redmarsshit | test drive meme: april 2020

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!test drive

test drive meme: april 2020

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.

▶ SPECIAL NOTE: We're only a month off from the 1 year anniversary of the first TDM, and we received this request for a fancy dress ball, so we thought it would be ~~funny~~ fun to run with it! This TDM will only have one prompt/event, as the monthly log with a bit more plot-related stuff will be going up on Friday May 1st.

a. an invitation.

There are ears everywhere in Anchor. A maintenance bot here, a surveillance AI there. SINI, restlessly pacing the dark digital hallways as she watches over the things that still matter to her. It doesn't take long for word to get out about Starscream's expedition plans. It takes an even shorter time for that news to circulate amongst Anchor's robo-population.

They know when you're unhappy. They always know.

It's why residents will start waking up one fine day to find gorgeous clothes laid out for them to wear and an invitation to a formal dinner taking place down at the plaza at Anchor’s base. The clothes aren't particularly specific to a character's gender, species, or culture - it's all about what the bots think your character would like best. Even if they're wildly off the mark, the clothes are still made to fit and fashioned beautifully. The invitations are marked "TOMORROW, STARTING AT 6PM LOCAL TIME." A smaller note underneath instructs attendees to see the tailor bot adjacent to the spa if they are unsatisfied with their assigned clothing, and also that the spa bots are on high alert, prepared to beautify anyone who wants some extra pampering and a dash of makeup.

Just be careful. Some of the makeover bots are really fond of glitter.

b. quite the spread.

True to the word of the invitation, the plaza is closed off under large white tents and guarded by bots who encouragingly steer you elsewhere should you try to get inside. They're nice, polite, all the things they've been programmed to be whether they like it or not, but there will be no sneaking by them into the party area.

At 6pm on the dot the day after the clothes arrive, characters will find music playing on all levels of Anchor, broadcast from the musical robots who have been practicing ever since that first tiny party almost a year ago.

Invitations will be taken by a bot in an impeccably tailored suit, and characters will be welcomed onto the red carpet that curves around the edge of the park and into the area cordoned off for festivities. The flashbulbs and cheering of bots that line the carpet echo through Anchor, broadcast along with the music until it sounds like the entire place is full of faintly electronic cheering. Each arrival is greeted with a fresh wave of enthusiasm, their image projected larger than life against the interior of Anchor's dome.

The sides of the tents have been rolled up, revealing the absolutely decadent set-up within.

Rows upon rows of buffet tables laid out with the most extravagant and strange dishes for residents to try. All of it delicious, though not all of it will appeal to every palate. There are sweet dishes, savory, spicy, whatever you can imagine. Appetizers of a hundred different kinds. Fruit plates formed into works of art, showing places and events from around Anchor. There are spun sugar reindire. Tiny plates of hors d'oeuvres that depict the faces of residents, both current and former. One particularly large dish is sculpted in the shape of what looks like an explosion emanating from Anchor's base, near where the locked and flooded rooms were found.

There's a cake near the middle of it all, frosting painting an image of a young, smiling man. Anyone who's seen him will, after a moment, recognize the whole and handsome features of a much younger Creepy Joe - the words on the cake say LET'S CELEBRATE OUR OLDEST LIVING RESIDENT!

While most of the food is at least recognizably from the general stores and from the agricultural level, there are other plants and garnishes that look entirely foreign. If asked where they came from, the bots will simply insist they're part of Anchor’s available resources.

There is also a full-service bar, but...not manned by the usual bartender (for anyone who might ask, the other bots will kindly inform them that the usual bartender is on sabbatical for stress). Instead there's a freshly-built bot serving drinks of all kinds, taking requests for old favorites and mixing up new cocktails based on guests' stated tastes.

The only thing not on the menu is a tequila sunrise.

There's a table full of hookahs and little treats that have various light, pleasant effects. These range from simple mood lifts to treats that will leave characters blissed out and relaxed.

c. dance, our residents, dance!

After people have finished arriving, the band picks up and guests' attention is directed upward toward Anchor's dome, where there's a truly magnificent light show being projected with musical accompaniment. It's spectacular, haunting and beautiful...and it shows more than just lights. It also shows celestial bodies in motion across the planet's dusk-red sky, meteor showers, strange northern lights. The show itself is almost an hour long, and ends with words unfurling across the apex of the dome.

HAPPY ∞ +1 ANNIVERSARY ANCHOR #3, THE LONGEST RUNNING COLONY.

STAY HERE, STAY HAPPY!

The show fades away and the music picks up again, encouraging guests to dance.

Go on, dance.

It’s a party after all.

d. the network.

Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to ask a friend to back you up to take out the toothy voids? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?

Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.

Navigation.

Threaded | Flat

Questions for the mods can go here!

For folks to reference! But mostly because I want to see all of them. ;w;

Edited 2020-04-28 06:44 (UTC)

Scaramouche arrives fifteen minutes before showtime and makes his entrance at six o'clock sharp; he never misses a cue.

The formal announcement of his name, the riotous reception, and the sight of his own image lighting up the dome above them are all unexpected, but they're a welcome surprise. What better way to kick off this little shindig than to celebrate Scaramouche? His expression undergoes a sudden shift from out-and-out dumbfoundment to childlike glee in two seconds flat, the tension in his stance melting away as he obliges his audience with a deep bow, sweeping off his hat with a wave and a flourish. The servant bots have always waited on them hand and foot and he knows this is more of the same, but that makes it all the more entertaining to him. He struts along the runway, preening in the spotlight; he knows how to hold the stage!

With the sound of applause still ringing in his sensors, there's an unmistakable spring in his step going forward. After circling the tables to inspect everything, he swings by the drinks counter, grinning widely when he's handed a drinks menu!

