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
never annoying!!
Jesse straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, eyes dragging briefly past Jack to the pool lit by artificial underwater glow, then upward to the moons - one familiar, one strange. It makes his stomach twist in that quiet, uneasy way this place always does. The way everything feels almost right. Almost safe. Almost real. But not quite. He wonders how long it'll take before the seams start to split.
Jack's voice pulls him back. That genuine warmth, like he really means it. Like he's not just making small talk while waiting for his weird tofu-meat-stick to char. Jesse isn't used to that earnestness. It makes him fidget, running a hand through his disheveled hair before rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous tic. Not because Jack makes him uncomfortable - he doesn't. Jesse is just still not sure how to have normal social interactions. Because it's been so long since he's needed to. Most of his interactions are transactional. Or used to be. He's had to start over before, but it was never like this. ]
Hey, man. Thanks. It was mostly just guesswork. Y'know, fiddle with it 'til you figure it out. If all else fails, a swift kick usually gets things started. Or yelling. Yelling at shit works, too. Grill didn't explode though, so I'm countin' it as a win.
[ He looks toward the nearby lounge chair where his hoodie lies slumped like a person who's given up. The androids haven't moved, but he still keeps his eye on them, just in case. Something about them definitely feels off. Jesse looks back to Jack, and something in him eases. Jack's presence cuts through the static in Jesse's chest like a clear station on the radio. Like maybe the night won't unravel just yet. It's good to see a familiar face. ]
You hungry? [ He gestures toward the grill, where the fire is finally catching right. ] There's, uh, hot dogs. Or things pretending to be hot dogs...I think.
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Jesse also has a way of calming him too. It's the way he doesn't look at Jack with fear despite having seen him use his power. It makes him deeply afraid in a way, that someday he might ruin that. Having something to lose is the trade-off for gaining a connection of value. But maybe he could do better this time.
He likes the setting and the sky, it's beautiful and different. Jack loves new experiences, they change his mindset each time he's caught in them. It creates optimism, that things can be new for the right reasons. He listens to Jesse explain how he fixed it. ]
Yelling at it fixes it? Does yelling have mechanical properties?
[ After a beat, Jack understands and looks sheepish. ]
Oh, you were joking. It's funny!
[ Jack doesn't have much of a sense of humor, it's just not something that has developed naturally over his short life. He takes things very literally. It doesn't help that two of his three fathers are very serious as well, so Dean's sarcasm is what he knows best when it comes to kidding. One of these days he'll learn how to laugh. ]
Yes, please. I don't eat much but I like hot dogs.
[ They don't get to do grilling so it's normally at stands. He does look a little perplexed as he sees the hot dogs in question. He doesn't think they're regular meat, but maybe that could be good. ]
I am glad to see you. [ He's terribly earnest. ] Are you feeling okay after the accident? I know sometimes human injuries can show themselves later.
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Yellin' definitely helps, man. [ Jesse flicks a grin in Jack's direction, but it doesn't quite hide the fact that his fingers are trembling from more than just the heat. ] If the machine's a stubborn bastard, you gotta out-stubborn it. Talk dirty to it. Threaten its bolts.
[ Jack takes it seriously at first, and then realizes, and then says it's funny. Jesse's heart folds a little, like paper under pressure. It's not mockery, not even close. It's endearing. The kind of honesty that slices right through the layers Jesse usually builds around himself like insulation. He plucks a couple of the suspicious hot dogs up with a pair of tongs and sets them down on the grill, where they sizzle like they've got something to prove. Smoke curls up around them like stage fog.
When Jack says he’s glad to see him with no hesitation, like it's a fact of the world that can't be argued, Jesse glances sideways. It stings a little, in that good, confusing way. Like pressing a bruise just to see if it still hurts. He doesn't answer right away. Just watches the hot dogs curl and hiss, flipping them once with an unnecessary level of care. ]
Yeah, you too. I'm uh, I'm good. [ He responds automatically, then catches himself and softens it with a huff of honesty. ] The fender-bender? That was nothin'. Just a dent and a ditch. You pullin' my van outta there was the highlight of my week, not gonna lie.
[ He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, flexes his shoulder like it's still stiff. ] But, uh... most of this? [ He gestures vaguely toward himself, the half-hidden bruises on his face, the band of ache across his ribs. ] This was already on me. Arrival kinda roughed me up. And before that... [ He trails off with a vague hand-wave, like the rest doesn't need to be said. Like Spooge and his batshit girlfriend who pistol-whipped him with his own gun are better left buried. ] I'll live. Ain't the first time I been busted up. Probably won't be the last.
