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

jaime reyes | ota | krakoa ➞ secret defector

[khajidont]

a. the death train.

[ That Jaime went to see some friends at the White Tower - or, well, say that he did - just before the Synod means that he's stuck in the unhappy position of taking the Death Train over. He's been on it before, of course. Most people have. But he doesn't particularly enjoy it, and if he could get away with simply flying over, he would. It just seems to risky to do so, too easy to get caught.

So here is now, sitting at a window seat, resting his chin on the heel of his hand, the lunch that has been passed out to everyone gone uneaten in front of him. ]

Geez, [ he mutters. ] It never changes.

[ It's sad. ]

b. robobutler.

[ Some may be annoyed with their robobutler, but Jaime seems enthralled! It's not the technology, nor is it the fact that it's a robot (even if Jaime's always liked robots), but he's always gotten along well with people and things a little less than human. Or a little more. Like him. ]

Yes, [ he can be heard telling one, the hint of a laugh on his breath. ] I won't leave. Don't worry. I'm just trying to improve your vocab. And your dexterity. Here, let's try again. Catch!

[ The robobutler, miraculously, manages to catch the stressball. Jaime claps for him, ignoring the indignant feeling emanating from Khaji. ] You did it! Yayyy!

Y A A A A Y.

c. party.

[ It is in Jaime's best interest to act normally, but if he's going to meet up with anyone he's been providing funds and support to in those who have drifted away from White Tower - giving it primarily either to those who wish to defect themselves, to assist in factions and programs that are maintaining peace and neutrality, and otherwise trying to undermine imPort supremacy without touching Krakoa - it's here. He just hopes he can keep his cool in front of... everyone. Ugh. He'd better not get caught.

In not getting caught, he can be found just about anywhere. He'll dance when asked, help himself to food at the feasts, and listen carefully at all of the panels, a studiously neutral expression on his face. But he's more willing to talk to those around him than many here, and is quick with a tight-lipped smile, even if they're supposed to be enemies. Jaime's not in the business of making enemies, after all. ]

d. roomies.

[ Sharing a room is the last thing Jaime wants to do, especially with a stranger. But it's what they've been given, and it's not as though they can find lodgings elsewhere, so this is just the way it has to be. Jaime wheels his luggage in and flops on his bed, procrastinating on finally unpacking all of his stuff. ]

You know, for such a fancy event, you'd think they'd be able to afford to give everyone their own rooms. Depending on the combos, this is a baaaaaad idea.

e. wildcard.

[ CYOA! Or plot w me on plurk @

D - New roommate!

[drivesadesk]

"Oh, yeah, definitely," says the hooded figure as he carries in his own bags.

Once he's inside, he shuts the door behind him and pulls down his hood, revealing a face that's much less intimidating than one might expect. He doesn't really know Jaime, and he takes that as a good sign. Sure, he thinks he might have seen that face a few times before everyone went their separate ways to avoid destabilizing this world, but that was so long ago who can really remember? And it's not relevant for his concerns, anyway. Granted, Jaime could be with the White Tower without him knowing, and revealing his identity might have been a horrible mistake, but since there's no way he's going to be able to hide his face from his own roommate, he figures he might as well get the big reveal over with. If it ends in disaster...well, it's not really avoidable, now is it?

"You don't even know how many people here want me dead. I don't remember ever pissing you off, though, so I'm hoping that means everything's okay here?"

Sure, he'd just come back if they decided to kill him, but that just means they'd get to do it again.

"I'm Jonathan, I'm with the Northwestern Imperium."

b

[rebelarrow]

You seem to have a knack for dealing with your robot.

[His robutler is trailing behind by several paces. Judd doesn't dislike the thing, like many do, but he also has no idea what to do with them, either.]

