systemcritical | [open] THE RACES | row row row your boat

Entry tags:

[open] THE RACES | row row row your boat

CHARACTERS ▶ All opting in in Zion
LOCATION ▶ Engineering Level of Zion, Reservoir Zone
SUMMARY ▶ DRAGON BOAT RACES. +/- food, some low-key hazing, and a faint but pervasive sense of political unease.
WARNINGS ▶ None unless someone starts crazy makin' out or bangin' in the middle of this party, please mark your thread if so. There are ICly kids about so find a corner ok.
NOTES ▶ NPC/s in the comments, boat race winners behind the cut!

▶ The Boat Race

Engineering is a massive sprawl, but it wouldn't be enough to host the entirety of Zion's population in. It's just as well that there are mainly families, officials, and Zion Defense Grid representatives here today, ever ready for a tradition that hearkens back to a nostalgic time before the Machines. Give or take a little political posturing.

Food And Stuff ◀

The most expensive toy on advertisement is a wind-up bird with a remote controller behind the rotor. It only flies in spurts and gasps, but it has the heart of at least half the kids under age of thirteen. The thirteen-ups are taken with the more adult wares that the bazaar salespeople are out showing, not the least of which is food.

Fat fruit pies studded with nuts, cones of curried dhosa bread as big enough to contain your head, fries, waffles, drippy pizzas loaded with vegan cheese, croissants, ramen in spiced broth, cinnamon-roasted pumpkin seeds, and an endless parade of candies.

More than anything, though, it's the craftsman's day. Though the boats provided were unpainted, left to be personalized by their crews, they were fine and solid craft that met inspection. And there are as many furniture, knife sets, religious totems, and hand-bound books, presented nearby small consoles and calculators, a couple holo-projectors and light rigs.

The otherwise merry proceedings are occasionally punctuated by somebody having a freakout because this portable stove or that sound station broke down, so maybe the dude who was a raccoon in another life can finally get paid for real work. Lifeguards are on hand for emergencies of a less technological nature.

The Actual Race ◀

There are five heats, but the only one we care about is the one where the noodles are going at it. The crew of the Atalanta wins. The prize is a free entree per day for each member for a whole month, at the represented restaurant of their choice, and half a dozen other odd boons and favors, small-time stuff. The Phoenix crew, if they aren't careful, gets sprayed with cranberry juice (there was a crop surplus) (and they're probably wet already) and may help themselves to candy.

Beer should help with the muscle strain going on with the more noodly among them.

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Food & Stuff

[~~One Zayn Malik to rule them all~~ Chiron's aide, Orion, is among the handful of Council representatives present at the boat races today. Thus far, Orion has behaved like a rather ordinary young civilian man. Probably the point.

He showed up rumpled, bought a couple round of drinks for people but not too many, eating waffles with this tofu stuff that's supposed to pass for chicken (he stage whispers to the smaller kids present that it doesn't), and checking out the tech behind the holo and light shows without real interest in the tech itself, mostly an opportunity for gladhanding and shoulder-clapping and congratulating the engineers of Zion, young and old, on their ingenuity. It's not unwarranted. That's hand-blown glass, hand-wound wiring, and the flashing emerald lights, in the end, are beautiful.]

Minor Incidents

[Here and there, he's confronted by a civilian with a grudge. A short comment, not quite verging on an insult. These, Orion deflects with studied politeness and understated generosity that makes them look the fool.

Handling these problems so seamlessly it's hard to really categorize them as problems per say, he turns away easy. Finds a child to compliment, or someone to ask about their next food recommendation. Maybe that person is you]

Boat/Crew Prep Area

[Granted, Orion may be a touch distracted in the beginning, may be looking toward the gathering boat crews in search of a face he'dve liked to see, but he does this just at the beginning and it is easily missed. It's pretty quick that it becomes apparent who's here and who isn't, any rate.

