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

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?

'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.

Stress was an understatement on a level that could not be properly quantified. No, he was practically vibrating with it and it’s experience and skill alone that keeps it from showing. Instead he just smiles at Diego and gestures for the man to follow him, as if he was there to serve as protection. Who knew, maybe Diego was.

Once they are a bit away from the path others might walk right into, he pitches his voice low and soft, conspiratorial even.

“I know how to surf. I went to school with a girl from Hawaii for whom it was a favorite pass time. That was back when I had my psychomimetry, so I mostly have her skills in every movement of my muscles. But I haven’t actually ever tried to use them. Never the time.”

No amount of false smiles thrown his way can hide David's discomfort from the empath, but Diego chooses not to comment on any of the more harried parts of this so far.

"They say you're supposed to make time for fun things, you know." He muses, keeping the conversation just this side of lighter-hearted for anyone that may be trying to listen in. An innocuous conversation that clearly isn't important to bother paying attention to, move along, eavesdroppers.

“You sound like your sister. And Laurie. And Josh.”

Which was a way of saying he didn’t agree but all the people who were wiser in these matters did. David sighed and started to walk further from the stage.

“So, think I came on too strong with my message?”

"Where do you think I learned it from?" He smirks.

At the question, Diego shakes his head. "Nah. Gotta push that point home, you know? I think you applied the exact right amount of pressure on it, and let it speak for itself."

Fair point, something David says with a tilt of his head. Of course Diego learned it from responsible Allison.

One hopes he let it speak for himself, but he isn't certain. So for now, he just continues his walk.

"This has all left me so impossibly tired. They don't want to listen to me no matter how sensible the point is."

If only David knew Allison in the way he did, the way the rest of the family did. She wasn’t always the bastion of temperance and morality the Council and the rest of the island have known. It really wasn’t so long ago she could be found recklessly rumoring people for the slightest of inconveniences, in no small part due to their father’s insistence on the use of their abilities in every possible instance. Still. Who she was as a teenager doesn’t forever define her, any more than it did Diego, or anyone else, and they have all grown up a lot since they arrived in this world. And she always has been one of the more responsible of the group in her ways.

“You’ve got more reasons than most to be exhausted, David. And we both know this is the least of it.”

“I need a vacation,” David muses, splitting off from the main areas and toward the hotel. He needs a nap. “I just wish I could spend some of the time here just sleeping and not making decisions.”

Which, of course, he knew would never happen.

David Alleyne | Krakoa (Council Member)

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