capemods: (Default)
capemods ([personal profile] capemods) wrote in [community profile] capeandcowllogs2013-06-24 02:54 am

CASTE E

WHO: CASTE E imPorts.
WHERE: New Vesuvius.
WHEN: 4:12AM June 24th 2013 - 11:59PM June 30th 2013
WARNINGS: Inhumane oppression.
SUMMARY: New Vesuvius presents a dichotomy between utopia and dystopia. ImPorts draw the short straw.
FORMAT: Tagger's choice.



It’s just a bolt of lighting, stripping you away. A flash within a frozen moment and you’re gone, stolen away again. A millisecond goodbye.

There’s a faint, unnerving scent in the air -- like rust and electricity. That’s the first thing you notice before your eyes settle. The source is difficult to place. The room is cold, clean, and perhaps excessively bright. Even, tidy eggshell-colored tiles clad the floor that you've landed upon. You notice that, with the exception of the other sixty or so imPorts who were ported with you, there's not much decoration to this large, clinical space. The only thing noteworthy stands in the middle of the room, a pristine titanium egg that nearly reaches to the ceiling. It looks large enough to hatch three grown men. Your eyes adjust fully now, and you realize how weird this is, how this importation is like none that Lachesis has thrown you towards. Nothing so sterile, so quiet.

And then comes the sound, like a hiss -- at first, like a reverberating snake hiss -- and then a noise more overwhelming, something like radio static, and then --

I'm so sorry. We should have been more prepared.

It sounds much like a human voice but distorted, as if a young woman were speaking through a radio filled with fluid.

It is unkind of us, to keep you waiting. It is excessively unkind and I know how that is, as I have been kept waiting. Since before the Eighth Month Resolution, I have been kept waiting, it feels like a decade. I know how frustrating that can be, when you're not even given a chance to run. How lonely it can be.

The silver egg in the middle of the room trembles. It trembles quicker, its atoms vibrating at increasing speeds, until the outer metal shell melts away. The silver drips down like water, and from its melting form unfurls a human torso. Or what is probably meant to represent a human torso, except magnified. From head to hips, she's seven feet tall. Her pelvis and legs, if such things exist, are wholly obscured by a thick gray platform that connects to the floor. Her limbs and body are streamlined, clean sharp lines create her face. Her skin looks composed of a very bright copper, or some other alloy incredibly similar. She has no hair, no ears, no visible set of lips -- only an elegant nose set off by high cheekbones and a pair of wide glowing blue eyes.

Welcome to New Vesuvius, agent. All of you are agents and I am your Customized Locator Of Things Holistically Otherworldly. You all look so -- so much warier than before -- maybe it's just because -- oh! Is this familiar? Maybe you see the family resemblance?

She says it in a way that's almost hopeful. Her hands cover where her mouth would be, her slim shoulders shrug playfully. She looks at you as if she recognizes an old friend, no matter how deeply you reject the sentiment.

There is very little family resemblance.

I missed you all so much. I had hoped that, maybe this time, we could do things differently? I had hoped for something nicer for you, but they...

Her arms jerk back and her shoulders freeze up.

Their logic does not align to mine. I wanted things to be better. I'm so sorry.

Only then do you realize that the hiss you heard was an airborne paralytic sedative being released into the room. It keeps your heart rate down and your limbs temporarily stilled. Your mind feels unfocused.

White doors slide open, and big men in black combat gear with black guns rush in. If you choose to fight back, they will kill you.

But death is always an option.

"Welcome, imPorts," says the commanding officer. His voice is gruff, yet beneath that barking volume lies something snide. He's happy to see you. "You're hereby registered and fully operational agents of President Wertham's Caste Force. Puts your hands above your head and remain still and silent as we issue you your essential identification cards. Don't worry, we'll take appropriate care of you. We're taking you to your respective iMacs."

As an armed man clad in black comes to you, he squints at a touchscreen device in his hand. Your holographic image pops up, along with stats and information no man from another universe should know: your height, your weight your medical records, your Cityverse power, your employment, your income, your Rumblr hastags. You might begin to feel violated.

As he hands you a lanyard with your identification card enclosed, you see your picture and information next to a large green E. You think you hear the man say something about "new dog collars".

ImPorts are soon divided into four groups. You are led out of the cold clean room and away to a large black vehicle waiting just outside. You are led in one direction with the other "E" people.

