f2020 | SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

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

pomp and circumstance...: Kylo might not have arrived to the Synod in the manner of his choosing, but he wastes little time reclaiming control over his appearance. Rumours about his rekindled connection to Rey Palpatine of the White Tower may be circulating already, but Kylo himself offers little evidence to support the idea. In fact, the only person Kylo Ren appears to have any sustained connection with is his masked valet, who accompanies him as he has done every year since the Sanctum's violent founding— a silent, faithful shadow.

As the leader of the only extant Faction established without Synod approval, Kylo's presence here is something of a provocation— even a warning. Empires can crumble, kingdoms can fall, Gates can be stolen and there's little this patchwork parliament of conflicting interests can do about it: factions are only as strong as their leaders' abilities to hold on to power.
And it seems Kylo knows what he is, particularly this year: the first time he emerges from his suite to walk the floor of the Convention, he's dressed not in his customary black but stark, defiant red. He's hard to miss, should anyone be seeking him out.

It's a garish shade of red, one that David's inner fashion critic wants to groan over. But this is the man he's been assigned by his own Council to interact with, and damned if David wasn't going to go face the icy crazies like he was ordered to. With a deep breath and a calm mind to bury whatever thoughts he needs, David approaches the other faction leader and offers a polite not of his head.

"Kylo Ren," he greets, keeping a respectful tone to his voice. "David Alleyne of Krakoa's Council of Five."

Which the man will likely already know. But politeness, right?

"I was wondering if I might schedule a few moments of your time for discussion."

Kylo turns to face David as he senses his approach, smooth and unhurried. He knows who he is, of course— the Sanctum may be largely cut off from the rest of the world and hidden from sight in the barren wastes of the arctic circle, but its leader makes some effort to keep up with the times.

If mostly because Rey likes to talk.

He considers the proposal quite visibly, curiosity piqued. What could Krakoa want from him and his Sanctum?

"How many moments do you think you might need?" he asks mildly, though he gestures for David to fall into step. Clearly, he doesn't mind spending the time... and as he's offering to lead him somewhere, it seems he suspects David may prefer some privacy.

Privacy would be insanely valuable here, because so much needs to happen, needs to be determined.

"As many as you might be given to spare someone from another faction. IT's a trivial matters, after all. Just a man wistful for the cold."

It's about SO MUCH more than that.

Kylo's eyebrows raise slightly, though he makes no direct comment on the obvious obfuscation— politicians are, in his experience, all the same in this regard. All but allergic to speaking plainly.

"In that case, I think we can accommodate you," he says, leading David towards the elevators. Without having been given particular instruction, his valet follows silently. Kylo continues: "I always bring a piece of home. When I travel."

Which he'll gladly demonstrate, once they reach his suite.

It's less an allergy to speaking plainly. More an allergy for what White Tower is going to do to him for this very conversation. But David follows along. And the camera watching the elevator, with it's little blinking light, goes dead. Technopaths are useful, right?

"I wonder if the weather here is disarming to you. I don't know that if I lived where you did I'd enjoy southern late summer."

"We don't tend to have much weather indoors," Kylo points out lightly. The slight tug of his mouth might indicate amusement, possibly. It is a little hard to tell, considering the otherwise severe set of his expression. Nevertheless, he seems willing enough to indulge David, observing with interest as he employs his particular gifts.

"The light is different. The quality of it. It's difficult to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it."

As the elevator reaches Kylo's floor, his valet slips out ahead and takes a fairly obvious watch position at the door to his suite. Clearly, he won't be joining the discussion.

"You'll have to come visit," Kylo suggests, unlocking the door not with his keycard but a brief curl of his fingers— for reasons that soon become apparent. Kylo wasn't exaggerating about having brought a piece of home: while the door matches all the others of the hallway from the outside, the interior (quite mind-bendingly) appears to have been replaced with a slice of the Sanctum itself. Cool without being cold, the antechamber is all smooth, reflective stone and sharp edges— but it has at least been furnished for receiving guests. Kylo strides inside without pause.

