01 🌝 THE SAMODIVA - Rebel Base [open]

[pillz]

WHO: Members of the anti-government Resistance, refugees, those seeking shelter
WHERE: The Samodiva, a large, dream-built airship that operates as a mobile base for the Resistance
WHEN: Throughout the plot!
WHAT: Open log for the Resistance base, which includes transport, sleeping quarters, intelligence/communications array, small spaces for training, and Medbay/medical services.
WARNINGS: References to war, injury, drug use, etc.

Welcome to the SAMODIVA, the massive, mobile air base run by the Resistance, made and operated by ImPort abilities. When you're aboard, it's hard to imagine anyone could miss it. Though it's bigger on the inside than the outside, it is huge. It is also: white and yellow, a cheery palette that really pops. Fortunately for everyone involved, the ship is also cloaked constantly from external detection as well as armed to some extent for engagement. (But mainly it's supposed to blow itself up.) Tech-savvy and magical ImPorts are constantly upgrading its systems. It spends a lot of time hovering, but you might be a pilot.

The BAR is an incredibly popular site on the ship, and anyone off-duty tends to be found there even in the unlikely possibility they are some kind of teetotaler. People generally mix and serve their own drinks. There's a lot of Pedialyte around too, to offset the possibility of war-interfering hangovers.

The MESS HALL is outfitted with food that draws from a mix of locally sourced produce, grain, meats, and vitamin supplements. With the amount of bleeding people do during this war, the yellow upholstery is a real design mystery. There are two slots both lunch and for dinner; this arm of the Resistance seems to run on caffeine and protein bars for breakfast.

SLEEPING QUARTERS aboard the ship can't house every Resistance member, but considering that there are other vehicles, safehouses, and bases, it makes sense to limit hosting. Each room is outfitted with bedding, seats, and storage; a third have external windows. Refugees and guests are as often aboard as fighters.

Other spaces include: SICKBAY, with a fully operational if limited capacity surgical suite and a full-functioning MRI machine, and beds for several. STORAGE SPACES, ENGINEERING AREA and the FLIGHT DECK are fairly open-access, but it's hard to miss the SURVEILLANCE and SMALL DRONES patrolling the ship regularly.

Comments

joseph 'joey' kavinsky | the raven cycle (cw drugs) | open & closed

[pillz]

open;

['joey' kavinsky is quite unlike the asshole who wears his face in the other world. (he is also somewhat rounder, having learned better dietary habits. it's a low bar, but it's a bar.)

he is the semi-formal denmother of the samodiva. when new arrivals come aboard, he's often there to greet, offering beer (or weed) or directions to medical services, possibly a warning about the moonshine stocked in the bar, if they picked that up at a recent stop. any unfamiliar face who happens to be shrinking into the wall or hesitating at the on-ramp might find themselves a target for the young man, who beelines through. he has faint shadows under his eyes, but those are easily eclipsed by the smile and the handshake he tends to lead with.] It doesn't blow itself up unless it really needs to, [he says.] Promise.

[other times, he might be found at the bar, clutching a bong or a beer. drowsing slightly as the overhead speakers blare with the latest dire news. bodycount in west palm, seizure of resources in new york city. every other resistance member is jaded when the numbers update every day, but it's hard to tell with joey, who merely turns to you after the announcement ends.]

So what's your story?

closed to victor / backdated;

Hey. You ready, babe?

[it's a bit of a dumb question. the answer is always 'yes,' and also simultaneously, always 'no.' they've done this a few times by now, already. joey has seen his boyfriend -- 'boyfriend' -- boyfriend? die in an invisible flash of energy, and come back again. they have a shielded space down in engineering just for that, although it looks more like medbay once you see it. reclining seat, deep tub, oxygen. they need to get there within the next thirty minutes, joey estimates, based on the last countdown number victor had texted him.

but it almost always starts in here. the bedroom, victor's back turned as he faces the wall. victor doesn't have a chamber with windows; all the cloaking and shielding in the world won't put victor's paranoia to rest. while joey's never slept here, he has door permissions, shows up now like he always has: with a glass of icewater, the better to bring down victor's core temperature, before the inevitable.

joey passes him the glass.]

wildcard;

[strikesthrough]

[Victor brackets Joseph's petnames at the best of times, not taking them either too personally or seriously, but the way the pressure buzzes in his head makes the throw away word feel unusually grating as it's delivered. It results in a slight twist of Victor's lip in irritation, like flicking a light on someone with a migraine. It's not worth the effort needed to snarl or snap about it through--there isn't much time.

