a new world hangs outside the window

[raw]

WHO: Elliot Alderson and OPEN
WHERE: Arriving in Heropa, trying to get to Nonah, his new place at De Chima #004... or wherever you like! Hit me up for a starter.
WHEN: This week.
WHAT: Just your average intro log.
WARNINGS: Darlene and Elliot's thread (in the comments) will contain spoilers. Elliot also comes with a bunch of content warnings, threads may turn dark.

As a note, I started in prose but can also do both prose-with-brackets-around-it and short af action spam, so I'll follow your lead.


000000. heropa.boot
Elliot is quiet, obedient, as they give him his welcome package of information and take him up to the surface to wait for the bus. He sits and flicks through the phone they gave him, realizing almost immediately that he might need to code his tools from scratch again, since none of his programs came with him. That's fine. It means he's missed an opportunity to get manual access to the system while he's still in the complex, but he can come back.

On the bus, he sits and looks out the window, watching Florida slide by for the twenty minute drive. Is he all alone here? Or as much as Elliot can be alone. For one thing, the file in his hands spells it out clearly, not just the DID and anxiety printed shamefully in black and white, but the new superpowers.

Technopathy he already knew; he can see the lines of code behind his eyes when he closes them, senses intuitively the connection he has between the phone in his hand, just as he'd felt the maze of electronic connections in the underground base. It's strange, because it's new, but it also just feels like a natural extension of himself. Being able to think in code instead of having to wait for his fingers and eyes and a plastic keyboard and a bright monitor to catch up to the speed of his brain.

The other thing, though. Mr Robot's manifestation. He's not sure how he feels yet about that. Sharing a body with someone else is crazy, but at least now maybe he won't be able to land Elliot in hot water, won't be able to use his face. And maybe that means he won't see him any more, which is not a loss he would regret in the slightest.

You, though. You're still here. Listening in. So even without Mr Robot, Elliot thinks, I'm still never going to be alone. I'll always have one friend-- and we are still friends, aren't we? Even though I lied to you?

Is that why I'm here now?

Is this a punishment?

The brakes squeal and Elliot gets off the bus, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black hoodie despite the thick humidity. Tries not to look too lost, tries not to look like the new guy, even though passers by are already pointing, whispering like they might approach, as excited as if they know him. Eyes on him, he hates having eyes on him. Elliot's shoulders hunch inwards and he tries to will himself invisible as he hustles away from the crowds of Heropa citizens. It doesn't work.


000001. nonah.hpj
He uses the Portal. Might as well take advantage of it while he can, right? Elliot has no intention of registering or even attending the Swearing In Ceremony, but until that outright refusal his arm still scans as Registered, so they let him through.

Darlene had said she'd meet him here, but without Google Maps or the easily navigable grid of NYC he is immediately lost, so he just stops the nearest person. Not quite meeting their eyes. "Hey. Excuse me."


000010. dechima004.exe
There is a Catch-22 when you live on the streets: employers need to have a residential address to hire you, and you need somewhere to shower and dress to be suitable for employment, but you need to be making money to get a place and pay rent. So Elliot does appreciate that he starts out with a room (even if it's in Virginia) and a job (even if it's the fucking worst), and resolves to use them as starting off points rather than squandering the opportunity.

(That's a very Mr Robot phrase, squandering the opportunity, except Elliot is pretty sure he doesn't approve of the stability of government housing and government employment, would rather have Elliot living out of his backpack on the subway.)

So he shows up at De Chima 004 and claims his room by putting like, exactly two things in it. He's already trashed the folder they gave him and he wasn't really carrying much more than the items he'd signed for before he became an imPort. He'll have to buy more clothes. But apart from that, he's never really been attached to much in the way of stuff.

There's some furniture; he turns over all of it, goes through the whole room looking for bugs. Unscrews light bulbs. Reaches into the dark corners of the closet. Borrows a knife from the kitchen so he can slit open the mattress, the pillows. If he had a deposit he probably would have just lost it.

Anyway, anyone who wants to check out their new housemate after he's don't being a tornado of paranoia will find him sitting cross-legged on the ruined mattress, shoes still on, elbows on his knees, as he looks at the screen of his phone.

Comments

heropa

[hostage]

[After all this time, Jesse can spot a new one a mile away, no matter how inconspicuous they're attempting to appear. (This one, though, is failing even at that.) Even if they're wearing the right clothes, most new imPorts speak and look and carry themselves just slightly wrong, and more often than not, they're in a hurry. This one's no different.