"Well, whaddaya know? These bot-brains can throw a party!" He's talking to himself, but his voice carries--anybody nearby could hear it and join in.

Eventually, the band picks up, signaling the first few moments of the light show. "They really went all out." His luminescent gaze descends from the spectacle and rakes over the heads of the party-goers and their bot attendants, staring at the archways leading out to the presumably empty halls of Anchor. Taking a distracted sip of his fluorescent cocktail, he turns and sidesteps behind the small cluster of onlookers, his optics flicking up again to the presentation before falling in a zigzag across the atrium. All those walkways going unpatrolled...

He wonders.

Once the music returns, so does his partial attention on the residents around him in all their glamour. He skirts the edge of the dance floor with an unhurried stride, occasionally casting a suspicious glance at the surrounding area while he scats along to the beat.

[ooc: Feel free to pick any time/place at the party to interact with him! Will match format!]

Edited 2020-04-30 08:26 (UTC)

i.
Angel was, in a word, unbelievably excited. From the second she realised the dress was for her, and that there was somewhere to wear it. Not that she needed an excuse, she'd wear it just to walk around the long winding corridors of anchor as much as for a party. No reason or care why she couldn't do what she pleased when it came to these little freedoms. But even more so when she found it was for everyone to get their own interesting clothes, and that there were robots who had joined in with them, and would dress them up further.

So Angel, never one to refuse a robot much of anything, let them go to town with the glitter. Do her hair, and hang any kind of frippery in her horns, to match the golden dress. The thing clearly weighs a ton, but what else was super strength for but to carry herself effortlessly.

So, on Connor's arm, she arrives with him. A glittering bauble to his tall, dark and mysterious. Or so she thought they looked. It's for show and play, but she really is enjoying the fiction of it. Like they were some trendy socialites from Dionysus, or something like it. She smiles and smiles and smiles and the effect makes it all the more eye catching because in her happiness, her usually blue markings begin to glow and ebb. Turning a pure white light that makes the golden material and pearls shimmer as she walks. Happy to do a twirl of her skirts that make them flair out like Midas' dream.

Giggling to herself all the while.

But when it's over, she's there cheering and applauding everyone else who arrives, floating in her ridiculous dress.

II. Angel & Connor Open Prompt

Angel and Connor are to be found together for a good portion of the evening - which is a sight in itself, since they didn't necessarily hang about each other's pockets often but the affection they have for each other is plain, Angel smiles at him like he's her whole damn world, when she leans into his side and though he's a sight less so exuberant, he returns each smile with one of his own, often gentle and subdued but still very much there. Never far from each other's fingertips or casual touches.

But they're hardly secluded and secretive, both of them happy to talk and Angel is quick to draw in company with a glass of champagne into a passer-by's hand and to bring them in.

"I'm a bit worried, what am I going to give the Reindire to drink if there aren't any more Tequila Sunrises? But Connor told me most animals usually just drink water on his planet."

Connor for his part looks wary of whoever Angel invited, unless it is someone he's more familiar with and has decided can be trusted. His brow creases in a slight frown as he eyes the newcomer carefully, clearly sizing them up and trying to decide what to think of them.

iii.

For once in her whole life.

Angel looks at something.

And has no fucking clue what she's supposed to do.

Jack had money, Jack had so much money, and yes, she did know everything, so far as being the best search function anyone had ever invented. But what did eating and dining matter to her when she hadn't actually consumed a meal for the better part of her last five years? Food, like sleeping, physical intimacy, the feeling of the sun on her skin and hope for something better in life belonged wholly to the nice but practically not possible.

So when faced with the sheer line up of cutlery, she felt... Utterly lost.

This was like those first few weeks, when she couldn't walk all over again. Weak and unused to her own body. Only with forks. Why were there so many forks? Why were there so many spoons? Didn't you just need one glass for drinks? Why were they all different shapes?

But there was a order to this business, apparently, trying not to stare. Instead to surreptitiously study people around her to work out the order to this madness.

iv.

Angel's dancing is... Inelegant. Which is probably from a technical standpoint, one of the better things that can be said.

But she is deeply enthusiastic, which makes up for it, because something has to. Thankfully, with so much skirt to hang onto, she can't make too much of a fool of herself, and with hooves she's a lighter, surer step. Mostly she is content with what seems to be her primary dance move, dancing around in a circle so she could enjoy how the material floats around and flared out in a circle. Like a princess in one of those stories from Earth.

So no, maybe not the best dancer, or much of a dancer at all, but with her face tilted up, twirling about, she is utterly, giddily, finally herself.

And a little bit tipsy, though she doesn't send anyone flooring, she's mostly just prone to stopping and just catching herself from sending her and the other person tumbling with a big grin.

"Enjoying the party?"

[in which i avoid major spoilers because i'm a cool cat that way. just lmk if you don't mind spoils /insert thumbs up emoji here]

Arrival

Cloud wakes with a start, instinct taking over as he leaps to his feet and reaches for the massive sword that's... actually nowhere near him. That's inconvenient. By the time he spots it on the other side of the room, he's also realized that there is no immediate danger, just some guy on a screen spewing some nonsense. Whatever, it's not his problem, he's just going to collect his sword and open up this here door -- except that he's not going to open up this here door. It's right about here where the recording reaches that 'the doors will open as soon as this recording is complete' part, and he realizes that this all very much is his problem now. With a frustrated sigh and a slight roll of his eyes, he fixes his sword to his back and crosses his arms, turning his full attention to the recording.

