hadriel_logs | INTRO LOG: WELCOME TO THE BATCAVE

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INTRO LOG: WELCOME TO THE BATCAVE

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for January.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: January 10th-15th
Warnings: Bats, but not Batman. Weird arts and crafts. Confused newbies.

You awaken on the hard-packed sandy floor of the colosseum. As you blink the sleep from your eyes and begin to try to get your bearings, you might hear the gentle, soothing sound of wind chimes tinkling through the air. It's a peaceful sound, a pleasant sound. As you look around, you'll find tall stands with curved hooks at the top here and there throughout the arena, each supporting a different handmade wind chime.

You could stay and enjoy the sounds, even if what they're coming from is a bit less than aesthetically pleasing. Or you could pause for a moment and wonder where the wind that's sounding the chimes is coming from, considering you're in a cave. There are breezes in Hadriel now and again, but what's causing this wind is something else entirely. Spend too long out in the open and you'll find out what.

Perching atop the broken walls of the colosseum, hidden in crevices and shadows, are a number of Ahools. These giant bats can have wingspans as big as 12 feet, and they're certainly strong enough to lift smaller and lighter people off their feet entirely, carrying them away to devour at their leisure. Don't think you can hide - their echolocation will find you as easily as a bat finds a moth in the black of night.

If you manage to escape the Ahools and get your bearings, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies until your belly is as full as that giant bat's was supposed to be. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers January 10th-15th.
► 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!

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This is absolutely not where Chie expects to be when she wakes up today. She expects to wake up in her croft with the rising of the sun, with enough time to get in a morning jog before her Watch shift. She expects to hear the sounds of the forest and her fellow villagers, background noise she's become accustomed to over the past few months of captivity in Demeleier. No one's thought to make something as simple and pleasurable as wind chimes; they all have other priorities, like surviving until the next day.

She sits up on the ground with a violent start, one hand flying to her head to make sure her rowan crown is still there, breathing a quick sigh of relief when it is. That reprieve doesn't last long; she can tell immediately that this isn't Demeleier, and that raises a number of troubling questions: where is she; what brought her here; what happened to her friends; what does she do now?

[dissonant and beautiful]

[peter knows there's something wrong when he wakes up to the sound of...windchimes. except not just regular windchimes, the peculiar types of handmade windchimes that are familiar from his childhood, made of sticks and old silverware and tinfoil and bits and bobs of metal from who knows where, hung on hangers or old pie plates.

except when he looks up, those aren't sticks. they're bones.

still, it's not a wholly unpleasant sound, and he can't immediately identify any human bones, so peter turns to the matter at hand: where in the hell is he? the last thing he remembers is a cup of coffee and an awkward non-conversation with roman--and the coffee cup is still in his hand, though its contents are, regrettably, on the ground. he could've used that coffee.

peter stands up slow, checking for bumps and bruises as he does. no knocks to the head, at least. around him, other people seem to be making their way to their feet as well, but he can't really see them that well in the dimness.

deep in his gut, his balls ache, and wherever the moon is, it's not where it should be. what the fuck is going on?]

[a strange customer]

[there's a town down here. a small one, but not smaller than some of the towns peter has lived in. weird, though. he's getting used to the ache in his balls, although every footfall or person he encounters makes him startle. he's found one of the food shops, and is currently filling a bag full of the most familiar-seeming things in it. it's not the ransacking of a hungry teenager, but the careful decision-making of someone who knows how to make food last. he's starting to get used to the ache in his balls, the feeling of wrong in his gut. no shit something's wrong. lots of things are wrong.

someone coming into the shop might find him crawling behind whatever appears most like a register, searching cabinets and nooks and crannies.]

C'mon, what does a guy have to do for a carton of smokes around here?

Edited 2016-01-10 18:47 (UTC)

She wakes up in the underground, to the ring of chimes over another type of ringing in her ears.

