Mask or Menace | MODERATORS (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2015-07-21 05:47 pm
maskormods) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-07-21 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
- !event log,
- † andrew warner | n/a,
- † athos | n/a,
- † d'artagnan | n/a,
- † edward elric | the fullmetal alchemist,
- † ellie williams | n/a,
- † jesse pinkman | diesel,
- † marian hawke | andraste's mabari,
- † matthew lin | abduxel,
- † riku | darkeater,
- † riza hawkeye | the hawk's eye,
- † sora | destiny’s key,
- † winry rockbell | n/a
THOUGH NOTHING WILL DRIVE THEM AWAY
WHO: The ImPorts signed up here
WHERE: The Heropa of 2025... THE FUTURE!
WHEN: From 5PM on the 21st until 7PM on the 23rd
WHAT: Soviet sabotage results in random imPorts experiencing an interactive vision of a possible future: Heropa ten years from now, in an America where the government has taken stricter control of imPorts as their weapons.
WARNINGS: Please let Bizzy know here if you have any questions about the setting, or the mods if you have questions about the plot here.
IMPORT.
The tattoo is bright. Unlike before, where imPort tattoos could be hidden with carefully placed clothing or other accessories, the designation is so demarcated that it is difficult to conceal. Gone is the gentle glow, replaced with lettering so bright that it can almost be its own light source. Nowadays, imPorts attempting to conceal their brand are penalized harshly by whoever catches them in the act.
The government base, big though it may be, is restrictive. Unlike before, the fences are walls. Tall. High. You are welcome to leave, but it isn’t without escort. IMPORT is visible everywhere you go—every person you pass, every set of eyes that sees you, every street and every shop keep, everyone and everything knows just what you are. And you aren’t looked upon with awe, or respect, or even curiosity. IMPORT. The brand triggers anger. Distrust. Occasionally it even brings about outright hostility.
As such, most choose to stay within the confines of the base. The imposing gray walls are high, leaving no view but the sky above, but at least they don’t threaten you as you walk by, curse you and your kind, suggest that you go back where you came from.
The work is menial. Tedious. No longer are imPorts assigned to work related to their fields at home, nor are they permitted to change the work they do. You may have been a nuclear physicist at home. Irrelevant. You are here now, and you cook for other military police. When necessary, your skills are called upon—when they need someone to engineer replacement parts for a broken vehicle, when they need the eyes of a sharpshooter to stand watch while a guard takes a break. Primarily, though, you are completely removed from both the skills you possessed at home as well as the powers you were granted upon arrival. It’s deliberate in its message. We are in control. You do exactly as we say.
The nanites in the brand—what most refer to the tattoo as, now—have the power to shock all who misbehave. imPorts are forced to check in at all locations, so movement is rigidly tracked. Returning to your residence for the night? Check in. Arriving in your suite in the residences? Check in. Going to bed? Check in. Headed out to work? Check out of all of those places, each stop of the way. Check in to the office building. The floor. The office suite. The desk itself. There are cameras everywhere and it isn’t a secret that they can see your every movement. The checking in, the swiping of your brand at every possible point isn’t an act forced upon you of necessity. It’s another show of power. Who is in control. It isn’t you.
Surely, there’s more to this. When you arrived here, you were given a file folder, filled to the brim with information—about you, your power, your skills, your background. After all, though the view on imPorts has changed dramatically, the welcome information has not. Every new arrival is still told they’ve been brought to serve their new government. They are here to help. They are here to serve. This time, there just isn’t a choice.
Most importantly in all of this is that you aren’t alone. The imPort presence might seem small but there are quite a few milling about, stolen from their home in times of great duress and dropped into this militaristic hellhole of a country in the middle of a frigid war. There are others who have been granted powers they are not permitted to use, placed in jobs that belittle every skill they’ve ever learned, placed in residences alone and away from the other imPorts in the building, separated from the civilian life outside of the high concrete walls.
Someone, ages ago, set up a small recreation area at the far eastern portion of the de Chima government facility. It started out minuscule, but that was the point. It needed to appear nonthreatening. Over the last few years it has grown, but it continues to be one of the least regulated areas of the base. It is the one imPort area that is not rigidly watched by military police twenty-four hours a day. And if you ask the right people, you might be surprised to find that a small group of imPorts meets every Tuesday evening at 1700 hours to discuss any breaches in security that have been identified. Not for the sake of the military police, of course. No. The imPorts who run this meeting convene quietly with coffee and tea and discuss what ways their fellow prisoners might find a glimmer of freedom.
