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Arrivals Only

The Only Multiversal Airport

Arrivals Only RPG

Arrivals Only is a pan-fandom, journal-based role playing game, featuring characters from all different canons - movies, television shows, books - all snatched from their respective homes and forced to coexist in an abandoned airport, without any contact with the outside world.

We're a friendly, growing community, and welcome new players and characters alike, so please don't hesitate to join!



Skipped Back 10

August 10th, 2007

(no subject)

Bad enough living through his death the first. Worse living through it again, repeatedly afterward. Then Haight taunting him about it. Again. And now the nightmares were back. They were getting better, but the latest one had still left him with a blown-out TV. Not to mention all the burn marks on his walls.

Nice walls, though. Good and sturdy. And the light fixtures just stubbornly refused to explode. Yeah, the airport was probably alive. At least, it was nicer than Carnate.

Still, he found himself pacing the halls, setting up sparks and crawling with electricity, smoke curling out of his eyeless sockets. The lights just above him flickered in response, but he didn't notice. If he had, he'd probably have made more of an effort to rein it in. But he wasn't paying attention to much of anything.

He was too busy grumbling to himself about "stupid fucking Haight thinks he's so high and mighty just cause I can't touch him...."

August 7th, 2007

((Continued from here. Permission given by Max-mun to use him in the post.))

Edison paced, mentally reviewing his hook. He checked his camera again; it was fine, as it had been twenty seconds ago. He ran over his hook again, decided it sounded like crap, and changed a few things. Then he realized that Max was getting impatient, and an impatient Max was a dangerous Max because it was one step away from boredom, and boredom meant he'd start talking and-


It wouldn't be so bad if Wesker hadn't scared him so much. But he would not be intimidated! Many had tried, and damned if he'd let Wesker be the first to succeed.

Several days of procrastination aside, of course.

"All right, Control," he said, giving Max a wry grin. He set the camera on a nearby podium and turned it on. "Ready whenever you are."

Await confirmation that he was live, and...

It was really weird being able to see himself on TV while he was live. He didn't usually get that opportunity. But Edison was nothing if not professional, and he managed to keep his eyes on his camera instead of the screen in that little lobby across from him.

"This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct from Arrivals Only," and despite practicing it not two minutes earlier, he still nearly said "Network 23". He was never going to get used to that, was he? "As you all know by now, we're all stuck here together. Some of us may be resigned to it, while others still hope for some rescue. Some of us have been here longer than others. Maybe some of us are even still trying to find a way out." Edison himself fit into that last category, though his latest attempt to wedge a door open with a crowbar he found was less than fruitful.

"But the one thing we all have in common is this place. We're here, away from everything we knew, cut off from friends and family. Here, we only have each other to turn to when the strain becomes too much." He resisted the urge to glance pointedly at Max's monitor, recalling that his previous malfunction was a sore subject. Max had agreed never to mention Paddy Ashton again; the least Edison could do was return the favor.

"Of course, there will always be dissenters. I wasn't here for the explosion, but I can see the most obvious part of it's aftermath from where I'm standing." And he could, too. It was the reason he'd chosen this location, though he had decided against using the ruin as a backdrop. "And now, someone else has decided to shatter our relative peace. He's threatened all of our lives on two occasions, claiming to have a deadly virus locked away in his room."

Now, he looked at Max. "All right, Control," and that one was just pure habit; he didn't even realize he'd said it. "Roll the tape."

Edison spent a few impatient minutes going over his closer. He kept one eye on Max and one on the lobby monitor, waiting for the travesty of an interview to end. Finally, he snapped his attention back to the camera lens just as the broadcast returned to him.

"What I want to know is this: Is Albert Wesker just scared, as I'm sure we all were when it first sunk in that we were trapped? Is it fear that makes him lash out? Or is he really willing to sacrifice all our lives for a moment of irritation? I know what I think, but I'll leave you to make your own decisions."

