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(no subject)

WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: De Chima
WHEN: Feb. 16
WHAT: This month's swear-in!
WARNINGS: Possibly some violence

A spiraling new skyscraper has just completed construction in De Chima and, to celebrate, the owners and several of the businesses renting space in the modern wonder have elected to host this month’s swear-in on the top couple floors. These floors can be reached be elevator, slowly strolling up the winding ramp that circles from the bottom to the roof or, if you can, fly or leap or use whatever other superpowers you have to get to the top or to reach one of the many open balconies and gardens available along the sides of the tower.

Though it’s a few days late, the theme of the gathering is still an unsurprising one for this time of the year: love. And, really, after the past couple of months who doesn’t need that in their lives? There are several activities available to celebrate the many stages of romance, all available in different subsections on the top couple floors. On the second floor from the top is where you enter and houses the business end of the swear-in, what you typically find at these gatherings. A lovely ballroom decorated to the nines in red, white, blue (and pinks) with an open buffet of finger foods, drinks, and various information pamphlets about local businesses, the government, and job opportunities for new imPorts.

Branching off the main ballroom are gorgeous balconies looking over the city, as well as a few indoor/outdoor gardens. These gardens range in themes from tropic jungle, to evergreen paradise, to desert oasis. They are all only about 600 square feet each, but they are a nice break from the socializing and whatnot of the main gathering. There are also special drinks provided by the Color Me Cupid company making their way around, both in alcoholic and virgin varieties. They have no clever names, sadly, but rather are labeled after the bright, almost glowing colors each is. A few sips just leads to a fizzy feeling on the lips, but have at least half of the drink and you’ll feel a few effects for the next twenty minutes or so:

Pink Drink: Sentimentality. You’ll feel a fondness for people, places, events, or even a nice piece of furniture. Cozy on up with this soft puppy love or platonic general desire to be near that person/item of interest.

Blue Drink: Melancholy. Alas, love isn’t all butterflies and sunshine. But this isn’t just being in a bad mood, wanting to go home. No, this is artistic, bohemian angst. The kind of mellow drama the poetic soul feeds on. Drape yourself over a table and opine on your lost loves, or stare tragically at the stars, sighing loudly until someone finally asks you to reveal your dark, mysterious past. Follow your tortured heart in getting that attention you suddenly need, just make sure to make a show of your inner turmoil.

Red Drink: Passion. Whether its for a person, a sports team, or a favorite hobby, you suddenly feel the need to share your enthusiasm with the world. Talk for an hour about a baseball game, or shout your love from a roof top. Or challenge someone to a duel over the hand of your loved one- or a balcony you really wanted to stand on. How ever passion works for you.

Green Drink: Jealousy. It’s an ugly part of love, but hard to escape. Depending on the person, this could induce feelings of neediness for attention from people you care about, to paranoia that others are out to steal what is yours.

Scattered throughout the main floor, a couple of the balconies, and along the twin ramps spiraling up to the top floor are two person tables, set for enjoying those finger foods and drinks. Also on each table is a stack of brightly colored note cards. These are important because, you see, the Loose Lips communication service is showing off one of their newest innovations in dating technology: Speed Honesty. When two people sit at a table, a small force field is suddenly erected around them. It won’t suffocate you or anything easy like that, no. It will simply stay in place, keeping you two at the table, until you pick up a note card and, worst of all, each of you must answer the question on the card. The speaker hidden in the table will evaluate your tone of voice, as well. No sarcastic answers accepted and, unless you’re a skilled liar, dishonest ones won’t do the trick either. The table’s AI needs to believe both parties have sincerely answered the question picked, then the force field will lower. Then you can either run or, if you wait more than ten seconds without moving, the forcefield will reactivate and you have to do it all again. This will happen every time two people sit at any of the tables, and sometimes an unwitting third standing too close may be trapped and must answer as well. Good luck, guys.

[[Questions for the cards can be found here or here, or you can OOCLy make them up for fun.]]

