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

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?

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?

Don't whine. We have to be here. It's important. We'd be slacking in our duties if we didn't attend the biggest imPort gathering of the year. You never know what we'll learn here, [ Rex says primly, rolling his eyes at Martin. He's usually the one who's the face of the operations if they need to talk to people, which is absolutely ridiculous when he has to think about it. He had never been a gifted liar, and he'd hardly ever been personable, but you pick up the skills you need to. Martin hadn't.

He looks at Martin slumped in his chair with a sigh, picking up the empty shot glass and raising it to his nose so he can smell what was in it. ]

I'd rather not be here either. How many of these have you had?

[Marty's nose wrinkles. what's so important about fancy outfits and dancing around all night?

he gives the area a scowl with glazed, half-lidded eyes, his attention already drifting with that thought before he catches the tail-end of Rex's question.]

Muh? What? [he looks back and stares for a beat, processing that slower than usual.

eventually his eyes dip down to where his glass was...and finds it in Rex's possession.]

That one's mine. You gettem...uh... [he shifts to one side and looks around.] Uhhhh...

[he settles on just gesturing in a direction.]

Somewhere over there. Dunno. You want one?

It's empty. Unless you've gotten attached to a cup in the last hour or two, [ Rex grumbles, flipping the shot glass over and loudly setting it on the table. ] I don't care much if you drink. Some. But it sounds like you've already had your fill.

[ He rises to his feet, grabbing onto Martin's arm. ]

Come on. We're getting you some water. Before you offend some chief of a new rising faction. God knows we get a knew one every day, [ Rex mutters darkly.

Okay, maybe he's in a bad mood. But he can't help it; he largely shares Martin's sentiments. Affairs like this are bad news. ]

[he groans a little, sinking down in his chair in protest, almost as a child would do.]

I just sat down, lemme sit! M'tired of walking around. [he scowls, scuffing the floor with the heel of his shoes to stop himself sinking to the point of bumping his chin on the table.

he sits up just a bit so he can start, patting his pockets, even while his captive arm lay limp in Rex's grasp.]

Where're my sunglasses? It's too bright in here...

[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.]

[ The minute Rude shows his face, Rex's blaster is out of its holster and pointed directly at him in a move that seems to be made of more instinct than thought. He's not going to kill anyone here and create an international event. That's contrary to Eden's ambitions; if they're to do this, they're to do it quietly and not at an interfaction diplomatic event. That said, the last person he had been expecting was this familiar face. The idea of killing him has been... distasteful at best, but he acknowledges it as the necessity that it is. He knows too much. He could give their information to anyone, anytime. He needs to die.

Not now, though. Not yet. ]

Come off it, Rude, [ he snarls, lowering his blaster. ] What are you playing at?

Edited 2020-09-22 00:27 (UTC)

[Ah. That's... a reaction. The weapon pointed at him and then lowered tells him all he needs to know. The man wasn't from the Vale, which meant only one things. Intriguing. What can he play here? Well, honesty was his best option.]

You must be someone from Eden. I would suggest that you not point that at me. I've been looking for an excuse to practice with my powers here.

[Which Rex would well know meant pyrokinesis and gravity manipulation. And not the sort of threat the Rude he once worked with would have offered.]

I don't know your name.

[ Rex shouldn't be hurt by that. Rude is a traitor. He's meant to kill him. He already knew that, was already ready to kill him, to hell with any of his personal reservations. But to have him tell him to his face that he doesn't remember him - something that has to be a bald-faced lie - makes his stomach churn. ]

And if you make the first move, the full might of this place will fall on your shoulders, [ he snaps back, though he doesn't raise his firearm at Rude again. It's a bad idea, for either of them. This is a place of peace, and Rex has too much on the line to die here. ] Don't be childish. You leaving is no reason to pretend as though you never knew us at all.

[Just because he's bald and has a face doesn't make what he said a lie.]

Gravity does tend to make things fall. And I'm not pretending.

[Don't be foolish. Rude finishes with his shave and takes a wet cloth to his head to clean up any lingering cream before coming into the room proper.]

A simple statement of fact. If you know me, have you known me to create such tales?

[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.

Mm. Probably wise.

[ Rex takes another long pull of his cigarette and slowly exhales out into the dark night. There's nothing good out there to look at, he thinks grimly, but it's hardly better inside, where everyone is pretending as though they haven't just spent the past year trying to kill each other. ]

Remembering, eh? Were you here when all of... [ He flicks his head towards the landscape. ] this happened?

[He nods.]

Not all, but... enough. The end.

[There's a small sigh as he looks over the ruins.]

I haven't slept right since.

It's difficult, [ Rex says, simply. ] To go back to the scene of carnage. I'm sorry.

[ He is. This long-standing war between the factions has killed a lot of their humanity, but everyone can commiserate over tragedy. Rex doesn't know what this sort of carnage looked like, but he certainly knows what it's like to go back to a place you'd known only as a place of loss. It seems macabre, that they're set back to it, time and time again. ]

What made you come back?

[Judd is silent for a moment, looking over this other person and deciding just what to say and how to say it. He appears to be nothing but forthcoming, but Judd's been here too long. Appearances can be deceiving, and he can't take that chance. Krakoa can't take that chance.]

I drew the short straw.

[It's a damn lie, but with his natural expressionless demeanor, it's not the hardest lie he's had to sell. The Five needed protection, no matter how strong they were. Someone needed to keep an eye on them.]

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.

I always am, [ Rex says, despite that being a bald-faced lie that Ezra of all people can see right through. Still, the appearance that you're more confident than you are hasn't steered him wrong before, and it doesn't matter when they're talking about irritating droids. ]

Go on, then. Before I scramble your wires, [ he tells the robo-butler, which finally scurries away. It'll be back, he thinks resignedly. He gives it fifteen minutes before it follows its programming and scuttles back over to him. ]

I don't think you've ever mentioned Chopper, no. Was he a navdroids? They're always the ones with the worst personalities.

[ His tone is dryer than the desert, but there's at least some fondness there. ]

Edited 2020-09-22 00:27 (UTC)

An astromech, yeah.

[Despite everything, he does miss Chopper, though he's sure the droid would go and make fun of him for that.]

But I don't know, he always seemed... [Worse?] Different from the others. Like I've heard stories about droids mouthing off and all that, but I'm pretty sure Chopper sincerely tried to kill me at least three times. [A beat.] He was a good droid, though.

Lad? A word of advice. If you describe anyone as good, they probably shouldn't have tried to kill you.

[ This kid is going to get himself killed one day. Probably by marching up against some genocidal maniac and pronouncing his intent on them becoming the best of friends.

Stars, he's glad that Martin's not like him. He's a good kid, no doubt about it, but a walking headache all the same. ]

...you miss them, don't you.

[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.

Not a captain anymore, [ Rex says, straightening up from where he stands, the movement slow and deliberate. The way that he hooks his thumbs into his pockets is just as deliberate, as some show of either trust or nonchalance. Everyone here is here for peace, for the time being. The time for fighting with anything other than your words is for another time. ] That was another life. I'm afraid you've been misinformed, ah...

[ He raises a brow at Ultra Magnus, clearly waiting for an introduction. ]

[Does he not know?]

Ultra Magnus.

[Perhaps he cares little of the idea of Eden's crimes being discovered. Well, better that he knows too little about this Transformer than too much.]

Have you renounced you position, or are you implying something else?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

(captain) rex | eden

son party allowed

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Roomies hahahahahah

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

b

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

arrival

Re: arrival

no subject

no subject

a

no subject

no subject