SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

[modormenace]

All fourteen Gates simultaneously reverse polarity. For the next seven days, and only these seven days, any imPort stepping through a Gate will arrive safely in the Porter building: the only place on this fractured planet that can safely contain the energy of the imPort community in its entirety.

SO IT BEGINS
THE SYNOD

THE

DEATH

TRAIN

While the Gates are the simplest form of transportation, those making the journey to the Synod from the White Tower have the option of travelling by train, if they wish. Despite the playfully grim moniker, there haven't been any recorded fatalities on board the Death Train in many years. Or ever, really. Raw, untamed entropy doesn't do anything as simple as kill.

For that delightful reason, passengers will be reminded at frequent intervals not to attempt to leave the train once it enters the active zone of the Porter's defenses, or to do anything that could jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.

The journey is relatively comfortable and takes approximately two and a half hours. A limited menu of pastries and alcohol is available from the buffet car. The smallest tables seat two.

 

As the train passes through the entropy-saturated wasteland of the Deathdome, the view from the heavily tinted windows of each of the train's four-person cars is impossible to comprehend: every atom of the landscape is in a constant state of flux, scattered in endless possibilities across the multiverse.

WELCOME CARPET

Inside, you get the impression of three towers; no view from outside is possible. You're totally sealed inside for the week, by the same Fate-built tech that shields this place from the ravages of cosmic radiation— the train station is built into the structure, entrance tunnel hermetically sealed.

You're greeted by welcome robots, primitive little things full endless enthusiasm and covered in dents. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in persistence and durability. Each and every ImPort is assigned their own personal robutler.

Though they tend to hinder more than help.

Boop boop boop boop. They provide you with a complimentary swag bag. Inside is one (1) t-shirt, one (1) top of the line tablet (pre-loaded with this year's Agenda and a simple game app that looks suspiciously like 2048), a stress ball, personalised souvenir pen and eraser (but no pencil), and of course, a lanyard keycard for accessing the comfortably adequate accommodations provided for all attendees.

Given the week-long Synod, your room itself is a decent suite, furnished with dark colors, redolent with a smell you can't quite place. You may find yourself assigned an unexpected roommate, which may feel awkward considering you'll find arrayed on the beds, a half-dozen complimentary tickets to the spa, restaurants and the power gym, with its preternaturally durable equipment.

Robutlers constantly remind: do not attempt to leave the Porter facility or do anything to jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.

CONVENTION

Talks and panels take place in the convention area, which feels like a miniature city within the Porter's defenses, a hive with padded audience seats, wide stages, and complete with holographic audiovisual equipment that's curiously compatible with presentation software from every city.

Here, ImPorts will present and debate various topics regarded as major concerns for all. [OOCly, players are invited to suggest topics! Scroll down; they will be added below.]

This is also something of an expo, where cities practically demonstrate— or show off their good works. From the latest hovertechnology models to demonstrations of healing powers, playful duels in the forcefield-enclosed stages to magical books that temporarily transfer skills on touch, this is the place to pretend you're showing off your cards... while playing the most important ones close to your chest.

PANELS AND DEBATES

PRESENTERS

TOPIC

Joseph Kavinsky vs [N/PC]

White Tower ImPort Overpopulation and Dimensional Instability

Tony Stark and other technopaths

How Technology Will Save Us

Joshua Foley

The Mysteries and Intricacies of ImPort Physiology

Count Dooku and volunteers

ImPort Factions Must Align Against the Shared 'Resistance' Threat

Jin Bubaigawara (x3)

The Twin Cities are NOT Dimensionally Unstable No Matter What You Heard

Kang

Bridging Old and New: Maintaining Infrastructure with Limited Modern Resources

EVENING

EVENTS

Every night of the Synod, ImPorts gather to dine in a grand hall with a ballroom party. Each dinner is hosted by one ImPort city, gruntwork complete with robutlers-- which guarantees food safety, and complete with multiple cuisine options, cultural decor, and entertainment.

Given the range of cities represented, food options vary from greasy burgers to six courses of seafood and blue venison, and rarefied vegan fare.

When ImPorts aren't here eating, they're most often talking. Ergo, it's not uncommon for low-key drama to break out, but this year, the majority of Synod days seem to be passing uneventfully.

Fortunately, speeches are reserved for daytime. After dinner, it's time to dance.

 

The last song of the night is always obscure music no one can quite remember the words or melody to afterward. It's a slow dance song meant for two or more partners; the ballroom grows dark and the world seems to fade away. Or rather, it just fades back into one's hotel room.

THE BLACKOUT

On Monday, September 21st, shortly before the Gates are due to resume ordinary function and allow attendees to leave, the Porter building suffers a power cut.

Abruptly, all the lights cut out. Music stops. Your faithful robutler freezes in place, unresponsive— though its internal systems appear to be running, the centralised command hub that it relies on has fallen silent.

Though the robutlers are out of comission, technology-minded ImPorts and their tech drones hasten to reassure that systems analyses are underway. Within a few hours, repairs begin, the estimated time being two days.

In the meantime, thanks to the diversity of powers on hand, there is enough food and water. Candles start to circulate. It might even be a little romantic, if it weren't for the chaos outside. Characters might find themselves trapped in an elevator for a few hours, or compelled to seek comfort from one another.

Comments

PANEL & DEBATES

[modormenace]

Please make sure you have the OOC consent of anybody joining you on your panel before replying to this comment with the following form:

<b>Characters</b>: <b>Topic summary</b>: (Maximum 10 words!)

[dun_moch]

Characters: Count Dooku + any who want to participate/respond
Topic summary: ImPort Factions Must Align Against the Shared 'Resistance' Threat

Ronan Lynch | Sanctum Aurorae

[nightmarist]

Political matters are not a high priority for the Greywaren, an astral being whose purview is metaphysical in nature. Since the founding of the Sanctum Aurorae, attending the Synod has been the Supreme Leader's exclusive responsibility. (Which has led to speculation from outsiders that the Greywaren is a fictitious legend and not a living individual, or that, if he exists, he holds no authority even within his own faction.)

The Greywaren is not in attendance. However, a masked valet by the name of Ronan Lynch — younger brother to the High Priest Declan Lynch, apparently — has been a favorite servant of the Supreme Leader since the earliest days of the cult. He accompanies Kylo Ren to the Synod every year as his esquire of the body, a role performed with just as much unsettling pomp and ceremony as anything else conducted by the mesmerized disciples of the Sanctum Aurorae.

Unless otherwise dismissed, Ronan remains at Kylo's side as a silent, looming bodyguard. At every meal, he kneels at Kylo's feet, guarding his food and drink from poison and clearing it all away when he's finished. When Kylo is meeting privately with other imPorts, Ronan keeps watch at the door, and when he retires to bed, Ronan goes with him.

While on duty, Ronan does not engage in conversation — even if he's directly addressed — unless given explicit permission by Kylo to respond. But there are moments when someone can catch him alone. Whenever Kylo is entertaining a guest and doesn't want to be disturbed, Ronan stands just outside his suite, where he's free to speak. And during the evening events (where he's dressed in slightly more formal attire), it's easier to get a few words out of him... though he'll probably refuse an invitation to dance.

The inner circle of rare individuals who are aware of Ronan's true identity may pull him aside at any time, but it's best to visit him inside his suite later or invite him to visit yours.

Evening Events/The Gala;

[resoluteandunyielding]

Padmé has an appreciation well enough for the statement. Closeness as well as concealing. Even the newest version of this chosen attire, which she considers with a critical gaze before deciding to approach him. Her grandson's choices, professionally and personally, were interesting ones. Those he pulled to him. The rumors that circled outward from their location. The rabidness of those who swear themselves to the Sanctum.

All pulled together in this appearance. Statement.
But she's never quailed before showmanship.
Here, or on her long-gone homeworld.

She doesn't go about making her way to the singular figure standing out from the crowd, given his space by those swirling talking many if, perhaps, for his appearance and the and the nigh-on wall of apparentness that he wasn't there to make merry and socialize in the same way as anyone else.

She decides on a moment when Kylo has already found himself pulled onto the floor, before appearing, quietly, but nothing like furtively near his side. "Good evening, Ronan."

Wei Wuxian | The Untamed | OTA

[chenqing_player]

Welcome

Wei Wuxian took the train to get to the convention but he has no real interest in actually attending. He is only there because he has to be. In a way it does offer him some opportunity to investigate the area and the people attending and see if he can't gain information on the White Tower and those in charge.

He ignores the robot for the most part, accepts the bag and goes straight to his suite. He deposits the bag and his suitcase of clothing on the bed.

A knock comes at his door and he goes to answer. Pulling it open, he stares at the other person with a steady expression. "Looks like you found me."

Party
Wei Wuxian used to enjoy parties before he came to this place. Now it just seems like a cover for a far more sinister event going on beneath the surface. But now he has a drink in hand, his stomach is full from the food that he didn't have to cook and all he plans to do now is watch others dance and drink himself to sleep.

He knows that it is inevitable that he encounter people he used to consider friends and family while in this place. So the alcohol will help him get through what will inevitably be some hard conversations.

II. Party

[inquiryguqin]

The personal robobutler was annoying for the most part, for constantly reminding him like the rest to don't leave the Porter facility, which he finds that suspicious. Now he regrets coming over for the convention and party once he learns everyone is sealed inside for a week. It did it's job helping him and his family to settle in their rooms.

At the party, he was being stoic for the most part. When the music starts, while everyone else finds a dance partner or wander off to explore the rest of the convention area, he walks around aimlessly through the crowd, hands tucked properly behind his back.

