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abraxasooc2022-07-20 10:26 am
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxasooc2022-07-20 10:26 am
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TEST DRIVE MEME #8
TEST DRIVE MEME
Welcome to the eighth test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the three different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own under the Questions header below. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.
Our Setting pages are full of information on the world of Abraxas, and an overview of the story so far can be found on our Game History page! Anything on that page - including information about the Horizon and the Singularity - can be assumed to be told to newcomers after they arrive, no matter which faction they are received in. For more information on Ambrose and the apprentice mages, Marlo, and Rowan, please see our NPCs page.
You can also find answers to questions asked on previous TDMs in their respective questions threads.
◎ Rumor has it that two emissaries - a werewolf and a vampire - visited from Nocwich in early July. With them came some wares distributed to shops throughout each faction. A few sparse items may remain for purchase, such as glowing flowers or fine ales, but much of it has now been sold.
◎ New arrivals in THE FREE CITIES may hear a bit of chatter around Cadens about art, politics, and recent performances involving its sister city, Libertas. It's all standard fare - the kind of topics spoken about over a beer or in line at the market - but there's a small stir in the air.
◎ Lately, locals in SOLVUNN have begun to approach the Summoned with a sort of awe and respect. New arrivals will find themselves treated much the same way and may be asked for advice or given gifts that seem like offerings such as wine, harvest bounties, or some delicious goat cheese. Your character is free to turn these down and should they turn down enough people, they will not be bothered further as no one wishes to offend them.
Arrival
You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.
You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.
There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.
Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne
A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.
If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.
Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card bearing the image of one of the arcana.
An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.
"One moment," he says, not bothering to look up from the tome. He looks tired. "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. We’ll explain everything in a moment, but for now, please calm down. You’re completely fine."
Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the pages, until he stops on one specific passage, stares at it for a moment, and then sighs with relief:
"Finally!"
Ambrose's expression brightens, relief visible across his features. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.
"Oh, thank heavens," he says, closing the book and approaching you with a sort of worn-out relief. “I was beginning to believe we’d never get it exactly right.”
Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem to visibly relax, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.
"Please, come with me," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle. "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."
One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.
Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (those who were previously brought in may have a great deal of information to tell you), or you can wander around and meet the others.
There's also a dining hall stocked with a rotating 24/7 buffet in celebration of the new honored guests. Somehow, your very favorite food is part of the rotation (or at least an attempted recreation of it given the limited technology available to the Thorneans). The town surrounding the castle is all abuzz as well, with most shops and services willing to give free samples of their wares to the new arrivals.
You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).
Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and most of the cells stand empty.
Scenario Two: Welcome to the Free Cities
You find yourself pulled from the water by a pair of strong hands. Dry warmth hits you at once as you're set on a warm hard floor. As your senses return you realize you're on dull ruddy stone and surrounded by strangers. Men and women in unfamiliar uniforms of brown and red leather stand in a semi-circle around a small pool of water. The very pool you were just pulled from. The water is still now, rimmed in pale gold tiles with odd symbols etched into them. Across it on the far side is a raised pedestal with a card propped on it. The card bears an arcana symbol.
You feel weak. Drained. Any abilities or magical powers you have seem far away and impossible to access. You're in what looks like a cave lit by dozens and dozens of torches set into the wall. There's no furniture or decoration to be seen besides the pool. It's almost uncomfortably warm and there's the sound of rushing wind somewhere in the distance. Flickering shadows obscure the faces of the guards. A robed woman stands off to the side, looking at you anxiously and then to the authoritative woman standing before you. She's grinning, dressed in a fancier uniform than the others. There's a sword at her hip. A guard covers you with a blanket and returns to their place in the semi-circle.
The woman with the sword gives a nod of approval and smiles warmly.
"Sorry about the circumstances."
She gives you a good hard look before standing again.
"Take a minute, catch your breath, you've had quite a shock. Take it nice and easy. I'm Prime Minister Marlo Reiner and you're in The Free Cities. That nice lady over there will explain everything to you and get you settled." A nod to the robed woman off to the side.
Marlo Reiner steps back and the robed mage approaches to help you up.
"Come with me, please." She brings you out of the cave through a corridor that angles upwards until you emerge in what looks like some kind of storage facility. Shelves of wooden boxes and cloth bags line them, unidentifiable parts of what might be machines are tucked into corners and propped against shelving units. "This is one of the Free Cities' outposts," the mage explains as she leads you. "We're honored to have you with us, I'm sure you have many questions but please save them. You need to recover!"
