TDM 005

[etrayamods]

⏵ 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… Roll a Die 1 Your leg is now tied to another chef’s 2 Your meal is continually un-cooking itself. 3 All of your ingredients are pickled now 4 The longer you touch an ingredient, the bigger it gets. 5 Every time you lift your pot lid, a component changes. 6 The aromatics are glowing and flashing like LED lights. 7 Your knife has been replaced with a cheese grater. 8 The ingredients are now magnetically stuck together. 9 Your meal is becoming deep fried. 10 Kittens are multiplying out of the cupboard. * 11 All of your ingredients have become incredibly heavy. 12 Your cook pot moves burners whenever you turn around. 13 Eggs scream when you crack them 14 The kitchen has become incredibly slippery. 15 It’s soup now. 16 All utensils have been replaced with crustaceans. ** 17 Your knife has a mind of its own. Watch out! 18 Your fridge catches fire. 19 Your pasta is trying to escape. Go get it. 20 Any ingredient not in the pot starts to float away. * 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:_______ Flavor Presentation Stackability Wet Originality Rizz ⏵ 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 1 Tummy Ache. Go lay in bed. Complaining alleviates symptoms. 2 That plate of food has energized you. You feel compelled to race or spar. 3 The food has reminded you of home. You must tell someone a detail of your childhood. 4 That food was so horrible that it simply must be washed out somehow. Spicy peppers? Booze? Gravel??? You’re going to over do it. 5 You have now discovered your new favorite dish. Make them teach it to you or you’ll lose sleep over it. This is all you want to eat for the next week. 6 The oddity of the ingredients has transferred to you. You start floating away. 7 The range of food and textures have inspired you. Acquire an annoying new hobby or habit. 8 You are now haunted by the digital souls of chickens. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

cn: mentions of Connor dying

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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)

[reconstruction]

[he'd say that he hopes Hank isn't referring to himself, but they both know the answer to that, and Connor has (sort of) learned what not to say during certain conversations.]

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.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

(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.