INTRO LOG: FACE OFF

[hadrielmods]

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for November. Don't get your face eaten!
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: November 10th-17th
Warnings: Monster-related violence, people lamps, general unpleasantness, mass confusion.

You wake up on the hard earth of the colosseum. By the state of things and the various aches and pains in your body, you've probably been passed out there for awhile. A few things should immediately become clear to you upon an initial assessment.

1. You're not alone
2. You're near other people who look to be in a similar state.
3. You're also near an assortment of human shaped lamps.
4. You're also near something that skitters off into the shadows of the colosseum.

Of all of these alarming things, the skittery object might be your largest concern. Be wary when turning corners or shutting out the lights: the Hunters work best when your vision is obscured, so their gelatinous form is even harder to spot. Their main goal will be to kill people of course, though they prefer to hide in corners and smaller rooms. Watch out when trying to work through the halls of the colosseum to find the outdoors- they're surprisingly quick, and they prefer to kill their prey by opening their face-flaps and wrapping their mouths around your head. Fun!

More information on Hunters can be found here!

Second largest concern? Maybe it's the people lamps. Maybe it's the actual people around you. Whatever it is, be sure to familiarize yourself with it quickly. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't, after all.

All done with the horrible monsters and awkward greetings? Try your hand at exploring the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies until your little heart is content. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers November 10th-17th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► All characters now arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Comments

making do

[dangerous_dog]

Bob meets him on about his third day out, when he's getting a little desperate in his attempts to find water. There are signs of it, the way he licks his lips, the way he's a little chapped, a little parched; he hasn't learned to recognize the boxes yet, and when he does find stores, he's been out of luck, had them already turn up raided when he's stumbled upon them.

Like this one, for example- nothing but a lumpy tuberous vegetable that could be a potato, that he's sitting down to try to gnaw into, to see if it's something remotely close to edible. It's a corner; his back is to it. For shelter, it'll do him for now.

He glances up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

[camouflage]

For once, it's not people John has to worry about. In fact, despite his rough start at the arena, his stay in this unknown land had been downright civil. To not have the ever-present worry of being shot or stabbed at the forefront of his mind was somewhat of a relief. Somewhat of a disappointment, too. He was used to living a certain lifestyle, after all.

Still, though, his pistol remained an ever-present threat strapped to his leg. There always might be that one nutjob.

As he makes his way into one more abandoned store, John makes sure to have his gun in hand. He makes a careful sweep of the area with the pistol before laying eyes on the man in the corner. Doesn't look dangerous; the gun gets lowered. "We gonna have a problem?" It's asked so nonchalantly that the soldier might as well be asking about the weather.

[dangerous_dog]

Bob's eyebrows lift, and he swallows the bite of his potato. A problem? Back home, the answer would be an easy, definite 'no.' He is not someone who scraps, not someone who plays territorial, he is someone who placates whenever possible, even when the other person is a belligerent drunk on the other side of his bar.

However, they aren't exactly home right now, and there is one important question to ask, first, still reasonable, still placating, but with just a hint of a hard-line in it;

"You gonna hurt my dog?"

The little blue pittbull is tucked behind his calves, under the tent of his knees, where he sits. If not, then no, no problem.

[camouflage]

"Nope," the soldier replies, easy, sliding his pistol back where it belongs. He secures the flap of the holster, makes sure the gun isn't primed to fire. In these kind of tight quarters, he's better off using his knife anyway. Less of a waste. "Unless it tries to make a chew toy out of me. Then we might have words."

John doesn't mind dogs at all, had actually been fascinated by mushers during his brief stint as a civilian. He doesn't know much about pitbulls, but it doesn't look dangerous. Not hiding like that.

He hikes his makeshift backpack higher on his shoulder, a few cans of food and a couple clothing items already weighing it down. At this point, he's scavenging more for containers than anything else. The canteen on his hip can only hold one quart of water at a time, after all. "Noticed anything edible around here?"

[dangerous_dog]

Bob reaches down and scratches Rocco gently, humming to try to soothe him to come out.

"He won't."

He's a good little dog, and he isn't getting out from underneath Bob's feet at this point.

"There's a box, but it looks well picked over. It's just vegetables now, and nothing I know the look of. If we had facilities to cook it might be a little easier, but-"

But he hasn't gotten so far as finding that, either.