Said recording doesn't actually answer many of his more pressing questions, like 'where is my rolling crew', so he grabs a communicator and makes his way through decontamination, and from there immediately sets off to find the rest of his party. Unfortunately, the squad is nowhere in the immediate area, and they're not popping up in the same place Cloud did, because that would just be too convenient if they were, wouldn't it.

The ol' 'here's a confused new person' hook isn't the most interesting thing in the world, but that's about all Cloud has going for him at the moment. He's not shy about pulling someone over to ask questions, though. "I'm looking for someone, you got a minute?" and shit like that, though his approach probably isn't as polite as he was trying to go for. He's doing his best, ok. Tifa's not here to tell him to be nice.

An Invitation

Sorry robots of Anchor, Cloud has absolutely zero interest in your fancy party. He's double not interested in dressing up and he's triple not interested in dancing. Is that even math? I don't know, but he's not fucking going. He already got his fill of this shit in Wall Market, and by God if one more robot comes up to him trying to get him to 'put on this fancy-ass dress it will totally make your eyes pop', he's going to start cutting robots in half.

not right away, at least. They aren't being hostile or anything, just super annoying. Especially the two that insist on following him around everywhere with that dress and a box of makeup and glitter in tow. It's hard to explore the place when Beckytron and CyberSuzie are hell bent on giving you a makeover, and by the time they manage to corner him in the bar, he's decided he's had enough. Since the piss offs and get losts haven't worked so far, he's reaching for the hilt of his giant fuckoff buster sword. Save the robots, or just like, don't. Or help with the makeover, that's fine too. Choose your own adventure I'm not the boss of you.

Party Pooper

No really Cloud's not going to your big weird party, but what he is doing is assuming that all the rest of this place's population did go to it. Which means it's time for some good old fashioned breaking and entering. Not into like, private rooms, he's not that much of a dick, but he's definitely taking the opportunity to poke around in places that might hold useful equipment or information. The library, the garage, some of the R&D labs, places like that. He just kinda swoops in, makes a mess while poking around at stuff, and leaves without bothering to clean up after himself because this is not his goddamn problem. Assuming he can get past whatever security is set up, anyway. He's not going to risk forcing his way in, seeing as he only just got here like yesterday, but you bet your ass he's taking notes.

He can be caught in the act of being a nosy asshole either inside a place or trying to get into a place, or leaning against the railing on some random walkway and looking down at your crazy party. The light show is cool, but like, dude. The whole STAY HERE, STAY HAPPY! theme in this robot infested space colony is kinda Fucking Creepy and totally feels like some weird robo-cult brainwashing junk to someone who just got here and has no fucking idea what's going on. Needless to say, it makes him want to leave just that much more. Y'all are weird, okay.

Wildcard

[maybe someone wants to convince him to go the the party in that fabulous dress after all, or maybe you have better ideas than I do (five bucks says you do). HIT ME i'm like the most flexible person ever.]

i.
Every second in this place is like being smothered. Starved and emptied. Alone in a great desert, a daughter of the sea suffers. Her body shakes and shivers like she is beset by a terrible sickness. Her expression sunken and lost.

But however and whatever it is that has come to pass that she is here - what can she say of it? Nothing she dares to, not now, not ever. In fact, she speaks not a word to anyone, she hasn't been given the correct procedure to speak at all, so she dare not risk it.

Relief comes in the form of the invitation. At last, a chance to be presented to whoever the spirit-leaders are of this place, no doubt! What mercy from them no less, that they give her clothes that are... perhaps, a little grand for her taste, but at least is familiar. Though it is difficult to get dressed without her sisters and brothers there to help.

But do it she does and with the consummate role and grace that must be paramount to the Second-Child. It's neither new nor notable for her to be looked at, even if she so dearly hates it. With her back stiff and her shoulders sloping low, she doesn't stop nor poses for the procession, or in fact, lifts her head except when spoken to by name. There she raises her gaze, to give a stately nod in silent greeting. Best to just keep walking as the trail of her skirt behind her in a long sweep.

Far be it for her to be ungrateful for the invitation to something this lavish to her mind, but she looks visibly relieved when the fuss made over her is done. Oh, perish it.

ii.

Gilia eats like a bird out of each meal that is presented to her. All of it is lavish, sumptuous and sickening in its quantity that her mother would have words if it was ever found out that she gorged herself on such things. It would be unseemly in any form for someone of her position to take in large amounts, and to consume much of it at all. So she takes it simply in polite mouthfuls.

The only thing more painful is how dull the things she has to add to a conversation. Each thing is exact. 'Yes', 'no', 'if it pleases you', 'I would not think to presume that.' Stock responses to anything that she is expected to answer as she rapidly learns here that people seem to take direct conversation easily. That was mercy, until general conversation passes along...

"Oh, no, I have fiv- four siblings. One mother, three fathers and the Father-Sea, of course." Given that she has not even said her name yet to anyone, it might be the most she's said of anything, let alone herself.

iii.
When the dancing begins, Gilia is taken so strongly by it. For if there was one thing her people are known for, it was there dancing, a joyful memory that time nor pain can touch, but without that same invitation, she cannot permit herself.

Her hands curl under her long sleeves, her gaze stands fixed in rapture, out watching the robots and people move in their patterns. For the first time since she arrived, she looks enthused, despite her hesitance to join in. As much content to clap along with eager (appropriate) abandon. Smiling widely, the pearls around her head swaying as she moves.

1. They shouldn't have used the good china

Shockingly Kabal, for all his brutish, mercenary nature, has actually been to fancy parties before. Sometimes people who buy black market weapons like to flaunt where it comes from and for people higher up in the ranks than the Enforcer, it's good for networking.

Kabal just liked to go to them to eat and get laid. He's probably got both of those things covered for the night, so that leaves some fun hobbies instead.

