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]

( To his recollection, Ruka had seamlessly married a certain wary circumspection with, yes, bluntless; suspicious curmudgeons, even secret ones, know their own brand. So yeah. He gets it. Different world, different people, though some of them are not so different.

He has no context for how to deal with this new!Rey as she approaches, not when his last memory of her was buying her snacks and splitting a bag of chili-lime Cheetos under a sweltering, afternoon Nevada sun. What even is her whole, relationship to this ensemble cast here? Her presence is definitely stressful by itself, and he's got to take a moment to marshal the panic he's tasting at the back of his throat.

So. Good Little Obedient Hostage, or Willfully Defiant Prick? And where is that fucking buzzing noise coming from? )

It's fine, Ruka. Honestly, if I could just, maybe, stretch my legs that would help-

[reydacted]

You need to rest.

[ Her dress, tone, and demeanor is a far cry from the desert wanderer, and not just because she happens to be sober here. And if he isn't willing to cooperate, Rey isn't afraid to help him along with a little bit of Force.

Not quite yet, though. She doesn't want this on display for everyone. ]

Ruka, you're dismissed.

[dragony]

[ There are no words to push down, but she swallows past a dryness and an uncertainty she isn't certain how to combat. Quick-thinking is great, but she's no good at fighting, or the kind of manipulative, persuasive easiness of tongue it might take to alter this situation. She's not the right tool for the job.

Whatever change she wants to make, it has to be outside this room.

Ruka pushes herself up from the chair, brushes the dust from the skirt of her dress, and doesn't protest — her posture at full rise is with hands clasped together in front of her, in sight, shoulders slumped for the failure in the task.

A slight bow. ] High Chancellor Palpatine, [ spoken in the place of a farewell; it's nowhere near all that she would tell Stark about his predicament, if they had more privacy and more time, but it's context and it's excuse for why she can't help him more. Not in this moment, anyway.

Without allowing herself to look back, Ruka moves past Rey and towards the door for Kavinsky to let her out. ]

[houseparty]

( Just like that, and Tony feels that slim chance of immediate escape slip right out of his grasp. It's not Ruka's fault, she did her best, and now she knows. At least, he thinks, closing his eyes briefly, that's something. The cavalry will arrive, at some point, hopefully in the extremely near future, and they'll just go from there.

Steeling himself, he rolls his shoulders and gives the High Chancellor a sidelong glance. )

...okay seriously, am I the only one who can hear that? Which one of you left the tv on? The radio? They should really get an electrician up here–

[reydacted]

[ Rey isn't sure how much Tony had struggled with his technopathy at first, knowing it was a relic of this place rather than one from his home, but it continues to provide the perfect excuse for why he should be kept in a Force-induced coma.

And to keep up appearances as the concerned wife in front of Kavinsky... ]

Your technopathy. It's too much here when you don't know how to wield it. [ She lays a hand on his forehead. ] Sleep, and you can practice when we return home.

[ And then she'll extinguish his consciousness like turning off a light. ]

[houseparty]

( Techno-what? )

Waitwaitwait-

( Rey's hand is cool against his flushed skin, and before he can even get the question started, the veil drops, and then there is nothing else. )