october 2019. welcome to the void.

[modblob]

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Fourth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of October 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. sini express delivery service.

There's something odd rolling through Anchor. Whether they wake with it next to their beds or find it sitting neatly in some corridor as if placed there just for them, characters will start finding items that are distinct and unique enough that they have to belong to someone. But where are they coming from? And whose are they?

The easiest way to find out is probably to walk around with the item held high yelling "Does this belong to you?" but that's not a good way to cover a lot of ground.

Don't worry, though! There's someone (something?) to help you. Chiming in periodically from communicators or intercoms across Anchor comes a voice that might sound a little familiar to anyone who made it as far as that spaceship wreckage in the wasteland. Softly laughing and humming, this some-one-thing will cheerfully coax characters in the right direction, giving tips and offering little clues to anyone who might be confused about whose item they have.

Characters struggling with identifying whose item they got might hear a helpful voice whispering out of their device as they move around the city - "Warmer, waaaaarmer...oh no! COLD!" They might hear a laughing voice coming out of a nearby speaker, giving tips or riddles about the person the item belongs to - "Her eyes are grey!" or "What kind of spider is sweet as pie?" Sometimes, it'll just be amused giggling at the efforts of those trying to find their object's owner. That bubbly voice is everywhere, encouraging residents to solve the riddle because "It'll be wooooorth it. Pinky swear!"

And no matter what, it can't be turned off or muted, and it doesn't respond to any direct attempts to communicate in return.

b. flu season.

No one probably takes special notice, at first. It's a sniffle here, a cough or chill there. 'Tis the season in some universe, after all, and even the advanced decontamination process isn't completely flawless. But what starts as a tickle in the throat gets a little worse over the span of a week, or in some cases a lot worse.

Whether laid up for a few days or longer, afflicted characters can expect to feel a few consistent symptoms. Dizziness, lightheadedness, chills and fever, coughing and sneezing (that kind of sneezing that comes in annoyingly long bursts and makes you feel like you've shot your brain out of your nose).

Oh, and hallucinations. Mild ones! Nothing to write home about! (If you even could, anyway.) Hallucinations are the last stage of this mild interuniversal flu, an annoyance more than anything...

And it leaves some people immune, and some people even more susceptible to what might follow.

c. harvestival festival.

Something good is happening in the agricultural sector. Weird, right?

But lo, the whole place has started to bloom seemingly overnight. Tiny fruits become noticeable, then large. Edible vegetation is flourishing, and you can tell which vegetation is edible thanks to the flocks, gangs, and small herds of creatures that have emerged from the still-wild depths of the sector. None of these creatures are aggressive except as a means to protect themselves when scared. Unused to strangers as they are, they'll probably let you get pretty close! Which means you could hunt them, I guess, or try to lasso and bring home some critters to the farm and fenced areas.

The food varies wildly. From electric pink berries the size of a pinkie to giant purple melons nestled in beds of vines. The tastes are as exotic and strange as the fruits themselves. A few people might even recognize some kinds of fruit from home. The root vegetables, squash, and edible vegetation is as colorful as the fruit, though a little more weirdly shaped. Why does that carrot-seeming thing look like a coiled spring? Who knows? You can't judge its life.

The culinarily inclined can take harvested goods to the kitchen areas and start experimenting, but beware! Even plants that look like they could be from Earth or other areas that the residents of Anchor know probably taste a little weirder or more intense than normal. Your best bet for a good recipe is to taste a little bit of everything before you get started. The spicy, the melony, the crunchy, salty, and sweet. There are no available records of what any of these things are, so you'll have to make it up as you go! The only consistent thing across all the agricultural sector's bounty is that NONE of it is poisonous. And none of it will get you high, Klaus and Kabal, so don't get your hopes up.

Navigation.

Comments

[abheirrant]

While he hasn't anything to say about being called Professor Boring -- well, he does have plenty to say, but he's sure if he says any of it, he might end up with his head on a spike -- Carlisle can't keep his concerns to himself as they reach the door, one locked and clearly not welcome for trespassers. He should remark again about how this is a bad idea; he should question this man's logic, or defend himself even a little. Instead, he goes with the first thing that comes to mind, trying to stall for time in the hopes he'll think of something better.

