TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025

[thediadem]

Test Drive ∞ May 2025

The First Collision

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Jump ⇅ :: Arrival — Panorama — Fringes — Invite Request

The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.

Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.

But first, you need to find a ride.

No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.

∞ Summary ∞

IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.

Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.

Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:

• Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
• Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
• Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
• Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
• Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.

TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.

TDM Questions? Here — Game Questions? FAQ

Setting — Taken — Reserves — Applications ::: ⇅ Top

Fluxdrift

Arrival & Introduction

Date: Throughout May

You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.

Then you open your eyes.

Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.

You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.

Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.

You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender

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Panorama

Explore & Settle In

Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers

After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.

You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.

The Pavilion: Free Samples

©

Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.

Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.

As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.

Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.

The Blocks: Power Outage

©

Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.

What do you do? You have three choices:

• Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
• Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
• Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall

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©

The Fringes

Quad 3: Lockdown

Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads

Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57

> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.

Whether you end up here on your own or you were following a tip on the Forum, the outcome is the same: you come to a stop in front of a 2-story office building that's flooded several inches deep. Emergency lights from a roadblock flicker through the stormy night. Stepping out of your car, you're soaked within seconds. When you check your phone, you don't have any bars. No calls in or out.

Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.

Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.

After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.

A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.

Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.

Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.

• To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
• The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
• With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
• If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.

Let's hope a friendly face comes along.

B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.

• The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
• Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
• You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
• Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.

Of course, you don't have to help anyone. You can leave the individual there, make a deal, or outright extort them. But remember, you're not the only person on these roads. You might want to play your cards carefully, even if altruism isn't your first instinct.

Main Navigation ::: ⇅ Top

Comments

Foggy Nelson | MCU

[motiontocompel]

FLUXDRIFT - BREAK IT DOWN

"Neutral, clutch down, shift, accelerate, handbra— No, clutch grab, handbrake, rev—" The dust-up caused during this recitation travels on the stale wind and at its source, Foggy Nelson paces on the passenger side of a brightly painted car, clinging to a wrinkled piece of paper held tightly in his hand.

When he'd left the Scrapyard, he hadn't known quite what he was getting into, but Yom Crook had assured him that all the cars were essentially the same, and while his name was awfully tragic for someone Foggy had no choice but to believe, Foggy took his word at face value and chose the color he liked the best. Of the three available he found himself getting his first driving lesson behind the wheel of a shiny, eggplant colored Nissan Skyline.

Getting started, he'd had a guide that patiently recited the steps until he mastered the art of not immediately stalling out, but once he shifted from first gear to second, and then second to third, his tutor was already in the rear-view mirror and Foggy was just as suddenly all alone.

He drove for almost the whole two hours, invigorated at first by this newly developed skill. But a need to stop outside Panorama set him back when, upon returning to his loaner, he realized he hadn't quite mastered the art of getting going again.

Twenty minutes outside the city, with a scribbled mess of directions from what he remembers from the Scrapyard, he keeps trying. Grinds the inner workings in a painfully reminiscent way, while the light of the sun rapidly deteriorates. He can see Panorama's glow and if he felt like leaving his car, he'd walk. But the debt is already hefty and Foggy's not about to double down by needing to obtain a second car to survive this landscape.

Frustrated, overly warm, and considering staying the night with the driver's seat tilted all the way back, Foggy decides to try one more time. He follows the steps as he says them aloud: "Neutral, clutch down, shift, accelerate, clutch-grab, haaaaaaandbrake—" The gnarly noise makes Foggy's eye twitch and he hisses as the car stalls yet again, head coming down against the steering wheel with a comically chipper beep!

"Why can't I just call a cab?" He grumbles to himself. Exhausted, filthy, and still reeling from waking up somewhere else, Franklin Percy Nelson could sure as Hell use a break. And maybe another driving lesson or two.

PANORAMA - BLOCK PARTY BLACKOUT

Days into his new life in Panorama, and Foggy has tested the food offerings to keep himself fed, and taken a very temporary position at a... delicatessen counter giving out samples. The offerings aren't entirely inedible and the pay is barely enough for his east side hotel room, but beggars most certainly can't be choosers, especially after what he's learning about the state of the city and its surrounding areas. Besides a place to park his car and somewhere to lay his head, it gives him an opportunity to meet other people in the neighborhood, as well as a chance to keep an eye out for others who may have found themselves here like Foggy.

