piper90npcs: (Default)
[personal profile] piper90npcs
[OOC: Please tag in to the assigned room. There will be at least one NPC tag to the thread per day. Remember that your characters can still use the network to communicate findings or questions to those still in the living quarters.]

Once word is out that the victim was dragged to the Rewards Lounge, the hires who’ve been cleared head are given permission to enter that rare knock-off paradise. Somewhere along the line, someone suggests splitting into groups, an idea that gets all the more appealing when they see that the Rewards Lounge has at least five suites to investigate, perhaps in case Corporate ever decided to enlist a stable of bootlickers and snitches to feed them intel on the other hires in exchange for feather beds and middle-shelf scotch.

It becomes clear that the intelligence they got was likely correct: there are streaks of black goo along to doorframe to the lobby room between all the suites.
passifloraincarnata: (bleed my mind out)
[personal profile] passifloraincarnata
Who: Setsuna, Catra, Tenten, idk?
What: Memshare fallout, probably
Where: Setsuna and Catra's dorm, Training Area, Mess Hall
When: A few days after the memshare event?
Warnings/Notes: May feature teenage girls in various stages of emotional duress, probably sparring (potentially of dubious validity), discussion of psychological harm suffered by abusively narcissistic mentor figures and self-hatred.

catra )


---


tenten )


---


Homesickness eats at her; she goes for a jog around the accessible parts of the Rig and the pit in her stomach only grows. She enters the Mess Hall with her hair still plastered to her forehead and dark blotches of sweat sticking her shirt to her back and a mission in her heart.

Setsuna is certain this godforsaken hunk of metal has the ingredients for it, somehow, so she is going to make some omurice and she is going to eat it.

Yes. That's exactly what she's going to do. She may, however, discover she is going to have to make more of it, for more people, than she initially planned. Are you hungry for omurice? Would you like to find out?
passifloraincarnata: (a mediocre voice and song)
[personal profile] passifloraincarnata
Who: Setsuna, assorted NPCs
What: Problems Posing As Solutions
Where: The Rig
When: Set at various points before "The Mission" and after the Intermission
Warnings/Notes: May feature scientific malpractice and casual disregard for sentient nonhuman life, who knows.

[Before the Mission]

alexa )

other k )

[After the "Intermission"]

(c)

lubitsch )

(d)

boyle? )
piper90npcs: (jorgmund logo)
[personal profile] piper90npcs
Who: 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.]]>
just_rogue: (rogue-remy--sidebyside)
[personal profile] just_rogue
Who: Rogue and open
What: Someone is having a birthday and there is cake
Where: The Mess
When: August 26
Warnings/Notes: Not gluten free?

Free Cake! This one is not a lie )
heterochrocatic: (024 » To piss off the dumb few that forg)
[personal profile] heterochrocatic
Who: Catra, Setsuna, Richard Washburn, Adora shows up later.
What: Catra has racked up a Violation and is getting her just reward
Where: Gym/Exec Level
When: After Planker's punishing obstacle course
Warnings/Notes: PUNISHMENT. Catra is gonna get zapped pretty bad. Physical abuse, mental and emotional anguish.

We first crush people to the earth, and then claim the right of trampling on them forever, because they are prostrate. )
piper90npcs: (Default)
[personal profile] piper90npcs
Who: The New Hires and Planker
What: Fun
Where: The Gym
When: Post-plot.
Warnings/Notes: Foul language from Planker.

The first warning the New Hires have is that some of them quietly get pulled aside by various members of the staff before training even starts. Not only does this mean that some of the personnel had to wake up extra early, already a warning sign, but they don't mention why. They just take a few key people aside.

The second warning... )
piper90npcs: (Lubitsch - 1)
[personal profile] piper90npcs
Who: 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.]

spar log!

Apr. 26th, 2020 06:25 pm
garmr: (pic#12927695)
[personal profile] garmr
Who: guts berserk and... you?
What: SWORDS PRACTICE!! SPARRING!!! PUNCH FRIENDSHIP?
Where: Training Area
When: After the sheetcake bonanza, during training time
Warnings/Notes: semi-open! Basically just a place to keep all the planned sparring threads together. Just hit me up if you'd like to do something.
Read more... )
heterochrocatic: (066 » Reaching out)
[personal profile] heterochrocatic
Who: Catra and Setsuna
What: Sleep doesn't come easy to Catra; Setsuna notices.
Where: Catra and Setsuna's shared quarters
When: Night time, sometime during the first week on Piper 90.
Warnings/Notes: Mention of childhood trauma and abuse, emotional stuff.

Sleep didn't come easily to Catra. It never really had (except when she had had Adora nearby) and it was made worse for Catra because she had needed to become a naturally light sleeper. After a few midnight 'raids' to be punished for some perceived or merely imagined transgression when she was a kid, she'd learned it was better not to sleep where she was expected. Back home in the Fright Zone, that had meant either with Adora or crammed somewhere awkward and hard to get at. Here on the rig, that was harder. There were plenty of places one could go to avoid people, but what exactly punishment might be for being out of room during the night or whether they were being actively monitored, Catra wasn't sure.

Despite not making use of her room for the first couple nights, she had eventually come back to it, awkward and unsure of her roomamte, the Setsuna girl who had been... kind. Even friendly. It was weird. She'd tried one night sleeping in the bed properly, but it had not gone well--she'd not slept a minute, mind racing with the idea that at any moment someone might simply burst through the door to haul her away. Then she'dhad to get through training the next morning feeling like she'd been slammed through a wall by Adora the whole time during physical training. Another night of experimentation showed her that she could quite easily slip under the bed, thanks to being slender and flexible, and that had turned into her comforting space. It felt safe--like no one could sneak up on her. She liked that.

When Setsuna wakes in the middle of one night, she'll find that the bed across from her is empty and the blanket missing--Catra, at least at first glance, has simply vanished from the shared quarters without so much as a whisper. At least that's what one would think before giving the room a search. A glance under the bed, especially if aided by a light source, reveals luminous mismatched eyes glaring back at the searcher, and Catra's voice quiet and angry hisses from the shadows.

"Go away."
goneawaymod: (Default)
[personal profile] goneawaymod

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’.
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