Even without the dream device Joseph produced for him to track the cycles of death, Victor would have known it wouldn't be long now, but having more accurate data makes it all much easier to plan for, to prepare for. It doesn't always work out that all the circumstances align neatly like this, but when they do the conditions are the best Victor can hope for to hold back the damage to his brain and replenish oxygen quickly.

He blindly reaches for the glass, tips of his fingers finding Kavinsky's wrist first and linger for the briefest of seconds, just letting the contact remain still and unbroken before shifting to take the glass from him.

Victor isn't a small man in terms of verticality, but sitting on the edge of the bed, without his coat, head bent forward and eyes squeezed closed with in a grimace against the agony in his head he's a pale imitation of the formidable image of the dauntless leader that strides through the Samodiva most days.

He steels himself enough to down the glass virtually in one, his body giving a shudder against the cold rather than from the pain as he stretches his arm back in Joseph's general direction.]

Get out.

[It's not a command that's nearly as callous as it sounds. It's a safety measure, a shorthand for 'it's nearly time. i don't want you getting hurt. or worse. put some distance between us. i'll be fine.']

Is my same tag OK!!

[pillz]

[little touches and brusque commands delivered out of concern. these are the tokens that joey accepts as the currency of affection, these days. they're good currency, in a time that is otherwise filled up with cold steel and persistent exhaustion, bottomless obligations today, and paranoid possibilities that stack into an endless future. nobody has time for movie night or anniversary dinner, in this world.

annivarsaries usually involve some kind of terrorist attack, actually. but that's for later. for now:]

You get out. You need to walk to Engineering.

Hell, I should stay in here. Roll around on your bed. Leave a lot of brown hair on all your shit. [he isn't being mean about it, by his standards. and he's kind enough to afford victor the thinnest impression of reassurance, crossing his arms instead of toucing the other man anymore, leaning his leg against the bedframe. not that a foot or two of personal space would do anything to protect him, if victor went off like a bomb. he's worried, a little. hovering a little, he knows.]

[carbonfrozen]

[Han just downs his shot of whiskey, his eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin line. He'd gone to West Palm last week and chatted up a few of the resistance members stationed there while unloading some supplies, and now—he wonders how many of those people are still alive. How many are still free.]

My story's that I got a shipment of supplies from New Jersey that were bound for West Palm next week. My question is, am I dropping 'em off at West Palm still, or am I picking up survivors who'll need them more?

[pillz]

Pickup.

[joey should consult someone on this matter, probably, before making that call. he isn't in charge. but he's heard people talking about it, reviewed some of the feed, the notes. it is highly self-evident that west palm is: completely fucked. the resistance had put up a good fight.

honestly, there might be more than a smoking crater left, if there wasn't. kavinsky drags his pint of beer closer to himself.]

I got a new scanner to give you, for detecting the government microchips. [in the survivors, he means. one of those shitty necessities.] Do you think you could maybe test run it without reprogramming its voice.

w-w-wildcard

[goldtoxicity]

[ there's a version of their story that probably ended in marriage. a big house, maybe a dog or two or any number of fantastical creatures that never existed. they definitely a future back then, and a happy one at that.

but schrodinger is a liar. the cat in the box was always dead. he poisoned it himself. to say otherwise is to buy into the idea that things could have gone another way, and you drive yourself crazy thinking like that.

he'd started spinning out of control and hadn't stopped. still hadn't stopped, digging himself down deeper and deeper down a dark path. breaking hearts, breaking minds and bodies, losing himself more and more every day.

healing is hard now. physically, spiritually, metaphorically and literally. the worst parts of him soul come easier, death feels good under his hands. natural. now he has to be careful when he touches people, mindful of every interaction so he doesn't hurt them. no more casual noogies or draping himself across the shoulders of friends. he isn't himself, he isn't sure who he is anymore. maybe elixir is this person. maybe josh died when they put him in the ground and he's something else.

but the curtains will close on this final, brutal third act of his life story, he's sure. a healer lived long enough to become the villain. there's probably not gonna be much of a redemption arc.

everything's burned down around him and left him bitter and angry and often unrecognizable to even himself. people have bled out under his hands because he hadn't been able to switch back, his touch no longer blessing people euphoria but offering euthenasia. a mercy killing. he doesn't have much compassion or mercy left these days, it makes it hard to save people when you start feeling like everything is futile.

but joey is, and always will be, a soft spot. it's not hard to summon up what he needs when he needs to be healed.

josh only sets foot on the samodiva when he's needed. it's not his place, not his world, not after what he did and what he's still doing. but if someone gives him the heads up that he's wanted there and he'll eventually make an appearance, sooner rather than later.

so here he is. looking a little awkward and out of place as he approaches him at the bar, peeling his hoodie off and lowering the hood. ]

Hey.