Right about when the lights go out, he's settling for the evening, hoping to crash into his shitty, uncomfortable bed for as long as humanly possible. Struck with the most immediate sense of concern-slash-panic, he's quick to gather up the only weapon he's managed to obtain: a baseball bat with a concerning crack. Foggy reckons he can still do some damage if needed, but even as he pokes his head out into the hallway to squint into the darkness, he's hoping to find no one and nothing that may be interested in starting a fight.

Somewhere down the hall, a door opens and closes almost immediately. In the other direction, footsteps retreat to the stairs and stamp upward to the next floor. Foggy can feel his heart racing, hammering away in all his aching parts. He can only hope this isn't a common occurrence, but given the uptick of noise in the streets and the rooms surrounding his, he suspects this won't be his last brush with a startlingly pitch landscape.

Trying to control his breathing, he creeps forward in his socks, wishing he had night vision or a sixth sense or a flashlight. Another door opens, this time across the hall, and Foggy makes his best attempt to warn the bad actors while preserving the innocence of those just curious like him.

"Don't worry," he says, "if there's trouble, I've got a bat and I know how to use it."

THE FRINGES - BRACKISH WATERS

Was it stupid to volunteer? Absolutely. But having spent time enough within this new society, there are few things to keep Foggy from finding a reason to be helpful.

The medicine wasn't simply enticing, but absolutely imperative from Foggy's understanding. Forced twice now to deliver to Saint Margery's Hospital, he'd noted the poor conditions and lack of supplies and couldn't ignore the way those left suffering were truly people who could be saved sooner with better provisions. Hell, he doesn't even mind the feeling of his socks soaking through as he digs into a nearby crate and comes up with a handful of vials he immediately shoves into his jacket pocket. Score.

But then the buzz of the lock heralds chaos, and very true to its word, the room begins flooding.

Inside, Foggy gives in to the sinking feeling. "What the hell?" As he asks, the notice on the computer screen glares at him, providing direction that feels very much like a taunt. Feels very much like it's personal.

As he searches, folding over papers and opening drawers, certain things begin to stand out. Familiar names, to start, with Foggy's eye failing to find them when he looks again.

A list of names. Was that Ed Nelson? No. A file folder of addresses and he doesn't recognize the format but wasn't 468 W. 51st Street there a second ago? With each glimpse of something awry but nothing useful, the water crawls farther up his legs, almost inklike in quality, and Foggy descends deeper and deeper into his own dense desperation.

Clacking at the computer gives him e-mails— thousands of e-mails and when he scrolls, the computer lags past unfamiliar addresses and subjects, but seems to zip over a section that looks to be sent to Foggy himself (an on-going string titled "last will & testament") that stretches into the dozens before disappearing never to be scrolled back to again.

The determination that had turned to desperation now morphs fully to panic and Foggy doesn't blame himself because the water's up past his hip and he's almost certain he felt something moving below the surface.

"C'mon, Fog, you're alone, there's no one down there," he grits, turning to dig into a filing cabinet. "You can do this. You've got to do this," Foggy tells himself, but Christ he's so sure that out of the corner of his eye, something is moving.

Afraid to look, but more afraid to be taken unaware, he turns slowly, expecting to see some gnarled creature, but instead sees a form on the other side of the mist-speckled glass. Charging ahead, struggling against the churn, he balls his fist and slams the side of it against the large, fogged window. But it's unrelenting and he can tell from the lack of recoil that it's essentially pointless unless the person is looking for him and right up against the glass.

"Jesus, Jesus, come on," he croaks, voice high as he fumbles fingers over a slick plastic binder, attention split between continuing his search and trying to get the person on the other side to help him. "Hey," he yells, eyes stinging, heart in overdrive, adrenaline testing every bit of him. Foggy calls again, "Hey, help me! Come on, you have... to..."

Spread in his hands, the binder reveals the code, but Foggy's gaze has drifted to the water now threatening even higher than before. It brings with it a pale face — familiar, one of the people he misses the most — and seizes Foggy's attention like an icy grasp around his entire being.