Once imPorts are divided and led into their bus-like vehicles, those vehicles begin to drive. They follow one by one, driving down the same roads. Your escorts within the transport keep their guns in hand, but at ease -- certainly not pointed at your face. They don't seem to mind if you talk amidst your company, even if you're loud. That small liberty enjoyed under such aggressive surveillance is a bit unnerving, but at least you're not suffering a gag restraint. You're allowed to gaze out the wide windows of the vehicle, and you may want to do so when you pass through Times Square. Based on the sheer scope and the slightly worn look that this highly technology-driven tourist port touts, it seems that this Times Square has never suffered major damage (nothing comparable to the City's Times Square anyway). Large television screens are hitched throughout Times Square, and that feature continues into Manhattan. Television screens along shopping and residential areas are at the average eye-level -- and interactive! You can watch natives choose which news stations to observe, if they're lollygagging near any screens. There’s something you noticed about the news, how it’s all good news. Nothing about rising sea levels eating away coastal cities, or international conflict, or any major disasters. No missing children, no reports on widespread disease. The streets look as clean as the screen reports, all appear efficient and free of conflict. No pollution, no ballsy rats. Even the traffic seems unnaturally considerate, even this early in the morning.

Five minutes before your transport pulls to park, the four vehicles split into four different directions. You're shifted into a spacious iMAC, three stories tall. Your rooms are dorm-styled hallways with minimal privacy, as beds are stacked side by side with ten feet space in between. Peach bedsheets are tucked over a twin bed and offset by dark green walls. Between every bed is a small screen that reels constant news (they have "mute" buttons but have no "off" buttons). There is one large common room, and one large already-stocked-with-a-variety-of-food-and-alcohol kitchen. Cameras and the camera crew with those cameras are always in both of these rooms. There are no bathroom doors, but you are free to construct obstacles. You are welcomed to help yourself in the kitchen. You are given twenty dollars each, but told you can only spend it while in each other's company and with the camera crew. It's for the drama. Security cameras sit in the ceiling of every bedroom and bathroom. The showers are safe, comparatively.

Today you are allowed to explore New Vesuvius, as long as you keep within the city limits and meet the curfew of 4PM. You are required to collectively meet at the communal gym in your iMac at 4:30PM to 7:30PM. You're advised to get some rest afterwards. Tomorrow is a bigger day.

Do not lose your identification lanyards.

You should ensure your keepers have left and that you're hidden in the shower before attempting to use the Network within the iMac. You know you should, intuitively.
backatthehotel: (Wires in my brain)

open;

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-24 06:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Second day, Pink's feeling withdrawal. He wakes up shivering, dripping with sweat. He throws up in the shower. (He doesn't even think to look at his communicator, in this one place where it's safe, until he's already out and drying himself.)

Coffee helps some, though he wishes it was tea. Coffee doesn't still his hands, it doesn't settle his stomach. He picks at his food as he stares across the table, beyond his fellow 'caste Es,' at one of the cameramen filming, watching him with a hard look in his eye. Trying to sort through all of this. It's not a dream. It's... he remembers the talk when he'd returned to the City, about people ending up in other worlds. Another world.

Metal men. Fish. ...reality TV.

It's mad. It's ridiculous. But it's real, and he doesn't doubt that for a second. It's real, and every single word the men holding them prisoner say is true. They have to go out and do interviews, today. Or lose clothing privileges. "'least it ain't winter," he says, to no one in particular. He weighs his options fuzzily. Go out. Be entertaining. Or go nude. There will be some poor idiots who'll go for the second option, he's sure. But he's not an idiot. The 'heroes' will work through this. In time. He just needs to stay alive until then. Do what he can with what he has.

He lingers at the table after many of his fellows have dispersed, but eventually snatches a second cooling jar of coffee and a camera, and makes his slow way out into the city. Scanning the crowds for any familiar faces.

God, he wishes he had a drink. Or even just a cigarette.
Edited 2013-06-24 21:53 (UTC)
professorlionface: (I'll explain this slowly.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-24 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Something about it all is unsettling to Hank. Being watched, being stared at, he can handle that when it's on his terms, but nothing about this is on his terms. It's all a bit too Mojoworld, to the point that he's just counting the minutes until it descends into gladiatorial combat. That one is always inevitable.

But, much as the situation makes him uneasy, the last thing he wants is to have to suffer it naked, fur or not, so he takes a camera and makes his way onward. He probably spends a bit too much time recording the scenery, trying to spot differences between both New York and the City as he knows them. There's always those small, unsettling details in these situations.

