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etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
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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
Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! |
no subject
—
[Hank shuffles his way into the diner, drumming his hand on his thigh as he looks over the place.]
Well, isn’t that nice of them. Real hospitable.
[He’s grousing because he’s hungry and too old for this, and he doesn’t trust whatever the hell is going on here. But the fact that Connor is at least being taken care of in that way, with his thirium and his parts with all the complex numbers — that means something.
Hank’s expression softens for a moment. He just wants them both to get through all this, preferably with as few “close calls” as possible. Ideally now that they’re together again there will be less of all that — stronger as a team, whatever — but Hank can’t help but feel he’s just going to be dragging Connor down.]
Hell if I know where to start.
[Hank rubs a hand over his face once he’s seated, leaning back in his chair. Squeaky.]
I would say the beginning, but knowing you...
[He really does not want to have a heart attack imagining all the danger Connor might have gotten into here. But he should probably still hear about it, right? Better now than later.]
So we last saw each other after the revolution. You got zapped here, I got zapped here.
[Hank is skimming one of the little plastic menus from the table. Ordering a burger and fries and a shake when one of the robots rolls their way.]
I trust you’ll give me the gist of it. Is there anyone here I should keep my eye out for? Anywhere that’ll get me temporarily killed, or whatever?
no subject
[the beginning would be a lot of information at once, and Hank is right to steer their conversation into a more proactive one. he calculates the outcomes once, twice - the choices he makes now and what he chooses to include are labeled as important. he doesn't want to lie to him, but he doesn't want to raise his blood pressure too much, either.
he decides to take the modest approach. (as modest as Connor can get with explanations).]
Echo isn't anyone or anything that I have been able to determine. As in, I'm uncertain if they are alive, or what someone might consider a god. I've speculated them as a powerful entity, or even another AI, but any answers Aurora gave to me in regards to them were...vague.
[his expression changes from thoughtful to one mixed with hesitancy. he fidgets, fixing one of his sleeves beneath the table. Connor's tendency to over-explain is showing.]
We're required to participate in missions that can be fatal. Echo and Aurora's goals are to make sure we work harmoniously together, but that isn't guaranteed. Most of the people here do want to help each other, but there was a concerning post on the network that suggests otherwise. I suggest you look over the network yourself, when you have time. Everything is public. As for dangerous areas - you should stay out of the lower levels of the hospital.
no subject
(ooc: I’m enjoying our thread too!! And thank you for the heads up. c:)
—
Sounds like some really fucked up battle royale shit, Connor.
[Hank gives him a once-over. Sees the way he fidgets. He hates that Connor has had to deal with all this bullshit, but he doesn’t know what to do right now other than pick at his newly arrived food. Slurping his milkshake obnoxiously till he can feel the cold hit his head.
Mmm, pumpkin. But at least it’s not a muffin. This is very different. And delicious.
He takes his earpiece from his pocket. Turns it round in his hand for a second as if it’s some indecipherable relic before he sets it on the table.]
This “the network”? Bold of you to assume I even know how to use this thing.
[But he’s going to have to figure out all its intricacies, apparently. Hank sighs. He looks out the window beside them, and something about how deceptively normal the street looks at first glance makes him want to scream.]
Of course the place that’s supposed to be safe isn’t. Of course.
[Hank mutters this, not even trying to hide his bias.
Drumming his fingers against his milkshake cup, now. Eyes shooting up to Connor’s as he pats his pockets with his free hand, looking for his wallet.]
Uh. Shit. They take dollars here, or...? IOUs?
no subject
I've just connected permanently to your earpiece. I'll be able to know where you are, so long as you keep it on you. It's not so difficult to understand. [was that a jab? not on purpose, surely.] Think of it as one of your computers at the office - put it around your ear and activate the HUD. Kind of like a video game.
[actually very like a video game, sans the fun. his brows raise when Hank asks about payment.]
Everything here is free.
no subject
You just... what?
[Hank is gawking. He knows better than to try to wrap his head around whatever Connor did, but it’s still annoying. Will just have to trust Connor on this, he supposes.]
Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep it on me. Like a damn tracker. You bet I’ll activate its damn “HUD.”
[He grabs the earpiece and tucks it back in his pocket — or should he wear it now? Feels weird. He’ll mess with it later when he’s alone and can poke around it without Connor’s smartass remarks.
But at “free,” Hank finds himself leaning ever so slightly over the table.]
Free? The hell do you mean free, Connor? So you’re sayin’ I can just come in here and eat whatever I want?
[It’s like at Chicken Feed but he doesn’t even have to work for it.]
And so... these other places.
[Hank gestures vaguely with his free hand.]
That free, too? What if I want a nice leather jacket? New pair of boots? They got boots here, Connor?
no subject
Yes, exactly.
[his gaze flickers to outside, toward the rest of the city. spacious, but small enough to traverse over the course of a few hours.]
While I haven't actively looked for boots myself, I'm sure you can find some. The store [yes, only one store] provides a variety of clothing, but people have mentioned the quality not meeting their standards.