Whether for work or pleasure, his rounds among the crowd eventually take him nearer the Zion Defense Grid crews more directly. He drives by some of the veterans, sure-- there is a familiarity to the jokes he shares with some of them, disarming grins that cuts through their instinct toward formal hierarchy like a knife through butter. He knows how to make soldiers feel appreciated. However, he winds up drifting into the Atalanta's lot, too.] Good sportsmanship, [he remarks.]

OOC: China is doing the NPCing so please be aware she may fall off May 21-31.

Edited (im bad at writing so i have to fix things) 2015-05-12 20:53 (UTC)

[ Natasha watches him deflect animosity like a master of the craft, and steps neatly into the role of diversion the moment he needs one. She's soaking wet, short hair plastered dark to her skull and skin and clothes stained cranberry pink, but she doesn't seem that bothered by it. She's also dodging the post-race comisseration — team building doesn't have the appeal that it used to, and she'd rather let camaraderie come naturally. So while she's given her congratulations to some of the other boats and clapped Steve on the shoulder just once after they were hose-drenched, that's all she gave before ducking back into the crowds to enjoy the festival. ]

Having a good time?

[ She asks with a smile, easy with him like they're old friends despite their interactions amounting to the sum total of one conversation. ]

[The young man stops in the middle of what he was doing-- apparently involving peanut sauce and a kebab, straightening slightly, turning to look at her. Orion smiles the moment he sees her. His timing is good, like seeing her elicited real and sincere pleasure, despite that their interactions amount to a sum total of one conversation. Digital, at that.

Naturally, her wetness doesn't bother him. He pretends to fumble minutely, offering her first a hand and then the kebab.] Sorry, [he's not sorry-sorry, but he's probably sorry enough to be polite.] Can I interest you in one? [He gestures aside at the vendor.] I'm buying.

[ Did you know, Zion, the last time 'Atalanta' and 'race' were mentioned in the same context a bunch of people died? Also possibly the Trojan War was started.

Anyway, that's irrelevant for our purposes. You came in first, Atalanta (....out of ...two), what are you going to do now? Since you can't, in a meme older than anyone reading this, go to Disneyland, your options center primarily around various degrees of inebriation, bonding, and of course good sportsmanship. Because if you disappoint Orion you probably get disappeared into a small underground hole forever.

Naturally anyone who wants to swing by and offer whatever - congratulations, dishonor on your cow, etc - will be welcomed with open ...beer, probably. ]

[ Anders is actually really grateful he's not officially on a crew, because that looked like much too much paddling. Though he does cheer so hard that he nearly falls into the reservoir. His overwhelming show of support is clearly the reason the Atalanta won.

He's more subdued once the races are actually over, and mildly distracted by Hawke being, you know, all wet. But he's not here for disgusting PDA, he's here to impose himself upon every single one of Hawke's crewmates, since it's the first chance he's had to take the measure of them. So one by one, he offers them a beer, or a handshake, or both. ]

[When offered a beer, Emily gives a smile in return, warm if a little wicked.]

Are you the team cheerleader, then?

Er... yes?

[ Anders' return smile is somewhat self-deprecating. He's really only familiar with the term through Zion cultural osmosis, but he understands the gist. ]

Assuming that means my role is just to cheer you all on and absolutely not do any of the rowing... yes.

[She laughs, not unkindly, and lifts the drink in a small toast. She's still fairly damp.]

Thanks. And thanks for the beer. I assume you're a friend of one of my crewmates, then?

[Either that, or he just made a lot of money betting on them, she assumes.]

I live with Hawke.

[ Anders never makes a lot of money doing anything. ]

It's good he's got something to do, honestly, he gets impossible if he isn't kept constantly busy.

[ Somehow managing to make that sound find instead of exasperated. Aaand... decidedly not actually looking over at the man in question so he doesn't suspect he's being talked about. ]

God, I hear that.

[She doesn't glance over either, just now.]

I don't know how thrilled everyone else on the crew is to be stuck with a new arrival like me, but I'm not cut out to sit around on my hands. Did you guys meet here, or did you know each other back there?

[She doesn't say "back home," and it's perfectly smooth not to, but there's still the barest suggestion that it's what she means.]

In the Matrix.

