❪ introlog: #2 ❫ THE CALM. -- the overflow.

[natha]

ORIGINAL POST

You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you’ve made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren’t expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you’d help the planet thrive. Are you ready? Submit any AC eligible thread of participating in this log's prompts for Two (2) Olympia REP points HERE. TRAVEL LIGHT     You're really lucky, new refugee. Because of the efforts of those that came before you, your own descent into El Nysa will be quick and relatively painless. You get to reap the benefits of others' experience. Those that came before you are all well-versed in the art of teleportation now, and descending into El Nysa is simply a concentrated thought away. A teleporter has been placed in the common areas to help the new refugees descend, but for this first time, you're going to need a little guidance. You're going to need to take the hand of someone who has been on El Nysa for a while now and learn the ropes. Hold on tight, Refugee, and don't be afraid when the blinding light hits you. The actual journey will feel like a sudden whiplash— painless, but sudden, and maybe a little nauseating. Keeping your balance may be difficult, and it’s possible you might end up toppling onto your poor partner. Hopefully you’re at least thankful. You have landed in a back alley in the Residential District of Olympia. HOME SWEET HOME     Immediately, you notice that everything you've been told about El Nysa is true. There are people of all races here, and although no one bats an eye at your appearance as you enter the district, a member of the Royal Guard asks for your passport. They have a keen eye, and can tell that although you may be a new refugee to their city, they've never seen you before. Certain rumors of an outside force making preparations to do some major damage has them particularly on edge. It's a good thing the Orbiters made sure you have an Olympian passport ready to go. You present it, and with a small nod, the Guard says nothing more and slaps a patch on your chest; to your surprise, it reads: Hello! My name is ________________! I am in House #___! Are you my housemate? ... No matter how much you try, there's no removing this sticker. "It'll come off tomorrow," says the guardkeep. "Lots of refugees here, limited housing. It's an easy way to get to know the people you're living with. Though, if you ask me, why are we accepting so many foreigners when so many want to watch this city burn? Well, I don’t give the orders." If someone greets you, the message on the patch will magically change: Secretly, I _____, _____, and _____! What are yours? There's no telling how they'd known these things, but it likely has to do with Zasere. AGAIN. It may be a good idea to get situated in your new home and set down some ground rules with your roommates. There is also, of course, much of Olympia to explore. FLONA COVE     Word around the city is that one very cute and enthusiastic Olympian, You Watanabe, has been asking around earnestly for the nearest place to find some coastal fun. It didn't take long before a few locals pointed her in the direction of Flona Cove. Maybe it’s a good idea to check out the area. There are only a few more days left of summer, after all. Even if you're not the beach type, exploring a new area certainly can't hurt your understanding of El Nysa. Flona Cove is just a quick train ride away. BEACH PARTY: Chances are, you've heard about the beach party being organized by You Watanabe, whether it be from her directly or someone who knows her. A lot of careful planning has gone into it, and it looks like a great time, so why not check it out? Full speed ahead towards a great time! There's plenty of food for everyone, and plenty of watermelons that need splitting! 1. Various food vendors from around Flona Cove have agreed to offer free food for the new refugees, and they line the shoreline near the harbor, enthusiastically offering goodies such as seafood kabobs, ice cream, fresh fruit (including whole watermelons!), and hot dogs. You Watanabe herself has a grill where she’s cheerfully serving up her trademark "Niceoodles" yakisoba as well as other Japanese food like takoyaki and rice. What makes her noodles so nice? It’s obviously the cheerful smiley-face sun drawn on the omelette. In exchange, the chefs and vendors only ask that you spread the word, though most of them have buckets for donations if you want to help chip back in. After the party is all done, however, there seem to be plenty of dishes that need doing, all in a big pile. You herself is working on getting through the mountain of dishes, but maybe you could lend a hand? 2. It's just not a beach party without the traditional watermelon splitting! For those of you who don't come from modern Japan on Earth, it might be perplexing at first seeing the literal mountain of watermelons grown with the help of Keyleth, another recent Olympian. If the bat-like sticks and blindfolds next to them don’t explain the purpose, though, you might just sit back and watch as a brave competitor sets a watermelon on the sand, ties a blindfold around their eyes, and has people start yelling at them which way to go. They consider the shouts of the crowd, take a swing... and strike nothing but sand. Perhaps you can do better? There are beach activities