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rapturecity2015-10-25 12:15 pm
rapturemod) wrote in rapturecity2015-10-25 12:15 pm
somewhere beyond the sea [open to all]
When the bathysphere doors creak open, Rapture’s Welcome Center isn’t exactly a hub of activity. The red light of a silent radio blinks innocently from its position by the bathysphere door, then crackles abruptly to life. The words the broadcast utters are far from welcoming.
It would be simple enough to pry the radio loose and pocket it for safekeeping. No one would be the wiser.
The red carpet is plush beneath the feet, running from the Bathysphere Station to the lounge, resplendent with its rich decor and a distinctly 1950’s aesthetic. Rows of lamps illuminate the room with a soft, auburn glow. The faint strains of a placid violin drift from speakers invisible to the untrained eye. The walls are lined with ads, the falsely cheery sepia-toned grins of vacant-eyed men and women promoting PLASMIDS BY FONTAINE FUTURISTICS - EVOLUTION IN A BOTTLE! COMING SOON to the public. TELEKINESIS! announces another, MIND OVER MATTER!
There is no orientation, no tour guide waiting to explain the city beneath the ocean to any new arrivals or elaborate on the ominous words from the recent broadcast. What few denizens are present in the lounge area or the atrium keep their wary distance, several murmuring furtively to each other from behind cupped hands. Beyond them, there's simply exposed glass, open sea. The water is dark and rich and green and clear, kelp trailing lazily as it strains for rays of sunlight it will never touch. Schools of silver fish ripple sleekly past. The passage of time is relative here, impossible to guess with the city's well-lit interior.
Whatever happens next, one thing is patently obvious: this sure as hell isn't Kansas anymore.
Welcome to Rapture.
Opportunity awaits.
[ooc: We are opening this intro log to ALL players and characters, regardless of whether or not they’ve apped into the game (yet, possibly?). If your character is newly arrived, feel free to give them a top-level here (the Welcome Center), in any number of the location-specific top-levels, or anywhere else within reason. They can stay in one part of the city or wander from one to another, to the player’s discretion.
If you like, you can choose for your character to have already been in the city for a time. The maximum time for this is a month, meaning they had to have arrived in early August or later. Characters who have been living here have more freedom in terms of where they are or what they can be doing in their top-levels or subsequent tags - they may have already found a living space, started a business, or found other employment. Be sure to check the state of the city post in the OOC comm to get caught up on what's happening.
If you'd like to interact with any of the NPCs, drop the mods a line and we'll get on it!]
It would be simple enough to pry the radio loose and pocket it for safekeeping. No one would be the wiser.
The red carpet is plush beneath the feet, running from the Bathysphere Station to the lounge, resplendent with its rich decor and a distinctly 1950’s aesthetic. Rows of lamps illuminate the room with a soft, auburn glow. The faint strains of a placid violin drift from speakers invisible to the untrained eye. The walls are lined with ads, the falsely cheery sepia-toned grins of vacant-eyed men and women promoting PLASMIDS BY FONTAINE FUTURISTICS - EVOLUTION IN A BOTTLE! COMING SOON to the public. TELEKINESIS! announces another, MIND OVER MATTER!
There is no orientation, no tour guide waiting to explain the city beneath the ocean to any new arrivals or elaborate on the ominous words from the recent broadcast. What few denizens are present in the lounge area or the atrium keep their wary distance, several murmuring furtively to each other from behind cupped hands. Beyond them, there's simply exposed glass, open sea. The water is dark and rich and green and clear, kelp trailing lazily as it strains for rays of sunlight it will never touch. Schools of silver fish ripple sleekly past. The passage of time is relative here, impossible to guess with the city's well-lit interior.
Whatever happens next, one thing is patently obvious: this sure as hell isn't Kansas anymore.
Welcome to Rapture.
Opportunity awaits.
