rekindleme | INTRO LOG - JANUARY 2014

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INTRO LOG - JANUARY 2014

Who: Everyone
Where: The Welcome Center
When: 20th January, afternoon
Summary: The new arrivals, freshly pulled from their worlds or others, awaken in a strange place...
Warnings: Inbox death may occur. System overload at own risk. SOME NPC RESPONSES WILL BE SLOW UNTIL THE ONE WHO PLAYS THEM IS PRESENT.

It's a shuddering breath, a sensation of being pulled to elsewhere and finding oneself pressed against something on the soft and some place cozy. However, before one can fully stir, there is and odd, warm stirring sensation that lifts you up from wherever you've been dropped, when you begin to drift off once more.

Yet the feeling passes quickly, and when you awaken, you begin to realize your surroundings. It's a small room with what some might recognize as a Far Eastern theme when it comes to decor, from the walls to the sofa you find yourself on. Illumination is provided by carefully crafted lamps, and even a candle flickering on a nearby desk. The doors are made from paper and wood, with a thin frame; through them it's easy to hear other people stirring, talking, or coming to.

You are not alone...

~~And perhaps even a small fuzzy cat just outside, making a persistent 'miiiiii' sound in order to get you up and about.~~ There's also the sound of more noise from further downstairs, and even the faint whiff of something warm and tasty. And to add to all of that, close at hand there's a note that reads:

WELCOME CENTER
Newcomers: Please come downsatirs to the lobby for refreshments and your welcome packets!

Odd... This wasn't written in your own language, and yet you find it easily understandable. Soon enough, if you don't enter on your own, there's a gentle knocking on the door as someone comes from downstairs to usher you along.

"Welcome to Saeng Seong! I know you must be confused as to where you are and what's going on, but we promise to explain this to you once you've had a chance to stretch your legs!"

Whether you go downstairs immediately or linger a little longer, eventually you must come down and get out of the small space, and sooner rather than later would probably be better. You'll find yourself in a well-lit lobby, filled with comfortable-looking couches and chairs. Along one wall are refreshment tables, loaded with all sorts of warming, comforting food and drink, including some you probably aren't familiar with. On the wall opposite are a pair of desks, each with a sign and a person seated behind them -

Irene, General Assistance
Devin, Technological Assistance

Unlike a few waves before, the only people in charge seem to be the people behind the desks. They look a bit busy.

However, before you can go over and give them a piece of your mind and ask questions, the same person who ushered you downstairs hands you a manilla envelope that contains your welcome packet, urging you to read this before asking the two figures questions that the packet likely answers.

Inside it, you will find: a ring with a key and apartment number on it, some kind of cash card, a map and informational guide to the city, and a letter folded neatly on the top -

Welcome to Saeng Seong!

You are among a new group of arrivals to our city, from many far-apart worlds.
We have gathered you here because our city is in a crisis, and we are at our last resorts. The energy of the city is in a slow downward spiral, and is dangerously close to expiring altogether.

That's where you come in - you and everyone else we've brought to the city. Unlike those of us here, you have the potential to generate the energy the city needs, but you'll need to work together to do it.

Why? Because the energy can only be generated when two people touch each other. Any touch will do, but it must be between two of you who are new to the city. If you don't keep in contact with someone, eventually your energy will begin to drain as well, making you dangerously ill.

A few other things:

The closed-off sections of the city are closed off for a reason; approaching them will cause your energy to drain very rapidly. We're working to open the rest of the city to you as soon as we can, but for now, please remain within the two central districts of the city.

You have been given a key to a one-bedroom apartment in a complex set aside for you and the other new arrivals, near the riverside in the 1st district. You're free to change your living quarters whenever you like, and we encourage you to move in with someone in one of the larger apartments. When you want to change, just come back to this building to exchange your key.

We've also included a cash card with a living stipend; if you're unfamiliar with this system, or the network established for new arrivals, you can talk to Devin in the lobby for help. It's what he's here for. If you need medical assistance, contact Mai, one of our nurses.

Again, welcome, and thank you for all your help.

Irene
Arrival Liaison

Outside, and through the translucent glass you can see a banner hanging from the tiled roof of the building across the street. It's looking oddly bright and cheery against a darkened and chilly looking sky:

WELCOME TO SAENG SEONG
(ENJOY YOUR STAY!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Pretty much, yeah, in all honesty.

"You wanna sit down somewhere?" There has to somewhere around that's safe for a giant robot to sit on and not snap anything.

"…?" It's not a word, but just an inquisitive, baffled noise that leaves Krok's vocaliser as he looks from the organic to the sofa on which he's sitting. Is he just hallucinating sitting down? It certainly feels real enough.

