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.

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Ignorant of the minor debacle taking place just yards away, and growing closer by the second, the High Chancellor is busy with his own efforts, part of which has been, conveniently, to get out of his wife's way for the journey ahead. Where did that tablet- aha!

With the device tucked beneath his arm, and two chrome-faced Legion droids behind him, he heads back out of the private car, and turns to face the small party on their way in.

"Oh." Stark's gaze slides from Rey to Kylo, Kylo to... that shadow must be Ronan, then right back to Rey, taking in the tense expressions of all. And he just smiles. Do I even want to know? "Hello, dear."

Nope. He makes to move around them, not waiting for replies, offering one last polite: "Gentlemen, enjoy your journey," and then he's gone with his escort, to safer, less fraught waters.

Edited 2020-09-19 22:38 (UTC)

In such close quarters, the dyad is alive with how loudly and clearly it buzzes between them. Rey offers Tony a thin smile as he moves past, catching the door of her compartment and holding it open for her guests.

Even without the Force, Kylo could probably still hear her threat I will actually throw you off this train and watch your very essence be torn apart across the multiverse if he does not wait until they are in the safety of a private compartment to say anything.

Say anything? Why would Kylo need to say anything? He watches the still very much alive High Chancellor Stark saunter past, eyes tracking his progress right up to the point he and his escort disappear from view...

...and then he slowly, slowly turns back, dark gaze sliding to Rey's face, which is about all the comment he needs to make, really.

I've been Distracted seems to cover it, he supposes?

"Here," he directs Ronan, guiding him to take the spot in the corner, putting as much of himself between Ronan and Rey as he can. A failed assassination doesn't necessarily preclude another attempt, after all.

How merciful, that the hood was there to cover the unmitigated shock on Ronan's face as Stark strode past. He's unmoored now. Either he misunderstood everything or he's been deliberately misled. He hates both possibilities, and the third — that Rey might have somehow been too incompetent to carry out her plan — doesn't occur to him at all.

Dazed, he takes his place in the corner without protest. Now that they're in the privacy of the compartment, he finally unveils his face. Somehow he manages to look paler than usual.

There is a giant bantha in the room, but Rey is undoubtedly stubborn enough to not address it. Yes, the High Chancellor is very much alive and well. What of it? And she did say by Synod's end didn't she?

Her mood is thoroughly soured, though, if the way she falls back into the bench across from them, crossing her legs to take up as much space as she pleases.

"Ronan, you look like you're desperately in need of a drink."

She is too, so excuse her as she pulls out her comm and orders some to be delivered from the buffet car.

Kylo, for his part, waits until they're all settled. Registering Ronan's bewilderment, he reaches out to lay a steadying hand on his knee almost instinctively, then looks over to the bench opposite, watching Rey busying herself with her comm.

"He looks well," he comments flatly.

Ronan looks at the hand on his knee like he's surprised to find it there, though Kylo's comforted him with that gesture a thousand times before. Everything feels strangely new all of the sudden, a foreign experience beyond the novelty of riding the train for the first time. He isn't sure he recognizes the Kylo who's sitting beside him, and he has no idea what to make of Rey. All that's clear to him is the danger.

"This isn't a good idea," he says abruptly to Kylo, ignoring Rey's commentary altogether. "I shouldn't be here."

At that interjection, Kylo loses all interest in needling Rey about her plans. It isn't just the words Ronan uses, and in response it isn't just Kylo's head that turns towards Ronan but his whole upper body. His thoughts, his attention.

"This wasn't my idea," Kylo reminds him, the earlier irritation refusing to surface while Ronan feels so strangely distant. Concerned confusion flows in to take its place. "And none of us should be here."

He lifts a hand to Ronan's face, searching his eyes as he seeks connection.

"We aren't inside it yet," he murmurs. "Are you asking me to give you permission to leave?"

Because Ronan could leave, if he wanted— until they pass the threshold of the Deathdome, he could be back in the Sanctum in the space of a thought. But Kylo can't go with him.

Ronan holds Kylo's gaze, searching it, too. Searching for... something. He doesn't know how he's supposed to find it when he doesn't know what he's looking for. It feels like he's dreaming already, digging through the dirt to unearth an idea that hasn't decided on a shape yet.

If he leaves, Kylo can't go with him. That's enough to make him hesitate. He doesn't want Kylo out of his sight, either. He has a terrible feeling that if he returns to the Sanctum now, they won't find each other again.

"It'll be a nightmare," he explains slowly. "I feel it." And though part of him would relish tearing Rey limb from limb, what if he damages the shielding or destroys the car?

Kylo considers. His thumb brushes over Ronan's cheek as he cradles his face in the warm, broad palm of his hand. "If it will be a bigger nightmare than I am, we wait," he decides. "It isn't a long journey."

Rey is slipping.

She lets out a short puff of air from her nose, just absolutely radiating jealousy as she watches the exchange of protective affection between the two of them. She feels her chest clench. It's not as if she needs Kylo but she can't help but take it as a display of what she can't have.

"If Ronan wants to go you should let him," she offers plainly.

Ronan leans into that touch, his attention wholly fixed on Kylo. The wrongness of this whole scene doesn't fade, but Kylo at least is recognizable like this, soothing him and siding with him. Maybe there really is no conspiracy and only one person in this car wants him dead.