[ he doesn't reach out to steal a drink of that beer as he once might have, because damn if he doesn't need a drink. instead, hands get shoved in pants pockets, posture slouching just a little - it looks casual, but there's another reason. there's a stitched-up mess underneath his well-worn metallica shirt and standing up straight pulls at it in all the wrong ways. he's shifted his weight onto his left side, his right leg is a mess under threadbare jeans but it's fine so long as he puts no weight on it.

his smile is deceptively bright. like nothing is wrong at all. the world's problems are water rolling down his golden duck back. deliberate attempts at being casual only go so far when you have so much history and the tail end of it is complicated. ]

I got word you need a healer?

[iminthebook]

"I bring presents!"

In one corner of the arrival bay, a mist forms, and swirls and slowly resolves to the form of Harry Dresden, smuggler, part time ally of the resistance, and wizard.

Next to him is a stack of boxes and bags, supplies for the ship and its people, delivered freshly out of various storerooms and pantries of the government, their stooges, and their warehouses. Well, after a 48 hour cool-down elsewhere for Harry and his team to check it over with tech, magic, and telepathic means, to make sure it was not contaminated and not tracked.

A shield holds around him and the items for a long moment as he makes sure this is not a trap, and then it flickers and falls and he leans on his staff

He grins tiredly as he looks around, glad to be back here, to see people fighting. he doesn't always walk those front lines himself, but he dances between them, stealing, smuggling, and going where outright resistance members can't. Its a dangerous life, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

wildcard

[roughworkdone]

"Where's Vale?"

Kaz Brekker comes out of nowhere, all sharp edges and rasping voice, neatly in front of Joey Kavinsky. Even small shadows on the ship make it easy to get around and it saves him the trouble of walking far when his leg is throbbing. His own fault, but it puts him in a foul mood.

Three people have told him that Victor is indisposed (one of them ended up in the sick bay for their trouble) and he will probably get a similar answer from Victor's boy, or whatever the fuck he is, but at least it will be coming from a better source.

Greetings

[heal_or_execute]

[Hi Kavinsky you are now welcoming an alien aboard your airship. And he has a lot to say.]

Greetings. Professor Mordin Solus. Full debriefing unnecessary, was an imPort before, understand basics of hostile alternate universes. More interested in this craft.

[He paces back and forth in front of his unfortunate host, gesturing to the Samodiva around them as he speculates.]

Fascinating technology, well in advance of Earth standard. Assume imPort tech involved. Curious how it could have been made- imPort fugitives, unlikely to have a manufacturing base. Stolen from the government? No, completely different design principles, doesn’t match any other observed tech. Assistance from allied Earth nations? Dangerous, risk invasion if discovered - unlikely. Must have come from somewhere else. No sign of friendly alien species in this universe, no mention on Internet. Few scientific possibilities remain. Unless- accounting for full potential of imPort abilities-

[He breaks off, takes a badly-needed breath, points at Kavinsky, and guesses:]

Magic?

[crassidy]

[Getting settled in hadn't exactly been an arduous task considering Cassidy's talent for settling himself just about anywhere, but he'd needed some time to process his arrival. A port in from a world he'd already been ported into.

This world shared plenty of similarities to the one he was more used to, but everything was slightly off, wrong or downright odd. Even the familiar features of Kavinksy weren't quite right, but Cass wasn't one to turn down the offer of aid when it came to running the fuck away from Government lackeys. Only a pity he hadn't got to tear at a few more throats on the way out.

He'd settled into a spare room away from all the many windows and showered off, barely able to last the hour before restlessness drags him from his space and has him zero straight in on the bar.]

There he is! Me knight in shining armour. Pass us the weed then, love.

