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redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
- !mod post: intro mingle,
- dragon age: cole,
- expanse: alex kamal,
- far cry 5: staci pratt,
- hunger games: annie cresta,
- hunger games: finnick odair,
- izombie: drake holloway,
- mcu: peter parker,
- mortal kombat: kabal,
- original: cho takahashi,
- poison: poison,
- umbrella academy: ben hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: diego hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: eudora patch,
- umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves,
- warm bodies: julie grigio
july 2019. welcome to the void.
Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: First Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of July 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
A few hours after the first arrivals, odd noises start to filter up from the pavilion and park at the base of the city. Limp whistles, the gunfire pop of small fireworks, and music from what sounds like a broken kazoo. It seems as though the still-functioning robots of Anchor are trying to welcome their new human overlords, based on programming that hasn't been exercised in... uh, shall we say "a while"?
Three of them have formed a tiny off-key band playing unfamiliar tunes from crackling speakers. One of the three punctuates the music at odd moments by smashing together a pair of cymbals that seem to have been constructed from a flattened pot and a trash can lid. Two others man the refreshments table. Some of the food looks downright inedible, but there are piles of wild berries from the upper floors. Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Apples and cherries. Fruits that shouldn't be in season together but somehow still are. There's a strange and vaguely triangular pastry that tastes like hot cinnamon candy. There are piles of vegetables, too, though the only preparation they've had is to be washed and dumped in baskets.
One of the chef bots has put some work in, though, and there are a couple of stews and soups available for the adventurous. All of them are made with the raw ingredients available to eat on the tables. One of them even has meat in it, though that's best consumed by people with very hardy stomachs.
At the end of the refreshment table is a cluster of fresh-pressed juices and unlabeled alcohol bottles, with uneven stacks of cups stationed around them. (Careful, some of the cups are cracked.) Even the good old bar bot is doing his part, pouring out glasses of orange juice and straight shots of tequila. A very generous compromise in place of his usual tequila sunrises. Right? Right.
The most conspicuous robot is the one setting off fireworks. It’s already blown off one six-fingered hand, but by god that hasn’t stopped it. With every small cluster of colorful explosives, the thing throws back its chunky head and gives a sound that can only be described as a metallic cackle.
Might want to watch that guy.
In the wee hours of the morning after the robots' attempted welcome, the impacts against the dome overhead start. Meteorites, some of them as large as a person's head, bombard the shield and the area around for miles. The alarms that start throughout the colony are enough to wake anyone up, if the thunderous noise of the cosmic storm wasn't enough to do it.
And the alarms aren't for the meteorites. The red shift is rising up around the colony, that phenomenon that no one from the past had the foresight to give more than vague warnings about. New residents who have done some digging will know exactly what’s going on, but for those who’ve avoided even thinking about what’s happened to them, well. It could be a nasty surprise.
Anyone sensible would stay inside with all of that going on, but there's something else: life signs. The communication devices given to residents on arrival light up, indicating the presence of no less than five flecks of life out there in the wastes. Odds are good that at least a few of them are monsters from other worlds, or twisted radioactive creatures warped by the planet itself. But one of them is very human, and has been here for a very long time.
Should residents venture out to investigate these life signs, they’ll find the farthest one to be a man in protective gear, flickering like a badly received signal. As the red shift starts to fade, he solidifies, and as the shift finally dies away, he wrenches off his helmet with one hand and falls to his knees. He's as twisted as the creatures the planet has corrupted, one eye socket nothing but a depression sealed by flesh. His lips on that side curves sharply upward, barely hiding teeth too sharp and long for a human mouth. It's clear now while he pulled off his helmet with one hand--the other is a wreck, a blackened stony mass sealed to the cuff of his radiation suit.
He can hear you coming, if you're brave enough to approach. He can hear you coming, and will turn his one orange-irised eye to watch you until you speak.
Welcome to Anchor, where sometimes you're the only thing between you and the catastrophic failure of life support systems. After the red shift ends, the radioactivity warning alarms will at least fall silent. The cosmic storm has passed, and for a little while there's quiet under the dome.
