mayfield_rpg | First Brainstorm

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First Brainstorm

[A - 1669 Nelson]

[The last thing Cliff could remember, he was basically getting the microchips in his brains blown out. He didn't remember much, if anything, save that last fight with Firestorm. He thought he'd finally won, but no...he opened his eyes, fully expecting to find himself in a prison somewhere.

To say he was surprised to wake up next to that strange woman was an understatement...as was his surprise that her mind was absolutely closed to him, as was his surprise that there were a bunch of creepy family photos he didn't recall having posed for...and so on and so forth. Typical Mayfield stuff.

After a brief conversation with his new not!wife that leaves him more confused than he was before, he emerges from the bedroom looking quite displeased. He managed to find clothes. They fit, but they're not like anything he'd dream of wearing. But they beat going naked, so he'll wear them. Even his glasses have been replaced with thick black plastic 50's eyewear...which actually appeals to his inner hipster, so he's slightly less irritated with those.

Looks like someone's off on a quest to find some answers. But first, breakfast. Cold cereal and coffee, because he doesn't trust the cooking of the strange woman upstairs.]

[B - Downtown]

[Cliff is just standing there, taking it all in...and looking like he might be on the verge of having some sort of spastic fit. Surely you can help calm him down.]

[C - Various Shops]

[Cliff is trying to get an idea of what sorts of technology he can find here in Mayfield. He can be found poking at radios or TVs, grumbling under his breath about something. He can't find anything advanced enough for his needs, and it's frustrating.]

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[Tarvek sees Cliff, and instantly thinks, "Ah! Another Madboy!" He's fascinated by the spectrum of sparky talent Mayfield finds...and usually willing to help them acclimatize.]

New in town?

[Cliff wasn't expecting to be approached...but at least he's been approached by someone who doesn't have the vacant, glassy-eyed stare of so many of this place's residents. Still, he looks wary as he puts the radio he was poking at down to give Tarvek his full attention.]

Just got in this morning. Can't say I'm a fan of the place.

[Ah, well. He keeps kind of hoping for someone else from someplace bad enough to appreciate Mayfield's virtues, limited though they are...]

(wry) Most newcomers don't. For that matter, most of the refugees who have been here long don't, either.

[Gives a courtly, distinctly old-fashioned and Europan half-bow.]

Tarvek Sturmvoraus, at your service. Another of the "taken." I've been here a bit over a year. I'd be glad to help, if I can.

[He fishes in his pockets...]

Blue lightning, Ilsa tells me to keep copies of the pamphlet and map on hand, but I'm always forgetting. But--you can get copies from Ilsa, or come by my place later and I can give them to me. In the meantime, is there anything I can help you with?

[Information! This is good. Very good. Cliff isn't sure what to make of the use of the word "taken," however. That doesn't sound particularly promising. He's still a bit wary, but he'll return the introduction and the bow with a nod of his own.]

Cliff Carmichael.

If you want to help, you can start by telling me what the devil's going on here, for starters.

[He scowls at the radios he was messing with.]

Or at the very least if there's anything here approaching a respectable level of technological advancement.

[Yep. Tarvek guessed right: a madboy with the sparky touch...or whatever his world produces that's similar.]

Hmmm. Haven't gotten a run-down from anyone else? All right.

You're in Mayfield. It's a small pocket universe of some sort. A fair lot of us believe it's a fabricated reality. No one's quite sure if it's virtual or "real." What we do know is that whoever runs Mayfield kidnaps people from other realities and dumps them here. Again, we're not sure if it's really "us," or if it's a downloaded virtual recording running in a larger program. From our point of view it doesn't matter much.

I find it easier to think of as a download. It explains how completely this town or its masters are able to control us. If we play along and pretend within the limits of the place, it lets us live as we are. But it subjects us regularly to wild and outrageous shifts. The most recent had us all functioning as though we came from other, alternate versions of ourselves entirely. I thought I came from a version of my world where everyone had died except me. My...beloved...thought she had been raised as a murderous demon. And so on.

If you don't behave you can end up "droned." Made like the blank ones here, though your body remains behind to haunt friends.

So far no one has found a way to escape. No one has found a way to gain control. No one has found out what keeps the town running, or why it was founded, or knows for sure who runs it.

