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HERE, HAVE SOME SPIRIT
Dec. 1st, 2020 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piper90npcsWho: Three Ghosts and the little New Hires
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
( Read more... )
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
( Read more... )
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
Keeping Watch
Sep. 27th, 2020 02:33 amgarmrWho: Everyone who signed up + YOU?
What: Guard Duty
Where: Infirmary and Living Quarters
When: Soon after Setsuna and Tenten were attacked; this will last the duration of the murderplot
Warnings/Notes: References to the attack and its aftermath.
( Read more... )
What: Guard Duty
Where: Infirmary and Living Quarters
When: Soon after Setsuna and Tenten were attacked; this will last the duration of the murderplot
Warnings/Notes: References to the attack and its aftermath.
( Read more... )
Building A Community
Aug. 30th, 2020 12:08 ampiper90npcsWho: Everyone
What: Enforced Fun
Where: The Rig
When: Eh.
Warnings/Notes: War is grim.
( Well, this promises to be a good time. )
[[Exactly as stated, if you don't have your ID, your gun won't fire. If you scavenge someone else's gun, you can fire that at will. They won't count hits on something like shields or, say, a clear, easily peeled off wrapping, as a hit, but they will count hits on clothes or armor. There is the option of forming alliances and teams, linking your comm devices. Jorgmund hasn't revealed this, at least not to the New Hires, but friendly fire is impossible if you're on a team.
It's not just paintballs. Tucked throughout the facility, where they've never been around before, are spray cans, buckets of paint, brushes, and other supplies. All of these will count as a kill as well.]]>
What: Enforced Fun
Where: The Rig
When: Eh.
Warnings/Notes: War is grim.
( Well, this promises to be a good time. )
[[Exactly as stated, if you don't have your ID, your gun won't fire. If you scavenge someone else's gun, you can fire that at will. They won't count hits on something like shields or, say, a clear, easily peeled off wrapping, as a hit, but they will count hits on clothes or armor. There is the option of forming alliances and teams, linking your comm devices. Jorgmund hasn't revealed this, at least not to the New Hires, but friendly fire is impossible if you're on a team.
It's not just paintballs. Tucked throughout the facility, where they've never been around before, are spray cans, buckets of paint, brushes, and other supplies. All of these will count as a kill as well.]]>
INTERMISSION
Aug. 6th, 2020 08:59 pmpiper90npcsWho: Everyone
What: Sudden Plot Break
Where: The Rig
When: Post-Pathless Woods 2
Warnings/Notes: n/a
The world... glitches. The last second repeats itself once, twice, four times, and then the colors stretch and blur, like an old television set that's losing the signal. Then everything goes black.
And suddenly, light. Bright, glaring. The smells rush back, the harsh bleach anti-septic of the Rig. And the noises are almost painful as total silence slams back into the normal workings of Piper 90.
Blinking owlishly, surprised and looking a little uncertain, is a middle-management type. His suit doesn't quite fit, half a size too large, and he's used too much hairspray. Or maybe that's just cologne. Either way, he smiles brightly. "Well, welcome back! Well done and congratulations on the success of your missions. We had some drones at a safe distance, purely for security reasons of course, and we were very pleased with how you handled yourselves. Especially the way you, uh." He pauses and checks his clipboard. The bit he wants to reference is just a smear of ink, the printer must have had an accident of some kind. The best he can read is... "Benedicted that whole cumberbatch issue."
There. He beams, pleased with his translation. It makes no sense, but if he pretends it does, then maybe they won't ask questions.
"Now, we're certain you've had a rough day doing... that thing that you did. So we've authorized an extra serving of dessert for everyone and the rest of today off. You have half of tomorrow off, too. But don't worry about the working half! I'm told that Mister Planker has a special reward in store, so it'll practically be a full vacation day for you!"
What: Sudden Plot Break
Where: The Rig
When: Post-Pathless Woods 2
Warnings/Notes: n/a
The world... glitches. The last second repeats itself once, twice, four times, and then the colors stretch and blur, like an old television set that's losing the signal. Then everything goes black.
And suddenly, light. Bright, glaring. The smells rush back, the harsh bleach anti-septic of the Rig. And the noises are almost painful as total silence slams back into the normal workings of Piper 90.
