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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Well, consider his interest piqued. Anything to get out of this weather - not that it's exactly a personal trial to follow Chloe anywhere, the least of which being that there are benefits to being a pace or two behind her (and that's all he'll think on the matter, thank you). Moving inside from the marketplace doesn't make things any less surreal, but at this point he's a little more prepared to roll with the punches so it doesn't take him long to get comfortable once Chloe's finds them a quiet corner of their own.

He sits forward with his ebows on his knees, quickly-cooling coffee in both hands, and watches with interest as she opens the pack and-- Cue a low whistle of admiration.]

Why hullo there, gorgeous. --May I?

[He reaches forward to take one of the coins, holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger. And gives pause because that is most certainly not from around here.]

Is this what I think it is?

Any guess you make will probably be wrong, mate. Not unless you've a library's worth of knowledge stored up there about elves.

[There's a moment of pause there while she remembers just how much nerd is in that brain of yours, Charlie.] --Forget I said that.

[He opens his mouth to say something -- and then thinks better of it. Instead he turns the coin over to examine the other side and runs his thumb over the stamp thoughtfully.]

From the whole allowance business, I didn't get the impression that there'd be much tender lying about. -- Trust you to find a whole mountain of it, eh?

Let's just say some of the people they drag in have more in their pockets than a few dockets and some lint.

[From the corner of her vision she spots a few other transports milling about, and while they don't seem to even take notice of what Chloe and Cutter are up to, she prefers to err on the side of caution. The coins in hand are dropped back inside the pack, though she doesn't move to take the one Charlie's currently giving a look over.

He could probably use a little distraction anyway, she figures.]

So...what was the last thing you remember before you found yourself here with us in paradise?

Ah, fleecing the rubes. [That's probably a punching offense, but he's willing to take the risk. He throws her a sidelong look and a small grin -- though the latter falters a little a moment later with her question.

Charlie takes a sip of his coffee. It's bitter from sitting in the wax paper cup, not enough cream or sugar, and he's starting to wish the vendor had tea.]

Ah, right. That part. So far as I remember, I was mid-swan dive off a rather tall tower.

[He mimes a fall with the coin still in his hand, complete with descending whistle for emphasis.]

Hey now, I earned this, thank you very much. [She's chuckling beneath her breath, but a hand is most definitely raised to strike as something of a reminder of the thin ice he's treading on.]

Ah. [Syria. Of course.

Even though Chloe's been here a full month, even though she's had plenty of time to erase every last trace of frustration over what went down back there, the mention of it all-- from him in particular-- reopens that set of memories, leaves her just as fed up, just as bothered as the day she'd fallen face first into Exsilium. It's the sort of unhealed rawness that can't be masked, not even as she pulls her damp hair free from the tie keeping it back to hide the tension in her expression beneath a few stray locks. A tedious, mundane little task so far from a fidget that it rarely ever registered in terms of a pokerface, but Charlie was so much more than the average client or crook. He certainly knew her far better, at least.]

And you've got nothing after that at all.

[Well when you put it that way...] I like to think I've quite a bit after that, but I won't say I'm not worried about it.

[Time slip or future kidnapping or whatever this is, the Initiative had picked a right hell of a time to make their pull. If this was true like Chloe said, if this wasn't some drug induced hallucination, coma dream, or some surrealist version of the afterlife, he'd probably have to go back at some point and finish making that fall.

-- Well, depending on which school of time travel they were going with here. Wells might suggest otherwise, but Bradbury--

Chloe's offhand little hair tug, anything but accidental, isn't exactly entirely soothing.]

What about you? After that, I take it? --Don't tell me if I'm dead, it'd ruin my day. [Except now if she said nothing, he'd know anyway. Shit.]

[A quick little grin in response, no matter how mild, is a good sign that she's not attempting to coddle him. Not like that's ever really been her thing aside from when she's trying to be patronizing.] I imagine it would, yeah.

[She ducks forward enough to wring some of that awful rainwater out of her hair.] Nah, you pull through all right. A broken leg, a few hard bruises, but from that height you're lucky you didn't break anything else.

