(no subject)

[initiates]

Date: May 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports arrive and are shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings, while those Transports on the mission to Wollongong return.
Warnings: None.

You've just been hustled and bustled through mazes of information and literal, wide corridors of the Initiative Hold and you've been equipped with your weapon—be it a gun, a sword, or even your existing powers. They've handed you this light netbook and a small pouch of coins (or a debit card, if you're more inclined), and there are several Transports before and after you going through the very same motions. You can hear the Greeter's voice as she walks alongside large groups, telling them all about the history of this place and sharing with you your purpose here in a hurried and urgent tone. "You're in luck that we have enough rooms for all of you; the housing building is getting awfully full. Please, let me show you into the courtyard."

You pass what looks like huge gymnasiums, all with dummies and targets strewn and splayed around the room. Training areas. There are even classrooms, and a few small offices. You're rushed past a large library while the Greeter informs you that you can find almost all your information there, if you've got the time to look—and trust her, you'll have time. You don't spend a lot of time in the bank, and it's a bit of a blur of exchanges with more and more of these strangely-accented and oddly polite-seeming members of the Initiative.

Soon enough, you're in a massive courtyard bustling with all the other Transports. It's not exactly what you'd expect, and it looks more like barracks than anything—huge walls of concrete and stone, separating you from all of the hallways you'd just passed through. It's raining heavily, and dark clouds loom in the air, though it hasn't turned to snow. It's a chill cold, and there are shelters—long cloth hangings that extend from the walls of concrete to house you from the rain, but not enough. Most notably, the courtyard is filled with a marketplace. Even in the cold and the rain, there are several citizens seated at their covered booths and tables, bundled up against the weather. They're selling all manner of their own handmade goods and foods, and citizens and Transports alike are traveling from one small covered shop to another in search of all manner of necessities.

The Greeter's voice has become so faint now, but you swear you can make it out in the back of the crowds as she tells you, "Good luck. Be safe!"

Her voice is drowned out by the busy marketplace, though even the transactions taking place are somewhat subdued. Nobody is overly happy, really, though most citizens can be found with smiles on their faces. It doesn't seem like they're that shocked to see you, either; even if you're not bound in tattered rags and wrapped in heavy shawls as they are. You're welcome to walk up to a shop, and find yourself something to eat—hey, maybe you'll even find something akin to a raincoat. Or, you can join the others under the coverings against the walls. Where am I? What war? She was talking so fast, and it didn't all make very much sense… did anyone else catch it all?

Welcome to the courtyard. Welcome to the Initiative Hold—and most importantly, welcome to Exsilium.

Comments

[colur]

Of course. [ She says, frowning. ]

It didn't seem very smart.

[5055034455]

"Smart"?

[So.

This girl is obviously from nowhere like Exsilium. Or Albuquerque, for that matter.]

[colur]

To hand out weapons without making soldiers. And to imprison us without a lock!

[ Eilonwy is fairly confident they are all one big quest away from freedom because that's how this usually works. There are quests! ]

[5055034455]

Ah. Yeah, that. [He shrugs a little, unfazed.] You learn to deal with it. I mean, you kinda have to.

[A quick look around, like he might be checking for backup. He's not cut out to be part of the welcoming committee. Not by a long shot.

Alas.]

I'm Saul. I might be able to answer your questions, but I've only been here a short time, myself.

[colur]

How long do you mean?

[ Some people have v. odd definitions of time. ]

dreamwidth needs to stop breaking my icons.

[5055034455]

Uh. A month.

[He shrugs. It's longer than she's been here, at least.]

dw needs to stop breaking in general.

[colur]

Is that what's usual?

[5055034455]

Is what what's usual? People being stuck here?

[colur]

One month.

[5055034455]

One month, two. Sometimes a year or more.

[He looks a little unsure.]

I'm really sorry, but you're stuck. People leave, sometimes, but I'm not —

[Now is a good time for a topic change, maybe.]

What's your name? I'm Saul.

[colur]

Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of—

[ She narrows her eyes for a moment. It's really a lot to go through, and only the people at court really care. ]

Eilonwy.

[5055034455]

[Well. Dodged a bullet on that one.

He smiles.]

That's a nice name.

[colur]

Yes. [ She agrees. ] I'm rather fond of it.

[5055034455]

Is there anything I can help you with, Eilonwy?

[Not that he's usually the helpful type in situations like this (i.e. one where he is not getting paid), but.

Shh.

Don't tell.]

[colur]

Weren't you paying attention? I already told you.

Though I suppose not everyone is fit for adventures.

[5055034455]

Okay, but I'm talking more like something I can actually do. Which, right now, boils down to answering any questions you might have. Or I can give you a tour, show you to your room, whatever. But beyond that — you're outta luck, girlie.

[colur]

[ Bristling at being called "girlie." ]

Well, if you're the porter, you should have said so.

[5055034455]

I'm not the —

[He lifts a hand, rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment.

How do people do this every month?]

I'm not the porter. I'm just a guy trying to do someone a favor.

[colur]

I haven't got any bags, anyhow.

[ Hmmph! ]

[5055034455]

I'd be surprised if you did. So, what's it gonna be? Tour? Directions? Escort to the cookie tent?

[come on, kid, just let him do something nice]

[colur]

What's a cookie tent?

[5055034455]

Um. You know, like... a tent. [He holds his arms up, hands meeting at a point and elbows bent out so he's making an upside-down V. The universal symbol for tent, or something.]

Staffed by some friends of mine who bake cookies for the newbies, such as yourself.

[colur]

But what is a cookie?

[ They probably call them biscuits in fake Medieval Wales. ]

[5055034455]

[Good thing that's Saul's next explanation. Good thing he makes assumptions based on accents!]

Biscuits? Little... uh. Round or square things made out of flour and sugar.

[colur]

Well, why didn't you say so before?