But those exploring the upper reaches of the city might hear new alarms, much softer and less insistent than the radiation alarms. They're coming from one of the survey rooms near the garage and the exits to the surface. It might take a little doing to pull up the screens triggering the alarms, but you'll be glad you put in the work. It turns out, those meteorites damaged several of the exterior sensors and one of the major radiation and light transfer panels that help keep anchor supplied with energy--and help keep the shield dome in good working order.
While the damage is easy to see and isn't too hard to fix for those with some technical know-how, there are life signs moving slowly closer to the colony. It's quite possible to fix the damage and get back inside before those life signs arrive, but there's also the risk of being caught in the open and facing down some of the planet's native creatures.
In this case, they're large, furry millipede-like creatures no less than seven feet long. They're perfectly harmless, if you don't count the fact that they seem intent on trying to eat the protective gear and tools you've brought out onto the surface with you. It's not their fault that your arms are inside those delicious radiation suits.
A few days of genuine quiet follow the fixing of the exterior damage. Time to explore, to get lost, to drink more than your doctor might recommend at the colony's only serviceable bar. Enough time to feel the weight of Anchor's emptiness.
The next time you walk into the bar, there's a see-through stranger at the pool table, smiling warmly in welcome. "Want a game?"
Get too close, and he disappears. But he was there--he was clearly there. The cue he was holding clatters to the ground and rolls over to rest at your feet.
Down in the pavilion, there are children playing in the park. Throwing balls, playing tag, their laughs echoing somehow in the open air. Invisible parents call for them to be careful or slow down. Now and then one of them will vanish midstep, only to appear again back where they were ten minutes ago and start their run through the park all over again. They can see you. One or two might even invite you to join their games, taking your hand in their own, leading you toward their fellows. And when they do, you can hear their parents' voices exclaiming in shock. A rush of shadows scoop up these phantom children and whisk them away into some invisible world where you can't follow, only hear the children crying in fear.
All around the colony, shades appear and vanish, some solid enough to touch, some just barely visible. Some are inexplicably aggressive, attacking anyone who tries to talk to them or get too close. Just as many run screaming or sobbing at the sight of you.
But there are others, too, who seem to recognize you. One of these is a young woman holding a gun like she has no idea how to use it. When approached, she almost starts to cry. "Oh, thank god. We have to get the kids to quarantine. We have to get them into lockdown. Those bastards-- Those sons of bitches-- The kids should at least have a chance."
She starts to turn, and a laser blast rips through her, lancing across the wall right where a deep score mark still exists, not in the least ghostly or unreal. If you touch it now, it feels warm.
What: First Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of July 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
a. bot party.
A few hours after the first arrivals, odd noises start to filter up from the pavilion and park at the base of the city. Limp whistles, the gunfire pop of small fireworks, and music from what sounds like a broken kazoo. It seems as though the still-functioning robots of Anchor are trying to welcome their new human overlords, based on programming that hasn't been exercised in... uh, shall we say "a while"? Three of them have formed a tiny off-key band playing unfamiliar tunes from crackling speakers. One of the three punctuates the music at odd moments by smashing together a pair of cymbals that seem to have been constructed from a flattened pot and a trash can lid. Two others man the refreshments table. Some of the food looks downright inedible, but there are piles of wild berries from the upper floors. Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Apples and cherries. Fruits that shouldn't be in season together but somehow still are. There's a strange and vaguely triangular pastry that tastes like hot cinnamon candy. There are piles of vegetables, too, though the only preparation they've had is to be washed and dumped in baskets.
One of the chef bots has put some work in, though, and there are a couple of stews and soups available for the adventurous. All of them are made with the raw ingredients available to eat on the tables. One of them even has meat in it, though that's best consumed by people with very hardy stomachs.
At the end of the refreshment table is a cluster of fresh-pressed juices and unlabeled alcohol bottles, with uneven stacks of cups stationed around them. (Careful, some of the cups are cracked.) Even the good old bar bot is doing his part, pouring out glasses of orange juice and straight shots of tequila. A very generous compromise in place of his usual tequila sunrises. Right? Right.
The most conspicuous robot is the one setting off fireworks. It’s already blown off one six-fingered hand, but by god that hasn’t stopped it. With every small cluster of colorful explosives, the thing throws back its chunky head and gives a sound that can only be described as a metallic cackle.