Slowly, she blinks through her bleary sight, her head aching. When her eyes dart towards her peripheral vision, she catches sight of a doll head over her, with various rusty silverware and metal pieces dangling from it. It's hardly a pleasant image, but she has seen much worst.

The last thing that comes to mind was that she had been crawling through the narrowed tunnels of a prison ship. That's where her memories before coming here end. At the very least, she has found herself waking up in a strange place with memories intact at all, but it's hardly a consoling revelation. Had she somehow been found by the synthetics that took her brother already? Did she already fail in her mission?

Shifting to sit upright, Rey brings a hand to her head and mumbles something incoherently to herself. Where she finds herself is not the metal walls of the prison, but in what appears to be some sort of natural cavern. She searches for any other sign of life as she climbs to her feet, finding the strength and will to move around.

Not daring to call out at the risk of drawing unwanted attention, she ventures into the caverns on her own. There's a possibility that she'll find herself accidentally bumping into someone by chance, somewhere in the dark, and a muttered apologies is bound to follow.

option 1. BAT-tling

(This had long since become a standard way for Newt to wake up.

He'd forgone expectations of a consistent reality the first time he woke up in the Box. Ever since then, he'd questioned everything. There was always an explanation around the corner (or a puzzle that would hopefully lead to an explanation) and more often than not it had the name WICKED stamped all over it. This situation was no different and the first thought that crossed his mind was not Where am I? but What can I remember?

A quick scramble of his mind. The Scorch. The Rat Man. Flat trans. Cranks. The words of recognition fell into his head like an adult vocabulary lesson, all accompanied with sharp flashing images. The wind chimes don't scare him or assure him of anything at all. Don't always trust what you see and don't always assume everything you can trust is what can be seen.

To Newt, this was another Test.

To him, there was really no other explanation. The situation was too familiar enough for him to dissociate. It was the logical conclusion and the conclusion that would save his skin. It had to be a Test or else he could die thinking he was safe. The most important thing that stuck itself in his mind was a single objective: regroup. Surely his friends had to be near and if not- then what?

He didn't have the luxury to plan. Not with the sudden movement just to his left. Newt spun sharply round on the heel of his good foot, his bad foot sliding out behind him and his arms jerked the hunting rifle up that had been hanging over his shoulder into position. His head snapped down and he aligned his eye with the scope, having all of three, maybe five, seconds to take aim. By the time his finger hugged the trigger, he was staring down the opened mouth of a giant- bat?

The creature went crashing and nearly took it with him. He tumbled out of the way, staggering before whipping his gun up and aiming it at the creature. A clean head shot through the mouth. His hands weren't trembling but his skin was paler than it had been a couple seconds ago. He whipped around, aiming his gun up because like hell he trusted that to be the only one.)

option 2. dissect the enemy

(Once it became evident that Newt was relatively safe from more bats, he got down onto his knees and rolled the smallest carcass that he could find over onto its back. Looking down over the bat, his eyes darted here and there, like he was looking for something. And he was.

WICKED had a thing about imprinting their name all over their products. If this bat was a product of WICKED, it'd be no different. Newt had to know if it was though. He felt like it had to be- what else could it be? Of all of his time spent out of the Maze, they hadn't run into any monsters that hadn't been WICKED-manufactured and hell, they hadn't even run into normal animals either. He knew that normal animals didn't look like this bat, even without his memories in tact. Though he did remember what a bat was, his mind supplied him with the briefest of images of something much, much smaller than the creature under his searching palms.

He opened up the jaw, peeked inside, before opening and closing the wings. Nothing. Nothing metallic either- not yet anyway. He bit into the corner of his lip before making an executive decision. If he was going to be fighting these things, then he had to know what he was dealing with. He removed the hunting knife from the side of his hip and leaned over the bat, eyes skimming briefly over the beast before he moved to bring the knife down.