He reached out and turned the camera off, then flopped into the nearest chair and dropped his head into his hands. He didn't plan on moving any time soon.

August 6th, 2007

So, this was the end of the line for old Gigolo Joe, thought the mecha as he sat stiffly in the seat of the amphibicopter next to the authorities that had dragged him in. When the time had come Joe didn’t think his last feelings would be toward David, but they were. He found himself hoping? Yes, hoping, that David would somehow find his blue fairy and get what he wanted. More than that, Joe had wanted to be there to meet his fairy and see the magic David said she could do.

Joe had no desire to be orga himself but to see a friend get his wish... Friend...that word made his way into his mind with in a curious light. Friend had, before, seemed such a foreign concept. Logically, he knew what friend meant. It was a kinship shared among organics, another thing that separated robots from humans, but never had he conceived the word above its definition. To see David get his wish was the only thing Joe regretted not being able to do from his entire existence. It was the only thing Joe...cared...about. Caring was another foreign emotion. Perhaps it had been simple dependency and gratefulness springing from his self-preservation that drove Joe to such unusual reactions, but regardless it was something to be discovered. Well, it would be if he weren’t being sent off to have his brain burned out.

“Hey Joe, waddya know?” one of the men who'd taken him piped in with a laugh. It was a common phrase for the gigolo and was usually met with a smile from Joe, but this one was obviously said with a bitter connotation. Humans reveled in seeing robots suffer, Joe had found.

Joe didn’t answer, but grimaced, looking out the window at Manhattan’s watery buildings fading into the distance.

“Not much after long,” said another. They all chuckled in that merry way that humans have with a sour taste after.

“Better than the machine should get for what it did to that woman. I think they should turn its pain receptors up to the highest level and torture it for hours on end before ripping its innards out,” said yet another.

Joe rolled his eyes but said nothing as he continued to look out of the window. After a while the amphibicopter landed. He felt the solid ground meet the aircraft. He prepared himself the best way he could for the trial ahead. He looked around but, to his surprise, there was no one there. The entire aircraft was empty.

Not without trepidation, he scooted out of the door. He looked around at the platform spying an ancient 'copter stranded along with his futuristic ride. It, too, looked abandoned. He would have explored the other aircraft more had he not seen a door out of the corner of his eye.

He strutted to the door from the platform and bent down to inspect the knob suspiciously. His shoes scraped on the pavement as he looked around again. No one was there. Instead of questioning the sudden disappearance he took his good fortune as just that. He smiled and straightened his collar, ever-the-wary of the cut out bit of his chest that had held his registration ID.

Perhaps David’s blue fairy had saved him or perhaps all of that faith and God stuff humans talked about were not just stories. Or perhaps Joe had long ago been deactivated and this was the version of a robot afterlife. Still suspicious of the door he opened it with a purposeful flick of his wrist and walked in.

Joe had never seen a proper airport before, not like this. His heavy feet echoed on the floor as he looked around, hands clasped behind his back. His unreal skin illuminated a sheen in the artificial light. The too sharp cut of his hairline led to the almost molded style of his black hair. Blue-green eyes designed to be seductive traced the angles and hallways of this interesting place. He had no desire to leave the airport. On the contrary, the place seemed to be a godsend from his former fate as a pile of inactive circuits. In celebration of his arrival (and the beautiful sound of the floor beneath his free feet) he tap danced along the length of the terminal.  

August 1st, 2007

(no subject)

Kaylee Frye was sat perched on a barstool in the hotel kitchen, eating strawberry ice cream straight out of the container. And for once, she wasn't too worried.

To think, she'd been despairing about being unable to fix any of the stuff in the restaurant when all along they'd had this bigger, better and shinier kitchen right over their heads. The panic about starving seemed long ago now, for this new kitchen had enough food to last them all for years to come. Though...Kaylee still hoped she wasn't gonna be here for years. Serenity might yet find her. She wasn't ever going to believe that they wouldn't.

