Someone ought to think about a Halloween party. If there is one, we should have it be a little more on the adult side than what we got at the swear in. Minus the murder. Of course.
Someone can pick up that giant spider carapace and fill it with candy. We'll have snakes. And I'm sure a vampire can come and menace everyone at least a little.
Lots of drinks.
[SHE WANTS HER DAMN MOLTING BACK.]
If people want it, I'll gladly throw it.
I'll make this quick and painless. The name's Jessica Jones, and I'm looking for answers.
They brand us like cattle. Expect us to play house. Assign crapass jobs.
And of all the places to wage the Cold War 2.0, they pick fucking Florida. [ she scoffs, as if that's somehow the worst offense of all. ] How do we leave this shithole?
[ there's a pointed beat of silence, as she presses her lips together in contemplation. almost as an afterthought, she adds: ]
And where can I get a drink around here? The cheaper, the better.
She doesn't glance at the camera right away, letting the silence linger until she's finished painting the nail the way she wants. Then she finally looks up and smiles, but it isn't one offered up in apology for making anyone wait, not that she believes she has anything to apologize for. ]
Isn't this all interesting? I've never seen a device like this or heard of one that could shuffle people from across the universe.
[ Her eyes light up at the thought, masking any concerns she has about the fact there's something with far greater power than she might ever have. ]
Nor have I heard about machines that could grant people power. What I find most strange having looked over this network, is that so many people would give up these powers if it meant leaving this place? I had always thought people preferred being special and having that kind of security. Does your power not provide that?
[ A contemplative pause. ]
Maybe I am a little excited to travel for once, personally.
[ Not completely, but who needs to know behind a calm affect is a woman who feels threatened by the Porter? She goes back to painting her nails, interested in hearing what these other imPorts have to say in response. ]
He doesn’t speak, at first, and he doesn’t really look at the communicator at first. He seems to be focused on something else (smells, sounds). Eventually, he does speak, with a soft low voice and his eyes turn to the small camera ]
Tell me about your forests. And this world's forests. [ okay, that's not so bad. The bird nearby approaches enough so it'll land on top of Ame's head, but the kid doesn't seem to even notice its there. ]
And about the wolves, too.
Is there a way to get people here to stop sending me mail? Legally? I am not sure how many more letters about people's werewolf souls and how they want to join my pack I can take.
[ There's a rustle of paper and a sigh. ]
I suppose I could go back to living in the park... at least that had no address attached...
[ And far more squirrels to chase. ]
He's holding it in one hand now, although the paper looks a little crumpled, like it's been balled up and thrown once or twice. Or five times, but whose counting. Illya himself is composed, more or less; a fair-haired gentleman in his thirties, dressed in a dark turtleneck and jacket, his mouth twisted into a faint frown. Blonde, blue-eyed, and handsome, he's physically close to the epitome of Aryan perfection. The punchline of that particular assumption drops when Illya opens his mouth, though. Because: ]
Why tattoos? Surely there is some other way of marking newcomers -- imPorts as it says here -- to keep track of who arrives and departs. Sufficiently advanced technology, and it comes down to tattoos. Words instead of -- I don't ...
[ That's right. This particular imPort is Russian, judging by the thick accent lacing each word. He isn't bothering to hide it, either, speaking in a controlled, somewhat clipped tone. While his overall demeanor is calm but guarded, those accustomed to closely reading others might guess he's more disturbed by the topic than he lets on. Illya takes a breath, glancing down at the paper and then back up. ]
Where I am from, there was a terrible war fought because groups of people were gathered in specific places and marked with similar tattoos before being slaughtered. [ He shrugs casually, as if he is aware (or assumes) personal biases won't make much difference in this world. As if what Hilter did doesn't still piss him off. It has only been twenty years in his world, though, and of what he has read about the rift between America and Russia, it is this detail that stands out. Aside from 'Russians R Bad'. ] But perhaps I am overly sensitive to such things. Perhaps it is not a problem here.
