SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

[modormenace]

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.

Comments

[houseparty]

( He lets her go immediately, regret like a spreading stain within his chest. Stark has to look off toward some middle distance, the liminal space of the empty hallway, feeling outside of time while perfectly, painfully aware of it. She sounds so tired and it spooks him. )

Pepper, I can't let him lose you the way I did.

[efficacy]

[ And just like that her earlier, less than charitable impressions on him shatter with that artless confession, her expression falling into something resembling quiet devastation. ]

He won't, [ she says, soft but firm, and closes some of the distance she'd just put between them as if in emphasis to her words. ]

I'm going to be okay. You don't have to worry.

[houseparty]

( Somehow that isn't quite what he wants to hear, even as he doesn't really know what he wants to hear. That isn't even what he wanted to say, not fully– nothing that he has done, any of it, has been spurred by her absence in his life. There is no universe where he'll lay a burden like that at her feet; he's always been responsible for his actions, for his own self, and the varied routes he's taken in this world, to arrive right here.

He doesn't want her to become like him. )

We need to talk. Not out here.

[efficacy]

[ Pepper's unsure if it's the best idea she's ever had, but she only argues with herself for a moment before offering, indicating the way with a quick gesture, ]

Well, my suite is close by. Come on.

[ She starts leading the way slowly, as if to make sure he really is coming with her. If this turns out to be a ruse to get her to go back to said suite, she won't be very amused. ]

[houseparty]

Sure.

( The thought might have occurred, but Stark readily catches up beside her, matching her pace. Most of the attendees are likely downstairs by now- he can check, if he really wants to -sitting down to dinner. Night Three's always a bit bland, Pepper isn't missing anything. )

Where did you get this? ( He means her dress, vivid blue so like and unlike another, from what shared pasts they have in common. Twelve years ago feels like a distant dream, a different life in a different world. )

[efficacy]

[ She glances over to him as they round a corner, continuing down a shorter corridor, and tries not to give rise to the twinge of awkwardness when his attention turns to her outfit. Despite her best efforts, a hint of color pinks her freckled cheeks. ]

Do you really care, or are you just filling the silence?

[ A bit of her usual wry pertness there, as she conjures up her keycard and shows it to the panel of the last door of the corridor, unlocking with a brief flash of green. ]

Come in, [ she prompts quietly, still leading the way through to the mostly darkened suite. Only the bedside lamp throws soft illumination across the space. The door closes heavily behind them, a nervous flutter quivering through her abdomen. ]

[houseparty]

Feels traditional to ask.

( Quick and mild, because he's still contemplating this overall portrait of her, the brief glimpse of bare leg, her upswept copper hair and the pale line of her throat.

He had meant it, his desire to just talk. There were things he wanted to say, and in the wave of silence following that closing door, he had a number of openers to choose from. After a protracted moment, seeing off the droid outside with a mental push, he steps in behind Pepper, hands settling briefly at her waist, and drops a gentle kiss to her nape. )

[efficacy]

[ Pepper feels it keenly, all of the sudden; being alone with Stark, in the intimate setting of a private bedroom, shrouded in soft half-light. A stage for shared secrets if there ever was one, an errant thought she immediately brushes aside. They are here to--

Her mouth goes bone-dry at the press of his lips at her exposed nape, the warm weight of his hands at her waist, penetrating the silk of her dress with ease. Pepper jumps slightly in surprise, a quick intake of breath audible in the silence of the room.

She turns to face him, wetting her lips. Though vying for firmness, her voice comes out soft. Too soft for her liking. ]

You wanted to talk?

[houseparty]

( His hands are up, immediate apology in his bearing. That was inappropriate.

All the same, her voice is so soft he might mistake it for something else, potential invitation he should disregard. )

Yes. Talk.