[which is strange to Connor, because while he can appreciate style and the aesthetics that come with it, they're trapped on a planet. fashion should be the least of their concerns. humans do crave familiar comforts, though - that he can understand.]
no subject
So what you’re saying — [Hank takes a long, slow sip of his milkshake] — is they got boots. But the boots fuckin’ suck.
[Probably should’ve expected that for the great price of “free.” But it’s good intel — something that Hank selfishly latches onto. Filing away for later. Because if clothes are free, and food is free, then other stuff has to be, too. Connor did say everything.]
Are the stores ever busy? People... I dunno, panic buying? Holiday shopping? They got holidays here?
[Leaving the grocery shopping till the last minute back home was a regular occurrence, often landing on the weekend. Run out of coffee? Well, goddamn, Hank — now you’ve gotta wait in line for half an hour for a bag of coffee and ten pounds of doggy kibble. Fuck the cost of expedited drone delivery.
Hank sighs. He’s getting ahead of himself, of course. Talking about boots and his distaste for technology when Connor is right here.]
I know you said the missions and everything are fucked up, but how are you holding up, Connor?
[He raises a hand.]
And don’t give me any sugar coated bullshit, all right? Tell me how you are. Really.
sorry for the delay !
[when the focus is brought back to himself, there's a momentary pause. he blinks at him, brow knitting together, LED circling yellow. processing. memories sweep through his mind, and while the amount of time it takes to answer is still relatively fast, it's delayed by a few seconds. not enough for most to notice, but definitely enough for Hank to.]
I'm okay.
[physically -- he's not exactly lying. it's hard for him to articulate everything, even harder to articulate it without over explaining.]
I was starting to think ... [his expression softens, reverts back to one more neutral. still, his eyes are moving, searching along the table as he wills himself to be honest.] I was starting to think that I would never get to see you again. You're my friend. People here were suspicious of me at first - some still are. [that only reinforces feelings from Detroit and how humans will always fear what they don't understand.] I'm finding that can be very isolating. There are good people here, though.
you’re good, you’re golden! c:
[The moment Connor says he’s okay, Hank squeezes his mostly-gone milkshake. Hears the plastic squeak as he grips too hard. Brow furrowing while he waits for Connor to parse through his thoughts.
That spinny yellow thing Connor’s LED does makes Hank nervous more often than not. It doesn’t even have to mean something bad — thinking is fine! Thinking is good! — but Hank still worries.
This guy is going to be the death of him with how much he makes Hank worry.]
Jesus, Connor.
[Talking about never getting to see each other again saps the hunger right out of him. His burger suddenly looks like the most unappetizing thing he’s ever seen.]
I’m here now.
[The words feel so pathetic when he hears them aloud, but what more can he say? Hank is here. Connor is here. What more do they need beyond what they can see in front of them now?]
And I won’t be runnin’ headfirst into danger if you don’t, yeah?
[But knowing Connor... Hank sighs. This sure is a goddamn situation they’ve got themselves into, isn’t it?]
Fuck those people, Con.
[Doesn’t matter that Hank was suspicious of Connor once, too. He’s not now, and even if strangers being apprehensive makes sense — fuck them.]
You’ve got friends here, yeah? [This is how Hank chooses to parse there being “good people” here.] Sometimes all it takes is one. Just one person to believe in you, and then...
[He’s talking about Connor and Cole, all at once, and something about that makes his stomach twist: the guilt of not feeling like he’s worth being trusted or considered a friend, or cared about at all.
So he looks away again. Because he’s a coward.]
Just makes it easier, is what I’m saying. [A sigh, and then:] If anyone fucks with you, I’m gonna kick their ass. You know that, right?
[He knows Connor is perfectly capable of kicking asses, of course, but Hank wants Connor to know that he cares. Because what says friendship like threatening to beat up one’s enemies?]
no subject
[forging human relationships is complicated, and navigating those relationships is even more complicated. some have come and gone. he's especially sad about Willa. he watches Hank's expression change, the smallest of expressions being read and catalogued: guilt, fear, sympathy.
he wants to ask about that. too much is already hanging in the air already, however, and Hank is already brushing aside any seriousness with his offer. he knows better than to take him too seriously by now. he appreciates it all the same.]
Don't worry, the people here are more focused on the missions when they're announced. From what information I've gathered, there aren't many that have made long-standing enemies of each other.
no subject
Kids, huh? Pretty fucked up that even kids are getting dragged into this mess.
[Hank has met some of them, but maybe not any of Connor’s friends. Probably.
And despite how weird the situation is, Hank is... relieved. There’s uncertainty, too: worry and caution and the dizzying, small sensation of feeling like a puppet, strung up here on this odd world. Made to play the part without really having a script.
But Hank trusts Connor’s judgment. So when Connor says he has friends here, it feels almost hopeful.]
I’m glad. That you’ve made friends. That’s great, Con. Really great.
[Because Hank is thinking about how new Connor was back home, how he didn’t really get the chance to make friends — and, hell, Hank wasn’t helpful on that front when they first met. He was a colossal asshole, in fact.]
