exsiliumlogs | (no subject)

Date: August 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

But that can be arranged~! ♥

[ ...wait, no. Forget the pseudo-Victorian gentleman schtick. He looks like a deranged pervert as he reaches for her with wiggly fingers. ]

[She's about to point her finger and tell him off when he first answers - needless to say his attire and apparent manners throw her off only slightly. After all, she's in a strange place surrounded by stranger people, and a moment of hesitance has her questioning if she really wants to start up any trouble.

Needless to say his following response freaks her out just enough to jerk back and swing the headset she's been given right across his face.]

Stay away from me!

[Which sounds more like a squeak than a proper demand.]

[ He has already dropped his hand and is starting to giggle when -- WHACK!

He just goes down when she hits him, loose-limbed and insubstantial. Now he's sprawled ignominiously on the ground, with his hat knocked off and rolling away. ]

[That... probably hit him harder than she intended it to, but at least it got him away from her. Poppy frowns with a little grimace, headset now held with both hands against her stomach, looking down and over the knocked out man.]

... Oh, dear.

[But. That served him right, didn't it?]

Are you all right?

Hmm?

[ There's a moment (or two) before he responds. He sits up, finally. But when he turns his face up towards her, there's not a trace of irritation: he's amused. ]

Haha, I'm just--

[ The rain is dampening his white hair; he seems to become aware of this suddenly, and puts his hand to his head. There's a moment of confusion before he exclaims: ]

Hang on, where's my hat?

[ He gropes for it on the ground. It has come to rest right in front of him, but is just out of range of the sweep of his hand. ]

It's right there. [She does manage to point - and that's about as helpful as she's allowing herself to get. Don't expect her to come any closer to you, sir.] I didn't mean to - knock you down.

[ He seems not to notice her pointing, and his expression flickers (a distinct show of annoyance) at her "right there." He's got a cane which he sweeps in an arc around him, until it makes contact with his hat. A quick flick of the cane flips his hat into his hand. He rises, just then, as if he were a marionette and some puppeteer had yanked his strings up. The whole business more resembles a magic trick or some other performance, than anything else. As he settles his hat on his head, he remarks off-handedly: ]

You must be new. What's your name?

[God, he's strange. She flinches very slowly, eying him warily.]

Do you really expect me to tell you my name?

You don't have to. It's the sort of thing people going to find out, sooner or later.

[ A wry smile. This is most sincere expression that's crossed his face, so far. ]

You can just let that happen, or tell me on your own terms. In any case, you're going to be here a while.

[ His head inclines just a little bit: a hint of a bow. ]

I'm Xerxes Break.

[That sounds ominous. It isn't playing in his favor.

Poppy moves back when he bows - she is still nowhere near ready to trust him getting any closer.]

Quite the unusual name.

[ He inclines his head again, acknowledging her observation. He waits an awkward moment, to see if she'll say anything else. When she doesn't, he murmurs: ]

Well - good luck to you, Madam.

[ He turns, as if to go.

If Poppy hasn't noticed the straw doll on his shoulder, she will now. Because it twists its head towards her and cackles horribly: ]

YOU'RE GOING TO NEEEEEEED IT!

[GOD THAT IS SO FREAKY

She's

she's just glad he's gone. And it's gone too. Whatever it is.

What an awfully bizarre place...]

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