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neosapienooc2019-12-30 12:51 am
neosapienmods) wrote in neosapienooc2019-12-30 12:51 am
TEST DRIVE MEME #1
JANUARY TEST DRIVE
1: SPRAWLING WASTELAND, GLOWING IN THE DARK
No sunlight reaches the Underground, but there is rain: grey, oily droplets that slowly trickle down from the city above, seeping through layers of concrete until they drip from broken light fixtures onto the aptly named black markets below. The glow of neon signs keeps the shadows at bay, just barely. What was once a system of utility tunnels and basement bunkers is now a warren of tiny shops offering reprogrammed ID chips and back-alley cybernetic upgrades, where hitmen and slave traders operate with lawless impunity. But someone is always watching... the eyes of Yakashbah, graffitied in bioluminescent paint, stare unblinking from the walls.2: A MIND OF DARKNESS, A HEART OF LIGHT
People come to this place for only two reasons: they're either looking for something, or they're trying not to be found. Whatever your reason, the Underground welcomes you.
Outside of manicured parks and glass-enclosed vertical farms, green space is rare in New Gate City, so the elites flaunt their wealth in private rooftop gardens. Fragrant, exotic flowers bloom amidst strings of lanterns, and real grass - an extravagant luxury - carpets the ground beneath partygoers' feet as they sip champagne and admire the dark cityscape below. Tonight, one of the Douman Zaibatsu's myriad charity organizations hosts its annual fundraising gala... but this year, the special guests attract even more attention than the celebrities and fashionistas in attendance. Representatives from the Neo Sapien Organization have been invited to speak on the topic of Human/Meta-human relations, and to raise money on behalf of job placement programs for impoverished Metas in the Last Ward. Of course, most within the Douman Zaibatsu would prefer that these "job placement programs" send Metas to the farms far outside New Gate City (or better yet, to the lunar strip mines), but at least for tonight, members of both factions hide behind false smiles and false words.3: AS FEAR'S REPLICATING, YOUR WORDS RESONATING
Someone gasps, and everyone looks up. Arcadia's central shopping district goes silent, save for the distant sound of pop tunes played over tinny speakers, as a massive black banner unfurls down the side of a building. A crudely drawn eye fills the banner, bisected by a line of white paint... the unofficial symbol of the Meta rights movement. People start to whisper, and somewhere, there's a cheer. Police drones buzz through the air above.4: A NEW HOPE GLISTENS OFF THE STREETS
Meta rights protests aren't uncommon in this part of New Gate City, even though they're soon dispersed by local security forces. This banner, too, will be quickly taken down and destroyed, but the photos and videos of the event will be harder to suppress. Already, the bystanders are murmuring to each other, some in support and some in fear. Others keep their heads down, wary of expressing their true feelings about the rising numbers of Meta-humans. And as security forces move to block off the area, others are frantically trying to disappear.
The blocks surrounding the Neo Sapien Organization's headquarters in the Middle Ward are like an oasis at the center of an otherwise inhospitable city. Old buildings have been renovated into bright and cheerful apartments that accommodate a variety of Meta-human physiologies, Meta schools and Meta-owned businesses are flourishing, and Meta-friendly shops and cafes line the streets.5: WITHIN THE CHAOS, I KNOW I'M NOT ALONE
The best coffee in the Middle Ward can be found at The Mean Bean, just across from the NSO building, where the shop's fire-breathing Meta owner personally roasts every batch. NSO employees and and other patrons of the popular cafe congregate to discuss local news and gossip: a proposed Meta registration and identification law, rumors of vigilante gangs near the border with the Last Ward, and rivalries between NSO university sports teams. Arguments occasionally grow heated (especially when it comes to sports), but overall the atmosphere is friendly and congenial.
The Last Ward's electrical grid is reliably unreliable, but blackouts on this scale are rare. Half the ward has been dark for the past three days, save for a few emergency generators and dwindling battery backups. As winter winds batter old, drafty concrete apartment blocks, the residents grow restless and frustrated. Police have already put down several riots, but there's no stopping the spike in looting and other petty crimes.
In the Parish, many people have opted to barricade themselves inside their homes until the blackout ends, but others are taking advantage of the chaos. Most, though, have chosen to band together to protect each other throughout the long nights. The people of the Parish may not have much, but at least they have a sense of community.
no subject
[His smile goes aggressively bright and cheerful to match his tone. It's not funny, as such, but mordant cynicism goes better with a smile.
Magnus's comment about the metro gets an understanding nod; the cars can't be more than nine feet tall, after all. Andrei is lucky that his own mutation's worst side-effect is killing small consumer electronics when he gets nervous.]
And the weather is nice for walking -- so long as the crowds are friendly, of course. Please take care; I am terribly grateful for the save.
[His smile flickers to gentler sincerity, and he pats his coat pockets with an absent air.]
Let's see, I'm sure I had... there.
[He produces something that looks like a tangle of ribbon from his inside breast pocket and gives it a shake; it untwists into a complicated spiral of silver plastic, cut, twisted and seamed together into a wind-spinner. It's one of his latest favorites: the inside layer spins in the opposite direction, and it's striped with bits of holographic foil.]
A small token of my appreciation? Since it seems we must part ways shortly.
no subject
I could hardly do anything less.
[ At first, he says nothing as Andrei pats at his coat, presuming it to be a routine check for the routine things kept in one's pockets. When he withdraws that tangle of silvery thread instead, though, a spark of curiosity brightens in his expression. Magnus inclines his head slightly as the reflective ribbon is unfurled — and then, a look of pleasant surprise crosses his face. Just like that earlier bow, the eccentricity of the gesture charms him.
It's with a respectful gratitude that he offers his hand for the gift, a surprising amount of delicacy to be found in his oversized fingers. ]
Thank you. I'll be sure to find a good place for it.
[ And, well. He does have an affection for shiny things, valuable or not. For now, it goes into the breast pocket of his own coat like an oddly shimmering corsage. ]
no subject
You are most welcome.
[He sweeps another, quick, theatrical bow, before straightening up with a glint of a smile and turning to disappear into the thickening crowd moving towards the metro station.]