galore. Now's the time to build the sandcastle of your dreams or play a game of beach volleyball. Maybe you're brave enough to surf the waves, or you’d just like to enjoy a swim. Mom friends who just want to lounge in the sun and read a book while working on their tan are welcome too, of course. BENEATH THE SURFACE: 1. Diving beneath the waters in Flona Cove yield a whole new world on its own. Rent a scuba suit and take a trip to explore the corals, and you may even be lucky enough to run into a playful school of dolphins. Be careful-- they tend to get carried away and will happily drag swimmers for a wild ride. 2. You might want a boat for this scuba adventure, unless you're a strong swimmer. Venture deeper into the ocean, farther away from the coast, and adventurers will find some interesting stuff. Two miles southwest of the harbor, deep, deep into the watery abyss, lies a shipwreck. Exploring through the various rooms of the ship yields a few knick-knacks here and there-- rusted spare parts, cracked tea sets... a surprisingly well-preserved pin-up painting of Koralle? The real treasure awaits for those who have the courage to swim beneath the ship's hull. Here, covered in algae and debris, lies the skeletal corpse of a winged, fanged, clawed beast. This is only a distant memory of its former glory, as nothing but bones are left, but something— something brilliant, catches your eye. Those hundreds of teeth are not bone, but a material so lustrous and pure, it nearly blinds. It will take some work, but with persistence and strength, it is possible to extract a tooth. Those that work in Simwe Institute or The Sanctuary may find it beneficial to take an extra for their boss— this is definitely something that is of interest to study. 3. Olympians love their luxury. There's nothing more luxurious than a secluded lagoon, the water at just the perfect temperature and pristine. This is one of the most sought-after spots for the natives, but when you come across it, it is completely peaceful and empty. For the tourists? Well, this place simply gets overlooked due to its distance from the main beaches. It's also relatively hidden. Soon you start feeling oddly friendly? Cupid’s Pool is also described by the people of Olympia as the touchy-feely pool. It has an inherent property that makes those who soak in it crave physical affection. Chances are you probably wanted to know this before you decided to take a dip, huh? (Please warn for threads appropriately) EARN SOME SILVER     1. While many of the locals came together to offer their hands to provide a bit of entertainment for the surge in tourism, that isn’t to state that they’re fully staffed. Have a few hours to spare? They're willing to pay for your help. Maybe you’re just the cooking champ they needed? The lifeguard who showed up just in time? Or the star salesman at their humble accessory shop so desired? 2. The man who approaches you is even offering more than most of the vendors down the street. Sure, the guy and his entourage look kind of shady, but money is money, isn't it? If you accept, he’ll shove a strange swimsuit or two your way and lead you to the dressing room. What kind of job is this? Modeling, he says. Hopefully you aren’t camera shy! Hey there, hot stuff. I like your look. Or maybe it's your... aura? Either way, I like what you're working with. How about you flaunt what you've got for some fat silver stacks? He also wants to be able to test your charm, and is willing to pay a whopping 400 silver in exchange. He may even ask you to go "talk" (did you hear him say "hit on"?) to a couple of people, and “sell” yourself. Whatever that means... Incidentally, he says he’ll give you a signal once you get a pass. Feels like forever, doesn’t it? 3. Once night begins to fall and the people gradually begin to clear out, you’ll notice something... odd. There are some shady looking people around, and maybe you’ve been hearing whispers all day about a certain "fight club." Initially, no one will tell you a time or location, but if you are persistent, your efforts will pay off. Perhaps in light of helping a vendor clear out their stall or assisting that one Olympian native in distress, they’re willing to tell you a few things about this exclusive club. They explain to you that it’s been a long-standing tradition of Olympia. Secret fight clubs. A place for people to stretch their wings and their fists. Moreover, the pay off seems to be pretty good! Though, they warn you that there are some aggressive competitors out there this time around. Things have been tough politically for a while now, and there is much unrest among the people. What better way to blow off some steam than to beat someone up and make a bit of bank! Fights are not to the death, simply until a knock out, but accidents (and "accidents") do happen. Finding the crowd of people will take some searching, even with directions. They meet along the northern coast of Flona, by following a path leading underground, well away from any civilization. Once you’re there, why not participate? You may find yourself facing off against a fellow refugee. OOC     An AC-eligible thread for 2 OLYMPIAN REP POINTS may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD HERE by OCTOBER 15 11:59 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. 1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[priorly]