I have yet to adjust to them.

pepper potts ⋈ the white tower

[efficacy]

[ ooc: adding prompts here soon! all open prompts happen on the first 2-3 days of the synod before high chancellor stark's murder. her canonpoint is endgame (before the final battle) and she's Tired of all of this weirdness. tags might be a bit slow over the weekend, prose & brackets both welcome! for any questions/plotting, hmu over at ebsolutely ]

daytime events | ota

[efficacy]

Pepper doesn't know what to expect of the Synod. She doesn't even know precisely why she's here, beyond a half-baked abstract of "looking for allies". Since meeting High Chancellor Stark a mere handful of hours after ending up in this strange world, she hasn't really gotten much further in her investigation; into the whys and the hows. She's still fairly convinced the infinity stones are somehow responsible for this mess, shredding reality and plunging her into this alternate existence where her husband is not, in fact, her husband and nothing in general makes much sense. After getting familiar with the White Tower's values and agendas, she doesn't hold much hope for the other cities, either.

The fact that they're effectively sealed in for the week causes some anxiety to churn in the pit of her stomach, but what's done is done. This could be a terrible decision, but she has to try something. After carefully stashing her Rescue suit in her suite, Pepper grabs her keycard (and the stress ball) and hits the convention floor. She keeps as low a profile as she can, Stark's (she can't think of him as Tony) warnings regarding the First Lady present in the back of her mind.

She tours the Expo sections and pauses to watch some of the duels and demonstrations. She attends several lectures as well, but always picks a place off to the side, making sure to mark the nearest exit. She makes small talk with others and tries to recall the days when this kind of networking came so easily, keeping an ear to the ground. Through it all, she keeps an eye on any familiar faces, even if she knows the likelihood is slim. The stress ball barely leaves her hands, slim fingers idly toying with it. Whoever thought to include it in the swag bag was pretty genius, honestly.

evening | ota

[efficacy]

It's been a while since Pepper's had to deal with galas and elaborate evening affairs, once such a regular occurrence in her life. Not so much since Thanos' snap. She's gotten so used to a smaller, quieter life and a more casual wardrobe in the last five years that it feels strange now to slip into the silky blue number, even if she pulls it off as well as she always did. She might be pushing fifty, but she knows she still has killer legs, at least. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled up in a neat and simple chignon at the back of her neck.

There's a curious sense of masquerade about the dinners. These evenings are purely for socializing and slyly plying whatever agenda people have, business and personal alike. It's easier to play a role now and during the day, get dolled up and pretend. Pepper is practiced at this, conversing and smiling easily even if her smile rarely reaches her eyes. She makes the rounds after dinner, drink in hand she only occasionally sips from. She might even indulge in a dance or two if so asked. But all the while she keeps searching for something, making sure she doesn't draw too much attention from anyone; here and there locating a quieter spot to catch her breath in for a couple of minutes before slipping back into the crush of people in their evening finery.

magnus burnsides | from olin vale; semi-known rebel

[burlyboy]

a. party.

[ Magnus may not be thrilled to be here, but he'll certainly take advantage of the amenities. He's carrying a sturdy pack with him, where all of the contents of the loot bag goes, and when nobody's looking on the last days of the ceremony, he can be seen tucking the hardier goods into his bag; bread, anything pre-packaged, and as many bottles of water as he can muster. They'll hardly miss it.

Otherwise, he can be found searching for anyone he knows or used to work with, or hitting up the bar for seemingly limitless amounts of ale. When he's not getting plastered, he can be found on or off the dance floor. It's not about the dancing. If nothing else, it feels comfortably anonymous to him in this dark room filled with bodies. Here, you'd barely be able to tell everything going on in the outside world. ]

b. conference hall.

[ Magnus isn't at all interested in the panels going on. He knows where he stands, and nothing is going to change his mind. The only place that has is Olin Vale, and that's because they rescued him. He'll fight for them, he'll fight for the rebellion, he'll fight for what he sees as justice, but he sure as fuck isn't going to sit around listening to people's lips wag.