...Actually, this one looks especially tweaked-out. Like, wow.]

Yo.

[That's the dude with the cigarette who's leaning up against a bike rack talking to you, Elliot. Not your invisible friend. If it helps any, Jesse also has the look and demeanor of an imPort - albeit one who's perfectly comfortable in this world.]

You okay, man?

[raw]

[ Elliot looks startled to be spoken to, and when he looks up at Jesse it takes him an awkward beat too long to respond, eyes wide. ]

I'm fine.

[ It's quiet and flat, a default response to that question that says nothing of the underlying turmoil clearly visible in everything from his face to his posture. ]

They're... really happy to see us. Me.

[ A level of celebrity he's completely unused to and pretty uncomfortable with. ]

[hostage]

[Yeah, that wide-eyed wariness definitely sells I'm fine. Jesse quirks a skeptical eyebrow.]

Yeah, well, who isn't happy to see a superhero?

[From the wryness in his voice, he obviously finds the whole thing very silly. Not anything to panic over, though. And this guy looks mildly panicked.]

Need help getting to wherever you're going?

(heropa)

[rathercommon]

[ The girl who approaches him looks like a local. She's cute, greaser-girl chic, hair pulled back with a red kerchief and leather jacket and tunic and culottes and shoes with just a little bit of heel. When she speaks, she doesn't sound like she's from here, certainly, but there isn't much that gives her away as an imPort.

Not like this guy. Kitty's lips quirk up sympathetically as she regards him. He absolutely screams pay-attention-to-me, in his sweatshirt and his shoes, all of them perfectly out of fashion for this place. And the poor thing - that glaring obviousness stands in such sad contrast to his hunched don't-look-at-me posture.

So. Kitty Jones is a helper. Kitty Jones helps people. And that's why she approaches him, and says, sympathetically - ]

Hey. D'you want to blend in a bit better?

[raw]

[ Elliot is a lot more receptive to cute girls talking to him than just about anyone else, so he tilts his head a little and looks up at her, wary but not quite as much as he could be. ]

Sure.

[ Honestly, that's all he wants: the reason he wears his uniform of black is to blend into the pavement when viewed by sattelite or drone, to hide his face from peripheral view, to stay small and yes, blend in. But it isn't working quite as well here. ]

[rathercommon]

[ Well, that was quite easy, wasn't it? She'd expected a who the hell are you or what the hell do you want or excuse you I'm fitting in just fine. Here's hoping he isn't some serial murderer who pretends to be an imPort to lure in unsuspecting young women or something like that. Though...well. If he is, then it's a good thing that it's her who's met him, isn't it? ]

Brilliant. Come on, then. This way.

[ She swallows her surprise and smiles at him, leading the way towards a secondhand shop. As she does, she introduces herself: ]

I'm Kitty.

@ Nonah

[divaricate]

Wanda is on her way back to her apartment from stopping at the store to get a few items (she has one bag and it's mostly filled with various boxes of tea because she's already gone through most of what she has and she likes to stock up), but when someone speaks to her, she stops. She's not in any real rush, so there's no reason not to. "Yeah?" Her tone also isn't impatient when she says that.

[raw]

It's easier to talk to a girl, less threatening, but Elliot still tries to make himself as polite and unassuming as possible so that she doesn't feel threatened. He doesn't want to come off as a creep. "Sorry to stop you like this," he says, words slow, voice naturally low and flat. "This is the first time I've ever been here, and uh. I don't know where I am."

[divaricate]

Luckily she's harder to creep out, and she can handle herself (despite a lot of protests - especially from people back home - that she needs to be 'protected'), and she's not too concerned here, as her situation here is so far better than it is back home.

"Well, right now, you're in Nonah, North Carolina, but I suspect you knew that much already." If he didn't, he's probably ... very lost, yes. "Are you looking for a particular place, or just a general layout of the town?" She's good at directions.

Heropa

[barbarus]

[ Damen knows a little something about not fitting in. In his case, it's not a hooded sweater or a pair of hunched shoulders that draws anyone's attention. It's the fact that he's taller than most everyone else around, it's the bulk of the muscles around his shoulders. It's the way the clothes - a plain t-shirt and jeans - sit strangely on him, as though they don't comfortably fit and he's not quite convinced by them anyway. It's most definitely the heavy broadsword hanging from his waist. The looks he attracts from the crowd are quickly turned away the moment his eyes make contact, and no one has yet managed to approach. That isn't a problem. He's used enough to that response, and at least it means they don't ask him to sign anything.

