Mingle ∞ Log
No Lifeguard on Duty
Summary
What's going on?
An
unexpected heat wave in mid-June, coupled with the cycling shutdown of all air conditioning units in motels across the Blocks, has made the summer unbearable. Meanwhile, the ever-eager
storm chaser,
Felix Bjurstrom, has uncovered a
fancy resort with a pool in a diffusion zone only 1 hour out from Panorama. Lucky, right? Well...kind of. It's got some quirks.
When is this happening?
June 10 - 30
What should I know?
- This area is one of many diffusion zones that appear throughout the planet.
- A storm chaser is someone dedicated to studying the cosmic phenomenon in the Diadem. Felix is a pioneer in his field.
- A winding highway filled with old empty barrels will take you to the zone.
- Characters can travel with a friend to save on gas! Parking's limited, so it might not be a bad idea.
- At any given time, there's max several dozen visitors. Most work long hours, some are traveling through the diffusion zones, and others prefer not to risk the drive or waste precious gas, so it won't draw a huge crowd (but there's still a crowd!).
- This is a mingle rather than an event. Plot-heavy elements will be minor. The game's first proper event will be posted in July!
What does my character know?
- Having lost his phone, Felix will spread the word using good old-fashioned printed posters that he's put up around Panorama. A young woman is seen helping him. They appear to be close. Some say that's his daughter.
- Though the timing is impossible to predict accurately, Felix believes that due to this zone's unusual proximity to an anchor point, it has a high chance of persisting for 2-3 weeks.
- Directions are printed on the posters, though characters are also free to stumble across the zone by accident.
∞ Links ∞
Introduction
The resort looks like your typical upscale vacation spot: a beautiful pool, lovely cabins, and plenty of pool chairs. The sky is
perpetually nighttime and there are
two moons. One moon is smaller than its sister and glows purple. The other looks like the Earth's moon. The weather is
pleasantly warm. In fact, conditions are almost
too perfect.
Other
fluxdrifts are here, too, and you might come across them, all of whom are taking advantage of the pool. They'll converse superficially with you and will come and go randomly. You'll want to keep a close eye on your belongings. Other than cooling off, this isn't a bad place to start making connections. Life in the Diadem is better when you've got allies if not friends.
Just outside the resort is a
spacious parking lot, designed for visitors. Nobody's following parking rules so put your car anywhere it fits. If you get blocked in, well, that's a problem for when you leave.
At the end of June, the diffusion zone will flicker and morph into an unremarkable overgrown park, long abandoned to the decades.
Prompts
As you wander around, you discover deactivated androids in many of the poolside huts. These androids cannot be mistaken for any organic species: their chassis is metal, and their heads are shiny. Circuits and wires are visible. But each is dressed distinctly human in a way that borders on disturbing. You spot lipstick drawn on some of the metal faces, as though they're playing dress up...or as if they don't realize they aren't human. One android is frozen in place with a diary clutched in its hands. Another has a hairbrush for its nonexistent hair.
Something seems to have destroyed them—perhaps a powerful EMP wave that knocked them all out. All except one.
The Bartender
The poolside bar is at the eastern end of the resort. There are plenty of seats. A few are occupied by deactivated androids. The bartender is also an android and appears to be the only functional one in this place. He speaks with a modulated voice and has a neutral accent. He exhibits the following behaviors if you sit at his bar:
- Icebreaker. Whether you're alone or with a companion, he'll try to get you all to be friends, asking random self-generated icebreaker questions. He'll be visibly disappointed if you don't play along.
- Bartending. While cheerful, he can't make the correct drink: it's always too strong, incredibly weak, added salt instead of sugar, messed up the ice. He's obviously doing his best, but it's just not working. The harder he tries, the worse he performs until it becomes a comedy of errors with stuff falling over, ice dumped in your lap, champagne corks flying, and any number of slapstick mishaps. You can help him out by mixing the drink yourself.
If you're nice to him, he'll introduce himself as Thomas Lustras. He's happy to
tell you about his son. Strange, you think, but who says androids can't have paternal instincts? Yet, when the android takes out his wallet to show you a photo of his son—named Edward Lustras—the picture is that of a
human child, roughly 5 years old, in the arms of his
human father.