He sits at a table in the back of the hall, hands linked behind his head, feet propped up on the table, clearly not listening. He looks as he ordinarily does - he doesn't have the money to buy fancy clothing - in garb that's ready for activity, with only his right arm sleeved, and a glove on his right hand. You can confront him about his belligerence. Or maybe you overhear him as he rolls his eyes at some passer-by commenting on him as he says, ] Yeah. Still here. Whoever reported me dead jumped the gun.

c. random roomies.

[ When Magnus gets to his room, his companion may notice he only has two bags; a large backpack, and a sack that gets tied on top of it. It takes him no time at all to get his things sorted out, and then he sits cross-legged on the bed closest to the door, glancing suspiciously around the room. ]

I call dibs.

d. wildcard.

[ CYOA! If you want something specific, hmu on plurk @ wisdombitch. ]

A

[bestest_ladle]

[well, it's happened again. one moment Meeth is going about her life, the next she's been chunked into some iteration of Earth, not unlike the way she was chunked down the cliffs to Lake Cyela by the Temple soldiers. and she has not grown any more fond of the experience.

so she stomps around what looks like a Swear-In in a vastly creepier climate, one that makes her leaves practically itch with the wrongness of it, looking for familiar faces and, if not that, enemies to wallop--

AH.]

MAGSIE! [She instantly rolls towards him and then just as instantly dismisses her urn to fling herself at him in a big bear hug. Never mind that she's only about a meter tall, SHE CAN GIVE HIM A BEAR HUG IF SHE WANTS.] It's about time I ran into someone normal in this placie!

claude von riegen | eden

[nobilitease]

a. arrival.

[ Three weeks here, and already Claude's found himself roped into what has to be one of his least favourite things in the world: political shindigs. Sure, they're useful for gaining information and making alliances, but they always make his skin crawl. A necessary evil, he thinks as he strides in, eyes wide, though it's not obvious whether he's playing up his surprise or not. ]

Having a party in the middle of all this seems a bit... grim, doesn't it?

b. party party.

[ Claude winds up grabbing what he figures will look like an alcoholic drink from the bar; soda water with lime, easy enough to pass off for a vodka soda. He doesn't want to look like a stick-in-the-mud, after all. He indulges in the feast with the rest of them, and when it's time for dancing, he can think of no better way to get to know people.

So don't be surprised if Claude comes your way, offering his hand to you. ] Care to dance?

c. conferences.

[ The conference, though, is where it's really at. Claude doesn't participate, but he watches everything with an eagle eye, clearly committing everything said to memory. He looks awfully intense for someone who nobody has seen here before due to his recent arrival here, but this is one place where he doesn't feel he has to hide it. It should be everyone's civic duty to figure out what the hell is going on here.

And if there are any question-answer periods, you bet your ass Claude's hand is shooting up into the air like a child who really knows the answer to the math equation on the blackboard. ]

d. roomies.

[ Do you know what else Claude doesn't like? Having to share lodgings with someone he doesn't know and has no reason to trust. He has to grit his teeth and bear it, though, and he sticks his hand out to whoever is rooming with him with a smile. ]

Hi. Nice to meet you. The name's Claude. How about you?

[ He waits until the other person falls asleep - or at least tries to - before crawling underneath the covers himself, shoes on his feet and a dagger tucked underneath his pillow. Just in case. ]

b

[desmodusdraculae]

[Kirk stares at the hand pointed in his general direction, as if unsure of its meaning despite the owner of said hand making its meaning quite clear.]

Me?

[Kirk, for his part, has his hair slicked back and in a plain black suit in his attempt to be passable compared to everyone around him.]

(captain) rex | eden

[ct_7567]

a. arrival.

[ Rex isn't thrilled to be greeted by a little, useless, droid. He's even less happy that he's being followed around by one. It's with a distinct sense of exasperation that he looks down at the robot chirping at him and says, again, ] Yes, I know the rules. Go away.

Do not leave the facility!

I won't --

You look like you need a stress ball, graciously provided by your hosts!

[ He groans. ] God save me from useless droids. I'd rather be followed around by C-3PO.

