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

[totallytrustworthy]

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.

[alittlesweptup]

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.]

[totallytrustworthy]

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.]

[alittlesweptup]

[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?

[totallytrustworthy]

[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?

[alittlesweptup]

[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.

[totallytrustworthy]

[You always think that, Charlie. And she tosses him a look that says much the same.]

Never stopped you before.

[alittlesweptup]

[All right, so she's got him fair and square on that front.]

Right, all right. I promise: no hooligan biker gangs.

[totallytrustworthy]

[The answer is satisfying enough to prompt both a smirk and a gentle tap on the arm in approval.]

There's a good lad.