WHERE: The Heropa of 2025... THE FUTURE!
WHEN: From 5PM on the 21st until 7PM on the 23rd
WHAT: Soviet sabotage results in random imPorts experiencing an interactive vision of a possible future: Heropa ten years from now, in an America where the government has taken stricter control of imPorts as their weapons.
WARNINGS: Please let Bizzy know here if you have any questions about the setting, or the mods if you have questions about the plot here.
IMPORT.
The tattoo is bright. Unlike before, where imPort tattoos could be hidden with carefully placed clothing or other accessories, the designation is so demarcated that it is difficult to conceal. Gone is the gentle glow, replaced with lettering so bright that it can almost be its own light source. Nowadays, imPorts attempting to conceal their brand are penalized harshly by whoever catches them in the act.
The government base, big though it may be, is restrictive. Unlike before, the fences are walls. Tall. High. You are welcome to leave, but it isn’t without escort. IMPORT is visible everywhere you go—every person you pass, every set of eyes that sees you, every street and every shop keep, everyone and everything knows just what you are. And you aren’t looked upon with awe, or respect, or even curiosity. IMPORT. The brand triggers anger. Distrust. Occasionally it even brings about outright hostility.
As such, most choose to stay within the confines of the base. The imposing gray walls are high, leaving no view but the sky above, but at least they don’t threaten you as you walk by, curse you and your kind, suggest that you go back where you came from.
The work is menial. Tedious. No longer are imPorts assigned to work related to their fields at home, nor are they permitted to change the work they do. You may have been a nuclear physicist at home. Irrelevant. You are here now, and you cook for other military police. When necessary, your skills are called upon—when they need someone to engineer replacement parts for a broken vehicle, when they need the eyes of a sharpshooter to stand watch while a guard takes a break. Primarily, though, you are completely removed from both the skills you possessed at home as well as the powers you were granted upon arrival. It’s deliberate in its message. We are in control. You do exactly as we say.
The nanites in the brand—what most refer to the tattoo as, now—have the power to shock all who misbehave. imPorts are forced to check in at all locations, so movement is rigidly tracked. Returning to your residence for the night? Check in. Arriving in your suite in the residences? Check in. Going to bed? Check in. Headed out to work? Check out of all of those places, each stop of the way. Check in to the office building. The floor. The office suite. The desk itself. There are cameras everywhere and it isn’t a secret that they can see your every movement. The checking in, the swiping of your brand at every possible point isn’t an act forced upon you of necessity. It’s another show of power. Who is in control. It isn’t you.
Surely, there’s more to this. When you arrived here, you were given a file folder, filled to the brim with information—about you, your power, your skills, your background. After all, though the view on imPorts has changed dramatically, the welcome information has not. Every new arrival is still told they’ve been brought to serve their new government. They are here to help. They are here to serve. This time, there just isn’t a choice.
Most importantly in all of this is that you aren’t alone. The imPort presence might seem small but there are quite a few milling about, stolen from their home in times of great duress and dropped into this militaristic hellhole of a country in the middle of a frigid war. There are others who have been granted powers they are not permitted to use, placed in jobs that belittle every skill they’ve ever learned, placed in residences alone and away from the other imPorts in the building, separated from the civilian life outside of the high concrete walls.
Someone, ages ago, set up a small recreation area at the far eastern portion of the de Chima government facility. It started out minuscule, but that was the point. It needed to appear nonthreatening. Over the last few years it has grown, but it continues to be one of the least regulated areas of the base. It is the one imPort area that is not rigidly watched by military police twenty-four hours a day. And if you ask the right people, you might be surprised to find that a small group of imPorts meets every Tuesday evening at 1700 hours to discuss any breaches in security that have been identified. Not for the sake of the military police, of course. No. The imPorts who run this meeting convene quietly with coffee and tea and discuss what ways their fellow prisoners might find a glimmer of freedom.
Future
But some have it worse than others. Seeing an import collared is a new low, and he almost breaks rank all over again just to stop it.