[ ... ]

No, I wouldn't.

b. smoke break.

[ It's not long after he arrives that Rex decides he could use a break from the crowds. He steps outside on one of the porches, looking out at the grim wasteland in front of him, and lights his cigarette, savouring the quiet. He really ought to quit. His lifespan is short enough.

He takes another drag.

If you happen to come out here with him, he'll glance over at you before brandishing his lighter. ] Need a light?

c. party / conferences.

[ Rex attends both the party itself and the conferences with the same steadfastness as he does anything else. He will dance with those who ask him to - though he does so with practical efficiency, there's not much to light one's heart aflame; Rex may not be taken in this universe, but few people had ever wanted him in the first place - but will otherwise stick to the bar, indulging in a small glass of something dark and strong.

The conferences are more his speed, and he spends his time there diligently as an almost unusually nondescript presence, as is customary in his line of work. He watches, he listens, and he says very little. He doesn't look entirely impressed, but he rarely does.

Frankly, the whole thing gives him the impression that the fight won't be over anytime soon. It's exhausting. He's tired of it. He just hopes none of that bleakness shows on his face. ]

d. roomies.

[ Like everyone else, Rex isn't thrilled by the prospect of having to share lodgings with a stranger - or not, depending on who it is he gets - but he's also used to doing things he's uncomfortable with. It's in his line of work, after all, and if he plays his cards right and gets matched with the right person, he might get some information out of it. If not, he'll go for a stroll around the premises until morning, catch a few catnaps throughout the day so he doesn't have to share lodgings for long.

In any case, he's cordial enough, if not a bit stiff. ]

This will last a week, [ he says, ] so we may as well get along. My name's Rex. Who are you?

son party allowed

[vokrad]

Man.

[an empty shot glass is loudly set on Rex's table, preceding the screeching of chair legs and the inevitable flop of Marty's body into the seat. there's been real no time nor need for training in party manners, and that absence sure is apparent in such a setting as he slumps forward, elbows on the table, himself looking more drifter than esteemed guest.]

This place sucks. When do we get to go again?

Roomies hahahahahah

[looking_sharp]

[Rude's in the bathroom when his arbitrarily assigned roommate walks into the room. The guy must see the light through the open door, that much be why he speaks. His words would have been different, after all, if he had seen who it was in the room.

While Rude had been wandering the floors since his arrival in a suit, he'd switched into some of the clothes he'd brought with him that were clearly not from Eden, unlike the suit. Just a nice, open shirt that he had clearly unbuttoned so he could dry his face, given Rude was mid-shaving his head.

He stuck his head out of the bathroom, drying off a bit, and nodded at the stranger.]

Rodolfo.

[Not the name he'd openly used in Eden. His actual given name, even if he'd often gone by Rude among all but friends.]

b

[rebelarrow]

[Judd simply shakes his head at the offer. That isn't why he sought this quiet place out.]

No, thank you. I do not smoke.

[He glances outward.]

I wished for quiet... and to remember.

arrival

[lothal]

You sure? I think it'd be fun for a change and then.... immediately not fun. Yeah, you're right.

[He's not sure if he's ever met Threepio, though the stories Luke's told him remind him of a particularly annoying droid he met on one of his first missions.

Ezra takes the stress ball the droid keeps offering to Rex, tossing it back and forth between his hands as the droid finally leaves them alone.]

Least they're nicer than Chopper. [And having to remind himself again this isn't his Rex...] That's- that's the droid I worked with back home. I forget if I've ever told you about him.

a

[legalcy]

[For all the anti-Resistance sentiment in the conference's lineup, Ultra Magnus is tolerated. Being from one of the Resistance cells willing to take down their own members (and members of the White Tower, of Eden, of anything, really) for using brutal and cruel plans, he is the symbol of their apparent neutrality. Unfortunately for him and for the robot piloting the suit, there is little he can do in arresting criminals here.

For now, they must work together to survive. However, he won't be happy about much of his company.]

