![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
modormenace) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
f20202020-09-15 12:53 am
- allison hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- anders ⧒ the white tower,
- beckett mariner ⧓ twin cities,
- cecelia ardenbury ⧓ olin vale,
- count dooku ⧓ the white tower,
- david alleyne ⧓ krakoa,
- declan lynch ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- finn onaru ⧒ the white tower,
- fuu hououji ⧓ eden,
- jin bubaigawara ⧒ twin cities,
- jonathan walsh ⧓ northwestern imperium,
- kang ⧓ seekers of the new dawn,
- kylo ren ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- lucina ⋈ ␣,
- luther hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- midnighter ⧒ the white tower,
- number five hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- padmé amidala ⧓ luminary,
- pepper potts ⋈ the white tower,
- rey ⧓ the white tower,
- ronan lynch ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- rude ⧒ olin vale,
- stephen strange ⧓ the white tower,
- tony stark ⧓ the white tower,
- wei wuxian ⧓ house of m,
- wen ning ⋈ house of m,
- xue yang ⧓ sanctum aurorae
SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.
THE SYNOD
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.
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
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.
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.
Rude/Rodolfo | Olin Vale (Former Eden)
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;
(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?"
no subject
He does know what to do at parties, though. And in this case it means setting the glass his robutler had brought him back in the thing's hand and offering his hand out to her.
"It would be my pleasure."
Good thing Tseng insisted on dance lessons. Something told him the Salsa would not be suitable here.
no subject
If he has a keen eye, he'll see a blue ribbon tied to her wrist. If not, he might instead get distracted by a tattoo-like burn scar along her arm. Who knows?
"I know this place is supposed to be the safest place for imPorts to gather," she starts, still trying to get a feel for how to approach this. God. She is not cut out for this spy shit; "but big gatherings like this always make me a little nervous."
no subject
"Anxiety is a normal thing. No doubt someone here is a physician that could offer medication."
He won't be led that easily, miss.
no subject
That at least is genuinely true — her unquantifiable poor health has been a constant among all versions of herself she's ever had the displeasure of learning about.
As they dance, she glides along to his pace easily, words more cautious than her steps.
"I don't know. I suppose I just feel out of place, here." She glances again at his face, her head tilting a little for inquiry. "What about you? Would you say you belong here?"
no subject
"Yes. Would belong more if my old boss was here," he notes. Rufus. He'd been watching out for the man and still hadn't seen him. Perhaps Rufus wasn't in this world.
Expo Floor
He is, however, interested in seeing what other people are willing or stupid enough to show of their own power. So he hangs back and watches the duels, a middle-aged man in a suit with a sword incongruously at his side.
"Hmm? I bet on the shorter one." The kid looks fast.
(If he were the right Askeladd, he'd recognize the face of the man next to him.)
no subject
"I don't make bets. A waste of my money if he loses, a waste of yours if he wins."
And mostly Rude's just judging how he'd take them down.