He finds Wei Wuxian drinking all by himself. It was dark in the ballroom, the music plays, and the world around them fades so no one can see well in the dark. Before Wei Wuxian knows it, Lan Wangji takes one of his hands in an attempt to lead him into a dance.

"Wei Ying. Will you dance with me? Perhaps, if only just for a little while."

Xue Yang | The Untamed | OTA

[xue_yang]

Death Train

It's called a death train..so of course Xue Yang was going to ride it and see if it could live up to it's name. For the most part he is rather disappointed in what he thought might have some sort of sinister side effects for using it. But none came. It seemed to simply be a regular train. And so he settled into one of the cars and accepted a couple of the pastries and a drink. He munches on the pastry while staring out into the weird landscape that is outside.

Convention
Xue Yang has no interest in the convention itself. He is only hear because he is forced to be. And so for the most part he has ignored everything about it. He leans against a wall with his arms crossed as he watches people walking past on their way to various events and discussions.

He yawns as he stands there, wishing this week would just be over so he could go back to far more interesting things.

Party
Xue Yang is never going to turn down food as he enjoys the fast array of food presented to him. And as he munches he savors some of the alcohol that they keep bringing him. Between his time on the train and the meals in this place he has had more alcohol then he has in a lot of months combined back on his world.

He doesn't care about dancing so he is simply going to stay near the food and drinks while everyone else enjoys the music.

"The rest of this event might be boring but at least they are feeding us."

I.

[feixuehua]

cw: eyes damage

He woke up in darkness, upon taken his first breath. Of course, he was blind, so he has no idea what's going on. There's a thin scar over his neck, healed upon arrival. The nanites he was injected with increases his senses and heighten his awareness. However, to accommodate him, they given him a blind-cane to help him navigate his way in the new world, give him medical attention for his eyes to momentarily stop bleeding and the pain.

Once orientation is over, and he's been educated that he's in a strange new world, he was sorted in a faction, though creepy and dark as they are. Over the next few days, there's a flurry of activity. He got on the Death train alone and traveled to his destination. While he appears calm, he mutters politely, in a small voice, "Excuse me" especially when his cane stick happens to smack against the wall or against the leg of a passenger or fumbled against a passenger and him feeling for the walls to navigate through the car.

Tapping his stick on the floor, "Excuse me, my apologies." There's no complaint, since he's wearing a blindfold wrapped around his eyes to keep it from bleeding, so passengers could tell he couldn't see, but some scoot away from him to let him pass. "I am passing through..."

Josh Foley | KRAKOA

[goldtoxicity]

ARRIVAL

[ It appears that rumors of Joshua Foley's disappearance have been greatly exaggerated, as the young leader of the faction is most certainly there and looking well. Better, in fact, than he has in the past. His appearance is a radical departure from previous years - gone are the soft colored suits, replaced with something bolder. His previously shaggy silver hair is several shades paler, and cut down to something sharper and more stylish.

Anyone with energy sensing capabilities will realize he's not quite up to full power. Telepaths can pick up on some lingering emotional distress, his whole mental state seems much more volatile than usual. Though there's no inclination towards violence - yet. Just generalized anxiety mixed with something cold and vengeful.

But, as he does every year, he's offering free healing sessions as part of his contribution to the Synod. All it requires is a touch. Josh smiles brightly, greeting old friends with warmth and enthusiasm and giving new arrivals a gentle smile and an offer to help however they can. ]

PANELS.

[ His annual panel on ImPort health goes off without a hitch. Josh talks about import life, the nanites, the similarities between all of them despite how wildly they differ. There's a heavy focus on unity, the reminder that all of them are ImPorts.

I'm biokinetic, Josh says to the audience at the end, once he's finished discussing his theories and findings... which really aren't much. Any who attended last year might remember a lot of these points. What I do goes beyond healing. I can sense things on cellular level and even I can't understand aspects of us. There is so much we don't know yet about ourselves and I would like to collaborate with you all in the coming year to uncover it.

He's around for questions. ]

GALA.

[ The Council of Five is out in full force. All of them dressed in formalwear with gold threaded through it. Josh himself wears only black. The Krakoan faction has always been known for their willingness to branch out and interact, despite their isolationist nature, but it doesn't appear to be the case this year. Josh, who often leads the charge, drinks his expensive wine and watches the dance floor with a blank expression.

It's odd, of course, as usually the young leader is eager to dance, drink, and party the night away. The best friendships are made at the bottom of a beer, he used to say.

But approach him for a dance and he'll smile and say he'd love to. Have a drink with him and he seems perfectly like himself. He's just not initiating this year.

He's never really alone, either. Someone else from Krakoa is always nearby. 'Elixir' has always been known to be able to take care of himself. The whole thing is odd... Perhaps he ran away and they're trying to ensure it doesn't happen again? Who can really say. ]

WILDCARD.

[ come at him bro. josh can be caught looking very stressed when he thinks no one is paying attention, anyone with the capacity to sense injuries will note that he does appear to be injured or at least has the remnants of injuries, but is otherwise trying to put on his best front. he's down for drinking, smoking, and healing. ]

wildcard / after a panel; (we should have another krakoa pc charge up some point!)

[pillz]

You avoiding me?

[this was inevitable. wasn't it? in the past seventy two hours there has been such havoc. between tony's straight-up death in the earliest part of the synod, what seemed to be hundreds of copies of one import walking in through a gate, and the otherwise typical chaos of the summit, kavinsky was nonetheless bound to corner him.

where better than directly after josh's panel? he was obligated to show up.] Seriously?

[kavinsky has an obligatory glass of wine in his hand, but it seems to be completely untouched. irritation has his eyes narrowed behind his ar glasses; he swapped his mask off to attend josh's presentation, and only then.]

Allison Hargreeves | Krakoa

[numberthree]

[ For threads & plotting, feel free to reach out at wanderlustlover ]

Arrival, Panels/Expo, Gala

[numberthree]

ARRIVAL

Allison arrives with the rest of the Krakoan contingent. For all that her appearance looks much as it did the year before this one and the one before that, there's a certain sort of alertness that seems to be going into the way she looks over every room she comes into. Like she's looking for someone very specific, rather than taking in those who've chosen to make fashion statements even upon arrival.

Krakoa, always stylish, but usually not aggressively so, doesn't even attempt not to fall into that category this year. All of them arrayed around Josh, in sharper cuts and focused shades. Gone are the earlier years' exuberant shades and softer, freer, playful fashion forrays. If they linger closer to him, and if discussions are quieter, but seemed more intense among them, perhaps, Krakoa has something on its mind. Especially after those obviously false reports about their missing founder, who can be found right in the thick of them, smiling a warm, if sometimes tight, smile.

Allison does step away from the group to greet friends and allies, new and old, both those made during her time living in White Tower and those built during her years on the Council of Five for Krakoa. After all, there are those she has missed and partnerships to see taken care of.

PANELS/EXPO

Allison is remorseless and regretless in the fact she harmlessly encourages one or two underlings and a robobutler into moving her panel into the first morning of the first day of the Synod. Her panel, titled ”Peace, at What Price: The Story of our Children,” starts with a broad overview of the rising tide of strife and violence among the factions over the last decade, focusing heaviest on the well-known clashes of the last two-three years.

It focuses mostly on how this chaos and violence is affecting the youngest among them, for children being born now all the way up those just in the burgeoning glow right before adulthood. Clearly and directly pulled from those who have come to Krakoa in the last few years, just how much and what they’ve needed to help them adjust, heal, acclimate to a less turbulent civilian life in neutral territory. How they’ve responded to the ample health services, training, freedom.

At the end, there is the reminder that Krakoa’s doors are open to all ages, children through the oldest of adults. That all of the amenities and health services they’ve been speaking of are available to anyone who joins them. Then, she opens the floor for questions if you have them.

Outside of that, she can be found often in the presence of Josh, and the other Council Members, as well and always as Luther, and one of her many other Hargreeves family members, when she doesn't step away to attend panels that have interested her, demonstrations on the EXPO floor, and to make meetings, here and there, with those friends and allies that she saw earlier and has not yet been able to catch up with. The Synod always serves so many purposes.

For all the Allison has always loved fashion, a fact that hadn't changed in her move from White Tower to Krakoa, Allison's wardrobe makes a statement in Synod 2020. While she can be found is several cuts and styles, one thing never changes this year: it's all based in solid blacks and accenting golds. Seeming to slide almost purposely from the stately black into bolder golds as the Synod week wears on.

GALA

The Gala affair is no different, when Allison arrives stately in more gold-than-black, but she isn't alone this time. The whole of Krakoa's Council of Five appears in the same arraignment, a sea of black and gold, around an island in the middle: Josh, clad in black alone, gleaming gold just by being.

They move as a unit, dividing at times, peeling off to talk, to dance, to eat, but never once leaving Josh alone to the maelstrom of the crowds. Never. Allison does find the time to do those things, too, even if her attention seems divided at times. Still, she takes her dinner; enjoys flitting around the room, carrying a glass of champagne; complimenting the night's affair, the best parts of which new faction is displaying itself, talking to anyone she (figuratively) bumps into; accepting requests for a conversation to the side as well as those for a dance.

But if she happens to always make sure the last dance (and several in between) belong to Luther, perhaps, this surprises no one either all these years later.

Padmé Sinivalyana | Lumianry

[resoluteandunyielding]

[ For threads & plotting, feel free to reach out at wanderlustlover ]

Cecelia Ardenbury | Olin Vale (leader) | OTA

[sighsheavily]

CONVENTION FLOOR
With the uptick in imPort activity both new and old, Cecelia finds herself with little choice but to make herself known -- just as much to those who knew rumor of her as to those who might make the mistake of trying to seek her out. She has to stop the bottleneck somehow!