Blinking owlishly, surprised and looking a little uncertain, is a middle-management type. His suit doesn't quite fit, half a size too large, and he's used too much hairspray. Or maybe that's just cologne. Either way, he smiles brightly. "Well, welcome back! Well done and congratulations on the success of your missions. We had some drones at a safe distance, purely for security reasons of course, and we were very pleased with how you handled yourselves. Especially the way you, uh." He pauses and checks his clipboard. The bit he wants to reference is just a smear of ink, the printer must have had an accident of some kind. The best he can read is... "Benedicted that whole cumberbatch issue."
There. He beams, pleased with his translation. It makes no sense, but if he pretends it does, then maybe they won't ask questions.
"Now, we're certain you've had a rough day doing... that thing that you did. So we've authorized an extra serving of dessert for everyone and the rest of today off. You have half of tomorrow off, too. But don't worry about the working half! I'm told that Mister Planker has a special reward in store, so it'll practically be a full vacation day for you!"
71linesWho: Catra, Dave, and Tenten
What: Late night kitchen shenanigans!
Where: The Rig's cafeteria
When: Weh
Warnings/Notes: I mean, Dave's involved, so there oughta be something here.
Tenten had meant to do a bit of recon. She really had. But her free time had been eaten up by extra chores, a result of an unfortunate incident where she'd managed to throw a rather swollen Stuff-body into a group of middle-managers having a smoke break. They didn't appreciate the splatter zone, so she'd been stuck out there for the past two days, doing more grunt work than anything else. Really, she just wants to sleep.
But she'd told Catra "One or two nights" and there they were.
She'd mentioned to Catra to be ready beforehand, she didn't want to wake up Setsuna by accident, and now they were wandering the dark halls at night. Tenten couldn't see, the light levels were just too low even if she used chakra, but she'd already memorized the way there. Just about two more turns and then they could worry about finding a way from the cafeteria into the kitchen.
...Wait, was that the glow of the mess lights on 'low' there?
What: Late night kitchen shenanigans!
Where: The Rig's cafeteria
When: Weh
Warnings/Notes: I mean, Dave's involved, so there oughta be something here.
Tenten had meant to do a bit of recon. She really had. But her free time had been eaten up by extra chores, a result of an unfortunate incident where she'd managed to throw a rather swollen Stuff-body into a group of middle-managers having a smoke break. They didn't appreciate the splatter zone, so she'd been stuck out there for the past two days, doing more grunt work than anything else. Really, she just wants to sleep.
But she'd told Catra "One or two nights" and there they were.
She'd mentioned to Catra to be ready beforehand, she didn't want to wake up Setsuna by accident, and now they were wandering the dark halls at night. Tenten couldn't see, the light levels were just too low even if she used chakra, but she'd already memorized the way there. Just about two more turns and then they could worry about finding a way from the cafeteria into the kitchen.
...Wait, was that the glow of the mess lights on 'low' there?
"Training" [open]
May. 5th, 2020 07:05 pmpiper90npcsWho: Lubitsch and anyone
What: NPC question-asking
Where: The Training Gym
When: A few days into their captivity, after the sheetcake meetup.
Warnings/Notes: cw: suicide/war violence in the thread with Saturday, forgot to put the cw: in the comment subject. Also, feel free to go with action or prose and I'll match.
[It is days before they can get Lubitsch to actually do his damn job. After one excuse after another and a faked ass injury "however can I train when I've pulled a glute?" he's finally hit the impenatrable wall of "or else," and so here he is, finally in to start picking up his schedule rotation.]
[He looks at them all, milling about the training area like a lot of superpowered arseholes and the fact that they're one thin shock collar away from tearing the walls down like tissue paper is not lost on him. It inspires the same feelings you have when seeing some majestic beast of the savanna, night-stalking terror of all that prances, in a small cage in a road-side zoo. ("And over here we have the Unfraggable Crunk, the strongest there is...and for $450 you can get a picture of him being patted on the head by your small, sticky child.")]
[Some terrible, unfunny cosmic joke, this whole thing. They should all be off in other universes fighting zombies or charming small creatures or starring in crashing, loud, summer popcorn flicks, what a fucking waste.]