"No," he tells himself, disbelieving but seeing with his own eyes. All around him, the water surges, churning heavier and more aggressively. He doesn't move, even if he wants to reach out and touch that face...

The answer's in his hands. It's right there, ready to be shared with whoever is on the other side, but the grief built over the last few weeks makes it hard to focus, makes it hard for Foggy to lift his gaze once more towards the light.

It's really going to take a team effort if he's meant to survive this.

OOC + ADDITIONAL PROMPT IDEAS

You can check out my EMP for more information on Foggy, as well as some of the optional ideas that I've found myself interested in. Feel free to use any of these ideas to build a starter! I'm especially fond of threads in medias res and anything that could have a humorous bend, while still remaining faithful to the tone being built around the game.

Some things you are welcome to assume:

• Our character have met and introduced themselves. He goes by Foggy Nelson, he's from New York, and everyone is encouraged to steer clear of him on the road.


• Foggy has served your character samples! Everything is setting-appropriate, and without much prompting, Foggy will gladly slip a couple extra samples to those looking a little more hungry than usual.


• While his driving has improved, Foggy is still a menace on the road. Accidents are unlikely, but he will drive too slow, stall out, or simply suck at observing the unwritten rules of the road.


• Several times, Foggy has talked his way out of trouble. Generally speaking, these would be NPC interactions, but your character is welcome to have observed Foggy using his lawyerly ways to preserve his innocence and his face.


• Foggy is better at pool than he acts, and while fairly ethical in most ways, isn't beyond hustling money or utilizing an infrequent five-finger discount if it means he can sleep under a roof without a rumbling belly.

Canon: MCU
Canon Point: Daredevil: Born Again - S01E01 Heaven's Half Hour
Content Warnings: Potential spoilers for Daredevil: Born Again. All headers should be appropriately marked with content warnings, as well as any relevant spoilers.

fringes

[wwrench]

( Not for the first time in his life, Wrench finds himself on the outside looking in. The rain falls around him in sheets, plastering overgrown curls to the sides of his head and soaking his jacket. If it's at all uncomfortable, he hardly seems to notice. The landscape of Panorama is wholly foreign to him. As a kid, he used to dream of cities like this. Large stretches of metropolis chaotic enough to swallow him up into oblivion. Cities with a pulse, where everything a person could ever want existed within arm's reach.

These days, Wrench knows better than to want. People scramble to accumulate so much stuff, and having begets further want and further need. The little Volkswagen parked halfway up the street is proof positive of that. Yom Crook hasn't just saddled him with one debt, but a never-ending multitude of them. Fuel and maintenance, time and worry, the stress of having something that can now be lost... It's too damn much.

Case in point, Wrench thinks to himself as he watches the office doors slam shut on a would-be pilferer. Serves him right for trying to take more than what he's owed. Then the water starts rising, and Wrench can't help but linger, an ominous shadow of silent observation. He's witnessed death plenty of times before — usually from the driver's seat. How it's done reveals plenty about a place and a people, and this is a lesson worth learning.

At some point in his detached observation, he locks eyes with the man behind the glass. Maybe it's the flash of terror he sees there. Maybe it's the fact there's just nothing fun about this. With a roll of his eyes, Wrench puts his shoulder against the pane and tries to strong-arm his way in. When he finds he can't, he beats his fist against the glass and waves for the stranger's attention. )

It's locked.

( Wrench makes the universal gesture for turning a deadbolt and shakes his head. )

[motiontocompel]

[ It's something like a flashing sensation that gathers his attention, a pulsing like a strong heartbeat or a metronome that syncs up to a fist pounding from the other side. He can't hear it, but if his eyes aren't entirely deceiving him (again), there is someone there on the other side.

Shocked into action, he blinks several times and realizes the man opposite him is twisting an imaginary lock. He nods, emphatic, mouthing several words before holding up a finger — one second — and struggling to wade away. Soaked now from the churn, teeth threatening to chatter, he digs for something dry or something that writes wet and finally comes across a sharpie.

Coming back to the window, he writes backwards in large, capital letters against the glass so that the imposing figure on the other side doesn't need to translate the words. Arguing with the water and the ink-based markers causes him to have to pass over the letters more than once, but eventually he gets the whole message out, scratching it into the glass with the damn thing clasped in his fist like a toddler just learning to write. ]

LOCK OUT BACK
COPY THE CODE
[ Beneath, he spreads the binder open, pressing it against the window and holding it there. The symbols are complicated and he isn't so sure he'd be able to remember the right order. Hovering above it, just over his own writing, he mouths please.