The boy who gets off the bus, though, is a different story. He looks almost fearful; the way he lifts the hood as if he can shrink into it, the way he rolls his shoulders like he can make himself smaller. The modern world is a confusion of different sounds and different rules and different everything to Damen, but he knows worry when he sees it. He approaches quietly, and the prying eyes start to mind their own business. ]

They'll stare less if you catch them doing it. [ He says, by way of introduction. His tone is friendly. ] They are used to new faces. Imports might as well be royalty, to them.

[ Already, he thinks they threat them like it. ]

Aren't you hot? [ He nods at the hood. He's in a state of regret over exchanging his chiton for full length pants; that hooded piece is a step too far. ]

[raw]

[ The guy who approaches is like a modern day Conan the Barbarian, would probably dwarf Elliot's 5'7 frame even if he wasn't sitting down. That kind of guy coming at you is always a sign to be smaller, stiller, pray it's not some weird-ass gang member looking for a dick-measuring contest.

But instead he offers friendly advice. It takes Elliot a moment to put away his instinctive hedgehog prickles and raise his head, look up, squinting a little against the light. ]

Nah.

[ Shaking his head to answer the question about the hoodie. He wears it in the damp heat of New York summers just as much as through the subarctic blizzards. It's as much a comfort blanket as it is a uniform and he doesn't really notice when his body sends him signals like 'hot' or 'cold' anyway. ]

Nice sword,

[ A little glib, since what the actual fuck. ]

[barbarus]

[ Damen glances down at the sword. That’s a fair point. He will admit that most people here aren’t carrying bladed weapons, at least not so obviously as he is. That’s incredible to him given that this is a time of war. But still, he can only defend his own behaviour. ]

It wouldn’t be normal to go without one where I am from.

[ Well. For tailors, or merchants, it might be, though it would be inadvisable. For soldiers it would be unheard of, though, and Damen is royalty besides. He wouldn’t go unarmed unless he had no other choice, especially in a land as strange as this one. That he’s yet to be attacked doesn’t factor into his reasoning; it’s about being prepared. ]

I’m not yet used to the customs here. [ And he might ignore them even if he was, given that he’s not really on board with acclimatising. ] Are you an import? I took that same –

[ What had they called it? They have a dozen names for their vehicles. ]

– bus? A few days ago.

de chima 004

[ringen]

[ As Gaby returns to the house from the day's excursion(s), she's stopped at the door--which she miraculously does not accidentally tear off of its hinges, for once--at the sounds of things, large things being tossed and turned about from one of the rooms upstairs. Quietly, she lets the front door close behind her as she slips off her heels and stalks her way around the house to get to the second floor. Illya doesn't appear to be at home, so why on earth is there so much thrashing going on. Unless it's a burglar.

She slowly makes her way to the room in question--the room that someone had just vacated, even--and manages to peek through when she sees... a goddamned mess. Brows furrowed, she can't help but swing the door open. What she can help is the power with which she does so, and his door miraculously stays intact in spite of what she says, ]

What on earth do you think you're doing?

[raw]

[ Elliot pauses with a pillow in hand, looking a little like a raccoon that has been caugh rummaging through the trash. ]

Uh.

[ Who the fuck are you, is his first thought, but then ... this place isn't a one bedroom, it's assigned housing and other people must live here. ]

Do you live here?

[ Fantastic job at answering the question of what he's doing. ]

[ringen]

[ Gaby cants her head to one side; she's flummoxed, really. But in a curt, stern sort of tone she answers, ]

Yes, now I think you ought to answer my question.

@nastygram

[raw]

The park she asked to meet him at is nice enough. Nonah is pretty small town compared to New York, and he kind of misses the traffic, but it's also ... the quiet is nice. He's waiting by the dolphins when she arrives, sitting on a bench, the familiar black hoodie hunch of him lifting and straightening at the sight of her. He raises a hand, though he probably doesn't need to. Stands.

It's weird what a relief seeing Darlene is. She'd visited him in prison, of course, but it's not just having a familiar face after so long. It's also about having a familiar face here, in this strange new world he's found himself in. It's still hard to believe any of it's real, and he hates it more with every new thing he discovers about it,
but he and Darlene can survive anything together. That's what they do, they're survivors.

"Hey," he says when she's close enough to hear it, and nothing else.

[nastygram]

"Jesus Christ," says Darlene.

