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capeandcowllogs2013-06-24 02:54 am
capemods) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-06-24 02:54 am
Entry tags:
- *event,
- *open,
- davesprite | feathery asshole,
- edward nygma | riddler,
- gilbert nightray | n/a,
- kirei kotomine | the overseer,
- kurt wagner | nightcrawler,
- rick bradbury | n/a,
- rua | deformer,
- † cyd sherman | codex,
- † dracula | n/a,
- † eli bradley | patriot,
- † floyd pinkerton | pink floyd,
- † hank mccoy | beast,
- † klaus eberbach | iron klaus,
- † monica chang | black widow,
- † teddy altman | hulkling
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.
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.
no subject
Ma'am, I'm not a hallucination. I'm simply here to advise you that getting a hold of yourself would be recommended. [He gives a wary look around, the cameras especially.] I understand that this situation is a lot to take in, but if we don't keep our wits, there's likely to be trouble.
no subject
It's just... can you believe this? It's not like I ever had a ton of privacy back home, but seriously, clothing rights?! They literally want us to prance around naked in front of these cameras. I thought I'd basically earned my Black Belt in Dealing With Pervs, but wow!
[ Covers her face with her coffee mug (untouched, actually, just like the food on her plate) and lets out a few last laughs of deep, dark amusement. ]
no subject
[He glances over at her camera, pointing a finger at it.] You need two interviews, correct? Turn the camera on me, I'll be your first.
no subject
Okay, um... [ The camera stays steady even as she double-checks the questions. Seems someone's had a little experience with filming. ] When did you feel the most helpless? Or, if that's too heavy — do you "ship" any imPorts?
no subject
Ship, ship, ship, what do I ship? No, that one's no good. [He looks forward, at the table, running a hand through his mane.] The time I felt the weakest was a little over a year ago. I was in prison after turning myself in for a crime I didn't technically commit. Got so low that they transferred me to a mental hospital without my consent. But I got better, at least.
[Good job not looking crazy in front of your new friend, Hank.]
no subject
My Dad pretty much made me try therapy. It was... kind of a bust, I wasn't doing things the way Dr. Hammond wanted, so she... dumped me. As a client. For lack of a better way to put that, but what I'm trying to say is—
It's okay. We all get low sometimes. Besides, what I went through doesn't even compare to being accused of a crime, or prison, and – and if I hadn't tried it, I'd never know how to film anything! Although I never thought I'd be using my "mad skillz" like this.
[ Grimace. Moving on: ] C- can I ask about your power set? Is that too personal? I am pretty curious about the whole big, blue fuzzy thing you've got going.
no subject
But, moving on. My powers as you see them now are not actually how they started. At first I was just a rather large boy with extreme extremities, hands and feet about the size of my head. Everything later came from unfortunate circumstances regarding an experiment.
I'd isolated a hormone compound to replicate genetic mutation, but it wasn't designed to be taken by someone who was already a mutant. As it turns out, there were saboteurs after my formula, so I had to ingest it for safekeeping, and didn't get to the antidote in time. Next thing I knew, fur.
It's evolved, or devolved as some might claim, since then, but I've always been the same man. And it certainly doesn't come without its benefits to my physical prowess! I'm stronger, faster, more agile, and certainly more durable than I might look, and I don't exactly look like a slouch.
[He reviews his own question sheet, looking back at her.] I believe you were meant to ask about the downsides.
no subject
And, wait a second. You said mutant. What does that mean, exactly? My world doesn't have any superheroes, unless you count cosplayers, so I'm familiar with all the terminolo–
Oh, wait! You're right. I totally forgot. [ Rolling her eyes at, yes, herself. ] Uh, what are the downsides? 'Cause, honestly, it sounds pretty cool so far... although the fur's gotta be a pain to maintain...
no subject
[He adjusts his position a little before continuing.] Genetic mutation is a regular sort of phenomenon on my world. Basically, we have a common gene that triggers a variety of possible manifestations. Put simply, we're born with superpowers. Basically, take the imPort experience and imagine it applied to your everyday life, even outside of this universe.
Which is its own downside, I'm sure you can imagine. The more obvious one is my appearance. I'm afraid the feline physiology is...quite comprehensive. The attention you get for it is what you might expect, and I suppose my manner has developed a bit to compensate. Some of the underlying habits are difficult to keep at bay, and the shedding in summer? Horrific!
Let's not even discuss the more intimate difficulties it can present. [Do not ask him to elaborate on that, Cyd. Really.]
no subject
And, uh. [ There is a sudden tomato-ness to her cheeks. ] Yyyyeah. We don't need to get into details about, uh. Private things! Like that.
[ The camera's shaking a little in tune with her vigorous nods. Honestly, she has SO MANY more questions about this guy and his powers. She'd never thought she would meet an actual animal person outside of a virtual environment. Even then, she might have to do a double take. But were they allowed to ask additional questions? Or did something nasty happen if they went off the list...? ] M- moving on... don't want our audience to get bored, right? So, um, what about... other powers? Would you want to trade with anyone?
no subject
[He taps his fingers against the table, considering it further.] I suppose I've always somewhat envied technopaths. Sure, I'm good with machinery, but when it literally talks to you, there's no way you can't be!
But, of course, I'm more of a biologist myself, genetics, medicine, working with living bodies. But what would the organic equivalent to that be? Actually communicating with individual cells, or maybe the systems on a larger range? It would certainly make my job a snap. [And, of course, he snaps his fingers as he says it.]
no subject
[ Shakes her head. Moving on, moving on: ] Wait a minute. Are you talking about, uh, biotech or something like that? At least I think that's the word I'm looking for — ugh, never mind, not the point. What I meant to ask was: are you some kind of scientist? Or just a nerd for the human body?
no subject
I am, in fact, a biochemist! You don't see many hobbyists with multiple doctorates and synthesizing compounds that drastically alter their biological makeup.
[Resting his chin in on hand, he lets out a small nostalgic sigh.] That was my first job in the field, too.