[camouflage]

"There's always good ol' fashioned fire, you know," John suggests, looking at said vegetables with a critical eye. After spending so much time in foreign territories with strange flora and fauna, he's taken note of common trends in plants and animals that are, generally, safe to eat. Granted, he's not always right and has poisoned himself at least a few times. One time, he thinks he may have gotten high from a frog he ate.

Not that he can recall those experiences very clearly anymore.

Anyway, these vegetables manage to meet a few checks on his safe-to-eat list, so he packs away a couple. You never know. "You able to feed your dog alright?" Because he's curious. Because he likes animals, even if he has eaten literally dozens of species.

[dangerous_dog]

"We're in a cave."

Bob points out, softly.

"We have no idea about the air supply. It's a big cave, admittedly, but who knows how connected it is to-"

Gesturing up at what may theoretically mean 'the world above,' if there is such a thing. The next question, though, softens him up;

"Yeah. He's happy with not-potato. Rocco's a good boy."

[camouflage]

John concedes that the man might be just a little more than right to worry about the air quality in here. He hadn't even thought about that, not when he had whipped his lighter out in the arena. Granted, if the cave's atmosphere had been hazardous enough to suffocate fire or to blow it out of proportion, then none of them would be surviving very long down here.

"Seemed fine when I made one," the soldier remarks. Making sure he had a way to cook food was important, especially when none of the appliances in the apartment he found were exactly user-friendly. John had been a civilian once upon a time, learning how to use stoves and refrigerators, but the things here were on another level. He'd rather not get his hand blown off by operating a microwave oven wrong.

Anyway. The news that the dog seems to be eating just fine is enough to cause the corners of his mouth to twitch up. That's when he remembers the contents of his pack. Digging around, John manages to find a can that has something vaguely protein in it and tosses it over to the guy. "There. Just in case Rocco likes meat, too."

[dangerous_dog]

Bob catches it deftly, glances it over, and then looks up from the label to John, with his eyebrows lifted in what can only really be touched surprise. Bob is reserved, obviously, he holds himself in the closed off way of men who deal with an awful lot of insane organized criminals who cannot be given lip to, and police detectives who want answers that cannot possibly be offered. But, Rocco is his dog, and there are a different set of rules there. Enough that he expands, a little;

"Bob Saginowski, and Rocco, from Brooklyn. Your world have Brooklyn?"

If it does, it may have been a little bit guessable- his accent is thick, distinctive, New York and Polish.

[camouflage]

"Yeah, I know it," he confirms. Brooklyn is one of those American cities he's familiar with by name only. For most of his life, he's either been outside the US in the mud of foreign countries or between Virginia and Maryland. Somehow, John has never found the time to actually see any other states.

Not that it really matters anymore. America is just another country to him, no longer his homeland. "But I haven't been back to the States since the 70s. I wouldn't know anything about it now." It's only been 12 years since then and, not yet used to the idea about people being from different universes and timelines, John just assumes it's 1984 for everyone else, too. It's easier that way. "Jack, by the way."

[dangerous_dog]

"The seventies?"

He says, in surprise, giving Rocco a scratch behind the ears now, before cracking the can open by the tab and pulling out a little of the meat to set down in front of him. The puppy in only just calm enough to begin to eat, which is a relief to Bob. It's probably the conversation, the normal tone of voice, the slight familiarity.

He lets out a sigh, and in that case, tries not to think too hard about time being fucked. He knows Brooklyn, he knows Brooklyn- good enough for now.

"Jack, how're you adjusting?"

[camouflage]

"To this place?" Who could ever fully adjust to a place like this? Danger around every corner, no real sunlight to speak of, with supposed gods standing between them and getting out. It was too much for any person, even one as good at compartmentalizing as John.

So he just focused on one thing at a time. Shelter, food, water. "Getting by as well as I can. I've been taken prisoner before, but this... This is different." The plus side of the whole thing was no one had electrocuted him. Well, yet. Hopefully never. "How about you?"

[dangerous_dog]

He shakes his head; nope. Not good. Not good at all.

"We're getting a hang of the food."

But that's about it.

"Been looking for a way out, mostly, and that's proving to be harder than you'd want."