Personification Life IC IX - [Semi Open]

[Giovenith]

Pippa-Michelle seemed to reach into her mouth and pull out a large crumpled piece of paper from her throat, that was completely dry, and handed it to Cerril. It was half a recipe for lentil soup.

"Bake half-degree!"

She clearly agreed.

Cerril's face crinkled up in a look of disgust and horror as Pippa pulled up a piece of paper from her throat. Despite it being completely dry... that was still fairly gross. "... Erm. I think I'll settle for canned chicken noodle." He said, turning his head to look over at Sherril. "Sherri, you mind hauling my crippled ass up the stairs? I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning. Stomach's killing me." He let out a pained cough and grasped at his chest before recovering. "Among other things..."

Sherril, naturally, didn't find the idea of hauling a 200 pound Arkadat, plus his chair up a set of stairs too appealing. "Isn't there an elevator here or something? Why don't you use that?"

Cerril's attempt to remain grinning soon faded. "You're the most compassionate sister a guy could ask for." He said with a sigh, looking around and then to Pippa-Michelle. "Hey, paper puker. Is there an elevator here?"

"Up, down, and turn around," Pippa-Michelle squeaked, waving an arm towards the elevator doors of the lobby. She was quite happy and satisfied now, knowing that there were no fleshies in danger, and could mosey along with her "life." "Like a record, baby! Round, round, round, round!"

[The Drone Empire]

Dried leaves crackled under the Drone's appendages as he marched along. The remaining forest crown from last autumn was now nothing but a decaying carpet. Soon this year's leaves would join them. Darius had never experienced the seasons; all things were wintery bleak in his timeline. The subtle shift hadn't been lost on him although he was at a loss to explain the vegetation's habits.

"To what aim, Ilun, do you analyze and archive?" Darius sought to drive the unsolved mysteries from his thoughts but his efforts made him stumble upon even more unanswerable questions. Perhaps the Dronid could enlighten him. "Personal interest? Are there not more of you? What will you do with the collected data? Will it fade when you do?"

"No, it never fades.. never." He said, the last word sounding more reflective, but he followed in his normal, passive cadence, "Why I do as I do is beyond anything other than habit, I have found. I have been told the 'Ilun' sequences trace back to early iterations of the Bio-Drone scouting units, though this is largely speculatory; A more basic reasoning would be that I receive positive stimulus for the more I learn... in the lack thereof, I suffer great mental instability." He said, his tone flatting out to a more somber voice.

"There are many of us; Surely you are aware of the Order XASD-87702, the order that you are to kill me? It is for that reason I am here now." He spoke, with ease pressing forward through the brief moment of seeming bleakness, after all, it was a condition construed through his own means, he would not dwell upon it; This place was far too kind for such thoughts.

[Monfrox]

Sinyaya giggled and jumped for Giovenith's arms, as if they were the safest things in the world. Stars below? What could she mean? The stars were always in the sky, weren't they? The premise of stars being under the water entranced her. She was ready.

---

Cinnamon let Willow take the clipboard and turned to Flint. "I thought this was going to be different, but this could be fun too."

"Different how?" Flint replied.

"You know, like doing pin-ups? Photo shoots and things like that, you know?"

"I do not follow you. Pin ups? What is being pinned up?"

"You know, like pictures of girls in sexy poses and clothing that leave things to the imagination. Come on, it's fun!"

"I am not one with such lifestyle."

"You're no fun..."

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

"Up, down, and turn around," Pippa-Michelle squeaked, waving an arm towards the elevator doors of the lobby. She was quite happy and satisfied now, knowing that there were no fleshies in danger, and could mosey along with her "life." "Like a record, baby! Round, round, round, round!"

Cerril simply shrugged his shoulders. She was helpful, if a little insane. Certainly some sort of super-natural, though. Maybe when he had the chance he'd ask his mom if there was a tribe of paper-spewing things from Doggerland or something. "Well, thanks." He said, motioning over for Sherril to start pushing the chair, which she did so, moving him forwards into the elevator. "Want to join us for dinner?" Cerril asked as he was pushed inside and turned around, holding his hooved leg out to keep the elevator door open.

Saren, in the meantime, was gnawing at his hoof, trying to scratch an itch but due to his lack of teeth, it didn't work out that well.