There. That's the very, very short version. I can tell you more, but it's a starting place. You can also read the pamphlet.

Do you have any particular questions, now? I'm happy to help.

Oh--and for tech? You've come to the right place. I can probably at least get you involved in Mayfield's more, er, 'scientific" circles. Introduce you to Quinn, at the very least. But a lot of what you want you'll have to build yourself.

[You've run into a supervillain with a highly technological bent, pretty much. Very likely his world's equivalent.

Cliff is still wary--you don't get into his line of work by trusting people--but he listens patiently to what Tarvek is telling him. It's not wise to antagonize anyone that's giving you information that's figuring well into the oddities you've already observed, after all.]

Is that so? I've got to wonder how one is chosen to wind up here...considering the last thing I remember and all. There was a bit of a misunderstanding--I was expecting prison. Looks like I found a fancier one than what I expected.

I'd really like to see that pamphlet at some point.

[The mention of a scientific circle seems to cheer him up a bit.]

I'd appreciate that. Doesn't look like there's much I could use to get started here on my own.

[Tarvek is never, ever surprised when he encounters a "villain." He grew up amidst the type...indeed, was raised to be one himself. By *some* people's standards he is one, though he would quibble with their standards. And he's particularly good with people, so he's reading the "sneaky-pants megalomania" vibe quite clearly. He smiles.]

Here, let's go to the counter, first, and get some paper and pencil. I'll give you my address and you can come by this evening to pick up the pamphlet and map.

[He's chosen his own home, because there's no one there who can truly be "hurt" but him and his pet mimmoth. Everyone else is a drone. He wants to get a better sense of this newcomer.]

While you're there I'll show you the lab I've put together in my garage.

[And if that doesn't impress Cliff a bit when he sees it, it will be because he can't see improvisational genius when it rises up and smacks him in the face.]

I'll do what I can to help you with any projects. But...Mayfield won't let you develop anything that steals control from the people who run it. In the end, whatever Mayfield wants, Mayfield gets. As for what it wants?

Heroes. Villains. Talents. People with stories. We get remarkably few people who lived a quiet, common life, or who even could. If you're used to being the best of the best, or the worst of the worst, you're in for a big surprise.

Edited 2012-06-09 16:30 (UTC)

[Cliff nods and starts to follow Tarvek towards the counter. Really, he's pretty safe to invite over; he's not prone to outright violence, and Mayfield's neutered his mental abilities significantly. Villain or not, he does try to be a pretty civilized guy.]

Thanks. I'd love to see your lab; I can't imagine this place gives you much to work with. I don't suppose anyone here has been able to do anything with cybernetics yet...

[He's already thinking of ways he's going to convert his own garage, and he's never been above stealing good ideas, after all.]

Oh, I know a thing or two about control...and patience.

[He seems to scoff a bit at the description of the town. He likes to think he's one of the worst of the worst on his world, but he's...definitely not.]

I'll adapt. I always have.

[Amused. He's seen the worst his world had to offer, and he's seen Mayfield's array...the imports and the "masters." Cliff is in for a "learning experience."]

Cybernetics? Muses...er, no. Wrong terminology here. That's mechanical, electrical, and biological blended, right? I think you'll find a number of our refugees are cybernetic, and there's an entire network of folks like me who serve as their medics, when we're needed. I do more pure "robots," but was trained on blends in my own world. It requires a lot of improvisation, but we get by. More or less.

Control, patience, and adaptation are going to be necessary. Also a tolerance for very bad beer. But you may have come from a world that already inflicted very bad beer on you.

[He begs a sheet of paper from the counter clerk, and jots down his address.]

Tarvek Sturmvoraus
1126 Taylor Street

Call me before you come over. I'll get out chips and get the not!wife to pop some popcorn and get out some sodas.

[Considering Cliff's tendency to think he's one of the big dogs when he's not, such a learning experience is only to be expected, sadly.]

Mostly electronic and biological in my case, but yeah. That. I don't go in for obvious modifications.

[It's at least reassuring that there are others around that he might be able to mooch off of--it'll get him up and running much more quickly...though there is still the question of self-inflicted brain surgery should he choose to return his powers to himself. He smirks.]

I can handle control, patience, and adaptation. I'll have to get back to you on the bad beer.