He doesn't. He knows that won't hep either of them. So he waits until his rotation is finished, until he's been ordered back to what passes as his barracks, and then he doubles back to find the collared import. ]
I've been ordered to retrieve him. [ He says that with as much authority as he can insert, and hopes the guard doesn't have a reason to doubt him. ] I'm to take him back to the barracks. He's not permitted to go alone.
He's not finished with me yet, boy.
[ D'Artagnan would dearly love to react to that. He manages a thin smile, instead of the insult he'd love to give. Multiple shocks earlier in the day, while he was with Athos, have changed his perspective somewhat. He isn't going to be able to help anyone if he's in trouble himself. Instead, he lowers his head. ]
My apologies, sir. I have my orders. I'll be punished if I don't bring him back with me.
Fine. You can take him back, after he's finished his patrol. You just got yourself extra duty. Get back there with him.
[ That wasn't exactly the plan, but d'Artagnan will take it. He nods, and goes to join Drew. He waits until they're moving again before he speaks, in low tones. ]
Are you all right? Have they hurt you?
no subject
Gr- [He cuts himself short, remembering that he shouldn't rely on his eyes even now and takes a deep breath instead through his nose, realizing this man didn't smell at all like the boy he'd met before but something different, leathery and akin to someone else he'd met back in Heropa.
When the two of them are moving, though he grunts up at the stranger, suddenly realizing they were moving off again.]
You've gotta take the damn leash. [He didn't mean to sound aggressive towards the other man, but he knew just what might happen if he didn't comply with what the guards expected of them as they shuffle off along the perimeter.]
no subject
I'm not going to drag you along like a dog.
[ The way the guard had done. That's exactly what he wants to stop; he wants that collar gone. He looks as though he's wrestling with himself, and good sense must win out, because he lifts the end of the leash all the same. He loosely wraps it around his hand and gestures to Drew. ]
Why are you wearing it? Are you being punished?
[ It doesn't really matter either way, in fairness. Keeping a man tied like this, as though he's a slave, it's acceptable. No matter what manner of military camp this is, d'Artagnan won't just stand by and let that happen. ]
no subject
'Cause draggin' me 'round like a dog is the best damn thing they can think of.
[He smiles in a sick way, blood from the transition evident at the corners of his lips.]
Guess they saw me for what I am and figured they knew what to do with me. [Oh he's bitter about this, he's so fucking bitter.]
no subject
Instead, he looks away. He tries to file this information somewhere in his mind, and take it in his stride. It's not easy, especially after all of what he's already seen today. ]
I don't care. [ He makes himself say that, but once he does, it actually feels true. He doesn't care how many teeth Drew has. This is still wrong. ] They shouldn't have you on a leash. One ability isn't less human than the others .What have they been using you for?
no subject
This ain't some kinda ability, some power. Its what I am, species. [He waves a hand at the barracks around the,.] What do you think they've been usin' me for. Literal guard dog, doin' perimeter sweeps, sniffin' out anythin' that ain't right.
no subject
He looks it. He talks like it. D'Artagnan rolls his eyes, looking more irritable than anything else. For a moment, he stops waling, only to start again when the guards come to hurry him up. ]
This is what's not right. [ He shakes the leash. ] Whoever you are, you're not their slave. Unless you want to keep that collar on?
[ At this point one of the soldiers ahead of them glances back. annoyed by the chatter but still only halfway listening to them. ]
Hey, keep it down back there! We still got work to do.
no subject
I don't want to keep the collar on, but you've seen what they do when we disobey. [He reaches up, fingers sliding beneath the leather. He knew while his powers were active he could just tear it off. But worse things would come.] I should just count myself lucky its not a chain.
[He bares his teeth at the guard in front of him, knowing it would be one hell of a stupid decision. The corresponding shock that ran through his system, sending his fingers clenching into fists was enough to remind him of what a terrible decision that was. When the spasms stop he levels a glance in the stranger's direction]
no subject
[ D'Artagnan drops the leash and moves to stand between Drew and the soldier, with his arm stretched out to the man in charge. He knows that it will do no good - there's no physical connection between them. There's no bullet for him to stand in the way of.
