etrayalogs | JANUARY MINGLE

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JANUARY MINGLE

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: January 17th - January 23rd
WHERE: Etraya
WHAT: The arrival of newcomers and some new construction!
NOTES\WARNINGS:

⏵ arrival ⏴
Welcome to Etraya!

Arrival goes as expected - characters awaken on hospital beds and are offered an explanation of their situation: that they have arrived in the city of Etraya, and they are their world's only hope. They are welcome to wander the hospital if they would like to - the upper floors are mostly empty, full of pristine hallways and numerous rooms filled with supplies, cots, and things one would expect from a relatively average 21st-century hospital.

A coat rack is situated by the doors leading out of the hospital, covered in warm clothing that fits the new arrivals just right - whether it's to their preferred style or not is something else entirely. Some of them appear normal enough. Others? Well. Looks like someone was trying to improve on last month's designs.

Outside the windows, the grass is covered in a couple of inches of loosely packed snow.

We hope you enjoy your stay.

⏵ passion for fashion ⏴

As the newcomers find themselves leaving the hospital as per their usual arrival, they will find that not too far from it is a small boutique. Newly added, just as they have been, though they lack the context to know this. Companion bots will encourage them to go in and meet the particularly unique bot inside, dressed to the nines in line with the fashion the boutique itself is offering. While small, it's clearly been decorated to emphasize the loose era and taste of the particular fashion it's advertising. The building itself is also petite, and made to feel more personal rather than a commercial experience. It has a single dressing room, and outside of it has an area with mirrors where one might take in their lovely visage from nearly all angles. There is a little waiting area with seating in the front, for those who are not being molded through Theobold's vision, or simply waiting for whoever is.

The tastes and aforementioned era of this little establishment is decidedly Victorian, with a bold splash of neon trimming, cog-like adornments, and other accessories that brighten up the otherwise neutral fabrics typically used in the style of dress. Theobold, as he has named himself and will not let anyone forget, has taken to a three-piece suit, a deep emerald in color, with a black vest, and matching black gloves.

He will take it upon himself to judge each person's attire (which he will unabashedly hate), then restyle them into something more along his tastes (even if it takes him a while, he will find something you don't ruin). There are, of course, many different combinations to pick from, all hearkening to a very loud style of dress that seems as much neon as it is punk or steam. One might even name it steampunk with a splash of neon. Neon Steampunk? Something like that.

An interesting combination to say the least, Theobold insists as much.

This is, of course, not simply limited to newcomers, though they will likely be exposed to this boutique more quickly than the others. Any who come near the general area of the hospital (thus the boutique) will find themselves being encouraged by the other bots to come inside, and they will likewise be judged and restyled to Theobold's tastes—which are as bright as they are bold. He really doesn't take no for an answer, though he can't truly stop anyone from leaving any more than a pushy grandmother fussing over her grandchild's clothes might.

He has obviously discovered his passion, why not indulge him?

⏵ trending or treading ⏴

After enjoying the privilege of being restyled by Theobold, he will also insist that you take the outfit for a spin around the city! See what people say, take note of how many looks you catch, how many eyes are on you. He wants to hear about it as well, clearly to validate his own artistry, and who can blame him? Does not every artist strive to hear a little bit of praise for their hard work? Do they not yearn for recognition from the public? Theobold may be a bot, but he is also an artist honing his craft! His boutique is not above critique, though he hopes the critique isn't too harsh...

Should one indulge him, telling about what others thought, he will gladly gift the outfit to the wearer. A humble act of his endless generosity! Or if they fancy another outfit of their own taste from his boutique, then that will suffice as well. Even if it breaks his heart that you don't like the outfit. No, no. It's fine, really. It's perfectly okay. Everyone has their tastes, and yours just happens to stab him in his mechanical heart.

He'll get over it. In time. Probably.

⏵ leaving tracks ⏴

Companion bots have taken to building train tracks, as well as what appears to be a train station, in the South Eastern island of Etraya. The area is, for the most part, blocked off from Etrayans. After all, it is a construction zone, and the companion bots are ever vigilant with safety. At least they try to be. However, if people wish to lend their aid in the construction, well, they won't necessarily stop them. However they will assure them that they are not in need of assistance, and might intermittently remind those especially helpful Etrayans of that fact.

Those who wish to simply watch the construction may do so, but nothing especially interesting is going on beyond the mystery of what this these tracks and the station might be for. Besides a train, of course. After all, since when has there been any mention of a train? Asking the companion bots about it will yield little results. They won't be able to give any further details besides the obvious: when this is done, it will be for a train. It seems even they might not know the full extent of what this entails, or maybe they cannot say.

Regardless the reason of their lack of explanation, it seems patience might be the key to the answer.