Time to do science. Even in the dark of the cavern, it didn't matter. WICKED was notorious for combining robotics with beasts and if there was anything metal inside of this guy, he'd know pretty quickly. If it was all flesh - well, then that opened up a whole new realm of questions, didn't it?)

Edited 2016-01-10 22:54 (UTC)

Who are you talking to?

(Comes a British voice that isn't at all hostile in its tone but definitely a little mocking. Standing just two or three feet behind Peter stands Newt. His stance is casual, hip cocked to the side and his hunting rifle hanging by a leather strap from his shoulder. He's got his arm relaxed over it, safety on, hand over the barrel in a comfortable position. The barrel is aimed indelicately at Peter but there's no solid threat other than its general presence. His other hand is down against his belt, thumb hooked through one of the front loops and his head is tipped curiously to the side.

If this town wasn't filled with other people, he might have been more cautious. He's wary of most adults since most adults have given him cause to be wary of but that doesn't make him naive with anyone his own age either. People are dangerous but people also mean safety in numbers and that is something he is willing to risk sticking his neck out for. Without being able to find his friends, he doesn't have much option here and from afar, Peter kind of maybe looks like someone whose his own age. He would trust someone his own age a whole lot quicker than someone older.

After all, he's gotta start somewhere. Being alone never got anyone anywhere, right?)

oo1.

[When the air ripples with an energy Sunny does not yet understand, he expects things to escalate quickly. What he does not expect, however, is for the entire world to go dark. He definitely does not expect to be somewhere else altogether: no car, no men.

No M.K.

He rolls to his feet. Did they take M.K.? Where is this? That damn kid -- he doesn't know why he even bothers. (He knows.) The ground beneath his boot is unfamiliar and the circular arena is nothing he’s seen before. Wherever this is, it’s far away from Quinn’s fields. The air smells stale, full of earth, and the copper of blood tinges every breath he takes. And there are people around. All sorts of people he's never seen before.

If he didn't know better, he'd say they were prisoners. But both of his swords are sheathed; when he feels his pockets, he isn't missing anything. In fact, there's a strange rectangular device that wasn't on him before.

He makes his way to the first stranger in his line of vision. His hand lands on their shoulder.]

Hey. Who are you?

oo2.

[There's already blood on his sword by the time he manages to duck out of that arena. Sunny has no idea how bats have grown that large, but it isn't a mystery he cares to stay long just to find out. He's got better puzzles to solve. Namely, where is he? And where's the nearest exit?

Nowhere close by turns out to be the answer. There's light streaming in from somewhere, but he can't seem to track it; it moves strangely, and the rest of this place -- it's a grey, crumbling little town, though not deserted. When he peers into the shop windows, there are things in there. Some have fresh fruit and vegetables, others have clothes that have been recently placed.

In the end, he picks an apple and leans against one of the store windows, studying the rectangular item that had been placed in his pocket. He turns it over in his palm. There's an emblem etched into he doesn't know. It's smooth, like glass, with just one button on it that, when he presses, lights it up with a little noise. Startled, he almost drops it. What the hell?

((anyone walking by will find sunny staring intently at his phone. pls help him.))]

Edited 2016-01-11 01:47 (UTC)

[peter slowly looks over the counter, turning as he does. at first, all he sees are feet, and then legs, and then more legs, and for a moment, he thinks roman, but no, that's impossible. roman wouldn't be caught dead in those pants, much less the shoes. as he stands he keeps looking up. it's not until his eyes reach the boy's belt that he realizes there's a gun, and then he keeps his hands subtly where the other boy can see them, empty, beringed fingers spread. the boy has a gun, and it's pointed at peter in the sort of lazy way that means he's very familiar with it, that it would take no time at all for the barrel to be pointing right at peter's face.

peter really doesn't like guns. so he's hunched and wary when he's turned to be fully facing newt, expression slightly suspicious. the clothes and facial scruff make him look older than he is, but the voice that comes out is pure teenager, if also a pleasant sort of american timbre.]