[ He pokes at the hot dog with the tongs, satisfied by the hiss it makes. ] You want mustard, ketchup, or you one of those freaks who eats it plain?
no subject
[ Jack repeats and this time he does laugh. It's not a forced sound but it's clearly a rare one, like something brand new rattling in his chest. It's brief too, a quick sound, and he looks shy afterward, hesitant, like he's not sure if he did that correctly. Sometimes he's laughed with his family but it's usually him mirroring them, finding amusement in the same things they do. Or when he used to make illusions for the children in Apocalypse World, giving them moments of glee between the nightmares. It's more a monkey see, monkey do situation for him, so this is an attempt at a version of his own.
It feels unnatural but not in a bad way. He just wants to be normal and fit in. Jesse doesn't make him feel abnormal, which is rare. He knows what he is and it doesn't change how he treats Jack. He stops staring directly at him because he knows that can be strange, especially as he doesn't blink very often, and focuses instead on Jesse cooking the hot dogs. ]
Was it? [ He looks surprised. He's a highlight of someone's week. ] You can always call me if you need it again. I'll always come.
[ It sounds like it could be a vague polite assurance but for Jack it's a serious promise. He can be counted on. If Jesse was out in a quadrant and needed him, he would show up without question. Jack feels that surge of protectiveness when Jesse says he was already hurt. It's one of his strongest drives, a need to keep others safe, and he doesn't like that people hurt his new friend. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing slightly. ]
It won't happen again. I won't let anyone hurt you. If they try, they'll regret it.
[ Jesse saw Jack lift a car like it's nothing, so he has some idea of what he's dealing with, but angels have a long list of powers. And Jack blows the rest of them out of the water. Even he doesn't know how many things he can do, so much of it has been instinct, so tomorrow he could discover an entire new set of abilities.
He goes from his gentle and soft self to someone made of steel in that moment, and it would unsettle someone if they were on the receiving end of that sort of intensity. Most people think of him as harmless, but they can all sense the moment that Jack isn't. An animal instinct of some kind sets in, an underlining warning that they are in serious danger from an unexpected source.
And then it's gone, smoothed out, back to his kind self and he picks up the mustard and ketchup. ]
Both. I love strong tastes. Angels have a strange sense of taste, I'm lucky to be more human there.
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He doesn't say anything right away. Just flips one of the hot dogs over again, watching the skin blister and crisp. There's grease crackling at the edges and smoke that smells like memory: cheap barbecues and late summers, a plastic chair creaking under his weight while his aunt Ginny yelled at the neighbor's dog for trying to steal buns.
Jack's voice cuts through that like a blade made of soft light. You can always call me. I'll always come. Jesse blinks. He doesn't look directly at Jack when he says it, because something in his chest's already gone too soft. Like the heat from the grill settled into the center of his ribcage. He can't remember the last time someone said that and meant it. Maybe Combo, once. Maybe Jane, almost. Maybe no one. The grill pops, snapping him back. Jesse clears his throat, nudging one of the weird hot dogs with the tongs. ]
Shit, man. You sure you're not a superhero?
[ It's not mocking. Not even teasing. There's something else under the words. Not quite awe, nor doubt, but more just trying to make sense of it all. Trying to make sense of Jack and the way he acts like being kind isn't a gamble; like it doesn't cost him anything. Jesse doesn't fully trust it yet, but he wants to, and that scares him a little. He hands Jack a plate with the most edible-looking hot dog of the bunch, then moves to fix one for himself, slowly and methodically, because it gives his hands something to do.
Jack's intensity when he says 'they'll regret it' hits him sideways. Jesse doesn’t react outwardly aside from pausing in the middle of assembling his food. But yeah, he saw that strength before. Saw how the kid lifted the van like it was nothing. Whatever Jack's packing, Jesse knows it's not 'normal'. Probably not entirely safe, either. But the weirdest part about it is that Jesse doesn't feel afraid. Not at all. He passes Jack a ketchup bottle without speaking, then squeezes mustard onto his own with way too much focus. He finally glances over again, voice quieter now. ]
You, uh...you don't gotta protect me, man. I mean...it's cool that you want to, don't get me wrong. Just. Don't burn the world down for me.
[ He says it lightly, but there's something in his tone that says he's seen too many fires started over less. It says maybe he's already been someone's reason for doing something they couldn't take back. He takes a bite, chews, and swallows, then looks out at the pool and the shifting crowd. The hum of the resort buzzes in his ears like a radio between stations. He feels like he's standing on the edge of something, and then he grins, suddenly changing the subject, shifting focus. Deflecting. He's always been good at that. ]
Yo, this might be the weirdest cookout I've ever been to. And that includes the one time my boy Badger tried to grill frozen pizza on a shopping cart. What about you - been to a lot of barbecues where you're from?
