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

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

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

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

This seat's open if you're looking.

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

Stupid plant.

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

Excuse me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wildcard
[Make your own starter, or hit me up at

redconfession or Kaitie#0107 for a custom starter!]

Edited 2020-09-18 01:05 (UTC)

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

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

[M had noticed Magnus on several occasions, but the screaming from his implants kept him from approaching every time. There were a variety of things that M figured might be in play, but he decided not to take his chances. Things, he had found quickly, were quite different here. He had no idea if Magnus was like him... or like Apollo.

He dares approach on the day he first dresses down, dressed in a white shirt that is just a touch tight on him, with pants that don't seem his style. The perils of raiding someone else's closet, unfortunately. Other him apparently only wore the work clothes.]

You seem tightly wound, my friend.

[ M's implants are telling him the right thing.

Magnus scrambles to his feet, hand automatically flying to where he has Railsplitter holstered at his side. He knows that he can't fight M. He'll lose if it's like this. Unless he uses the Gauntlet, but that would catch too many innocent people in its blast, and if Magnus started anything, he'd be quickly captured even if he could win.

Rock and a hard place. He hates this shit. He misses his old team. Some of their absences are due to the man in front of him. He takes a step back, a snarl on his face. ]

You've got a lot of nerve, even looking at me. I don't believe you have any friends.

[Well, fuck. Out of everyone M knew back home, Magnus was the biggest person he had hoped might also have memories of the outside. Especially since... since Magnus was always good to him. In other worlds like this one.

Perhaps he should count his blessings he wasn't also broken.

M takes a step back.]

Maybe I want to turn over a new leaf. Branch out. Show that my bark isn't as bad as people think.

[Yes, he's making tree puns. The tactical computer is there to help him win fights, not to fail to not dig himself into a deeper hole.]

[ Magnus' face twists in fury. It's not a fury that's often seen on his face; for all of his bluster, Magnus tends to be a peaceable man, only getting worked up when there's something to be worked up about. Magnus takes a step towards him. Not reaching for his weapon, not yet, but every line of him screams danger. ]

You really think we're gonna be all right with you because you learned a couple jokes? [ Magnus snarls. From here, some of his recent wounds are visible, ugly and red as they twist up from underneath his collar, magically healed but too recent to have disappeared. ] Joke with me one more time, and we'll throw down, right here, right now. I don't give a shit about making a scene. Or did you forget about all those people you killed?

[ He's not actually expecting the answer to be yes. ]

[What the hell did the other him do to Magnus, to have him be this worked up by two sentences?

At the last question, M fights the urge to say "yes, but just the ones you're probably asking about". He doubts this Magnus would believe a word he had to say.]

Is it wrong? To want to change?

[His voice takes on a bit more of the monotone he's figured out that the other him had. He knows he should walk away, but he's too damn curious. He wants to know what happened.]

[ Magnus takes a deep breath. He lets it out in a heavy, disgruntled snort, as though he's an angered bulldog that got taunted out of his doghouse, only to find the fight gone. ]

No, [ he grits out. ] But you can't just say you've changed. You gotta prove it. You can't really expect us to accept it just like that.

That said, I'm not convinced you're not just fucking with me. Kicking a man while he's down. Seems like that'd be about your speed.

I've never taken pleasure in killing, Magnus. And I never toy with my prey.

[He doesn't need to know the other him to know that's true. He's not doing what he does for kicks. He does what he does because it's the only thing he knows how.]

It's just a job. A job I was literally created to do.

Midnighter ⧒ the White Tower (OTA)

convention

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Convention Floor

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Convention Floor

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject