hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Busy Little Bees

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Intro Log: Busy Little Bees

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for July
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: July 10th-16th
Warnings: Fun for kids of all ages!

Another day, another mysterious transportation to a strange and alien city inside a cave surrounded by monsters. Or maybe that's not normal for you? Weird! You awaken on the ground of a large arena, a stone ceiling stretching high above you. Welcome to Hadriel! Oh, but you aren't alone. That 'surrounded by monsters' bit? Yeah...

Do you hear a buzzing? Better start running now. Along with all the newbies, the Door has brought in quite a few tracker jackers. Wasps are already horrible, and these things are even worse. Bigger and much more dangerous than the insects they were genetically modified from, tracker jackers will sting anyone they think is a threat. Their stings cause extreme pain and hallucinations, and if you're stung too many times - well, that's it for you. You can try to calm them down with smoke, fight them, or just run like hell. Maybe you'll get lucky.

It's hard to fight if you don't have a weapon, though. But hey - you're in luck! Rage, who usually supplies the city with weapons, is currently gone, but the Door has provided you with some instead! That's right, you might find a sword, a gun, a bow and arrow, or an exotic foreign weapon to defend yourself with! Of course, they're all made of plastic and completely incapable of hurting anything. Have fun!

Let's hope your legs are faster than those wasps, and you survive your first few minutes in Hadriel. After you've find your way out of the colosseum there's plenty of other distractions. Feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers July 10th-16th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Drake raises his glass as well, then tilts his head curiously. "Do you always do that? Justifying doing something by saying it's because something got done for you. I'm not complaining, but you can just say it's because you want to." Like backing Drake up at the clinic just because he shared food the night before. He wasn't really buying that one.

Is that a thing he does? Ephemera frowns.

Maybe. Probably. He's quiet for a moment.

"That," he says after a while, trying to smile, "is sober person conversation. And I am going to be very drunk."

Yes he is. So drunk he doesn't have to wonder if his scars are making his smile look wrong. This is fun! He's having fun.

Drake huffs a little through his nose, not quite a laugh but an amused sound nonetheless. "C'mon. Sober you would tell me to fuck off."

He's. Probably not wrong.

"Probably," Ephemera agrees. Sober him isn't much fun at parties. Not that he really goes to parties. Does this count? It possibly counts. "Drunk me is much nicer. I think. I'm going to find out."

And it's going to be awesome, Liv will show up, and they'll all dance. Fun. Yes. That thing.

"I'll make a deal with you. You tell me why you do that, instead of just letting yourself want stuff, and you can ask me anything. Anything you can think of." He takes a swallow of his drink and enjoys the warmth that rushes through him.

"Okay, damn. You're really going for it." No brushing that one off, is there? Ephemera fights the urge to laugh and play it off, because he might be on the edge of drunk - everything is something more and less than it should be, all at the same time - but he knows, usually, when a moment can't be turned into a joke. Even if that'd be easier, in the long run. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I don't know. You want something, like, really want something, people take it. You buy it, that's just--business."

He knocks his knuckles against the bar.

"Then it's simple. Most people are shit. But they respect business. They got rules. Anything else, that's open season."

Drake takes that in, taking maybe a little longer than he usually would to process the concept but he gets it. It's not quite about keeping him at arm's length. Not quite. Maybe with time, Ephemera will come to realize that Drake respects him -- that they don't need that transaction aspect to be friends. And that he won't be taken away so easily. He nods his understanding.

"Fair enough. Your turn, then. One question."

The moment passes. Ephemera lets himself breathe, feels some of the tension drain from his shoulders. It feels like a test, though he's aware it probably wasn't. He's spent a long time - years now - thinking about ghosts and ignoring the people around him. And maybe that's screwed his perception up a little, trapped him in a bias that doesn't quite fit. Drake doesn't feel like the kind of person who tests everyone, sets them up just to see how it ends.

"You didn't want him touching you, that kid. The medic."

Ephemera rubs one of the tattoos on his knuckles absently.

"What'd you think he was going to see?"

Drake hesitates, then leans in close so he doesn't have to call out above the music. He's on Ephemera's good side, and speaks right into his ear.

"I was worried if he knew I was contagious, he wouldn't ever let me leave."

It's a simple answer.

Ephemera takes a breath. Lets it out. He's very aware of how close Drake is to his throat and how easy it would be to slip a knife there. Now that he's gotten his armor back he wants to wear it all the time and has to make himself take it off, walk around in regular clothes, because if he goes down that road there's no stopping it. And he's decided that Drake isn't a threat.

Not like that, anyway.

"I wouldn't have let him."

His answer is simple, too.

"No? Even though you didn't know what was wrong with me?" Ephemera's tensed up, Drake can tell, probably because he's so close. But if they're going to talk about this in public he's staying right where he is -- hopefully his friend will get used to the proximity.

"We only go to one specific doctor back home, too... people like us are considered a danger, that's why I tan and dye. Liv's braver about the whole thing."