The drone is only doing its job. [He says in a scolding tone to Rex.] Captain Rex of Eden.

closed to ruka, tony & rey;

[pillz]

[following the shocking announcement of tony's death, ruka's offer to help repair tony's mind was...

...unexpected, to say the least. out-of-character, a little. kavinsky watched her demonstrate her power on another import, resolving the nightmare kavinsky gave themm and he still isn't sure what's going on. he'd bet money that she's up to something, but once chancellor palpatine rather elegantly insisted that she must preside over the interaction, for the safety of all, he knew that, at the very least, ruka wasn't simply another assassin sent to add to tony's incredibly shitty 2020 synod experience. or if she is, then at least rey didn't send her.

he senses rey herself might be a threat to ruka, but you know what? gambling with the lives of others is nothing new. and in this world, you come right back like a video game character.

the four of them are here now, in tony and rey's luxury hotel suite.

faithful as ever, kavinsky stands beside the new chancellor, over by the doorway, murmuring periodically in low voices. between the force and drones uplinked to kavinsky's ra glasses, both of rey and he strain their senses to detect anyone who might approach down the hallway, splitting their attention between that and of course-- the bed. tony's lying there, slowly stirring for the first time in hours, from his force-induced sleep. ruka by his side.]

[houseparty]

( Usually, Tony's up and at 'em to an annoying degree, bright and early. Today isn't one of those days. Waking is...hard. Slow. A crawl toward reasonable consciousness that's more than blurs of sight and sound and the vague awareness of others nearby.

It's the restraints, honestly, that get the wheels really turning- what might have been a quick run of his fingers across the bridge of his nose...isn't, because his wrists are locked down at his sides beneath the sheets. He squirms for a second, finding his ankles equally immobilized, dragging his eyes open with a mumble: )

Manifold, babe, 's too early for handcu- Oh.

( That's for Ruka at his side, though his gaze swings wider to take in Kavinsky and Rey at the doorway. )

...I have several questions.

Jonathan Walsh ⧓ Northwest Imperium

[drivesadesk]

Jonathan attends the Synod, but he's wary. There are a lot of people from the White Tower that would have his head if they got the chance. Granted, he'd come back, but that still doesn't mean he wants to get killed. Not to mention, they'd probably try to torture any information out of him that they could manage, and they might get a hold of the encrypted flash drives he was smuggling in, each of them stashed instead a Russian doll. Of course, that's why he dressed in an outfit that might look a little unusual, but certainly did help to hide his identity. And sure, the outfit might stand out when he's walking on the streets, but here? He's certainly not the strangest looking imPort in this place, especially since he is sticking to his human guise.

Despite the temptation, Jonathan resists the urge to go to the spa or power gym. It would feel great, but he knows it would be difficult to do either while still staying somewhat anonymous, and people from the White Tower were everywhere in this place.

Instead, he can be seen lurking in the back at expos and panels, and he makes absolutely certain to be at Count Dooku's panel. What he has to say, after all, is far too important to be ignored.

At the dinners, he only seems to be interested in actually eating any of the food about every other day, spending the rest of them generally lurking about. And, while once he'd be in the middle of the dancing once the evening began, enjoying the throng of bodies and movement, now he just lurks in the corner of the ballroom, watching the crowds.

Closed to Resistance
He'll meet anywhere, as long as it's a quieter area, and a place where it won't look too suspicious to have an imPort chilling out for a bit. He's sitting on the bench with his swag bag beside him, and inside it, among the t-shirt and pen and other little bits and bobs, is a Russian doll. And, in place of the tiniest doll, is a flash drive containing all the information he got from Ysanne Isard. Basically locations where she's allowing the Resistance to set up a bunker, as well as information on how to get any of the materials she was offering the support the resistance. Supplies, weapons, even ways to communicate securely and finances were all being offering by the Northwest Imperium. There's information, as well. Apparently the White Tower isn't as strong and secure as it seems, at least according to Isard, and they should try to coordinate and strike as quickly as possible.