The top floor of the building is owned by the With Your Best Shot company and, trying to keep with the theme of the night, they have opened the (bullet proof) glass enclosed training areas on the roof of the building for duels. Hand to hand, with (dulled) swords, (paint ball) pistols, it’s all open for use so long as you declare your grievance against the person you are about to duel and declare what the winner will gain. These can be anything from traditional romantic items- the hand of the maiden fair- to silly things, like who gets the last soda in the fridge back at the apartment after this. Seconds are encouraged, but not required. There are viewing spaces for people to enjoy both the fights and the amazing view of the city below.

Enjoy the evening, imPorts. This month's swear-in appears to be going well until, later in the evening, the shadows seem to grow darker. Attendees might assume there's been a change of lighting to facilitate a romantic mood until hundreds of Heartless emerge from the darkest corners, intent on attacking imPorts and capturing as many hearts as possible.

Quite a few of the unwelcome guests are of the Shadow variety, stronger in swarms than they are individually, but still dangerous. The more fearsome Neoshadows are also in attendance, as are more colorfulvarieties -- some of which may have been people imPorts knew, before their own hearts were claimed.

Whoever they were and wherever the Heartless came from, attendees have three options: fight, run or hide. Whatever they do, they'll want to guard their hearts closely, or they may find themselves becoming the enemy.

[[OOC: Please ask any questions here!

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"Eh," Bean confirms. "It's happened a few times now. But the Porter always brings me back." He's not sure what that says about him, or what it says about the Porter. I guess when the entity inside it picks a favorite, it has a hard time letting them go.

Bean nods, able to piece together what Bob means from context. "They hold these events every month. Most of the time, they're fine up until a point. Then something goes wrong. Probably best to just eat and then bail early." If you want to avoid the weird stuff. Which, given his last encounter with Bob, he might not want to do.

As Bean talks, Bob takes the opportunity to clear some more of his plate. It's not like feeling permanently hungry is any different here to what he was like before. It's almost reassuring, actually. He nods along at the important points of the conversation, listening to every word the boy says with interest and stops eating altogether as he elaborates.

"Goes wrong? Like what?"

It's not like he's a stranger to things going wrong, but if it happens every month he's got to wonder if the organisers are just doing a shit job.

"Like zombies attacking. Like a giant battle station replacing the moon. Like the fire alarm going off and everyone having to evacuate the building." Some interruptions are less drastic than others. Bean takes a calm bite of his food, chewing and swallowing before he continues.

"If you want to risk it to see the action, then by all means, stay 'til the end. But I'm getting out as soon as I get enough food to make it worth it."

"...sounds fu-- like carnage."

As much as Bob doesn't regulate his swearing on a good day, he feels like it would be monumentally shit to be using that kind of language around a kid. Bean doesn't seem anything like an ordinary kid, but that doesn't stop him from making the effort. With the slightest tinge of sheepish regret at almost dropping the f-word, he forces himself to focus on what he's being told.

"So the police don't do anything about it?" Not that he knows what exactly police would be doing about zombies or moon-related problems. What can anybody do about that? And it's not like he'd be over the moon to see police around any more than he already does.

"I mean... if it always happens at these things," he says, popping a crisp in his mouth and munching on it thoughtfully, "seems a bit stupid to keep doing the same thing and everything fu- messing up."

"I know what 'fuck' means."

If Bob won't swear in front of Bean, then Bean will be the one to do it. It's not like the kids of Battle School had the cleanest language, either. It's just that their swears were an amalgamation of dozens of different languages. Bean has mostly switched to the common swears of this Earth, bit sometimes some Battle School slang still slips through.

"And it is fucked up. It's greeyaz. They keep doing the same thing and expecting different results. That's the literal definition of insanity."

If anything, Bob looks relieved that he isn't going to be the arsehole teaching kids how to swear. As funny as it is hearing little kids shouting 'boobies' down the crisps aisle at Tesco, this isn't that situation. He still shoots Bean a small, almost conspiratorial smile.

"Alright. Point taken, little man," he holds up a hand in apology - he seems to do this a lot, with Bean - and jerks his head at the word he doesn't recognise.

"Greeyaz?"

"Something worthless. It's Russian." Bean speaks languages, but the only Russian he knows are various swears and insults.

"The school I went to had students from all over Earth. We developed our own sort of slang that was a mix of everyone's languages."