You'll learn you're in the Cadens Desert Outpost 003, a military outpost on the outskirts of Cadens city. You're brought to a room in the barracks that's been prepared. Each barracks room is rather sparse and utilitarian. Six simple beds set against the wall, three on each side of the room, each with a trunk at the foot of it. You're told the world is in a delicate and dangerous times and you're needed to help. You're important, you're told, and they're very grateful you're here.
You're asked to stay close for the time being, but to make yourself at home. The outpost is more a proper military base than the name implies, with full facilities. The barracks have a communal bathing room at the end of the hall, with curtains that can be pulled around the individual raised round tubs for privacy. There's a mess hall that has food available from sun up till a few hours after sundown. You're even encouraged to make use of the training grounds, if you'd like, with non-lethal training weapons available for use and obstacle courses set up. And the city of Cadens is only a couple of hours away by wagon - though you're asked initially to please be back at the outpost within a few hours of the sun going down.
For your own safety.
Scenario Three: Welcome to Solvunn
The feeling of floating is the first sense that comes to you as the edges of unconsciousness start to ebb. Sunlight filters through the rippling water as you open your eyes, making you squint. Before you have the chance to panic and inhale, firm hands grasp your arms and pull you to the surface of the water. Moments later, soft warmth is wrapped around your shoulders as you're guided on unsteady legs out of a pool of water. You're lowered to the soft grass. Men and women in simple garments with lavish embroidery stand by, waiting with bated breath, glancing seriously at an old man in an ornate robe. He holds an old leather-bound book in one hand and in the other is a card bearing an arcana symbol. His eyes move quickly over the page, and he mumbles idly to himself.
Any strength you may have possessed feels as though it has slipped through your fingers. Any abilities or magical powers you have don't come to the surface no matter how hard you try. You're in a grassy clearing in the midst of a circle of large stone slabs stacked to look like doorways. In the middle is the same glimmering pool you were just pulled from. A gentle breeze blows through, carrying the scent of flowers and herbs from an ornately decorated altar set off in front of one of the stone doorways. The mage closes his book and steps out of the water, addressing a matronly old woman. Behind her are two younger people, a rough-looking man, and a meek young girl, both of whom are also watching the mage.
“I detect no ill will from the gods, it seems we've been blessed with success.” Those that had gathered all breathe a sigh of relief and now seem pleased.
The old woman smiles and steps forward, offering to take your hands and help you stand. “Any gift the gods give us is one we will happily take. I'm certain you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. For now, rest and know you will be taken care of.”
She pats the top of your hand and steps away with a serene smile, letting one of the others come forward with some clothes that seem to fit you perfectly. Once you're dressed, someone approaches to drape a delicate-looking charm depicting a long-horned creature with large wings on a thin chain over your neck. Ask around later, and you may find that it is a symbol of Vielehauffe, the God of the Herd.
The rough-looking man from before steps forward once you're decent and motions with his head outside of the stone circle. His speech is informal, his consonants harsh.
“Hold your horses, I can see all those questions coming about! Rowan March, at your service. I'm one of the council members of Solvunn. There's a lot to discuss, but it's best talked about over a hot meal.” He leads you to a horse-drawn carriage and helps you up into the back. He talks the entire ride to the settlement.
You find out you are in the Primary Settlement, the first of three that make up Solvunn's great territory. The settlement is situated between two lakes and is humming with life. You're brought to the center of town and escorted to an apartment above one of the establishments in town. Rowan explains that the living conditions are temporary if you'd like them to be, that local families would also be happy to host you in their home. That there are others like you who have also taken up residence within the three settlements. You're told that the world hangs upon the brink of disaster and that there are those in this world that are happy to see it fall to ruin with their meddling.
You're important. The gods have graced them with your presence. They're delighted you're here. Welcome to Solvunn.
Everything you need has been provided in this humble apartment, and if it hasn't, there are shops that line the streets and a marketplace in the center of town. Owners of some establishments or stalls are more than happy to give out samples or barter with your time for their goods. Babysitting can be a very lucrative business. You're told of the other settlements, that they'd like you to stay here for now, but if you can find a family to host you, the secondary and tertiary settlements are best to get to with an escort.