⏵ NOTES ⏴

Some may notice that in the area Gorgug's friend had gone exploring outside of the environmental bubble, there is a message written on a massive piece of fabric, which is tied to two large rebar poles. The message is in an alien language, but the earpiece will automatically translate it: DID YOU THINK YOU WERE THE ONLY ONES?

On the bottom of the fabric are four vertical lines. Every Friday, a vertical line becomes crossed through with a horizontal one.

For all questions relating to this log, please refer to the mod queries comment. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I was murdered by a co-conspirator I had a falling out with, so..." he trailed off, and while he didn't appear to be bothered by the it, beneath the surface of his calm, his temper sparked. "Years after my death, they did apparently find some success."

This whole people-across-timelines concept was confusing, but he also was willing to buy into it if it meant saving his world.

"Who knows, maybe I'll try my hand at revolution again here." An ideal thought that wasn't meant seriously. Not yet anyway.

He hums a little, examine his work for a moment before standing and handing the hammer back. “What’re you fighting against here?”

It might not a bad idea, long term. But it depends on the objectives. What they stand to gain or lose in the endeavor.

He took the hammer and moved to rest it across the back of his broad shoulders as he turned and headed further down the track where new beams and spikes were bet set. There were more bots down that direction, but he just ignored their insistence that help wasn't necessary.

"My world apparently," he said simply. "But mostly, I don't like feeling like we're all prisoners being fed a line. I'd rather rebel if certain risks are worthwhile."

There’s a difference between drawing a line and being contrary out of reflex. Carver follows silently at Vander’s side, wondering where the other man falls. Maybe it doesn’t matter. In the end, he’ll become an enemy just like everybody else. The commander made it so, even if Pope’s dead now. But things are in flux in the meantime. Nothing is certain.

“There are worse things than this,” Carver points out softly. They’re not starving, for one. “But whatever the excuse, we’re here to be used. I mean to keep my eyes open.”

Learn as much as he possibly can.

He found his way to the start of the line where fish plates needed to be attached to the line and rail te plates required fastening to the sleeper rails with spikes. He began to work pound in rail spikes first to secure the braces, using hand to set the spike enough that it would stand on its own enough that he could stand and pound it in with accurate strikes from his hammer.

"Spoken like man who has experienced considerably worse. Full meals, roof over our heads and mundane tasks won't lose some of us our edge." Those of them who knew what it was to suffer and were naturally suspicious of the idea of 'free'.

This is a familiar pattern, too. Carver shifts to check the corners while Vander works, ready to defend if they’re attacked. You can’t ever let your guard down, not for a second, no matter how safe it seems. If you let your guard down, then you deserve what happens when the enemy comes.

He snorts at that.

“It’s a trap,” he explains, because around here these things apparently need to be spelled out. And that sets his teeth on edge, all these things Carver knows as fundamental truths of the universe but that everyone else gives him strange looks for saying out loud. Like he’s so goddamn unreasonable for wanting to brace for what’s coming. “All of this shit can be taken away.”

It was strange having someone move automatically go cover his vulnerabilities. Even as he continued to pound one rail spike in then the next, his head turned slightly to keep Carver in the periphery of his vision. The man was alert and knew his business, had clearly been covering someone's six so long it had become habit.

With the second spike in, he moved to attached the fish plate with practiced hands and then pounded in a fish bolt and screwed on the fastening head on the other side.

"Agreed," he said from where he was working. "You mean, all of this will be taken away. I've started stockpiling basic resources just in case." One only starved once to know tactics to prevent experiencing it again.

He’s braced for argument, for Vander to turn and give him that oh so familiar, almost pitying look and say all that shit about how everything’s fine. It’s an odd relief when it doesn’t come. Carver feels his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

“Good,” he agrees. At least someone understands. “I got caches all over the city.”

Even from his position leaned over the rail, Vander could see the shift in the other man's body language. How many people had reacted opposite that his reaction earned at least some disarm? It only affirmed some of his suspicions about this soldier who had faced hardship.

"Good," he replied. "Don't tell me where yours are, and I won't tell you where mine are. It's enough we know they are out there. Anyone else know you're doing that?"

That’s good, Carver thinks. That’s even something like fair, under the circumstances. He gives Vander a searching look, then nods just once.

“Nobody’s asked,” he replies simply. “Haven’t caught anyone else doing it, either.”

He shrugs.

“I don’t sleep much, so I patrol.”

"No doubt," he murmured as he pounded in the next set of fish bolts into the rail and attached supports and screwed them in together. "You spend a lot of time people watching, do you?"

That was smart if it was truth. An old shrewd part of him recognized the value, but Vander had always been an in-your-face type of guy and used social interaction for certain upper hands. To each their own. Everyone had their own tactics that worked.