"What's a generator?"

To be fair, it's an honest question for a man who comes from a world without them.

[kaballin]

"A generator? To power the... Wait.. Are you one of those people from a place where they don't have phones or toilet paper?" Well that puts a bit of a damper on things since it's gonna be hard to get him to not rust out anything important. But it does mean that Kabal can keep any high tech stuff for himself by telling Carlisle that it's worthless junk.

"It powers all the lights and electricity and shit. So that room over there is full of generators which you're not going to rot away unless you want to be in the dark forever and have no air. This room is like a supply closet for that one."

[abheirrant]

Carlisle isn't pleased about the way the masked man talks to him for merely coming from a world without generators, but at least he gets a satisfactory explanation out of the fellow essentially holding him hostage, which is honestly more than he expected.

He eyes the door again, hoping to buy himself long enough for someone -- anyone -- to walk within their vicinity. He'd take any help he could get at this point, even if it only serves as a distraction. "So... it will be machinery in there. Spare parts for constructs and whatnot. What use could you have for those?"

[kaballin]

"I dunno what's in there. Might be nothing. But we won't know until we open it up." Wow weird, it's almost like Carlisle is stalling. He folds his arms and glares. Well with the mask it's hard to tell that but Carlisle can probably guess.

"So what's the problem? If it's a bunch of junk then why do you care if we open the door? Think you're gonna get arrested? Good news, I used to be NYPD and I'll be a pal and lose your paperwork."

[abheirrant]

The mask does keep Carlisle from seeing that glare, but he's pretty sure Kabal has been doing that the whole time anyway. Something about his hostile temperament does not lend well to warm, welcoming expressions.

"I would, ah. Prefer not to be arrested." Again. Once in his life was enough. He lays on a few more questions, seeing how long he can drag this out. Maybe the fellow will get bored and leave. Unlikely, but it's not as though Carlisle can read his expression through the mask. "I don't believe there are even laws in this place, are there? And what's- what's inwhipedy? Something from your world?"

[kaballin]

"No but there was a guy in prison once, so that's a thing."

He'd been in quarantine not prison, and he'd showed up there no police force had put him there, but those are minor details in the grand scheme of things.

"NYPD. New York Police Department. Never mind. Just know I'm an authority figure so you won't get in trouble. All above board and legal. Trust me," said with the cocky swagger of someone that should absolutely not be trusted.

[abheirrant]

Carlisle has no idea where New York is or if it's even a real place, nor does he know if this guy is even telling the truth about having worked for the police. Somehow, he gets the distinct feeling that's an exaggeration at best, and an outright lie at worst.

"You're asking me to trust the same man who threatened me with a blade and is essentially holding me hostage. Is that correct?"

[kaballin]

"Well when you put it like that it sounds bad. So maybe less talking more destroying the door, huh?"

The more Carlisle talks, the more he may come to the realization that Kabal isn't going to touch him, so he's not really holding him hostage. A little hard to force someone to do something when you don't want to be that close. All Kabal's got is intimidation, but fortunately he has an over abundance of it.

"Honor among thieves, I'm not gonna rat you out. It's fine."

[abheirrant]

"I'm not a thief," Carlisle argues, but he does finally glance toward the door with an utterly defeated look, realizing he's probably stalled as long as he can before he starts making Kabal angry -- and if what he saw in the bar was any indication, he does not want to do that. Perhaps if he managed to settle his nerves long enough to think about it, he'd realize this masked man doesn't want to risk being rotted himself; however, given he can think of plenty of ways someone could hurt him without actually getting close to him, Carlisle doesn't even need a tangible threat. His mind does all the work itself when it comes to riling his fears.

He steps closer to the door, putting a hand on it and just... waiting. And waiting. And waiting a little more. Focusing on the door doesn't seem to be helping; nor does him trying to will the door to rot away beneath his touch. How is it he can do this so easily by accident, but when he's actually trying, he gets stage fright?

He glances over his shoulder. Maybe Kabal got bored and left. The answer is, unfortunately, a thorough no. "I, um. I've never done this on purpose before."

