transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

[initiates]

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.

Comments

[doubleoohbaby]

[It's a shit day to arrive. Then again, every day around this place can be classed as pretty shitty by some accounts. The weather, the surroundings, the distinct lack of freedom to travel. It's like James' worst nightmare, except with more hot chicks and more weaponry.

Watching the newbies show up didn't seem so bad, though. It's his first time getting to watch them all ushered in (last month he was one of those poor fools), and unsurprisingly he's intent to observe the new faces and watch individuals react. It's actually pretty interesting to view, like some weird ass reality show, especially when the locals are thrown in to rip off the new arrivals.

Maybe James should warn about that, actually, considering the guy next to him seems to be nearing a certain stall.]

I'd avoid that one, over priced and tastes like shit. [Muttered low enough to mostly not be heard by the vendor. Sort of.]

[alittlesweptup]

And here I thought it was just war-time inflation-- [He responds before turning to see who's talking. When he does, Charlie's face goes pale for about half a beat.

Well, now he's certain that this is some kind of coma dream. He laughs a little, the kind that's more than a little self deprecating and at least part 'shit, what have I gotten myself into.']

Must've been some knock to the head.

[doubleoohbaby]

[... That sort of look is starting to get familiar around here. Familiar enough that James is less likely to punch the guy in the face for looking at him wrong, which, y'know, is pretty good for the both of them.]

It's all very real, I assure you. [Or this is the longest dream James ever had. Or he's dead. The latter isn't entirely unlikely, actually.]

[alittlesweptup]

[Which is exactly the kind of thing he expects to hear in dreams, really, but who's keeping track.] Ah. Of course it is. Why not, right?

[Sure. Take a fall from three or four stories up, land in some dystopian future, and carry a conversation with the world's most significant fictional British Intelligence Service agent. Nothing downright unbelievable about that whatsoever.]

Well if mercenary market vendors are out, [-- and if it wasn't before, it definitely is now given that the said mercenary vendor is well within earshot and unlikely to appreciate their conversation --] then I don't suppose you've a tip as to where I might find something a little stronger?

[doubleoohbaby]

Might want to try some of the bars, if you're after a stronger dose.

[He's just going to ignore those disbelieving glances and what he can only assume is sarcasm. This guy will catch on soon enough to the whole 'reality' side of things, as unbelievable as it is... even if Bond is still uncertain himself.]

There's still plenty of other stalls around here you can try your luck at, if not. [Not even looking at the affronted vendor. Fuck you.]

[alittlesweptup]

[He's pretty sure he's not allowed to be out-sarcasmed in his own coma dream, thank you.]

See, there's some quick thinking. A bar sounds tops right about now. [Dream or no, this kind of situation seems like exactly the sort of thing drinking was invented for.]

[doubleoohbaby]

Don't spend all your pocket money at once. That's got to last you the month.

[Unlike Bond, who pretty much just splashed out on booze and more booze. At least he can live off of it quite easily. Who needs food and water?]

[alittlesweptup]

Yes mum, I'll be careful. [If he wakes up, he hopes he remembers this part -- nannied by James Bond. For god's sake.]

Alright, come on. Point me in the right direction and I might buy you a drink in return for saving me from a bad investment. [Right. Sure. Not because he just kind of desperately wants to witness the 'shaken not stirred' rundown in person. Not at all. No ulterior motive here.]

[doubleoohbaby]

A free drink for playing tour guide? Doesn't sound like such a bad deal. Come on.

[He jerks his head towards the exit of the bustling market place, turning up the collar of his coat again before shoving his hands in his pockets. Alcohol sounds like a good idea right now, and there's always the option for more people watching later on. Newbies never disperse too quickly. Not when there's so much new and shiny to see.]

Got a name?

[alittlesweptup]

[He falls in step with Bond, offers his hand when asked his name. He's briefly tempted to go the 'Cutter, Charlie Cutter' route, but quickly changes his mind. Probably couldn't stomach it.]

Charlie Cutter. [And for propriety's sake:] Yours?

[doubleoohbaby]

[He probably wouldn't get the name joke, even if it happened. James is highly oblivious to his own canon, for the most part. Sad, really.]

James Bond. Hello, Charlie. Welcome to hell.

[alittlesweptup]

[The pleasure's all his. No, really.]

What, nuclear holocaust not really your thing? Can't imagine why not.

[doubleoohbaby]

I just always imagined alternate universes to be a little more... glamorous. Perhaps one or two evil twins here and there, but nothing quite so world ending.

