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etcelsior2015-08-22 08:10 pm
maskormods) wrote in etcelsior2015-08-22 08:10 pm
Entry tags:
The power is in your hands
TEST DRIVE MEME
Considering apping into MASK OR MENACE? Want to dip your toes into the setting and get a feel of whether your character will fit into it? Or maybe you're just cruising and want to play around? Then you've come to the right place!
Pick any of the following scenarios below or feel free to make up your own, but don't be afraid to throw yourself at someone else's thread, either!
And remember to have fun!01. Your memory might be a haze still and you might even feel frustrated or anxious by the sudden news that you are no longer in your own world and that the Porter scientists and military cannot send you back. You don't get a chance to linger long in the underground Porter lab, but something is clearly amiss; light patches on the floor indicate something else used to sit in that spot in the room. Parts of the wall, floor and the tables look as if they have been refurbished in the past few months -- something happened in here some time ago. Something big.
You're ushered out quickly and then suddenly, you're enveloped in a faint blue blue light before you find yourself under the bright Floridian sun. Another soldier steps toward you with a smile, directing your attention to a car near a large gate. She mentions she'll be debriefing you soon, handing out a brown folder and a pamphlet. You don't see the digital tattoo on your wrist, but it's quickly explained on your way over to the car as you realize there are other confused faces nearby, all holding files of their own.
02. The city of Heropa is what one might expect from a small, bright and cheery place. The locals are friendly enough and local shop owners might offer a free drink to help cool you down in this awfully nauseating heat. Some of the locals might thank you for always lending your service to the nation and others might not say anything. In fact, some people might back away from any imPort who quite obviously looks like they aren't from around the neighborhood. Once in a while there's a look of disdain on someone's face and hushed voices. Something about "the outbreak" and "the government's gotta crack down on their medical files". "Some of them can't be right in the head" says another.
03. De Chima, Virginia, is a large city with a healthy economy, and though it's quieter, there are just as many citizens awed at your presence. Heavy winds have people grasping at their newspapers and constantly brushing hair out of their faces, but that doesn't distract them from crowding you in excitement if you're obviously from a different time or world, or just let it slip that you're a newcomer. Children and young teenagers are especially likely to ask for an autograph and a photo.
Some locals seem less enthused to see you. They never make an approach, but they can be overheard scoffing and muttering something about cameras. "Who do they think they are?" or "I don't like it... it reminds me of the government corruption back in the eighties." What could they be talking about?
04. Maurtia Falls, Pennsylvania, is normally known for being a little more on the apathetic side, but there's been tension in the atmosphere lately. Nobody will outright state what it is that's rustled their jimmies, though you might find a newsstand with articles on recent and aggressive vigilante behavior within the city. "ImPorts: loyal to the cause of their own?" reads one newspaper article.
People are not as friendly in this city and go out of their way to avoid walking down the same sidewalk as the more obvious looking imPorts pass through. Local cops say nothing, but they scowl at those imPorts and utter something about "no badges" and "acting like authority figures".
05. Nonah, North Carolina, is the liveliest of all cities. It's loud, busy and there's some kind of energy in the air that gets everyone buzzing with excitement. Anyone who they come to determine an imPort is bombarded with all sorts of offers; job offers, advertising gigs, spokesperson for advocating children stay in school, etc. Anything and everything! You name it. Shops offer discounts for food and clothing, whatever they need. People flock in droves with questions, but they all say the same thing. Thank you for your service to this country, Hero. You saved a lot of lives. Wow, feels great to be a hero, doesn't it?
so tentative;
[ Perusing the street front somewhat listlessly for any attention grabbing store fronts, Doctor Lecter brushes off the rude, hasty bump of a stranger, the obnoxious tone of a man yelling at a grocer across the street, and the disapproving mutterings of an old couple as they changed sides of the street upon his approach.
The nature of his new surroundings was highly conducive to fostering paranoid and antisocial behaviors. Additionally, the locals were as immune to charm, culture and manners as they were ignorant to polite social obligations. He couldn't even host a party among the local elite.
It was making him itch; an internal itch which he wasn't going to be able to repress for much longer. He had sated it with Will, but that was a long withdraw while in prison. Though it had been immensely satisfying, the need had returned, exacerbated by the social inadequacies and general anxiety inducing discomfort of this anachronistic city.
In other words, people weren't paying attention to him, for better or worse, and that made Hannibal twitchy, annoyed, and hungry.
In the absence of Will to bait and obsess over, he was left with his backup go-to habits, which irritated them in how much they felt like a poorly tailored suit - behaviors he had both outgrown and lost interest in which, in want of his groomed audience, felt juvenile and uninteresting.
