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etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
Entry tags:
TDM 005
 ⏵ arrival ⏴ Arrival goes as anticipated. Characters awaken in a sterile hospital bed in a clean, white room to the hum of machines under the unnatural lighting common to well-kept institutions. Every bit was designed to be comforting and calming, even with the jarring undercurrent of this situation. The first face they see is Aurora's: her smile appears to be warm, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She might offer a quick explanation, or leave characters to figure it out for themselves depending on their approach. The door to the room swings open, revealing a hallway that stretches out ahead of them. There’s noise from outside and strong pumpkin spice scents coming from the lobby. Ah, muffins and tea. Grab one and head into the crisp, sunny fall morning ahead.  ⏵ potluck ⏴ Cutthroat Iron Etrayan Bake-Off As you step out of the arrival holding area into the main thoroughfare, the entire street has been turned into tents and chef stations to accommodate the activities of thirty people at once. There’s seats, trailers, and robots bustling about to make sure everyone is ready. A couple of cheerful robots in aprons and colorful sweaters approach and redirect you as you step towards the cooking area. There’s gas ranges, ovens, grills, blast chillers, mixers, and set walk-ins and pantries with just about every ingredient you can imagine. There are cameramen (also robots) patrolling the area to capture all your best moments and to broadcast them directly to your fellow citizens’ devices. Your instruction? “Make your signature dish. You have one hour, chef.” It can’t just be straightforward, can it? The land itself is held together with pure chaotic energy. If you’re lucky, all goes as planned. If you aren’t… well…
* All kittens disappear at the end. ** These however, stay.  ⏵ share a meal ⏴ As all the cooking concludes, you will be invited to plate your meal into one of many casserole dishes, regardless of what was made. A ladle will be tucked into the corner and placed on the table with a folded bit of cardstock declaring the chef’s name and the name of the dish. A helper camerabot will come around to each participant and ask for their thinking and their process. Even if you got away without having to cook, even looking towards the table of dishes will spur a helper bot to start making you a plate with one of everything. The helperbot will insist that it is rude to not at least try what their peers have made. In fact, if you are to fill out the score card for each person, you really must taste everything! The robots can’t try the food, so it’s up to you. The cards look like so. The grading system is opaque. Is it meant to be numbers? Stars? Letter grades? Well, you’re the judge. You figure it out. Chef: ___________ Dish:_____________ Judge:___________ Overall Rating:_______
 ⏵ tummy ache survivor ⏴ No matter how well your compatriots cooked or baked their dishes, there are… factors. You see that carrot? It’s really just condensed chaos in the shape of a carrot. No matter how powerful you are, these particular ingredients may not mesh with your being. …And even if it is truly a carrot, do all the chefs know the proper cooking temperature of chicken? Even chickens are aliens to many. (Optional) Roll a Die
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Potluck
[The man who seems to answer James' cry for help is a stoic and melancholic sort, his voice is tinged with a Scandinavian accent of some sort, and but for as deep as his voice may be, it is also softly spoken. He eyes James and those kittens for a few moments, as if deciding whether or not he will leave James to his would-be kitten doom...
Then he puts his knife down—he had been cubing ham for the potato klubb he plans to make—so that he might turn his attention more fully to the situation. He pays no mind to how his knife has suddenly shifts in its place all on its own, choosing to approach James, though he stops when one of the kittens frees itself and runs directly into his ankle.
Glancing down at it, the kitten gives a surprised little hiss, but as it looks up at Barnabas it freezes—either from fear or uncertainty. It doesn't matter ultimately, because Barnabas reaches down and plucks the small little furry potato up, examining it with his maintained aloof expression.
Then his gaze returns to James and his predicament.]
They require a pen of some sort.
no subject
or should we say pawsHe glances at the dark-haired stranger, kittens in his arms, as the other man holds onto a poor, frazzled one by the scruff. He supposes maybe the little animal finds him intense, too.]
I- They're coming out of the cupboard.
[As though this isn't obvious. But what James implies is that this is a randomly ridiculous situation that no one could have been prepared for — or at least a newcomer to this world. Experience with "wrangling beasts" has no bearing, surely, when you're utterly flabbergasted by the situation.]
Is there a enclosed space somewhere where we can keep them?
[That isn't in the middle of kitchen supplies that they need to use.]
no subject
Fascinating.
Though, it does leave James' fair question unanswered, and Barnabas looks about the kitchen for what might make due...there really isn't anything that could contain an endless supply of kittens, though perhaps—]
If they are to ceaselessly manifest, should we not simply bar their path?