But of course, he has to get this information to his allies without risking it falling into the wrong hands, which is why each flash drive is password locked. He will provide the password when he makes the pass.

For now, however, he waits for whoever he's meeting, acting like he's intensely interested in whatever he's reading on his phone.

Resistance sneaky things

[loyal_soldier]

He's working security. He has access others don't, and not just because of that--he's kept on to his image as a cloned soldier. He's supposed to be a well-meaning idiot who follows authority figures with nary a question as to why they're in charge, or if they deserve to be there.

Shows what they all know about clones, if that fools them. He'd had his loyalties, and they wouldn't transfer like this.

But because he's still that perfect soldier even as he slides into an accelerated middle age, it doesn't matter that he has access when it comes to doing something normal. Spontaneous social interaction isn't supposed to be something he does, outside of a few longtime friends and colleagues. He's relaxed since the early days, but that image of what people thinks he is has become too valuable to throw away.

So this has to take place in the gym after his morning routine. It's a social hub for enough health freaks that it won't look amiss anyway, even if the contact doesn't join in--with imPorts working out here, there's always something bizarre to watch from the sidelines.

"Enjoying the place?" He nods toward the gift bag.

Resistance

[chenqing_player]

As soon as Wei Wuxian go the text he had started to move. He knows that anytime they get any sort of tip that time is important. Some times things have to be done immediately and especially with his skill set, it is important that the timing be perfect. So he doesn't waste any time in making it to the meeting spot.

He has met the man he is coordinating with a few times. He has been with the resistance long enough to know several of the members from various tasks that sometimes have to be carried out by teams.

And so when he steps up to the meeting place, he offers a smile as if this is just a friendly meeting between Imports. Wei Wuxian had always been a social kind of person so it's not hard to believe that he would be friends with people across factions.

"Are you enjoying the festivities?"

[legalcy]

The Cybertronian known as Ultra Magnus would be incredibly conspicuous in the streets. It's part of his qualifications; if a murderer saw a giant robot running after they, they would likely cease their criminal activity. If Minimus Ambus were not adverse to leaving his armor (or acknowledging his existence outside of his role), he would have thought of stripping himself of his outer shells and sneaking around in his smallest form.

Instead, the hauler parks in a warehouse and he sends a holomatter avatar to meet with the others. The solid light projection takes some energy and leaves his body vulnerable, but it allows him to walk among the people as a human girl. Those that have known him for some time would recognize her - he always has his avatar wear the same outfit.

He assumes a laid-back pose, leaning against a wall with one leg bent. This is just an everyday mid-2000's teenager who wants to be alone.

Finn Onaru | OTA

[fireandhoney]

Death Train
Finn thought about making up an excuse as to why he couldn't go, but as a council member, he's expected to make an appearance. Finn takes a seat in the car, idly drawing on his sketchpad while he rides. He's still having trouble wrapping his head around all this, what with him being a dictator and part of the bad guys. This is just what his mentor warned him about. Once he gets hungry, he makes his way to the buffet car, grabbing himself a tart and some wine, and sitting down at one of the small tables.

Convention
Finn wanders about the convention for a while, looking at everything. Perhaps this will help him blend in if he knows what's going on or what technologies are being proposed. He has to say, some of them sound pretty interesting, if only they were in better hands. The books in particular, if he had those back in his reality, he'd never leave the house boat. "I wonder if any of these book can make me better at sculpting."

He also makes sure to attend an expo, especially Count Dooku's. He still remembers this guy from before he got ported out, and the big murder he contracted Finn and Lucien for a couple of years ago. Finn listens carefully, but refrains from asking anything. He's still unsure of what his other self would ask, and he can do more good if nobody knows he's not the Finn Onaru that they know.

Party
Dinner sees Finn dressing in a regal blue, knee-length robe and opting for some fancy seafood dish, since apparently this other version of him wouldn't be caught dead eating at a casual diner. He asked his personal chef to make him a taco the other day, and she made him a gourmet version of one. Thus, seared fish and a salad for him. He still takes some hot sauce from the table and drips some onto his fish, and sneaked a few peppers into his salad.