The driver's license in the same wallet confirms that Thomas is (was?) a real person. The picture on the license matches the human male in the photo. A half-scorched business card states that Thomas was a consultant at Outer Rim Resettlements. Thomas believes he's on a company retreat and wistfully declares he's eager to return home to his son.
Maybe don't look too closely. After all, this place will soon disappear. And so will he.
The Grill
It's not a vacation without a grill! Not a grillable item is in sight, though, so you'll have to rely on what you can bring out of Panorama. Some of the visiting drifters will pitch in to share, unloading hotdogs (some synthetic, others authentic, and some far past expiry), burger patties (same) and buns, and "kebabs" made of blocky frozen vegetable squares. The squares vaguely resemble corn, mushrooms, and pineapple. The texture is passable, like a flavor-infused block of tofu.
Fire up the grill and take turns grilling. You'll also have to manage the propane. The grill's also prone to sputtering out, requiring regular minor repairs to get it back up and going. Any loose bolts or screws can be taken out of the dead androids to replace the rusty ones in the grill. You're unsure if you should feel uncomfortable doing that or what, but it is a solution.
Parking Woes
Like any crowded event, the parking lot can get chaotic, and the lawlessness of the diffusion zones doesn't help. While some are happy to help barbecue, others are more interested in picking fights over who got to the parking space first. It won't take much for a fistfight to break out, and a knife fight isn't out of the question, either, though nobody'll be killed (this time).
You can let the troublemakers beat each other, or you can try to intervene if somebody who doesn't deserve it is getting harassed. Just avoid causing too much of a scene. Breaking noses is acceptable; gutting someone head to toe is not. There are Enforcers visiting the zone, and if you interfere with their nice pool time, they won't hesitate to haul away everybody involved and make you sit in jail for a few days.
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thediadem) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diademlogs2025-06-08 10:11 am
no subject
( eliot's own mouth twitches, corners turning up, but he's not paying all too close attention to what he's actually saying. no something about the way the guy moved caught his attention and now that he's looking he can see it now— in his haircut, the style, the length of it, in the way he balances his weight in his seat. maybe this is the real reason why he's sitting by the pool at a resort in an ostentatiously white suit; most CIA—ex or not—don't like to draw attention to themselves like that.
eliot reaches across the counter once more for the tongs speared into the basin of ice. drops two cubes into marc's newly liberated glass, and then, with a twist of his wrist, he opens the whiskey and pours it with the kind of flourish one might see at one of those rich hotel bars. his own glass his filled with much less fanfare. )
Cheers. ( said with a tilt of his glass in marc's direction. and then, because eliot has already met one guy spook-adjacent and is starting to wonder if there's something in the water: ) So the Marines and the CIA were a long time ago for you but you're obviously still in the game. How does the suit fit into all of this?
no subject
and so his brows knit together, a tight frown interrupting the almost-frown that typically serves as marc's default expression. the corners of his mouth quirk into a quick, unhappy curve down as he very pointedly, very deliberately, gives eliot a once-over. it's searching, almost weighted, as if marc's trying to place eliot, as if he's trying to decide how displeased he should feel by the immediacy of the (correct) assertion.
abruptly, then, he thinks of the profile, the asshole the committee had hired in their attempt to get a leg over on moon knight, and wonders if they're any relation. )
I spent a lot of time in hot countries, ( he answers, though it's not to the question eliot's asked. it's back to that you only have your own bad taste, but the two aren't entirely unrelated. if eliot's that quick, marc's sure he'll piece it together — iraq, probably, based on his age, not that it's a reliable tell with the way here works. the broader middle east. south america. north and east africa. ) Always preferred vodka, ( he adds, before finally raising his glass and tilting it towards eliot in loose reciprocation of his cheers.