[ His eyebrows pinch, a little guilty as he evaluates her reaction. ]

I know that's sort of looked down upon. Hawke's fairly new, too, no one expects him to know any better yet.

[ Anders, on the other hand, has blond hair cut just above his shoulders and a lean strength despite his apparent aversion to rowing. It's obvious that he's been unplugged for much longer than her or Hawke. ]

Your apparently-not-a-secret is safe with me. I don't know that I'd be sorry to see anyone from the Matrix I came from.

[The barest pause, then:]

Most people.

Some people.

Edited 2015-05-16 21:04 (UTC)

[ Her hesitation and self-correction could almost be comical, but Anders manages not to laugh. Instead, his voice is kind. ]

It's all right. Everyone's got someone they'd rather not see, for one reason or another.

[It was meant for a joke, but that doesn't mean it isn't also true.]

Ain't that the truth. But I think most of us have someone we'd miss, too.

[Without even the comfort of knowing whether they're another person or a bit of code. But that seems too heavy an observation for a celebration, so she adds,]

You guys have beer, in the matrix you came from?

[ Anders is prevented from thinking too hard about who he misses by the change of topic, which brightens him a little. ]

We called it ale. I think it's not much different, at any rate. Possibly even better! But I've been told that what I do need to try is expensive scotch whiskey.

[Emily grins.]

They weren't lying! But do yourself a favor and try it in a matrix. I'm really skeptical you could get anything worth the name in the Real. And if you can, you'd probably have to sell something you'd miss to get it. Even moreso that "expensive" already implied.

Well, I really only need one kidney...

[ But he's joking. Laughing about it after. Anders has never lived the high life, so it's not as though he'll know any difference if he tries something fancy in a simulation rather than trying to get it in the Real. ]

Moonshine, now - not as fancy, but I bet there are people here who're doing it right all the same. Well, and vodka, you can make vodka out of pretty much anything.

Not to name names, but I flew out with a captain who kept a moonshine distillery in his engine room, actually. It was shockingly potent stuff. I'll stick with the beer.

That is very valuable information to have. Moonshine's never my first choice, I admit, but beggar's can't be choosers. I will say, this beer isn't half bad, though, considering.

Considering the lack of sunlight, you mean.

[ Anders gives a wry grimace. ]

I heard someone was trying to make a liqueur from mushrooms last year. Can't say I find the thought appealing.

Remember what I just said about vodka? Christ, though, that's the sort of thing I'd rather not know about what I'm about to consume. Just let me pretend it's potatoes, you know?

[Fenris is exhausted, somewhat waterlogged, and strangely--a little bit elated? He's not going to sing about it or anything, but he's glad of their victory. He's had a difficult transition period, and he knows he's not nearly through it, but there's strength in his limbs again. There's muscle, small but forming, and he at last feels like the agility and skill he once enjoyed is within reach.

Even so, he's all but splayed over the table, one arm serving as a headrest, the other holding a beer up as high as he can manage.]

Well done.

[That's said, in particular, to the more experienced crewmates--he knows they ultimately carried the day. With some effort, Fenris lifts his head, takes a sip of his cup, and then goes right back down again. Aah. Feels -- good.]

Edited 2015-05-14 16:33 (UTC)

[ Kate leads from the front in everything and dragon boat races are no exception. She pulls more than her own weight with the oars, but that doesn't stop her lifting an arm to give Fenris's shoulder a heavy pat of congratulations as she collects a beer for herself and lifts it. She drinks deeply before speaking, smile wide and almost infectiously genuine. ]

Good work all around! We kicked their asses!

[ Maybe. Sort of. Whatever, they won, she can say whatever she wants now. ]

Keep drinking, Fenris, eventually you'll forget how much your back hurts.

Oof. Trust me, captain, I intend to.

[Fenris presses his face into the crook of his elbow, chuckling. His back does ache, and her friendly pat sends a jolt of pain down his spine. It's good pain, though. He can feel his muscles thrumming with exhaustion, but it's the kind that forces growth. That's what he wants.]