Later, he makes his way into the ballroom. It might help him blend in if he dances or makes small talk with his fellow imPorts. After all, he's the ruler of a small portion of Florida. Anyone is free to come up and chat or ask him for a dance. Later, he can be found taking a small break from socializing, leaning against the wall and keeping his head low. Sometimes he dislikes being the only Dunmer in the world.

Ballroom

[drivesadesk]

Jonathan, in the meantime, is keeping to the shadows, the hood of his strange black outfit pulled down low over his face. However, Finn knows Jonathan well, so he might notices something familiar about this man's frame, or the shape of his jaw as he keeps his head low, but not too low, since he still wants to watch and listen to the world around him. Or maybe he doesn't recognize him at all. After all, Jonathan's there, right in plain sight. Anyone could head up and start a bit of conversation.

Princess Allura ⋈ Mad Burnish | OTA

[patchricide]

I. DEATH TRAIN

No matter how extensively she's used them for the past few years now, Earth's time measurements are still wildly different from the ones used among Alteans. And so it still surprises her, somehow, just how long two and a half hours can feel.

Perhaps, though, part of that has been exaggerated by how arduous the trip is. For one thing, she's been once again flung into an alternate dimension, and it's left her with neither friends from the last dimension nor as warm of a welcome to meet many new ones. She's lonely, and more than that, she's bored. And she could use some sort of distraction to pull her attention away from the landscape outside, which she can feel through her empathic senses in ways others simply cannot.

So, she spends very little time sitting, trying to find something else to do to pass the time. She's searching the other cars, snooping around and peeking in on what the other people are doing. Surely she can't be the only other bored person here, right?

Maybe someone else has been making their own entertainment that she can invade. A deck of cards or some sort of parlor game. Stacking pastries from the buffet car. A makeshift slide down the length of the train. She's not worried about anything that sounds too silly or undignified; beggars can't be choosers.


II. ARRIVAL & CONVENTION

First things first: She promptly puts her complimentary t-shirt on her robutler. Just as a little way to help tell hers apart from all the other robutlers bustling around after imPorts. Hopefully it won't catch on, or else she'll need to find some other way to distinguish her robutler.

(Maybe she can find a way to put a fake moustache on it. It could look like Coran.)

After that, she's aware that the first order of buisness ought to be heading up to her room and dropping off the swag, but the tedium of the train really got to her. Instead, she hands everything over to her new robot friend, and instructs it to follow her right out onto the convention floor, while she checks the schedule of events on the tablet.

"Some of these names are... strikingly familiar," she mutters to herself, scrolling through the list of panels and debates. "I wonder what we could learn, if we were able to cross-reference the imPorts chosen by this Porter with the Porter back home?"

She stops dead in her tracks, thinking about it. When did she start to consider Earth to be home, anyway?

However, it's never advised to stop moving while in the middle of a crowd. Someone else bumps into her, knocking her down. A traffic jam is forming. And boy, that robutler appears to be panicking instead of helping her back to her feet.


III. Rooming (limited to 1)

Apparently, "PANIC" is Allura's robutler's default setting. It's embarrassed her more than once on the convention floor. So, she thought she might leave it in the room.

However, when she told it to stay behind, it proceeded to... panic. And it refused to be talked down. One thing led to another, and... well.

Her roommate will walk in on Allura holding a closet door shut, while the mechanical squealing of a panicking robot comes from inside. She turns her head to look at the other person, alarmed and embarrassed.

"... I can explain."


WILDCARD

[[Other prompts welcome! Allura will be around the convention hall and also present at the evening events like the dinner and dance. Feel free to get something started, or PM me at Jaydeis if you want to run an idea by me!]]

CONVENTION

[forgeabettertomorrow]

Darin, however, was being given a wide berth. Likely due to his reputation among many of the factions. More than a few angry mutterings can be heard as he makes his way through the throng of people. However, no one dares step out of line to challenge him. Not yet.