If it looks at all valuable, isn't nailed down, and it could conceivably fit in his clothing - Kabal is stealing it. What is he going to do with all this? Who knows. Probably melt it down into a bundt pan of silver teaspoons or something.

He's also not being exceptionally stealthy. It's not as if anyone will stop him right?

2. Keeping it Classy

The bartender that serves things other than Tequila Sunrises is much appreciated right now. Still, the fancy goblets that the bar bot is using might shatter if Kabal looks at them wrong let alone touches them. (He may have smashed a few on accident, they weren't made for his meaty mitts). So he's managed to get an entire cut crystal decanter of whiskey away from the bot and is drinking straight from it, mask dangling around his neck.

By some miracle he hasn't spilled anything on the clean white outfit the bots insisted on him wearing even though his other hand is holding a platter full of all kinds of food that he's been devouring. If they're gonna feed him for free and have an open bar he's going to take advantage of it.

And he hasn't set anything on fire or killed anyone so he must be in a really good mood.

3. Fire just makes it fancy

There was an unspoken yet about him not setting anything on fire or killing anyone. Because he definitely set something on fire.

It's part of the dessert table. It's on fire. He wanted to see what would happen if you set fancy desserts on fire they way they do on tv and it turns out what happens is fire.

That's science for you.

[More information here]

2. Quite the Spread

This is not the grand gatherings a gentleman of his standing is used to. He might be dressed as any knight of the realm ought to be, in a well-cut suit of flattering grey, a well-tied cravat and starched collar, but this is no regal ball or supper with Gladstone.

True, the moving images high above are certainly a spectacle, and there is enough food to feed any number of people but it is... loud. Brash. The dancing is strange and none of it is as elegant as he is used to. Even in the Americas, the shuffling of bodies around a floor tends to have some small measure of grace.

But there are many people in attendance, and if he wants to learn about this strange place, they are going to be the focus of his attention. The food, the drink, none of it appeals. It would not, of course, and he does not expect his rather unique tastes to be catered to, having only arrived two days before. It is clear to him that this place is not home, nor any place he knows of, and his kind are not in evidence. But neither are the vampires. A small mercy, even if something to eat would quiet the slow stir of bestial urges.

He would do well to learn all he can about the place and it's occupants as quickly as he can, and embed himself within what passes for society here. Such an event occurring so soon after his arrival is beneficial, but not miraculous. Despite his unfamiliarity with the place, the people, the cause of celebration, Magnus finds himself a comfortable spot near the great table laden with food, and makes idle chatter with some of the other guests.

"These automatons of yours, they arranged all of this? The food, the drink, the music? How very interesting."

4. The Network

To Whom it may Concern,

I find myself an unwitting but not unwilling resident of your colony, and whilst it is not like the time nor place I am most familiar with, I do intend to understand it as best I may as quickly as I am able.

As such, should you have the inclination to provide me with the particulars on how this place came to be, our purpose here, and whatever other details are pertinent to the occupation of this place. I am also interested in the fate of those who built this structure, and who now controls it.

Those that can provide such information, in sufficient detail, will be rewarded. Correspondence is prefered for the negotiation of terms.

Yours sincerely

Sir Magnus Macaire

1.

It's not that Arthur has never been to balls or parties. The difference is that normally he's there for work, and that work normally involves criminal activity. Now, not only is he being made to dress up again, in an outfit that's far too familiar to be comfortable, but there's also no work involved, which ... leaves him feeling more than a little bit out of place.

He did go to see the spa bots, albeit hesitantly, to shave off his beard and trim his hair. Luckily, he walked away with no makeup and only a little glitter that he washed off to the extent that you can only see it on his neck if you squint. He has also resolved to never ask a robot to make him look decent ever again. Maybe he'll ask Charles to cut his hair next time. Can't be too bad.

When he's not standing around at the edges of the plaza looking like a fish out of water, he is either ...

a. at the buffet table, curiously studying the dishes of unfamiliar faces and the hints of previous happenings. He's particularly intrigued by the explosion dish, and watches it for several seconds with his thumbs hooked into his belt. It's a little difficult to tell just how big the explosion was from a miniature, but if it's accurate in relation to the rooms ...

"Dunno that I've ever see an explosion that big," he mutters, to himself but still audible to anyone who happens to stand nearby.

b. at the bar, eager to see that there's more on offer than just Tequila Sunrise. In fact, he goes ahead and asks for a whole bottle of whiskey, and downs a mouthful right then and there. Then, he lowers it with a crooked grin, pleased at the burn of it.

"Now we're talking. Get me a glass of beer too. Time to get drunk."

He's not working, after all. No need to suffer through this night sober.

Care to join him? Drink is always better with company.

2.

[ Just a good ol' wildcard. Feel free to hit me up to plot something else, or just toss me another prompt or w/e. ]

Edited 2020-05-03 09:00 (UTC)

[network prompt - text, un: m2]

I have just arrived and urgently need answers to three questions.

What experiments and processes are currently underway in the bioscience laboratories here? The introduction video implied that it was quite busy, but it has clearly been some time since that was recorded.

Who is in charge of maintaining the radiation shield surrounding the colony?

And finally: what do you know of the term “Arehtei”?

[action prompt - party cat]

[Parties, whatever their dress code may be, are not normally Mewtwo’s style, but finding himself in an entirely new landscape warrants investigation. He’s been prowling around the colony for a few days, getting his bearings and assessing the available technology; now he needs to meet the locals.

(And, admittedly, he secretly thinks that the cape he’s been given is rather fetching.)