In any case, he didn't want to make a big splash. He knew what would happen, and that ship had sailed. Now he was just left with a need and greater abilities to fulfil them. Perhaps he could cover up anything found out. His new status as a super-powered agent gave him many excuses to throw out, defending most strange behaviors and giving access to extremely convenient resources. On the flip side, he was under tighter supervision than he had been volunteering to assist the FBI while killing left and right under their noses.
Here, reality and consequence was more concrete, rational - frustratingly practical. If he killed, it would soon be known. It was rather hard to write a corpse off as collateral damage when he wasn't just shot in the head in a suspicious location, but was cut to obscure pieces and missing some organs.
In other words, so far, this place was a headache with a severe and unforgivable lack of flavor. If he could shake the somewhat new sensation of missing something, he could focus on changing that. ]
bonsoir
Well, he doesn't actually run into him, of course, but it feels that way. It feels like he's been struck so much that he stops mid-crossing the street, doesn't come back to reality until a car horn blasts, engine revving. He shakes his head, realizes he's holding up traffic, and gingerly half-jogs to the other side to prevent anything more attention-grabbing. Which of course puts him on the same sidewalk as Hannibal Lecter.
He could have just turned around and run off the other way, he'll think later. Think that stupid, insulting route—Chilton was right, Hannibal would know. Wasn't difficult, Will never made an attempt to hide himself on the Network. His family, new and old. His family he's now suddenly doing mental cartwheels thinking about, debating slipping off his wedding ring (Hannibal might be charmed by two snakes, less charmed by April). That's insulting, too, isn't it? Surely Hannibal could spot the change in color on that particular finger, and even though Will's not up to speed on smells...
He's the same sort of aftershave. Nature, a mix of seawater, dogs, cats, hamsters, raccoon. Abigail, undoubtedly. Trying to hide or change anything about him right now simply won't work when he's trying to hide from Hannibal, and any attempts to pretend otherwise could come across as rude.
Will knows what happens to the rude. Will knows what happens to traitors, to liars, remembers stumbling back in after a hellish night in Hannibal Lecter's kitchen, clutching his stomach with his other hand ripped from a throat that needed more immediate care than him...
Him, now standing just as still on the curb and drinking in the man at a nearby storefront. Hannibal could be six blocks down the road and it would still feel like he was mere inches away.
One foot in front of the other, worn khakis and a plaid shirt that can't decide between green or blue, the Will Graham who approaches him isn't that different. There is no dent on his forehead, his biggest scars covered by his shirt, but the set jaw and the fact that his stride is slower tells enough. The absence of Will Graham as bait to obsess over is something Will can choose to fix, to fill, instead of running off and waiting for Hannibal to realize he knew. He hid. He welcomed a game of hide and seek.
Better for him to reveal himself in daylight, openly, than that disastrous outcome. To come for confession when the rest of the mass is milling about rather than sneak in later. He thinks of multiple queries (they range from an accusatory Looking for a butcher? to a bland When did you get here?) but none of them work. His mouth won't let them out. So he walks straight up to Hannibal Lecter and, if he doesn't go spotted or smelled (or if Hannibal doesn't turn to draw attention to the fact that he knows first), the only other option is to simply slide up next to him, Will turning his eyes on whatever it is that has caught Hannibal's attention for the moment.]
bonsoir~
He is relieved to note a whiff of what registers as Abigail Hobbs - not a scent he expected to experience again. Not a face he expected to see, memory of the voice brought back rich in his ears, just by mere recollection. It was as if another time, place -- world, really -- submerged out of his mind. One where each event of his life could be segregated for inspection.
A week ago, he would have thought any occasion to analyze his choices and find the ideal place to change something, and alter the course of his life, was ideal. Then fate had altered, in simple deduction, by the Becoming of Will Graham, and he found, in the last moments he recalled and clung to, before waking here, that there was not a single act, a single exchange of words, a single glance that he would change.
Here was a different scenario. One in which nothing he did about the past in his mind altered the irreparable deviations of this new reality. The audacity of that Universal Architect to create his best possible world, engage him to it, and rip it away for this.
This, in which it was possible for the object of his thoughts to manifest in every sensation, nearly cause an accident, and join him in stride like a poorly scripted Broadway musical. At least there wasn't snapping.
Hannibal, long aware of his coming, had time to adjust his face and don his façade of masked indifference and social control. To sort through numerous desired statements or reactions, settling upon none which were too revealing or authentic. He noted, out of the corner of his eye, the predictable mess and disarmingly predictable appearance of his (no longer secretly) favored visage.