But he can't just watch this. That's worse than feeling it. ]
Stop, please! Don't hurt him, I'll take care of this.
[ He crouches down, hands outstretched, though he doesn't yet touch Drew. Not until he's sure the shocks are gone. The guard isn't letting up. Furious, d'Artagnan hisses at Drew: ]
Why did you do that! I've felt it, I don't need a demonstration!
no subject
I did it to prove a point. 'm not some kinda coward... but this ain't the kinda fight I'm gonna get behind. It ain't a fight I can win. But hell, I can endure. Us werewolves are damn good at endurin'... especially when out of everyone else here I'm the last one they're gonna be able to kill.
[He takes a deep breath as if to prove his point, there wasn't so much as a hint of wolfsbane or silver on the air.] An' I'd rather be their slave with all my senses intact then fight 'em an' have them turn my abilities off. [Mostly because a werewolf without full access to their senses wasn't much of a werewolf at all and he hated how they left him without them at the end of the day.]
no subject
It's not the point. Keeping someone in slavery like this isn't right. D'Artagnan isn't going to see it happen to anyone. ]
You shouldn't even be here. [ His words are an angry hiss, as close to Drew's ear as he can make it. At the same time, he offers the werewolf a hand up. ] None of us should, and you're wrong. We have to fight that. I'm not going to let them put a collar around innocent men. This isn't something you should have to just live with. None of us should.
no subject
no subject
[ D'Artagnan absolutely means it. He can see that Drew has a real fear of killing, and thus he won't press that point. But the truth is, he won't hesitate to engage these guards and kills them, if it gets these people out of here. He'd make a poor soldier if he had an aversion to that. ]
You can't stay here. None of us can. [ He holds up the leash. ] This cannot be your fate.
no subject
[The look on his face is conflicted. He doesn't agree with violence, hell it was practically a mandate of their pack. Violence was only really allowed in play fighting or the occasional bust up between wolves at the time of the full moon, but it was almost always negligible because they could heal. The idea of attacking someone, or watching someone get attacked, who wouldn't simply bounce back seconds later disgusted him. But he didn't want to be treated like a dog either, it spat in the face of the SRM and everything he'd believed in from a young age.]
I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do...
no subject
[ Just to be clear. D'Artagnan's voice is firm and assured, unwilling to give any ground. He is not going to allow these people to suffer at the hands of the soldiers. He just doesn't have that in him. If Drew is on a leash, it's a good bet every other werewolf in the place is, too. ]
I'm a Musketeer, Monsieur. This is what I do. Now come with me. The sooner I can get you away from them, the better.
[ He eyes the guard who's still with them, leading the way. ]
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Don't expect me to like it, and if y'can avoid gettin' shocked then please, do it. I'm just fine with gettin' a blast from the damn thing myself but there ain't no sense in you gettin' hurt when y'can't heal like I can. [Except he follows the other man swiftly and without hesitation.]
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And there's no sense in you drawing attention to yourself, if you don't mean to fight.
I will help you. You have my word. Tell me your name and I'll confirm it.
no subject
Names Drew, Drew Warner.
no subject
[ He's not yet used to that not meaning much to people here. He says it anyway, because it's so much a part of his identity. To people of France, it would mean he has the King's authority, and that he's an honourable soldier. The regiment's reputation precedes them all. ]
I will do what I can for you, Warner. I'll fight for you. Just be ready to leave, when the rest of us do.
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He manage a weak smile though.] If that's what y'wanna do, then I'll be ready for it when the time comes, an' give whatever help I can.
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[ This isn't the time to talk about why that name clearly means something to a man who is clearly not from France, but d'Artagnan is glad that it does. His hand clasps Drew's shoulder. He looks quite sincere. ]
I won't ask you to kill. Fight for your freedom, that's enough. None of us are staying here.
When we are ready to move, I'll let you know.
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[Except he's overwhelmed by the sincerity, nodding strongly.] But I'll do whatever I can, help out too.
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There are ways to fight without doing damage you don’t mean. That’s another kind of skill, something you need to learn – not something you’ll just know.
I could help you? When we have more time than this. For now, I’ll keep you safe.
no subject
Keepin' me safe though, that's somethin' y'don't gotta worry about. I might not be willin' to hurt or kill someone here, but I make a pretty damn good human shield.