He knows that he isn’t good at being friendly, so he doesn’t try. Instead he lets his presence be strange and intimidating, declining food and drink in favor of watching the other partygoers. His curiosity does lead him over to the buffet table, but he’s mostly interested in that large...face...cake.

Hello, nearby person. Prepare to be interrogated by a telepathic cat-monster.]

Who is this man?

It feels odd to celebrate. Understandably, that's part of the reason the bots have seen fit to throw this party, but for someone as perpetually grumpy as Hanzo, it only provokes a sense of distrust about the entire affair.

That being said, he still shows up.

Largely he appears to be spending his time partaking of the drinks -- though rather than take advantage of the sudden variety, he definitely appears to be sticking to one type of drink throughout the evening. His glass doesn't appear to ever be empty in his hand.

Half of that reason is an excuse not to step out onto the dance floor. Though he will observe from the edges with aloof disinterest and a mildly judging look. Form, skill, appearance, all under quiet scrutiny.

Of course he has to loosen up eventually, rather than simply glide along the edges like a particularly sullen peacock. His tiny blob-turned-dragon occasionally perches on his shoulder or skitters about for reconnaissance, and Hanzo retires to one of the comfortable sitting areas to partake of the hookah. Only then does the tension in his shoulders appear to relax by even the smallest degrees.

Despite his distant demeanor, he will speak if spoken to. Tonight, the dragon's bark is worse than his bite.

He's never been extroverted enough to enjoy being at a large party, but he's gotten more used to them, the more of them he's been invited to. In this case, invited might not be strong enough of a word for it...

But once the outfits show up for all of them, it's more or less a forgone conclusion that they'll all be attending.

For a majority of the party, he can be seen with Jacob Frye, the two standing close together and one looking much more intrigued by the goings on and the people around them than the other. But Charles does wander off now and again to investigate the available drinks -- whiskey, please -- as well as the available hookah lounge area. His wolf is also nearby, still more politely than one would expect of a wild animal, but staring up at anyone who gets too near with very intent gold eyes.

He's also available for very awkward, unsure dancing that gets a little looser as the evening goes on, and the drinks disappear.

Anyone who approaches is greeting with a warm nod and a greeting, as it is a party and he is here to socialize. More or less. Look, he's still a little rusty when it comes to being included in these sorts of things.

Elleru is thrilled with this party.

It's not that there haven't been festivals and gatherings in Anchor before; this is not the first time the little robots have set up banners and tables, serving each and every guest to their heart's delight, trying to create a welcoming atmosphere of communal celebration. This is, however, the first time they've doled out fancy clothes for the occasion, and Elleru could not be more charmed by the gesture. The outfit they chose for her, while not what she'd normally gravitate toward in terms of color, fits wonderfully, hugging her every curve as she saunters into the plaza.

The food table is just as enchanting. She marvels at the candy reindire, squawks with glee when she spots an hors d'oeuvre with her own face on it. Grabbing a plate, she gathers up a few of the ones that resemble her friends, determined to deliver them herself to ensure they see (and appreciate) the effort the robots went to. More importantly, she wants to see what said friends will be wearing — after all, if she looks this good, surely they look even better.

And after she's made some deliveries, she's hitting the dance floor, eager to make the most of the night. If she's not reaching for the nearest hand, hoping to either find a willing dance partner or convince someone to be one, she's enjoying twirling on the floor, her long dress flowing around her like clouds in the breeze.

[OOC: Feel free to either hit me up at

grimmhooke or find her wherever at the party, and I'll roll with it!]

a.

He's not going to say no to a party.

There are circumstances in which he might, of course, but he learned a long time ago to take whatever enjoyment he could out of parties thrown by people who would probably be happy to see him dead and definitely wanted to do him harm. That had been a regular feature of his life as a victor. But there'd been a headiness about it: the food, the drink, the adulation of his admirers, and of course, the various other things that the denizens of the Capitol used to have fun. He'd done all of them, and on his better days, he'd managed to enjoy himself, at least until he'd gotten involved with whichever patron he'd been ordered to entertain.

Here there are no patrons.

There may be the constant ever-itching sense of danger in the back of his mind, the uncertainty about what the bots and the other people in this place want, but he's used to dealing with Snow, Gamemakers, and the fear of knowing Annie was always a hostage for his behavior. At least here he's free from Snow, and there are no patrons. Here, he's been able to genuinely enjoy himself when the bots have thrown their parties.

Besides, it's still thrilling to get to take Annie as his date to a party.

So he plans to enjoy himself, and that starts with getting styled. Not that the spa bots have any of the talent of his stylist or prep team, but he's willing to give them a chance.

So late in the afternoon, Finnick can be found at the spa, seated in front of one of the bots and watching it work in a mirror. It's a look that matches the gold of the suit he's been provided, with swirls drawn across his cheeks and accented in green, with gold glitter as an accent. More than an accent, even. Quite a lot of gold glitter.

Finnick is obviously pleased with the look, grinning in the mirror as he gets up and swiping a container of glitter.

"In case I need a touch up."

As he's on his way out, he'll pause by anyone else getting made over by the bots.

"You really should consider glitter."

b.

There haven't been many opportunities to really shine here. He's a beautiful man at any time, but he's always loved to accentuate his natural looks with makeup and beautiful clothes and when that combines with the delight of being at a party without the pressures of the Capitol, he really does shine. Literally, from his jacket and his glitter, but mostly from the brilliance of his smile and the brightness of his whole being as he walks in with his arm around Annie's waist, as he swirls around the dance floor with her, and as he collects glasses of champagne from the bar.

"Champagne. Finally something that's not tequila."

He offers out a glass to a passer-by. "Champagne?"