There are tales of travelers visiting the secondary settlement without invitation disappearing without a trace. The gods are as hungry as they are protective, young traveler.
You’ll find that there are more than enough activities to throw yourself into to better settle into your new life in Solvunn. Work is done in the first part of the day so that families can spend the rest of it together in leisure and work on their crafts - whatever those may be. For those children who are not of school age, they need nannies or storytellers, and there’s always a gaggle of them running about unsupervised. Families with livestock can always take a spare hand, especially since farms are so spread out, they have a tendency to wander. Whatever skills you may possess can always be of use to the community or to honor the gods.
If any of these options are no good for your lifestyle, the main roads between settlements can always use a bit of monster clean-up… just make sure you don’t go alone.
How many slots are open?
Please check the Taken page for how many player, franchise, and canon slots are available. Activity check will be processed before applications open, so the count may change between now and then. Existing players can apply for a second character without restriction.
How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Which faction your character is drawn into has nothing to do with their personal morality, beliefs, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into any one of the situations.
Can I try out more than one scenario?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.
What happens if my character refuses to comply with the NPCs?
They will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and the faction leaders will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, they will be warned once that everyone is willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight they will make good on that promise.
My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the cities, murdering the NPCs, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other NPCs would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude and intervention from various NPC guards, and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Abraxans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.
I want to wildcard a prompt or use one of the prompts from an earlier TDM that isn't on this one (eg. the library), can I do that?
Yes, in terms of the settings. As Thorne is no longer imprisoning any newcomers, that option is no longer applicable.
Is the power loss for characters permanent?
No, but it does take a week or so for their powers to be back in full, and certain powers (determined on a case-by-case basis) may require nerfs. If your character has world-breaking powers, please discuss with the mods what modifications may be necessary.
Can my character leave the bounds of the faction?
In Thorne, characters can leave the castle but not the city. In Cadens, they can take a trip from the outpost to the city. In Solvunn, they can explore the entirety of the Primary Settlement.
Can my character eventually change factions?
Yes. While the faction borders are currently closed, there will opportunities in the future for characters to relocate. For the time being, they are stuck where they are.
How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will determine where your character initially lives as well as the bias of the information they receive from NPCs (although other PCs can and most likely will give it to them a bit more straight). This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.
Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in every scenario can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.
Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the three scenarios on your application.
What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).
Can my character go to the Horizon?
First time visitors to the Horizon must be taken there by other characters, through either shared meditation or a physical journey to the Singularity, and all first-timers experience memory loss. For the purposes of the TDM, we suggest against using the Horizon.
What about making use of the network?
Much like Horizon they would need to be introduced to it by another PC, as no NPCs would be aware of the network or be able to access it. Because of this we would advise against using this mechanic for TDM top-levels.
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John Blake | The Dark Knight Rises | Free Cities | The Tower
OOC— Prose or Action Spam | PM for Plotting/Starter Requests
𝑤𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑙
Which is to say, his horse threw a shoe. He suspects it was purposeful self-sabotage — she's used to these trips to the outpost every other month. She's used to him scooping people up and sporting two people back across the desert on the way home. Cas the first time, Jo the second, either of them reluctantly settling in behind him in the saddle.
If he had to put money on it, he'd say she took one look at Sam Winchester and said hell no, screw this noise, then promptly found a way to pry her own damn horseshoe off, just so she didn't have to beast of burden his gigantic ass in addition to Dean.
Anyway, horse conspiracies aside, what it means is Dean's the other sorry soul in the back of the wagon with this skinny rando for the long ride home. Ain't his first time in the cart, won't be his last, probably — that familiarity, that comfort and ease, is visible in his loose posture as he drapes an arm over the seat beside him.
He regards Blake mildly, assessing, sussing out what few context clues he can manage. It's not much.
He's new, obviously. From the city, probably somewhere north, maybe New York. Not freaking out, but not alpha'ing up either. Level-headed, it seems like — at least at first blush.
"Well, for starters," he says after his studious pause, "That crap they sell you about needing to be back by sunset or whatever?"
He clicks his teeth. Shakes his head.