Visit doesn't seem likely. He prefers to stay away from cults of personality. Or religion. They don't tend to pan out well for mutants. Still, he heads through the door and frowns. Yeah, this was just weird. That wasn't what the hotel rooms should look like at all.

"Mind if I check for bugs? I'll be able to pick up on any electronics in the room, no matter their purpose. And even tell if another technopath is currently watching through one."

"Be my guest," Kylo tells him offhandedly— he knows there's nothing to be found, but he can understand David's desire to confirm for himself. In fact, there don't appear to be any electronics in the suite aside from the comm devices they brought in with them. Why would Kylo rely on technology to provide for his needs when he can have anything he can dream of?

David’s powers push out and he is... not exactly comfortable with how dead the space in here is. But he’s got his own items to anchor him and that’s something. And, knowing they can’t be spied on by technology is something. If the House of M wants to spy magically, he doesn’t care.

“I’m here to discuss the possibility of an alliance. Krakoa wants to be recognized as our own nation, no longer a protectorate of the White Tower.”

A dangerous move. It makes them vulnerable to people that aren’t the Tower. Which of course means something has happened if Krakoa wants to sunder themselves.

Whatever Kylo was expecting to hear, it's safe to assume it wasn't that. His curiosity is a heavy, near-tangible thing now, the sheer weight of his attention almost oppressive as he focuses entirely on David's face.

In many ways, Kylo Ren might be exactly what Krakoa is looking for. Certainly, of all the faction leaders here, he understands the value and the price of autonomy. He has the experience, as the only one among them to have physically seized control of a Gate rather than negotiating for one. And, of course, he did it all in brazen defiance of the White Tower and the machinations of its leadership— and survived. Five years later, the Sanctum is stronger than ever.

Kylo is also, at his heart, an idealist. While the Sanctum is undoubtedly a cult, its core principle is empowerment of the self— and quite genuinely so. If Krakoa wants its independence, Kylo believes it should have it... and not just because it will infuriate the establishment. But...

"Why now?" he asks, gaze unwavering. "After all this time."

Edited 2020-09-25 02:10 (UTC)

"I'm certain we could both come up with a number of reasons for our making of the decision," David suggests rather than a straight forward answer. He finds the nearest chair and makes a brief gesture asking for permission to sit. And, if it is given, he will do so, settling himself into the best comfortable position he can while still making sure he can get up quickly.

"White Tower is a very dominating and intense society. As you well know, Krakoa's purpose is very different. We are a shelter. The struggle for power and control is never one we wish to be involved in. But our independence from them, as it stands now, is conditional. Never will we raise arms against the White Tower. That isn't what we seek now. But we do seek the freedom to not fear that they will take our open arms as a gesture of defiance or combat against them. And there have been hints lately that they might well choose such a thing."

Hints like kidnapping Josh. Yes, Krakoa overstepped their bounds JUST a touch, but not enough to warrant the treatment they got. Especially since the young were encouraged, as they grew older, to consider life outside of Krakoa.

"Perhaps we're tired of living in fear that the Tower might well decide that we're not living up to their arbitrary definitions of 'defensive only'. Stark was once a good friend of mine, Kylo, we worked together and I trusted him deeply. These days I fear what might happen to an island that is mostly children and teens given shelter and a place to grow and heal from any wrongs done to them. They come to us expecting that, and I fear Krakoa's leadership has not done enough to ensure their survival."

Kylo seems content enough to follow David's lead for now, settling into the chair opposite as his guest makes himself comfortable— or at least, as he makes a show of the illusion.

It's a fine speech. Carefully crafted, too, and possibly even tailored to suit Kylo's preferences and his lack of patience for lies and deception, where it skirts the truth rather than attempting to conceal it.

"Your open arms seem to have extended their reach lately," Kylo points out mildly. "Or so I have heard."

Ah. Interesting.