"I don't want to go," Ronan says, holding Kylo's eyes a moment longer before sliding his gaze to Rey. He doesn't lift his cheek from Kylo's palm, waiting instead for Kylo to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. "I just have to stay awake."

Perhaps it's uncharacteristically merciful of him, but Kylo doesn't make the comment he could about Rey's somewhat inconsistent approach when it comes to affording people their autonomy. He does, however, repeat the gentle pass of his thumb in response to Ronan's answer before letting his hand fall back to rest on his knee again. It's gratitude.

"I'm sure we can keep you entertained," he tells Ronan, though his gaze too has slid back to Rey's face. The First Lady who would be High Chancellor and the puzzle of her unassassinated husband. "Our host was about to tell us a story."

How sweet and tender. Hers and Kylo's time together in the White Tower feels like it was a lifetime ago, and truthfully it might as well have been. She needed no one but herself to protect herself from the cutthroat cruelty of this world. She would have probably laughed if Kylo had ever laid a hand on her knee to act as her protector. She would balk at the idea that she has ever been fragile enough to needed amor besides herself.

Why then do her fingers twitch at her own bare knee and why is envy so plainly bubbling up into her stomach?

"If you're going to taunt me then I'd rather get it out of the way."

"I wasn't planning on it," is Kylo's unblinking response, delivered in a cuttingly mild tone.

And then he waits. She is going to tell the story, isn't she?

She leans forward trying to keep her expression level even if she finds Kylo's infuriatingly inscrutable.

"The Chancellor has been particularly... resiliant lately."

"He's a resourceful man," Kylo comments, pausing briefly— because there are the drinks Rey ordered. He doesn't reach for one, though he does wait until he's certain they're alone before continuing. "But you like a challenge. Or so you said."

And it was far from the only thing she said. Kylo quite clearly remembers her declaration that she would take everything that was hers, too.

He's still no closer to being certain whether or not she places him in that category.

Rey will take one if only that it's proof it's not poison, although she doubts either of them will actually partake with her.

"I do," and she tries not to sound too defensive even if she knows Kylo has a nasty habit of seeing right through her. "He's not a challenge though," she adds as if to convince herself that he is only alive by her mercy right now. "Just the result of incompetencies that have been appropriately dealt with."

"Ah," Kylo replies neatly. "You tried experimenting with outsourcing."

And how well did that turn out for you, he doesn't need to add.

"If you don't have the hunger to do it yourself..."

He looks her over as if trying to measure it— just how genuine is her desire to murder Tony Stark, her husband, partner and companion turned obstacle to seizing power? It's difficult to know if he doesn't see it because it isn't there, or if it's because he doesn't want to.

Which is a strange thought. He hadn't realised he missed the struggle she used to have with the Dark.

"...then you don't really want it."

That sets her hackles up, and her knuckles turn white with how tightly she grips her glass.

"An emergency election does me no good if I'm sitting in a jail cell. An assassin was a calculated choice," and one that she'll apparently still defend despite it having not worked because she can never admit that Kylo is correct about anything. "And this is a delicate matter."

Outburst finished, she settles back and snidely adds, "You know nothing of what it takes to run a faction of this size and strength."

Even if Rey would secretly prefer the brutal honesty of what it must be to live in the freedom of the Sanctum, she's afforded much more power by taking the cunning approach.

"I will handle it. Personally."

Edited 2020-09-23 03:56 (UTC)

"Will you," he murmurs, eyes steady on hers. His fingers curl just a fraction tighter where they rest on Ronan's knee. He leans in to deliver the blow.

"You know nothing of how little it takes to destroy one."

Ronan, whose eyes have been fixed on Rey for the better part of the conversation, now slides his gaze to Kylo. He wouldn't dream of intervening, because he would never deny Kylo the freedom of his expression, but this turn of the argument is clearly making him uneasy. As powerful as Kylo is, he didn't destroy an entire faction all on his own. And Ronan, as the weapon of mass destruction, would really rather not draw attention to that chapter of their history.

Whether or not he thinks his drink might be poisoned, he takes a sip of it now.

Rey doesn't miss that exchange. Her eyebrows lift and her lip quirks up coyly. She'll happily take any opportunity to redirect from her apparent failure to kill one person.

"I know your power as well as mine," she taps idly on her glass as she leans back and gives Kylo an exaggerated look over. "And I know the limits of what can be accomplished with this pale imitation of the Force," maybe the two of them working together could have accomplished it, but she's not going to state that out loud when it hurts her potential as much as his.

Her gaze slips over to Ronan rather pointedly, "Would you be executing my downfall or do you think Kylo will want to do it himself?"

Ronan's attention returns to Rey. He lets the question linger in the air, allowing the absurdity of it to build in the space of silence before breaking it.

"I'm his sword. Whether or not he uses me, he's the executioner."

Kylo couldn't have put it better himself. His satisfaction with Ronan's response slides into his expression and bleeds out through the Force, thickly tangible.

"You'll know it," he offers as a solidly unhurried assurance rather than a threat. "If I ever decide to be your enemy."

Which implies rather heavily that he currently considers himself to be something else.

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reydacted - 2020-09-26 01:55 (UTC) - Expand

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