(no subject)

[initiates]

Date: February 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings, while older Transports are returning from the mission to Uruguay.
Warnings: None.

While those who have been guests of Exsilium since at least the last wave of Transports return from their desperate mission and are pressed out of the Transporter room and into the Courtyard, the Initiative prepares to receive a second wave at the same time. And if you're in that second wave, the fresh meat, then 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

[velveteened]

( ow, elliot! he raises his hands to his head, more surprised than he really should be at that reaction. )

How could you stop it if you didn't even know what was happening?

[iorhael]

[That certainly isn't the answer he expected. Frodo puzzles it over, and then, wryly]

Months apart and you have not changed in at least one regard. You speak in riddles; I don't suppose I shall get more out of you on that matter, shall I?

[elves. And Legolas in particular is nearly as bad as Aragorn when it comes to being mysterious, though it is likely that Legolas actually enjoys it]

A small group of friends is worth more than any army or host, in my opinion, and as you say, a gift. Lady Galadriel's presence is certainly a wonder.

[motioned]

Because when you get hurt, it heals! That's kind of how it works. And it's not like it would have been something bad, or at least not something that would've needed special attention.

I didn't realize I couldn't carry it until it was too late! What does it matter to you?

[medicating]

Yeah, I'll do that.

[Not that he knows much of anybody yet. He'd better find Jim.]

Uh, well, have yourself a good day.

[medicating]

I call everyone "kid."

[AKA, you ain't special, kid.]

Well, hell, at least find yourself some cough drops or throat spray out here.

[He gestures around the market place, looking thoughtful.]

I'd best find a jacket myself.

[medicating]

[No, he's a demon, and he's a weird starer.]

Sure.

[He rolls his eyes.]

Dream the impossible dream.

[iorhael]

[Frodo waves away the offer]

There is no need; it is the least I could do.

[just...don't give him the handkerchief back used, pleased. That is all he asks! Well, he can hardly use Underhill right now, as he has been until now, with F.B sewn right on it.]

Frodo Baggins; at your service and your family's. Has anyone shown you where the housing is? You are likely to catch a cold if you are out here too long.

[undroppedeaves]

Well I wouldn't say all bad, but it's definitely not been boring if you catch my meaning miss.

+1 (wrong) Baggins to +1 Oakenshield.

[iorhael]

[From the stall next to them, Frodo watches the two with a small smile. The child is quick, and pasting something on the dwarf's face before sliding off into the crowd, and leaving nothing behind but a strange, utterly pink thing on the dwarf's cheek.

Looking at the dwarf, Frodo cannot understand at all how anyone could mistake a hobbit for a dwarf. They most certainly are nothing at all alike, and most hobbits don't have such thunderous eyebrows or such a scowl plastered across his face.

Frodo found himself now staring at the dwarf's face. There is something dreadfully familiar about him. Frodo tries to think back on all the books he'd read, all the notes Bilbo left behind. It's the sharp noise and salt and pepper to the hair, and it has begun to bother Frodo to no end that he cannot for the life of him place why he seems familiar at the moment, or the name. He knows he has seen the face before. ]

You look as if you have seen an adventure or two, Master Dwarf.

Yup. It wasn't even 6am when I wrote that. I demand points for trying :P

[undroppedeaves]

Too long, far too long indeed and though I can't say I'm glad your 'ere. [Because he didn't trust this Initiative as far as he could throw them, which wasn't very far at all!] It's good to see you again.

[indirection]

[Now that's a curious--if not wholly unexpected--response.]

And what are you, my friend, if not human?

[indirection]

[Wrathion had absorbed that explanation, but he's much more interested in hearing about how the other conscripts characterize their situation. It's clear from Aileen's tone that she's pretty ambivalent, and he thinks that's worth investigating.]

No? The woman who spoke to us seemed so terribly earnest. What reason do you have to distrust them?

[onblackwings]

I might ask the same. [ She gestures lazily toward him, knowing better than to just give her answer away. ] Humans don't usually have glowing eyes.

[indirection]

[Wrathion bows slightly. He's made it a point to at least put forth the illusion of transparency, which includes not hiding who and what he is.]

My name is Wrathion, prince--and last--of the black dragonflight. [as an afterthought, as though just remembering that he isn't on his own world--] Of Azeroth.

[onblackwings]

[ That gets a blink, and rather suddenly he has her whole attention. She drops the pretense at human body language, both hands falling to her sides and posture straightening. ]

Last? What about— [ A quick pause here. Deathwing wouldn't have wanted her saying his true name in public, with his preference for secrecy. but dammit, fuck deathwing. ] —Deathwing?

[inafadingcrown]

A sentiment I have often expressed myself. [And with that her gaze changes, and the look she's giving him should absolutely recognize. She's looking him over, examining him- sizing him up, in other words.]

[indirection]

[Some of his friendliness cools. How could she know Deathwing? Was she of Azeroth, too? His mind races. Though there's certainly some unusual energy about her, he can't place it. That fact was a source of mild interest a moment ago; now it's a dire concern.

He smiles a little, showing teeth.]

My father, you mean? He's dead.

[kneecaptain]

[ Bucky hadn't known Steve before the serum took him. It was embarrassing to say, but the first time he'd seen him was plastered up on a poster, all dolled up in the red white and blue. And then, he was moving through newsreels— Captain America— you couldn't see colors through screens back then, but they came bleeding through anyway.

He heard the stories later, of course, about how Steve tried to serve and came back 4F. But he hadn't known Steve back when he was the sort of skinny kid that sorts like Bucky liked to pick on. So you can maybe forgive him for not putting the two and two together right off.

But the sight of the man, small and shirtless, sneezing through the cold with a shield hanging over him, was enough to make him curious anyway. He always went to see the fresh meat, but he never really planned on talking to any of them. He was sort of bad at it; Bucky'd spent too long learning to be a ghost. So he just walked up to the guy before figuring out what he was going to say. ]

[ex_havenofear960]

Touché.

[ And that's a curious way to phrase it. ]

Not well known to the public, huh? How come you know, then?

[onblackwings]

[ Oh. Well, then. Mark one more influential person of her past down for the count. But she hadn't grieved for Kadagan, Joad, or Pteros, and she isn't about to start with Deathwing. In fact, she isn't even going to give it undue thought, since the news obviously isn't the matter at hand. What matters far more is how someone so powerful could have fallen.

Warily: ] Who killed him?

[ There's no way a dude that old was dying of natural causes any time soon, after all. ]

[theboywhodied]

The brief contact comforted him a little. Cedric spared a smile for her, though anyone could likely see right through it.

"Not really. I mean...I'm dead or supposed to be, my family and friends are off grieving somewhere, and I'm trapped. But all things considered, it could be worse. I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually. So...thanks. Really."

[indirection]

Why, I did. With a little help from my friends, of course.

[IT WAS REALLY more like the other way around, but whatever. He ordered the hit!]

[onblackwings]

[ whoa hello alarm bells, this guy must be Serious Business if he took out Deathwing. She nearly takes a step back, but stops herself. It would be stupid to show anything like fear. Even if he's too strong to fight, she at least has a teleportation spell at hand to aid her escape. But in the meantime, her eyes narrow suspiciously. ]

Why?

[indirection]

[He narrows his eyes, but he's still smiling, just a little.]

You clearly knew him, so, surely you already know the answer to that question.

[onblackwings]

[ but wrathion he was such a good actor and gave her so much cool stuff ;~; Still, even if she has no idea what he means, the condescension of his answer makes her instinctively defensive. ]

I want to hear it from you.

[ There, that sounds like a nice cover for her ignorance. ]