FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

[maskormods]

WHO: ImPorts!
WHERE: Heropa's Convention Centre.
WHEN: April 14-16, from 9 AM - 12 AM every day.
WHAT: Registration is in motion alongside FanPort, the most popular imPort convention around! Come on in and see imPort-led panels, the artist's alley, cosplayers, and more! If you have any questions, or wish to amend the way we have written up your characters' panels, let us know here! The original log can be found HERE.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; please let us know if this should be changed.

Comments

[shifting]

Long as you're sure you're old enough.

[because Sam has his doubts. But he'll gesture for her to walk with him, heading to the main floor and out of the building. They shouldn't have to walk far - the convention is being held in a busy part of town, and a lot of bars are advertising specials for imPorts, hoping to draw them in to lure the locals. He'll pick whichever looks small and quiet and cheap, but otherwise Satya can decide if they sit at the bar or settle into a secluded booth.

Either way, Sam's getting a whiskey on the rocks, and he couldn't give two shits about the brand.]

[instars]

I am in most countries.

[This one is stupid. Who sets the drinking age at 21?]

I'll have club soda, if it offends you.

[She doesn't particularly care. Liquid that isn't blood is just filler anyway.

She sits across from him and takes off one of her rings, and sets it carefully in the middle of the table between them.]

Most people don't bother to ask, you know.

[shifting]

It's not my bar. [with a little shrug, taking a sip. The unspoken warning is that it would matter, if it was.] But I am gonna be irritated if I've gotta leave this whiskey behind 'cause your fake's not good enough.

[except they probably won't even card her, a place like this, desperate for imPort approval.]

I like to know who I'm with. You look young, thought it best to ask. [although her mannerisms are older, and her dress ages her in his eyes as well, severe and purposefully chosen.]

How long've you been here?

[instars]

Nine months.

[She shrugs.]

My fake really isn't important. It's my imPort tattoo that gets me into clubs. We're a bit of a commodity.

[She's found that to be kind of annoying. It's hard to hunt people when you stand out. Her greatest asset back home was that she could choose when to blend in, when to be the skinny awkward girl who no one looked at for very long, and when to be the beautiful girl no one could look away from.]

[shifting]

[a noise of acknowledgement. That's not an inconsiderable amount of time.] You miss home?

[he'd like to hear more about that, the sort of world she comes from. If only because it might be a roundabout way to learn more about her.]

That's part of what gets me 'bout that name. "ImPorts". [his face scrunches in similar distaste despite vastly different reasoning.] Imports are goods. Things you can trade. Feels like they're dehumanizin' us from the get go.

[not to say that they're all human.

Sam shakes his head.] I'd like to come up with a better name. ...Visitors, maybe. Strays. Somethin' like that.

[instars]

I would be more dehumanized by stray.

[There's a certain stress on that word that suggests distaste, but only really suggests it.]

It's possible to work, and keep your head down and not attract attention.

But it's very difficult.

[shifting]

How's bein' compared to an animal worse than bein' compared to chocolate or rugs?

[as far as Sam's concerned it's nothing but a step up. Hell, maybe more of an elevation than that, considering the opinion some people have earned from him.]

If you've got any tips there I'd welcome 'em. Might even buy your first drink in trade. [he smirks around a sip of his, teasing.] Might.

[instars]

Not to an animal. To a dog.

[Well, she'll go with cat, too. Of course, she dislikes birds the most but in terms of shifters.

Dog.]

Don't own your own business. Let someone else own it for you.

[shifting]

Ain't a person in this world who should be upset to be compared to a dog. [absolutely serious, but not aggressive.

Although he will fite u on this, Satya.

He laughs at the last bit of advice, shakes his head.]

Well, that's gonna be a problem already. I've always worked for myself. Ownin' my own business is where I feel most comfortable. I plan to get into it too if I've gotta stay here too long. Why shouldn't I?

[instars]

Oh.

You're a shifter.

[That puts a pause on any other part of this conversation.

Of course, when she says shifter, she doesn't mean what he's thinking. She's thinking of the changing breeds. He must be one she's never met, like a Nuwisha, or, who knows, some kind of strange dog breed of garou.]

[shifting]

[to Sam's credit, he doesn't freak out. But his eyebrows knot, and he holds Satya' gaze, his whiskey glass halfway to his lips.]

'Scuse me?

[instars]

You're a shifter.

That's why my lack of smell disturbs you.

[She tilts her head.]

Am I wrong? You're-

Nuwisha, maybe. I've never met one of those.

[shifting]

What the hell is a Nuwisha?

[unwilling to commit to a story yet - true or otherwise. Not until he finds out what the hell he's talking with.]

[instars]

[She leans back and nudges her drink with her fingers. She still won't open all her eyes - that's a bit of a giveaway.]

A coyote.

[That might or might not be helpful.]

[shifting]

I can tell you right now I'm not a goddamn were-coyote. [dryly. He's calmed a little since that first too-accurate accusation was flung out.]

What the hell sort of world do you come from, that you've got things like that?

[instars]

Somewhere a lot like where you're from.

It seems.

[She tilts her head. Nicolas would know.]

[shifting]

Somethin' we could probably find out better if we were honest with each other.

I'm willin' to try that if you are. [hell if he knows he can trust her - his instincts say he can't - but Sam's curious enough to give it a shot. To make an offering, if he thinks he'll see the gesture returned.

[instars]

I won't tell anyone about you.

[That's an offer. But also an understanding. Don't tell anyone about me..]

[shifting]

...All right then.

[it's a start.]

You're right. I'm a shapeshifter.

[instars]

[A pause.]

What kind?

[shifting]

...No "kind", I'm just a shifter. That's just what it's called.

[instars]

[There is a genuine stop here.

A shifter like Kitty is now, maybe. That's well enough.

There's nothing like that back home. There are vampires with some shifting abilities, but even they're - maybe? - limited in how many shapes they can take. A shifter who isn't is far more dangerous. She decides to keep an eye on him.]

Ananasi.

[She takes a drink.]

That's what I am.

[shifting]

[that means...

...literally nothing to him. Okay. Well - almost nothing, technically. Because:]

Isn't that - an African trickster god? Anansi? [mythology was one of the few subjects he really got into in school. You know, before that whole dropping-out-due-to-homelessness thing.]

Are you sayin' you're Anansi?

[instars]

No. Ananasi.

But it's from the same root word.

[She shrugs.]

I'm not a god.

[shifting]

Which is... what, exactly?

[here he'd though her answering his question would clear things up for him. Probably Sam should've known better.]