[kaballin]

"Grower, not a show-er huh?" Behind the mask he rolls his eyes, wondering if this guy is stalling or legitimately doesn't know how his powers work. Considering how bad of a liar he'd been earlier while trying to get out of this he's leaning to the later.

"I know its your first time and I should be gentle, but that's not really my style." Without warning he picks up a nearby potted plant and hurls it towards Carlisle. Not trying to hit him, but aiming to frighten him enough into accidentally melting the door.

[abheirrant]

Carlisle returns his attention to the door with a roll of his eyes. With his back turned (and the mask obscuring his mouth), Kabal can't see him wordlessly mouth Grower not show-er? to himself, trying to figure out exactly what that's supposed to mean. Carlisle gets the distinct feeling he doesn't want to know, and even if he did, he doesn't have time to question it.

"I can honestly say that 'gentle' is not a word I would ascribe taugh!" He jerks away as the plant slams into the door, the pot shattering upon impact, dirt flying in every direction. His fingers curl against the surface of the door as he looks over his shoulder again, practically hissing. "I'm trying, you horrible cretin!"

[kaballin]

"Yeah and I'm trying to help. What do you need? Mood lighting? Candles? Soft music?" He's not sure what exactly he needs to do to get him to start rusting out everything. What had he done before? Threaten him right?

"You got about five minutes to get your performance anxiety under control before I start sharpening the swords."

[abheirrant]

Carlisle has half a mind to insist Kabal wouldn't dare hurt the fellow he's trying to coerce into eroding the door, but given he's not entirely sure that it's a bluff, he decides not to risk it, turning his attention back to the wall and the door within it. He splays his hands along its surface again, closing his eyes, trying not to think too hard about how long he's taking and whether it's been five minutes and is he going to end up with a sword in his back and how will he fix his clothes when they're sliced to ribbons he needs those to hide what he is please leave his clothes alone.

He takes a peek after a minute -- still nothing. How had he done this before? It had happened automatically, terrifyingly fast -- and without his knowledge. He hadn't even felt his energy shifting, escaping him to cause the rot spreading at his feet, from his hands, everywhere he was touching. And why hadn't it affected his gloves? Or his shoes? Or any of his clothing? They weren't enchanted. Was he subconsciously protecting his clothes?

Another peek -- still nothing. Oh no. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying harder.

Protecting his clothing does sound like him, but also takes a degree of control over his necrotic energies that he's sure he can't have, not unless his time as the Blight Heir somehow strengthened his grasp over them, a muscle made stronger through use. Perhaps it was that, or it's the fact that necrotic energies and restorative ones involve the same kind of magic -- they are ultimately two sides of the same coin, someone most are not aware of even in his world. His talent and command over healing wouldn't necessarily make him good at necromancy, would it? Would it?

He feels his discomfort welling in his gut at the very thought; his fingers itch as he tries to remain focused. The wall before him discolors, flaking along the frame.

It's a sickening irony to be such a gifted healer in life, only for those same gifts to be twisted in his passing. His death turned him into the very kind of abomination he despised, a foul creature he would have slain in the name of his goddess without a moment's hesitation. His fears mattered not when it came to his sworn duty to rid the realm of the living of the undead. Would his goddess be more appalled that he'd failed in his duty to slay himself along with them, or if he tried and became something worse? Would he become a wraith if he had no body left?

He tries to remain calm despite his unraveling thoughts, but he can't figure out how long he's been standing there once he actually tries to think about it. There must be swords at his back; any moment, the swing will hit, and he may be no more -- or maybe he'll still be undead, but with a blade-sized hole through him. He tries to focus on the door again, but he's finding it almost impossible now that he's so wrapped up in his downward spiral of self-loathing and paranoia. If he opened his eyes, maybe he'd realize the door -- and a chunk of the wall around it -- is already corroded well past the point of kicking in, and that he should dial it back before he rots a hole through the floor below him.

[kaballin]

Kabal is definitely not bluffing and he would absolutely dare to hurt the fellow he's trying to coerce into eroding the door. This is not someone known for his patience, tact, or caring personality. The hand that had been on the handle of his sword, ready to pull it free and chop Carlisle in half to see if maybe he bleeds rot, drops to the side as Carlisle finally does what he said he would.