He doesn't know who this person is, but they're looking like they're about Foggy's only choice at the moment. And he most certainly doesn't want to die here. ]

why in the hell didn't i do prose to start with?

[wwrench]

The situation on the other side of the glass hasn't yet reached dire, but Wrench feels an unnatural lack of urgency at the prospect of seeing another man's life taken from him. When the stranger searches out a writing utensil capable of overcoming the soggy conditions inside, Wrench actually rolls his eyes. What a shame, he thinks sarcastically to himself. The man could easily die, trapped in that little office building, with no clear way to communicate his last and final thoughts. Wrench crosses his arms in front of his chest and takes a step back, giving himself a wider vantage point from which to examine the slowly-forming message.

Copy the code? He scowls at the pages pressed to the glass and gives a brief shake of his head. I don't see a code, Wrench signs to the man, not looking nearly as apologetic as circumstances may demand. He adjusts his gaze to the stranger's wide-eyed expression, the desperate pleading. How many times have men begged him for their lives? How many times has he obliged?

Still, the choice was never his before. Wrench considers this and feels a sudden surge of power. The ability to call the shots, to make the decisions, to actively save a life... it all suddenly feels so tremendous to him. So he squints again at that page and tries to make sense of the strange symbols, to recall the patterning of their strokes.

Hold on, he gestures with a finger to the man, begging his patience before moving to the back of the building. The panel is easy to spot, and Wrench makes to pry it open only to find the rainwater has made the surface slick. He grabs again to force it from its hinges and feels the rush of wind and the shadow of a sudden movement at his back. Whipping around, he finds that nobody's there.

[motiontocompel]

From the inside, Foggy watches as this blurry figure disappears from view. He tries to follow along to the edge of the window, swiping his hand across the glass, and then attempts to wade through the high water towards where he expects the back door would open up.

His teeth chatter, his body shivers from the cold and anxiety, and every bit of him that's been ravaged by lead aches. It makes his head swim — ha! — and forces him to hug himself. Christ, what a stupid idea this was, he tells himself. He's never been the hero type, but here he was, watching the water raising around him, nipple deep in cold, black water and panic.

"Please, please," he begs quietly, occasionally swiping water from his face as he bounces on his toes and eagerly awaits his savior. "Jesus, how long does it take?" A sob slips out and Foggy turns back to look towards the window, squinting through the glass for movement. "C'mon, I don't wanna die..."

panorama

[healbuff]

So, Foggy huh? Cool name, bro.

[Dr. River Kwan from Southern California has introduced himself right back. He is especially young to be one, but when asked about it, River laughs and waves it off, just claiming that he was valedictorian of his year in high school and had an especially quick medical school path.

River's just hanging out at the delicatessen Foggy is stationed at, already finished with his free samples and just taking his time with a bottled drink. ]

I'd joke that Panorama probably isn't too different from New York, but I live in the state with Los Angeles so I can't throw any stones.

[Casual conversation is what kept his spirits up the past few days since arriving in the city and River's made it a goal to touch base with as many new people as possible. It never hurts to build up a list of contacts.]

[motiontocompel]

[ Foggy's seen River around at least a few times and when they'd made their introductions, he'd felt relieved to meet someone who appeared relatively normal. Admittedly, the individuals he'd met that seem more... native to Panorama aren't entirely without their own weird charms, but being able to talk about home feels... well, normal. And he can use a bit of that here and there. ]

You know, it's got a few similarities – I can't deny that. Pretty sure I've had something like this... [ He holds up a toothpick, twirling a chocolate-covered ball-like shape. ] Crispy cricket surprise on 51st at least one drunken night.

[ Foggy offers the treat out while he spears another off the tray with another toothpick. This isn't the worst job he's had, although he probably shouldn't test the product as much as he does. ]

The parking is better, at least. Traffic still sucks, but that's because I haven't really gotten the hang of the whole driving thing yet.

[healbuff]

Crickets aren't that bad, but they don't really offer a lot of flavor. Overrated in both grotesque culinary novelty in my opinion.