Might want to watch that guy.
b. life signs in the wasteland.
In the wee hours of the morning after the robots' attempted welcome, the impacts against the dome overhead start. Meteorites, some of them as large as a person's head, bombard the shield and the area around for miles. The alarms that start throughout the colony are enough to wake anyone up, if the thunderous noise of the cosmic storm wasn't enough to do it. And the alarms aren't for the meteorites. The red shift is rising up around the colony, that phenomenon that no one from the past had the foresight to give more than vague warnings about. New residents who have done some digging will know exactly what’s going on, but for those who’ve avoided even thinking about what’s happened to them, well. It could be a nasty surprise.
Anyone sensible would stay inside with all of that going on, but there's something else: life signs. The communication devices given to residents on arrival light up, indicating the presence of no less than five flecks of life out there in the wastes. Odds are good that at least a few of them are monsters from other worlds, or twisted radioactive creatures warped by the planet itself. But one of them is very human, and has been here for a very long time.
Should residents venture out to investigate these life signs, they’ll find the farthest one to be a man in protective gear, flickering like a badly received signal. As the red shift starts to fade, he solidifies, and as the shift finally dies away, he wrenches off his helmet with one hand and falls to his knees. He's as twisted as the creatures the planet has corrupted, one eye socket nothing but a depression sealed by flesh. His lips on that side curves sharply upward, barely hiding teeth too sharp and long for a human mouth. It's clear now while he pulled off his helmet with one hand--the other is a wreck, a blackened stony mass sealed to the cuff of his radiation suit.
He can hear you coming, if you're brave enough to approach. He can hear you coming, and will turn his one orange-irised eye to watch you until you speak.
c. hairy repairs.
Welcome to Anchor, where sometimes you're the only thing between you and the catastrophic failure of life support systems. After the red shift ends, the radioactivity warning alarms will at least fall silent. The cosmic storm has passed, and for a little while there's quiet under the dome. But those exploring the upper reaches of the city might hear new alarms, much softer and less insistent than the radiation alarms. They're coming from one of the survey rooms near the garage and the exits to the surface. It might take a little doing to pull up the screens triggering the alarms, but you'll be glad you put in the work. It turns out, those meteorites damaged several of the exterior sensors and one of the major radiation and light transfer panels that help keep anchor supplied with energy--and help keep the shield dome in good working order.
While the damage is easy to see and isn't too hard to fix for those with some technical know-how, there are life signs moving slowly closer to the colony. It's quite possible to fix the damage and get back inside before those life signs arrive, but there's also the risk of being caught in the open and facing down some of the planet's native creatures.
In this case, they're large, furry millipede-like creatures no less than seven feet long. They're perfectly harmless, if you don't count the fact that they seem intent on trying to eat the protective gear and tools you've brought out onto the surface with you. It's not their fault that your arms are inside those delicious radiation suits.
d. shadows of the past.
A few days of genuine quiet follow the fixing of the exterior damage. Time to explore, to get lost, to drink more than your doctor might recommend at the colony's only serviceable bar. Enough time to feel the weight of Anchor's emptiness. The next time you walk into the bar, there's a see-through stranger at the pool table, smiling warmly in welcome. "Want a game?"
Get too close, and he disappears. But he was there--he was clearly there. The cue he was holding clatters to the ground and rolls over to rest at your feet.
Down in the pavilion, there are children playing in the park. Throwing balls, playing tag, their laughs echoing somehow in the open air. Invisible parents call for them to be careful or slow down. Now and then one of them will vanish midstep, only to appear again back where they were ten minutes ago and start their run through the park all over again. They can see you. One or two might even invite you to join their games, taking your hand in their own, leading you toward their fellows. And when they do, you can hear their parents' voices exclaiming in shock. A rush of shadows scoop up these phantom children and whisk them away into some invisible world where you can't follow, only hear the children crying in fear.
All around the colony, shades appear and vanish, some solid enough to touch, some just barely visible. Some are inexplicably aggressive, attacking anyone who tries to talk to them or get too close. Just as many run screaming or sobbing at the sight of you.
But there are others, too, who seem to recognize you. One of these is a young woman holding a gun like she has no idea how to use it. When approached, she almost starts to cry. "Oh, thank god. We have to get the kids to quarantine. We have to get them into lockdown. Those bastards-- Those sons of bitches-- The kids should at least have a chance."