[fridgeflower]

[ Creation powers are absolutely wild. Too bad Laurie didn't get in good with Joey while they were still harmlessly in each other's periphery. The right turn might've made all of this more accessible for her brand of purpose here, but… Nah, he's too sweet. Focused on what allows him to maintain that image, to care for others rather than retaliate again a world that's pressing down on them.

Of course, that's a simplistic spin that fails to recall certain aspects of the past, professional and personal.

Laurie doesn't stop in on the Samodiva very often, but her demeanor when she does is as subdued as it ever was. She doesn't begrudge that it's got a bar, and she's there with a fresh beer when Kavinsky decides to be friendly. And, god, she can barely remember a whole conversation that she's had with this dude, even given the single degree of separation that they so deeply share.

And that… She'd rather just ignore it, if she can get away with it. ]

Look, man, you don't have to try and make small talk with me. It's cool.

Victor "Pretty Much Your Boss" Vale | Vicious | OPEN

[strikesthrough]

I. The Bridge
[While Victor keeps some very secluded hours with much of his time spent over schematics and mapping their next moves from the shadows, when he does emerge and step through the more communal areas his presence is very hard to miss; Victor Vale enters a space with the energy of a thunder storm that hasn't yet broken, sharp, intense, and hyper-aware of everything in his general surroundings.

At times when he's seen on the bridge, unless he is actively commanding a course of action, Victor might be found watching the horizon, hands tucked into the pockets of his long black coat that usually trails behind him dramatically when he stalks around.

Make no mistake, he's not idly cloud or star-gazing (depending on the time of day, but Victor can be found awake at virtually all hours of the day or night), his mind is almost certainly juggling at least ten things at once, but even that isn't enough to distract him from anyone approaching him from any angle, no matter how carefully of quietly they may try. Initially, he doesn't even look at who has joined him directly.]

What it is?

II. The Bar
[Because Victor does keep such sporadic sleep schedules, he can occasionally be found at the bar at otherwise desolate hours, his personal favourites being anywhere between 3am and 8am, the later end of the scale often when he'll either get to work or grab a nap to avoid the majority of the breakfast movement.

Catching him earlier in his drinking, Victor is not friendly exactly, but friendlier than he might otherwise be. It might involve a slight lifting of his glass in greeting and a tip of his head. Victor is never warm, but this is as close as he gets. He may even offer a curious "Odd hours to keep, don't you think?" with a wry smirk, aware of the irony.

Later into the wee hours (or in one of his worse moods), he's more likely to be found bent over his glass of liquor, fingers bridged and his forehead lightly pressed against their arch. There's no acknowledgements at this point, no humouring words for company this time, so approach either with caution or something that really needs his attention.]

III. Medical Bay
[Before he was a leader of a terrorist group, Victor was a doctor.

At times, he can be found in the sick bay, scanning his eyes over charts or screens without much warning or preamble. He's a bit of a pain for anyone who is actually a physician on call or attending to someone, because he shows up at random and pries with sharp, probing questions out the blue.

But he is (or was) an exceptional neuroresearcher and an excellent doctor, so he's arrogant bastard, yes, but effective. Isn't that always the way.

Maybe you're a patient in intense pain, he might wander past to inquire about the extent of the suffering, and if it's agony it might just... stop. Just like that. No drugs, no movement, nothing, just Victor's steady stare along with "Better?" He's a walking painkiller, also very effective for anesthetic purposes for assisting surgery and other delicate procedures.

Alternatively, he might just show up and get to work when there are too many injuries and not enough hands. At least when he scrubs up in the middle of a crisis he does ask "What do we have?"

Or, he really just might be being nosy, walking through the bay being a arrogant fucking smart asshole.]

IV. Wildcard
[Hit me! More shit about This Asshole can be found here and you can hmu on kralkatorrik / jesting#7662 ]

iii, with a bit of wildcard

[goldtoxicity]

[ as a general rule of thumb, you don't want to overstay your welcome at your ex's house. especially if you cheated on said ex while he was imprisoned, broke up with him because you couldn't break him out, and are just generally out of your fucking mind.

but he's here when it's useful for him to be. usually avoiding absolutely everyone he doesn't have to interact with, in the most subtle way he can.

he's also a wreck. just, physically, a wreck. it's a damn good thing he spends most of his time alone or someone might catch on to how little he can heal himself these days. and since modern medicine doesn't do jackshit thanks to his mutant physiology and he refuses to sit down, shit's a mess. painkillers don't work, either. he's just kind of learned to deal.