[Oh well, whatever, he doesn't mind it here, if he's honest. It's something different, there's new people to meet and new things to punch. Not so bad at all.

And oh look, a bar. It's nothing special, like the rest of this place, but they sell local brews and it's not a total shit hole.]

[alittlesweptup]

If it makes you feel any better, multiverse theory suggests if this one exists then the evil twin one probably does as well.

[Half shithole is honestly probably saying something significant given the general state of every non-Initiative building he's seen thus far, and once inside and off the street it's surprisingly easy to imagine he's anywhere but here. Nothing like a pub and the typical group of bar flies to lift the spirits.

Sidling up to the bar, he immediately feels more at home -- hard to be overly pessimistic with a pint of bitter in hand.]

[doubleoohbaby]

It doesn't make me feel better.

[Because multiverse stuff hurts his head if he thinks on it for too long.

But hey, at least there's alcohol to soothe his aching brain, which he gladly reaches for once ordered (sorry Charlie, it's a beer, not a martini) and wastes no time in swigging down several large mouthfuls.]

You seem to be handling all this rather well.

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie shrugs, taking a few long drinks from his beer.] Why not -- given the options which are, so far as I can make: dead, coma dream, some combination of the two or dimensional time slip, I'll take the dimensional time slip mate.

[Besides, he's having a drink with James Bond. It's difficult not to be at least a bit sunny about the whole thing even if circumstances do end of more tied up with the 'dead' or 'dying' options.]

You're... [Don't say fictional.] ...more accommodating than I would have expected. Been here long then?

[doubleoohbaby]

[A soft nod at the logic behind the whole dead or not thing. Bond had, for a brief moment, thought he may be dead on his arrival. That this might be some twisted joke played by Death herself, but that seemed just as unlikely as dimensional travel. Plus he wasn't even doing anything when he showed up hear. Unless someone bombed the MI6. Maybe... But nah.

James Bond doesn't die.]

You sound as if you already had an idea of what I'd be like. First impressions, was it?

[Ignoring Charlie's question for now :|]

[alittlesweptup]

[Cue a momentary pause, one in which Charlie busies himself with another long drink from his beer.]

I'm usually pretty good at, ah, reading people. [Reading. You're not funny, Charlie Cutter.]

[doubleoohbaby]

[As if that's not suspicious at all. Yeah, he's reading you too, Charlie. Like a goddamn book. And not one by Ian Fleming either.]

And I imagine it has nothing to do with any previous knowledge you might have?

[There is a look. One that clearly says 'I'm on to you, you fucker :|'. It's a very charming look. Sort of.]

[alittlesweptup]

[Shit. He's pretty sure his coma-dream imaginary James Bond shouldn't be allowed to catch on to him. He's pretty sure that's a rule -- or that it should be. And now he has a couple of options, none of which make him seem any less suspicious.

Time to get theoretical, he supposes. Best chance as any. Charlie takes a long drink.]

It's what I was saying earlier: that whole bit about evil twin universes being what it is - physics, you know. In one universe, you're you and in mine you're-- well, you're still you. Just a little less... [He makes a vague motion with his hands, screws up his face. Wonders for a moment what Bradbury would think of telling someone they're fictional constructs.] Tangible, let's go with. So yeah, "previous knowledge." You could say that.

[doubleoohbaby]

[And now the truth comes out. James has heard it all before, actually, and a lot less subtly thanks to some people around here. But that doesn't mean he can't make his current company squirm a bit. Making situations as awkward as possible is James' speciality.]

So you're suggesting I'm not real? Imaginary, perhaps? My God, I could just be your latest imaginary friend. I'll ask if anyone can see me, one second-- [Yeah, he's just leaning towards the crotchety looking guy sitting near them...]

[alittlesweptup]

No, no, that's not-- Actually, it's the reverse. [Yeah, that part about making things awkward? Is really just encouragement for Charlie to hook into the idea. Because if they're pretending this is actually happening - if this isn't something in his head -, then might as well roll with the idea right?] You're obviously real here, whereas in your universe I may very well not be. Or I could not exist at all. I guess that's possible.

The point is -- [And he's speaking quickly here in some attempt to dissuade Bond] -- there's a bit of novelty that hasn't worn off just yet. Sorry, mate.

[doubleoohbaby]

[The old guy gets left alone, thankfully, and James turns his attention back to Charlie, a smirk curling lightly at the corner of his lips.]

Something to do with films and books. Mm, I'm aware of it all. One man's fiction is another man's reality. [Except he doesn't actually like to think on it too much, because it's just weird.]