When their attention is all drawn to the dome, it doesn't take as long as he expects to shake the feeling that he's about to see the photographs of tributes floating above them, and to sink into enjoyment of the astronomical show. He spends the whole rest of the show staring in delight up at the dome, except for the moments when he sneaks glances across to his wife to watch her delighted reactions.

When the celebratory text scrolls out across the dome and the lights go up, he pulls the glitter out of his pocket and unscrews the cap and grabs a pinch. He tosses it towards Annie, so that it settles in her hair and on her dress. Then, laughing, he grabs another pinch and tosses it into the air.

He's not sorry if it got you.

Edited 2020-05-10 12:59 (UTC)

b. quite the spread. - i

I'm not sure about this...

[Poison had braved the dress which had been laid out for her and had put her hair up before venturing to this event, but she doesn't look entirely comfortable with any of it. Not even a little comfortable, in fact. She doesn't recall the last time she put on a dress, and she's certainly never worn one like this.

She hangs back at the top of the red carpet, looking for someone familiar to walk down with. Never normally afraid of anything, she doesn't much like the idea of all that attention being on her all at once.]

Maybe I should just... go...

b. quite the spread. - ii

[Eventually, she finds her way inside and at least she doesn't feel out of place in here with the dress she has on. Everyone else looks dressed to the nines as well, and she settles into the swing of things with the air of someone who doesn't quite fit in but is certainly doing their best.

She hovers at the edge of the tent, her back almost to the wall, and barely-smiles at anyone who happens to look her way.

Poison does try the food, though, putting small portions of the things she finds interesting on her plate and peering at those things that look a bit too interesting for her to try on an empty stomach.]

What do you suppose that is? [She asks the person beside her, indicating a bowl of worm-like things which...

are they moving????]

b. quite the spread. - iii

[The photograph on the cake looks familiar. Poison takes a photo of it before anyone can cut into it, and tucks her phone back into her bag.]

That looks like Joe.

[Joe, if he didn't have that creepy parasite in his eye. If he was younger. She looks around -- is he here?]

... What is this party for?

c. dance, our residents, dance!

[After the light show, the young woman isn't interested in dancing. She's interested in that very significant number written across the dome. She frowns at it, clenching her fists loosely beside her, and it's only the 'gentle encouragement' of one of the bots that keeps her from leaving as the music begins to pick up.

So she doesn't leave, but instead stays seated with a thoughtful expression on her face, occasionally fidgeting with a drink on the table. When she senses someone lingering by her, she doesn't look up, but speaks--]

I don't dance. Ask someone else.

In a way, it's actually impressive that someone knew Rey well enough to know exactly the kind of outfit and color she likes. Rather than fitting her for something masculine tailored as is her usual attire, Rey arrives to the plaza (quite fashionably late, mind you) sporting a somehow appropriate outfit.

From the olive green evening dress, the pleated top half and shimmering patterns, to her muscular tones highlighted by the low cut backless side and her exposed shoulders, broad and strong.

And then there were her shoes. Black boots, of course. There's no way in hell she was going to bother wearing the heels that had been offered to her if the plan was for her not to break her ankles.

Naturally she gravitates towards the buffet, helping herself to piles of sweets to savory dishes. She's got a mouthful of something and trying not to literally cry as the many new flavors invade her sensitive palate (you might not catch it right away, but the tears are definitely there). An unladylike contrast to her current appearance, but maybe those curry donuts are just that fucking amazing.

She finds more familiarity at the bar, starting with straight bourbon before ordering glasses of whiskey sours. She bobs her head to the music, but doesn't quite lead herself out to the dancefloor just yet. Maybe she's being asked to. Or maybe she'd rather enjoy this very perfect, non-robot mixed sour that she's just going to keep savoring with every gulp.

Edited 2020-05-11 18:15 (UTC)

b. quite the spread. - i

[Julie shows up in a fairly simple black dress with one added, and essential benefit. It has pockets. She walks down the red carpet without casting a glance to one side or the other, save to briefly look at her image being projected as she walks. She looks tired, but she's grown used to looking tired.]

That was a fucking ordeal. [She says immediately, as soon as she's out of the reach of the flashing bulbs and noise. The young woman rubs the back of her wrist against her forehead, flashing a dry smirk to the nearest person.]

Don't tell me you enjoyed it.

b. quite the spread. - ii

Oh my god, they actually upgraded the bar?

[She might have asked where the tequila sunrise bot was, as she might have raised her eyebrows just a bit at the response she got. Maybe she took it a bit too far asking the poor thing to fill a mop bucket with tequila sunrise. It does give her a bit of a snicker, admittedly, but... maybe she feels a tiny little bit bad, as well.

Maybe.

But she'll take that strawberry daquari, thank you very much.

Later, she seats herself next to one of the hookahs and chooses something to her taste, sitting with her legs curled neatly to one side as she takes a few drags. She waves the mouthpiece at someone walking by.]

Hey, you should try this. It's actually not bad.

c. dance, our residents, dance!

[And she'll dance.

Julie loves to dance. She lifts her arms over her head and sways to the music. She'll reach out for a likely-looking dance partner and grin at them as she gently tugs them towards the dancefloor. For those who look less likely to get up, she might just sit down beside them or lean against the wall where they're standing, folding her arms loosely and watching the party for a minute.]

Don't you think this is kind of weird? I keep expecting something to explode.

d. the network.

They let us keep the outfits after, yeah?
More dresses should have pockets. I'm into this.

Also -- favorite drink, shoot.

Edited 2020-05-11 22:24 (UTC)

✪ An Invitation

You want me to wear what?

[The voice is loud enough to carry outside the room, and a moment later the door bursts open and a person stumbles out, arms flailing as he scrambles back from the tailoring bots that burst straight out of the room after him.