Initially, he was to keep his abilities a mystery for now, perhaps to observe the pulse, breath, and other psychologically revealing physical sensations without disruption by Will's awareness of them, but then his desire to trigger those precise reactions upon revealing them would be missed. Unable to repress any curiosity, the insincerely recovering cannibal speaks in a casually disaffected tone. ]
Hello, Will. I would be surprised that this is the first I am seeing of you since my arrival, but the pleasant scent of all you cherish in this new life says everything I need to know. You've been very busy, I see. I understand now, why there was a scent I could not place. Pets. The ocean. Abigail...these I know, though I confess surprise to the latter. But who is the other woman, I wonder?
no subject
No need to wonder. I'm married.
[Which tells him nothing (no name, no face, obvious with his ring) and everything (married, such a big step to make, and without the normal wedding band he'd had with Molly, who he's yet to meet, yes Abigail is here but I don't know how to discuss her with you now) at the same time. When it comes to Hannibal, Will throws him bare bones knowing that they're so much more. That he's never had the proper guards to go toe-to-toe and fully win.
So he does the best he can, taking a deep breath to steady himself even as he looks ready to rip Hannibal apart with his bare teeth—but nothing unusual there, eh? Will stuffs his hands in his pants' pockets, arms framing that smile Hannibal left him, likely visible even under a layer of plaid and undershirt. But that little nick of a scar wasn't on Hannibal's face last time, was it? Perhaps Jack had gotten a slice in and Will didn't realize how deep it was, perhaps it didn't mean anything, perhaps it was just another small wound that did nothing in the grand scheme of bringing the battle to an end.]
Walk with me?
[He tilts his chin up, nodding down the sidewalk like Will knows of a place Hannibal might actually enjoy. Perhaps no one will pay him more attention there, but Will's here now. He doesn't need anyone else. And even though his words to Chilton about how he always carries a pocket knife these days ring through his ears, this is a public space and definitely not the time to start throwing about forgiveness.
He has a family on the line, Baltimore and not. He has reasons to behave now. He'll behave. He'll walk side by side with Hannibal Lecter, guide and guided at the same time, looking for all intents and purposes like he's found a dear old friend, if allowed. He'll be grateful, too, Freddie Lounds is no longer around to snap pictures of them and take the wrong cues. The boys are back in town, how long until she gets wind of horrifying murders, bodies missing their organs? No thanks.]
aw yeeeeeah
He had just gotten finished talking with some young girl who looked to be in the nebulous age of midtwenties who had seen him at the club a few nights ago. Though he's not flirting, there's so much in Dorian's demeanor that blatantly screams 'I think I'm hot shit and I can have you if I want you.' After their conversation finishes, he turns to look at Hannibal, just a few feet away. It doesn't matter whether Hannibal was looking at him or not—what matters is that Dorian thinks he is. ]
Can I help you? [ he flashes Hannibal a winning, self-assured smile. With his British accent, he's obviously out of place...and yet, he's fitting in near seamlessly with the everyday Maurtia Falls citizen. ]
this should make awesome cr
Instead, he received a look and posture that, to one such as himself, displayed about as much as he needed to know as those thoughts would have, upon analysis afterwards. Rather than someone merely confident and self-assured, Hannibal's quick, professional analysis combined with the relevant implications overheard from the chatter with the departed female which Lecter had been trying to block out (he hadn't quite gotten control over when the senses focused yet), his assumption was that standing before him was an individual who may actually be more narcissistic than himself.
Imagine that.
Only time would tell. If only he knew who was before him. Alas, his knowledge of the literary figure could not exist as such here. ] I suppose you can, if you know the best spot to purchase quality libations?
pretentious vs. pretentious
I suppose that all depends on the quality of your "libations." [ Though he doesn't make finger quotes, it's obvious from his tone that if he could, he would. What even is your deal, weird foreign man. ] Are you looking for just a drink or more along the lines of a bottle?
[ Of course for Dorian, libations = booze. ]
no subject
Tsk. You'll learn how to sound even more pretentious in time, padawan.
Hannibal gives a smile that seems congenial, but really masks his annoyance at perceived mockery. ]
A bottle will suffice. I'm looking for something to mark the occasion. I'm having an old friend for dinner.
no subject
Well you're new here, right? [ he's got some sort of vague accent that, at least in Dorian's mind screams 'new.' ] If you're just doing this for formality's sake, there's a grocery store a few blocks down the road. They specialize in boxed everything.
[ however, it's obvious that Dorian does not think too highly of grocery store wine. ] If you actually want to impress this friend, though, there's a lovely little liquor store just the next street over. It's selection is depressingly university standards, [ says the man who looks like he's barely out of uni himself ] but if you're willing to prowl, you can find something of actual substance.