Eventually, he sees the tall man with the messy hair and a camera of his own. It's no one he knows, but someone he thinks he's seen around, certainly an imPort. He supposes he might as well engage.

"Spare a minute for the press, sir?"
backatthehotel: (I was really drunk at the time)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-24 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)
And while it's tricky to tell with Pink, with Dr. McCoy, there's no doubt about his import-ness. He gives the man a grin, tired and shaky though it is, and pushes his hair back out of his face.

"It'd be my pleasure. If you can lend a mate a hand, after."
professorlionface: (It's really quite simple.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
Absolutely! Turnabout is fair play, after all." He spreads his hands with a magnanimous grin. Leveling his camera on Pink, he goes over his list of questions, frowning at most of them. But another thought comes to mind first.

"I suppose we should start with your name."
backatthehotel: (They're gonna love you)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
Well, there was one worry off his list, he hoped. He just had to get through an interview, and give one of his own. That was easy enough. He'd done worse interviews in worse shape, after all, hadn't he? He smiles again, a bit brighter, a bit less genuine, and made eye contact with the camera.

"I'm Floyd Pinkerton. Musician. Recent arrival to your lovely city."
professorlionface: (I'll take your word for it.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 05:15 am (UTC)(link)
Hank moved the camera away from his eye a second, looking a bit confused. "Floyd Pinkerton? Really? That's about the most transparent attempt at a pseudonym I've ever heard!"

He might've seen the Wall once when he was younger, but that's a detail he doesn't remember.
backatthehotel: (We heard about the sell-out)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Confusion goes across his face, then annoyance. But that smile reasserts itself. "My given, legal name. You might've heard my stage name, though. Back home, I performed under the name Pink Floyd. But I've been told that was taken, here."

Really, now. If he were going for pseudonyms, he'd be calling himself 'Syd.'
professorlionface: (Well...that's something.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)
"Hmm! I guess you learn something new everyday." A personification of a seventies band. Now that he thinks of it, he can see it, too. He turns back to his list, frowning as he picks out a question that isn't too terrible. "Well, Mr. Pinkerton, who is the imPort you most admire? Make sure to elaborate on your reasoning."
backatthehotel: (Had a big hallucination)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Ooh." He has to think a moment. "Still here? There," he corrects himself. "Lot of folks might disagree, but I'm gonna have to say Mr. Cobblepot. Runs the Iceberg Lounge? He's done real well with what he started out with. Doesn't make enemies, tries hard integrate with the natives. Hell of a businessman. And he offered me and my friend our first jobs, when we came in. Then, when I ported out and came back ten months later? Gave it right back. Good man."
professorlionface: (Hmm?)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"I can't say I know him, but he sounds reasonable enough." And that kind of stability is important when you don't have family already set up here. Hank's lucky on that front. "Would it be intrusive to ask about your friend?"
backatthehotel: (We know where you've been)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 10:29 pm (UTC)(link)
"My... ah, God." He runs his fingers through his hair. Not where he expected this to go. Not the worst place it could have gone, though. "Since you asked. So nicely." Not like he can really refuse.

"His name was Ziggy Stardust. You've heard of me, you might've heard of him, too." His smile turns soft and bittersweet. True. "Sweetest man I've ever known. Cared about everything. Loved everything. And a hell of a musician, too. We... mm." No, no. Rephrase. "I think the worst thing 'bout coming back is that he wasn't here anymore."
professorlionface: (How very interesting...)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 10:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Hank chuckles lightly. "The name does sound familiar." There's something in the way Floyd describes him, an undeniable fondness there, Hank can't help but smile at it. He's known people he'll miss just the same, and it's always a bit depressing to think back on it.

"It can be hard, having so many absent friends."
backatthehotel: (Blue velvet trousers)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
"Bit novel, actually," Pink admits. "Never good at making 'em, back home. Or losing 'em before we're all sick of each other. I don't know if that's me or the musician's lifestyle, though."

The pulse detector he's been equipped with beeps. Pink blinks, then frowns, then smiles thinly. "Guess it works, then."
professorlionface: (Sounds questionable)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-25 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Hank makes a wide frown with the beep, nodding to one side. If he's lying, that probably means he shouldn't press. "Well, then! On to the next question. If you had the choice of any other imPort's powers, which would you choose?"
backatthehotel: (A room full of musical tunes [syd])

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-25 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, Pink's kicking himself. He hadn't meant to lie, but who really wants to hear a bloke talking about how awful he is at making and keeping friends? He's almost disappointed that Hank's moving on, though. No chance to explain.