[River does seem normal. Maybe abnormally so, but it's one of those things where what you see and hear is what you get and though no one's seen all there is, he's a straightforward young man in mannerisms and words.]

God, I hear you about the parking bro.

[He accepts the treat, twirling the toothpick between his fingers.]

As for driving, the more you do it, the more it'll stick. You know, like riding a bike.

[motiontocompel]

[ Foggy can certainly appreciate normal, and he's not even all that thrown by the bug protein conversation. Still, it's the car stuff that piques him most, something novel its own right and has been squarely on his mind since he took possession of the Skyline he's slowly paying off. ]

Stick, haha. That's funny.

[ He pokes a few more samples and drops them into cups, passing them to people who are waiting nearby without so much as a word (which seems to be how most people prefer it). ]

Let ask you something: Is your car a stick shift? You know, a manual? With all the gear-switching and pedals and— and handbrakes? Because that is not like riding a bike. That's like riding a bike on a tightrope while being pelted from below with rotten bologna.

blackout

[brandingproblem]

"What," Clint says wryly, if quietly, "you mean you're not gonna talk to the trouble instead?"

Because he's become aware of this guy talking like a smooth lawyer type and somehow usually managing to worm his way right back out of trouble. It's honestly pretty impressive. Clint usually likes to talk first, shoot never, if he can. Or, well, at least he used to. Now trouble's an old friend to put down hard and fast when he sees it coming. Or something like that.

Maybe the metaphor's getting lost. That's not the point. The point is, smooth operator here has a bat and thinks he's going to protect his motel-mates from anyone who wants to rob them of their...shitty leftover convenience store burritos or whatever. It's kind of cute and kind of stupid.

[motiontocompel]

Kind of cute and kind of stupid happens to be something of a theme in Foggy's life, although he's rarely the most guilty of his usual party members. As it stands, with no one else volunteering to do the job, it falls back on the guy with the middle name Percy.

"If trouble wants to talk, sure," Foggy tells the figure in the darkness. They don't appear to be aggressive, although there is a sense of worry beneath Foggy's skin that this person's first instinct is to crack a taunting joke when approaching a man with a baseball bat at the ready.

Wishing there were an ounce of light in this scenario — ambient or otherwise — Foggy silently bemoans this situation while reaching back to make sure he can still contact the doorknob of his own room. The last thing he wants is to get lost in this hotel. "Hey, you don't have any candles or anything back in your room, do you?" Seems like a long shot, but he gives it a go, hopeful in the way a person is when they're dumb enough to take to the halls as some kind of baseball-bat themed vigilante.

[brandingproblem]

Clint digs out the phone he picked up, the one that feels ages old, or maybe it makes him feel ages old (and both of these can be true), turns it on with a flick.

The backlighting isn't much. It's not a blinding smartphone screen that'll wake the dead in the middle of the night. And it doesn't even have a flashlight on it, something he does actually kind of miss. But he's used enough to burner phones, stashed older models nobody's focused on tracing, and it's familiar, and it lights up some. It's not nothing, and so there's at least a faint glowing outline of Clint's face, and then of Bat-Man's when he turns it to light up what he can.

"I would've asked about a flashlight first, but candles aren't a bad idea." There's a moment where he thinks about bad storms knocking out the power, setting out candles on the dining room table, family gathering to make up some games in the dark. Sets the memory aside.

Phone light will just have to do for now, unless one of their friendly neighbors has a nice apple pie candle to light the way. Or a flashlight. Finding the right batteries for one, ah, that might be the real problem with that.

"Just how confident are you in taking care of trouble?" Because he's not convinced the guy knows what he's doing. On the other hand, unless you're a bit more super than the average hawk, a solid connection with a baseball bat is gonna do a significant amount of pain and not-insignificant amount of harm if you land it right.

[motiontocompel]

Foggy blinks as the cellphone light floods his vision. It reads pretty strong after total blackness, but he realizes pretty quickly it's better than losing his night vision right away and it's given him a better look at the man he's sharing this moment with. "Oh, hey," he notes, gesturing at the phone. "That works. I mean, if you've got the battery for it."