"Not a thing. Damn near everybody they pulled through that nudist portal lives in the city. Only jabronies go back."
no subject
"Figured somethin' like that," he says, quietly. That they'd made such a big deal of it had only forced Blake from the soft landing they'd tried to provide, as if there's no situation he can envision where they not only want and need him but also care to keep him. Horse puns aside, bucking against that status quo happens to be something John Blake does better than most. He isn't a contrarian, per se, but he certainly doesn't find himself following much of any order without at least questioning why first.
Eyeing Dean, the conversation allows him to judge anew, but it's certainly not his first passing glance. The attire fits, but little else. Jabronies alone puts the man at odds with the landscape, a dissonance Blake feels starkly himself. It's raw and too new and it's so familiar it's shut down before it ever gets a chance to knot him up.
"You've assimilated." He leaves off the well at the end – he just doesn't know that yet – but the rest of it seems pretty clear: From the accusations spoken out of the side of his mouth about the portal to the immediate indication that what they've been told shouldn't be trusted, Dean's already placed himself firmly on the side of the line where Blake's hoping to be. He won't be running away, but he certainly isn't going to be buying into anything wholesale any time soon.
The wagon rocks on some deeply rutted ground and with it Blake sways, dark eyes pinging away to take in their surroundings, perhaps to give the other man any privacy he might need to process what could be considered an accusation. He's never been to the desert before. Hell, he's never left Gotham, and now that he's somewhere — elsewhere — he's almost afraid of what might blindside him if he doesn't keep his eyes open, doesn't keep taking it all in. That Dean's spared at the moment is simply a courtesy born of the favor of his company and it certainly won't last.
no subject
"That's one word for it, sure," agreed with mild — if somewhat jaded — amusement. "Been here a friggin' year, I'd hope so."
Hard not to assimilate after all that time, whether you want to or not.
Anyway, circling back to that earlier question: "City's a little like Dungeons and Dragons french kissing the Industrial Revolution. Hope you like Ren Faire."
Because that's basically what this is, but 24/7 and with people way too committed to the bit.
no subject
A year, he thinks and immediately tries to imagine where he'd be after a dozen months of Dungeons and Dragons french kissing the Industrial Revolution. Probably nothing like this guy, who is clearly not shy on upper body strength, although his long, bowed legs appear a bit like they could use some work, not that Blake's any one to talk. Perhaps less making dear Karen's life miserable and more working those chap-holders on leg day would improve Dean's position overall.
"Local enlistment must be low," he muses quietly and maybe he looks like he's suggesting Dean's the dregs they've taken on since, but that's just really how his face looks. He adds, "If they're expectin' me to pick up a sword, it's not gonna go well. And a horse? Nay."
no subject
He snorts at nay — look, it's been a hot minute since anybody around here appreciated a good pun. Every time he drops one, he just gets that dead-eyed I'm disappointed in you look. It's refreshing.
"Far as I know, they haven't had any takers," including himself, just so they're both clear on that. "Whether or not they're finding less obvious ways to use us... kind of a touchy subject around here, trust me."
He brought it up to the population as a whole a few weeks back. It didn't go over great. Probably discernible in his voice that he suspects something less than kosher's happening on that front, but he's not about to go all conspiracy theory guy meme on this poor son of a bitch in the newbie wagon.
"Might wanna reconsider the horse thing, though. The outpost taxi doesn't exactly make for the best local bus route."
Which probably begs the question of why he's taking it. Damn it, Karen.
no subject
"'Less obvious ways?'" As much as it sticks in his brain like a thorn of annoyance, the idea of riding a horse registered so much less discomfort on Blake's part than the implications of this so-called touchy subject. "Mind elab—"
Blake suddenly stops, attention snapping first to the left, then upward with thin-pressed lips, and finally back down to the seat next to him. His lip curls just slightly at the sight of a splatter of snow-white bird shit that's invited itself along for the ride.
Unduly disgusted, he gets up and parks himself next to Dean. Sorry about your personal space, dude, you're squarely a better seat-mate than bird shit.
"You mind elaboratin' on that?" This time as he's finishing his question, he's sort of taken on the tense edge of a person who does not want to be shit on — in more ways than one. People everyone here can relate, he thinks, or the tension Dean mentioned would have never come up.
no subject
Hard to know for sure if that's the guy being prissy, or if he's just trying to be subtle about moving in for a potentially controversial conversation. Either way, he's met with a faintly incredulous pause for his troubles.
