god and goddess of another world respectively, but there's something about their work that almost recalls the primordial words of creation that still echo through the cosmos. Pachelbel is also comparable in that nearly every song created after him is an echo of his work, but it gets so repetitive that it becomes annoying, especially when it can be heard across multiple planes, and I don't believe the Maker intended the same four chords to echo for so long but we are fallible mortals and can't help repeating ourselves! It's not quite as stand out to those with a plainer ear, but between Paganini's demonic skills and Minaj's strive for the purest quality-

[ He's dropping his violin to his side now and waving the bow idly around, and doesn't seem keen on stopping the sudden lecture anytime soon. ]

[Breq's eyebrows slowly raise as he talks, her usually fairly expressionless face working up to something that almost looks like a shadow of surprise. At last, she holds up a hand.]

That's all very interesting, it really is...but I'd really love to hear you play one of these songs.

[There's a note of stern impatience to her voice, very slight. It's really more of a nudge in a more productive direction. Surely she could stand here all day and listen to him talk about god knows what, but it really wouldn't do either of them any good, aside from killing some time. She wanted to hear a song.]

[ Ah, right, he's... reeled back in from the string of musical existential tangents, after a few seconds of awkward silence. It's just so difficult to pick only one... ]

...Right. Well, since we're all in a new place, how about something from across the planes then?

[ Far across the planes, because Guetta and Minaj certainly aren't a part of his world ~~but when it comes to asshole bards and their bullshit in D&D anything is possible rite~~.

He spends a few beats compiling sounds, though it probably just looks like he's making random noises at first. A tap from his boot to the floor, a flick of single string, a pat against the side of the violin's wood. But all those are repeated once the bow hits the strings, idly controlled as ghost sounds to boost the music in the absence of other instruments. He chops out the fast melody with his own swaying dance as if possessed by it. And since it's so naturally upbeat, he can't help smiling as he plays - hopefully it's infectious.

This dreary place could use some more smiles, if the tone of his lone audience member was any true reflection of her mood. ]

[She watches expressionless, but she's impressed by the virtuosity of the player...a virtuosity she hadn't expected. Most of the performers she encountered on the road, in bars or cities were good, perhaps even very good, but not necessarily masters of their craft. And she had had a long time to learn the difference.

She allows a small smile to creep onto her face, begins humming along with the music, her appreciation for the upbeat tune growing by the second.]

[ Mission accomplished. Not that he knows he's gotten a smile out of her, but if the humming is any indication he can take a guess. The lift of his own mood is loud and clear in the song's crescendo, and her joining in helps all the way through to the last flourish.

He does not bother to take a bow, but shakes out his arms and pops his neck upon completing the song. Twirls the bow between his fingers. ]

Phew... I think I needed that too.

[ A good warm up. ]

Not that it's required, but I take gratuities as well as requests.

[ Gotta start chipping away at that bill somehow. ]

It was good, thank you.

I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer in the way of gratuities for the moment...I'm fairly empty handed.

[Breq hadn't in fact, had any currency at all on her when she's appeared in the interim. In fact the only thing she'd had was the clothes on her back and her gun...and both of those she'd left in her suite, quite happy to wear the clean uniform for the time being.]

I'm sure I can repay you at some point.

[He might not know it or have any reason to believe it, but Breq was very good to her word, and always paid her debts.]

[ He doesn't seem offended at the lack of a tip. Were this a normal tavern filled with normal folk he might've be, but here he shrugs it off, because he expected as much. Another lost soul with an unintended debt of inconceivable amounts. ]

Never mind it. Got a bill on your head too then?

[ He can take a guess at the amount. ]

A billion-somethings?

[Breq nods, immediately realises her mistake and says aloud;]

Yes. A billion who-knows-what, for who-knows-knows-why.

[She hadn't had a chance to inquire further about the details of that bill, can't imagine it's just for the board and wrong-tasting food. Although a billion-something could be a very small or very large amount, depending on what that something was.]

I imagine they'll be eager to let us know exactly what it is we owe them, if they expect to ever see it.

Have you tried talkin' to the glass rectangles? Apparently they talk back.

[ He's heard them, not listened in closely but heard the disembodied woman's voice, and opted to steer clear for the time being. Never trust anything if you can't tell where it's brain is. He doesn't need a high WIS score to know that. ]

Or the lady at the bar? Still as a statue and voice like a mathematics instructor, but she's quite knowledgeable.

[ He had bothered her enough already and drank nearly half the champagne supply after. If they'd talked about what form of currency was owed, it's already gone from his mind. ]

LOG 001: INTRO

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject