October New Arrivals!

[thepull_mods]

Who: October Arrivals, Greeters, NPC recruiters & anyone else who happens to be hanging around the Tower Apartments to 'welcome' newcomers.
When: Throughout October, 2012 (Please Specify Date & Time in Thread Header)
Where: The Sector 4 Baseball Diamond, Parking Lot & Lobby of the Tower Apartments
Summary: This is your catch-all one stop log for arrival interactions! New Newcomers can also meet and mingle in the apartment lobby.
Warnings: Nausea, potential for violence, language- add on any warnings or ratings as they come up.

It feels like a whiplash, like being plucked up into the sky and sucked through a very tight dark space before being deposited rather roughly in the City. Your character will be disoriented, dizzy, slightly nauseous, and very sore upon arriving in Siren's Port It is your choice whether your character arrives during the safety of the day or the danger of night.

Until recently, no one knew why, but every new arrival from another world gets deposited in the dead center of an ill-kept baseball diamond.

Some of the fences and signboards have been replaced with information and welcoming signs, posted by Newcomers as encouragement. However, from time to time some form of degrading graffiti'd tag might appear here or there, 'Go Home!' or 'Now You're Fucked, Newmeat' 'Welcome to Sirens Port, Population: Too Many to Add One More' and 'Attention Newcomers: Please wait here till sunset sirens to receive your welcoming package! =) ')

A person is thrown from their pull somewhere within the fenced-in baseball field, either in the dirty infield or tossed rolling into the overgrown dirty outfield. A recent fire has charred the left side of the outfield, and grass is only starting to grow back.

Standing on second base and facing home plate, one will see a rotten, old and deteriorating backstop and chain link fencing, much like any little league baseball field. Broken down bleachers made of worn out green painted wood can be seen in disarray behind this, and some old trees line the wall and fencing along the right side.

To your left is a walled in Dugout with a secured door. The dugouts are made of thick concrete and set low into the earth. This one has been outfitted as a safe place to enter during the night to hide and wait out the morning. Sometimes Greeters can be found here, waiting for people to show up. The Dugout to the right has also been cemented over and secured with a heavily guarded and armored door.

The Baseball Diamond is held by the Neutral Government, allowing greeters access to the infield to retrieve new arrivals. However, the small building constructed over the right dugout is still guarded heavily by government-controlled Voids, to block public access to the Core. Those who cooperate with greeters will be treated fairly and be given helpful information, lead to the Tower Apartments and offered a month's lodging. Those who put up a fight will be met with Voids and detained by police.

Just beyond the fence, in the Tower Apartments parking lot and lobby, SERO and AGI recruiters will be passing out informational leaflets presenting company propaganda, including discounted coupon booklets and travel-sized toiletries as a "Newcomer Welcome Package".

Other then the lights around the Core dugout, there is one single electric light above home plate that remains on, even in the Darkness. There is an open walkway near the dugouts that leads into the parking lot of the Tower Apartments. The front doors of Tower One are always kept unlocked, but you had best close them again quickly if you slip inside during the night. The office of the Landlord is well marked near the lobby, and you'll receive keys there.

The second tower is abandoned, it looks like there was some kind of bombing. Asking around, you might hear about the anti-newcomer movement and an attempt to blow up both towers. Explosive charges were set up in the elevator shafts, back in January. Tower Two's weren't disabled in time, so the building is taped off, and you'll be advised not to go wandering in there- it's no doubt structurally unsound, though the first tower still stands tall and (mostly) functioning.

Though temporary housing services are funded by SERO and AGI, they are now run buy the Newcomers themselves. With heavy funding and support contacts from both companies, the building is in a state of slow remodeling.

Comments

10/18 - afternoon

[mikethecleaner]

Mike held a steady, albeit slightly stiff gait as he emerged through the break in the fence and out into the city. Mike wasn't a stranger to out-of-the-ordinary situations, but this certainly topped his list for the time being. The city didn't look familiar. It was colder than New Mexico and lacked the dusty terrain. But how did he end up here, wherever this was? He was certain it was mere minutes ago that he was tearing through the desert in his car. Looking back, yes, that was indeed his car but it was crashed in the middle of a baseball field and he knew something had to have brought him to this spot. But what?

As Mike was pondering all of this, he kept moving, no destination in mind but looking at him wouldn't give that impression. His steps were sure-footed. Just when he was about to head towards the first building he spotted, a voice broke through his thoughts. Mike's training lended him the ability to recognize and remember people by voice. More often than not names weren't used over the phone, so it did him well to remember what those he worked for and with sounded like. Gus's voice was unmistakeable, one he'd heard hundreds of times on the other end of his phone and the sound startled him, his head snapping towards the direction it had come from.