Eyeing the other man, he wonders about the question, but then smoothly goes on, "As for my level of confidence? Pretty damn low, but if someone's gotta do it, at least I've got a weapon," Foggy points out. Call him a bit short-sighted considering everything that's available in Panorama, but he doubts there's anything in his part of temporary housing that worth someone murdering to get to it.

More movement catches Foggy's attention and this time whatever is out in the dark is coming their way. The footsteps read heavy and Foggy turns to try to get a glimpse, leaning aside in the hope the light cast from the phone would help. Unfortunately, the light only illuminated their general area, particularly Foggy getting a better grip around the handle of that bat.

Trouble? Hard to tell. He waits, hoping the steps would choose to retreat once the person saw they were outnumbered and looking at two... semi-armed individuals.

BLOCK PARTY BLACKOUT

[valle]

The figure that steps out of the room opposite his is a girl no older than nineteen, petite, hardly over five foot three by the looks of it. Not exactly most intimidating stature, particularly not coming from the opposite end of that baseball bat. She doesn't seem particularly afraid — steady, calm, even maybe just the tiniest bit amused once she hears his threat-warning-reassurance.

The fact that he's not pointing it at her is good enough to be getting on with. He might be a threat to other men or women, but he doesn't strike her as anything to worry about for herself.

Safe enough, then, for her to open her mouth and actually speak to him. She wasn't actually planning to talk to anybody about this, she'd planned to investigate and figure it out for herself, but since he's here...

"Do you know what's happening? Is this normal?"

They're a common occurrence in the void. Electricity is a rare and precious gift; sometimes someone manages to wire up a generator, someone manages to get things operational for a while, but generators tend to require fuel. Solar panels tend to require sunlight. The source of power is never a guarantee, and so the motel had been a pleasant reprieve... up until right about now.

She was watching TV again, finally.
:(

[motiontocompel]

Wishing for probably the millionth time that he had some kind of night vision powers, Foggy frowns into the darkness at the youthful-sounding voice across the hall. He doesn't have the senses of anyone better than regular, but at least he can judge the height difference from experience, and assume he's probably right in guessing this is a young woman who isn't looking for trouble from him.

"I'm not sure anything's normal in this place," Foggy tells her, cautiously. Still clinging to his bat, he slowly relaxes until it's just resting against his shoulder. He's stiff and anxious, but not unwilling to help, even feeling that edge of panic and concern lingering on his periphery.

He pauses briefly when a door down the way opens, but the sense of relief when it closes again doesn't fully return him to start. Instead, the tension is only increasing and Foggy frowns, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "I've heard it happens a lot, but this is my first time."

Leaning back against his door, the bat slips down to rest against the floor, now a makeshift walking stick. "Don't open your fridge if you've got perishables," he notes morosely, thinking back to that one time way back in the day when doing just that had left a long-lasting impression. Luckily, he's got about the least sensitive stomach of anyone he knows, so it's only left an impression, not a total aversion. "Oh, and I've got some canned stuff. I could grab you one or two just in case?" Presented as a question just in case she's adverse to charity or taking cans from strangers – the last thing Foggy wants is to make a nice neighbor feel unsafe around him.

[valle]

The truth of the matter is this: she's been stealing food. She's never worked a real job before, because she hasn't lived in a real society at any point in her young-adult life. The brief couple of years she spent in the real world weren't enough to prepare her; they were so short they may as well not have happened at all. She only knows how to fight, to steal, to survive in an apocalyptic wasteland. Not how to work retail.

And she's hungry. Her metabolism works faster than a normal person's; her healing factor ramps it up ten times over. She's constantly burning calories whether she wants to or not, so her stomach is a bottomless pit that free supermarket samples and stolen jars of peanut butter don't really cover.

This is why she hesitates, and this is why she ultimately says:

"Okay," and then, after a beat, "But only if you eat them with me."

She'd feel guilty taking his food otherwise. It's less bad, less strange, if it's having a meal together. Right?

[motiontocompel]

Truthfully, Foggy wouldn't blame anyone for stealing to eat. It's an age-old argument for people in his career track, and the long-running theme of some of the most moving stories to ever grace the entertainment industry. Does anyone blame Jean Vajean? Most people didn't sympathize with Javert, despite knowing that laws were laws for a reason.