[Cliff takes the paper with the address and skims it, committing the information to memory before sticking the sheet in his pocket. He's not used to people being this outright friendly to him, but he's perfectly willing to roll with it, given the circumstances.]

Will do. I appreciate it.

Good. I think you'll find over time that Mayfield makes strong friendships...desirable. Alliances will see you through here. Even the best I've seen can't cope here, alone. It's rather like gambling against a crooked dealer: the game is rigged.

[His eye flicks around the store. He nods his head toward a back corner.]

You won't find any of what you hope for in any of the shops here. But I've found the wire collection here quite adaptable--there, back on those shelves. Diodes and transistors will be at the TV repair place. You're going to have to bootstrap your way up from there, though.

Good luck.

Hrm. Sounds like a challenge. I can deal with that.

[Cliff follows Tarvek's gaze to the wire.]

Thanks. I think I can manage from here. I've had to start from the bottom before.

[Smiles and nods.]

Well, then. So long for today. Give me a call. Let me know if you need anything.

[With an ultra-couth, Olde Fashioned half-bow, he departs. He wonders if he will see Cliff again, or not...]

See you around, then.

[And Cliff will give him a lazy wave as he moves on.]

((OOC: I'm totally down with them meeting up again; dunno how you'd want to plan that.))

[Death is, as usual, out and about when she spots a familiar face]

Oh, hi Cliff!

[The recognition is totally one-sided, as Cliff has no idea who you are, Death. You'd think a guy that hung around with the Suicide Squad as much as he has would be more familiar with you. He's been dealing with drones that have known his name all morning, but you're the first non-drone who's known him.]

Who--who are you? How do you know my name?

[Smooth, Cliff. Looks like his near freakout at Mayfield itself has been somewhat redirected.]

[Yeah... she gets that a lot]

It's okay, you shouldn't remember me. I'm Death, from home.

[Poor Death, really. Can't be pleasant to have everyone you know freak out on you like that upon meeting you again.]

Can't say I've ever heard of a Death...

[He scowls, assuming she's just some regular old run-of-the-mill metahuman.]

You couldn't have thought of a more creative name?

[Right, like calling yourself "The Thinker" is so much better, Cliff.]

Well, I have plenty of other names. A lot of people prefer Didi, here. Teleute, Madame Mort... but in the end, Death is what I am.

"Death is what you are." Uh-huh, sure.

[And now he's just looking at you like you're a crazy person. It's probably a look he's used on people many times since arriving here in Mayfield.]

[She remains calm in the face of that look. She was getting it well before Mayfield]

Divider of life from all that comes before and all that comes after.

Uh-huh...that's...you expect me to believe that?

[Wait, did he die? Did Firestorm blow his brains out back there? That is the last thing he remembers, taking that hit...]

Everyone does, sooner or later. Even if I'm not on duty here.

[He's quiet and still looking at her like he thinks she's crazy for a long time.]

So you're...THE Death. That's what you're telling me. And somehow, you're stuck here just like I am.

[Good thing or bad thing? His ego is mildly soothed by the fact that he was clearly important enough to stick here alongside THE Death, if this is the case and she's not just messing with him...]

The implications are... disturbing, yes.

[Because, well, she's still not sure how anyone managed to pull this off. People have tried, of course. But never succeeded.]

[And now he's rubbing his chin and looking thoughtful...and it's not exactly in a good way. There's some crazy powerful stuff going on here, and he's trying to decide if he can possibly take control of it for himself.]

So, who--or what--else has this place managed to grab, anyway?

Quite a few people from home. Hal Jordan, Wally West... Lex Luthor used to be here.

Luthor? They got...

...wait, you said he "used" to be here. So there's a way out, then?

We're... not really sure. Sometimes people get droned and never return to themselves. No one's really sure what happens then.

Well, that's reassuring. So the only thing we can really do is just sit around and wait for things to happen?

[He doesn't sound happy about that at all.]

Well, people are always looking for a way out. But no luck so far.

There's got to be some way out. Maybe no one's looked hard enough...

Well... people have been looking pretty hard. But there's got to be something somewhere.

I guess it'll give me something to do...

Sooner or later, something is going to work. This kind of interference in the natural order just doesn't last.

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First Brainstorm

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