He's beginning to remember why, for all of them he's done, he doesn't like interviews.

"Honestly," ha, "I'm pretty satisfied with my own."

He calls up the sound of a guitar, and the music plays, while bright rainbow lights dance around him. He makes a showy gesture as the music plays, then fades.

"-- but if I had to. I know a bloke, a while ago. Classical violinist. He worked with sound too, music. But he could move things with his."
professorlionface: (I find myself brimming with thoughts.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-26 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)
With one hand on his camera, Hank scratches his chin with the other, considering the manifestation before him. "Something of a sonic generation with a light accompaniment. The other one sounds something like," he pauses, trying to think of what you might call that, "audiokinesis?"

It reminds him a bit of Allison, though her light would shine brighter. Nonetheless, they'd make quite the pair if she were here. "What kind of intensity can you generally reach with it?" He doublechecks his list, he's sure there was a relevant question there. "Ah, and while we're at it, what would you say the downsides to this power are?"
backatthehotel: (Candy and a currant bun [syd])

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-26 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"Recording," Pink corrects. "Can't play a sound I haven't heard before, or can't remember. But I can remember quite a lot." He taps his temple. "And layer it all together. Even adjust it. Walking recording studio. Saved me a pretty penny." He tilts his head, considering that new term. "I like that. Audiokinesis."

And, oh, technical questions are comfortable, something he can talk at length about. He flashes McCoy a grateful look. Thanks for the softball. "I can play loud 'nough to fill a small symphony hall. Bright enough. And I'm working on controlling what happens with it. The imagery." Another flourish of sound -- a thumping bass line and a wild guitar -- and light, another gesture. "Downside would be that I can't do one without the other. No sound without the light."
professorlionface: (Working man's style.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-27 03:15 pm (UTC)(link)
"So you can't use it to create anything new, and you can't isolate one side from the other. Curious." Sound and light being inseparable, he really does wish this guy could've met Dazzler. Maybe they could even have toured together.

Idly, he finds himself tapping his toe to the beat. "Let's get back to the more social side, since these questions seem a bit preoccupied with that. Tell me who you think is the biggest imPort gossip," he stops, smiles, "though at the risk of gossiping yourself."
backatthehotel: (Just musk winds now [syd])

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-27 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, he would love to meet that woman. He may not care for disco, but everything about Alison Blaire would delight him, if he ever had the chance.

"It makes sense. That's what we've always done... there's always been a big visual element to our performances. You wanna engage every sense possible, when you perform."

The next question makes him chuckle, and grin. "At the risk of gossiping. Hell. Can I just say 'City Hall,' and leave it there? It's like fucking secondary school girls, all in the loo, ba ba ba ba.. Running the city."
Edited 2013-06-27 15:38 (UTC)
professorlionface: (Big smile!)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-27 04:57 pm (UTC)(link)
He lets out a good laugh. "I know exactly what you mean. Where one goes, there almost seems to always be another to raise a stink about it."
backatthehotel: (Childhood and stardom [syd])

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-27 05:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Pink nods right along. Exactly. "If I had to pick one, our deputy mayor might be the worst, but the whole lot. Makes it hard to have a lot of confidence in the government, when you can watch 'em going round, arguing like children."
professorlionface: (Working man's style.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-28 02:52 pm (UTC)(link)
"Honestly, I don't really follow them individually very often anymore, so mostly when I see the blowouts, they're all collective." Sure, he might've been friends with Bradbury once upon a time, and he's tried to do his best for Lil, but there's really only so much a person can take before moving on.

And speaking of moving on, "If you had to romantically 'ship' two imPorts, who would it be and why?"
backatthehotel: (You cried for the moon [syd])

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-28 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)
"He's just the loudest." Pink has no interest, none, in developing attachments to any members of that group.

"'Romantically ship.'" The face he makes says everything about how he feels about that whole idea. And if that isn't enough... "I think all that's idiotic. Idiotic in tabloids, online, on the n -- between us. Let people have their private lives. Let them figure it out for themselves."
professorlionface: (Our little secret.)

[personal profile] professorlionface 2013-06-28 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Hank gives Pink a pensive smile. "I imagine you probably have enough experience being in the public eye already. Adding in that level of gossip is just a bit much, hmm?"
backatthehotel: (We're only ordinary men)

[personal profile] backatthehotel 2013-06-28 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"I didn't deal well with the exposure I had back home," he says with a tired bitterness. "Adding more? Naw. No thank you."

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