He does, unfortunately, see someone get bowled over. And a moment later, Allura will feel herself get lifted up from behind and set upright.

"First time? If you're going to stop, you're going to want to make your way to one of the sides."

She might notice a large number of people glaring their way. More specifically his way.

Kirk Langstrom ⧓ Olin Vale (OTA)

[desmodusdraculae]

Arrival
[Kirk hated this place with every fiber of his being. This was precisely the political bullshit he sought to avoid by aligning himself with Olin Vale. Still, it wasn't as if he could just avoid going, so like the rest he sucks it up and walks through the portal.

He had apparently grown far too used to living in the middle of the woods, because he immediately found everything far too crowded, and far too loud. The only thing it had going for it was the lack of sunlight, though the lightbulbs mimicking artificial sunlight weren't much better on his eyes. He quickly sidesteps to avoid someone barreling his way. Yes, this was too many people.

After sidestepping a few more people who clearly had somewhere better to be than here (and Kirk wished he was one of them, he successfully makes it to an unoccupied piece of wall to stare at the provided tablet to try to figure out where his room was. It takes him a few seconds to realize he isn't alone.

Kirk looks up.]

Can I help you?


Convention Floor
[Like years past, Kirk is determined to have as little to do with this nonsense as possible. All it was was smoke and mirrors designed to allow the Factions to continue their civil war in closer quarters.

Unfortunately, the robutler that won't stop following him around hasn't gotten the memo that a certain vampire wasn't a joiner, so while the pair wander the space, it can constantly be heard calling out in a chipper voice:]

Did you know that there is a panel on specialized diets coming up? That seems like something you would be interested in!

[Or]

You have not yet participated in anything. I think you're a joiner, so let's find something fun!

[Or]

Have you considered mingling with the other guests? I bet you'd have lots of fun!

[At some point, Kirk snaps.]

Shut up before I rip out your circuits. I don't give a damn what happens after that.


Gala
[He doesn't want to, but he shows up every night at the Galas just the same. Though he doesn't want to participate in the political bullshit, the political bullshit will happen with or without him. And considering Olin Vale is one of the smaller factions, it wouldn't look good if it appeared even smaller at these functions.

He's dressed in a simple, no-nonsense tux with his hair slicked back, and typically doesn't leave his seat or propped up against a far wall, though he can be coaxed away from either if asked.

You do want to ask, right?]


Roommates? (open to 1)
Who the hell are you and why are you in my room?

[The words just sort of leave Kirk's mouth as he stares at the intruder. If anything, the other person should be lucky he wasn't in a particularly... annoyed mood right now, or else it would have been an entirely different greeting.

As a natural hermit who has been trying to actively avoid dealing with anyone or anything, he hadn't heard that people had just sort have been handed out willy-nilly, and as such he hadn't expected a roomate. Sorry roomie!]


Blackout
[The first few minutes after everything goes black was the best time Kirk had all week. There's no music, there's no lights, there's no goddamn robutler... Bliss.

But then the high dies as reality comes crashing down on him—something is horribly, horribly wrong.

He quickly spurs into action, the unnatural red glow of his eyes the only light someone might see for a while as he goes to find and distribute some candles. Or perhaps he can be found prying open a sealed elevator to rescue the occupants trapped inside. Hell, if he's feeling so inclined, he may even run some errands for someone who asks nicely, seeing as unlike most, he's got perfect vision in the dark.]


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

Convention Floor

[dun_moch]

Domestic unit, command override. Enter standby mode and await further instructions.

[At the sound of Count Dooku's deep, commanding voice, Kirk's robutler freezes in place for a moment, then emits a faint roger-roger before going dark and silent. The Count advances in its place, looking a little vampiric himself with his dark clothing, pale complexion, and sinister aspect.]

That's better now, is it not? I apologize for the frustration. These units can sometimes be overzealous in their duties.