"Before or after we snuggle?" He asks in flat deadpan — not outright unkind, it doesn't read as particularly mean or legitimately judgmental. He's just a salty guy with a mouth and little regard for his filter. He plows on, rather than waiting for a real answer. "It's a long story, and it involves, like, six different things that are gonna make you look at me like I'm six pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. You maybe wanna- I don't know- spend a day getting acclimated before adding more to the pile?"
He's not trying to be a dick. It's coming from a place with genuine intentions — he was new here once, too. He knows how it feels. Plus, he's done this whole new arrival thing more than a handful of times by now, he's seen the sheer quantity of crap people have to process. The stress that ensues. The way it sometimes sits better when dished out in bite-sized chunks, easier to metabolize.
no subject
"If it's all the same to you," he says, "I'd rather not waste the opportunity for information exchange." Never mind that Blake's intuition has been tingling since arrival, he's eager for this opinion specifically because it's dissenting. Even if he weren't lingering on the precipice of doubt regarding the political and social landscape of Free Cities and the surrounding settlements, he would still want to know the gamut of perspectives if only to better orient himself with others along that landscape. Finding the right people early is imperative.
"I can give a little snuggle if it's gonna nudge you along," Blake adds without missing a beat. He'd initially convinced himself not to rise to the other man's exasperation, but being that he has exactly the clothes on his back to his name at the moment, he doesn't think it's so untoward to change seats and preserve that.
(Perhaps a little vanity is involved, too, but that will be much harder to pick up, all things considered. Give him days without a shave, weeks without a haircut, and he will be insufferably obvious about it.)
Alternatively, if Dean can't handle the invasion, he can regain his space by joining the bird shit across the way. So, what's the math? Is bird shit greater-than, equal-to, or less-than preferable to Robin John Blake?
no subject
It's a solid return, one that earns a snort from him — and unlocks a level in the dialogue tree. Says a lot about a guy, that he can roll with punches like that. That he's willing to toss back some attitude without any real offense wrapped up in it. It takes a certain type of person, and that type's usually better suited to receiving complicated news.
"You're not wasting anything," he says eventually, with a sigh. "When we get to the city, I'll take you to the place most of us hole up. There's an inn there, kind of the unofficial hub for the sorry bastards that get pulled into this mess. Trust me, you're gonna have more than one opportunity for an intel debrief, but with the added bonus of some discount consolation booze."
In other words: you're probably gonna need it.
But he's not shutting the whole thing down right now, he's not unwilling to do a Q&A session. Just... maybe they better cover the foundations first before they build on them, huh?
"You from Earth? America, twenty-first century?"
no subject
"Is this... not Earth?" That question leaves all the hairs he has standing on end, eyes locked on Dean's face for any sign of amusement hidden in his features. If it's a joke, he's got a hell of a poker face and Blake returns it despite his obvious need to grapple with the concept. He had assumed, as Terrans are wont to do. He had assumed, as Americans are wont to do. The detective within him shakes a disappointed head. Stupid, kid.
"Earth, yeah. America, twenty-first— Are you telling me that—?" Okay, so maybe that composure is slipping a little and Blake swallows down the urge to groan his frustrations up into the sky. He runs his hands down his face, stops over his mouth and sucks in a deep breath before unfurling again. "Okay. Okay." Not okay. "Diff'rent world, sure—" Not sure. "–but a diff'rent time? Guess that— 20,076 number might look like it means somethin' but it really doesn't if this isn't Earth. 20,076 revolutions around another sun ain't exactly gonna line up. Might even be the same..."
Christ. Even Dean's metered approach is perhaps too much for Blake. His labored, logy mind is churning. It's chewing up anything coming in and it's hard to reform properly what he wants to express on its way back out. With the incredibly poor decision to leave the barracks without taking the time to recharge his batteries, he's left to cope with these initial brain-breaking concepts with much fewer spoons than he'd like.
(He'll take that snuggle now, thanks.)
no subject
But never mind that right now, new guy says is this not Earth? and Dean lets out a low, sad whistle. It sounds an awful lot like, wow, you poor son of a bitch. He gives Blake a moment or two to have his crisis, before muttering lowly, "Boy, they sure are skimping on the orientation these days."
Usually somebody way better at this has at least a light version of this conversation with the newly summoned well before Dean every talks to them.