I like to think my mind would have come up with an elegant colour accent for that suit.

[Because Byerly, Jesus, even to a drag queen it's bright. And either this is the second time in the same one or god forbid there is a wardrobe of this hue.]

I met someone recently [In a dream. Definitely a dream. Probably.] who told me the mind can't create anything that wasn't there to start with. So if I made you up, I'd have had to have seen your pretty eyes across a crowded floor somewhere and had at least that to work with. I don't know if that's true.

[vorrutyer]

[ By blinks innocently, plucking at his florid waistcoat. ]

But this flatters my skin tone. I know it does. My tailor told me so.

[ But he leaves off with the vamping after a moment, settling back into his chair with a frown. ]

But that doesn't sound right, does it? I mean - I've dreamed in the past that I spontaneously grew wings and took flight. And I've certainly never seen that before.

[priorly]

But you've seen wings, you have that framework. And that is either an outrageous lie or you have an outrageous, lying tailor. [He holds a hand to Byerly's cheek and considers it.] You're a true Autumn, you'd suit ochre... olive... peacock blue.

[vorrutyer]

[ By presses his hand to his chest and widens his eyes, either mock-offense or mock-outrage - either a how-dare-you or a he-would-never. He drops his hand, then, and says, mildly: ]

Peacock blue sounds nice. And very in-fashion for town clowns like me - the louder the better. [ But - ] So your dream of being a prophet, then - based in your experience? I thought you weren't a religious fellow.

[priorly]

I'm familiar with the imagery of it. Angels are pervasive in the culture: statues in the parks, perched on top of Christmas trees. Little girls in white dresses: "and lo the Angel came to Mary and fortold unto her the birth of a boy" or whatever. Thank God divine conception seems to no longer be the fad.

[His eyes may be a little too wide but fortunately for Byerly he's not privy to the vivid reimagining of the nativity story that suddenly flashes past Prior's eyes.]

Though I will concede never to have pictured any quite like the one I met.

[vorrutyer]

[ He gives a small nod, a little go-on gesture. ]

What was it like?

[priorly]

Beautiful and terrible and fucking... insane? [Prior laughs and it feels too close all of a sudden, and too real.] She was a woman with wings and she was like staring into the sun. A hell of a nag, too. No respect for privacy or personal space, or household insurance.

[He smiles, lips thin.]

She fell through the roof and cracked my kitchen floor in half, but it was fixed the next morning. Am I crazy, yet?

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly gives a small shrug. ]

I'm a Vorrutyer, darling. In my family, you don't count as crazy until you have a body count. [ A beat. Then, with a frown and a bit of a shrug - ] Or perhaps you're only crazy without a body count - with one, you're generally considered an outstanding candidate for Prime Minister.

[ But all of that aside... ]

It seems to me that this experience did affect you. Rather deeply. Yes?

[priorly]

If not knowing the soundness of my own mind counts as affected.

[And far more than that. Of course it's affected him.]

I'm not always quite so emotionally labile. Whether that's the Angel, the pills, or the death of my planet, who can say.