[After all, the cupboard has a door. What does that mean for the kittens trapped inside? Well...
The suggestion barely hangs in the air before Barnabas' knife seemingly springs to life, lifting itself to balance on the butt of its own handle, then it launches itself spinning into the air towards the two men. Should they remain still—which Barnabas does, to a degree almost unnerving—the knife will not hit either of them. If James tries to move out of the way, well, lets hope he does not err.]
no subject
Wishful thinking, apparently.
He's opening his mouth to reply when he catches a glint of a knife; and it's instinct that has him moving out of the way. However, it's also instinct that gets him in trouble this time, truly, if he would've been better off staying still.
.......But he wants to protect the kittens. So he's raising up his armful of mewling furballs as though to keep them out of the way of a sudden flying object, shifting to the side, which earns him a knife slicing through his shirt and cutting against his skin. The material blossoms red with the injury — not deep, but not small, either.
He winces.]
What the hell was that-?!
[At least pain is an old friend. He's had much worse.]
no subject
My knife. [His voice flat.] It would seem this kitchen cares not for us to finish our task.
[He holds his hand out. For what, it isn't clear. Perhaps the kittens? A handshake? He is a little unreadable.]
no subject
His face twists into a frown. His side stings. He's holding a bunch of nervous baby animals. It's cook-off hell in here.]
You think so?
[Sarcasm! Just a bit!]
...I need to get out of here. I can't cook with an armful of cats and a wound now. You should keep a better eye on that knife of yours.
[Whatever he's asking for with that outstretched hand, James makes no move to fulfill it.]
no subject
There is no escape. You do as is asked of you, though the wound indeed needs tending.
[He flexes his hand for slight emphasis.]
The felines, give them to me.
[Purrhaps he has a solution.]
no subject
(Yes, this man seems to only respond to that which concerns him, even if James gets the sense that all of this is probably a middling concern at best.)
He scoffs, but… There’s really no reason to doubt that statement. He’s the newbie, here, after all. With a glance down at that hand, he moves forward and offers up his armful of kittens.
PURRHAPS HE CAN HELP—]
Be careful with them.
no subject
Looking to the knife that struck James as it lays upon the floor, he waits just a moment to see if it has any life left in it. Upon concluding that it doesn't, he makes his way over to the cabinet that the kittens seem to be spawning from. Opening it, a few more come out, but with the ones in his arms shifted, he frees up one arm to grab the few that escaped.
Whatever is making them manifest seems to be within the cabinet, and so...he quickly places the kittens back within it, closing the door swiftly as pathetic mewling is all that escapes from their plywood prison. Then he places his hand on the door, and there's a pulse of something. Energy of some sort, the air in the room becoming a little thick, or maybe it's the gravity that's become stronger? Whatever the case may be, Barnabas has done something. And the mewling?
Well...it has stopped.
Barnabas stands and starts to walk towards his knife. He wasn't done using it, after all.]
no subject
He still isn't sure how this solves the problem, but then the stranger presses his hand to the wooden surface and does something he can't hope to recognize. The air feels energized, but he doesn't know what this means, much less entails.
And then... no more mewling.]
Wait.
[Sir??? Hello??? James watches as Barnabas returns to the knife.]
What did you do?
[A quick, quizzical glance at the closed cupboard.]
no subject
I sorted the problem.
[Rotating on his heel in a slow and methodical fashion, he then walks over to his station again, washing the knife clean at the sink.]
They are unharmed, if that is your concern. I simply...redirected them.
no subject
Surely he will not be surprised by what James bluntly asks next.]
Redirected them where?
[To another room? Into space? Into someone's salad? Strange man, please clarify.]
no subject
They are—
[And as if the kittens themselves were keen to answer the question for him, there is a cacophony of mews and the distinct sound of soft little bodies scrambling out of one of the other inhabitants' cabinets. The poor soul a good distance from them. Barnabas' eyes trails over to the scene, then back to his knife.]
—there.
[A beat.]
You are still bleeding.
no subject
Maybe he'll go apologize to the other inhabitant later, but for now, Barnabas is asking after his wound.]
Oh, I...
[He presses his hand to where the knife had sliced through his clothing and skin, blossoming a faint crimson. It's a shallow cut, at best. James had already forgotten about it, which might say a couple of things for his character.]
It just needs a bandage and I can keep going. Thanks, though.
[For his... concern??]