Alright, intervention time, before the guy spirals out. Dean leans forward a little, resting is elbows on his knees. Back sloping, body language angled Blake's direction — some solid bedside manner, instinctively reassuring. Clearly well-practiced; might be easy to pick up on the fact that he's in the business of giving bad news to victims, to civilians.
"Alright, man. Take a breath. What's your name?"
no subject
(Stupid, maybe, but he wouldn't have trusted anything they'd said, anyway.)
"It's Blake," he says, miserably. "John Blake," by habit of clarifying (in part). Saying it does little to ground him any more than the rest and he feels almost free-floating in the fog of uncertainty. It feels like a dream. A too-real dream if the sandy grit rubbing between his clenched teeth is any real indication.
"At the barracks everyone was talkin' 'bout the Singularity," Blake adds. He fishes into the nearly useless pockets of the provided attire and out comes a couple small sheets of paper he'd folded into quarters. He unfolds it all, reads what he's written aloud.
"'Source of "magic,"'"— The pencil hand signifies the parts he finds suspect with the very effective double-quotation. "'–functionally neutral, "off-limits," connects to "horizon"'– people were real interested in that but no one seemed to say much other'n what I bothered writin' down: 'Dream, hallucination, group hallucination, "magic-driven,"' and then the rest's just a few names I took down."
He's re-centering. Orienting on these notes to bring him back to something more solid under his feet. He appreciates the room to breathe Dean's allowed and will pretend he hadn't seen the blip in that generally tight façade.
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That scrap of paper's another little hint, another bit of evidence. Note-taking, research. He's not a hunter, Dean knows that much right off — most hunters wouldn't be quite as uprooted by the concept of other worlds. None that have been in the business for any real length of time, anyway.
The singularity, magic, those are... some pretty big ones to tackle too, considering the dude's still processing not being on planet Earth anymore, so he gently puts them in reverse again. Backs up a few paces.
"Hi, Blake. I'm Dean. From Kansas- more or less. From sometime around 2014." Give him a little bit of a frame of reference, something familiar to orient himself around. "About half of us are from the same general time period. Different versions of Earth, though. Mostly the same, but a few differences. The rest of us are from... hell, I don't know. Other places, anywhere from Lord of the Rings to freakin' Star Wars, it doesn't seem to matter to the ones pulling us through."
Take a second to let it sink in — he won't mention that he's being pretty god damn literal about that Star Wars thing.
"This world's called Abraxas. One continent that we know of, three major factions, two of 'em are at war. The one we're in's called the Free Cities, and we're headed to a place called Cadens. If it makes you feel any better, yearly orbit around the sun's pretty much the same. Off-brand medieval Christmas is comin' up in a couple months, if you wanna start thinkin' about presents early. I'm a gift card guy."
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He takes a very slow breath in and releases it even more slowly. And then he's twisting inward, knees knocking Dean's as he flattens the paper on seat in the space he'd made between them and begins writing with a blunt half-pencil (no eraser).
Messy shorthand notes. Dean - Kansas, Earth – 2014... He writes the ellipsis, too and his hand stills momentarily after. That's two years into his future. (Is it any more or less ridiculous than the rest he's being fed?) He keeps going but flips to s different page. It's already got a Free Cities header, a Cadens subhead. At the top, he begins in full capitals: A B R A X—
A grove in the seat catches the paper and pencil tip just so and the top snaps clean off. Dammit.
"Borrow your knife?" Never mind the acknowledgement, the nice to meet you. A disappointing tunneled vision. It overcomes Blake and his eyes ping to meet Dean's before he even realizes he's holding his hand out expectantly. He licks his lips, swallows, blinks twice. "Please."
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But he recognizes a coping mechanism when he sees one, and it ain't like he's not used to a little detailed note-taking himself. He's got a whole stack of crap belonging to both himself and his father that are just about as detailed for things that seemed completely pointless at the time. A surprising amount of it came in handy later.
The pencil snaps.
Man, it sure isn't this poor guy's day, is it?
"Do you one better," he says, dipping over to one side to root around in the pack he's got at his feet. He pulls out a quill previously tucked in a leather-bound journal and offers it over. "It's self-inking. Pretend it's a pen."
Yep. That's right. It's a god damn enchanted quill. He clicks his teeth, shakes his head, and tacks on a pleasant, "Welcome to Hogwarts."