[ He tries to lighten the mood, tries on optimism for size, like maybe this night won't turn sour after all. It's still a foreign feeling for a guy used to everything possible in his life going wrong. Maybe having a friend at his side, even someone half-celestial in half-damp jeans, isn't the worst thing to happen to him lately. Maybe he could get used to this. Being here. ]
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He's always what other people project. Not Jack Kline, a person as well as a Nephilim. He likes the way Jesse looks at him, even if it's through a side glance, there's no fear in it, no calculation. He trusts that he has no interest in using him. If anything, he calls him a superhero, and Jack feels pride in his chest about the comparison. That he could be seen as someone truly good and heroic. It makes him sad though too, because he isn't. ]
No, I'm not good enough for that. But I strive to be.
[ If he tries hard, if he strips away all his flaws, he could be. What he can do is fight and kill and protect, and try to make certain it's all the right reasons. Don't burn the world down for me, Jesse says, and Jack flinches. He wouldn't know why it unsettles him, because Jack could. If his temper pivots and his need to protect shines through, he could turn the world on its axis and burn targets where they stand. You hurt my friends, Jack snarled at Michael once, and he broke his vessel into pieces, bleeding from the eyes, he turned an archangel helpless with a roll of his fingers into a fist. ]
I wouldn't. [ He says softly. And it's almost there in his tone. Not again. ] But you're ... I would stop them, that's all.
[ You're my friend, he almost says, but realizes that's presumptuous. And just him being desperate for it. Jack knows that Jesse is changing the subject, he's not that oblivious, and he shifts from that intensity. He doesn't know how to be light right away so he tries not to take it so seriously. ]
No, this is my first one. I did expect it to have barbecue food though, is that weird? It's just that Kansas City is famous for it, and even in my small town of Kansas, everyone's proud of it.
[ This isn't to insult what Jesse has made, it's just in his head that the sauce everyone slathers on everything seems like it would have to go with the grill. They don't have the option here but he's always had that sort of food made for him, not physically been standing at one. ]
no subject
Hey. Listen.
[ His voice is quieter now, edged with something more real than he's used to showing; not soft, but stripped back. Just him. ]
You don't gotta be good enough, alright? You just gotta be. Ain't about bein' perfect. Or some symbol. Or whatever other heavy-ass shit people try to throw on your back. You showed up. That's more than most people ever do. For me, anyways.
[ A shrug. Nonchalant, like maybe it didn't cost him something to say that. Like his throat didn't just tighten a little over the fact that Jack's already had his back more than anybody did back home, even people he'd known since elementary school. He wipes his hand off on a napkin, then taps the edge of the plate with his finger, more out of habit than anything else. The motion keeps his hands busy. Keeps the nerves from getting loud. ]
Barbecue, though. Kansas City folk take that shit serious. Like, religious serious. Where I'm from, out in New Mexico, it's all about red or green. Chili, I mean. Not like, hot dog chili. Actual chili, like made from chile peppers. Sauce on damn near everything. Breakfast burritos, burgers, pizza, I even seen it on spaghetti once. Shit's sacred.
[ His tone is light, but there's a thread of fondness under it. A kind of homesick warmth. He hasn't talked much about home since he got here. Too many burned bridges between him and Albuquerque. But Jack pulls it out of him without trying, like gravity working in reverse, like instead of weighing him down, it lifts something. He glances up, smirking now, trying to flick the switch from vulnerable to teasing, like someone ducking under a wave at the last second. He doesn't want to get too sentimental--doesn't know how to be that and not crack open--but for a second there, he let it show. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's what trust looks like. He reaches out absently and flicks at the side of the tofu with the tongs again, mostly to give his hand something to do. It collapses like a soggy sponge, and he wrinkles his nose. ]
Okay, that's not food. That's a fuckin' war crime.
no subject
My mother, before she died she left me a message. She couldn't survive my birth. [ So Jack killed her. He hates himself for that. ] She said that I shouldn't let anyone tell me who I'm supposed to be. She said I could choose. And I wanted to believe that, but I'm not always sure. I choose good every day. [ He is on the fence. It's too much to trust in individuality. ]
I would show up. You are struggling with the same things I am, I can see it in you. I thought maybe we could be friends, if you didn't mind how different I am. But I do want you to know that I'm dangerous, so you can make an educated decision. You should know that my biological father is Lucifer, the Devil. I'm not like him but ... I know that might mean something to people who believe in Heaven and Hell.
[ It's a huge point of pain for Jack. It's haunted him since the moment he was born and told that his father was pure evil, and that he could be like him. He was only a day or two old when this was explained to him, and Jack decided then that he could prove himself not to be. It's been his cause since then, to not be Lucifer, to be the opposite of Lucifer. Still, he knows that some people think nature versus nurture is more important.
He doesn't want to fool Jesse into thinking he is naturally good, so he knows that this isn't just an average angel. Most people do trust angels (they shouldn't), so his identity matters. He clutches the plate to himself and looks down at his food instead of at Jesse. Jack doesn't want the full weight of his sad eyes and hopeful gaze make him feel one way or another, when the facts are what they are. ]
I would rather talk about chili and barbecue, but if you decide all of this is too much, I want to give you the opportunity to leave.