Myself. I'm an excellent conversational partner. Could you maybe not point that thing at me? There's plenty of shit here to steal for yourself.

[a hand claps on his shoulder and peter jumps like a startled cat, spinning around and staggering backward a few steps.]

What the fuck, man? You don't just sneak up on a guy like that.

[Sunny withdraws his hand. There's the faintest twitch in his eyebrow. The boy looks young, about M.K.'s age, and from how twitchy he is, he's probably in the same situation as Sunny.

His arms fold across his chest. He politely does not close the distance between them.]

You're not native here. [It isn't a question.] How long have you been awake?

↪ i; at least his brother isn't here to say i'm batman

( the sound of windchimes isn't what wakes him initially. really, it's the sensation of having been asleep for far too long on far too hard a surface to be even a poor excuse for a motel bed, and even if he's more than used to pulling himself out of consciousness with a few aches and pains from the day – maybe days – before, something about this feels a little different.

his neck hurts, as does his back, his joints are stiff and don't you dare say anything about it being that he's getting older – but he pulls himself up, brushes the sand from his jeans and checks to make sure the familiar shape of his gun is still tucked into the waistband, already trying to stay two steps ahead of himself before something really goes wrong.

this isn't where he's supposed to be. and he really needs to get back there. why do things like this always have to happen to him?

distantly, he thinks he hears the rustle of wings, catches himself looking for where the sound might be coming from, but those darned bats are staying hidden, for the moment … which only means it's a matter of time before one of them tries to pick him up and carry him off into the sunset. look, bat … you don't want any of this. moose are tough, you know? he wouldn't taste good. )

↪ ii; by averting snacktime, we bring on the exploration, because that's just how winchesters do

( aka, this is the choose-your-own-adventure option. once he's found his way out of the colosseum and away from the crazy-big hungry bats, he's going to be making his way … well, everywhere. he needs to figure out more about this place, and he gets around – if there's a certain place you'd like to run into him, by all means! he's got long legs and he intends to use 'em, and he's really hoping that he doesn't end up having to shoot anything along the way and waste the only bullets he has. :| )

Edited 2016-01-11 02:16 (UTC)

Well, that makes two of them, doesn't it? He's expecting to wake up in the bunker, possibly to the sound of Castiel rummaging around for something or another, perhaps furthering their shared research on how they're supposed to track a certain angel next -- but when none of that reaches his ears once he finds himself this side of consciousness, he immediately knows something is wrong.

Wrong. With a capital 'w'. Because that's just how things tend to be for him, and this is just par for the course.

Beside him, he's aware of movement other than his own, and when his focus trains on Chie and how distressed she immediately is, he doesn't concern himself so much with the various aches and pains he can feel riddled all throughout his body.

"Hey, you okay?" Great first question, right? That's how you make friends and influence people.

Nope, not really the cave-dwelling type.

[peter, just by nature, doesn't really trust adults. he definitely doesn't trust adults who ask demanding questions. authority figures in general are not his favorite, and sunny's manner reeks of someone used to being in charge.

he's also seen enough movies to realize what those things sticking out over his shoulders are, and peter has a policy about getting too mouthy with people with deadly weapons.]

Half hour, maybe. What's that got to do with anything?

[If Sunny notices the kid's wariness -- and he does -- it doesn't seem to faze him. He can count on one hand the number of people who don't look at him like he might take their head any second. He's used to it. (But it's a little annoying when he's just trying to look for answers.)]

That's what I'm trying to find out. [He presses on.] What about a boy? He's about your age. Dark skin. Goes by the name M.K. Have you seen him?

[something about the way sunny speaks rubs peter up the wrong way, reminds him of cops, just looking for an excuse to lean on him. but then sunny mentions a kid, and something in his gut tells him that this isn't looking the way one looks for a suspect, even if it sounds that way.]

Haven't really seen anybody that close up. He your kid?

Amos, wandering by, spots the newcomer and pokes his head into the shop, watching for just a moment. Hearing the question, he answers, his New Orleans accent both clipped and drawled in turns.

