![[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.
no subject
he's always careful not to give josh hope.
he could say: maybe, when your council gets its shit together, long-term. maybe, when their righteous indignation doesn't require overruling you then getting you imprisoned. he could say: i'll think about it, when i get tony to finish teaching me everything about the gates. but all that hope could well be false. he isn't tony; he isn't as smart as tony. and the possibility that he's smart enough to get the power he sees vested in these solutions anyway is so slim that it's unfair to voice it.
and besides: he doesn't trust the council of five. he trusts them only to do what they're going to do, and to look indignant about it the whole fucking time.]
When that day comes, I want you to be okay. Even if I'm not there.
[it's one of kavinsky's idiosyncrasies. he can see good endings for the people he treasures, and he's very rarely in them himself. josh isn't the only import who's asked him to run away; he always says no. he squeezes josh's hand and then, a little hesitantly, leans over to kiss him. properly, this time.]
no subject
this should be where it ends. this should be where he gives up. he should pull back, our lines have been drawn and they know where they can't cross.
instead he kisses back.
once upon a time he'd fallen in love with a girl he couldn't have, one older and cooler and more worldly than him. it had been bad for them both. he'd pursued her with the same dedication, keeping it up until she'd finally pulled the plug and shoved him towards a better choice. ]
I'll be okay. You better be okay too.
no subject
What are you going to do, leave me again?
[but kavinsky actually regrets it, the instant after he says it. too real, too true. totally unnecessary, mostly; he does know, under it all, that he could have gone too. and so soon after josh said that he shouldn't have left at all, it's like salt in the wound.
he grips josh's hand with one of his own; the other, he uses to grip the biokinetic's pale hair again, breathing softly into the warm aftermath of the kiss.] I didn't mean that. I'll be okay. And I'm not gonna forget you. Or us.
[he knows something of josh's insecurities. they don't fight the way ordinary couples might; not about monogamy or adopting kids, or who gets to make the financial decisions. but that doesn't mean those mundane things aren't still there. kavinsky likes saying it, anyway. i won't forget you. ever.]
Ten years from now we'll look back at today and laugh about it.
no subject
There is always a dream. There is always an island. There is always a war being waged upon it, one it never survives. He knew this and yet he'd been so eager to try and fail.
there's a weak laugh. a soft sigh. he tightens his hold on kavinsky's hand. ]
Once we've got things figured out... [ the council. this situation with the white tower. there are so many moving parts, so many things that prevent him from promising a here and now. ] I'm not leaving you behind. Never again.
no subject
josh is gonna lose out on so much in life, sticking to that rule. or trying to. it's a bad idea; the best case scenario is that it doesn't happen.]
Why you gotta be so romantic?
[this isn't the world for that. but kavinsky kisses him fatly on the cheek; a joke that's only funny because it isn't one.]
no subject
the world should be better. he wants to believe that it can be, that if he stays optimistic and works hard enough it can be... that he won't have to declare war, or lean on the allies his friends are making in order to wage war to free themselves.
he loops an arm around kavinsky's neck, leaning his weight into his side. ]
'cause you matter.
no subject
But maybe at the end of the day, you get to choose someone who actually makes you happy.
[kavinsky ruffles his tattooed fingers through josh's hair, fluffing through the white strands, making them a little fuller. he traces his thumb over josh's eyebrow.] I should go.
no subject
[ its vague. difficult to describe what he means. he knows mutants aren't allowed to dream of the nuclear family. that exists in a different dimension, one that usually gets destroyed. you find happiness in the chaos, and the here and now.
he closes his eyes. letting his powers radiate out over kavinsky, the only thing he can do to guarantee any kind of safety. ]
Yeah.
no subject
but for every time he's ever said josh no, tacitly or otherwise, he's been-- terrible about adding any ring of finality to it.]
I'll roll back in next month, [kavinsky says.] Bring a bodyguard. Big pomp and show. We'll go surfing. [he leans forward. there's a kiss. not tongue, but sweet. then he stands up, looking around the room for a moment.]
I'll bring you something tomorrow. Not my dick in a box. [a half-smile.] Text you first so I don't scare the shit out of nobody.