"By design or because you don't feel it's not safe enough to sleep?"

"Always."

The commander always placed a great deal of importance on knowing your surroundings and in this case, that means people. In the field, they always stalked their targets before attacking. This really isn't any different.

Carver just shrugs. "It's never safe to sleep for long."

Truthfully, he has nightmares more often than he doesn't. Insomnia's an old friend at his point, familiar as a brother. But you don't say that shit out loud.

"Head on a swivel. It's a good way to stay alive, maybe not so much for creating alliances."

It seemed to him that, while this may be a worldly individual contest, this place was probably going to try to divide them. Greed and survival had their place, but perhaps their strength was little pockets of alliances.

You scratch my back; I scratch yours. The lack of answers did complicate matters. Still, he wouldn't fault anyone refusing to be social or create community. It was only how he preferred to operate.

"Ah, I understand," he said and added nothing more.

That's the trouble, isn't? Carver's jaw works. He watches the corners.

"I'm not good around other strangers," he says, tone short. He knows this about himself. "It's been a while since I've had to try."

"You approached me, and I was a stranger," he pointed out. He hadn't actually figured out why Carver had decided to approach him, but he didn't mind. "Do you want to try? Might be in your best interests long term."

He would understand if the guy wasn't willing to do it yet.

“You were useful.”

There was a purpose to it. There’s a purpose to it now, however obliquely Carver grasps it. The commander isn’t here to guide his hand or give him a new mission, and so he’s walking alone. Trying to remain true to their creed.

He gives Vander a long look.

“What’s that mean, here?”

"I try. If you aren't useful, what good are you, right?" That wasn't his personal creed, but he understood it.

Vander had his own purpose here and that was to find out information. He wasn't afraid to insert himself into activities for that, especially ones like this. He was pushing himself to stand after fitting the fish rail and moved on the other side of the rail track to repeat.

"This place comes across as cooperative to a degree, but I don't see long-term benefits of navigating it alone. Alliances may be the way to go. People who can give and take information, provide resources when necessary, have your back in a fight. You seem capable to hold your own. Just a piece of advice, take it or leave it, Carver." In his experience, find a foil or two.

Edited 2025-01-20 14:22 (UTC)

Like before, Carver moves with Vander. Covering his back. It's what you do in moments like this.

"I can be useful," Carver says after a moment, softly. He thinks maybe there's something wrong with him in this place, but that's okay. He can still do his job. And there's value in that.

Vander was keenly aware of how Carver moved, and it was a rare skill to shift so fluidly. He also wasn't used to it happening to him; he was generally so big and his reputation so concrete that the people at his back were normally for show. He had no doubt Carver meant business.

"You are useful," he said simply. "I haven't had anyone cover my back as well as you for a long time. People underestimate survivors in times of relative peace." He saw value in those skills. He could see how it would fit in here, and he had no issue cultivating that trust between them.

“They do that a lot here,” he agrees softly. “They don’t think it could get bad.”

Not you, is the unspoken part. Vander understands. There’s comfort in that.

"Their mistake," he agreed with a nod of his head as he pounded in more rail spikes and worked his way down a little further. "Any sort of materials that are hard to acquire here that I should know about and keep close?"

There were a few of them now, but how in contact the man would be was up for debate.

“Guns,” he replies bluntly. That’s been the major problem in Carver’s mind: not being able to stockpile weapons. “Food’s held, for now. Water’s clean. There’s medical supplies for the taking and they don’t seem to run out.”

That won’t last, he knows. It never does.

"No surprise. They probably want to keep potential violence to a minimum," he suggested. Firearms were a quick and dispassionate way to kill someone, not like when one had to feel flesh give way close and personal. "I suggest shivs and other bladed weapons for a cache."

He had already began to take food that he suspected was safe because other people were eating it. He was also experiencing a dramatic rise to the number of fights he was engaging in, so yeah, medical supplies were also items that he had his eye on.

"Times of plenty don't last. It's best to be prepared. Let me know if I can help you supplying up."

"You look like you know your way around a blade," Carver observes, in that same bland tone. Mostly, he thinks, Vander looks like a brawler who's learned how to use his size to his advantage. Up close, he'll probably be a monster. The question remains if he's been trained or just learned on instinct, but that's for later, when they're enemies or fighting shoulder to shoulder.

These days, you can never really tell how it'll swing.

He inclines his head slightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Most martial weapons," he corrected simply. He'd been in more than his fair share of fights, and he normally came out on top in them because he was gifted, experienced and fully willing to hurt people in a fight. "Do you prefer firearms, or are you an equal opportunity type of man?"

He wasn't currently looking for a fight. He was looking for something completely different.

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i love carver's priorities

He's from the apocalypse, he's practical

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