"Ain't seen anything like smokes yet. Maybe the gods'll get a clue, though, if we ask."

Amos ambles around the corner and pauses, briefly, dark sloe eyes taking in Sunny with wariness that turns quickly to open curiosity. A little friendly smile slips onto his face, and he saunters a little closer, though his footsteps are quiet.

"Hey. They give us another batch of newcomers?" he asks, his voice bearing a New Orleans accent despite his Japanese features.

Amos is out wandering himself, only partially gathering supplies, mostly just exploring nooks and crannies of the ruined city because he's curious. He spots Sam coming up the street, and pauses momentarily, just a check in his stride before his tips his head and offers a friendly smile instead.

"Oh, hey. I guess they brought in another batch of newbies, huh?" Amos speaks with a comfortable New Orleans accent, even though he has to tip his head to look up at Sam: and it's up, because Amos's Japanese heritage left him standing only five foot and six inches, and Sam quite frankly towers over him.

[Damn it. He expects as much, but it doesn't solve his problem. One of his many, many problems.]

No. [The way Sunny looks at Peter says he doesn't even know why that would be an assumption. Doesn't he recognize a Clipper when he sees one? They don't have families.] Just someone I was with. [He gestures around the arena.] You should think about moving, by the way. Blood's been spilled here before.

Most who've passed by have left Sunny alone, which suits him just fine. This one, though, has apparently found him approachable. Sunny looks up. His casual stance doesn't shift, but he slips the little glowing device back into his coat to free up his hands.

There's a lot in that sentence he wants to pick apart. He starts with the most important.

"Who's they?"

Amos, observant as always, catches the motion but doesn't react. The way Sunny moves, the way he holds his weight, and the blades: no stranger to fighting. Amos approaches with his usual casual stride and friendly smile, but does stop a respectful distance away. He's not looking to get stabbed today, thank you. Wearing combat boots, baggy jeans, and a heavy canvas jacket over a dark T-shirt, Amos has his own knives hidden in the baggy clothes, but he hates fighting and generally assumes he's the weaker opponent in any potential conflict.

"They being the gods of this little ruined city." Also this realm, but Amos is still trying to wrap his brain around the whole "alternate realm" thing. "So, welcome, I guess."

"Huh?" Startled by Sam's voice, Chie about jumps a foot, then mentally scolds herself for being so careless she didn't even notice him. But he's asking if she's OK, so - he can't mean her harm, right? She laughs nervously.

"Yeah ... I'm OK." She takes a quick inventory of her body - nothing feels broken, nothing hurts. Just the usual stiffness from being still too long. She nods, forcing a smile. "Are you OK?"

(His own expression pinches into a suspicious one when Peter has fully turned to face him. The scruff gives him some pause. He was pretty sure that the guy was young but he could be wrong, could always be wrong. Except when his mouth opens up, there's something in Newt's posture that relaxes just a little bit.)

Oh. Sure, mate.

(This is delivered in a relatively apologetic tone. The gun is swung carefully upward and away from Peter in one decisive motion. It now rests against Newt's back.)

Pretty certain that talking to yourself is one of the first signs of- you know.

(He raises a finger and points it to his own head, swirling it about in a circular motion.)

Though I'm sure your conversational skills are bloody fantastic, I like to think that should give me ample reason to be concerned. And you've confessed to stealing.

(This isn't wholly idle conversation even though it's delivered in that same mocking tone as before. He still hasn't really asked any questions yet. His gut intuition is telling him that something is off. But everything else is screaming WICKED. He's no idea what to trust yet so he's trying a different route. Maybe word things a little more carefully, ask questions without asking questions.)

(Monsters. Just once, he'd like to not have to deal with monsters. It's all Newt really asks for. Along with maybe some other selfish requests. Like a wet hand towel would be great- but that's his own fault.