He might be leaving out some of the major details, but it is the truth.

Drake stays close, voice low. Classified information, Ephemera thinks. Can't let anyone else hear or it might become a problem. And there are already too many problems in this place, too many things on the verge of turning complicated. It's fine, really. Proximity doesn't equal threat, not always, not all the time. And not here. Ephemera holds himself perfectly, rigidly still. Closes his eyes and tells himself it's to make himself focus.

It helps, a little.

"I don't care about that," Ephemera says, low and rough. He clears his throat. Tries again. His voice better not be going out. "I have your back."

He doesn't care about the world around them, not even really about the gods or Chorus or whatever disease is wrecking its way through Drake's immune system. He cares about individual people and nothing else. It's a short list, but it belongs to him. And that's all he needs.

"And I've got yours." Drake leans back a little, then, looking thoughtful. Ephemera's still tense, still holding himself perfectly still, and has his eyes closed. But he didn't snap, and didn't pull back. That's something. "What do they say in the military, got your six?"

"Yeah, sometimes." All the time. Ephemera tries to think of a joke about analog clocks, the kind nobody uses anymore, but stop himself. His first impulse is to push at the situation, stab it quick and let the tension bleed out. But that feels dishonest, somehow. Not real. He opens his eyes slowly, lets his vision come back and steady itself. "You would've fit right in with us."

"You think? I considered it, when I was younger. But I'm not excellent at yes sir no sir." He worked his way up the ranks all the same, though.

Ephemera rubs his bad eye on the back of his hand, watching Drake. "You got used to that part. It sucks for a while, then you get to blow things up and jump out of pelicans."

He nods, thoughtful and perhaps more than a little drunk.

"Yeah. That was good."

"What's a pelican? A kind of plane or helicopter or something?" Or a kind of spaceship..? Since "orbital." Which still trips Drake up.

"I've never jumped out of anything moving." And it's a bad idea now, that kind of adrenaline rush could turn him. He's curious, though, about what it's like. "What made you decide to be a hell jumper?"

"Dropship." Ephemera drops his hand, smiling. Sometimes he starts remembering different jumps, different missions, and gets nostalgic. It's not a bad feeling. The remembering is simpler, the memories easy. "Armored transporter, essentially. They can handle a zero g environment or regular atmosphere."

Handle like a charm, too.

He shakes his head a little.

"Honestly? I was eighteen and the name sounded badass. I was a bit of a moron back then."

"Only back then?" Drake quirks an eyebrow, teasing. He's definitely drunk at this point, and comfortable doing so. "You'd still totally jump out of a pelican."

Something occurs to him, then. "What about the landing? Does the armor have like. A chute?"

"I'd totally jump out of a pelican," Ephemera agrees. He's a little sad that he can't. Pelicans are awesome. The thrill of jumping into open air and then just falling is one he's never managed to recreate. That mix of fear, adrenaline, and awe. Goddamn beautiful. "Nah, no chute. We've got shock absorbers in the armor, programs to control the descent. You don't wanna land wrong, though. You'll break like. Everything."

"That's terrifying," he tells Ephemera matter-of-factly, taking another drink and realizing his glass is empty again. How did that happen? He sets it down on the bar and rolls his shoulders, feeling loose and warm. "And I'm drunk. Screw waiting for Liv, come on."

Drake slides back off the barstool and nods towards the dance floor. Let's go, buddy.

"It's awesome."

Also terrifying. But mostly awesome. There's a balance.

Ephemera finishes his drink and slams it down on the bar. "Okay. Let's do this."

Can he dance? Probably not. But he's drunk enough not to dwell on those tiny details and determined not to back down. Ergo, they're dancing. It's going to be awesome.

There's obviously not enough people here to get lost in the pulse of a crowd like Drake's used to, but there's music and that's all it really takes. He finds the beat of it easily, and he's a decent dancer -- the alcohol helps, as always, helps him stay loose and not give a shit about what anyone else thinks. It's been a year and a half since he could go out somewhere and really relax. Since he went undercover there was only that one time he took Liv out and it was incredibly dangerous. This, though? Was freeing.

It's not awful, not even the kind of awful that alcohol can dull into a tolerable blur. The music is just loud enough that his mind drifts a little and no one bumps into him. No one ever taught Ephemera how to dance but he copies Drake and that feels all right. It's nice just to move, go with the music. Not have to think too hard about anything except being.

He might like dancing, Ephemera thinks.

Yeah. This is all right.

Liv doesn't get Drake's message with the coordinates until late. She's at the clinic, still trying to familiarize herself with the space and the supplies, and it's not until she finishes that that she actually glances at her phone.

Which means, of course, that the two of them are drunk and dancing by the time she arrives. She snorts, fond and a little baffled, before she retrieves a drink for herself and takes a seat to kind of just watch them. She is more than happy to observe this little bro moment.

Intro Log: Busy Little Bees

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