[vorrutyer]

[ A shrug. He takes a sip of wine and doesn't fully look at Prior as he says: ]

Quite so. Still, it's a curious thing, isn't it - whoever wrote that name-tag for you seems to believe the story, as well.

[priorly]

Whoever wrote my name tag - and yours - reached into our heads and plucked out little snippets of things we're afraid to let other people know. I don't know if I like that kind of thing.

[Having it, using it, having it used on him.]

Prophecy. It means knowing something of the future that you have no right to.

[vorrutyer]

Or they relied upon their knowledge of us.

[ He brushes his hand upward, indicating the sky above them and its sinister denizens. But, well...Might serve to lighten the mood a bit. ]

Any idea what I might have for dinner tonight? I can't make up my mind.

[priorly]

[Prior laughs, a soundless but honest thing, and then he stops and looks at Byerly and there's a concentration - a focus to it that wasn't there before.

And then a flinch. A flinch that barely shows before being finessed over, the well-practiced act of carrying on.]

You'd think that would be possible. There are big things and little ones - I might look across and know someone's wife is cheating on them - but it's all unbidden. I can't even get the goddamned lottery numbers. Still. Try the veal.

[vorrutyer]

Sure.

[ He didn't miss that look. It would have been impossible to miss. Prior is open, honest - telegraphs his every feeling with the subtlety of an uncommonly earnest puppy. So Byerly oughtn't ask, on the off-chance there's some truth to this prophecy thing - unlikely though that seems, much more likely to just be a flash of madness-driven "revelation"... ]

What was that look?

[priorly]

Look?

[He's just as obvious when he tries to close things off, although he can do it, just shut down. That's not an approach he'd want to take here.]

As I'm not observing myself I couldn't possibly know to which look you refer. Were my eyes straying in the direction of your suit again, perhaps? With eyes as dim as mine you do tend to pull focus.

[vorrutyer]

You winced.

[ He takes a sip of wine. Foolish to insist on this. What's he trying to get out of it - catching Prior in a mistake? Proving he's no prophet at all, just a madman? How sadistic of him. Or is he looking for confirmation...? ]

Saw something unpleasant, perhaps?

[priorly]

My mouth may have quirked. It does that, my mouth. Quite the liability. Here I am, having a quiet drink, and it could be flirting with strangers, smiling at babes in arms or wincing for no reason at all, entirely beyond my own account.

[You can back off this, Byerly. Perhaps you should.]

Besides, I'm sure I'd warn anyone if I saw something unpleasant.

[vorrutyer]

I'm sure.

[ Byerly's smile is rather humorless. Doesn't reach his eyes. ]

Yet the fact that you're avoiding it does make me wonder if perhaps what you saw might have been the tiniest bit unpleasant.

[priorly]

People find hearing their private concerns on the lips of others unpleasant, as a rule.

[Prior turns to his wine: not enough left for courage but he drinks it anyway.]

It isn't unpleasant, exactly, but I don't know that you'd want to know. Mostly I don't know - I have a deep feeling that you wouldn't want me to know, so it reasonably follows that if I tell you then you'll–

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly interrupts. ]

Tell me.

[ There's no mockery on his face now, no smile. None of his usual ironic vagueness. He looks sharp and focused - with just the faintest lines of habitual stress around his eyes. A careless fellow like him should not, of course, have habitual stress. But there you are. ]

[priorly]

[You'll go. Leave. Walk out now and not look at me again for fear I'll look back.

Prior meets Byerly's stare and holds it a few seconds before relenting. He stands, starting to button his shirt again, the label outward: Prophet. Seer. Revelator.]

You're right. There are so many strangers here, what's one more.

[And, very quietly, leaning in to the table again -]

She is well. Not untouched by the storm but restorable. It will take time, and the wait will be terrible for you. But when she wakes, she will be undamaged.

[That's all there is. A curt nod of his chin and he heads for the door.]