"Krakoa," he says, voice careful because he hadn't expected Kylo to be THIS informed, "has an open Gate policy. Anyone under a certain age that asks for residence is welcome on our shores. That's always been our way."

It's their open policy. It's not David's fault that some places don't let the teens go where they want to be. They have not kidnapped a single person. They merely open themselves when people have regrets.

It's quite possible that the version of Jaina Solo that has been here a year knows exactly who this is. Unfortunately, all the one currently inhabiting this body knows is that she thinks she's encountered another Force user.

Having to make an appearance for the cameras at boring political events has taught her the right demeanour despite herself (she has, after all, yet to punch Borsk Fey'lya even once), but that sense is still enough to take her by surprise. "Oh, excuse me, I took you for someone else."

Because clearly so many people would be wearing that getup.

Kylo's skepticism is entirely obvious. Looming above, he looks down with the slightly wearied air of a man steeling himself for the rest of a tiresome joke. "Did you," he asks flatly. It's not really a question— they both know how unlikely that particular scenario is.
Or, more accurately, they would both know, if this Jaina Solo was the one Kylo first met last year. Unaware of her ignorance of their shared history, Kylo sees no reason to provide the relevant background and context as he continues:

"Ask me for it. Whatever it is you're looking for this time."

This time. Kriff. She's supposed to know this guy. And she's sensing no clarifying details off him. "The same as usual, more or less."

That was vague enough, right? This time sounded like she must see him a lot doesn't that just figure.

Padmé has been seen here and there in the Synod since she and her consort arrived, but this is a specific visit that had been intended since shortly after she arrived. She gave it most of the first day, into the evening. A reigning monarch of her own faction, she provides something that might be considered time to settle in, whether it's the veneer of politeness or patience or politics. Even to family.

But she appears later that evening at his suit, in the space between the last panels of the day and first Gala, dressed a dress of intricate lines and gauzy, flowing cloth, all in the shadow black-blue, fading into white-silver, as much of Luminary tended toward the night and the moon goddess, which was set off with a crown that betokened the moon itself.

After the doors open, her first words are calm, simple, and straightforward, "I received your message?"

Something request, something summons. A curiosity, even though she had left her Dragon behind, which was a show already of how much she trusted in nothing happening to her in this place, even alone.

Kylo is something of a collector, when it comes to those he favours— those precious few he cares for, in his own way. Whenever possible, he prefers to gather them to himself, keeping them close at hand where he can feel them sheltered safely under his protection. He likes to know where his vulnerabilities are.

Most people, however, aren't quite as keen on the idea, which is something he's slowly come to terms with. It still prickles when he hears word of a threat that could reach them— and it certainly frustrates him— but he's learned over the course of the last five years that extending an offer of assistance takes some of the edge off the persisting alarm.

He welcomes her into the transplanted portion of his Sanctum he had Ronan dream as a replacement for the hotel suite they were assigned a little stiffly, matching polite greeting with an attempt at one of his own— though with the awkward edge to his looming presence he's clearly not the politician she is:

"Please. Come in."

Padmé, the woman who was snatched away from their story long before she could become his grandmother, hardly needs his protection. But she could, he thinks, use some of what he knows.

Padmé gives it an unhurried, long few moments, considering the room. Pulled away from another world, trapped in snow and ice. It's a critical look she lets settle it. A statement, again, like everything else about appearances at the Synod. Displays of power and prowess, warning, and education on a political scale, in the seven supposedly neutral days of that made and broke alliances every year.

There's skill and artistry to the cool, smooth, sharp stones, and she appreciates what all it must have taken to accomplish it somehow, even though she knows this display isn't all here to sway or impress her specifically.

"I really should make the trip up and see what the rest of your Sanctum looks like. The work is stunning." There's a small touch of the girl who came from a planet beholden to the pleasure of all art that slips through for the last sentence, and the question that follows it. "How did you make it this reflective?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

open;

Re: open;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i'm hoping there is chairs, you did say furnished for receiving guests

there are indeed chairs!

Happy!

Re: open;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject