(MINGLE) OPEN MIC NIGHT

[flashystyle]

Who: All The Refugee Veterans
What: A Meeting That Seems Mandatory But Really Is Just An Open Mic Night
When: April 7th, 11:00PM
Where: The Thesa Station
Warning(s): N/A



A week following an Omage Post and the distribution our heroes' awards, any character that pays mind to their devices will receive a forwarded message from Dorian Pavus (sparkler) on the evening on the 7th. Within is a mock version of the letters they received:

●●●●○ THESA

sparkler says:

You are incordially invited to the ACTUAL first assembly of the
Coalition of Refugees*
11:00PM, Thesa Station

DON'T BE LATE!
*we are NOT calling ourselves that.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Upon entering the conference room, arrivals will first hear music emanating from overhead speakers. The vinyl Here's Little Richard is playing on a turntable in the far corner, and several other records are on display (with a sticky note reading PROPERTY OF RICHIE TOZIER - DO NOT BREAK) to be exchanged when the tracklist has had its run. They will smell the food from the catering table of a week's work of preparation, featuring homecooked meals and dessert from other refugees that took his offer. But, most importantly, they will see the wide space of the conference room.

With the back of the room serving as a space for food, drink, the remaining half looks something like a lecture hall. There rows and rows of imperfectly placed sofas to recline in, all facing a large film screen to project images onto, which currently shows various locations of El Nysa. It's evident Dorian himself hasn't quite figured out how to produce a sleek design, though—the transitions are something straight out of Windows Movie Maker. However, it's more than they've had, and seems to be available for anyone to put the Station's database to use.

If you've arrived early, you might witness Dorian tapping his foot along to the music (he's just impatient, he will insist) and desperately downing a glass of champagne. He will inform you can help yourselves, gesturing towards the wide variety of meals (cooked chicken and complimentary sides from Venom, an abundance of meat pies from Rosalind, Welsh cake from Nash) that may or may not include something you remember only being on your homeworld, taken from the Natha's cookbooks. There are four kegs in a trolley (thanks to the efforts Eggsy Unwin), providing an overabundance of wine, mead, cider, and sparkling water. The sofas are comfortable, and even feature cup holders for a truly luxury experience. The advancements they've made for comfort is amazing.

If that alone isn't enough to keep you from being an uncomfortable wallflower (or just leaving), there are also items taken from the Lounge areas of the station—stacks of playing cards sit on the arms of sofas, and tables free of the catering to play them on. He seemed to have thrown them in last minute, as they're scattered around the room with little hint of order, but they're there. He tried.

SECOND IMPRESSIONS

For all that it seems like an incredibly boring, mediocre party, Dorian has made some effort to make the room more serious than the indulgences he offers. He's taken several items from the Exhibition Hall for a display for anyone that might have missed wonderful gems like their own portraits, the postcards, the buttons of the world they all know well. Tastefully (or rather, tastelessly), his own portrait is ahead of the rest.

But in stark contrast, there is also items from events past. There is a distinctly personal sign of those that were hailed as heroes in first entrance into Wyver, where the names of the refugees no longer with them are burnt out, as well as one of the first, damaged pods from the very arrival onto the planet itself. They line the back wall as objects would in a museum, highlighting everything they've partaken in since they've arrived. It isn't a particularly nice sight, but as his personal project, Dorian seems to find it necessary.

SPEECH! SPEECH! WAY TOO MUCH SPEECH.

At some point in the evening, Dorian will lower the volume of the music and rise to his feet. With a glass in one hand and a remote in the other, he descends on the space between the seating and the computer console and, with the slowness of a professor that does not know where to put their cursor, eventually pulls his mediocre slideshow of the world behind him. He places the remote down and picks up a microphone, tapping it for good measure, and speaks.

"You're probably wondering why I've gathered you all here..." He starts, an anxious grin on his face. He then continues to to point of why he requested them.

FINALLY:

But speeches are long and some might find the meeting is boring—there are all the tools for people to do whatever they want after he departs. The drinks are plentiful, the floor is open for an impulsiveness when the vinyls resume, and it is the whole point of the evening to relieve oneself of all the strife the refugees have endured. Air your grievances, to one another, or to everyone. Utilize the projector by plugging in your phones, for serious or completely ridiculous subjects As Dorian says, Maker knows they deserve to be a little happy.

Comments

speech, but this is also my toplevel, hello

[flashystyle]

For those of you who have the misfortune of not knowing me, I am Dorian Pavus of late Thedas, most recently of Olympia. Before you ask, no, I did not ask you to come here so you can only listen to the sound of my lovely voice. I've asked you to come here because it's been 259 days since I've woken up, and we're all as lost as the first night.

[He takes a sip from his glass before he sets it down besides him, clearing his throat. It's evident the man is trained in public speaking, but also evident that he hasn't quite lost his nerves.]

I am among the first group that our alien saviors chose to wake. A few people—either here now or out there—have remained when a great many others have returned to indefinite slumber. [He presses a button, changing the screen behind him to the impact zone of the first landing. Broken pods, injured being escorted out of them.] When the first group of us "refugees" touched down, we were... understandably terrified. Strange and still mysterious saviors woke us up to tell us the world was gone, everything you ever knew was dead, and oh, by the way, we're going to have you plummet miles and miles down to the surface of an alien planet and hope you survive inside a tin box. We did live, obviously, and we made camp with one another. Drank to forget all we went through.

But after that night, after we picked ourselves up and tread on, we... we never really took the time to actually understand one another, to ask questions, to talk. We did not mourn. We all split off and got jobs we abhor and say oh, I'm alright! I could be at home right now, but what can you do but sit back and be the only repository of a world lost? It isn't a way to live. We all survived, and we aren't living. We're co-existing. We're pretending we don't know one another when we pass in the street, and though not all of us might feel that's a problem, I do. What we know is a drop, and what we don't know is an ocean that I am tired of wading in. What we heard on that journey was taken lightly, but it still stands.

[When Dorian presses the button again, the screen goes blank, but an audio message plays. He says nothing during it, looking on at his guests with a stern expression. He's banished his nerves, now. When the audio ends, he speaks again sternly.]

It worked. By the miracles of all universes, you survived. It was not ideal by any means, but it was all we can muster with limited time. Now? Now all have nothing but time. Some of us have touched the stars when others have had the fortune of leaving the ground. Some of us are royalty, and some of us have never had a clean penny to your name. Some of us have tread the ground dragons walk, and others have only read of such things in novels. All of us know nothing about that until we've run into each other in bullshit rescue missions, and it has to stop. We can create precautionary measures, we can... do something. I don't know what it is quite yet, but we have enough minds to make proposals. I'm almost certain some of you have made plans to walk somewhere else in this wild world, but I can't say it's absolute, because I do not know. What I do know, whatever your plans are, is that it doesn't have to be alone.

I know this isn't disciplinary school, and you aren't going to treat me like a teacher giving you homework you must do. I also know we shouldn't all be children gathered around a campfire telling ghost stories—I know we're all adults. [But after a cursory glance towards some of the attendees, he clears his throat.] Well, most of us aren't infantile nor look it. But I would like us... to share, with one another. I'd like to know what we miss from home, what we can use. There must be something good enough that it's motivated us to get as far as we have. We might not be telling sitting around telling ghost stories, but... we can talk about the dead, the lost. We can learn. We have to find strength in ourselves, because...

Because it's becoming abundantly clear that not only does the universe not care, part of it wants us dead. We can keep just looking at the dirt it wants to bury us in, or we can plant something. We can take what made our worlds' something worth living in and... and try to bring in here. Try to make this bearable. Try. Whether it be sharing schematics, lessons, exclusive things to worlds we lost, or just stories that made us happy. Maker knows, we deserve to be a little happy.

[A bit uncertain of how to leave it on any other note, Dorian takes up his glass and goes for a mic drop. However, the mic is very much on, so there's some swearing and apologizing after the noise it makes, then he flees the scene to go refill his glass.]

[originallutece]

You did well.

[She has her own glass already, and she watches him frantically down his champagne before she murmurs that.]

It was sincere and passionate, and that reaches people. Look, they're already mingling.

[She nods at him: come stand by me.]

I'll tell you a story if you tell me one.

[fiendennor]

[Diana is quiet, listening as Dorian speaks.

For his apparent nerves, he's something of a persuasive speaker, she thinks. She's not entirely sure if he called the meeting to plan or for morale purposes (or some strange combination of both), but when he's done, she speaks up.] The libraries at Luna Nova, my school. They contained countless thousands tomes of magical knowledge-- now lost, likely forever. I wish I could read them again.

But coming here, a nexus of so much knowledge of other worlds, is itself an opportunity to learn more, even if it isn't what was in those books.

However, I think we need to learn more about the world we inhabit, first-- specifically, what lies past the island.

[poolhall_killer]

[Good lord, did Venom need to hear that. He's been embroiled in all kinds of unwanted emotion, from his lingering duties back home to his current situation here. He downs his champagne in response, his desire to building himself back up becoming stronger.]

Thank you. It was a beautiful speech, Dorian.

[He'd toast if his glass wasn't empty.]

[gekkajuu]

[Of course Atsushi approves of any plans to unite as a group and bond: that was the main reason why he was happy to hear about Olympia and Wyver's unified efforts to start a coalition of refugees. This unofficial counterpart is no less welcome, but Dorian's speech leaves him uncomfortable for reasons he can barely put his finger on. He should probably just leave the man alone, but... instead he'll try to wait for a quiet moment to approach him.]

Is that really... how you feel about our lives here?

[It's so overwhelmingly negative - and maybe not everything has been all roses, but Atsushi is determined to focus on options rather than obstacles, and there have been many. He feels kind of bad that Dorian doesn't feel the same, even after all this time.]

[beatupgrass]

[There's a lot of tl;dl in there, but Rocket definitely got the gist of it, and he can't say he doesn't... halfway agree. Maybe not with the namby-pampy aspects, but enough of it. That's a little surprising. He never really expected to agree with Dorian about anything.

So you have a surprised, but still disgruntled raccoonoid now.]

Heh. That wasn't nearly as pretentious as I expected it to be.

[priorly]

[Prior's there, making a scheduled excursion from otherwise promised rest. He's a little less hollow under the eyes now, and drinking something that's flushed some color to his face. If Dorian looks over while speaking he'll find Prior's eyes lowered in some private thought, but he's attentive through it and beckons him across to the couch he's sitting on after.]

Well it's a shame you don't want to be teacher at a disciplinary school. Some people like that sort of thing.

[kaleorbekaled]

[Talking to new people is something Kale can manage more easily over the network than in person. Overcoming her timid nature is very much a work in progress. Still, she's trying. If nothing else, the jobs she's gone on with others, and her involvement with rescuing other refugees has reinforced that she is useful.

She seeks Dorian out when he's alone for a moment, fidgeting with her hands as she approaches.]

T-thank you for organizing this. I think it's a good idea.