He's in the process of wiping his hands off on his pants and making a bit of a disgruntled noise when a hand lands on his shoulder. He'd seen the other people around but he hadn't actually expected anyone to talk to him.

Automatically, he assumes it has to be a friend. It'd make sense, right? They just got separated. God, he hoped that's all it was.

He whips around, gun tapping against his back and his mouth hangs open to speak before his eyes land on-

A completely foreign face. Disappointment bubbles up in the pit of his gut but he swallows down hard against it. His hand automatically goes to the leather strap of his gun and he squints at the guy, automatically suspicious.)

That depends. Who are you?

(See, he's really used to every adult announcing who and what they are. Adults seem to be really good at things like that. Or at least who they work for. So, what, is this guy a Crank or is he with WICKED? His experience with anyone older than him is limited to these two options and not a whole lot more. Sorry, Sunny.)

[While others were making their way out of the coliseum, Nick took one more look around as he tucked his pistol away, scanning for details he'd missed in the mayhem that was his arrival. His eyes went upward first, giving the ceiling a more thorough inspection now that he wasn't being chased by a bat large enough to spark fear in a super mutant: yes, that was definitely a rock wall above the ruins that surrounded him. They were underground - deep, somewhere far too cavernous to be a Vault. The folks at Vault-Tec had done their fair share of questionable experiments, but digging out a massive grotto and installing an arena was a new one.

Said dilapidated arena gave him no answers as to his specific location or why he'd awakened there, either. For him to awaken at all was odd in and of itself, given he had no biological need for sleep and generally didn't practice it. However, when he'd suddenly found himself on the ground with no memory of shutting down, either forcibly or of his own volition, he had no better way to describe it.

That left those who'd also been fighting the bats, people who'd presumably found themselves thrust into the situation just as he had. There was one still around: a boy who, judging by the knife in his hand, was preparing to make either a meal or a coat out of the corpse of one of the creatures. Spotting the rifle on his shoulder, Nick recalled a moment from the battle where the kid had faced one of the monstrous bats down. He'd been bold, stupid, lucky, or maybe some combination of all three, but the end result was the same: the creature was dead, and the kid was tougher than he looked.

Maybe he'd know something, maybe he wouldn't, but it couldn't hurt to see what he did know. Nick approached the lad, fishing through his coat for his pack of cigarettes.]

He swallow something of yours?

(Yeeeeaaaaah, about that bullet thing. Newt wasn't really in the gun-mentality of preserving bullets. Which means he'd already used all his up on the bats. Not his best moment but his choice of weapon was normally categorized in the realm of things that didn't require reloading. Things like machetes and spears. God, he missed his machete.

But about those spears-.

He's found a long piece of wood that'd make for a good walking stick for someone at least a foot taller than him (and he's already really tall) and is presently sitting on his rump taking a knife to one end to fashion it into a spear. His jacket's covered in bat guts galore and he's had worse days but he's definitely had better. It's on a scrape down to fashioning the spear into a point that he just so happens to look up and catch the eye of a gangly adult and his whole body goes corkscrew tight. A knee jerk reaction.

Call it unfortunate probably because there's no real better word for it. He'd pushed himself somewhere kind of secluded and hadn't seen anyone since sitting down so, you know, paranoia. Except Newt isn't really naturally hostile. He's caught the adult's eye and that's that.)

Hello.

(Comes a quiet greeting that somehow both manages to sound welcoming and a little bit like an accusing question. That grip on his spear is suddenly a little tighter. It might not be totally sharpened but he's pretty sure that it could still go through a human's chest cavity with just enough pressure.)

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Page 1 of 24

INTRO LOG: WELCOME TO THE BATCAVE

chie satonaka | open!!

peter rumancek | ota!

Rey | Open!

newt | ota

option deux

Sunny | Open

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sam winchester ♦ open! ( & will match format. )

hey there naptime buddy, let's get this party started.

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Option Two!

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II

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YES GOOD c:

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