She moves about the convention with an air of haughty disinterest by the way she carries herself, wearing a mask of disinterest and distaste as she goes, her ears far too keen to avoid the voices of even quiet conversations in her midst.

The exhibition area itself is a grating cacophony, and any approaching her here will find her patience quite thin and her answers clipped with just the barest edges of courtesy. No longer does she freeze up and go numb in vast crowds as she did as a girl, but Cecelia still has no stomach for multitudes; best place to approach her here is to find her seated along a wall, her coloring a bit paler than usual and a sheen of sweat along her brow. Her eyes are ever scanning for the sight of her residents who desired to come, as she cannot afford to find them hurt -- or worse, swayed to another faction, revealing her secrets.

SUITE/HALLWAYS
Cecelia does not sleep, and even if she could, she would find no repose in this place. Putting aside the disturbing aura that this barricaded place has, the walls may as well not exist when it comes to sound, and she cannot stomach being such an unintentional eavesdropper on some of the sorts invited here.

Eugh.

Skirting around one of those obnoxious robots, she makes slow laps around an area of dining that is mostly closed for the late hour, save for some bars and all-night sorts. Where the lighting is too dark or intentionally moody, small orbs of light flicker and follow her as if she were some specter guiding spirits along somewhere unknown.

Eye contact during these hours may be eerie; her gaze is sharp and quietly combative, as if challenging you to approach at your own risk. It is softer to those who seem to exude magic...most of the time. And to those openly sporting cybernetics or lots of technology, her nose will crinkle slightly with disgust.


EVENINGS
Her eyes search for the familiar leaders of various factions, of course, because settings like these offer many openings to see signs of weakness or change -- things contrary to the hearsay she gets second- and third-hand. This is the kind of panel she was more prepared for: Growing up, she knew the dance of lukewarm pleasantries and the quiet duels that can come from strangers meeting and seeking tidbits of information to use or abuse.

Here she dresses in her finest, gleaming in flowing silks that compliment her dappled skin and fiery hair, not to show some secret opulence hidden in the Vale, but to make it clear she is taking this synod seriously -- that she'll play some of this game to ensure her land's safety.

Dance? Yes. She knows waltz steps, and her eyes are still fairly keen in the dimming ballroom; she'll not have a fast one pulled on her tonight, but she may find a partner or two of intrigue.

Hallways

[helpdesk_hero]

It... may not be best for him to approach her. This is something David knows. It isn't his job to investigate the possibilities of Olin Vale for Krakoa. It isn't him that has been asked to suss out whether it's true, to see their leader, to talk. No, that isn't even his aim. David's just a man with issues sleeping, wandering around carefully, eyes darting everywhere. And who, strangely enough, cameras seem to turn away from even has he approaches. But there's no cybernetics on him. He's even abandoned his glasses for the evening stroll, knowing they aren't needed as readily here.

No, tonight he's just a tired man, known well as a leader of the isolationist nation of Krakoa, just looking for a little stroll because this place always feels so... cramped.

"Good evening to you," he greets the woman as he sees her in the hall, offering a brief and very polite nod. "Wonderful place here, isn't it?"

A touch of sarcasm in his voice? Completely.

LUCINA | Fresh imPort | OTA

[fauxmarth]

TRAIN
If it looks like a trap, feels like a trap...

Lucina barely has her bearings in this world, but things seem to be moving quickly to some pressure point of sorts. She can't risk avoiding it, should she find a way to either return to the world she hails from or, at the very least, mitigate any harm that could come of this. After all, it's not like the Swear-ins she knows ever went without a hitch when less than half this dire-feeling!

Much of her attention is on the view outside during the journey, her stomach doing anxious somersaults, and she starts at the sound of any entry into the car, her eyes shooting straight to the source. Her hand never leaves Aurora's hilt, both out of comfort and practicality.

What next? What now?

More importantly: Where are my friends in all of this, or am I truly alone?


CONVENTION FLOOR
"It...really is like a swear-in," she murmurs to herself, slowly walking into the massive space already full of people.

She sweeps the area with her unblinking gaze, still searching for something familiar -- even a silly brand logo will do! Already she'd gotten glimpses of a roster with faces and names that leave her very nervous indeed -- are Luke and Archie truly here? And what was with the titles of the things they're allegedly affiliated with...?

To some here, she may be a ghost among the crowd -- not in stealth, but in appearance alone. She doesn't know there was already a Lucina of Ylisse in this realm, one who perished years ago. She doesn't know who knew her then, doesn't know who to expect to approach her with that awareness.

Honestly, she's well aware how in over her head she is, but what can she do? To stand in place and do nothing is not the right call here. So she moves forward...


EVENINGS
Forward, and onward into the length of days the event goes on, still searching for answers (and the questions to couple with them). In much the same way as the day, she treads carefully, still more suited up for knightly combat than a proper dance. Her eyes still look for familiarity or, at least, guidance in this place, her heart still troubled by what she's begun to learn about the state of things.

"Please let me wake up," she murmurs.

CONVENTION FLOOR

[dun_moch]

Good news: Count Dooku does not know there was previously a Lucina here. He just sees her as a new imPort, clearly lost and confused.

Bad news: the Count is very interested in new imPorts.

As she moves forward, she will likely sense a presence at her back, tall and imposing. The voice that sounds from behind her is kind of friendly, but naturally pitched at a level best suited for condemning prisoners to the spider pit.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" Count Dooku says with a soft smile on his lips. "I remember being staggered myself at my first Synod, many years ago."

This is not true. Even as a first-time imPort, Dooku already had more than enough experience with great gatherings from a long career in politics to cut through his first Synod like a shark through herring.

Wen Ning | The Untamed | OTA

[deadwenwalking]

welcome.

Everyone at the gathering seems to be dressed in their best attire, but Wen Ning doesn't exactly have anything fancy. He's lucky if he's not in rags most days and today he's in barely a step above that, wearing the most simple of black robes.

Except that over his robe he's wearing the t-shirt and lanyard provided in the gift bag. He's a little surprised that everyone else isn't following suit, as he thought this had been expected of him. Still, he leaves it on. Maybe it will make him look more 'with the times'. (It absolutely will not.)

His robobutler keeps trying to bring him a drink, which he doesn't accept. The mechanical creature creeps him out and he'd prefer to get his own refreshments. After several more attempts he finally sets the drink atop the robot's head, which causes it to stand perfectly still and slowly move its arms up to try and remove it without spilling it and potentially short-circuiting itself. It stops trying after that - at least where drinks are concerned.

Aside from that annoyance, Wen Ning will be poking around... basically everything. It's all still so new and strange - and is this actual exercise equipment in this gym or are they actually torture devices?

convention.

Please let him try your things.

He doesn't have any money, but boy is he super curious. Do you have a hovering vehicle of some sort? Can he sit in it? He's never even been in a regular car.

What is that? Can he touch it? He's not going to ask how anything works, but he sure is going to hang around near the displays with the bright, curious expression of a young child.

wildcard.

Anywhere else you want him to pop up? Let me know!

I.

[inquiryguqin]

In the convention area, Lan Wangji is around examining the inventory and exhibitions on display with scrutiny and curiosity. So much technology. He too has a robot butler hovering and following him around, while Lan Wangji has his arms tucked behind his back, walking slowly around the lobby at his leisure.

He was examing various technology from the gym equipment, the cars, the robots, the gadgets. Then when he's close enough, he remembered him and recognized back home. Wen Ning is unmistakenable.

"Wen Ning...?"

Rimuru Tempest / Krakoa Council Member

[rimuru]

ARRIVAL

[ Rimuru never comes to the Synod. He never did in fact. The thought of staying one week with everyone, pretending to be all friendly with one another, on a convention-like gathering, is the type of political nonsense he doesn't know how to handle. He leaves that to those who know such games better.

But this time, he decided he'd take a stand. After Josh was finally found, and after having his suspicion met - that Josh had indeed been taken by the White Tower faction - the council members of Krakoa all decided to take a stand and Rimuru would do the same. They come together and they show the rest of the world how strong they stand; there is a feeling of danger of sorts when approaching the group, and Rimuru meets this by refusing to stay on his slime (and much cuter) form. He looks human today, an adult at that and all he offers are glances and not the warm smile Rimuru is known for having when in his human form. The androgynous figure also carries two bat-like wings on his back and the gold adorning his clothes matches Josh's golden skin. All of it has a purpose.

When the other members of the council disperse, Rimuru finds a place away from the crowd while the robutler is there to continuously annoy him no matter where he turns. In fact, if you are paying enough attention, you may notice the robot is eventually surrounded by blue slime and once its engulfed in it, it disappears.

Yes, Rimuru just ate his robutler. ]

CONVENTION

[ Now he knows he was never missing much by not attending the synod. None of this interests him, but it's probably due to how he currently feels after everything that has happened. It's hard for him to keep a happy smile when he wishes he could just engulf this whole place down.

But he tries at least. During the week, while he continues to keep his human-like appearance, Rimuru falters from time to time and returns to the shape of a slime when he has the chance and there aren't many people around around. That form relaxes him the most, and it's one he is most comfortable with; which is also why some might approach to ask him about "what's it like being a slime" to which he always responds "it's the perfect body" because it really is.

Later, when he remembers, he will check the bag offered, only to find the stress ball. He can't help a little smile at this ] Aha- how ironic. Still- this is pretty shabby work. [ have you ever tried to hug Rimuru in his slime form? THAT is the best stressball you will meet ]

EVENING

[ Dinner is welcomed in the sense that he can taste the food he eats in his human from - as much Rimuru prefers to be a slime, it's a shame it's impossible to taste anything when in such form. So dinner is spent elegantly tasting all the food that passes by and probably saving some in his pocket dimension for later. Please do not judge, he already came to this event without complaining, Rimuru should at least be allowed to take as much food as his little slime heart desires.

And when the dance comes, he will feel less annoyed and more willing to mingle. Rimuru might ask someone to dance with a smile - or perhaps someone might ask Rimuru! They are someone who loves pretty people and it's hard to say no when he sees one.

But despite all of this, one may notice how to Council of Five always stay relatively close to each other. because in the end, they are here t show they are a unit. ]

🤖🍴

[timehit]

That's...disgusting.

[ Because of Allison's work with the Council, Five's become familiar with the rest of its members, including Rimuru. But that doesn't help the sight of the slime engulfing their robulter into whatever awaits in the endless pit of their stomach. ]

Don't you think that'll cause a scene?

[ He holds out a can of iced coffee, something he meant to offer before...that. Now Five, with his small golden tie pin, is aware that the Council plans to do exactly that — to make a statement for the rest to see. But, ah, this isn't what he had imagined. ]

Declan Lynch | Sanctum Aurorae

[dauntless_son]

The high priest attends the Synod to observe the political machinations playing out between factions. He is there as a representative of the Sanctum Aurorae. Declan Lynch can be found shadowing the itinerary of the Supreme Leader for part of the Synod and following his own whims for the rest of it. During the day, he is often found wearing hoods or other clothes that obscure all or part of his face. Despite his appearance, he regularly engages with other visitors, asking after the state of their own factions and adopted homelands.

Between events, Declan can be found in his suite, reading or otherwise entertaining himself. It is the one place anyone might see him relaxed, wearing something comfortable and simple. He might even entertain visitors, including those seeking information about the Sanctum. They won't get any, but he will entertain them none the less. His door is open, especially to members of the Sanctum's inner circle or acquaintances from years past.

During the convention, he attends talks and panels to listen to the debates and the airing of major grievances and concerns. He doesn't seem interested in participating, but he is there observing all the same, taking everything in: including what's going on around the room, not just at the front of it. He watches other faction members talking in the crowd, and he might just be eavesdropping. Regardless of his close observation, he is willing to engage in conversation with anyone in attendance, especially if they have something to say about the way things are going, or if they are curious about the elusive Sanctum.

At the expo, his interest is drawn to the books most of all, curious about the transfer of skills. He might even consider testing some of them out on one of the protected stages. More than once he is invited to duel, and he is more than willing to participate if his opponents are prepared. Rumors of the Sanctum Aurorae's nullifier are somewhat notorious - could they possibly be true?

In the evenings, he dresses more formally. He is polite to his dinner partners, and he might even discuss the politics of the day if someone brings them up. He is even willing to dance with various partners of any gender. At the end of the night, he extends his hand to someone, offering them the last dance.


[Feel free to wildcard him at any part of the event. All prompts are open. If you want to plot more, PM or ping me givemedragons!]

dance;

[pillz]

[kavinsky is alone.

it's atypical for him, actually. he isn't very similar to how he used to be, back home in henrietta, but some fundamental axioms are the same: he likes people around. he likes being in charge of them, as much as he needs to be overpowered by them. he's all about the parties, the intrigue, the sordid drama.

but tony stark died a few nights ago, on the heels of exposed treachery. things with josh have never been more tense, not even when the mutant fucked off to build krakoa.

he's been wearing this mask the past couple nights, donning it again the moment the main course is through. business-like and brusque in answering questions about the tower, the plan, about who killed tony stark. he hasn't danced much at all, but it isn't all that surprising to suddenly find his arms around a tall man in this white suit.

the last song does strange things to people.

kavinsky's mask is impassive. but there's a note of amusement in his voice, when he says,] Small world. Assuming you remember any other one to compare it to.

Rey | The White Tower | OTA

[reydacted]

I. Death Train

[ Being a parliamentarian before the Synod is busy work, and Rey is clearly very occupied with something. She wears a somber expression tinged with displeasure. Strangely, despite cloistering herself in a four person car to work, she is accompanied by Kylo Ren and his escort when she leaves to go get a snack on the bakery cart.

The First Lady will indulge citizens of the White Tower with a moment but something is very clearly annoying her.

Obligatory outfit ]

II. Party

[ Rey is a practiced party go-er at this point, although she is more likely to be rubbing elbows or slipping into dark corners with her allies to talk about some "urgent business."

She can be asked for a dance, but acceptance is not necessarily a given. Her dress is lovely as always, but seems to behave more like animated jewels around her skin rather than embellished fabric. ]

III. Wildcard

[ PM me if you'd like to set up a different starter for your character! Also check out the first reply as time progresses. ]

Rey does a murder - closed

[reydacted]

Somehow, despite all of Rey's best planning, she was down two assassins and still had one very much alive husband. She should still have two assassins and have started the Synod as Chancellor Pro Tempore. She supposed if she wanted a job done right, she would have to do it herself.

On the third night of the Synod, Rey wore a beautiful gown made of animated liquid gold. Ostentatious but within the style of the White Tower certainly. Nothing seemed too out of character as she offered polite smiles and shallow conversation at dinner and the party after.

As the night ended, she made sure to find her husband and with surprising affection, she slipped an arm around the High Chancellor and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "You look exhausted. Come to bed."

Ruka ⧒ the White Tower ⧒ most prompts ota

[dragony]

One week in, and Ruka is no closer to getting home. She has more information on the world she's stranded in, but still no allies. All the people she could have called friends only know an imPort's existence in this world; what others might be in her position seem to be... also in her position — keeping their heads down low enough to avoid widespread attention, to keep out of the clutches of the powers that rule this world. Information flows out of sight, and hers is limited already. The Ruka who lived in this world isn't trusted by anyone; there's no one here she can trust, either.

It'll be harder to keep her cover at the Synod, surrounded by the imPorts of this world, but it's her best bet at finding the others like her — the ones that don't belong here. They have to find their way back. It's only been one week, but it's been the loneliest week of her life.

⧒

♥ The Death Train

The Gate would be the faster way to get to the Cape, instantaneous, but the train departs from the White City, and despite the name it seems like the wiser choice. Ruka has read about the Deathdome, but not yet experienced it; the time to prepare, the time to learn more about this world seems a necessary sacrifice.

It is a huge mistake.

The view out the windows is no view at all — it's not merely land that has been razed, or a portal through some other dimension of ghastly visions. There are no true colors, no images, nothing her mind's eye can wrap into shapes or places or faces or anything of the world that is supposed to be here. It's crushing, in a way beyond pressure and weight; it is overwhelming, in a grander scope than size or intensity. It is an ever-changing tableau of chaos, of, of nothing, with nothing to mark the distance traveled.

When she goes to the buffet car for some kind of distraction, her face is flushed and puffy from crying; muffins and mimosas are little comfort, and there's no thought given for the image she's meant to project. Her heart aches too much for artifice.

"Do they even know," she murmurs, gaze still lost to that strange nothingness-and-everythingness beyond the glass, "how many people died?"

⧒

♥ Synod — "Daylight"

The first thing on the first day agenda for Ruka is to lock herself in her assigned suite and pull herself back together, but after that, it's show time. The mask comes back on, and the Ruka that flits from the panels to the expos to the restaurants is one with an easy, practiced smile. At the Synod, there's no real telling whether it's day or night without a watch, but during these hours dress is more comfortably casual — slacks, and fitted tees, hair worn down, straight and loose.

If she recognizes you (or, rather, if she knows she's supposed to), she's quick with a wave and a smile and to hurry over for a warm greeting, but there is something different about her. It doesn't go with her outfit at all, but there's a blue ribbon tied around her right wrist. Weird.

But more likely than any of those places, Ruka is most often found at the Porter itself. There's no levity here: her expression is always tight with focus, her thoughts consumed. "Would that work," you might hear her ask herself — too distracted with hypothetical possibilities to notice a quiet voyeur. An "is that enough energy" here, a soft "that might kill me, but" there...

⧒

♥ Synod — Nighttime

Although this bitch probably does need an empty stomach to yeet herself to the proper dimension, it's impossible to come up with a plan on one, so dinner it is. She eats lightly, talks moderately, and drinks heavily — it's a bad combination and a bad reaction, but she's tired, and stressed, and wants nothing more than to sleep in her own bed.

Still... the possibility exists that she's not alone here.

Her dress for the nights' activities are more formal — each night a new entry in a series of flowing white dresses — but here, too, she wears that blue ribbon tied around her right wrist. As the ballroom is made darker, she occasionally uses her new power to make that cloth glow a little with that same blue light. Nothing big, nothing most people should notice, she hopes... but anyone who's ever been branded the same way should recognize it. She hopes. She hopes...

But no matter what faction you are — whether friend, or stranger, or declared enemy — Ruka is easy to approach. She never turns down a drink, and she never turns down a dance, and she's quick to offer them to anyone who lingers alone for too long. A dance is the easiest way to have a private conversation, after all... and there are too many things that cannot be said in the open.

⧒

♥ Last Dance ✘ Closed Prompt

Enclosed as this place is, it's a huge space and filled with so many people — it feels like it should be the easiest thing in the world to avoid one person. It's no one who means her harm, or anyone she hates. Quite the opposite.

Of course, that's the problem.

And it should be easy to fall back into old habits — Ruka actually spent several years doing everything in her power to avoid Jaime Reyes, not that long ago... but it's a lot easier to avoid the specter of a lost friend than it is the distortion of an absent husband. Any time they're in the same room, she can pick Jaime's voice out without turning her head; any time they're near to each other, her eye catches sight of him in every crowd, and she's forced to look away, to find distraction somewhere else. Her nails dig crescents in her palms, so often and so deep that the marks remain long after her heart has settled back into its normal rhythm.