[Emily, for her part, is never one to skip a good celebration. She's not yet sure enough of her place in the crew or, indeed, in Zion to be be an instigator as such. But she sticks around, has a beer, and is open to being drawn into rowdier celebration by her crewmates as the day wears on.

Even they're all new to her, and she knows all the reasons why playing games and overcoming obstacles together creates a bond that isn't necessarily durable... it's still nice to have other people to drink with.

She could use a cigarette, though.]

[ The owner of Restaurant Modak has a cause. She feels strongly - intensely, powerfully strongly - that real life can be as rich and as wonderful as Matrix life. Every few weeks she gathers together her staff to talk about this: how people who have the ability to plug in sometimes find their pleasure in eating not real food, but simulations of food, and how empty and wrong this is, how it's imperative to teach people that life out here in the real world is twice as good as any fake pleasures to be found plugged into a simulation. That's why the owner hired the chef she did - someone with real skill, who'd been a real respected creator of haute cuisine in his own Matrix before he was unplugged. Restaurant Modak isn't elegant dining in and of itself - it's more just pleasant, a nice experience with good food rather than something really classy. But that's sort of the point - building a place that'll give people as much pleasure as they'd find plugged in.

So Modak's booth at the dragon boat race is...intense. To say the least. This is an opportunity for more than just self-promotion; it's an opportunity to capture hearts and minds for a deeper cause. Sweets like the eponymous coconut-molasses buns, taro cakes, sugar-soaked fried rice strings, rosewater-soaked donuts, macaroons - they're all piled high on trays and sold for a song, part of an effort to build buzz and loyalty amongst the new potential customer base. Savories are wrapped in rice paper crepes - curried mushrooms and peas, lentils scented with cumin and coriander, tofu scrambled with tomatoes in a mouth-wateringly sour sauce.

Strict instructions were given that the staff working the booth were to try to attract the unplugged in particular. It's part of the agenda - prove that people who have a choice between plugging in or staying out will choose to stay out and eat here. So Kitty - or Lizzie, as her nametag reads - is focusing her attention on them - calling challengingly out to any short-haired thin-armed people who wander by: ]

I bet we've got things you've never tried here before.

[ She's energetic, focused - bouncing between customers and potential customers with a ferocious enthusiasm and a bright smile. She doesn't look at the race even once - no time for that - but every once in a while she scans the crowd, like she's looking for someone. ]

Edited 2015-05-15 17:08 (UTC)

[ Sometime shortly after the race she wasn't watching, Kitty is gifted one of those very short-haired, thin-armed people, looking sort of like someone wrung him out in both hands and then tossed him in a corner to dry. This dims none of the elation from having actually accomplished even so small a thing as his own tiny-limbed contribution, so he's ...at least highly visible. Thus: it's time to inflict friendliness. On Kitty, particularly, since he'll do that at pretty much any given opportunity. ]

I bet you have.

[ Look, that was a lot of rowing. He would eat basically anything right now. ]

Though I can't say I'm not waiting for someone to come by and clap you in irons. It can't be legal, all these colors and textures and things.

[ Grinning - because he's like, conscious, that's essentially a constant - but ...really. ]

[ His grin is answered with one of her own. She likes a little bit of sass - that's true both for Kitty and for Lizzie-the-girl-she's-pretending-to-be - and so he gets a burst of real genuine amusement rather than the standard bright chipperness most of the other customers get. ]

Fortunately for us, we filed for a special permit - we're legally allowed to exceed the standard colors-and-textures-and-things limitations.

[ She whirls and scoops up a little bun - admirably puffy, given the limitations of the ingredients, glazed on the top, and filled with a crumbled textured protein that replicates the taste of barbecued pork rather nicely. Without even asking, she folds it up in a bit of tissue paper and hands it out to him. No question what this guy's been doing, with his sweat-damp hair and trembling arms. ]

Here - this is good for reviving the body after a brilliant victory.

That's good to hear. I'd hate to be responsible for any undue texture persecution.