[ooc: We are opening this intro log to ALL players and characters, regardless of whether or not they’ve apped into the game (yet, possibly?). If your character is newly arrived, feel free to give them a top-level here (the Welcome Center), in any number of the location-specific top-levels, or anywhere else within reason. They can stay in one part of the city or wander from one to another, to the player’s discretion.
If you like, you can choose for your character to have already been in the city for a time. The maximum time for this is a month, meaning they had to have arrived in early August or later. Characters who have been living here have more freedom in terms of where they are or what they can be doing in their top-levels or subsequent tags - they may have already found a living space, started a business, or found other employment. Be sure to check the state of the city post in the OOC comm to get caught up on what's happening.
If you'd like to interact with any of the NPCs, drop the mods a line and we'll get on it!]
be warned i will actually take you up on that to infinity
At the very least, even drunk off his ass Dodger has a knack for noticing details. He glances at the waterlogged cigarettes, and pauses as if considering whether he really cares enough to help, before offering the half-smoked cigarette in his mouth to the other man. He considers that a neutral option.
"Tell you what, though - once you've got all the seawater outta your lungs, it wouldn't be too hard to steal some clothes and a bite to eat." He pauses, "And if you run across any more gigglewater I might call that payment for being your tour guide."
At least, it would give him something to do. He has to admit he's curious.
no subject
He's also at the bottom of the ocean, talking to a drunk. Maybe hygiene is off the table at this point.
He accepts it, and snorts softly.
"You mean alcohol?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "You're welcome to it. I can't drink any, anyway."
Stealing, on the other hand, is a much less appealing prospect, especially if Tim's stuck here.
"Any kinds of jobs or things around here?" he hazards.
no subject
"Any work you can get won't be worth the work you get." He takes a swig of whiskey and lights a new cigarette. "But stealing's a little more friendly than killing, I figure. Either way, Rapture's a ritzy sorta place. You're not gonna get a job dressed like... that."
no subject
Would it take him - this far back? Literally, beyond his own past and straight into another time entirely?
He braces a hand against the wall, swallowing in an effort to choke back the hot, sick rush of panic to his chest. He's still here. He's still here. It's okay. Nothing's after him, yet. He's flat against a wall. There's nothing -
There's nothing behind him.
"I'm used to working shit jobs," he says shortly. "I'll do what I have to. But I'd rather not get on the wrong side of any law, if you know what I'm saying." If worst comes to worst, he'll pilfer a goddamn trash can for clothes more appropriate for whatever fashion is accepted here.
no subject
"You really are new..." He laughs quietly, "Rapture has more guidelines than rules. Long as no one catches you, they can't say you didn't earn what you've got..."
The clothes he'd bought himself were burned ritualistically, anyway, when he ran with the Saturnine. It took him a while to find someone his size and kill them for a new outfit.
"Oh, and there's probably money in the trash. Rich folks really don't know what to do with what they've got."
no subject
He shrugs pointedly. Maybe acting subtly challenging isn't the best idea, but it's not like the guy is going out of his way to be nice.
"Is it, like, uh." He rubs at the back of his neck nervously. "Is everyone here rich? Cause it - it kinda seems like it."
no subject
"Rich, or dirt poor. One o' the two." Dodger shrugs casually, "And we don't get new folks often. Actually... I don't remember ever seeing someone new." He pauses, "Guessing from the tee shirt you're not part of the upper class."
That, and he knew if this man was rich he wouldn't have sat here chatting up with someone like himself.
no subject
"No, really?" he says dryly. "Does it matter?" Maybe it does here, where everyone shoots him vaguely suspicious looks and pretty much walks around like they own the place. For all he knows, a lot of them might. Does a city like this have apartments? Cars, even?
A flutter of paper catches his eye, a shred of newspaper trapped between an ashtray and the ground. He tilts his head to get a look at the date stamped at the corner, and pales.
1958?
