f2020 | 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

Are you suggesting that I’m not having fun?

[They both know he’s not having fun. Maybe he should. His life is a wreck and he needs to get people to like Krakoa. He should be making connections.]

We try to not have the most lively parties at Synods.

I would never suggest such a thing, Councilor.

[The closest thing to a joke Judd's going to get to. Look, he's trying here.]

We're subdued even for Synod parties.

[Mostly because Psy didn't do parties at all.]

[Ew, don’t call him that. David cringes at the very word. Bad. So bad. Too close to Chancellor.]

Oh come on, at least Krakoa’s party feels like home. Less... fancy people. More fun.

I don't often party with teenagers.

[Or anyone.]

But I will admit, I prefer their atmosphere to here.

[Honestly, most things are better than here.]

[David rolls his eyes. Judd, stop being so OLD.]

I don't like it here. Too enclosed. Not enough sun or plants.

[Would you prefer his 36-year-old ass to hang around teenage parties on a regular basis?]

Even if there were... would you want to see that reminder?

[Of what's really outside?]

[Listen, Krakoa doesn’t want him sniffing around the kids like that, but that doesn’t mean he can be happy and have fun.]

Okay, maybe not windows. But potted plants would be nice.

[He has no idea how to do those things, David!!]

Would you trust the robutler's to do that?

[He doesn't trust his to hold his bag.]

[Learn. Let him teach you.]

I'm technopathic, Judd. I trust it to do far more than others would dare.

[Are you old enough to party with him?

Are you sure they can't just make explosives or something to take down the White Tower instead?]

Fair. "Technopathy" was not an official Psy designation, and so I mentally classify you are a Ps.

[Wow, what a question. He’s in his twenties. Just bend a bit to his level, thanks. And there are a lot of people who think David needs to have fun sometimes too.]

Should I be honored or fearful?

[There's still so many things he has to learn about the "real world" David. You should know this by now.]

Ps is short for Psychometry.

[Well, that's what he is so he supposes is fair.]

Make one up, Psy. We both know I barely find use for psychometry these days.

Normally I would say "Tp", but as that's the abbreviation for telepathy it wouldn't work.

Tc, I suppose, would fit.

[David chuckles. Now it just sounds silly.]

Good thing there is no ‘l’ in Technopathy. Because then I’d sound like tender-loving-care.

[His eyebrow arches the tiniest bit.]

I don't understand the reference.

[Wait, what? David stares at the man in confusion, then shakes his head.]

You have my permission to pull knowledge of that phrase from my head.

[Judd nods once at that, still knocking out of politeness before quickly and methodically finding the information and pulling out.]

You will make anything into a cute acronym, won't you?

Wow, I didn't make it up. I just use it, Judd. I'm not into cute things.

[Judd shoots him a look.]

I meant the indefinite you.

[Ah, that earns a chuckle.]

Humans, or people from my world?

You've made it abundantly clear that you aren't human, and I would not insult you by assuming you were. Non-Psy races, I suppose.

[Well, he supposes he can accept that.]

I don’t think you’re trying to insult me, at all.

[A slight quirk of his eyebrow.]

Then what do you think?

[Because he is a good Psy and doesn't go poking around.]

[He chuckles.]

Tc works for me.

(no subject)

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