She just has to get through the end of the night. And then through the end of every night thereafter.

⧒

♥ Wildcard

[ For scenes that don't quite fit the above; feel free to hit me up @ magicite for more specific plotting. ]

Death train

[houseparty]

"Two million. Roughly," Stark states at her shoulder, calm and composed. Ruka isn't the only one not partaking of the various brunch-y offerings on the train; he watches the lack of scenery fly past with an even, inscrutable expression.

"I wasn't around to see it, or the immediate aftermath, but I was told it happened very quickly." Not really a comfort, not when he'd first heard of it, either. Quick or not, two million people were just. Gone, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

[dun_moch]

A - DEATH TRAIN

In the buffet car, an elderly man in an unnecessarily dramatic brown cape stands in front of the window, showing no interest in pastries as he gazes out at the shimmering, shifting desolation flying by outside. Beyond that tinted glass, reality pulses with an indescribable kaleidoscope of energies and angles. No colour, no shape, no concept remains the same for more than a microsecond before it is obliterated and replaced by a different possibility. Nothing, not the slightest trace, remains of the chunk of Earth that was obliterated after imPorts seized the Porter.

Count Dooku seems enraptured by it.

"Breathtaking, is it not?" He says suddenly, not turning his head. It's not clear if he sensed a person behind him, or if he is simply talking to himself. "Annihilation in its purest form. Not even the void of space is so destructive."

B - PANEL TOPIC/OPEN DEBATE - ALLIANCE AGAINST ROGUE ELEMENTS

Count Dooku strides to the platform he will command for this topic and gazes out over the convention area as though he doesn't just own the space, but the entire complex. His robutler hovers nearby, slowly circling around him as its cameras record his words from multiple angles, sometimes rotating to take in his audience. Dooku's voice swells outward to fill the air as he speaks, strong enough that it's questionable whether he even needs a microphone.

"My friends, we imPorts are the supreme power upon this planet," he begins. "But we are divided. We come together only once a year, here, in this historic place. Yet there was a time when we were united against a common enemy. Right here, our forerunners struck down the corrupt government that plotted against us. ImPort created a new world, where our power could be free, where we could live as we please."

He pauses for a dramatic moment and casts his gaze over his audience, looking for anyone who seems like they might dare disagree with how great the Fractured World is. The pulsing, shifting horror of the Deathdome glares through the giant window behind him.

"This world is menaced by renegade elements that hate imPorts and all our achievements. The self-proclaimed Resistance would destroy all that we have built, and cast us back to the dark times when imPorts were registered and controlled by the government! I say to you that the time has come to regain the unity we once had. The time has come for all factions to join the might of the White Tower in a grand alliance. Together, we will destroy our enemies and any who aid them. Together, we can make a world where none dare threaten imPorts. My friends, the time is now."

His opening statement concluded, the Count steps back from the lectern for the moment, opening the floor to any who wish to respond to his proposal. He will be carefully observing all reactions to what he has said- and he will remember.

C - EXPO AND DUELS

The Count shuns the dances that conclude each night of the Synod. His interest is in a different display. He knows that the technology and power on display at the expo is carefully curated by each faction to avoid revealing too much, but there is still a great deal that the White Tower can learn from what the other groups are prepared to share. This is particularly the case with the duels, each of which Dooku takes in with rapt attention.

Only toward the last days of the event does Dooku enter the arena himself, after he has carefully gauged potential opposition, the benefits of making a public show of force, and the risks of displaying too much of his full power. He has calculated that now, with the White Tower being shaken by sudden defections and his proposal for an alliance out in the open, it is an excellent time for a humbling show of force.

Whoever faces the Count on the stage will find the Sith spreading his hands at his sides and grinning with yellowed teeth before the match begins.

"Surely you aren't afraid of an old man, are you?" He says dryly, his hand never far from his lightsaber.

D - WILDCARD

[Dinner? Welcoming carpet? Private scheming? Hotel shenanigans? He's open for just about anything!]

Death train!

[loyal_soldier]

622 been out as part of a security detachment with a diplomatic mission before the Synod. It was useful work for the Resistance--there were a lot of people that had to get into place. The synod was a prime target all by itself, but sometimes the real work got done elsewhere. Some countries had caught on by now, but others didn't have the resources or smarts to keep their territory locked down while their leaders were all off snarling at each other.

He'd been assigned to ride the train back, in uniform. That meant guarding someone, otherwise they would've sent him in plainclothes. With how hectic things were for security, he didn't actually find out who he was detailing for until he got there.

Had he pissed off somebody in dispatch?

"I don't find looking at it to be worth the time, sir." He was wary of Dooku, obviously. The man had proven himself to be pretty much everything the old propaganda had made him out to be, and it was worse to watch up close.

But that in itself wasn't going to undermine his cover. Force sensitives couldn't really read minds, he'd found that out years ago now. They could get a sense of surface thoughts, though. Possibly some specifics of them, if they really tried.

"It's like hyperspace. Same sort of hypnotic effect." He had every reason to still hold lingering doubts about anybody who'd ever been a Jedi. He was a clone, after all--his indoctrination was obviously at work here.

He'd been on Earth longer than the Empire had trained him now, and it showed. He looked to be in his mid-forties now, and the mental scars he'd brought with him had faded. He was more relaxed and self-assured than back then. But he was still just a clone, and that's all he'd ever be.

Or at least, that was what it was best for them all to think. "We were trained not to look at it. It's not our problem." And if it ever became your problem, then you were probably dead already. Sort of like Sith.

Beckett Mariner | Resistance / Twin Cities | OTA

[onepip]

Death Train

[Mariner is busy staring out of the windows, a martini in her hand. Ugh. She wasn't looking forward to the lesson in temporal mechanics, but she can't seem to stop watching the show out of the windows: a thousand parallel possibilities erasing and creating themselves endlessly all around the train.

She takes a big gulp of the martini as she watches the Vulcans land and then get slaughtered by a bunch of grubby 20th century humans, a horrible distortion of actual history.]

Ugh. Hey, everyone, let's watch your history tear itself apart and stitch itself together again while riding the Death Train! Yeah, fun, that's not weird and sinister at all, right?

[she's mainly talking to herself, but she's not bothering to keep her voice down much.]

Dinner and Dancing

[One thing humanity retained in its march to the stars? An irresistible attraction to free food. And when you're a human who got chucked from the final frontier back into volatile Earth history, that instinct goes SEE? I TOLD YOU, THE FAMINE WAS TOMORROW, NOW GO STUFF YOURSELF WITH TINY BROWNIES.

But Mariner isn't just here to do that (although she is doing that). She's busy watching, putting her eyes on the new faces and where they're from, and on some old faces and what they might be up to. You can tell she's marked you out as Interesting because she's nudging you with an elbow, a drink in one hand and a little plastic plate in the other.]

Hey, have you tried the pigs inna blanket yet? I'm pretty sure they're my favorite Ancient Earth food, so glad the regular people are still making them.

[dun_moch]

[Things Count Dooku does not like: 1) being nudged 2) pigs inna blanket. He shies away from Mariner's touch, and resists the impulse to fix her with an intimidating glare. This is a diplomatic event.]

No. I have not tried the... [He pauses as though saying the name requires an effort of will. When he says it, he pronounces it like the sentence of an execution.] Pigs in a blanket.

[He holds up his own plate, which is not paper but fine porcelain painted with blue geometric patterns. It holds sliced mini-baguettes topped with something purple and blobby.]

I prefer the neo-caviar. We genetically engineered the fish that produces it, right here in the White Tower.

[The creature exists to do nothing but lay as many eggs as possible while requiring as little care as possible. Dooku considers it a triumph of imPort ingenuity.]

Fuu Hououji | Eden | OTA

[emeraldhanded]

Death Train

[Does it really have to be called the Death Train? Fuu tries not to look out the window too much at the atomic distortions outside; it brings back unpleasant memories of what happened on her Earth when Cephiro tried invading it.

Instead she walks up and down the train, wary of what will happen at the Synod and looking for Umi and Hikaru--who she hasn't found yet thus far, but she can still hope for it. But even if not, she may stop by you with a croissant in her hand.]

I must say, this is a more dire-seeming commute than I've been used to.

Convention

[With no sign of her friends from home, Fuu turns her attention to the convention once the welcome ceremonies are over and before the panel conversations begin. She's keen to see what innovations the other factions are boasting of--or who is showing off their skills in the dueling arena. Having as much information as possible is vital.

She finds herself lingering by the demonstration of healing powers, though. For some reason that strikes her as familiar. And why wouldn't it, given that more than one imPort has such abilities? she asks herself, but the answer is that somehow, it's different.]

How interesting...

[When not doing that, however, you might find her speaking to her Robutler--impeccably polite, of course--as it carries her swag bag and a number of informational pamphlets behind her.]

[khajidont]

[ Jaime is trying to nap to escape the worst of the view - not to great success; he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of it for more than a scant few minutes at a time - and he glances over towards the voice from where he's in his solitary booth, hoodie hanging low over his eyes and feet propped up on the table. ]

Yeah? This your first time on the Death Train?

