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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
And how does Strange know of Morgan if he last... Pepper throttles the thought before it's even properly formed. Don't even go there, she tells herself. She has enough to deal with as it is without confusing herself over that and Stephen Strange's abilities. The how doesn't really even matter. She draws simple comfort in the fact that someone else besides her knows about the little girl (Stark doesn't count), no matter how nonsensical an idea that is.
"You know, I was hoping you really could have taken us to Eastern Europe. I guess we really are shut in here," she says with a brief, wan smile when the glowing portal opens up at Strange's behest. Guess they will make do. Nodding gamely, Pepper steps through the doorway, finding herself standing in a different part of the complex entirely, just like that. It's her turn now: "...Huh."
no subject
"It's safer for ImPorts to stay within The White City. Structural speaking."
Perhaps that counts as a version of an apology for the state of things as he sinks into a seat.
"But yes, I've known High Chancellor Stark for over a decade now. He's a very changed man than the one he once was."
It's difficult to say that aloud. Stephen takes in a short breath and after a short shake of his head sweeps a hand toward the table, conjuring up a couple of chilled vodka martinis. Unorthodox, sure, but it's not like this is a typical situation.
"But I don't think I need to tell you that, do I?"
no subject
"A decade? You as well?" Gawping, she tries to process the fact. Is this a trend of some kind? Cold prickles at her back, like chilly fingers down her spine as she doggedly pushes away the fear in the back of her mind, the chance of Stark's dour prediction coming true. She's too relieved by the appearance of the drinks to even be impressed with the feat, grabbing one and taking a somewhat unladylike gulp from the glass.
Though she grimaces slightly at the burn of the vodka, the shock of it going down snaps some calm back into her-- or maybe it's just numbness. Either way. Okay. She can handle this.
"No," she agrees with a sigh, disappointment written across her expression now. "You really don't. A very changed man is putting it so mildly I don't even know where to begin."
no subject
"You can begin wherever you want and nowhere at all. The Tony Stark that exists here is a complicated entity that's arguably less man and more symbol--a symbol of questionable ideology and highly divisive at that."
His gloved fingers move toward the base of his glass, pulling it a little closer to him as he contemplates for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Pepper, this can't be an easy experience at all, arriving here like this and from when you came. Perhaps I should offer something better than my own long-standing cynicism and instead say if you have questions about the situation as it stands here then I'll do my best to be as candid in my answers as I can be."
no subject
"It's just so hard to comprehend. So... excruciating and disappointing."
That's the long and short of it, really. She does appreciate the commiseration, however, smiling a little in response-- albeit sadly. "Thank you. I don't suppose you have any more optimistic news than Mr. Stark did regarding finding a way back home from here?"
no subject
"I won't insult you by feigning optimism that isn't there, but I'm sure Stark was as blunt about the situation as a wrecking ball and just as gentle."
He pauses to tilt the rim to his lips with a slight shake of his head.
"The goal was always to try and find a way back home to our version of Earth and our respective times and in the interim forge a world where imPorts could live with dignity. We have so far been unsuccessful in both goals."
His fingers tap the base of the glass a few times in thought.
"But the Tony Stark in this world has no real concept of what ours becomes, what Thantos does. Wanda and I have been the only two from around the time you're from, give or take, but she has her own faction to manage so our overlaps and time spent together is minimal at best."
In other words, Stephen has basically kept most of these details from Stark for over ten years. Maybe, selfishly, he's relived to have someone else here who knows what happened, though the prospect of Pepper being stuck here brings him no joy at all.
no subject
"You weren't kidding about the not feigning optimism part," she says a bit wryly after a moment of mulling all that over in silence, the lopsided smile on her lips borne from weary resignation. It's the sort of laugh or cry kind of a situation, and Pepper would really like to avoid crying. She draws in a deep breath.
"So Wanda is here too, huh? Stark... mentioned Dr. Foster, as well."
What a depressing thought, that all these brilliant minds and magicians are stuck here with no answers as well. If they couldn't find a way back home, then what hope does she have? She falls silent again for a beat, her head tipping slightly as she gives Strange a pensive look and changes gears suddenly.
"...Did you already know what was going to happen, that day in the park? When you came for Tony?"
Her tone isn't accusing, just softly speculative and a little tired. It's a question that has occurred to her a few times these past five years -- and would occur again back in her own future when she makes it back home, after the battle against Thanos ends. But thankfully, she remains blissfully ignorant of that, here and now.