[After being deposited at the door by two guards, the British soldier stomps in. He has a soldier's bearing, shoulders up, body liquid and stiff all at once. He looks like he's in his mid to late twenties, but the sour expression makes him look older. He takes on a drill sergeant's voice, in mimicry of a highly respected drill sergeant he once knew, as he yells loudly:]
Alright, you bumholes, listen up! As of this moment, the time to knit doilies and play with dollies is officially over! You thought Planker was bad? Well you're dead fucking wrong, you puke-faced, snot-nosed -
[And he goes back to the door, still shouting.]
- gurgling infants, and today is the day you maggots learn to stop dribbling all over yourselves -
[He peeps his head outside.]
- because I will beat the weakness out of - oh thank fuck, the guards are gone. [His tone immediately changes to be far more genial. Quiet. Even a little gentle, despite the salty language that follows. His shoulders relax.] And here I was worried that when I did this Jorgmund would have their hand so far up my arse it'd make a Muppet blush.
[Far calmer, far more reasonable he says:]
Seeing as they're a bunch of arseholes in a trenchcoat standing on each other's shoulders and pretending to be human, you can expect them to try to stop up every meat grinder they see with your bloody corpses, so if any of you need actual training you can't get from each other, I'm willing to do it. Black ops, firearms, melee weapons, hand to hand blah blah and fucking blah, I've done it -- during the apocalypse, I might add - and I can maybe teach it. Maybe.
Don't actually know, haven't tried, but unlike some small-dicked gorillas I don't need to name I can probably teach it with actual instructions and without screaming my head off, which is automatically a step up.
But if not, I'm going to fuck off on company time and do absolutely nothing.
[He gives them a big enthusiastic thumbs up at that, then pulls out a comic book hidden in a pocket of his black cargo pants, climbs up on some stacked gym mats, kicks up his legs, and starts reading. If any of them ask questions, he won't stop reading, but he will at least answer. And if they ask for help with training, he might actually give it. And he won't suck as bad as Planker.]
What: NPC question-asking
Where: The Training Gym
When: A few days into their captivity, after the sheetcake meetup.
Warnings/Notes: cw: suicide/war violence in the thread with Saturday, forgot to put the cw: in the comment subject. Also, feel free to go with action or prose and I'll match.
[It is days before they can get Lubitsch to actually do his damn job. After one excuse after another and a faked ass injury "however can I train when I've pulled a glute?" he's finally hit the impenatrable wall of "or else," and so here he is, finally in to start picking up his schedule rotation.]
[He looks at them all, milling about the training area like a lot of superpowered arseholes and the fact that they're one thin shock collar away from tearing the walls down like tissue paper is not lost on him. It inspires the same feelings you have when seeing some majestic beast of the savanna, night-stalking terror of all that prances, in a small cage in a road-side zoo. ("And over here we have the Unfraggable Crunk, the strongest there is...and for $450 you can get a picture of him being patted on the head by your small, sticky child.")]
[Some terrible, unfunny cosmic joke, this whole thing. They should all be off in other universes fighting zombies or charming small creatures or starring in crashing, loud, summer popcorn flicks, what a fucking waste.]
[After being deposited at the door by two guards, the British soldier stomps in. He has a soldier's bearing, shoulders up, body liquid and stiff all at once. He looks like he's in his mid to late twenties, but the sour expression makes him look older. He takes on a drill sergeant's voice, in mimicry of a highly respected drill sergeant he once knew, as he yells loudly:]
Alright, you bumholes, listen up! As of this moment, the time to knit doilies and play with dollies is officially over! You thought Planker was bad? Well you're dead fucking wrong, you puke-faced, snot-nosed -
[And he goes back to the door, still shouting.]
- gurgling infants, and today is the day you maggots learn to stop dribbling all over yourselves -
[He peeps his head outside.]
- because I will beat the weakness out of - oh thank fuck, the guards are gone. [His tone immediately changes to be far more genial. Quiet. Even a little gentle, despite the salty language that follows. His shoulders relax.] And here I was worried that when I did this Jorgmund would have their hand so far up my arse it'd make a Muppet blush.