She starts to turn, and a laser blast rips through her, lancing across the wall right where a deep score mark still exists, not in the least ghostly or unreal. If you touch it now, it feels warm.
e. ping from the rubble.
As though the presence of past residents sets it off, a persistent signal begins to broadcast from the collapsed library. It turns out there's a section not buried quite as deeply as the rest. A row of broken terminals, ending with the one sending the signal. A warning signal about the structural integrity of the library complex and the need to back up crucial data. Too little, too late, but with time and patience some of the partial files on the terminal could be reconstructed....
For those less versed in computers, there's a mysterious door just past the terminals, partially blocked off by rubble. If that can be cleared, the door leads into a dusty room with more broken terminals, but beyond that, there's a small library of real hardcover and paperback books, with comfortable chairs (some of them needing TLC), low tables, and lights (currently broken). The books are in a variety of languages, both Earth-based and alien. A flickering "skylight" at the top of the room shows a blue sky flanked by swaying trees, or a thunderstorm, or other, stranger but still friendly skies. It blinks off, sometimes, but seems determined to keep playing its peaceful scenes for those below. With some cleaning up, this could be a good retreat from the sometimes oppressive emptiness of Anchor.
For those less versed in computers, there's a mysterious door just past the terminals, partially blocked off by rubble. If that can be cleared, the door leads into a dusty room with more broken terminals, but beyond that, there's a small library of real hardcover and paperback books, with comfortable chairs (some of them needing TLC), low tables, and lights (currently broken). The books are in a variety of languages, both Earth-based and alien. A flickering "skylight" at the top of the room shows a blue sky flanked by swaying trees, or a thunderstorm, or other, stranger but still friendly skies. It blinks off, sometimes, but seems determined to keep playing its peaceful scenes for those below. With some cleaning up, this could be a good retreat from the sometimes oppressive emptiness of Anchor.
no subject
"So speaking of future porn," Yep that's where this conversation is going, thanks Kabal, "there's that whole... what is it called. The lounge. Intimacy lounge? Maybe you'll find some there. Assuming that's what intimacy lounge means. Couldn't tell you if that area has power, though." Kabal might have to keep right on waiting for his wacky future porn.
no subject
What about the morale of everyone who lives here? It's for the good of the community.
"I haven't even looked at it, kinda assumed it would be robot strippers or something."
no subject
"...I mean, now I kind of just want to go see if there are robot strippers, but I kinda doubt it."
If there are, to they look like dumb generic robots like all the other ones because that would be amazing. Not at all sexy, but kind of amazing.
no subject
"Maybe someone's into that. I won't judge."
no subject
He pauses for a moment, like he just remembered what the fuck he's supposed to be doing right now and it's not this, "I think we got a little off track."
Just a little.
no subject
"You're the one with the GPS, I'm just following you. And I think the state of entertainment here is kinda important. For you know... morale." Real convincing there buddy.
no subject
"We're still goin' in the right direction, I'm just sayin' the conversation got super weird. And you're not wrong, but I have a feeling you just want to hang out with the stripper bots."
no subject
"Says the guy who's going to infest the place with roombas with pasties."
no subject
Of course he's not counting himself as a kid HE'S AN ADULT OKAY. Just a small one.
no subject
no subject
I mean, probably pretty far.
"Y'know, that wasn't part of the original plan, but maybe if I tossed back a couple of those tequila sunrises first. I dunno."
I mean someone might have to assist with the boob sculpting, you think this guy's ever seen a real life boob in person? PSH.
no subject
By sculpting boobs onto roombas. But hey, anything is better than wandering around this place waiting to die since everything is so busted it might fall apart if you look at it wrong. Also Kabal has seen many boobs but he will not be assisting. Find someone else to do the whole Demi Moore in Ghost thing to sculpt a set of roomba tits on a pottery wheel.
"We're all gonna be so sick of tequila and orange juice. I'm telling you, we need to fix that bar robot before someone breaks it out of frustration."
no subject
"Okay, okay. We'll fix the damn robot."