He groans and grinds at his optics with the heels of his hands. It does nothing to improve his processor operation, but the pressure feels nice.

"Either way, I don't think I want to get up any time soon," he says. "But thank you."

Isn't that what people say? Davesprite's pretty sure that's what people say. Maybe lying down would help. Or make Krok look shorter. Something like that.

"Yeah, no big, 's what I'm here to do, help people with completely unnecessary jibes. One out of ten, would not listen to again, says consumer magazine Greatest Life Hits, best ten minutes I didn't spend watching the blender mix up food colouring and fake blood, from Kids Styling Black." Neither of which exist, that's not the point. He rocks back on his heels for a moment, hands in his pockets. "You want, I don't know, a check up or something in an hour or two?"

Krok is suddenly reminded of Crankcase and Misfire in one shot and he can't help himself; it's such a jarring, bolstering dash of the familiar that he laughs - long and loud, so hard he rocks back in his seat. It takes him a few moments to stop.

"My apologies," he huffs once the paroxysm eases. He scrubs his face with one hand as if to wipe away tears he can't actually shed. "I don't mean to laugh at you. You just… you made me think of a friend."

Watching Krok laugh is something else, and pretty impressive. Davesprite's shoulders relax, and he shifts his feet, balance more or less equal on both feet.

"Nah, s'cool, bringing randoms acts of laughter to the place is but one of my many joys in life. 'Sides, if they're half as cool as me, they must be pretty sweet themselves." He takes the opportunity to sit on the arm of the sofa, even if it doesn't help that much. Better than nothing. "So what's this friend of yours like?"

"I don't know about 'cool'," Krok says wryly as he settles back into the sofa, warm air blowing from his vents to stabilise his system temperature. He chuckles again as he continues to process the conversation. "And neither of them is what I'd call sweet."

Pausing, he sighs and looks up at the ceiling. It seems as productive as any other options available.

"Crankcase has something negative to say about everything," he says, "but tends to inadvertently send the rest of us stumbling into insights we wouldn't sort out otherwise without trying to find a way around all the pessimism. I'm not sure it's intentional, but… it helps. Misfire just never stops talking." Krok imagines he can hear their protests at his descriptions.

"Some sort of savoury treat, then," Davesprite suggests, leaning back a bit. "Or- well, pretty sure I heard sweetmeats aren't actually sweet."

He taps his fingers against the sofa, eyebrows drawing slightly together. "Dunno about the negative stuff, but the rest of that sounds right on. And so- hey- that means I know your friends' names, but not yours. Pretty sure that's against the code somewhere." He holds up a hand, fingers loose and ready to be curled for a fistbumb at any moment. "Davesprite."

Given how Krok and his crew have been surviving for the last few months, he finds he doesn't really want to think of them in terms of comestibles. It gives him the feeling he'll purge his fuel tanks, near-dry as they are.

Introductions make a good distraction. He leans forward again, just enough to offer a handshake comfortably. Davesprite, however, seems to be gesturing for some other form of greeting. Krok falters slightly, his own hand curled halfway shut.

"Krok," he says, trying not to sound awkward as he looks from his hand to Davesprite's.

So saltine crackers then.

That's fine, he'll just complete the fistbump himself. "Nice. You pick that for yourself, or-" He tilts his head again, eyebrows drawn in. "Actually I'm not sure I want to know how giant robots happen, is it freaky weird? To humans I guess it's make perfect sense to a giant robot."

"'Freaky weird'?" Krok echoes, amused. Shades of Misfire all over again. "I wouldn't say so, no. We tend to come in two varieties – cold constructed, which is to say that other Cybertronians built you from scratch, down to splicing your spark from other sources, and forged." If he sounds slightly dismissive of the whole forged thing, well, he likes to think that Primus will forgive him.

Assuming Primus even cares these days.

"Forged are those whose sparks…." Krok pauses, grasping for words. "I suppose you could say they spawned naturally. And some very opinionated people had a very, very long argument over which was superior, among other things." He pauses, thinking back to that bizarre, wooden thing aboard the damaged Worldsweeper that he's still convinced was an attempt at some kind of organic Cybertronian. Perhaps best to leave that aside for now.

Davesprite snorts. "Yeah, well, I guess they'd find something or other to make a fuss about. It actually make a difference? When you're grown up of whatever the equivalent is." He leans back a little, hands supporting him, wings settling out a bit.

Krok makes an extremely rude sound, a combination of vocal squawk and power plant rumble that doesn't actually translate to words. His narrow-eyed, scornful expression and the tight clench of his fists say it all, though.