[Far calmer, far more reasonable he says:]
Seeing as they're a bunch of arseholes in a trenchcoat standing on each other's shoulders and pretending to be human, you can expect them to try to stop up every meat grinder they see with your bloody corpses, so if any of you need actual training you can't get from each other, I'm willing to do it. Black ops, firearms, melee weapons, hand to hand blah blah and fucking blah, I've done it -- during the apocalypse, I might add - and I can maybe teach it. Maybe.
Don't actually know, haven't tried, but unlike some small-dicked gorillas I don't need to name I can probably teach it with actual instructions and without screaming my head off, which is automatically a step up.
But if not, I'm going to fuck off on company time and do absolutely nothing.
[He gives them a big enthusiastic thumbs up at that, then pulls out a comic book hidden in a pocket of his black cargo pants, climbs up on some stacked gym mats, kicks up his legs, and starts reading. If any of them ask questions, he won't stop reading, but he will at least answer. And if they ask for help with training, he might actually give it. And he won't suck as bad as Planker.]
SHEETCAKE PARTY #1
Apr. 17th, 2020 08:20 pmgoneawaymod
SHEET CAKE MEETUP
“Who the fuck is Linda?”
The question pops up every few minutes, a little tack of punctuation above the offensively-inoffensive music being piped in*. The room the hires have been ushered into is clearly just a conference room, with a layout that requires either sitting at awkwardly-spaced intervals around a giant table or milling and scooting around the smaller folding table, where the “big surprise” the corporate officers promised them is on display: a sheet cake.
A sheet cake that that still bears HAPPY BIRTH DAY LINDA in blue icing across the top, although someone has, at least, gone to the effort of writing welcome, to the team new hires in Sharpie on a purple flashcard and used a Popsicle stick and tape to plant it like a dismal flag right in the middle of Linda’s “DAY”. Dedication aside, the cake itself looks pretty suspect too, not as if it were poisoned but more like if it were salvaged. The cake part looks dry, and the frosting seems strangely...sweaty. No one’s eating yet, and yet there’s already a piece missing.
However, there’s no lack of enthusiasm around the room. A projector hooked up to a laptop casts an off-center, warped rectangle of WELCOME TO, THE BEST TEAM. NEW HIRES!! onto a wall. The many paper plates have a festive print, although they all seem to be Christmas themed. The table cloth looks as if it came from both 4th of July and potentially a war, given the scuffs and tears. The shot-glass sized paper cups are inadequate to hold a satisfying amount of sparkling cider, but at least they don’t leak. There are many more plastic knives than forks, which could prompt some hires to give in to their animal instincts and just use their hands, or perhaps start a barter economy for the better utensils.
“I’m so jealous,” a corporate employee keeps saying as she ushers hires into the room. “We haven’t had a good party in this office since Kelly’s baby shower, and that little girl practically has teeth now!”
(An eagle-eyed hire may suspect that the box of donuts next to the sheet cake might have come from said baby shower, on account of the fact that the few stale hunks of donut remaining have Pepto-Bismol pink strawberry icing and that there’s still the paper envelope for a gift card with ITS A GIRL written on it.)
Most of corporate slips out after the hires get set up - this is clearly an event for the hires to do some “team building” and work on “rapport” in addition to filling their bellies with cake that tastes remarkably like sand. There’s a karaoke machine in the corner, but hires are instructed not to touch it because, as an employee points out, last year’s Christmas party demonstrated that karaoke is the worst thing in the entire world for morale (“in any world! even before this one got eaten away by the bombs!”).
There’s an additional big glass jar filled with scraps of paper, which the hires are informed are filled with prompts for ice breakers and activities in case the party needs a pick-me-up. Any hire who investigates will find that most of the ice breaker activities start with three benign questions (“what’s your name?” “where are you from?” “what’s your favorite animal?”) and somehow, always a fourth question that feels a little invasive (“what are your feelings on unions?” “under what circumstances would you kill an innocent person?” “do you use the same passwords for all your accounts?”).
“Please enjoy yourselves and all the desserts Jorgmund has generously supplied you with,” one of the employees says on her way out, “and don’t worry about making a mess, janitorial gets paid too much to sit around as is.”
*All music that can be summarized as ’grocerycore’.