Good thing they pulled you in here when they did, though. I don't think I could manage carrying you around all day.

Is that all? Huh. Not very glamorous, is it? [But also not too terribly traumatic. Throw a cast on the leg and be done with it - certainly a damn sight better than a broken neck.]

But oh, think of the look on their faces if they'd pulled me here all cracked up. Don't tell me you wouldn't like to give these people a little grief here and there. [He raises his eyebrows, takes a last drink of his coffee and then hands her back the gold coin. So maybe at this point he's trying to wheedle a smile out of her, mild or otherwise, but there's something about Syria - more than just him potentially breaking his neck - that's got her bent out of shape. Though he could hazard a guess (he won't name names, but it starts with 'N' and ends with 'athan Drake').]

Please at least say someone shot Marlowe's rabid dog for me on the way out - and that he stayed shot.

Charlie, I think there are a few less painful ways to do that. [Her fingers meet his, curling around them to press the coin back into his palm. 149 is a nice, uneven number. Let him have the one.] So let's just stick to those for now, yeah?

Uh, no. [It's said with effort, like a parent scolding a child for trying to pass up their dinner for desert instead. Because really, she couldn't care less what happened to Marlowe or Talbot, or if the Order's party was crashed at all in the first place. The pair had their team beaten at every turn, and as far as she's concerned, they can go collect that treasure and whatever the hell else they want, so long as it's far, far away from her friends.] We were sort of preoccupied, what with dragging your ass out of there without getting us all killed.

[What he wants to say is 'I broke my bloody leg, not my gun arm,' but whatever anyone might say Charlie isn't stupid - and certainly not dumb enough to say that kind of thing out loud, or at least not to Chloe anyway. So he'll let the point lay. Besides, the coin is heavy against his palm and her fingers are pleasantly warm.]

Fair enough.

[The urge to ask more is practically an itch under his skin - what happened after (since evidently they hauled arse out of Syria as quick as humanly possible), what Drake found in Yemen - but it's also pretty clear that this isn't high on Chloe's list of preferred conversation topics.]

So if you and I are here, does that mean the rest of Graham's gang is as well?

More or less. [Nate, after all, had only just dropped in minutes before Charlie. Not that she knew how to handle him, considering it wasn't the same future version that she'd currently reached her limits with. Having someone from nearly the same point in time that she'd been stolen from is soothing, without a doubt, but she has a feeling that the moment Nate and Charlie get together, misfortune is sure to follow.

She reaches for her drink, steals a sip and finds the ice has melted and turned her coffee into stale, peppered water. Ugh.]

Just Victor, Nate, Harry and myself, not including you.

[It takes him a moment to connect the dots - Harry as in Harry Flynn, as in Harry 'died under mysterious circumstances in some connection to a war criminal, the events leading up to which may or may not have involved certain well known associates, primarily one Chloe Frazer and Nathan Drake' Flynn. Professional thievery is a small world, so he knows the rumors if not the full story (though it has always seemed like a good one, speaking from the perspective of a very removed third party). It's none of his bloody business.

Still, once he figures it out, Charlie can't keep the surprise off his face. He manages to buckle it down a moment later, but the damage is done. He tucks the gold coin into his jacket pocket.]

Ah. [A terse beat.] Well that's almost a shame - here I was thinking we'd have the place to ourselves. [All things considered, it's a piss poor attempt at lightening the mood, but he gives it a shot anyway.]

Edited 2012-09-26 08:41 (UTC)

Well... [Shoddy attempt or not, it does the trick. Maybe Chloe just wants an excuse to wear an honest grin for a change.]

My room's just upstairs. I don't see why we can't.

[Any train of thought has just derailed over a mountain cliff. There may be firey wreckage involved.]

Ah. Right. Naturally it would be just upstairs.

[She smirks, mentally tallying up that win for having both changed the subject and thoroughly broken Cutter's concentration. Not that it was a fair fight, really.]

So's yours, though I doubt you've bothered to look.

[And then a thought crosses her mind, curiosity pressing her to invade his personal space just a bit more as she scoots in to peer around or under his jacket. Hello, Charlie, what weapon did you settle on?]

