f2020 | SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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. ]

Edited 2020-09-15 12:35 (UTC)

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.]

[ usually, when in the presence of one of his oldest and dearest friends in this upside down world, josh relaxes. its immediate. happens before he even sees kavinsky, sensing his familiar biopatterns is enough. the tension has always ebbed out of his shoulders, the smile on his face shifting to something more genuine.

now, though, he goes tense. he pauses in shoving his notes into his bag. when his eyes lift there's something vaguely panicked, before it settles into something cold and closed off.

kavinsky barging up on him is going to be seen as an act of war by the others. he doesn't know how he feels yet. ]

I've been tied up. [ coded. loaded. he taps the papers into a neat little stack. he says, his attention turning back to his research materials. ] Were you trying to find me?

[sarcasm? really? kavinsky's big hollow eyes narrow almost shut. if he had smaller eyes, they'd be shut. instead he has that pretty white boy thousand yard stare down.

in another world, a year-long abduction might somehow not get someone off the hook with him. he'd find a way to twist things. but in this world, as bad as he is in so many ways, he's better in others. it's a low bar, but he's decided to be patient with joshua foley, fresh out of some horrific trauma he doesn't even fully understand.]

Yes, actually, [he says, stiffly.] Which your Council should've told you. I was working with Jane for the past year trying to find you.

She did. [ he doesn't think that kavinsky would betray him. not in his heart of hearts. he trusts joseph with his life.

but he can't deny that he's tony stark's right hand man. that there are few secrets kavinsky wouldn't be privvy to with that position. that they'd been planning to go away, that they'd been primed with the perfect excuse for people not to look.

he slips his files into his bag and shuts it, finally giving him his full attention. ]

I was here. [ his blue eyes search kavinsky's face. they've always been pale, but they're paler now. almost lacking any definition. ] I never left faction territory.

[ he glances across the convention room. its empty now. no stragglers, but there are ears and eyes everywhere even if they aren't physically present.

his voice lowers. ]

I didn't know the White Tower power dampeners got so good until I spent a year with one wrapped around my neck.

[a furrow appears between kavinsky's eyebrows as he looks at the other boy. then he pauses, glances over his shoulder at the rest of the dispersing audience. people are noticing, obviously.]

Sometimes I sleep with one on when I think I'm gonna take a psychic shit in the bed, [he says.] They are pretty good.

[is kavinsky being obtuse on purpose? maybe. he catches it the next moment, sighing harshly through his teeth. yes, right. he's a bastard-- all white tower imports are, but he knows he's only supposed to feel guilty and sympathetic, in this moment. not refer to facts and technology, or the hard truths of their reality. he can do that. he straightens slightly, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his white coat.]

I'm not the only one who can do dream therapy tonight. You should find someone. Or maybe Poison Ivy has some green remedy for trauma processing.

[ there's the barest of pauses. josh clearly weighing his options here. there are things to discuss here that don't need an audience. ]

All I need is a good night's sleep. I'll probably turn in early.

[ he reaches into his pocket to fish out a notepad. he's got a pencil. scribbles a room number and slaps it on the podium, his golden hand half-shielding it from anyone but kavinsky's view. the expression on his face says it all. they're not free to talk, and he's not stupid enough to spout what amounts to treason out in the open.

kavinsky can look him up if he wants to - but this is an invitation to come. ]

[how fucking quick they fall to this pattern! kavinsky glances at the paper and his face goes blank. but then his eyes go back to josh's face. he thinks things in silence; things that are impossible to read either from the biokinetic feed of his brain or the look in his eyes behind the holographic lenses of his eyewear.

but the gist of it is, that kavinsky's sad. and extremely wary. for josh, far more than of him.]

Okay. [he lifts his glass of wine.] Recommend the malbec. You don't heed a nuanced palate to appreciate it, and it's not from the Tower. Promise.

[ he draws his hand back, crumpling the note as he does and stashing it in his pocket.

This whole thing is a gamble. An attempt to grease the wheels and secure alliances before the shitstorm that is sure to come. Tony Stark's death can't bode well for anyone who isn't in the White Towers good graces. He doesn't want to be blamed. He had no shortage of enemies who would gladly claim credit, but... Scapegoats are a tried and true means of justifying invasion and brutality. ]

The malbec, huh? I'll give it a go. [ he glances over his shoulder to the members of his guard waiting in the wings. ] I don't mind all the tower wines, s'long as they're a little sweet.

[ he shoulders the bag. ]

What is it. Like, eight-y-ish?

Josh Foley | KRAKOA

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

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