I know there’ve been, uh, incidents. But you seem... I dunno. Well-adjusted.
[Far more adjusted than Hank would be if he were alone. Far more adjusted than he’ll be when he and Connor part ways again and Hank is left alone with his thoughts on this wacky world.
But it still feels like a messed up thing to say. By way of apology, he rambles on:]
I mean — you know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?
[He waves over one of the robots to get his leftovers wrapped up, because Hank is not going to waste this perfectly fine burger just because his stomach is twisting in knots.]
Proud of you, is all.
[Then, after clearing his throat:]
Good that I don’t have to beat anyone up. Or give them the middle finger. Yet, anyway. Let’s try to keep it that way, yeah?
no subject
I have to adapt, Lieutenant. [that's what he was designed to do. but where he would usually include that, he decides to leave it out.] Everyone has to.
[the compliment surprises him. taken aback, he blinks at Hank, brows raised. people don't compliment him very often, let alone humans. thinking back on it, he doesn't think he's received a straightforward compliment like the one Hank is giving him now since he arrived. he'd include his conversation with someone over the network, but Finch's appreciation for AI in general swept over everything else. it wasn't personal.]
Thank you, and - no, that won't be necessary. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, too. I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed working with you.
cn: mentions of Connor dying
Yeah, well, most people’s “adapting” to this sort of bullshit would be losin’ themselves to a bottle of liquor, or worse.
[Hank doesn’t mention that he’s talking about himself, really. Doesn’t feel he has to.]
And this whole dying thing? Coming back? Some monsters would take advantage of that.
[He thinks of Connor dying. LED winking out as his head is in Hank’s lap, Hank’s palm atop his head as if that might soothe him for the journey ahead.
Android heaven?
Nothing.
Hank almost lets himself keep thinking, imagining, remembering — but no. See, this is why he drinks: because he can’t get the pictures in his head to leave him alone.
Haunting. Life is haunting.
But Connor is saying he’s proud of him, too, and while Hank gets it... it feels like it’s meant for someone else.]
I appreciate it, Connor.
[But he’ll at least try to accept the compliment. He’ll try not to be so damn grumpy. Try being the key word.]
You don’t gotta look so damn surprised, though. And you don’t have to keep calling me “lieutenant” — the hell am I lieutenant of here?
[A wry smile at the corner of his lips, then:]
We’re goddamn friends, aren’t we? Call me Hank. If you wanna keep up with the titles, you can do it when we’ve got company. Just us, though? Hank.
[He’s slipping out of his seat, stretching out his legs... looking at everything and nothing at the same time.]
So everything’s free, yeah? [Turning back to Connor now.] They got a fancy ass hotel around here somewhere for us old guys to stay?
tfw hank watched connor die but connor hasnt died (yet)
Yes, but no one has.
[even if there's the 100% change of revival, Connor knows people lose something every time they die. he isn't trying to put himself in that sort of situation, and he thinks the people here aren't the type to lean into a homicidal rampage. not that murder makes 'sense', but he's taken into account that murder is murder for a reason. usually the perpetrator wants their victim to stay dead. there isn't any hiding here.]
You got it, [pause. he's ... touched, with the new permission of familiarity.] Hank.
[he follows suit, sliding out of the booth and making way toward the exit.]
They provide apartments for everyone. I have seen homes arrive on the planet after making a request to Aurora, too.
no subject
(ooc: I was actually wondering about Connor’s potential past DBH deaths, or lack thereof!!!! Now I keep thinking about Hank finding out about possible discrepancies in their timelines, uh oh. 😭)
—
[Hank almost adds a “yeah, but they could” just to be a contrary asshole. But honestly? Connor knows the people here better than he does. The world, the consequences.
And yet the potential for loss isn’t so easy for him to sweep aside. The potential for cruelty. But Hank is just an overbearing old man who doesn’t care about himself, unfairly projecting onto Connor, so he lets the conversation go.
Connor is more than capable of handling himself. Hank knows this. And he chooses to believe, for now, that they won’t have to say their goodbyes, temporary or otherwise.
At any rate, Connor actually humoring Hank’s request to drop his title has the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile.]
Now that’s what I like to hear.
[He’d half expected Connor to reach for some excuse to deny him, but Hank’s glad he didn’t.]
What is with this place and free? [Hank grumbles. It’s suspicious! What is he paying for all this with besides the boon of his oh-so riveting company?
Another mutter, because Hank is just a mumbling mess today:] Would be fuckin’ nice if my house arrived. With my goddamn dog.
[Okay, it sounds ridiculous, but Hank’s first thought is houses getting beamed out from some weird spaceship.
It feels odd not to pay for his food as they leave, but Hank supposes this is his new normal. Dine and dashing without repercussion.]
So I just park my ass in one of these apartments, huh? [And then, because he doesn’t want Connor thinking that’s all Hank plans on doing — it is kind of all Hank plans on doing — he adds:] Before one of these weird missions, I mean.