"Took you long enough," far from being grateful he folds his arms and watches all this unfold, noting that Carlisle seems to be overcompensating for his previous shaky start. "Alright that's enough, don't gotta overachieve here. Always leave them wanting more."

Normally he'd shove him out of the way, but he really doesn't think touching this guy is a good idea especially not with how bits of the wall are now crumbling down and fading into dust as they sink to the floor. Hmmm. He turns and wrenches a pipe off the wall, which fortunately for Kabal wasn't full of sewage or hot water or scalding steam or anything because he absolutely didn't check, and uses it to poke at Carlisle's shoulder, trying to get him to come back to himself.

"Keep that up and there's not going to be anything left for us to take. Man of my word, you still get thirty percent, but thirty percent of nothing isn't a great take."

[abheirrant]

With as hard as he's trying to concentrate and focus through his internal frustration, Carlisle doesn't even hear Kabal speak to him, the wall still rotting until he's prodded with the pipe. The pipe itself survives, but the edge has the beginnings of rust where it touched him, a clear sign that Kabal was right not to do so with his sword or his bare hands.

"I- I did it." Carlisle seems simultaneously relieved and surprised; again, he hadn't exactly felt the expulsion of energy, as he should have. Is it because his senses are dulled? Or is his command over the necrotic so strong that the exertion is negligible, like a strongman lifting what most would consider a heavy weight?

Either way, the conclusion is uncomfortable. He steps aside to let Kabal past. "Fantastic," he mutters to himself, picking at his sleeve nervously. "Nothing I would like more than thirty percent of stolen goods."

[kaballin]

"They're not stolen once they're back in your room. Then they're yours and you have one hundred percent of your own items. Think of it as a redistribution of wealth. Where you are the beneficiary." If anyone can justify any illegal activity it's Kabal. Usually he doesn't bother because he doesn't care that he's stealing, killing or committing arson. But for Carlisle he'll at least make the attempt.

"Alright let's see what we've got." He strides past him, peering into the darkness of the room. "Chairs, cabinets, a desk. Hope you're in need of some new staplers because we've hit the jackpot here."

He tries the first cabinet, finding it unlocked, "Oh a straight up treasure. Here, don't use it all in one place." He grabs one of the rolls of paper towels and tosses it to Carlisle.

[abheirrant]

Carlisle rolls his eyes at Kabal's justification, following him into the room. He considers leaving right then and there, hoping his not-quite-captor would be too distracted with looting to notice his exit. However, he knows well enough that anything he leaves behind will go to this strange masked man, as he seems likely to pilfer whatever he finds regardless of Carlisle's presence or lack thereof. While whatever is in the room might not be useful -- Carlisle's not entirely sure what this strange, cylindrical object he's been tossed is, for example -- some of the goods could very well be. Better some of the wares have a chance of going somewhere they're needed rather than into the hoard of a masked brute without a single altruistic bone in his body.

Tucking the roll under his arm, Carlisle leaves Kabal to survey one side of it, meandering idly on the other side until he ends up near a cabinet on the far wall, one tucked behind a desk. He gives the door a light tug -- locked. Well, good thing he didn't bother moving the desk, since they're obviously not getting in there.

[kaballin]

He would argue that he has one altruistic bone in his body that he is more than willing to share with anyone if given the chance. But that's probably not an argument they should have because, just like with Cho, he has a hunch his top notch, high quality dick jokes might be wasted on you mere mortals.

A few more cabinets seem to be additional cleaning supplies, general office equipment, nothing particularly interesting. Which means the locked cabinets hold the good stuff.

"So you look like a smart guy. You know what happens next here right?"

[abheirrant]

"Unfortunately," Carlisle replies, his voice dripping with all the revulsion he can muster.

Closing his eyes, he puts his hands to the smooth metal frame of the cabinet. It comes easier to him this time, albeit marginally: he's still disgusted he apparently has such an ability, frustrated with himself because of what it means in regards to his being the Blight Heir, but now that he knows what it feels like to consciously cause decay, it takes him less buildup and mental berating to get the job done. The surface of the cabinet corrodes beneath his fingers, rot blossoming across it in circles like a field of tainted, vile flowers.