Whoever was behind this place, though, was mighty clever. Mighty clever, but also mighty cruel. Getting them all worked up like that...it was on purpose, she was sure of it.

Inwardly, Kaylee was just waiting on pins and needles for the next thing to go wrong, but for now she was happy to enjoy her ice cream and a little bit of peace and quiet.

July 27th, 2007

(no subject)

Another day, another moment to stalk around. It seemed Wesker was doing that a lot lately. He would walk the complex at odd intervals of the day, just to see if he could catch the eye of another inhabitant of the permanent terminal, as he so graciously put it. But tonight, unlike before, he had taken to his old uniform from his mission to Rockfort Island. A tactical vest clung to his chest and abdomen, combat boots aligned his feet, and several buckles and packs adorned his legs. He felt like a regular old "Rambo" in the get up.

But beggars couldn't be choosers.

A small mini-fridge sized bottle of whiskey was lodged in his belt as he padded around the main terminal. This had been his second run and he was hoping to dig up a little more information than he had the previous time. That seemed highly doubtful, however. The residents of this enigmatic prison had answers, but they were vague at best and always left the Tyrant asking more and more questions. But, he had gotten his information from a sadistic ghost, so all bets were presumed to be off.

Albert unscrewed the top to the bottle and placed the alcohol to his lips for a quick swig. The liquor burned as it barreled down the hollow space of his throat, but he casually shook it off with a grunt before screwing the top back on and continuing on his way. The afternoon was oddly quiet. Hopefully, things would change.

July 24th, 2007

(no subject)

His arrival had been nothing more than a disappointment. While he had been fed some information by Mr. Headroom, he knew it in his bones that behind all the jests, the electronic life-form was hiding something from him - something important. And that would just not do. So, Albert decided to take things into his own hands; if no one was going to tell him exactly what was going on here, he was going to just have to pry it out, whether by force or otherwise. He decided to start out leaning for the latter.

Deciding it would be better to make an impression in a suit rather than prod around the complex in his usual tactical uniform, Wesker took to the elevator looking as elegant as ever. Why cause more panic than needed? While, yes, the suit wouldn't be as functional as the uniform, he had no choice but to play the diplomat. With little information about who was residing in the fast halls of the complex, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The elevator ride was a short and pleasant one - it gave him time to muse over what he would say and how he would approach anyone he happened to find while he stalked around the complex. Truly, he would have to play it down a bit and keep his temper in control. He knew he had blown it with Headroom and he would be sure not to make the same mistake again. Not unless he could keep his victim quiet the next time around.

One of his two remaining cigars was plucked from the inner pocket of the fine velvet jacket he had adorned for the evening stroll. He held the large cylinder of tobacco between his gloved fingers, waiting for the doors to snap open. Only then, would he light it, as not to waste any of its delicious flavor. But he also had another motive - he wanted it to permeate the rooms he walked through to leave his mark where ever he went. It was an egotistical move at best, but wasn't he just that?

A chime sounded and the doors opened, allowing the Tyrant to pad out into the lobby of the hotel. Funny how the terminal came with its own living quarters - it was almost as if someone was expecting people to be stranded here. Albert made a note of this as he flicked open his zippo lighter and carefully twirled the tip of the cigar over the flame. Once it was lit and once the silvery-blue smoke came dribbling out of his nostrils, Wesker flicked his wrist, closing the lighter. It was then that he headed on his way.

It was time to find his first victim.

(no subject)

Because it had to happen eventually, Horace and Hermes finally encounter each other.

Backdated to late night on July 23rd. Only warning is language.
Max's image showed on the terminals with a serious grimace. He lingered a moment so anyone who had their televisions on could turn and look. Then, in an ominous voice he belowed from the depths of all the bits and bytes that made his program possible.

"Beware the icecream man!" This warning was joined with a picture of said icecream man (a.k.a. Al Wesker, the newest arrival).