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly knows the art of the grift. A good five years, penniless in high society before he was recruited by ImpSec, taught him to scam and taught him how to recognize the scam. This one's the easiest of all. Recognize a doe-eyed fool who plays the callous scoundrel but whose heart melts over a thin sick pretty boy, who buys him a drink because he wants him to smile and be all right. Find that rube, that mark, and tell him things in very vague terms. She is well. Who is well? Does it matter? Of course a soft-hearted fool would have a she somewhere. Traveling light, his ass. It'd take an imbecile not to see through that lie.

He should raise an eyebrow, purr out a sure. Finish his wine in peace, letting this grifter know with his coolness that Byerly Vorrutyer is no one's mark. But he doesn't. Instead, he stands too, leans forward. Grabs at Prior's wrist to keep him from leaving. And he demands, a sharp edge in his voice: ]

Who?

[ Nadine, is who. A woman instantly recognizable as his sister, with the same velvety eyes and long lashes and sharp features, but without the irony, without the bitterness. Nadine, who he'd defended when they were young from their predatory cousins and from bee-stings and from all the hurts of the world. Who he hadn't seen for ten years before he'd seen her in that stasis pod.

You're an easy bloody mark, Vorrutyer. ]

[priorly]

I don't know. Let go of my arm.

[Flight's not an option and Prior's not overestimating the amount of fight he has in him. He tugs at his wrist once, knowing that any more dramatic an attempt will only create a scene. They're already creating a scene, though the bar is small and dark and quiet and the people here have seen new arrivals and their emotional outbursts before.

He shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have said any of it, should have known it would end in a mess, one way or another. And maybe he did. But Byerly makes for easy conversation, and if parts of it prove shallow then maybe shallow's something Prior needs sometimes. And if he listens more than he talks and there's always a reason people do that then well.

Well it's still such a strange thing to be listened to. No one listens to him anymore. Not the doctors, other than to make sure he's agreeing to listen to them. Not even Belize, who tries but for all his efforts cannot comprehend...

Prior steps in toward Byerly instead. Raises his free hand to the man's chest. Quietly.]

I don't know. But you love her very much, and you don't want people to know. Even being near her could give it away. So you aren't. Ever.

[He closes his eyes, focused on the faint pressure of his palm over the beat of Byerly's heart]

Nadine Anastasia.

[vorrutyer]

[ How could he know that? Getting information from the...the Orbiters, perhaps. But how did they know about her? If they knew, why couldn't Prior know the same way, drawing on some inner power, some...some -

It feels like the floor is dropping out from under him. There's a roar in his ears. Even her middle name. That despised middle name, they both always hated theirs, his because his grandfather Vlad Vorkovacs was a complete ass, hers because Anastasia sounded so silly and didn't suit her at all. How could he know? This offworlder, this galactic, with his strange accent and foreign mannerisms - if he'd just read her name off a list somewhere, he would have pronounced it wrong, but he pronounced it perfectly...

Grifters never get this specific. Specificity is falsifiable. It'd be I'm getting an N, it starts with an N. Not Nadine Anastasia Vorrutyer Vorlightly, the Lady Vorlightly, living on the South Continent, sending you letters every once in a while that you don't respond to because she needs to have her reputation preserved and you are a poison, dear Byerly.

He should threaten Prior. Threaten him with consequences. Frighten him into silence. He's an ImpSec operative, dammit, the highest-ranking ImpSec operative on this whole planet - the head of ImpSec by default. The new Simon Illyan. Illyan could make generals shit themselves with a single look and a cryptic smile; surely By can intimidate a skinny fellow with birdlike wrists.

Surely.

Surely. ]

You - can't tell anyone.

[ It comes out reedy, desperate, pleading. So much for the terrify-him-into-submission plan. ]

[priorly]

[Prior meanwhile looks as though he's making concerted efforts not to cry. He didn't mean to do this. Didn't want to do this to someone - to anyone. He'd take it back, go back to talking about nothing, about anything so long as it was meaningless, if he could. Fuck the name labels. Fuck testing impossible possibilities. Fuck everything.]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a fucking prophet. Just call me crazy and let go of my arm.