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The conversation had slowed to a trickle thirty, maybe forty minutes earlier – mostly Blake's exhaustion finally catching up — but in the time before, as they were taken at a snail's pace crawl across the desert landscape together, under Dean's gentle hand, Blake had managed to use the impressive magical quill to great effect. He's now got three full pages – double-sided, though small – with little tidbits of information he'd neglected to pick up when he'd breezed through the outpost much earlier in the day. Thank god for small favors (and Karen, especially, for her impeccable timing).
For a short while, Blake sleeps. Whether by the charity of Dean's companionship ensuring him safety, simply the exhaustion dogging him, or both, doesn't so much matter as much as the short-term benefits it will provide in getting him through the rest of this day. Arms tucked tight against his core, hands in his pits, he bobs gently with the movement of the wagon, head dipped in the unattractive way it does when an old(ish) guy falls asleep waiting outside the Dress Barn for his dear wife. Occasionally he shifts into Dean's space, bumps shoulder-to-shoulder, but he rights himself naturally like a man used to this sort of thing.
It's the slowdown coming into town that rouses Blake, the shift in momentum noticeable. Inhaling a deep breath, head lifting to look around, he's forgotten for a second where he is and his flare of concern is punctuated by both hands dropping to grip tight on the seat.
"Shit—" Soft, it's barely anything. He clearly hadn't meant to fall asleep.
The desert sun has reddened his cheeks, the tips of his ears, the high points of his face — taken away some of that under-base that keeps him fair. And because the desert is vast and empty, the sun dipping below the horizon means even a whiff of a breeze feels more cutting than it should with that color of the sun. He really isn't built for this sort of landscape (and it's almost as if Abraxas wants to make that very clear to him).
Releasing his iron-clad grip on the seat, he pumps his fists briefly to encourage some circulation, but he's fighting off the grogginess pretty hard here while he tries to take in the sudden bustle around them.
"What'd I miss?" And when did it get dark?
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Which is to say, Dean's not a huge fan of randos getting friendly with him on day one without even buying him dinner first, but he gets it. Those hours spent catching John Blake up on the basic state of the world gave him more than enough of an opportunity to see how exhausted and overwhelmed the guy is — and that's the only thing that keeps him from giving him a little shove when he falls asleep and starts leaning. It's not a big deal. Let the man sleep.
They start rollin' into town, and Blake wakes up moments before Dean would've shaken him for their stop. He's just started shrugging on the straps to his bag when the groggy question floats up.
"Not much, just a swarm of ninjas. Must've been maybe twenty, thirty? Don't sweat it, the Kung Fu master had it handled." He swats Blake's chest absently with the back of his hand and makes to stand. "Come on, we'll get you set up with a room. I know one that's empty."
That last bit... maybe a little more grim than he meant to let slip, but the letter Claire left him's still fresh.
He barely waits for the wagon to roll to a halt before hopping off the back.
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Cadens looks fantastical. The walled city reminds Blake of many a book set in times and places where castles and kingdoms were the norm. Parapets, battlements, moats, tall arrow windows — it's all right there as if he'd stepped into a very elaborate movie set. Where it differs, Blake notes, comes first to him in the attire. It's richer than that what's been described in his history books (although still nothing he can imagine himself wearing).
He catches up to Dean, saying, "Listen, Carl Douglas, I'll need some work, too. There anything to be made dispatchin' ninjas in these parts?" Because as nice as it is to have a room for the night, Blake makes no bones about needing to immediately address his human needs: air, food, water, shelter, clothing, sleep, and—
"No, never mind all that. I gotta take a piss like a race horse," he admits. It was a long fucking wagon ride, okay? "So maybe if you don't wanna see me do the dance..." Point him towards a bathroom. Or tell him that his destination is immediately on the right.
ʟᴜᴄᴋ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟᴀᴅʏ
(And she hates that she's gotten into long-term planning this shit.)
The ruckus isn't her business; that's how places like this go. You can tell the guy's new, not to gambling, but this world and Summoned always make these kinds of people twitchy at first as it is. All those powers and how they might be using them on unsuspecting citizens. The house that was cheating you didn't like it when you could prove they were, or you could cheat them even better than they were cheating you. It's not her place if the house gets uppity and throws someone out.
But that stops at the talking heads that send four guys out the door in the direction he went, and fuck, but she was just about to start her upswing. The kid's new, but he wasn't playing against the house for serious, and he did fuckall to deserve that kind of beatings. Jo throws a dejected hand of cards down as she folds and mopes, "Guess I just don't have any good luck today. Maybe next time."