he's in the medbay trying to grab some bandages to redress his wounds without anyone knowing that's why he's there. walking stiffer than he usually would, half bent at the waist.

so when it stops he whips his head up in confusion, since that shouldn't be a thing but it is. and he hasn't felt this much relief in ages. he might actually cry. ]

Uh... Y-yeah, actually... [ that's not a thing, he's literally never had this happen before. ] How did you...?

i. the bridge

[roughworkdone]

Kaz is good at disappearing, even better at going unseen. But when he is doing neither, his presence is made clear by the rhythmic tap of his cane on the floor. Sneaking up on Victor Vale is counterproductive and unnecessary. He's a sharp boy, bristling with edges that cut even innocent bystanders. Since Jordie's death (again, again), since his own apparent resurrection, Kaz Brekker has dedicated himself and all his talent to seeing the government torn down. Brick by brick or all at once, he no longer cares. There is some ravenous, wrathful creature in him that is straining against its leash.

He leans on his cane as he stops beside Victor, looking out at the roiling clouds. For a moment he says nothing, then one gloved hand offers an envelope to the man at his side.

"The information you wanted."

Kaz's alliances are simple: if anyone anti-government wishes for his services, he is available for hire. His time goes to the highest bidders or those that will help him see his own vision realized.

I

[heliophilic]

[He isn't fully sure where he is or how he got there, but this is hardly the first time since he was broken that this has happened, and so he doesn't let it bother him. They will let him know those things, and guide him back to where he needs to go.

Only he hasn't seen any of them. He may not remember their names, but they always have a familiar feeling--it's them. But they aren't here.

This man is, though. By the tone of his voice, he doesn't sound too thrilled at he's joined him, but he doesn't remember arriving.]

I don't know.

[Maybe he's one of them, and he just doesn't remember.]

The Bar

[devilishly_handsome]

[Anton had simply been enjoying the base. He doesn't come up here often, preferring to stick to the smaller land bases, but with a rising number of metahumans, there was a greater need for someone who could forge documents for them in case they needed to go into hiding. He figures he's safer using this as a base of operations so he can focus on his work without fear of being caught by authorities. Of course, that doesn't mean he won't take a break to grab a few drinks in the middle of the night.]

Well, I am part devil. Being nocturnal is part of my nature.

Son Goku | Dragon Ball Super | Open

[imasupersandwich]

[Arrival][Open] An Unexpected Appearance! Son Goku Arrives!

[ goku is flying through the air at top speed when he smacks right into the side of the cloaked ship. he's got a hard head, so maybe some alarms might go off. when you look at the cameras, he's rubbing his head and wincing. ]

Ow! What the heck was that?

[Mess Hall][Open] Goku's Ordeal! Has He Finally Found Some Food?

[ his stomach rumbles loudly as soon as he enters the mess hall, sniffing the air as his hound-like nose senses the heavenly scent of food. ]

Oh, man. Finally! I'm starving. It feels like it's been hours since I last ate!

[Medical Bay][Open] One Who Inherits the Will to Fight-- Goku's Resolve to Help!

Boy, you're lookin' pretty hurt there. Here, have one of these! They should pick ya right back up!

[ goku reaches into a small bag tied around the sash at his waist and feeds them a senzu bean! if they were hurt or ill at all before, now they are instantly healed and feeling stronger than ever! ]

Wildcard! The Final Judgment of Thirteen's Prompts Approaches! You Rewrite Them With New Hope In Your Heart!

[ with goku's writer exhausted, is there any hope left for our interaction? his friends search deep within their hearts and find the strength to fight back and write them a new future! it's not over! ]

arrival;

[pillz]

[for a long moment, the mirror-surfaced ship seems unresponsive. but then, like a sleeping giant bitten by a flea, something disturbs its surface. a small bot, no bigger than goku's head, zips out of a square-shaped chute opening, which closes once its payload has exited.

the drone wheezes to a stop near goku's head.]

IDENTIFY YOURSELF, [the drone demands.] AND DON'T BREAK ME.

Jane Porter | Disney's Tarzan | OTA

[cantgetanyworse]

i. the mess hall

[It's early, but Jane hasn't slept. Still wearing the black clothes she'd been on the street with, she rests her elbow on the table and barely grips the spoon she's attempting to eat her breakfast with. Half asleep, her arm slips and she almost upends the entire bowl into her lap.]