Stark | White Tower

[houseparty]

( OOC: TLs coming; Due to a change of plans & to keep things streamlined for the mod-plot, Stark will be killed late on Day 3 of the Synod. I've tried to touch base with everyone this affects; please hit me up via PM or @ backagain )

Stark - closed prompts

[houseparty]

Death Train - for pillz

( entropy, as it exists in the swirling miasma of nothing-yet-everything outside the train, is old news. this journey has been made every year for close to a decade now, safely and securely, and so Stark doesn't feel the need to watch as they zip through the maw of the dome.

with the addition of surprise guests, however, Stark is on guard, but still on the job- and part of that entails approvals of his own speaking material. sequestering himself, for now, in his private compartment to work, he senses Kavinsky's presence along the usual channels: those ar glasses. he won't look up from his tablet. )

There you are, I was beginning to wonder if you'd taken the Gate instead. Azalea sent us the edits for the panel; I could use a second set of eyes.


Night 3 - for efficacy

( Three days have passed without issue, aside from one... 'debate' onboard the train. The Synod runs smoothly, a set of scheduled, bog-standard affairs even with Josh Foley's surprise appearance, easily worked to the Tower's advantage if he plays his cards right.

Even then, the thread is fraying, and the sword above his head is going to fall. Foley, Krakoa, and their rumored tempestuous Council, will be Rey's problem hereafter.

So he's in quite high spirits when he leaves the suite ahead of dinner, intending to enjoy the evening as best he can. Dressed down in comparison to the Tower's (and his) usually avante garde stylings, he's alone in the lift but for the presence of one droid over his shoulder, protection enough as they stop several floors down to take on additional passengers.

And there's suddenly Pepper in the frame of the open doors. Stark doesn't think, he just moves, stepping out of the elevator and into her space with a low, alarmed: )

What are you doing here?

KYLO REN ⧓ SANCTUM AURORAE

[photophobic]

I'm going to throw some prompts under this toplevel shortly! If you'd like to plot with me you can drop me a comment on Kylo's plotting thread here, catch me on plurk— starktech or hit me up on discord— cryloren#2195!

for rey (& ronan);

[photophobic]

all aboard...

It's been literally years since Rey gained some measure of control over her infuriating Porter-given ability to summon him with a stray thought. Years. And while she's threatened it many times, he's always believed they have an understanding about which challenges and provocations are exciting, and which are decidedly not. Which means, when Kylo feels the strange lurch of connection just before he winks out of existence...

 

...only to reappear near-instantaneously on the other side of the continent at Rey's side, he's already furious— long before she says a single word.

They're standing on the platform of the Death Train's White Tower terminal. Kylo knows this, because they've been here before. The last time he was waiting for the train here, Rey had been all but vibrating with her belief that despite everything, at the conclusion of the Synod he would make the decision to step through the White Tower's Gate with her to join her, formally. She'd been so convinced he would renounce his former allegiances and replace them with loyalty only to her that for a while, he'd believed he might, too.

Kylo whirls to face her, seething silently. He is quite clearly not dressed for the pomp and pageantry of the Synod yet— in fact, he looks very much like he might have come directly from a sparring session. His face says it all: he is not amused.

David Alleyne | Krakoa (Council Member)

[helpdesk_hero]

Welcome Carpet

Krakoa, island nation ruled by a council of the five founders, had arrived. Never before had the Five appeared as one unit at a Synod, normally at least one hung back. And often they were appreciated for gentler clothing choices, for never quite matching but still bringing in that feeling of casual, kind, lazy tropical moods.

This year that was not true. This year the Five arrived as one, clad in black, all but Foley accented in gold meant to mimic the natural skin tone of the true founder of Krakoa. David was no different. His clothing choice for the arrival, for the nice polite hand shakes and respectful greetings of old friends and political rivals was dark this year, a long coat over tight fitting clothes done in a purple so dark that it could well be black if one didn't think on it much, and accented in gold. Gold bracelets, a gold chain at his neck made of rings interlocking in sets of five, and even his usual glasses replaced by simple black wire frames with larger golden lenses this year.

Krakoa was making a statement in their arrival, and David knew they presented the look of unity. Which was why he didn't mind stepping away from the group to greet others with a warm smile and soft tones. The look expressed the hardening of Krakoa. They themselves could be the warmth.

"Exciting that it's finally here, is it not?" David smiles at someone after greeting them. "I remember this lovely pho restaurant around here. I half think I come to the Synod every year just to eat from there."


Are You My Roomie? [Open to one person, CR not required.]

The randomization, he thinks, is the worst part. There was a value, he knew, in having someone of your own faction present. A suite could then turn into a place for back room deals, for political planning, for even just sleep that you can earn without the threat of violence.

Instead, just about every year, this happened. David would stride into his room, robutler behind him carrying his things, and try to prepare for what could be the worst. One year, back before Krakoa, he'd ended up rooming with another woman from White Tower who had spent the last few months trying to seduce him away from Josh. Some years he entered to see a familiar face. Some he entered and waited and cringed when he met his roommate.

This year David just headed straight for the bathroom to change into sweats and his sassy t-shirt for the year which was a half a size too small and clung to his muscles like no one's business, and then sat himself down at a table to start taking his tablet apart.


The Convention Floor

Rarely was David interested in the convention floor at these things. Krakoa was often a more isolationist faction than other groups, and yet beholden to the White Tower. Given the fact that it was hard for them to enter their own outside agreements, much of the displays were just things that Krakoa knew they could not have, so why tempt themselves? This year was different.

This year David made his way through every display he could find on any day he wasn't presenting, often clad in black suits with large scarves that recreated pieces of art, or done in african nation styles and colors draped over himself in a fetching manner. He stopped and chatted up people managing displays. He even casually offered psychometric readings on objects people had with them, or were looking at in the city, a soft reminder meant to be passed along among the factions that David Alleyne was more than the technopath that he was most publicly remembered for. After all, he had two public gifts from the nanites. The one that could be used for his own defense he had always kept a tightly controlled secret.

But really, the main purpose here was to find people to talk to 'casually' about Krakoa. This was about politics, so any high placed individuals he recognized from other factions might find David making a casual, meandering way over to them before being offered a polite hello.

"A pleasure," he assures anyone he stops to talk. "It is always good to see friends from other places, brought together for the betterment of all. Perhaps you can spare me a moment to talk?"


Panel: How Technology Will Save Us [Open to others who would be on the panel or those who seek him after.]

It's a silly panel. One they have more years than not. One that has had a place for David since he was a member of the White Tower. One that he's frankly tired of. Another present on the panel goes off into beautiful, flowery language about just how their newest advance can blah blah blah. And David snorts in amusement as he listens. Which of course gets the moderator to look over at him.

"Do you disagree, Mister Alleyne?"

"That's Council Member Alleyne," David corrects as he straightens himself up in his seat and runs a hand down his heavily embroidered coat, black with the accenting gold that all members of the Krakoan leadership had elected to wear for the public aspects of the Synod. "And yes. I disagree with the entirety of this panel. The very premise is an inherent fallacy that we have played with for too many years. Were technology going to save us, especially with the illustrious Tony Stark among our number, it would have done so by now.

"For years I've heard this idea touted. That our answer is to invent ourselves out of the hole. I will tell you that in the advanced world I come from technology has not achieved this. What it has done is teach us how to kill each other faster, better, to be able to hunt down entire races and species to wipe them out more efficiently. Technology is the golden idol we keep turning our gaze to, in hopes of something more, of something better. We serve it in hopes that it will save us. And I regret to tell you that technology does not save people. People save people. Unity, cooperation, trust. These are the things that will save us. Yes, in the end we might use technology as a tool to a better future, but I suggest going forward we cease seeing it as some magical panacea and recognize it for what it is: one of a multitude of tools available to us that can solve only select portions of the problems we face as a people and as a world. A tool that should be turned to once we more completely learn how to use the far more important instruments of diplomacy, compassion, and cooperation."

He offers a warm smile to everyone present, and spreads his hands in an open sort of gesture as if to say 'or I could be crazy'.

"Of course that could just be the words of a man living on a beautiful tropical island who still hasn't had a chance to learn to surf because he's the first people go to for IT support. Could be I just really want to learn how to surf."


Gala Nights

David is a near whirlwind of activity in the evenings. Each night he finds himself flitting amid people, dressed regally in a long black coat over flowing pants, accented as ever in gold. It's like he's spending most days thumbing his nose at Euro-centric expectations of fashion for men, and the man seems delighted with it, praising designers who helped him when asked, or admitting timidly when a piece was his own design. But he moves amid people, smiling, engaging, flirting even.

But mostly what he does, and it's clear to anyone who watches him enough, is hunt down the movers and shakers of faction leadership. While David tends to give a wide berth to the known players of White Tower, Eden, and the Empire of Light, he does tend to find himself approaching other leaders, male or female, with offers to dance, or to lightly comment over the delicacies of the evening. All of it, of course, a play to get private conversations. Party? Maybe. Absolutely political evenings? Totally. So many people may find themselves getting asked to dance before David retreated to Josh Foley, presumably for a boost in energy levels for the next spin around the floor. That said, he's never really out of line of sight of Josh Foley, even when dancing. And if his eyes keep going to the other man, well it was public knowledge that Foley and Alleyne had once been lovers and their romance had been on the rocks since before the last Synod. Clearly it's just an old torch that hadn't quite burned out. Right?

And then there's Krakoa's night to shine. Their gala is decorated almost as an homage to island life, and definitely to recreate the lighter spirit on the island, the parties, the delight of youths reveling in a life of safety and peace.

When that gala starts David smiles at his fellows on the Council and takes the microphone to welcome others. How can he not this year? It was David who had taken charge of the menu and the message this year's little ball was supposed to convey. Look at us the food and decorations and bouncy music was supposed to say, we are young and in love with life and just want to have fun.