(She'll use it next time—a loser coming back.
Then, back in step with the program.)
Jo's headed out of the room at a clip. Not fast enough to look like she's chasing heels, but fast enough, with her shoulders up and her head down, to look like someone who lost all their money and was trying to shame-skulk away fast. The posture and expression vanish within two steps of her pushing out the door, and the mass of the five guys is barely even a complete two streets over.
It's a jog at that point, just as the guys run for him, and she comes up the back, sliding into the last guy hard with her shoulder to some ribs. "Guys. It's really not nice to throw a party for someone without asking them first."
cw: physical violence, knives
"Think that takes away some of the surprise element. For them." He grins a bit, tossing a glance her way. He's managed to square up next to Jo having forced off his assailant. Now, two-on-one, those odds he likes much better, and despite his very serious nature, there's a hint of something almost playful as he raises his fists and waits for the right moment.
Milling, practically lurching around, the posse's formed back up to stop Blake and Jo's advance. Either they fight or they retreat.
"Give us yer coin, or else," the leader threatens. From his pocket he produces a small blade that he flicks open. The rest begin skimming the alley for possibly weapons.
No time to wait, Blake charges forward leaving an opening for Jo in his wake. He's swift, much more efficient in his motions that one might expect on initial observation. Defensively, he excels, easily parting from the path of a stab and disarming the leader. By now, at least one thug's managed a scrap of something woody and he's advancing in only to find when he brings the weapon down hard, it's right into the waiting path of the leader, forced into a shield position for Blake and then effectively taken out.
One down, three to go.
The knife's still in play, but Blake can't put his focus on it just yet. Until it's secured, he's on edge, but putting himself in a vulnerable position to recover it won't do him any favors either. He's now circling with Woody and his scrap weapon, skirting the writhing, half-conscious body, trying to keep Jo in his eye line.
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The click of the knife snaps almost all of Jo's attention there, and the fist gets disarmed once, but the use of it doesn't stop there, and the second guy to raise it, with that glimmering of steel catching the sun turns her mouth crooked, her hand going to her chest, flat and "Oh, honey. You still wanna dance?"
It's followed with another click. Two. "Let's dance."
It's anyone's guess where exactly she pulled it from, but her knife isn't small like his. It's a long, thin, pure black, wicked thing; illegal in most places she came from even. A longer-than-normal switchblade stiletto. The guy at her side already has one down, and he's headed in for a second, so she's not too worried about him actually holding his own.
The guy with the knife has the gall to look like she's a child with a stick, and he comes at her with all the grace of a cow stampeding. It's easier all across her life when they do that. He's heavyweight and not expecting it when she feints down into a fast-moving crouch, right under that blade aimed for her, and comes up slamming an elbow hard into his lower back, right about where his kidneys should be under that floppy tunic—following that a second later with a fist to the back of his neck, around the pommel of her blade.
It hurts that way, all the way up to her elbow,
but it's him that goes sprawling between the two.
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"You still got a chance to walk away here," Blake advises, further trying to de-escalate this situation. He really hadn't wanted this kind of attention at all.
The third doesn't seem interested in sense, though, and his much larger form is surprisingly fast as he comes in on Blake and begins throwing heavy punches. It's several dodges under for Blake — a boxer's sway — before he gets three fast rabbit punches into the guy's gut. Under the drape of the cloth is a whole heaping of abs that Blake should be expecting based on the rest of the guy's build, but instead finds himself surprised by the absolute unmovable nature of it.
Looking up — he's almost always looking up in fights, being a shrimpy 5'9" – his eyebrows both go up, too, just in time to have the larger man's forearms come down. They connect at the shoulders, jarring Blake's spine all the way into his tailbone. He seizes the opportunity, anyway and despite himself, grabbing onto the man's arms and using his grip and leverage to swing into a double-kick right into the guy's center mass. Momentum tumbles Blake backward and he rolls into a low ready stance while the crony stumbles back onto his ass into a pile of hay and, very likely, manure.
"You good?" He glances only briefly, a split second to make sure that Jo's not in over her head. Doesn't seem like that'd be the case, but once in a while a person gets a lucky hit in. He'd be remiss not to supply some backup in return.