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transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

Date & Time: Sept 23rd, 2012.
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings.
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. "This isn't standard," she's saying, walking perhaps faster than most of the people she's dragging around. "We don't normally have so many Transports at once. 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. 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. 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.

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[Duncan has made his rounds of the stalls to take in what sort of place this might be. A lot of what's in the offering isn't so dissimilar to what he'd find at home that it's off-putting, not nearly as off-putting as the circumstances surrounding their presence here.

He notices the man in the defensible position and defensive posture while he's still looking over some scarves that are too brightly colored for his taste and as soggy as he feels under his armor. The slick, olive drab poncho he's wearing conceals how differently he's dressed from the others. A pity he didn't find it before he got soaked to the bone.

He approaches at an angle rather than head on so that he can find some wall to the side of the man without giving the impression of being confrontational. Rain drips from the end of his ponytail and the edges of his beard.]

The rain gear is serviceable. If I knew the exchange rate, I might say I haggled a good deal. It's just as likely they ripped me off. [In another life, it's the sort of thing he would have done.]

[He's… momently startled, that someone is talking to him.]

Yeah?

[He notices the raincoat, and ruffles through his own pockets.]

I guess they gave me some money. Nothing I recognize, though. [He says it like a confession.]

[It seems it's a good thing he approached from the side. The startled reaction tells him he read his body language correctly.]

They accept the coin, for whatever that's worth. Did they try to give you a little card instead?

[He wonders what's happening to those who took the cards. He can't see how that could possibly serve as currency.]

I figured it was like an ATM card.

[Good thing for the poncho, buddy, or you'd be getting even weirder looks.]

Ah. [He hesitates briefly.] I'm unfamiliar with that term.

[He has the sense he's not the only fish out of water here, though. He continues undeterred. Casual.]

I imagine unusual terminology will be the least of our concerns, don't you?

[It's important to get a handle on how other people think, particularly if he's going to be trapped with them for any length of time. The wary ones are either the ones who have enough training and sense to know they should be on edge or the ones to watch out for. He can't tell yet which type this man is.]

We've just been Shanghaied into some other dimension's war. So yeah. Priorities.

[He's trying to make a joke at his own expense. It might not have worked.]

Just so. [From one war to another without so much as a by your leave. It doesn't sit well with him at all. The smolder in his dark eyes says as much.]

I'm not sure how useful they expect us to be so ill informed, or perhaps they believe that it is only in keeping us ill informed that we'll cooperate at all. I'm not feeling very cooperative.

[He offers his brand of grim humor in return.] Are you?

[He smiles at that, all wry and damn-the-torpedoes.] Nah, I can't say that I am.

I'm Barnes. Bucky Barnes. [He offers a hand to shake. It's wet.]

Duncan. [He has already learned that people prefer to grab hands here than clasp wrists. The handshake is firm, just a flash of armor visible beneath the poncho with the motion.]

I hope you can forgive me if I don't say it's a pleasure, under the circumstances.

[He notices the armor because he's a perceptive guy, but he's also a quiet one so he doesn't say anything. It wouldn't be the first time he met a guy who wore a green poncho over a suit of armor.]

Nah. I've got bigger stuff to take offense to.

The aforementioned abduction, yes.

[He pauses as he considers how much to say. In a place like this, he's not sure anything can be trusted at face value, yet there is little sense in crippling oneself with paranoia to the point of utter isolation.]

What do you make of it? First impressions?

[He strikes him as a thinker and observer, exactly the sort of person who might pick out a pertinent detail others could miss.]

They're either stupid enough to rope us all in together without giving us any reason to like 'em. Or they're so powerful they don't think it matters.

[He pauses.]

Maybe a little of both.

I think I like you already, Sera Barnes. My impression is much the same. If not stupidity, then complacency. Until we know more about how they maintain control, we can't know if that arrogance is warranted.

[His voice drops a little lower.]

It will be interesting to find out.

[He grins at that. He likes this guy, too.]

Interesting's exactly how I'd put it.

[Duncan nods and watches the milling crowd for a few moments. It's hard to imagine why some were brought here. He knows that appearances can be deceiving. Some of them don't look like warriors at all or as though they could hold their own in a simple brawl. He draws himself back out of the thoughts before the silence can drag too long.]

What were you doing before you arrived? It may be grasping at straws looking for a pattern to any of this. For now I doubt we have anything better to do.

I was— [lying about being dead] fighting.

As was I. [Given he's not completely sure he died, he's leaving that part out, too.]

Yet when I arrived, I was not covered in ichor and blood, and I was in possession of one weapon I gave away years ago to a friend in addition to the other with me during the battle.

[For the first time, he's noticeably rattled. It's still a small, subtle thing, but some of the color drains from his face, something unquiet glints in his eyes.]

That's it exactly.

[He lets out a longer breath, his brow furrowing.] Well then. Let us hope that is not the common thread, all of us drawn from battles. It doesn't bode well for those left behind.

[Or for them, again something left unsaid.]

Can't be. Some of these people— they're children. [But he's saying that mostly because he wants to be convinced.]

[He's silent for that. Most don't willingly send children in to fight in Thedas, yet the streets are teaming with vicious urchins as hardened as any soldiers and quicker to kill. He should know. He was one of them. It wouldn't surprise him to learn that such circumstances are fairly universal.

When he speaks, his tone is mild.] Perhaps we should start asking.

[Hey, he enlisted when he was fifteen, and he doesn't regret it, even in retrospect. He just isn't sure other people should follow his example.]

If people'll let us. I don't think a place like this'll do a whole lot to build trust. [He's been to a lot of prisons and everyone was always trying to shank him.]

We can ask. Whether they'll tell us or tell us the truth is a different story.

[He frowns and sluices the water out of his eyes and down his cheeks.]

I wouldn't be surprised if you're right about that. Letting us get too cozy would also risk having some of us do something about what has been done to us. I'm not too eager for much boat rocking yet, not before I get the lay of the waves, so to speak.

If I had to guess, someone'll try rocking the boat before you get around to it.

If they haven't already. [He's feeling restless again and wanting to explore a little more. He moves away from his spot he has claimed near the wall and gives a slight bow at the waist.]

I have a feeling we'll see more of one another in the coming days, Sera Barnes, whether we wish it or not. Perhaps I'll have something interesting to relate by then.

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kneecaptain - 2012-09-27 05:33 (UTC) - Expand

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