"Not in any ways that count," he mutters, "but where there's a will… well." His mood shifts abruptly when he realises his arms are starting to shake. He stops and deliberately flexes his hands to ease away tension, spars creaking and servos whirring. "Ancient history, I suppose," he adds, not quite smiling.

Whoa. Who would have thought a robot could be touchy like that? Always something else to know.

"Yeah, stick that way back where it belongs and no one should manage to stumble over it," he agrees, leaning forwards again. "So what's present-day robot life made of?"

How can Krok possibly put this without letting himself go on a bitter ramble? It takes him a few seconds to sort out his thoughts.

"…Surviving," he finally admits.

Bitter rambles are a thing he can totally understand the need to go on. Still, he appreciates not needing to sit through one himself. The word itself brings back a familiar feeling, even if it's been a while. He makes an attempt at playing it off, sort of, frowning some.

"What kind of shit gives a guy like you that kind of trouble?"

Now there's a question Krok didn't expect to hear.

"War," he answers simply. "And the war ending." He fought virtually his entire life. It's hard to cope and find a new reason for living once all that's taken away. Of course, he has something in the W.A.P. and its crew… questionable as they are.

But they aren't here.

Whoa. That's- more intense than he was expecting. But it could fit, if he thinks about it. Explains why Krok would get so tense, at least.

"That-" He stops, clearing his throat awkwardly, wings twitching slightly. "That sucks. Who started it, do they know how shitty of an idea that was, does someone need to go and shake that into their head?" They probably do, but it's something to say that isn't thinking about at least partially-destroyed worlds.

Tens upon hundreds of partially to utterly ruined worlds. When Cybertronians go to war, galaxies tremble. Krok steeples his fingers under his chin and his eyes narrow as he stares at some vague point on the opposite wall.

"Those who started it?" he echoes, darkly amused. "Some of them are still around. I don't know what they think of it; Decepticons like me aren't privy to command decisions." He gives Davesprite a sideways glance, adding, "And everyone who thought they'd shake some sense into him came out much deader for the attempt."

Heavy. And kind of ominous. Davesprite goes very still, with only a little twitch of one wing before he pulls them in tightly.

"Just hit the floor and hope you come out at the end." He puts his hands together, fingers pulling against each other. "So not the listening and caring type."

"Hard to say." Krok's eyes focus on the now again and he pulls a face – or as much as he can, anyway. It isn't quite a smirk, nor quite a scowl. "Not as though I know Megatron personally. I only know that all of us on the ground weren't much more than numbers for some part of the war."

He blinks, then, and makes an apologetic noise.

"…Not very good conversation fodder, though." Though he hasn't much else to talk about, either. Some life he's had!

It's a pretty good expression, as far as Davesprite's concerned. He snorts. "Yeah, no bothering with the simple equations with a name like that, he'll go cozy up with Fermat's Last Theorem or i or something like that." There's a weird moment in there, since he remembers a little about the way Sburb worked, and the way the underlings- the imps and other creatures- are basically just a grist mill, but he pushes past that. Some other time.

He flicks a wing and shrugs. "Yeah, well. I asked. Soooo. Changes of topic, let's try that." He drums his fingers against the sofa arm for a moment. "You haven't really looked around yet, right?"

Krok shakes his head in the negative.

"I haven't," he adds verbally. "I haven't exactly felt exploration worthy." A systems destabilisation from whatever process brought him here, he suspects.

He nods. "Need some time to recharge, huh. Transference beam or whatever isn't perfect, I guess." He flicks one wing again, and looks off to the side. "Pretty sure the touching thing's supposed to help with that," he adds. That's… sort of an offer, because no way is he about to say it straight out.

"Touching thing?" Krok echoes a bit dumbly before his recall catches up with him. The letter explained all that. "Ah," he mumbles, "that." Were they closer to a similar size, Krok could better grasp the logistics of the situation. A pat on the shoulder, something like that. But there's a rather drastic gap in height even though he's always been on the shorter end of the scale. Awkwardly, he looks from his hand to Davesprite. "…How will this work, exactly?"

That is. A good question. Davesprite follows that look, and shrugs awkwardly, wings fanning out a bit. "Skin to chrome?" he suggests. "Pretty sure hugs work even through fabric, though so hell, you got space on your shoulder or something?" It'll be embarrassing, but less embarrassing than an actual hug. Plus, cool points for being on a robot.

INTRO LOG - JANUARY 2014

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Sorry for the wait. Done moving and hopefully back in the saddle, though.

it's okay! everything going alright?

Oh, yeah, just lots of stuff to shift with limited help, so it's taken a while.

mm. glad it's all done, then

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