( Feeling as smooth as a jagged rock, he steps past her into the room, beelining for the expected minibar lurking in the corner. When in doubt, steel his nerves with liquor. There are no windows, not here in these guest rooms or the larger quarters: the place is shut tightly against all exterior horrors, but that didn't mean its occupants were immune from their own stupidity. Vodka cranberry, Pep? )

[efficacy]

[ Pepper's a little unsure of mixing alcohol into the situation, even if she's not surprised he's going for it. Vaguely disappointed, maybe, despite it not being her place to be so. It doesn't stop her from chiming in after a moment, ]

Might as well fix two.

[ Of whatever he's making, she's sure his rooms are better stocked. Resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself, she gropes for an opener in the lull. ]

So... [ Nailed it. ]

[houseparty]

So.

( There's, however, ice, decent vodka, an interesting, Synod-only club soda with a weird cult following, and Boom: vodka-soda. He brings Pepper hers, the glass not yet cold, the drink itself quite strong. )

You're from... October 2023. ( a gesture, then, for her to sit- not much choice of where, but he'll stand a bit longer with his glass. )

When I got here, I was from December 22nd, 2012.

[efficacy]

[ Pepper takes the glass from him, their fingers brushing, quick to take a sip and just as quick to wince a little at the potency of the drink. It doesn't stop her from taking another sip, the alcohol burning a way down her throat and warming her belly. ]

Yes, I remember that Christmas for the rest of my life, probably.

[ Losing their home to a terrorist and getting infected with Extremis, among others, does that. She takes a seat then, perching on the edge of the bed with the glass clasped daintily in both hands at her lap, the slit of her dress baring half of her thigh.

Sighing, Pepper keeps silent for a moment, wondering if she should say what she's about to say. Eventually, she goes for it. ]

You don't have to... explain, or whatever. You don't owe me anything. And it's not my place to--

[ Judge. She shrugs again. Even if she can't understand how he turned out the man in front of her. Maybe she doesn't even want to know. ]

[houseparty]

I'm not-

( not trying to explain? well, that's not quite a lie. he slowly turns the glass in his hand, blowing a breath out, before placing it on the nightstand, taking a seat a little distant from Pepper. )

I didn't get to see the Porter go up, or even find out Florida was vaporized, because I was captured. Happened maybe a couple months before the riots really started in earnest. They didn't know who I was- they didn't care -just that I was an outspoken imPort, and they made Afghanistan look like church carnival.

[efficacy]

[ Her own knowledge of the history of this place is... lacking, to say the least. It hasn't exactly been a priority, to properly study up on such things. It doesn't really matter now, for there's enough context here for her to understand. Her stomach knots, and she swallows back the bitter taste on her tongue before speaking quietly. ]

They?

[houseparty]

The Resistance. Non-imPorts, ( he explains, wiping his damp fingers on his knee, ) more specifically, non-imPorts who thought our presence here would mean the end of the world.

( Stark shrugs, sardonic. )

They were half-right. They also weren't slow about exacting their revenge, at least. I was one of the first to come back. By that time, the US had surrendered, and it was time to get to work.

[efficacy]

[ Pepper exhales a tiny breath, but says nothing for a prolonged moment. So they, what... tortured him? Which is horrifying. The imPorts didn't ask to be brought here, they don't deserve treatment like that. But it all sounds so black and white to her. It was time to get to work.

She takes a tiny sip of the too-strong drink which is even more gut-punchy now that it's starting to turn warm. Stifling a grimace, Pepper leans down and sets the sweating glass on the floor next to her feet for now. ]

Is that where the ideology stemmed from? The whole... imPort superiority?

[ An extreme she does not agree with, but she's trying to understand how it came to be. How Stark came to believe it. ]

[houseparty]

( Tortured, killed, left to navigate resurrection in a world that was on the verge of tearing itself apart. His drink finally gets seen to, a skim of melted ice across the amber. He really doesn't taste any of it. )

That wasn't my idea, ( Stark says over the rim of his glass, neither defensively or like an excuse; it simply is. ) Two million people get vaporized in an instant, and everyone wants a reason for it. The idea started to become... ( Acceptable? Tolerated?)

Palatable. It's all horseshit. ( It's such a casual, lightly spoken pronouncement, his gaze level with hers. )