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(no subject)

Date: June 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports arrive and are shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings. Now with 200% more People-Seeking lists!
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. Now and then around you you might spot paper fluttering in the faint wind from somewhere relatively dry. It looks like a list.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Interrogation of a different kind, maybe. He doesn't care about the kid's stash. It's the look on his face that's worrying Jesse, who leans forward a little in his seat.]

Hey, you okay?

[Stanley jumps at the interruption to his racing thoughts, and glances over. He frowns a little, and then sneezes...right in a tray of cookies. With a vaguely guilty expression, he picks up the sneeze cookie and glances it over. At least no ones going to make him pay for it. ]

Uh. Maybe. Is this a dream?

[Because if it isn't a bad trip, then he totally just drowned and went to...somewhere weirder than he'd ever expected.]

Longest fucking dream I ever had, if it is one. Why don't you sit down a minute? Eat some of those.

[The sneezed-on cookies, he means. He's kind of worried the kid's about to faint over there.]

[Actually, that sounds good. Sitting down, breakfast. It's not like a little saliva wasn't going to be in the cookies once he put them in his mouth anyway.

Stan drops into the nearest chair with a sigh, though he freezes up again when the bulge in his shirt makes a distinct crinkling sound. His eyes wander nervously back to Cookie Man, looking for any signs that he might have heard that.]

[Oh yeah. Jesse noticed. But he gestures dismissively when he catches that nervous look.]

It's cool, yo. Just eat.

[That's good enough for now. Stanley bites into the cookie he's holding. It tastes like a normal cookie, no PCP or rat poison as far as he's aware. Not that he'd know, since he's not a rat, (maybe metaphorically at the moment,) but they seem harmless enough that he shoves a second cookie in his mouth before he even swallows the first. The result is something like a drowned chipmunk staring at the other rat in the cage.

After a moment he swallows, but he doesn't bother to brush the crumbs off of himself. Instead he tilts his head a bit, as if he's trying to solve a puzzle.]

You made these?

Yeah. Well, I had help, but yeah.

[Weird. Cookie Man doesn't exactly look like the kind of dude you find running a bakery. But the cookies aren't bad. Which is good, since he's responsible for the better part of a tray of them now.

Stanley nods, still a little dazed and confused. He shivers a little. Does this place seriously never dry out? That blows. He almost asks the dude if its true. He said he's been here a long time, right? He must know. But it's hard to verbalized things at the moment. He feels awkward, and seriously out of his element.

Instead of trying to carry a conversation he stuffs his mouth full of cookie again, desperate to not seem like a cat has his tongue. Which it kind of does.]

[Jesse gives him some time to get settled, focusing his own attention on his cigarette for a couple minutes. Then, casually and without judgment:]

How much is that under there? Like a pound?

[Son of a bitch.

Stanley chokes on his mouthful of cookie, and swallows it in a hurry. His answer is a little hoarse, and his voice goes thin and high, eyes wide.]

What?

Jesus, don't kill yourself.

[He glances around, in case maybe there's someone nearby who hasn't noticed all the drugs he's got on him at the moment. But people seem to all be doing their own thing. Slowly he turns back to the dude, and sizes him up. Well. He's no school teacher. Why the hell not...]

Interested?

Maybe. How much?

How much you need?

[Not that he has any idea what the market value is here. He barely even glanced at the weird bag of cash when they handed it to him. Hasn't even tried to work out the denominations.]

[Jesse's lips twitch. Need. That depends on how the day goes, doesn't it? He glances down, then toward the spot where Saul had assumed guard duty earlier. Good thing the guy finally took off.]

Uh, I'll take all of it.

[Alright. This will take some math. The stuff is worth a grand wholesale. They make 500 Marques a month. If he were working at home... 7.25 times 15 is like $109 so about $436 before taxes, which don't seem to exist here.

Whatever. Fuck it.]

Half of it. For 500.

[Fair's fair, might as well give the guy the wholesale price if he buys so much. But he's not keen on being trapped somewhere strange with no way to relax, at the moment.]

[Jesse raises a skeptical eyebrow.]

Lemme see it.

[Aw, jeez. Stanley glances around again, then reluctantly pulls one of the two enormous bags out from under his shirt. But he doesn't stop there, he opens the bag and silently offers a plump bud for Mr Cookie to check out. The scent is pungent, and luckily the deal was airtight. Otherwise it would be waterlogged and stinking of polluted river.]

[Jesse takes a moment to examine the bud, surreptitious for entirely different reasons. It's not that he's worried about getting arrested. It's that he's supposed to be staying clean.]

Aight. Five hundred.

[He hands it back, then reaches into his pocket for cash. Considering he hasn't seen weed since Baltimore, it's a pretty good deal. In fact, he's probably ripping the kid off a little. He counts out the marques, then hands those over, too.]

[Oh, good. That's half if it. If the dude takes Marques, anyway, whatever the hell those are. Still, it's a relief. Stanley slides the bag across the table at Cookie and snatches the money, which he quickly shoves into his pocket again with one last glance around.]

It didn't come from me, and it totally wasn't that price, okay?

[Jesse makes that bag disappear under the table in one swift movement. He's a pro, okay. It ends up going right into the backpack sitting at his feet.]

Got it. But just so you know, it's totally legal here.

You're shitting me.

[Wow. Why did he just sit there and let Stanley freak out the whole time then? Dick. It's kind of a Tony move, actually. He frowns, gaze going a bit far away now. Either to last night or a thousand years ago, since they're both the same thing around here.]

[Hey, he told the kid to calm down, didn't he?]

People might still give you shit for it, 'cause they're dicks, but they won't put you in jail.

I'll try not to sell to any grandmothers.

[It turns out he's kind of snarky when he relaxes, and pretty deadpan about it too. Stanley looks the Cookie guy over again, this time from the perspective of slightly more even footing. Hey, they share a vice. That makes a difference.]

...Stanley.

Jesse.

How come you're all wet like that, anyway? Ain't raining that hard.