Well I've been a little tied up given the whole future war, man out of time business--

[Hello. Give a man a little warning before you go picking at his clothes.] There you go giving me the wrong idea again. [But he has a guess as to what she's after and it isn't terribly exciting. He twitches one side of his jacket open to flash the edge of his familiar Walther P5 resting in its well worn holster. Nice of them to let him bring it along. He's rather fond of it.]

[Now where's the fun in that?

He is, of course, right. And seeing the quick flash of metal, she looks satisfied enough to give him a little peace, sliding back so that the poor fellow can breathe.]

Oh thank god.

Expecting otherwise? Though you did make that leap from the bedroom to what I'm packing a bit quickly--

[Well he wasn't going to beef up his bare hands, if that was she was worried about (that seemed to be asking for trouble ala getting strangled to death by your own semi-sentient fingers). Or anything else for that matter. Not that getting future all over his Walther was what he really considered optimal, but it was better than having to carry some alternative.]

I see you've the beast with you. [With a delicate nod to Chloe's M-9.] Very subtle.

Too quickly, you think? And here I was trying to be subtle.

I was afraid that when they offered you any weapon of your choice, you'd head straight for the bookshelf to find yourself another journal. [Because when could Charlie Cutter ever resist the idea of a superbook?]

[She brushes a few fingers over the patterns carved in the polished cherrywood. It's not often that she bothers toting it around, but when you're dealing with a wasteland full of mutated animals, probably best to carry along the heavier artillery.] Hey now, I've got the old girl tucked away for the usual affairs.

Edited 2012-09-26 20:39 (UTC)

Maybe space the two out by a minute or so next time.

--Wait, that was an option? Do you think I can go back? [Not that he expects to really be getting himself into too many Indiana Jones situations here - fire fight seems more likely. So it's a joke. Mostly.] Anyway what's the sense in a thinking book - kind of takes the challenge out of it, doesn't it? Like doing a crossword with all the answers already pencilled in.

[Still, maybe he'll see if he can find a replacement -- a temporary replacement -- for his journal in the market later. He's feeling a bit naked without his.]

I don't suppose your being armed to the teeth has anything to do with your, ah-- [Cue a gentle finger tap to Chloe's very, very heavy pack.]

No promises.

[And there's the most patient little eye roll there for that, Charlie. Sometimes she's surprised that brain of yours managed to find its way into the body of a bear like you.] I know this may come as a shock, but some of us would rather our morning crosswords fill themselves in every now and then.

[Just seems like a lot of work for a few stacked words.]

Mmhm. The harsh wilderness is a touch more harsh than what we're used to. The ah...elf that used to own this likes his privacy. [Elf. That never gets easier to say.]

[He makes a low tsking noise, murmurs something along the line of 'No fun at all,' but apparently doesn't see the point fit to pursue. Trying to sell Chloe Frazer on the benefits of something she had determined not to buy would be an exercise in futility.]

Mm, makes sense. Radiation fallout probably made for some pretty spooky [--emphasized with a waggle of his fingers--] things to muck about with. [Time travel. Dimensional slips -- Elves? At this rate, why not. Theoretically there was some version of the universe where evolution had gone wonky. Color him unsurprised.]

So it's odd jobs then. Still -- it's all a little more Mad Max than what we're used to, isn't it?

[It takes her a moment to follow what he's suggesting, as her only memories of the film were when he'd let the thing run in the background while they were busy collecting the required intel to get Sully and Nate their perfect rendezvous with Marlowe's crew. It wasn't bad, what few moments she could remember, but she hadn't paid enough attention to the plot to follow much of anything (you know, as she was busy trying to get work done) and Charlie's attempts to draw her in ended with lukewarm success at best.

But she did try.]

If I say yes, you're not going to turn into a biker are you?

[And he'd thought it'd be a shoe in -- action, adventure, questionable costume design, and Mel Gibson when he was still too Australian for anyone to hide it. Shame.]

If I say no, will you believe me? [Too far?] But alright, no bikes, dune buggies or impromptu flail weaponry. This isn't really the terrain for it anyway.

transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

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