The bots are brandishing a sparkly yellow suit, and the young man scrambling away from them is half-naked. In fact, his patchworked and artfully distressed jeans fall down to his knees as he smacks into the wall across from the door, and he twists his hands into the waistband to yank them up.]

Do I look like Diego Lobo or something? No way!

[Shoulders hunching, his head jerks back and forth as he looks down the hallway in both ways, pale blue eyes glowing slightly in the shadows, looking for some sort of intervention.]

Can someone please get these weird malfunctioning servos off me?! I'm not wearing that thing.

✪ Quite the Spread

[When Skye finally arrives at the party, he's decidedly not wearing the yellow monstrosity. He's wearing an entirely different kind of monstrosity, but at least it's his kind of monstrosity, so he's feeling a bit more confident as he strides into the area where the festivities are being held. Not that he particularly likes being out in the open, surrounded by strangers and completely unaware of what they might be talking about just out of earshot.

When he hands over his invitation to the impeccably tailored ticket-taking servo, he flinches back just a little, trying not to get too close, wary of another experience like the one with the yellow suit earlier. Then he flinches even more when his picture and name are broadcast across the sky for just anyone to see. Ugh, that's. Awful. Did these guys ever hear of the right to privacy?

Fortunately, nothing bad happens, and he makes it into the party only a little shaken up. Of course, he doesn't know anyone here, so for a few minutes he stands awkwardly in a corner staring at the food and the people and the servos for a while before making a decision.

Taking a breath and a step forward, hands moving gracefully through the air with a shower of sparks following them, and summons his familiar, a blue owl with purple sparks dripping from the tips of its wings. Skye doesn't really react much to it besides glancing back and smiling a bit, then squares his shoulders and takes another deep breath, more confident now that he has Owl watching his back.

Spotting someone who doesn't look particularly threatening (though really his judgement of that isn't the best, probably), he lifts a hand and waves.]

Dag dag!

[A beat.]

So the servos around here, they're really weird, right?

✪ The Network

username: nibfrabbit

Hi guys, if anyone can direct me to the gardening area or tell me where to find an easel, that'd be great. I'm in the MedBay if you want to stop by. They have the weirdest surgical equipment, just figuring it out here.

✪ Wildcard

Skye is a Sims 4 based original character who is a spellcaster, doctor, and gardener. He is also a big fan of weed, so please let me know if you want to opt out of anything regarding drug use. Hit me up by PM, or on plurk if you have me added (caffemisto) or discord at coffee #6251 if you want to plot anything. Or just throw me a wildcard starter, I'm flexible.

[ OOC: Will match prose or brackets, your choice! ]

a. pretty pretty murder birb

The little robots had done their very best to accommodate Starscream's scale when picking out a suggested outfit for him, but initially it had not gone well. The first thing they'd brought him was hideous and yellow and feathered. "I am not a bird!" he'd shrilled at a volume that could probably he heard all over Anchor, swiping claws at them as they scattered for their little robo lives.

But Starscream knew the eminence of showing up at any function with the intent to make a statement. He was from Vos, after all. So he'd confiscated a few tubs of wax and a few other supplies from the maintenance levels and spent several hours polishing and buffing out the small scrapes and scratches that he'd been ignoring for a while. By the time he was done, his silver plating gleamed and even Knock Out wouldn't have been able to fault the shine he now sported.

Needing more space than his quarters for the next step, Starscream relocated to one of the green space areas and bearing a container of glittery gold paint. Painstakingly he starts to apply it in small glyphs and intricate shapes along the edges of his wings, which necessitates him contorting to try and reach. It definitely doesn't look comfortable despite the obvious stubbornness he's going at it with; he might need a hand.

b. dinner and music.

Starscream had fully expected to have to bypass this portion of the party's offerings, but to his surprise (and mild consternation) the little robots are quick to assure him that they've taken it into consideration! Which is why he can be found sitting cross-legged at the edge of the dining area, picking at a tray full of luminescent little energon gummies, molded into cute shapes like stars and hearts but also adorable chubby planes. Between those and his own cube of the glowing blue liquid that he'd wisely brought for himself, he looks satisfied.

As for the dancing, that much is out. He's simply too large to make it work, so he keeps his seat and settles to watch, but the observant might notice that his wings seem to be keeping time to the music.

c. look up, quite a show

The light show on the dome is impressive and enjoyable. Starscream braces himself back on his hands to watch, and seems strangely... contemplative. Until that last banner comes up.

"What? Number three?"

d. wildcard

Anything that doesn't fit!

Edited 2020-05-15 14:14 (UTC)

> Ami: Get your party on.

[ Ami was actually thrilled when she heard there would be another party. She's been a little mopey and lonely lately, and she doesn't like it. Who knows, maybe a good party will clear her head! And she can meet some new people, if they have any, or catch up with old people, or whatever. The robots throw good parties. It'll be fun.

The dress she was provided is very much to her liking, if a little short, but that's nothing some leggings can't fix. She even headed out early and got her hair done and played around with some makeup. And she actually looks quite nice, in her own humble opinion! The gold in her eyeshadow brings out the yellow in her eyes a bit more than she'd like, but maybe that's just her being nitpicky. It's fine. It's probably fine.

She'll spend much of the evening mingling, usually with a plate of snacks in hand. (Look, she is a growing girl, okay? She's hungry.) As usual, she's the youngest person here, so naturally it's a little awkward trying to engage a bunch of adults in conversation. But some of them she knows, and she starts to warm up and find her stride even with the strangers as the party goes on. Little innocuous conversation starters, like- ]

[ A: ] They really pulled out all the stops for this one, huh?

[ or B: ] Hey, I like your outfit!