then he shifts his weight, a deliberate opening of his body, and he gestures at himself with a hand, the tiniest of wry smiles sitting in the curve of his lips. it's almost like there's a joke there, one that only marc's in on. it's a contrast to the utterly serious way he says— )
These days, I'm a priest. ( there's a dry, silent 'can't you tell?' hitched to the statement. )
no subject
( could refer to the drink, could refer to the fact that the guy has a preference for vodka. either way it's said a little incredulously, mostly because he gets the feeling he's supposed to disregard it. it obviously meant something, more than just a sarcastic throwaway to tell him to back off. and, eliot notes, he didn't deny still being in the game either.
he takes a sip of his drink.
not a face eliot remembers though; not from the time he also spent in hot countries and not from the lines of work he ended up in afterwards. all things considered that could be good news but eliot's luck has never been all that great.
he takes another sip, considering this ex-marine, ex-spook, ex-mercenary priest, and then nods to him: ) Got a prayer or two for me, padre?
no subject
it's complicated, in short, the memory of reciting the shema before (apparent) death burning hot in his thoughts, even as he points out, ) Men of the cloth are still men.
( fallible. human. marc might be a man dedicated to a god, but he's not a man of faith, not in the ways that 'priest' implies, and he's aware of his misstep with regards to eliot, even if he's not quite certain of how to redraw the outlines of his meaning. his faith, such as it is, is to a god he'd made a point of proclaiming as silent, as indifferent, as one who'd abandoned his people, but it's not the one he proclaims himself a priest of.
there's a difference between that, between the covenant his father had held, and the debt he owes to khonshu. it's not eliot's fault that he's inadvertently pushed open the door to a conversation marc is disinclined and ill-equipped to hold.
he doesn't sip his drink, he just holds his gaze, level, firm. ) Prayer isn't absolution. ( it's an assumption in kind. ) It doesn't absolve you. ( a beat, pointed. ) What are you actually asking for?
no subject
There's no absolution for people like me.
( a statement of fact, and one he came to terms with a long time ago. he might go out again and again and again, a weapon finally in the service of something good, but he's under no illusions that he might be able to wipe his slate clean by doing so. he just doesn't know any other way to be. same way he doesn't think there's any god out there that can help him. no other way out but through.
absolution. he wonders if that's what mr. ex marine ex spook ex merc has been searching for. he certainly sounds like he got his answers the hard way.
and, it certainly sounds like eliot has crossed a line somewhere. he'll freely admit that he was fishing a little with that padre, so he shouldn't be too surprised at what decided to bite. eliot makes sure his own gaze has a little give to it as they meet, letting his shoulders ease, fingers tapping idly on the counter. )
And truth be told, I'm just being nosy. Ex marine, ex CIA, ex merc... those kinds of guys only come in a couple of flavours. I'm just figuring out which one.
no subject
marc knows what eliot means, though maybe they've delineated the flavours in slightly different ways. there are those that enjoy causing pain, and marc's rarely got along with those; there are the men like jean-paul, who like piecing together solutions, who enjoy stumbling upon a problem and putting it back together in a way that makes sense as best they can, and then there are men like marc, the ones that are the problem, and who don't know any other way to be.
even in his youth, marc had a problem with authority, but he'd been able to push it to one side long enough to enlist, had been able to ignore his conscience long enough to fall in with men like raul bushman, who didn't care so long as they were paid and they had their egos stroked. for marc, it'd always been about the push-and-pull of pain, of feeling alive, and to begin with, it hadn't mattered which side of the line he'd been on, as long as he'd felt satisfied.
raul might have been the worst of them, but marc's under no illusions that anyone else would've made any distinctions between them. )
I was taught that a man's judged by his deeds and nothing else.
( it's easy, lacking in judgement. his gaze drops to eliot's fingers, the tap-tap, a one-two before he adds, almost testing— )
What flavour does ghost come in?
no subject
—and then stops for a beat, two, fingers stuttering in their rhythm against the bar top. )
Ghost? ( he pauses for a second, as though analysing the word from all possible angles ) Never heard of them.
( the words themselves might sound more like an admission of truth. a sort of wink-wink-nudge-nudge no of course i've never heard of ghost, except eliot sounds genuinely confused. )