My name is Illya Kuryakin. I am from Moscow. [ Yes, that Moscow. ] Does anyone else come from outside the United States? It seems a great many people are from America, or places influenced by it. Or, if you are American, how does your world differ from this one?
[ Look, aside from the secret agent skills, he dabbles in other areas, including science and maybe a little psychology. (Researching personal weaknesses ftw.) Right now, throwing tantrums and breaking things isn't going to get him any answers on what's going on. So he might as well start collecting information by asking those who've been in his position. Especially if the government actually wants him to register. The more you know, right? ]
I've been thinking recently about the cross-section of the imPort community who aren't human, perhaps most particularly since the ambassador elections last month. There are a sizable amount of us, not a large group, but significant. I've spoken with many of you on individual terms, and while the resources Governor Kang and SELF have provided to those of us with more unique needs have been invaluable, I feel there is still something missing in our collective socialization. We live the imPort experience in a way that many others won't fully appreciate, and I think we could benefit from sharing those experiences with each other.
[ At this point, Ashiah tries to wander off camera, but Kanaya suppresses a giggle as she puts a hand on top of her and scoots her back into place. ]
I'm unsure exactly what form that would take, but putting us all in a room to share our stories would be at least a start. If anyone is interested, please let me know, and I'll see about renting some space. Of course, if you have any special dietary needs, in terms of snacks, I would like to hear those as well.
This is generally something I'd prefer to save until we're in person, but... [ She's interrupted as Ashiah turns around and nuzzles into her chest, then tries to climb up her shoulder. Kanaya stops and laughs to herself, then plucks her off and cradles her, despite all her fidgeting. ] Anyway, for those of you who I haven't had the pleasure with yet, my name is Kanaya Maryam, and this is my daughter, Ashiah. I'm an Alternian troll, specifically an awakened jadeblood, which basically means I'm a vampire. She's a Daughter Grub from the same planet. [ She raises a finger, shaking her head. ] And before you ask, no, she isn't a troll, and she won't grow up to be one, either. Once she finally pupates, she'll become a Mother Grub. They acted as gestational surrogates for trolls, while the jadeblooded caste were their caretakers and midwives. It's all a bit complicated, this is just a general summary.
So, hopefully we'll be able to put something together moving forward, and I'll be able to hear all of your stories, as well. I'll be looking forward to hearing from each of you.
I'm curious. Now, I'm sure this question has been posed many times before, but I'd still like to know. How many of you already had powers before you were brought to this place? And how many of you were--for lack of a better term--completely ordinary beforehand? And how did you adjust to your newfound powers, if at all?
You see, I've been here for quite some time now, but still find it a little difficult to compensate for this--hm, unnatural strength? [ she doesn't want to call it super strength ] That I've been given. I assumed I would get used to it over time, but perhaps there's something more to it than just that.
[ She sighs, and stops tossing the thing up and down, now holding the broken-off doorknob up to be seen. ]
In other news, there doesn't happen to be anyone here with the power to fix doors very quickly, does there? I can certainly fix it myself, but I'm afraid I might make things worse instead.
arms crossed over his chest and a scowl fixed upon his face that can only mean he's new here, dr. leonard mccoy is not happy with his current situation. prime directive be damned, they've dropped him back into the medical equivalent of dark ages and he's going to let everyone know how he feels about this. ]
Now this damn thing has finally decided to work, the name's Leonard McCoy. I'm your new local paediatrician. It's a pleasure. [ the corner of his lips twitch in what might be considered a smile. ] Now before you start asking: I don't practice the dark arts these doctors of yours call medical treatment, I don't make house calls, and I don't do any of this mumbo-jumbo magic crap either.
[ they seem to be a bit of a sore subject for the doctor. ]
If you need any medical assistance, I suggest you ask for me specifically, unless you want holes drilled in your head. God help me, I'll be here all day.