Smirking slightly, he asks, "What, eat beans together? Cold beans?" It's weird to find that so funny when they're standing in darkness quietly wondering if their lives were are danger. Well, one of them, at least. "Uh, yeah, I guess I could. But I don't have a can opener and I'm a little worried prying things with a knife in total darkness."

He looks up and down the hallway as if he'll see anything, but is simply following the natural reaction of his body. "If we can find some candles or a flashlight, I'd feel better about it." When he reaches behind him to twist his door handle, he pauses. Curses. Tries again.

Locked. He has locked himself out of his own apartment. "Dammit," he mutters, and presses his forehead against his hotel door. The light bump bump bump is surely Foggy mentally chastising himself. He checked the lock, but with the whole building in so much disrepair, should he really be surprised?

w-w-w-wildcard~!

[variantcover]

[ Gwen is really getting the hang of this driving everywhere thing! It helps that she spent a year or two living in LA, because without that practice from the least walkable city on the face of the planet, this native New Yorker would have no idea what to do with herself behind the wheel of a car.

But no! Things are going great! She's using her blinker, coming to a full stop at stop signs, and even checking her blind spot before merging!

Things get a little hairier, though, when she makes it into the city itself, where the streets are narrower and not laid out as organized-ly as they are in New York. This city must be old, she thinks, not to have everything set up in a grid. She makes one wrong turn into an alley that she thinks might be a one-way, and suddenly her sick new ride has come nose to nose with a stylish purple coupe.

Gwen slams on the brakes, coming to a stop inches away from kissing this guy's bumper. Cranking down her window, she sticks her (cowled) head out and shouts, ] Okay... Uh... One of us is going to have to back out of here.

[motiontocompel]

[ Foggy's doing fine, too! Just fine!! He's not sweating every moment he spends learning to drive this vehicle with its manual transmission and what appears to be a nitrous oxide booster he only discovered a week after taking possession of his vehicle. He hasn't spun out a half-dozen times, or nearly ended up rear-ended for stalling out in the middle of the intersection. And it isn't as if there are that many cars on the road, and yet...

Leaning towards his passenger side, he squints through the window at the figure hanging out of their car. ]

Is that a—? Oh, for heaven's sake—

[ Superheroes. Goddamn superheroes. He's noticed a preponderance since his arrival and while he hasn't recognized any of their getups yet, he does feel like this one reads vaguely familiar. Enough that he doesn't feel bad giving back a little guff.

He gets out of the car, leaving his door ajar as he waits behind it, leaning over the frame. ]

It's one-way! That way.

[ He gestures to the sign that is barely hanging, covered in graffiti, pointing down, but he's pretty sure it's meant to be going his direction, not hers. ]

And I suck at backing up. Like really suck.

[variantcover]

Is it? [ Gwen was so focused on trying not to get turned around that she mayyyy have completely blown right past the one way sign. She leans further out of her window so she can twist her torso around back to the mouth of the alley, where— surprise surprise— there is in fact a sign proving that one of them is going the wrong way. Hard to tell which one, but Gwen may as well be the bigger superhero and take on the blame. ] Well, that's egg on my face. Hang on, gimme a sec...

[ She slides back into the driver's seat and tries to put her car in reverse. Except she also doesn't have much experience driving a manual transmission car, so the car stalls out as she tries to shift gears. ]

Aw, beans... C'mon, Tina, don't do this to me now!

[motiontocompel]

[ Foggy watches, feeling a strange solidarity as he sets the handbrake on his own manual transmission debt-maker and climbs out of the driver's seat. He's not all that great with driving yet and probably wouldn't want to try backing out in front of her even if he felt confident (which he doesn't). He gestures to the car — at the general hood area — and then pushes up his sleeves one at a time. ]

Put Tina in neutral and I'll push you back out. Can you steer in reverse? I'll keep it slow, so you should be fine.

[ Of course, this is something of an immense task considering the bulk involved with the car, but Foggy feels like once he gets a little momentum, he'll probably be able to keep it. Each hand goes onto the hood, palms testing to make sure he's got good leverage.

He adds, pointedly: ]

Don't forget to take off the handbrake, but be ready in case it wants to... roll over me.

wildcard!