[ Aware that he's sort of walking advertisement potential in the midst of all this, Hawke bites off a chunk out of the side of his mouth, making one of those theatrical 'my god*, the deliciousness of this foodstuff has reduced me to mere gesture!' ...gestures, in response. Given most of what's available in Zion, it's only slightly exaggerated, especially since pork was a rarity in Thedas. ]

It was rather brilliant, wasn't it? [ He did very little, but please. ] In the face of such insurmountable odds and everything.

[ 50-50 odds. Dry as dust. ]

* or whoever

Well, I can't say I actually watched. Since I was here, engaged in good honest work. All that.

[ Her grin's sly, teasing. Maybe a little bit flirtatious, but in a harmless sort of way - Kitty's a very pretty young woman (even thinned out and pale and short-haired as she is), and she's learned in her months in the service industry that idle flirting coming from a pretty young woman is actually ridiculously good for business. People are flattered by it. It's a calculated sort of thing to do: there's no bloody chance in hell that this guy (who's, what, about twice her sixteen years) is going to take her seriously, but it'll make him feel happy, happy people bring more people to their business, spend more. Everyone wins.

Sort of weird, working at a place where people are actually happy at times. Back working for Mr Pennyfeather, the only time anyone got cheery was when they'd pulled off some great theft. Customers were treated with uniform surliness, the faster to hurry them out the door so that their company could get back to its normal business...There's something really sort of nice about being engaged in an enterprise where you're supposed to be cheerful. Really does lighten the heart. ]

So I suppose you've got to pay for your food with tales of your heroic exploits, haven't you?

[ Just shy of twice, which means that his translation of 'flirting' is sort of the way a person might treat a much-enjoyed younger cousin. As such he laughs, rueful. (Not that he'd actually be trying to spin things so he looked more impressive regardless now that he's made the silly initial 'GARSH IT WERE BRILL-YUNY, WEREN'T IT remark; either the things he does speak for themselves or they don't.) ]

I heroically stayed out of the way, mostly. Exploitatively letting those with more than one or two muscles in their arms do the real work. Nothing so good and honest as yours, I'm afraid.

[ He grins again; despite the genial self-deprecation he's virtually always cheerful, so at least there's that. Easy to bounce off of. ]

You know, it may just be that my eyes are tired, but don't we know each other? Fewer eyebrows and more porcupine quills on the last occasion, maybe.

[ ....the acupuncture needles. Is what he means. ]

[ There's a part of Kitty that really is as rotten as the government of England always claimed she was. The thug that the judge presiding over her case called her, the wicked, traitorous vixen that Dad named her. There's a part of her that looks at Hawke and thinks about how weak he looks, and how chivalrous he seems, and calculates that if she pretended to swoon and fell in the river he'd dive in after her and once two people are in the water it's really easy to do away with one. She doesn't know how to swim, but she doesn't think the water's deep - make a big show of panicking, climb up on his shoulders, hold his head under. Easy to take care of him. Easy to survive, as long as she kept her head. One fewer person in this world who was there at her extraction. One fewer person who might be able to link Lizzie Temple to the fugitive Kitty Jones.

That there's any part of her that even makes that calculation really does make her wicked. That she immediately dismisses the thought doesn't actually really help all that much. It's still so awful, and so cruel. And she knows that if the circumstances right now were a little bit more desperate she'd be a little slower to dismiss it, wouldn't she. She's safe now, but if she weren't...Hawke wouldn't be the first man she killed out of desperation. He wouldn't even be the first innocent man she killed - and her stomach suddenly turns at that thought. That makes her feel better, that she feels wretched over it.

The effect of all this dark thinking is that, far from smiling, she greets his little recollection with a sudden frown. It takes only half a second, maybe a full second, before she gains control over her face and forces herself to brighten. But there was still that disturbance. ]

I'm not sure. You do look a little bit familiar, yeah, but - you know. Handsome men, they all look alike. How long ago were you extracted?

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[open] THE RACES | row row row your boat

Orion (NPC) | OTA

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atalanta + everyone } celebratory shenanigans

replying to a top level but actually OTA, call the rp police.

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this is ota too come at me

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OTA as well

food & stuff, get all of your food and most of your stuff; ota

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TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS LATER......

NAW

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