In my world, the blogging platform for re-distributing content via "reblogs" is known as:
We don't have the internet
we have the internet but we're still in the Myspace years
We have the internet but I'm old and don't understand the question
Did you have Michael Jackson
Why is pop music in this dimension so bad? (please check all that you think may apply)
has no tumblr, only rumblr
imPort worship removing relevance from actual native artists
Continued cold war aggresions limits cooperative globalization, harming the progress of human art
Lucifer has not put out an album yet
seriously though you guys dont even have Justin Beiber. I don't get how you can still fuck it up after a boon like that.
If you selected "it's complicated" for question 2, please explain below.
This is further reconnaissance more than anything else. Oh, and puns. Mustn't forget those.
The camera comes on and he can be seen leaning back against a building's wall. Doesn't seem like it'd be comfortable, but he makes it work.]
So. The Cold War.
[It's possible that there's a chill running down the spine of anyone listening, but that might just be due to how terrible the pun is. Or perhaps his voice, putting just a little bit too much emphasis on everything. Possibly also because of his power.]
Where I'm from, we'd already dealt with that. Interesting times though. Got very heated.
So, this is a war. Who are we rooting for? Are the commies drafting random people too?
I've been inside a Gulag once, not really looking for a repeat there.
[The recording cuts off here, but as he packs the device away, he actually walks inside the building and enters Heropa #020, to see whatever expects him there.]
This ends it. Are we clear? No revenge, no retribution, no whiny network posts complaining about me behind my back. If any of you, or your personal army, comes near me again, I won't be as gentle, or forgiving. I'll eradicate every last one of you, melt your nanites in acid, and launch the acid into the sun--just to be absolutely sure it sticks.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend.
GET OFF YOUR KNEES AND RISE UP
As seen in official military press release, circulated by mainstream American media:
America's imPort heroes are at a high state of readiness to defend against any threat, thanks in part to this week's intensive training sessions hosted by the Rogue imPort Suppression Enforcement (RISE) team. Working closely in cooperation with the US government, RISE is putting their agents and visiting heroic volunteers through their paces with a variety of exercises and drills. This training includes advanced Virtual Reality technology that represents the cutting edge of American ingenuity in military development, on loan to RISE. ImPort Heroes are practicing at challenges including close combat, disaster rescue, and bomb disposal, sharpening their abilities to a keen edge in preparation for any future crises. When asked for comment on the activities, RISE commander Major-General Olivier Armstrong only stated "It's standard training. We're honing our skills. That's all you need to know."
America's citizens can rest easy knowing that heroes like RISE stand ready to protect the nation from any disaster or enemy, with all their considerable power. And America's foes should be given pause, knowing that the United States has such strength on its side.
FEED YOUR NEED
As seen on the Rumblr account for Benny's Breakfast:
This is a WONDERFUL BREAKFAST.
You can have them apart, but do you really want to be that kind of person?
Eat well. Have egg and potato.
LIPLOCK AND LOAD
As seen gone viral on BlueTube and viewed on the show Good Elevensies America:
The people responsible for the "Awful Lip Reading" series have at last turned their attention to imPorts, with a new episode aptly titled "ALR: imPort Edition"! For those not familiar, they've spliced together footage from the news and user-submitted videos and such (probably including footage from FanPort), anything where the imPort's mouth is clearly visible, and then dubbed over with their own nonsensical dialogue. The episode is a hilarious viral hit, but some commenters have expressed concern that the imPorts included might be upset at quite literally having words put in their mouths...
BETS THAT BITE
As heard on AM radio:
An underground gambling ring has stepped out the shadows with a new betting bid: werewolves vs. vampires. You put your money where your fangs are, and any damaged sustained (property or otherwise) by either party could fill your pockets. Rumor has it that the best bookies are hiding down in Maurtia Falls.
DIX MEASURING CONTEST
As seen on Bwitter, Rumblr, and Threadit's /imPort/shipping/ sub-threadit:
The name of that guy Rick Grimes was spotted getting cozy and friendly with just after Fanport has been discovered!
It's Daryl Dixon.