[carmesi]

It's been a little over a week since Wanda's arrival in this place, and while there is a lot that she really dislikes about it, there are also a lot of things that give her comfort. People are nice, especially if she lets herself be recipient of their want to be good. She certainly is living day-by-day at this rate, getting only enough food as she needs for whenever she is hungry because she certainly doesn't have a working refrigerator to store anything. She has found a friendly face at a delicatessen, someone who seems to know exactly what he's serving even if some of the meats and foods are unlike anything Wanda has seen and tasted before.

Foggy is generous, letting Wanda try out a sample of the meats when she looked incredibly uncertain, letting her choose something that she felt she could stomach. Besides, New York is a familiar place.

"Hey, Foggy," she says, after reaching the counter. She's waited until he finished the order of the person before her. Wanda's looking better today; a little more color on her face, like she's managed to get a shower and find more well-fitting clothes. Her wrists are bandaged to help the burns around her wrists to heal, but the burn mark around her neck seems generally healthier today, like it's healing properly. Her paycheck from the store sure came in and she was able to indulge a little and buy the supplies she needed.

Here, she gets to just be 'Wanda', an individual who happened to immigrate to New York before arriving here. She wants no business being related to the Avengers or an enhanced individual. She is just Wanda, who wants to get some things for lunch and dinner.

"Busy morning? I have actual joolies now."

So, she won't have to add to her tab/debt.

[motiontocompel]

"You know how payday is," Foggy responds back, cheerier than he has any right to be. His smile for each customer is genuine, but when he can finally turn his attention directly to his new friend, the same smile turns warm and fond. "But you know your joolies are only so good here."

Like most people, Foggy is struggling to pay back his own debt. His job at the delicatessen is temporary — this much he knows — and while it affords him easy access to samples, it's main perk is Foggy's ability to gently tilt the scales in favor of those who need a little break from the grind.

He's been anticipating Wanda's return and in doing so, he's managed to set aside a small item he'd traded up for. The item, a can of peaches in syrup, goes right into Wanda's bag with a little paid sticker from the deli marking it in case she runs into trouble at checkout. "Are you looking for something special, Wanda? We've got some chicken feet in that I hear makes decent soup stock," he says, offering the bag over with a subtle wink and a tap on his nose. Their little secret.

[carmesi]

He really does go out of his way to make people's day a little cheerier, a little brighter, despite the circumstances. Wanda wonders if she specifically has done anything to be on the receiving end of that, but has come to the conclusion that some people don't work that way; sometimes, some people, like Foggy here, are just so kind it oozes out of them, without the need of receiving anything in return.

It's been a little hard to get used to that without feeling bad about it. She wishes she could give him something in return.

For now, all she can do is smile as she looks into the bag, at the can of peaches in syrup. Her smile brightens at seeing the paid sticker and, man, she really hopes he doesn't get in trouble for things like this. She shakes her head at his question, putting the bag down as she glances over at the selection over the counter.

"Not really, but I'd never say no to chicken feet." Wanda thinks of the stews from back home, how some of them were made with chicken feet as the protein, how long it's been since she's had some. "Can I get... ten of them?"

While he busies himself with that, she will glance at other things she could take, but ventures to ask, "Do you ever take breaks?" He's always here when she comes around.

[motiontocompel]

Foggy's noticed in the past couple of shifts that people around Panorama seem awfully lax about their rules. Even people blatantly stealing don't seem to spend much time under the thumb of security, and the encouragement to give out as many samples as asked feels like maybe people around these parts understand unwritten rules. Until Foggy hears otherwise, he's within the confines of his job, but it doesn't stop him from massaging the numbers in ways he can.

"Sure, I take breaks," Foggy replies, already gloving up and opening a bag to receive the chicken feet. He doesn't count them closely, going for two good handfuls that will probably amount to an extra five feet, or so. "But I've been trying to get out from under this debt as quick as I can."

Stickering the chicken feet in the nicely wrapped package, he makes sure to note the price for ten and passes them across to her. Surprised that no one's gathered behind her, he tosses away his gloves and crosses his arms on the counter, leaning in a way that feels all too familiar to his childhood at the family deli.

"Got something on your mind?" Who said a butcher('s son) can't play the part of bartender, priest, and friend all at once? "I promise I slack off plenty, if that's what you're worried about." He grins, amused at his own expense, as always.