[kaballin]

"Look at you learning as we go. I'm so proud." Behind the mask is a single tear, he swears. "Cheer up, learn to love yourself or some shit. If you've got an edge on everyone else, use it. Else you're just gonna end up dead and miserable. Do not recommend."

He's quicker about it this time, which is nice, way to go Carlisle. "Well well well, look at that. See? It was worth it to come in here."

The cabinet contains some very technical looking objects. He's not sure what they are, but they look expensive and Carlisle might be able to see the dollar signs floating around Kabal's head.

[abheirrant]

Carlisle holds his tongue about his already being dead and miserable, opting instead to sigh wearily as he waits for Kabal to inspect the cabinet's treasures. The objects inside appear to be very technological, enough to make Carlisle uncomfortable.

Well, more uncomfortable than he already is. In addition to the devices are a number of strange, black tablets, each oblong, unassuming, and largely featureless.

"What are all these things?" he asks, not expecting much of an answer.

[kaballin]

"No clue!" But he still sounds delighted. Just because he doesn't know what it is doesn't mean no one will want it. He picks one of them up, tossing it in his hands, lots of buttons and a piece that looks like it might light up. Honestly it looks a bit like some futuristic shaver.

The flat things look a little more familiar. He's from a time before smart phones were in standard use, but the shape and screen reminds him of the tablet he'd knocked out of Jacqui's hands once and subsequently stole. He hadn't been able to do much with it because of the password protection, but he'd used the light to find some shit he dropped in the dark once which definitely makes him an expert on these things.

"This one though, just need to figure out how to turn it on.." Buttons buttons, gotta be a .. oh there it goes. The screen lights up and opens to a helpful message about Anchor and prompts Kabal for a network ID. "Well that's nice."

He shoves one of them at Carlisle, "We're about to own the network my friend."

[abheirrant]

Kabal shoves one of the tablets at Carlisle, who nearly drops it halfway out of his fear of technology, and halfway because he's not sure he wants it at all, whatever it is. He watches as his masked companion fiddles with the device, which seems to be asking for his network ID.

"I'm fairly certain it is not possible to truly own something so intangible," Carlisle mutters, Kabal's meaning lost somewhere to his own, pedantic nature.

Given Carlisle can hardly remember his credentials his own communicator, he decides to tuck the one he was handed (tossed, rather) into his bag for now, figuring he can choose whether or not he actually wants the black, technological slab later. Looking up the information would require finding it written in his journal, and he's uncertain if Kabal would take that as an invitation to steal his precious notes, or use them against him, or hold his book as collateral for his continued service -- something like that. There has been nothing in the man's moral choices thus far to suggest he would do otherwise.

The other device looks less ominous, despite its obvious buttons and mechanical bits -- something about being able to tell it is a machine sits better with him than the black slab, which had hidden its nature until activated. With a tentative grasp as though it may bite him, he reaches around Kabal and carefully picks up one, giving it a surveying glance. The masked man doesn't seem to know what it is, and Carlisle himself has no clue, but maybe he can ask someone else. Peter, perhaps. Or Qubit, the technomancer. He would know, assuming he does not immediately accuse him of theft.

[kaballin]

"Intangible things are the most powerful ones to own. Think about those in power, what do they got? Influence. That's not a real thing. Sure they end up with all the weapons and money and hookers and drugs or whatever, but that's because of the intangible things they have. Works in reverse too, get enough stuff and you start having influence." For being a dumb brute he can have some clear insight into how things work occasionally.

He's gotten into the tablet now, checking out the games first and then the different UI for the messaging program.

Carlisle will soon receive this via the network:

🎆🎁😁👍

[abheirrant]

Carlisle has half a mind to ask what a hooker is, but decides from the context of the rest of that list that no, he doesn't want to know. It's impossible to miss that Kabal is smarter than he expected, though -- or at least when it comes to the value of intangible concepts like influence and power.

"I suppose you have a point," Carlisle grumbles as he situates the black tablet and the other device in his bag. His communicator vibrates as he attempts to find a place to put the paper towels; he pulls it before him, his eyes narrowing as he attempts to decipher the message.

"I have no idea what these pictures mean," he says flatly, eyeing the device in Kabal's hand. "A sun, and a gift? And then someone smiling, and a hand. We are going to 'own the network' with pictographs."