Photos of the two walking 'home' to Xavier's together have been circulating, along with stories posted by students at the facility saying that Daryl is clearly living with the Grimes. While some "Rix" shippers are disappointed that Tex and Rick's relationship seems to have fizzled out, the newly minted "Darrick'" shippers are quickly filling up the vacancy with new candid photos of the two standing suspiciously close to each other, smiling fondly and laughing with the other, and even a couple hugs -- hugs damn you! -- and it proves they're dating! Rick doesn't hug anyone like that in public unless it's his son!
As seen on national news:
Ronald Chump wants to remind everyone purchasing imPort products (including technological toys) that this is technically UNAMERICAN PRODUCTION. Bwitter has since been ablaze with controversial commentary both supporting and denouncing Chump.
The Homeland Security Advisory System has moved from MOTHER OF PEARL to PLACID GREEN, as nothing traumatic has happened on a massive scale! Yay, imPorts!
WANT TO SUBMIT TO THE MAJORITY REPORT?
The Majority Report comes out the 10th and 20th of every month. You may find details and submit here. The cut-off time is 12:01 AM PST on the 9th and the 19th for the corresponding dates.
And then there's Will in the middle of it all, tanner and shaggier than usual. Also sporting a dark blue shirt with a koala basically in Mad Max get up declaring something about I FELT THE THUNDER DOWN UNDER. With arms wide open, he looks around, face softly but with a lot of feeling expressing "what the actual fuck."]
Did the Russians make a return?
[The WRIGGLE ROOM sign tried so hard and got so far but in the end it fell to the floor, loudly, with the rest of a once presentable business. Will looks over his shoulder, mumbles a figures, and then reaches to cut the feed off.]
[ooc. this is in reaction to werewolves vs vampires]
The video opens on a rather busy scene: a hotel desk, behind which the hotel itself is covered in various tarps, ladders, and the like. From time to time, someone passes by in this background. Worn jeans and worn shirts make it evident they're construction workers getting down to business. And once or twice there will be a man in a fine suit or a woman in a fine dress, all tailor fit and reminiscent of the 1920s. It's clearly not their first choice of uniform—the men may tug at their collars as they become more familiar with the closeness of fabric, the women may seem to have issues with their new shoes. The scene is simply a shot of this hotel entrance for a few moments before James Patrick March comes to stand in front of the desk, in his usual too fancy attire, wearing a pleasant smile. A moment of silence before he nods in the direction of the camera and ever so innocently inquires, all 20s charm and 20s drawl:]
Well, is it on? [No voice answers him but he's gotten a yes just the same, and does his best to look directly at the camera. It's probably obvious he's not familiar with this. Like, just a bit.] Greetings! I can't say that I've ever participated in a televised broadcast, do forgive any mistakes I may make.
My name is James Patrick March [said with so much pride, this is a man who loves his name] and I've been among this world for just over a month now. Met a few of you so far, all very delightful. But I look forward to meeting more, and so this little announcement came about. You see, I'd been put in this town, Maurtia Falls as they call it, and been given work at a local hostel. Well! I'm quite pleased to announce under my new management, we are working to renovate, to elevate this hostel to a hotel. All has gone quite swimmingly so far, and the estimated date for the newly minted Hotel Castile to be functional is the twenty-first of this month. Now, where I come from, no one ever opens a business without celebration—it's pure bad luck! And so, I'd like to extend an open invitation for the twenty-third, the following Saturday, to every single one of you imPorts, as we are called, to join us for the evening. There will be food and drink, music, an open bar, a raffle...and if anyone enjoys the party more than they anticipated, there will be plenty of rooms to stay in until sobriety kicks in! The Hotel Castile will be proud to offer affordable rates and exemplary service to our guests in all regards.
[There's a pause, a break in the Super Happy Public Service Guy From Way Back When. He's engaging an eye battle with whoever's behind the camera. Seems he doesn't quite approve of the rest of their services, doesn't want to say the thing. The thing he eventually shakes his head and finishes with anyway, looking somewhat disgusted at this horrible offer they must include.]
...and complimentary Wi-Fi.
[The old timey dude doesn't appreciate modern reliance on the Internet, water is wet. But he gathers himself back together quickly to finish it up with a smile. One may wonder how strong his cheeks are because he comes across as the sort who is never not smiling.]
