redshiftlogs | october 2019. welcome to the void.

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october 2019. welcome to the void.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, oh that is a mask, one of a very different variety than Carlisle's own. He stiffens, fingers tightening on the leather strap as he holds the necklace out, wondering if this fellow will handle it as carefully as he did that glass (in other words, not carefully at all).

"My name is Carlisle," he replies. "Did you hear what I said?"

"I wasn't listening." At least he's honest, if just slightly tipsy. This is his 'me time' to get shitfaced and you are ruining it. But he does finally turn to actually look at Carlisle and...

"Where did you get that?" Because while it may look like any leather strip wrapped around a long sharp tooth into a crude necklace, there's the very distinct knowledge that it's his. The one he'd pried out of some Tarkatan's mouth with his bare hands. He grabs it from Carlisle with slightly more care than he did the glass, because this is his, and the glass is someone else's.

"Where'd you get it, and how do you know it's mine?" Oh he's suspicious now. Is this a threat? "Did Kano send you?"

Okay, he's listening now. Carlisle lets him have the necklace as he takes a step back, his hands held up in a sign that he means no harm. "W- what? No, I- I don't even know a Kano."

Which is true, but he decides he could use more reasoning so this guy doesn't eviscerate him, which Carlisle is 100% sure he could do if he wanted. He pulls out his communicator, which is currently flashing Good job!!! ;P on the screen; Carlisle grimaces at the device, peeved it would mock him like this after he went through all the trouble to find (and now, possibly be murdered by) him. He thrusts the phone in the stranger's direction, showing him the screen.

"This has been nothing but a nuisance since that necklace showed up in my room," he explains.

"Sounds like something Kano would tell you to say." But he's heard the annoying voice through the comm himself. And Kano isn't here as far as he knows, he should have smelled him by now if he was. Maybe it's just this place fucking with them.

Though this masked character in too many clothes looks the part of some sort of messenger, though way too clean to be Black Dragon. This some sort of trick? It probably is.

In one quick motion, Kabal stands and whips one of the hookswords off his back, reaching out to try and tilt Carlisle's head up with the edge. "You wouldn't be lying to me right now would you?"

Carlisle doesn't even get the phone back into his bag before the sword comes out and at his face; he drops the device, which clatters to the ground with a dissatisfied beep as he freezes, his head tilting backward as he arcs his neck away from the blade. His legs might be unwilling to move, but his mouth sure does.

"No! No no no no I- I'm not lying! W- why would I lie to you? I don't even know you! I just wanted this- this necklace gone, and for my communicator to stop yelling at me, and to fix my room and feel normal again and be left alone and—"

Something at his feet catches his eye, and he tilts his head just enough to see the floor is discoloring beneath his feet. His eyes widen as he lifts one leg, hoping that'll slow the spread of decay. It doesn't.

"... And I need to calm down. Now."

"Smart man." He pulls the sword away, sliding it against his back again to hang from his jacket.

That's.. a really odd thing to say when being confronted by someone with a sword who's more than willing to decapitate him if he says the wrong thing. But then Kabal follows his gaze and takes a step away himself.

"You doing that?" He pokes at one of the tiles with his foot, the whole thing crumbling to powder along the grout line. "That's a new one. Are you rotting it?"

The sword is gone, but Carlisle seems even more panicked than he was a second ago, despite the whole thing about needing to calm down.

"No! I mean, yes! Yes I am, but- but it's not intentional! I didn't mean to lie to you just now, either!" Just throwing that out there in case this terrifying stranger decides to slice him in half for potentially lying again, despite his having told the truth before.

The metal table next to Carlisle creaks, the top flaking as it rusts, the plastic sides eroding away. Carlisle's hands curl into themselves as he pulls his arms inward, trying to make himself (and the reach of his abilities) as small as possible. That doesn't really work, either.

"Okay, this is fine," he mutters to himself, taking a step back. He ends up against a wall, and the decay follows. "This is fine this is fine this is fine. Just- just give me a minute, Mister. A minute without a sword, and without a communicator yelling at me, and just- just a minute."

"Whoa. That's actually a little impressive." It takes Kabal a few seconds to realize the repercussions of this and actually do something smart about it.

"Alright, maybe don't stand against the wall and have the whole room collapse on us." Because he can see the wall panels start to peel away and buckle. "Actually, let's not be inside at all. Come on you, that way."

He would normally have shoved him towards the exit but he doesn't think touching him is a good idea. Kabal being smart for once when his hands and life are at stake.

Carlisle might have been surprised by the compliment (or maybe it's just a fact, as being able to rot the surfaces around him would be impressive if it weren't Carlisle himself doing it), but he's too busy trying to steady his breathing to pay any real attention to it. Being the undead he is, he doesn't actually need the air -- and the way it audibly grates against his throat probably says as much -- but the act alone seems to help calm him down. It's a routine, one well-practiced and familiar.

"Right. Don't stand here." Nodding to himself as though he thought of the idea, he scuttles along the wall to the exit, flattening against the frame of the door as a team of worried robots passes by, heading in to assess the damage. Leaving behind a vaguely person-shaped spot on the frame, he darts into the open air of the walkways that lead up and down Anchor's many levels, still muttering about how fine he is. After another ten or so I'm fines, he seems to be composed enough to have a new realization... but not enough to keep it to himself.

"Oh. Oh I could have run there. Just left you in the bar and fled, but now that you're out here and could probably catch me if I did, it seems like a very bad idea. At least- at least I'm okay. For now."

The ground around him, not so much -- there's another spot of weakening surface beneath him, but at least the spread is much closer to him this time.