There was Gus. In the flesh, walking towards him. But how could this be? He knew well enough that those high up on the chain of command couldn't mistake a thing like Gus being murdered, so something else had to be going on. An unusual look of shock came across Mike's face and a hand came up to pull his sunglasses off, thinking he must be mistaken.

"Gus...?" The questioning tone in his voice was unusual, too. After a moment, the shock began to wear off and frustration took hold. Mike didn't kill unnecessarily. There was always a reason. A cut-and-dry purpose. "You mind tellin' me why on Earth I was called this morning?" His voice lowered and his eyes briefly glanced from one side to another to be sure nobody else was within earshot. "Why I was told you were..." He trailed off. It was unnecessary to finish. Blown to bits? Bombed to hell? Any which was he'd put it was too much to think about, feeling the potential of his temper building in his pulse.

[businessman]

Well, that answered one critical question, at least: when was Mike arriving from? Even if he hadn't said it aloud, really, Gus would have figured it out from the look on his face. Gustavo didn't smile much -- although he was right now, one of the faint and extremely rare ones that was actually genuine -- and Mike didn't look surprised very often, but a dead man walking out of the grave might just do the trick.

"It's good to see you," he said with equally unusual honesty. It was; it truly was. For all his newly-acquired gifts, Gus was at so many disadvantages here in the Port, and not knowing who to trust was a big one. His new powers made that easier, but having an asset like Mike back, that was a great boon. "Come on -- I'll help you get settled in. I can explain everything upstairs."

Upstairs, where he already knew there were no cameras or microphones and no way they could be heard.

[mikethecleaner]

Convinced he wasn't hallucinating when the other stepped closer, a half-smile crossed Mike's face. Neither man smiled or showed much of any emotion regularly or readily, so it was a rare sight indeed. A reunion of old confidants, though to him, he'd seen Gus only a week or two before--after their run-in with the Cartel in Mexico, when Mike had been left behind to heal from his bullet wound.

"Likewise." He said simply, offering a hand to shake. His handshake was firm and concise--pure business, though he was definitely relieved to see Gus was alive and well. If not for the fact that they had a fruitful business relationship, it was good to know he wouldn't have to go playing assassin. Not today, at least.

"Good, good..." Mike nodded slightly, turning to follow Gus to the Tower Apartments, where they could discuss the recent goings on. "I'm sure you know there's a lot that needs explaining." Mike had a million and one questions, but he knew better than to bombard Gus with them. He knew the other man would tell him everything he needed to know. Nothing more, nothing less. Just the way Mike liked it.

[businessman]

Gus's handshake was like the rest of his facade: carefully crafted to make him come off as friendly and personable. Firm as well, but warm where Mike's was terse, and on rare occasions like this he even brought the other hand up to rest lightly but reassuringly on his arm. It was the most he ever touched most people, but he'd found that for most, as long as there was a good handshake to begin with, that didn't matter. With Mike, the facade wasn't necessary, he knew, but-- well, old habits died hard.

"I know," he assured him, turning away, "and I will. But come inside, first." This time, it was not a helpful suggestion, even though he was still smiling. He led the way briskly into the Tower, moving directly past the Greeters and the front desk. "You'll be offered an apartment in this building for the time being; I recommend it, myself," he commented mildly. "I'm looking at some real estate a little further afield, but that's a while off yet. Ah-- here we are."

Apartment 303 was much the same as it had been when Gus had arrived; the kitchen was well-stocked, and there was a tiny framed photo near the door, but other than that, it showed few personal signs of wear and tear. But it did have one critical item going for it, and that was-- "No one will hear us in here," Gus said once the door was closed and locked. "No bugs, no wires. It's as secure as a place can be in this city."

[mikethecleaner]

"Of course." Mike bowed his head slightly in a nodding gesture, following Gus closely, but walking at a more leisurely pace, out of necessity rather than want. While he wouldn't be caught dead complaining, Mike was still feeling the effects of his bullet-wound, even though it had vanished, and the Pull sickness was still building.

Mike followed past the Greeters and desk, heading up towards Gus' apartment. He didn't speak much, just nodding or humming simple sounds of confirmation that he'd heard the other. Walking up stairs still got him winded, even moreso since his crash landing on the field. He was relieved once he arrived in Apartment 303, though he didn't make himself at home, opting to stand with his hands clasped at waist-level and his feet shoulder-width apart, typical guard-type stance. What looked like 'on-point' was about as far relaxed as Mike went in the presence of anyone else.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He said, a hint of a compliment, or perhaps just a testament to the cautious nature that Gus held and that Mike so respected. "So what's the story? I got a phone call this morning said you were blown halfway to Hell..." Might as well get right to it. Mike wasn't a man of many words. He preferred getting what information he needed in a concise manner, and was an adept listener more than a talker. He would get to everything in time.

[businessman]

If Gus noticed that Mike was a little out of breath, he didn't say anything. Not while they were outside, at least. Once they were in the living room, he nodded towards the couch. "Take a seat. There's a lot to discuss."

He, himself, took the adjacent chair, as he'd done six weeks before with Jesse. It was a seat he liked with visitors: it kept his back to the window, his face shadowed and backlit, while forcing whoever he was talking to to keep their face turned into the sun. For Mike, though, it was different; he shifted the seat a few inches to the side so they could speak normally, folding his hands in his lap. "You got that call because that is what happened," he intoned tonelessly. "It was a suicide bomb attached to Hector Salamanca's wheelchair. White and Pinkman's doing, I'm sure you've already heard." Maybe not entirely toneless; his lip curled in cold anger at that.

[mikethecleaner]

Mike sat down on the couch, though his posture remained slightly stiff, his hands coming to rest on his knees, which were shoulder's width apart, staying comfortable but not reclining.

"Mm." The sound was his simple response to what he'd been told--that the murder had, in fact, taken place. Of course that send the gears turning--if that was the case, how was he sitting here, now, speaking with the very man whose death had been relayed to him over a short and panic-stricken phone call. Mike turned his head to the side, looking away as he thought over the situation and felt his anger flaring up again, little showing that fact other than the pause and the slight sigh he let out. How could they be so stupid? He looked back at Gus after a moment.

"I was on my way to dispatch--" He nearly said Walter, but figured it was best left vague that he felt a certain loyalty to Pinkman. Afterall, if they both were involved in Gus' murder, he knew better than to mention his opinions on the two men. "--them when I ended up in that field." He gestured vaguely, not quite sure which direction the field was in from the apartment. The disorientation was another side-effect of The Pull. In most cases, Mike knew exactly where he was in relation to everywhere else at all times.

"How are we proceeding from here?" He asked, meaning how was he proceeding from here, because, except for in Victor's case (the poor kid), Mike was generally the go-to man for 'dirty work'. "Are they even here? And where is here, by the way?" Mike's tone was very calm to all but those who knew him well. The quick-firing of questions was unlike him and he realized himself, stopping and pursing his lips slightly, his heavy lower jaw pushing forward, a familiar gesture.

Mike was still very nonchalant about the whole thing (at least in comparison to the average person's reaction), regardless of his obvious concern and confusion.

[businessman]

It was more questions than Gus was used to from Mike, but he let it go without commentary. It was, after all, an unusual circumstance. He inclined his head in a sort of placating way, as if to show he understood. "This city is called Siren's Port. An island off the coast of Canada with certain highly unusual features... some of which you've already found. For one thing, no one chooses to come or leave. Not even the dead."

The implications of that final statement rang in his mind for a second or two -- the way they tended to when he let himself think about it. His only solution for that was not to, though, and so he quickly moved on, only the brief thinning of his lips to show that anything in particular had occurred to him. "This is due to an artifact known as the Core," he continued. "It draws people from all over the world, all over time. Even different worlds." He raised a brow sardonically. "I've recently found myself in the acquaintance of a wizard and a dragon. Separately."

[mikethecleaner]

Mike nodded. Most people would scoff or struggle with disbelief, but Mike knew better than to question the validity of what Gus was saying. There was a hint of amusement in all of this, though, hearing someone like Gus, who did little joking around when the need for a facade was unnecessary, speak of dragons and wizards.

"Interesting." Mike showed little outward signs of amusement. There was a slight smirk that tugged at one side of his face and then disappeared. If he was unable to leave, what did this mean for those still in their world?

"So we're here for a while, then..." He trailed off, the implications hitting him. Mike wasn't one to show his emotions, though, especially not in his employer's presence, though he did rub his hands together idly as he thought things over. He stopped and his hands returned to his knees, his gaze taken off of the empty space beside him on the couch and brought back over to Gus as he sat in the adjacent chair.

"What now?" The question came with a hint of a shrug, heavy shoulders raising slightly and briefly. It was a simple question with, he was sure, a complicated answer. It meant a number of things to--in regards to acquiring a new facility, in regards to Walter and Pinkman, and in regards to where business stood as a whole now that Gus was miraculously alive and they were both stuck here on this island.

[businessman]

"It would appear so," Gus agreed, returning to his standard neutral state almost as quickly as he'd fallen out of it. "In fact, I remain unclear on what would happen to me, should the Core choose to extradite me again. I attempted to leave on my own, but..."

Again, only a flicker of reaction; no one who didn't know Gus would think it had even affected him at all. To someone like Mike, though, it was clear how unpleasant the experience had been. He hadn't even made it onto a boat. For the first time in decades, he hadn't had the money. But the pier itself was bad enough, and after he'd thrown up neatly for the third time, he'd realized it was time to turn around. "I don't recommend you try the same," he continued with all the mildness in the world.

"So for the moment..." He shrugged very slightly, spreading his hands atop his knees. "I'm attempting to regain some of what was lost. A foothold in the community. I'm launching the restaurant here. Nothing illegal for now. Except for a few minor pieces of paperwork, it's all been by the book." And as for that paperwork... He cleared his throat and acknowledged, "They are both here. We've reached an understanding for the time being."

[[sorry this is late!]]

[mikethecleaner]

Mike nodded, his face showing the realization of truly being stuck here. He knew if there was a way out, Gus would have taken it by now so it was no big surprise to him. Still, he thought of everything they had back home. Everything he had. It was a troubling thought that he filed away for later milling over, in the privacy of his apartment, which he planned on finding after this meeting.

Mike's lips pursed slightly and shifted to the side, his heavy lower jaw following suit. He wasn't happy with the idea that Gus had 'reached an understanding' with Walter. Mike wasn't concerned much with Pinkman. The kid had proven his worth down in Mexico. Mike was alive and likely wouldn't be if it hadn't been for him. The look didn't accompany words just yet. He knew Gus would notice his discomfort with the situation. All along Mike had a sneaking suspicion about Walter and it only grew. He held a certain amount of guilt in learning of Gus' death. He had seen the signs. He had caught wind of Walter's desires to dispatch Gus, yet he couldn't stop it. Another half-measure that should have been fulfilled...

Mike let out a heavy sigh and nodded his bald head slowly. He knew better than to argue a point with a man like Gus. Much of their conversations went unspoken, both adept at reading people, both using words wisely and when necessary.

"I was brought here in my car, as you saw. I happen to have a couple of bags I picked up from dead-drop locations. I also have some product on hand, should you choose to pick up where things left off. I have proper protection as well." He hinted to the things he had in his possession--on his person or in the duffel bag that was set between his feet in front of the couch. Two of his guns, his cash payment, a couple of burlap bags of cash he had picked up from dead-drops en-route to meeting Gus when they left for Mexico, and some of the product Jesse had cooked up at the Cartel lab, which he planned to bring back into New Mexico to add to the next batch shipment. Mike only spoke of this knowing they were in a safe place, free of surveillance, and even then he was vague.

"In other words, should you need to employ a Loss Prevention Specialist to oversee production, or something of the like at your new restaurant, I'd be happy to do business with you." Mike said finally, a hint of a smile tugging his mouth to one side. If anything, Mike was loyal and trustworthy. He knew how to get jobs done quickly and efficiently and he never took unnecessary risks. Discretion was his forte. Even if it was a legitimate business for the time being, he held no reluctance in aiding the man in whatever he was gearing up to do. It was the least he could do.

((DITTO))

[businessman]

Gus recognized the signs of discomfort in him, of course; how could he not when he, too, had so many thoughts regarding the presence of one Walter White on the island? And Jesse Pinkman too, of course -- the young man wasn't spared in Gus's eyes the way he had been in Mike's, not when Gus knew how Walter had to have found out where Hector lived. His mouth quirked in rare sympathy, and he dusted his hands against his knees, standing. "Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or anything else?" he offered out of the blue, moving to the small but already well-equipped kitchen. "There's something I should show you, anyway."

There was a coffeemaker, but rather than fill it, he set a pot of water on the stove to boil. That taken care of, he turned back to Mike, inclining his head in grateful acknowledgement at the quiet offer. "Go back downstairs and fetch whatever you need to from the car. People will--" He paused, held up a hand, and closed his eyes, putting his mind back into the closest camera to the field. No one had looted the car yet, but there were far too many curious parties milling around it for his comfort. He opened his eyes again and looked to Mike. "Go fetch your things. We'll talk about your employment when you get back. You have a place at Pollos, of course, but your role will likely have to change."