So please, do join us! The Hotel Castile is located at [address, delivered with so much joy, he is just such a happy fellow] and the evening's festivities are scheduled to begin at five. No one is ever late, however, don't be shy.
[Dude is a damn toothpaste commercial with all the smiling he's got going on right now. Like he's frozen in that form...for a few seconds before he squints again at whoever's holding the camera like, okay, he's done, right? This is finished, isn't it? Good job team, will that do, pig, or what? And that's the face the camera cuts off on—great timing, too, since the noise of a saw starting up had just taken over.]
Okay, I think I figured this out.
Hi. I'm uh--well, I'm Sam; Sam Winchester, and this is apparently not the first time I've been here? Selective memory loss, I guess; not like it would be the first time.
So... Where do I even start? I mean, back where I come from, we don't really talk about this stuff. It's not exactly anything people usually believe, but then you guys have been living it for a while, huh? So when I say I'm a hunter, that me and my brother hunt supernatural creatures - vampires, werewolves, ghosts - that's probably going to be a No News Tuesday, right?
[ He rubs his chin, begins to gesture at the screen and then stops, dropping his hands into his lap, out of sight. ]
No, it's still weird talking about it.
[ He's still fidgeting, folding his arms across his chest and creasing his brow apologetically. ]
Okay, long story short, my brother and I got tangled up in the apocalypse, and all sorts of things we barely believed in turned out to be real. The Devil, for example. Angels.
We fought him, back where I came from - Lucifer - which is why I guess I'm even talking about this... I know he's got his claws in this place--I mean, what kind of world gives the Devil a TV show? I want to help. I can help. It'll help me out too, because maybe if I know who he's screwing with, we can work out how what his angle is, and how to stop it before it gets too far.
[ A pause. ] I was going to say something else, but I've forgotten. I guess...is anyone here I know? Dean? Bobby? Cas? I should...probably stop talking now. Okay.
[ A statement made on the tail end of him fumbling with the communicator, finding something to lean it against.
For those actually used to seeing Nicolas, even if it's only a faint recollection thanks to the current technological mix-up, he is decidedly less, well, vagrant looking. For those who don't, here's an admittedly still somewhat grizzled Russian on the network.
Though even then, his hair and beard are much more tame than before. Beginning to go grey, too. He's also swapped his old wool scarf for something green and lighter-looking, the rest of his clothing for a indistinct tan uniform, the high-collared variety, but, from what can be seen, it's lacking in any apparent markings for rank or nation.
As to where he's broadcasting from, it looks like he's taken up an outside table at a cafe, the table covered in newspapers and the edge of a coffee cup just off to one edge of what the device's little camera can see. ]
Ah, but we can skip over the wheres and the whys of this entire mess. I remember that much. Now, what I would like are any suggestions for living arrangements. There are, what? Three cities? Four?
Apparently my former self had the stunningly poor plan of living in a park.
While the heat isn't an issue, I'm just not as inclined to sleep outdoors when I don't have to as much as I used to these days, especially not if I have to worry about giant lizards sneaking up on me. I've had enough of that for one lifetime already...
Okay, help a girl out here. I've been reading but yeah... it hasn't helped much. Also, it's confusing as fuck.
[ Jessica doesn't do small talk. She's less salty about the whole being kidnapped thing, but she's far from fine. ]
The Cold War... is still happening? Didn't happen? It's what, the fucking Hot War now?
[ It's like someone only read the titles of a history book while drunk and high. ]
And why do they need us exactly? They seem to be waging wars just fine without us. Because I'm sure as hell not buying the whole story about them not being able to control their little interdimensional kidnap robot.
...and did the Russians seriously invaded us?
[ You can hear her shake her head. So much. ]
Anyway, I'm Jessica. Jessica Jones. I do detective work, if someone needs that. Spread the word, I don't know. Also, I own a bar. Kinda. First drink on me if you're stuck here, whatever.
[ Heavy sigh, barely audible curse. That's all, folks. ]