[ or C: at one point, a little later on, you might catch her muttering as she side-eyes the familiar hookah setup that keeps turning up at these events: ] Kinda wish they'd chuck that out the airlock.

> Hair: Explode.

[ It's now two or three hours into the festivities. Everybody's having fun, the dessert table has been lit on fire and quickly put out, and now they're playing a boppy song with a good dancin' beat, which Ami must of course respond to with a gangly but spirited teenager dance.

Suddenly, with an audible POOF and a startled shriek, her hair explodes.

Okay, not in fire and brimstone, obvously. But it does burst out of her fancy updo all at once, and there's a lot more of it than there's supposed to be, swallowing her head and shoulders so she looks kind of like a puffy black crysanthemum on a stalk. Only, you know, with hair.

... Well, not just hair. Because as she's frantically trying to get the unruly curls under control, her hands run into something more solid hidden beneath them. A weight on her skull that's much more familiar.

And that's what takes her from mortified to panicked. Aradia's legacy hasn't bothered her for months - not so much as an intrusive thought or a silly flashback - but now, at a party, in front of goddamn everybody, is when she decides to go hey remember me? youre still turning into me, that didnt stop being a thing that was happening 0u0

She's gotta get out of here. ]

I-I'm okay! I'm okay. Sorry.

[ Okay there's her face, she can see now. With that she makes a beeline for the nearest restroom, squeezing past robots and party guests and stammering embarrassed apologies the whole way. ]

Sorry. Coming through. 'Scuse me. Hair emergency.

00 | print( Q.status() )

[ Qubit is... shall we say, less than overjoyed to be here. In fairness, though, this sort of event always puts him on edge. Have you ever been to a party so bad that it turned you off to the entire concept of parties for years? Qubit has. But he shows up to them anyway, if for no other reason that if something should go horribly, horribly wrong, he wants to be close by. The actual likelihood of that - Anchor's robotic revels have, so far, gone off without a hitch - is irrelevant.

Anyway, he needs to put himself out there and meet people. Obviously he needs to know who's here, assess what they bring to the table, what sort of threat they could pose. But more than that, he needs visibility. If anything, PR's more important in a social ecosystem this tiny, and his PR has not been fantastic. He's made a couple of loudmouth adversaries in his time here, which is clearly the only reason everybody thinks he's a standoffish asshole. If he's going to protect these people, he needs to get to work winning hearts and minds, pronto. ]

01 | while spread.hasNew( item ): log( item, instagrammable=True )

[ That's not to say he's uninterested in the festivities themselves, but his interactions with them are more as observer than participant. He doesn't seem interested in the hookah station, for instance, and he won't voluntarily take to the dance floor, though he occasionally watches those who do.

But now and then, he can be spotted eyeing something critically and taking notes or photos with his tablet. He does make sure to document the lovingly rendered "Anchor On Fire" dish and Creepy Joe's cake before either of them get substantially eaten. But the little note at the end of the lightshow elicits a raised eyebrow as well, and not just because of the useless datestamp. ]

"Number three"? Wonder what could have happened to the first two. [ His tone suggests he has no shortage of guesses. ]

02 | tasteTest = foodie.sampleAll( spread )

[ Ultimately, though, what holds his attention most is the food. There's a lot of it, for a start. Way too much for a couple dozen people to go through in one evening. How are their food reserves looking right now, he wonders? And where did some of these ingredients even come from? There are things on this table even he's never seen before, and that's saying something. And interrogating the 'bots gets him nowhere, much like every other time he's ever tried to get info out of them.

But even with his many, many concerns, eventually his inner foodie has to be indulged. Throughout the evening he samples small amounts of a wide range of dishes - things that look appetizing, things that look distinctly unappetizing, and of course anything he doesn't recognize. So at any given time, the plate he's wandering with prooobably has some of the weirder offerings on it.

What can I say, he likes to live dangerously.

Anyway, it's not a bad conversation starter - pointing out something on his plate with a casual - ] Have you tried this? [ There is a nonzero chance it's moving. ]

[ Alternatively, the Qubit-themed hors d'oeuvre is green cotton candy in excellent imitation of his hair. He's not actually going to eat those, but he does at some point examine one with an air that's not quite either amusement or disdain. ] Hmph. The more things change...

03 | for guest in crowd: { Q.talk(guest) }

[ In between all that, he stops frequently to make conversation with as many guests as he can. And he is cranking his Charisma as far up as it'll go - appropriate eye contact, relaxed body language, active listening, genuine empathy, the whole nine yards. It's not all calculated - he does genuinely care about you guys, you know. And especially once he's had an opportunity to talk with some friends, he'll probably even start to enjoy it. Sure, he can self-isolate for months on end, but he's not by any means an introvert. ]

[ A: Friends and positive acquaintances can expect a hearty hello and very little small talk before he gets to the point: ]

Really, though, how have you been lately? Honest answer. [ None of that reflexive "fine" nonsense! ]

[ B: Strangers and newcomers, on the other hand, get a less exuberant approach. Friendly but polite, testing the waters, trying not to offend: ]

Excuse me - I don't think we've met. I'm Qubit. You're a newer arrival, I take it?

[ C: (Fr)enemies he'll steer clear of if he can - he's not out to pick any petty fights tonight - but, you know, if they seek him out there's only so much he can do. To them, he'll offer a sharp-edged smile and polite disengagement: ]

I'm a little busy right now.

Threaded | Flat

QUESTIONS.

SHAMELESS TOPLEVEL FOR SHARING OUTFITS

Scaramouche | Samurai Jack | in-game

ANGEL THE SIREN | BORDERLANDS

Cloud Strife | Final Fantasy VII Remake