Oh-- blast it--... [Jane rubs her face vigorously, then pointedly sets the spoon down.]

Coffee. I need some bloody coffee.

[She doesn't get up to the Samovida often, but when she does it never feels as if she can really appreciate it...]

ii. sickbay

Doctor?

[Blast it, do they call them 'doctors' these days? It still feels like every day she comes across something she's using the wrong word for (still, after this many years).

It's no crisis, just a badly swollen ankle that she limps in on with not too much difficulty and a slightly pinched expression. She lets out a hiss of relief as she hops up onto one of the beds and leans back on her hands.]

Oh, do feel free to take your time. I'm not bleeding to death.

iii. training

[She may not be much to look at, but over the years Jane has trained herself up to be far more than she appears. In one of the small training areas aboard the ship she drives her fists repeatedly into the leather of a punching bag, letting out soft grunts each time the makes contact.

Sweaty, slightly breathless, her hair stuck to her forehead, she glances at the next person to walk into the room (no matter how much bigger they are than her) and tilts her head towards a few sparring mats laid out nearby.]

Do you have a few spare minutes? I've been hoping for a sparring partner.

2

[rebelhealer]

[Lucky for Jane, Anders is on duty for the day here, and he's quite a capable healer. Immediately, Anders rushes over to her and offers her an arm to balance on.]

What seems to be the problem?

Sick bay

[heal_or_execute]

Apologies for delay. Higher-priority patients.

[Mordin has lost no time integrating himself into the Resistance’s medical staff since his rescue from the Porter building, which is why a vaguely amphibian alien is bustling over to Jane and waving a glowing device at her.]

Sprained ankle. Significant swelling. Assume pain is also significant. How did it happen?

apollo

[thermobaric]

[ Waterfalling some TLs here! If you want something specific hmu shaz#0911 on disco ]

post-attack/shiny fight | ota

[thermobaric]

[ Well, that was fucking something. Today was the first time that he's truly felt alive in unutterably long, cold, and lonely years. His crops are watered, his skin is clear, and so on and so forth. He's also streaming blood from his nose from having gone ten rounds with the Captain herself, but that's fine. He's alive and a fuck ton of government communications operatives aren't, and that's makes today a good day.

Tired but buoyed up with adrenaline and unadulterated sunlight he lets himself in via the flight deck and makes a wobbly bee-line through the Samodiva towards the bar, trailing a thin spatter of bright red blood as he goes. He hasn't touched alcohol in years, but this certainly calls for a drink of celebration. And maybe he should check that Vale got out alright too, come to think of it. ]

anna shepherd | anna and the apocalypse | open

[readytofly]

SICKBAY

Since Anna's been sleeping rough the last few nights, her first port of call back on the ship is the med bay. There's nothing really wrong> with her, despite a few scrapes here and there and some dehydration, but now isn't the time to play it fast and loose with health. It hasn't stopped since Christmas Eve - home, and then here, and it's best to make sure she can keep up or she'll risk getting left behind.

So once she's back on the ship, Anna hikes it straight to sickbay and pokes her head through the door.

"Hiya? Anyone in?"

MESS HALL

She doesn't like it here. It reminds her too much of the cafeteria at school, the goofy lunch afternoons she spent with John and Chris and Lisa, laughing about stupid shit and angsting away their teenage years before all hell broke loose. The base's mess hall is different--classier, colder, maybe--but that vivid feeling of being alone around other people isn't something she can shake very well.

Anna grabs her food, taking her tray and setting it down on one of the tables before she props her head against her hand and sighs quietly. She'll eat eventually. For right now, it's better to just sit there.

WILDCARD

Bump into her somewhere else if you'd like!

mess hall;

[pillz]

Don't tell me.

[clack. a food tray descends onto the table across from her, and joey slides onto the seat. she's seen him around, likely, though he doesn't often make much account of himself. the resistance has a lot of leadership figures; he just makes sure the right people are onboarded, security's tight, and the proper cookies are coming out of confectionary.]

You wish it was Sloppy Joes.

[despite being rounder here than he ever was in any other world, including his home dimension, joseph kavinsky is still a narrow creature. the words dream thief are tattooed across his hands.] Jalapeno mac 'n' cheese? Ahi steak tartare.