"Good evening all. I do so thank you for joining us tonight. Please remember to tip your Robutlers. Okay, not really, because I don't think they need more dents. Anyway, this year's cuisine is centered around many things we either grow or can catch on the island. Consider it a luau in a way. All of the courses were my own invention of course, so if you aren't fond of them, absolutely feel free to come up and sass the chef. I do my best, but there's so many of us present tonight that it's hard to account for all tastes. Anyway, Krakoa welcomes you, our brothers and sisters, and invites you to enjoy this brief taste of what it's like to live and laugh and love with all the vigor of youth. Oh, but don't raise complaints about the music choices with me. I had some of the kids put together what they liked before we left the island. If it was up to me, we'd have a live jazz band. Which apparently is as much of a problem as pineapple on pizza. Who knew?"

For Krakoa's gala David will hover closer to his fellows than other nights. He'll still dance, still let himself be pulled away, but tonight was about the show, the display of it all. And some things are meant to be experienced on their own. But hey, his glass of sangria has run out, maybe you want to fix that for him?

panel

[deadlycurves]

'Technology does not save people. People save people.' This, above and beyond every other part, is the piece of David's speech that resonates through Diego's entire body, a certainty beyond any other. People save people. It's such a simple statement, but the idea seems so frequently lost on people. Perhaps it's never being in the position to be one of the people saving people; maybe it's just the nature of human condition, to look to something, someone, else to fix everything, little difference between the reverent ways people look to technology and the way religion stares to the sky in hopes an invisible God or Goddess might save them all. The problem is, Gods and Goddesses are just ideas; technology is there, in people's hands at all times, and in the wrong ones, it could be really, really bad. Still, Diego was there for the panel, as he was for all of the ones featuring one of his fellow islanders. Support of each other is such a big leading force behind Krakoa, he wouldn't dream of being anywhere else. Eventually, David is done with the Q&A portion of things, sliding off stage to allow whoever's next come up to the podium. That's when Diego approaches him with a casual demeanor, despite every ounce of stress he feels, both from the Council member, and his own swirling in his chest. "You seriously still don't know how to surf?" He can't help the amused smirk on his face at the idea of it. What? Granted, he understands the immense number of responsibilities that fall onto the Council's shoulders, particularly with his sister being among t hem, but seriously, David? We live on an island.

Rude/Rodolfo | Olin Vale (Former Eden)

[looking_sharp]

Not Advised Presence

Rude had been told, in a good deal more words of course, that he should not come to the Synod. He supposed it was good advice, especially after reading everything that Cecelia had given him about the world, the history, the factions. He'd even found a collection of his own notes, written in code, that the man who had been the Rodolfo of this world before him had smuggled out of Eden. It had taken a bit of time to decode them, but there had been a picture painted, one that left him concerned.

Don't go, Cecelia had told him. It made sense, he'd been in hiding under the shelter of Olin Vale for years. But that was Rodolfo of this world. And he was Rude of another, and intelligence was one of his specialties. So after another round of curses to make sure he could do nothing to betray Olin Vale without a rather graphically described bit of suffering, Rude had gathered old suits out of his closet, packed up, and arrived.

And the place almost seemed to shake a weight from his shoulders. Completely unfamiliar and yet screaming of Midgar. This was a place Rude was comfortable with, sheltered in his sharp suit and eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Which, of course, did nothing to keep him from being paranoid when people approached. Who had he known? Who had he been friends with, lovers, rivals? It was impossible to know. He was a stranger in a strange land and his life might well be on the line.

But first... He was just frowning distrustfully down at his robutler.

"What if I don't want you?" he asked it very seriously.


Galas

If there was one thing in this world that Rude had seen which he knew how to handle, it was politically tense balls. Shinra had been full of them. Tonight just felt familiar, and as he often did back home, Rude hovered near the edge of the gathering watching, waiting, listening. Often his eyes flicked towards Cecelia, or others he may have met in Olin Vale, quietly protective of them in their presence. At other times he frowned as he watched someone he knew from the other world walk past. But unless there was a look of recognition in their eyes, he didn't bother to approach. What was the point?

It was difficult, being a man that knew people but shouldn't, and didn't recognize those he should. At least with his back to a wall he felt safer. Though not as safe as he would feel with Reno at his side. Fuck did he ever miss his partner.

While he wonders if he sticks out like a sore thumb, the man stands there anyway, continuing his attentiveness to the party. How does one even join in to these things? It'd never been a thing he had tried before.


Expo Floor

The duels catch his attention. In spite of an awareness that he really should be working through finding more information out, seeing if there are more people like him who are from his version of this imPort world, the duels just catch his eye. Sometimes they're with people who aren't the most talented. Others it's like sneaking in to watch the Soldiers First Class fight all over again. It's masterful. And what starts as a brief peek turns into Rude watching for hours.

Which probably isn't a good place for a former Eden spy with standing orders to be killed if at all subtly possible to just hang around. Especially when if someone turns to him and offers a duel he'll smile and agree.

For now, though, he watches and smirks and makes bets if anyone really wants to.

gala;

[dragony]

She's already run through the people she'd call friends and the people she recognizes in search of someone in the same situation, and come up with nothing. It's tempting to call the end of the search there, but Ruka refuses to believe she's truly alone in this situation. There have to be others who don't belong here, either — others who remember the world where they're supposed to be.

(And, well, some people might consider both worlds different colorways of the same cage and may have no desire to return, but... you know what? That's a problem for later.)

Her search criteria now is a simple one: the people who seem the most comfortable and integrated in this society are the ones most likely to belong; the ones who hang back, who wait before they speak and who volunteer little — they might just be antisocial, but they might be doing all they can to keep their legs steady beneath them in an uncertain world.

And so this is how Rude finds himself put on the spot: one moment, uninterrupted in his observation, and to the next rapidly approached by a strange-looking young woman. Short even in heels, the eye patch over her right eye is only barely obscured by the pale green hair that falls loose around her face.

"Hey," she offers, casual; her smile has a practiced softness, but her one visible eye is sharp—searching—in its gaze. "May I have this dance?"

Amaterasu | Okami | New ImPort - OTA

[mamaterasu]

i. Check-In

[Honestly, the only reason Ammy is even here is because she followed most of the members of EBL who were attending, and curiosity got the better of her. While not really sworn to one faction over the rest, Ammy feels most comfortable staying next to those she's met once before, and while her robutler putters about behind her cutely, hooking her lanyard around her neck like a loose collar and tag, she mostly just prowls the halls, sniffing around curiously and probably getting under foot.

Mostly because that stress ball she got from the swag bag? It is the best thing EVER, and she's been batting and throwing it around to chase after through the lobby.

Yes, that is a white wolf that was let into the establishment, and yes, it may be taking a leak in the corner at some point today. Listen, she's just as much dog as she is god, okay? Don't judge. At the very least, it wasn't done in her room, or on her roomie's bed or anything. She has at least some decorum.

Feel free to come across this creature while she prowls the halls, her robutler following close behind - m-more like a glorified mop than anything else, sadly...though she does at one point bark something at it and it hurries off, returning in a few minutes with a bowl filled with what seems like water.

It most certainly isn't water.

It's vodka.]
---

ii. Convention

[Now this is what Ammy really wanted from this sort of event - food, and some prime entertainment. The discussions and presentations bore her to sleep, literally, so after the first one, she knows to stay away, but the arena catches her attention right away. Wagging her tail and panting happily, Ammy signs herself up - or at least barges in like the fuzzy bulldozer she is, snorting and taking up a battle stance as she really gets fired up.

Head down, teeth and claws bared, ears flat against her head...she dares anyone to take a go at fighting her. She's more than what she appears, and the wolf will be extremely difficult to challenge, especially for those that only see her as a white wolf. Her godly form and weapons do not appear to those that don't believe in her, after all...so it'll be like fighting someone with invisible weapons and powers. Unpredictable until she triggers them.

But who knows...some might enjoy the challenge? Heaven knows she'll enjoy the effort, and Ammy is always up for a scrap - but she's hardy and tough as nails, too. And she won't hold back.]

Hrrrnn...ghrrrr!!
---

iii. Wildcard!!

[None of these tickling you fancy? Let me know and we can thread something different together!!]
---

[OOC: Please keep in mind it is IC for most people to not see Ammy's god form. They perceive her as just a white wolf. No markings, none of the swirly fur patterns, and no weapons. So if your character would want to fight her, please keep in mind they can only see her powers once they activate!

People who have knowledge of Amaterasu, even the legend, may see faint traces of red in her fur, but not much else. And those who are spiritually attuned or have faith/belief in gods may see her! Likewise with those who are supernatural (ghost, demon, angel, etc.) as well! If you wanna hash out anything, let me know on Plurk at: MelonFlavored or PM this journal!]

I. Check-in

[patchricide]

[For the briefest of moments, Allura's empathic senses feel like they're being overloaded.]

[She's used to the warm, radiant feeling of quintessence — of life energy. But she can hardly think of a time that she felt so much of it at once. Not even when she embraced the White Lion spirit, and had her mind awoken to Altean alchemy — it's as if a star briefly flared to life somewhere in the convention hall behind her.]

[But she's lost track of it by the time she turns around, and she's left swiveling her head about, looking from one imPort to another, trying to figure out if one of them might have been the culprit.]

[Her eyes settle on the white wolf, conspicuous even among imPorts...]



[Which is adorable and looks incredibly soft. Can she pet it?? Can she???]

[She needs to get its attention somehow. But that ball is already very enticing, and all she's armed with at the moment is... an identical stress ball. Can she get a game of fetch going with just this?]

[Well, an idea crosses her mind. She channels a bit of energy into the ball, and then... holds it up, whistling for the wolf's attention.]

Here! Do you want my ball, too?