She does't run or anything. The amount that her pace picks up is so small as to be imperceptible, not even close to double-time. Just how weird is it to be relieved when she sees dopey old Elliot? Super weird. Something she should be used to by now, maybe; something she will probably never be used to.

She stops when she's maybe three steps away from him. The stare she fixes him with is hard and narrow. Behind him, water trickles around in the fountain and sunlight shines on the brassy dolphins and some kid takes a bite of an ice cream bar and a spray of birds flies across the hard blue of the sky, so goddamn idyllic and picturesque, and Darlene says, angrily, "God, Elliot," and fine, okay, she finishes those three steps because he won't. And she hugs him.

Because. Okay?

Nonah

[112ounces]

Carl is on his phone, scrolling through the pages of photos. Most of it were animals from the shelter, from his job. He wonders how much his boss will be upset over the idea of Carl moving to De Chima. But then again, with the Porters, Carl will probably keep the job, so not much. Unless he actually quits.

No matter, then. With Carl's suspension at school coming to an end, he'll be back to a normal life.

Kind normal-ish maybe. It's never smooth sailing in Carl's life.

Someone's is approaching him, and he clicks the screen off and looks up, his one eye squinting against the sunlight hitting his face. "Yeah?"

[raw]

Maybe it's a weird choice to approach a kid, but Elliot finds younger people way less threatening, and he's still struggling with social anxiety. Besides, if the kid lives around here he probably knows where the park is better than anyone.

"Hi, uh." Elliot sits next to him so he's not looming over, though he leaves some distance between them. "Sorry to bother you. I'm just new here and I'm lost, was hoping you could help me out."

Heropa

[morethan084]

[It's gotten easier to spot a newbie the longer Daisy's been stuck here. Especially when said newbie is wearing a hoodie in this hot-as-balls weather. He clearly looked uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting by the natives though, so she's quick to step in.

When he gets closer, Daisy comes to his left side.]

You've been here for, what? Two minutes? And you've already got a fan club. Color me impressed.

[raw]

[ Elliot's eyes widen a little as he turns to look at her, but she doesn't seem like she's also a member of said "fan club" so he lets himself relax infinitesimally. ]

Yeah.

[ The corner of his mouth twitches and he shrugs. ]

I don't really know what they want from me.

Nonah

[doubleblind]

[Cosima doesn't have many reasons to come to Nonah now that Sarah's staying with Sarissa in Heropa, but she can't seem to stay away. She takes an afternoon off to visit her favorite coffee shop and a used bookstore she found a couple of weeks ago and has already spent way too much money at.

She's heading back to the Porter, two full shopping bags in one hand, when she spots the guy who just screams newbie. You don't have to be an observant scientist to notice just how uncomfortable and out of place he looks. She's about to approach him, see if he needs any help, when he addresses her himself. He may not exude friendliness but that doesn't discourage Cosima, as she responds with a grin.]

Hey. What's up? No, no, let me guess. You're new, right? You look new.

[raw]

I'm new.

[ Elliot confirms this unselfconsciously, although he is partially wondering how people keep picking up on that. Maybe it's the fact that he didn't wear the outfit Kitty picked out for him, is still in the familiar comfort of his black clothes from home. ]

I took the Porter here but now I'm lost.

[ Normally he'd be worried about the danger of admitting that to a stranger, thanks New York, but this girl doesn't look like a threat. ]

heropa;

[pillz]

[the flow of foot traffic squeezes elliot out to the crosswalk. tiger stripes on the ground, muggy sunshine pressing down from the sky, the crowd schooling behind him.

and then a car nearly hits him from the left.

he probably feels it in his technopathy a second before he hears the raw shriek of rubber, suspension creaking. a huff of subwoofers when the driver rolls the window down, pokes out his spiky head. kavinsky has huge sunglasses on.] Hey, bitch. [he doesn't sound angry. he sounds happy.] Where you trying to get to? Hell?

suspect i need to upload slater icons for this thread

[raw]

[ Elliot doesn't even know why he knows, figures maybe some primal instinct pulls him out of the way in time, but he does just manage to avoid getting knocked down. The car clips his hand as it stops, which stings like a motherfucker and whips his arm sideways but doesn't actually do him any real damage.

Still, what the fuck. He's all bug-eyed about it, looking out from under his hoodie at Kavinsky like he's a lunatic, before lifting an arm to draw it back off his head. ]

Maybe I just wanted to cross the road, man.

[ To the tune of "I don't want no trouble," basically. ]