"It's - 1958," he mutters hoarsely. "How can it - "
no subject
It's news to him too. It's probably been months since he was keeping track of time. It barely matters anyway. Every day is a new opportunity to either struggle for survival or die. That's what his life boils down to.
"Listen.. the longer you stay here the less it matters whether it's even day or night. Give it a year or two and you'll stop caring if it's 1958 or 1925." He tries to drink from his bottle again, but it's empty. And without a warning he throws it and smashes it beside him.
Barely anyone even glances up.
no subject
The guy practically slams the bottle into the ground, and Tim jumps, hands leaping upward to shield his face from any glass that might come pinwheeling his way. Based on the non-reaction of everyone else, this apparently isn't out of the ordinary.
"Jesus," he hisses. "I don't want to stay here. I want to go back."
Then he shuts his mouth, because who knows if there's even a 'back' to go to if it's 1958.
no subject
Which is bullshit. And he's known that since the day he got smuggled into the city by the thugs in Neptune's Bounty. But going too far into that risks giving out personal information.
He pauses and glances down at the man. "You know, having company is pleasant and all but unless you've got something worth my while I'm running outta patience for showing you the ropes." From his tone, it's clear he'd rather receive compensation than just be left alone.
no subject
He's trapped. He's trapped here, underwater, under fathoms and fathoms of - of dark, crushing water -
His head feels like it's floating, his breathing too shallow and too rapid. Tim shakes his head once, less in response to the implicit demand and more out of an effort to get his awareness to return to his skull.
"I don't," he shakes his head again, trying to clear it, "I don't have anything, I just -" He can't panic, not here. Not now. Not in front of some sneering drunk. "I just got here."
no subject
"Cool it. Alright? I didn't say I wanted cash, I just wanna see if you're any use to me." He pauses to think it over a bit, mostly trying to ignore the... shell shock, maybe? "We can say you owe me a couple tens, or you can tell me what the surface is like these days. Anything useful. If it's real useful I can help you get started on blending in."
no subject
He was never good at history. His only vague idea of what American life was like in the 50's probably came from the old movies Brian rented and tried to sit him down to watch. He scrambles frantically for any kind of information, anything remotely plausible.
"The economy," he blurts without thinking, "is, um - it's, it's really bad. People charging ridiculous amounts for, you know, just a pack of cigarettes or something. Prices going up."
Great Depression? No, that was the twenties, wasn't it? Fuck, he doesn't know.
"Lots of - crime." Does it sound like he's making shit up? Hopefully this guy is too drunk to care. If he's been away from the - fuck, from the surface for a while, maybe he has no idea what it's like either. "Police are totally out of their league."
What use he can be. Well, he's accustomed to being used, he can say that much. Granted, he was only used in recent memory because of the specific kind of information he happened to have on him, and he doubts - god but he hopes - that kind of thing will be no use here.
no subject
"Fuck do you know about crime..." Dodger pinches the bridge of his nose briefly, "Inventions. New political figures. Fashion sorts of things - that's what people care about, what's it fuckin' matter if life is hell on the surface?"
no subject
He wavers. Then he shakes his head, and something in the back of his brain just goes, fuck it. What's it matter if the guy can't verify it?
"The Internet," he says. "Kind of a - open-access network, like a hub of information anyone can just tap into if they've got, like, a phone or something. Or, uh, here."
He digs his own phone out of his pocket. A hopeful press of the button yields nothing - he made sure to get something waterproof after the last time, but a lengthy swim through the ocean seems to have been too much for the little black rectangle.
It's useless like this. He offers it to the other man hopefully.
"Broken, now. I guess the water killed it."
no subject
There's only one button on the front, a couple small things on the edge, and... none of it does anything. He shakes it by his ear, and that does nothing either. There's nothing credible about the story, but... some sucker might be able to take it seriously.
"The hell is this thing, then?" It's certainly not anything he'd call a phone. He's more used to the rotary variety.
But either way, he's pocketing it for later. And it's clear he doesn't care whether Tim wants it back or not.