Midnighter ⧒ the White Tower (OTA)

[heliophilic]

Death Train
[They said to get on the Death Train, so M, ever the "loyal" soldier, does as he's told. He boards, dressed in his usual Midnighter uniform, early in order to find a strategic seat that enables him to see most of the train at once, and the part that he can't easily make out is a section rarely used. From there he watches with hidden amusement as everyone willingly piles on to something called the Death Train without batting an eye.

How did the world get like this? How do the people at the top not realize how cartoonishly evil they became? It wasn't as if M had trust for anyone at the top of anything at the best of times, but this somehow took it all to a whole new level.

Thanks to his implants, he senses someone approach before he can make out who. As it's been since waking up in this body, the red x is present over their face. Once again M has to fight a wince... the other him was definitely not doing too good.]

This seat's open if you're looking.


Arrival
[M isn't the most thrilled about his new energetic robot pal, but still, it's at least good to carry the duffel bag that he's brought with him while he walks through the lobby and gets the lay of the land. From what he'd managed to learn about the Midnighter on the sly, it wasn't uncommon for the other him to just sort of... stop and stare at things (for what M could only assume was moments when the computer getting a little too strong), and so that's what he does. He stops and he stares at a nearby plant.

Stupid plant.

Plant sufficiently mentally murdered, he goes to move again, only to purposefully allow himself to bump into someone.]

Excuse me.

[He says curtly, like he wasn't the asshole going around bumping into people.]


Convention Floor
[As he isn't fully sure what the other Midnighter would do at these sorts of things, M just mostly wanders the halls during the day, staring at people and sitting in out of the way spots. By the third day, he's starting to creep himself out, because he can't imagine how anyone could possibly live like this, and it was a version of him.

For anyone that knows him, what's curious is that while he does spend most of his time in uniform, on rare occasions he's actually seen in casual clothes—jeans and t-shirts that if anyone had to hazard a guess, actually belong to Apollo. Still, the man with the short reddish brown hair might give off the appearance of a new arrival. Perhaps he's confused as one?

By the end of the week especially, he's far more likely to approach someone and strike up a conversation, especially if they appear that they don't wish to be spoken to. It's been far too long since he's had a chance to bother someone, after all.]


Evening
[By even the first night, M is exhausted of playing Midnighter. Not the him Midnighter, the other guy Midnighter. So rather than put on the costume and go glower at people at dinner, he's instead dressed in his all-black tuxedo from the White Tower Gala, properly this time, sans mask. He does his best to look dour and miserable as he enters, subtly taking in the crowds, hoping he sees someone he recognizes... or more importantly, recognizes him.

He might attempt to strike up a conversation if someone seems open to it as they take their dinner, or later in the evening as he circles the room like a shark. Hell, if he's feeling particularly bold (or more importantly, bored out of his skull), he might ask someone or accept an invitation to dance.]


Wildcard
[Make your own starter, or hit me up at redconfession or Kaitie#0107 for a custom starter!]

convention

[burlyboy]

[ Magnus hasn't spotted M yet. But maybe that's a good thing for M; the only thing restraining Magnus from going after him whole heartedly is the fact that he would be summarily stopped by people more powerful than him, both physically and politically, and because this is a place to broker peace. Magnus will behave. For now. But he and the Midnighter have bad blood between them. Magnus would gladly see the man dead, and he assumes that the opposite holds true as well if the Midnighter even has any feelings.

But for the time being, M will see Magnus loitering at one of the tables at the back of the hall, looking grimly around him with the air of someone who's not going to start a fight, but would gladly jump into one. Parts of him look recently injured, which isn't unusual for Magnus in any world. What is, as M may notice, is the fact that while his left arm is bare, his right arm is sleeved, and his right hand is snugly gloved. ]

Kang ⧓ Seekers of the New Dawn

[governorkang]

Arrival

"Less junk than last year. Maybe there was a budget cut."

Kang is quick to ditch most of the items in the swag bag after going through it, only needing the tablet and lanyard. With a resigned sigh, he grudgingly decides not to destroy the annoying little robot (for now), and heads for his room. Last year, he'd had a surprise roommate, and he's hoping that it won't happen again this year.

Convention

He's dressed to impress in his linen kilts and tunics, leather belt, thick gold chain necklace, and woolen, black fur-trimmed cloak. Events like this are important, and he has to make as good an impression as possible given that he is the Master Engineer of the Seekers of the New Dawn and one of the handful of Spokespeople. Even with the clothing, he keeps his demeanor fairly casual, though he's able to quickly turn on the formal charm when needed.

Kang has worked with imPorts from other factions before, whether it be from an engineering project, an exchange of information, or a negotiation. He also recognizes a few from his time as a member of White Tower several years back, and will exchange a few words or a nod.

Evenings

Dinners are spent with him at a different table every night, chatting with anyone he hasn't seen in a while or anyone that seems like they might be interesting to talk to. Not wanting to be rude, he always politely asks, "May I sit here?" before joining other diners. As for dancing, he avoids that as much as he can, preferring to watch as everyone else takes to the floor. The few brave enough to ask him to dance will have to be very convincing (or persistent).

"Oh, no, I'm not much of a dancer. I'll end up stepping all over your feet."

[A new starter is pending, depending on mod acceptance of panel topic!]

Evening/dancing

[rimuru]

It's the first time Rimuru came to the Synod, despite being part of the Krakoa Council; he never felt any need to come to such a thing (politics are not his forte and would leave that to other council members) and he is still not exactly... thrilled to be here. However, finally putting actual faces to names was interesting.

And being the magical being he is - a slime - he feels a lot more drawn to other non-humans (though he always says he doesn't make such difference!) and therefor Kang for sure caught his attention.

Since the Synod is to mingle and form alliances, why not? he approaches, while in his current human form and indeed does ask for a dance. "I wouldn't mind that, if you wish, I could always teach you?" he smiles wide, but he will not insist any further than this - he doesn't want to make the other uncomfortable, of course.

Jin Bubaigawara(s) ⧒ the Twin Cities | OTA

[ttwwiiccee]

WELCOME(s) & GENERAL

[ Four Jin Bubaigawaras step out together, each of them with unimportant jobs back in the Cities who can be spared as Jin Representatives for the Synod, and all of them except one are capable of replicating themselves if need be or to loan themselves out to other Factions. They're a relatively new faction, so they're excited by the prospect of the Synod and chatter together and at their robutlers as they settle in.

All but one. Twice, quantum leaped into one specific Jin, has only the barest understanding of what the Synod is and his main goal is to both try to seamlessly blend in with the others (which he doesn't quite manage, looking far more anxious) and find a way out to not have to return to the Twin Cities by the end of this all. He's keeping an eye out especially for anyone he recognizes, glancing around at the other attendees far more closely than his doubles. ]

PANEL: "The Twin Cities are NOT Dimensionally Unstable No Matter What You Heard About the Dying Cryptid in the River and the Strange Ghost-like Apparations Of Alternate Worlds and the Disappearing and Reappearing Building on Parliament Hill, It's Totally Fine and Cool We Promise"

[ Twice declines from hosting the panel, instead claiming his status as Network representative to record it, so he's sitting in the audience as three identical Jin Bubaigawaras try to convince the audience that no, the rumours aren't true, the mass amount of imPort clones haven't overloaded their Gate's ability to protect the area from dimensional bleed.

By the end of the panel they haven't even convinced themselves and get into a very heated debate about it. One of them is still insisting that everything is fine. One is saying they need to spread out among other factions or even apply for more gates so they can take over more territory and lessen the effect. The third is proposing an outright culling of Bubaigawaras.

At the last one, Twice tries to slowly slide off his seat and away from the panel. ]

I knew it. Couldn't see this coming at all!

EVENING

[ If there's one thing the panel did, is that after that the Jins are no longer a united front travelling in a pack. Instead they're mingling, each trying to go their own way, even if they are wearing four almost-identical suits. They're all in different colours; one is wearing black, one is wearing grey, one is wearing blue, and Twice is there in all off-white.

Twice is grateful to be separated from the others from those evenings on, and outright seems to be avoiding them as much as possible. He might actually try to duck behind someone in order to avoid one of his alternates - ] Sorry! Not sorry!

[ At the dance he hovers near the edges, not expecting to be picked - why dance with him specifically when you can dance with one of the three other ones? But he'll cling to anyone he recognizes or smile and nod at those he doesn't (or doesn't know if he should). ]

(( I'm treating the non-Quantum Leap Jins as glorified NPCs and writing from the point of view of Quantum Leap'd Jin & calling the latter "Twice" to distinguish him from the others. Thanks. Sorry. Also prose or brackets are both good, I'll switch to match. & finally, let me know if you want a Jin or Twice as a roommate. ty. ))

TTCANDUNMWYHATDCITRATSGLAOAWATDARBOPHITFACWP

[self_immolate]

[ At the sight of a world full of other people, Dabi unhesitatingly peels away from Twice and goes on to explore his surroundings. Maybe learn a thing or two about this new place, since he'd obviously thoroughly neglected that his first time around.

Twice has plenty of new people to mingle with anyway, as do his clones. They'll live, and they probably won't kill each other. It's fine.

He only belatedly attends the panel with the resigned expectation of getting some information—however much information Twice clones (because apparently the original isn't up there) are capable of delivering cohesively, which is not very much. He's several minutes into hearing them contradict the title of their panel and each other when he spots "his" Twice, trying to creep his way away from the clones.

It's an easy interception from his spot against the wall, though Dabi doubts he needs it when Twice is alert to his companions from "home" like a dog on the trail of sausage. Expression blank as ever, he comments in that kind of dry Dabi humor that doesn't tell you if he's pissed or maybe just a little bit amused. ]

You didn't say anything about there bein' Mothman.