"Could have, but you didn't. Too late now." He's watching the ground around Carlisle's feet, wondering if he'll drop through the floor at some point.

"Actually, let's go stick you next to a locked door and rust it through. I'll split whats in there with you. 70/30."

Also considering he might drop through the floor if it decays enough, Carlisle steps out of that spot and into another, glad to see a new patch of rot doesn't immediately pop up in its place. Right. Okay. This is fine. Necklace returned, the fellow isn't threatening him anymore, and his clothes are still in one piece, despite all the decay he caused. He can parse out the reason why that is in a moment, namely after he parses the suggestion his terrifying gift recipient just made.

"W- wait, what?" That was a suggestion, certainly. And an unfair deal, but more importantly, something that is a bad idea in principle alone. He continues without so much as a breath. "I mean, I heard you, but no, no thank you. It's, um. I'm sure they're locked for a reason. Legal reasons, probably. Or danger-related ones. Shouldn't go prying where we ought not, right?"

"Aw, where's your sense of adventure. It'll be fun. Promise." Even with the mask, the sinister smile he has behind there can be felt. He does realize short of picking this guy up and physically dragging him somewhere he can't really make Carlisle do much of anything. He doesn't want to touch him with his hookswords because he's not going to risk damaging them, and while he's wearing leather gloves, he's pretty sure that won't protect his hands should he touch someone spewing rot everywhere.

"Keep whining and it's gonna be 75/25. There's a good one up near the generator room. Might be full of useful things."

Thinking about the decay and how one shouldn't keep standing in it unless they want to fall through the floor is where the similarities in their lines of thinking end, apparently: as Kabal realizes he cannot actually force Carlisle to go anywhere, Carlisle is instead imagining all the horrible ways he can be coerced rather than considering how he could turn those necrotic abilities into a line of defense. The masked figure still has his blade -- multiple now that Carlisle gets a better look at him -- and while Carlisle cannot see his face through the mask, he can hear the grin bleeding into the other man's voice, bringing with it a threatening timbre.

"Useful, but- but not ours," he insists meekly, fear ebbing into his tone despite his best efforts. "There- there may be constructs in there. Defenses. Not that you c- couldn't handle them with, um. With all that."

He makes a vague gesture toward Kabal's entirety.

Kabal's entirety is more than capable of taking care of whatever they find. But he's not adept at picking locks. Or making explosives to get through the doors.

"Everyone here is such a boyscout." His tone implies that everyone got together at some secret meeting to determine how best to make Kabal miserable. Sighing he puts the necklace on finally instead of holding onto it, the white tooth standing out in stark contrast to the scars across his chest under the jacket.

Someday he'll get a shirt. But today is not that day.

Time for a new tactic, "And what if what's behind the locked doors is all the junk to fix the dome or make it so the air doesn't kill us or keys to another level full of supplies we need? Guess we just don't find them and don't help everyone else."

As if Kabal would even share ...

A part of Carlisle knows good and well that this change in tactics is meant to play to his conscience, positing that this presumed theft would be for the greater good. In most cases, appealing to Carlisle's guilt works very well, for he has a lot of it, and cannot help but buckle beneath its weight from time to time. However, given this is the same fellow who held a sword to his neck and threatened him within an inch of his (un)life because he tried to return a necklace -- one he clearly cares about to some degree, as he recognized it immediately -- Carlisle is disinclined to believe this masked man has a single altruistic intention behind his argument.

The other part of Carlisle knows that if he keeps refusing said masked man's demands, he's likely to see that sword at his neck a second time. While that doesn't convince him they'll be doing some noble deed, it is plenty of motivation for him to finally bend. He takes note of the scars where the necklace lies, idly wondering how he got them before deciding they were probably self-inflicted. It would not surprise Carlisle; he is dealing with a hostile character who is clearly damaged in some way.

Then again, aren't they all. Carlisle could easily say the same about his own ruined form.

"I, um." He clears his throat, trying to make it sound as though he's had a change of mind. "I suppose that if we were to find something to help the general population, it would be worth the, er... risk." The risk he'll be torn apart by defensive constructs rather than decapitated by a man he tried to help, that is.

Edited 2019-10-10 18:08 (UTC)

That was way easier than he expected. "Look at you, coming to your senses. Knew you were a smart one."

Sure he did. He definitely didn't see an opportunity to steal things and take it. But now to think about how best to use this. Where is the last locked door he saw that he didn't just bash in? Right, up by the generators where he went with Peter.

"This way. And try not to fall through the floor. How are you doing that anyway?"

Carlisle replies in a very textbook manner, his voice flat and emotionless as he rattles off an answer. "A rampant, uncontrolled spread of necrotic energies, ones made all the more unwieldy by agitation. A perversion of reparation, such energies are capable of decaying both the body and mind, as well as the world around us."

He follows his intimidating companion, wondering if he should ask for his name, or if he'd be in more trouble if he did. Deciding to save that inquiry for when they have reached their destination, he falls silent after his explanation.

"Okay professor boring. Way to make rotting shit through the power of being pissed off, sound really fucking lame." He may play dumb, but he understood enough to realize that all he has to do is agitate this guy and he'll start spewing necrosis everywhere. Score. His own personal skeleton key.

That he can't touch. Or get too close to and have all his skin fall off or something. He leads them up to the generator door and a locked, heavy metal door nearby.

"Tried to open this one a few times. It's by a generator room so gotta be something good in there right?" Or it's generator supplies, either way maybe he can coerce a favor out of someone in return for them. Everything is an opportunity just waiting to be taken.

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.

"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."

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?"

"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."

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?"

Edited 2019-10-29 21:44 (UTC)

"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.

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?"

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