Nobody but another Battle Schooler knows what a Battle Schooler is really saying.

It's been a while since Bob's learnt any words in a different language, but that one he likes the sound of. He cheekily grins as he files it away for use later on somebody else. Probably in completely the wrong context. Swiping the thought away he takes a momentary break from shoveling food in his mouth, feeling the first telltale signs of feeling full. It won't stop him for long, but it at least gives him reason to pause.

"So these are a 'mare and only worth showing up to for the food? I got that right, yeah?" Not that it means Bob won't still be here if things kick off later. Bean's assessment of Bob's mile wide curious streak isn't wrong.

"Not always just the food," Bean shrugs. "Last month they had a spa retreat. Not my thing, but it seems nice enough." Bean can't imagine going to a spa to save his life. It's just not his style.

"One month, they had the Swear In at a sort of zoo for mythical creatures. And they let us adopt one, if we wanted. I got a tiny dragon out of it."

That was pretty cool. Bean is glad he got to keep Dink.

Massages are something that Bob would never say no to, even if he's as at home at a spa as he would be at a snobby tea party. Not really his scene either. But he can get behind anything that feels nice and relaxing.

"A tiny dragon? You havin' a laugh?" But Bob's eyes are brimming with something between delight and curiosity. If Bean has a tiny dragon he wants to see it.

"Really. He's about this big." Bean holds his hands about fifteen inches apart. He then digs into his pocket, looking for his phone. "I think I have a picture..."

Because even the smartest kid on the planet takes selfies with his pet. He eventually finds what he was looking for, and holds the screen out to Bob to see. It's a photo of himself, with a small coppery-orange dragon perched on his shoulder.

"His name is Dink. After a friend from school."

Ducking down slightly to take a look at the screen being shown, Bob's face softens as he takes in every detail that he can. He's the kind of man secure enough in his own masculinity to melt at the sight of small, sweet looking animals. It's a minor detail that it's usually dogs he has a soft spot for. The fact it's a dragon, something that simply doesn't exist in his reality, is something he chooses not to focus on. It's a bit too much when his brain is so carb-addled.

"Dink? Decent name. He's cute, like butter wouldn't melt." And then, still happily (and slightly aggressively) suspending all disbelief: "does he breathe fire and all that?"

Bean sticks his phone back into his pocket, shrugging again. "No, I think he's too small for that. He just sort of flies around and chirps, like a bird with a frog in its throat." It's actually a pretty cute sound, but Bean's not about to use those terms to describe it.

"He's smart, though. He understands what I say to him. Not just like, 'Sit. Stay.' But actual full sentences."

"Sounds smarter than I am," Bob says with a grin and, though he's joking, isn't overly concerned with how intelligent or unintelligent people think he is. Things like that don't really matter to him. What matters is that his mates know that he's got their back.

"Did they tell you how to look after him? When you got him?" Fuck knows what dragons eat for breakfast. Even tiny ones like Dink.

No comment on Dink's relative intelligence. Bob obviously has a sense of how smart he is or isn't.

"I don't think they had much more idea than I did," Bean admits. "These creatures just started showing up in this reality, when they didn't belong here. They told me to feed him crickets, which he seems to like just fine." Some people might be grossed out by feeding their pet bugs, but Bean doesn't care.

"Mm," Bob returns, not exactly expansive in his response but he's now thinking about how nice it would be to have a pet. Maybe not a tiny dragon but a dog would be the perfect fit. He starts smiling, the idea blossoming in his mind until he realises he should take some more time to find out what exactly this world is like.

Shaking his head, as if trying to clear those thoughts from the front of his mind, he looks back at Bean quizzically.

"So, he could grow into a massive dragon and you wouldn't know until it started happening?"

Bob probably doesn't understand the near-flinch Bean has at those words. Something starting small and growing massive? That hits a little too close to home. But Bean isn't ready to talk about his own fate just yet. Not with someone as newly met as Bob.

"Eh. I suppose he could. He hasn't grown since I got him, though. So maybe he'll stay little."

Bean hopes so. He doesn't know what he would do with a gigantic dragon.

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