Then, friendlier, Max's face popped back up.

"This has been a public s-s-service announcement from Arrivals Only. Because we c-c-care." Max left with a grin.

((ooc note: if you wish to converse with Max on this just shout at the screen and he'll come flying back.))

July 23rd, 2007

(no subject)

The whole event had amused him greatly. She had to have known that he would track her down eventually; no individual could have been that naive. Yet, here he was, traveling half-way across the globe just to hunt her down. The odds were that she had already fled, but that did not mean he couldn't poke around in her living environment. And if she decided to come back? Oh, would he be waiting for her. He had a nice little gift for Miss Ada Wong and he would be sure to share it with her. The very thought sent a shiver down the aged Tyrant's spine and as he stepped off his private jet, he couldn't help but sneer. This would be a mildly entertaining road trip, that was for sure.

A tap on his shoulder shattered his thoughts for the moment and soon, he was eye to eye with the pilot. The man said not a word, only handing off the large, black suitcase from the back of the plane. Wesker took it into his free hand and gave the man a sharp nod before padding off towards the airport. In his other hand was a silver case with four illuminated locks on each of the corners. He kept that case close to him and away from prying eyes; all he needed was someone else questioning him.

Up the ramp he went and into the terminal he stalked. His viper-slitted eyes surveyed the area under the pair of dark shades he always had perched on his nose. Thankfully, no one had come up to him as he walked in, however, he found it oddly peculiar there were so many people just parked inside the complex. There had to be a delay or something; that had to be it. But once he got to the door to leave, he found the exit had been sealed off, locked, and utterly impenetrable. He tried once to quickly kick it, as to not grab too much attention, but it did not budge.

A set up? It couldn't have been. He had made sure to register the aircraft via a third-party and he knew there was no way any of his informants could have leaked the information; none of them really knew who he was anyway. Ada was a possibility, but even she knew that the police department couldn't be trusted. So that left questions unanswered and nothing irritated Albert Wesker more than questions that were left unanswered.

He pivoted a heel slightly and angled his head to try to get a glimpse of a security camera or two - none were in plain sight. To that, he cursed under a sharp breath and reached into his jacket pocket for his Blackberry. That was when he noticed that he had little to no reception in the area.


Frustrated, Wesker forcefully dug his thumb into the power button, closing down the electronic object for the time being. He knew it was too late to go back to the jet; they had specific orders not to wait around. He breathed, allowing his whole chest to inflate before releasing in one big breath; no matter what, he had to remain calm. If he were to let his temper get out of hand, he would just be playing right into The Organization's hands and he couldn't afford something like that; he couldn't afford being their tinker-toy to play around with whenever they found it necessary. No, that wouldn't do at all.

An empty seat caught his eye where a normal crowd of people would have been had the airport been a functional one. That was where he sat and pondered. If this were a set-up, the trap would have been sprung by now.

July 21st, 2007

This is new...

Hermes was going back to his room in quite a huff. Still no peep show in the girl's locker room. Did they even use the pool? It was frustrating because there wasn't much else for the intangible cloud of gas to do but spy on people. And talk to them, but that was boring.

Everything got boring. At least on Carnate, there were monsters to kill and the odd storm-tossed boaters seeking shelter to terrify. He missed Carnate; so wonderfully violent. The airport just made him want to tear his hair out, if he had any.

He stopped suddenly; there was an opening above him that he knew wasn't there the day before. He was following the tiny ductwork above the second floor ceiling, what he thought was just below the roof. Yet there was a new path, going straight up. After a few moments of hesitation (he was certain it was some kind of trick), Hermes changed course and followed the new vent. He peered carefully between the slats at what appeard to be another floor of the hotel.

Elevator doors, room doors...he drifted through, the faintest breeze along the ceiling, and followed the hall. More rooms, about fifty if he was reading the numbers right, and...a kitchen! "Ooh..." he breathed. "Something new to blow up."
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