When he feels like it, which he doesn't say out loud, but goddamn Kabal ASK HIM TO FIX THE ROBOT ONE MORE TIME. I DARE YOU.
ANYWAY. Peter checks his little GPS on his comm device and hey, they've reached the. Beaker room? Generator room? Whatever it is, they've reached it WOOOO.]
"This is it. How much yo wanna bet the door's locked?"
no subject
He is bored and wants to do something violent. This place sucks.
Unfortunately he tries the handle and the door... opens. You know what, fuck this place. Fuck everything about this place forever.
no subject
"...If you really wanna kick the door in, I won't stop you. In fact, I encourage it."
Because this guy really seems like he needs to just break something. Sometimes you just gotta break shit. The door probably deserves it anyway.
no subject
"This place needs a training range. Or a punching bag." Because he's been here only a few days and he already can feel the pent up frustration threatening to overflow into violence.
"What exactly am I looking for in here? Those them?" What does a generator even look like in the future? He's used to those yellow things that you pull the cord on to start like a lawnmower, and this sure isn't that.
no subject
Well, he isn't, but fixing it will give him something to do later so really he can't complain.
"Y'know, if there isn't some kind of training range, we can totally make one." He has a feeling that Kabal isn't the sort who would want to make it himself, but too goddamn bad y'know? "But uhh... I- yeah, I think this might be them."
So now they have these futuristic machine things that may or may not be generators. And Peter's going to start touching them, because that's SMART. Just piss with the machines you know nothing about.
no subject
Fuck he hates this place so much.
"Alright well now we're out of my area of expertise. Unless you want me to kick them, because I've got that down." He wanders around to look at the space generators, they don't have big green buttons labelled: ON, so yeah, he's got nothing.
"It's all you buddy." Kabal pulls one of the swords off his back, throwing it on the ground to spin so he can sharpen the other one on it. Because that's a totally normal thing to do.
no subject
And no, that is not a perfectly normal thing to do??? Peter looks up from the machine he'd been inspecting just to find fuckin this guy doing that thing. THAT'S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORKS, BRO. Peter doesn't know anything about swords, but he's pretty sure that's not how they work, either.
"Y-yeah. I guess I got it from here." No man he's just watching this weird bullshit now. This is his life. Why???
no subject
"Could probably break one open if you wanna do some rewiring tech shit. That worked on a robot we brought back to life. Not that he was a generator but same basic thing right?"
No because it was Sub-Zero and he was more like a refrigerator honestly. And Kabal didn't do any of the work to fix him he just did the heavy lifting. But hey, at least he helped.
Sword sufficiently sharpened he puts it on his back and then grabs the still spinning second one off the ground in a way that definitely should have chopped his hand off.
no subject
Peter's not having any luck with the whole flip switches thing, so breaking the thing open doesn't sound like a super bad idea right now. Surely there's a less ridiculous way to open the casing, though.
"Was that robot much different from the one in the bar? Because it sounds like you already have experience fixing robots."
Just looking at the guy though, Peter's like 99% sure this guy would just cut the damn thing in half.
SERIOUSLY THOUGH, "How did you not just chop your entire hand off just now."
no subject
"What this?" And like a douchebag show-off he tosses the sword in the air and catches it in a way that should have severed all his fingers. "I'm just that good."
no subject
But also he's distracted by Kabal's stupid sword tricks WHAT IS HAPPENING. "No. No, that doesn't make sense from a physics perspective. The doesn't make sense from an anything perspective!
"...Do it again."
Look he just wants to see how this works OKAY, it's not like he's impressed or anything!!
no subject
He's all for putting on a show, he twirls the sword in his hand for a minute then sends it spinning along the ground towards the wall and missing the generators in case they'd blow up when struck. Then he does it again, and again. How many of these things does he have? And where do they go when they hit the wall?
no subject
That doesn't make sense and the endless SWORDS SPINNING ACROSS THE GROUND DON'T MAKE SENSE AND THIS IS BULLSHIT AND PETER HATES IT.
So he just. Watches the swords for a moment before turning his attention back to the generator and fiddling with some wires my GOD what is happening.
"...Anyway. I think I have this thing fixed. Plug it back into the wall there and we'll see for sure."
Why yes, he is giving orders. He's not in the mood for shenanigans anymore ok.
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