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
A little.
So here and now, he thinks the way his shoulders loosen and drop just slightly, the way the guy next to him doesn't quite smile and that feels familiar — it's all kinda...easy. Like a rhythm. That way you come down from a float and let out a breath. It's good, he thinks.
He hasn't really needed or cared to keep up interacting with the people he's met here so far. He's had a few he's thought about more than once since they parted, but not enough that he felt compelled to try looking up their number and check on them. His normal state of being is just doing his own thing, which — isn't good for him for too long, he knows that. And without the influence of his crew here, he's aware he needs — well, some people, anyway. For the moment, it might as well be the guy decked out like he's about to show up to a gala, the guy that's so far easy to talk to.
With the index finger of his left hand, Amos taps the bartop once, twice, and almost-but-not-quite smirks, casting a sidelong glance to him as he tilts his head slightly. ]
Nah, see, you say it like that, now we gotta find out. [ We, because seemingly — at least for the duration of time they're occupying this space together, the guy next to him is his ride-along in this boozy little misadventure. Come on, man, it's better than that melting ice, right? At least it's a — flavor. Of some sort. If not actually a good one, or a good time.
Is Amos fucking with him, though? Also remains to be seen.
Their robot buddy seems to just be — staring(?) at the umbrellas on the ground. Did the thing short circuit, what the fuck —
Wordlessly, Amos gets up from his seat, goes around to the other side of the bar, starts to pick up the umbrellas. Completely inelegant about it, though; he just scoops the bunch of them up between his hands, drops them into the trash, all except one. A little blue-and-white one that he sets down in front of the seat he'd been occupying. He taps Thomas' metallic shoulder, and it seems to jostle something enough that it starts moving again, down to the other end of the bar to wipe it clean with a dry cloth. Amos kneels and starts to look at the bottles there, a slight clanging echoing between them as he moves some around. When he stands up, he's got a bottle in his hand, showing it off. ]
Thomas doesn't know it yet but he's gonna make it up to me and send me back to the city with this bottle of tequila. So what's your drink? You know — the real stuff, not the filler.
[ He grabs another glass, an empty one. ]
And ain't you dyin' in that suit?
[ Least they ain't in the full view of the sun. ]
no subject
Funny. I thought I was dressed to kill, not to die.
( it's dry, dismissive in its own way, and though it's likely not evident what marc means by it entirely, it is clear it's not quite as simple as all that — at least, there'd likely be less of a sliver of the ghost of humour.
with that said, the utterance hanging between them for longer than's strictly necessary, marc's attention flickers back to the bottle amos had picked up, then to the wall of bottles behind him. in the immediate, he wouldn't describe amos as having an easy manner to him, but there are parts of how he holds himself, parts of the (almost) back-and-forth they've fallen into that reminds him of soldier. it's a thought he notes and places to one side, to return to only if it ends up proving relevant. maybe — maybe — with a touch of jean-paul's humour, from before he'd had enough of marc's shit. it's there in the remark about we gotta find out, and the thomas doesn't know it, only it's less—
—french. )
I've spent a lot of time in hot countries, ( he adds as an addendum, almost distracted as he shifts his weight to stand and lean over the bar, eyes scanning the bottles a little more intently than he had previously. he knows this isn't the same thing, the two moons are evident enough of that, but that doesn't change the way the heat feels, the way his shirt sticks to him, the mugginess or the humidity. fortunately, he's had a lot of practise at pretending it doesn't matter and he hasn't noticed.
as if to say 'and so', he follows the remark up with— ) Vodka.
( his gaze flickers to the umbrella amos had placed down, then to thomas, then back to amos. thomas is no vision, that's for sure, and despite any questions marc might have about thomas, they're not what he focuses on now.
instead, it's a pointed, challenging remark aimed solely at amos, two fingers flicking towards the bottle of tequila. ) That explains a lot.
no subject
[ There is the barest hint of what could pass for an almost-smile on his own face in return. Amos doesn't consider at length what he means beyond the surface of the words, but at the same time, he doesn't need to know to respond with his own equally dry, straight-faced remark. And like everything with him, too, there's always more to it. Amos could see Marc mingling around the crowd of people like Avasarala, though he doesn't strike Amos as the type to necessarily enjoy rubbing elbows with a bunch of bureaucrats. Looking the part and being the part are worlds away.
Marc wouldn't be fully wrong to consider soldier in relation to Amos, though nothing he'd done in his past was ever through any official channels. He was muscle for the crime bosses, simple as that. Or not so simple, really. But life took a sharp left from that whole way of being.
When Marc's leaning near, it's easier to see the way that shirt's clinging to him; Jesus, whatever amount of time he's spent in hot countries like this at length, there's gotta be a better way. To himself, he considers one of the cabins where he'd seen clothes left behind, thought of doubling back later to grab a few things if any were left. One of the t-shirts he remembers seeing seems like the last thing a guy like this would ever wear, which is the whole reason he should. Mostly he'd be in it to see his reaction if he suddenly tossed it his way.
For his next move, he doesn't explain himself; rather, he takes that blue drink, pours half of it into the empty glass, follows that with tequila to fill it to the top. There's the other one now, and the guy said vodka with all seriousness, so. He's not against it, isn't even the type to question someone's choice of vodka over anything else, it's just not his choice most days.
But, alright, vodka it is. Can it make the shitty sugar drink better or worse? Well, time to find out. Maybe enough of the vodka, the rest don't matter. But Marc wanted something on the rocks, so he's not actually thinking with any true seriousness that this will be to his taste (or his own, frankly), but he's curious. Mostly because he usually just drinks something neat, doesn't do cocktails or the like. While he's here and half the drink is already made, well, give it a try, he figures. So to the other glass goes the rest of the taste of blue hell, and as much vodka as he can fit in there. And the little umbrella.
This, he pushes closer to Marc again.
But first things first. He takes his glass, brings it close, leans against the shelves behind him for a moment. ]
You gotta fill in on the a lot part.
[ It's not said as a challenge, no inflection of even the hint of defensiveness in his tone. Tequila explains something, so — go ahead. ]