[The BranRiech]

"I heard something about pinups?"

Rylli peeked in, holding a flyer in her hands that she had seen in the lobby. Bran had just returned, and his wife had considered it a good time to head out for a bit. She saw the flyer as she considered where she was going to go and pick up dinner. She was sidetracked by the flyer, and had decided to go and check it out, seeming interesting enough to warrant her investigation. Of course, she hadn't expected Willow, and she did see two people she had never seen before, two young women.

"Mmm? Oh, is this about the flyer?" She asked.

[Giovenith]

Giovenith carefully scooped up little Sinyaya into her arms and gently helped her into the water.

"For the record," she cleared. "In any other circumstances, you should never, ever accept invitations into water from strange magical ladies. It's not safe. Now hold your breath!"

---

The natural echo of the gym carried over Flint and Cinnamon's brief exchange, and caused Willow to twist in distaste. It was part awkwardness, part worry (he certainly didn't want the project to be misrepresented or misinterpreted in such an ungracious way, especially if there was going to be family participation), and somewhere deep down in his more picky side ("artist diva"), part insult. Cheap, back-alley eroticism, him? Ugh, no! Maybe if he wanted to commit total career suicide. Time to set things straight.

Willow cleared his throat, and smiled calmly at Jenny. "Well, young lady, please feel free to pick up any props you want. There are no rules, dress as eccentric or fancy as you'd like. I'll bring you the rest of the necessities to fill out when time, but if you'll kindly excuse me, I have to take care of some other arrivals. Take care, have fun."

The pony trotted along about his duties, and Jenny was left to behold a multitude of colorful thespian gear. Giovenith was a wacky collector indeed, especially with a sister working at what was essentially the Broadway of their home country, so the plain brown boxes were overflowing with caps, wands, wigs, capes, masks, dresses, fakes swords, wands, stuffed animals, false facial hair, and even a few small kits of stage make-up. Anyone could be a ballerina-astronaut-octopus, or an accountant-alien-cowboy, or perhaps even a bowl of cat-turtle-wizard spaghetti. Or normal things too, if that was the preferred style. There was a shimmering rainbow of choices.

Meanwhile, Willow stopped back in front of the two women from before, patiently cleared his throat, and spoke in a very leveled tone: "Eh, heh. I assure you, this is very much a G-rated project. We are here to service people..." He still had to make a conscious effort to use the correct terminology when in this world. "... from the smallest members of families, to the single living hobbyist who might peak an interest in introducing themselves to the arts. We are not servicing poor, lonely gents of certain independent practices." For but a moment, Willow's smile dropped (along with his ears) into an annoyed deadpan, and his tone ran dry. "Is that understood? Because I do so hope that you didn't come too overly prepared for something else."

The artist's ears perked back up at the voice of the new arrived Rylli, whom he leaned around Cinnamon to see, and quickly brought back the polite smile with an almost embarrassed urgency. "Oh hello! Welcome to the shoot, miss." Hm, this was quite a few other ponies. Perhaps he shouldn't have sought to shoot alone. He'd have to work quickly. "I will get to you as soon as I can, just as soon as I'm done with these ladies here." With that, Willow turned back to Cinnamon and Flint. "I'd like to shoot you together for time's sake, if that's alright. A bit rushed now, have you selected a style?" The whole pin-up thing didn't matter at this point, Willow just knew he had to start working fast to meet demand, or this whole thing would flop.

---

"Up, down, and turn around," Pippa-Michelle squeaked, waving an arm towards the elevator doors of the lobby. She was quite happy and satisfied now, knowing that there were no fleshies in danger, and could mosey along with her "life." "Like a record, baby! Round, round, round, round!"

Cerril simply shrugged his shoulders. She was helpful, if a little insane. Certainly some sort of super-natural, though. Maybe when he had the chance he'd ask his mom if there was a tribe of paper-spewing things from Doggerland or something. "Well, thanks." He said, motioning over for Sherril to start pushing the chair, which she did so, moving him forwards into the elevator. "Want to join us for dinner?" Cerril asked as he was pushed inside and turned around, holding his hooved leg out to keep the elevator door open.

Saren, in the meantime, was gnawing at his hoof, trying to scratch an itch but due to his lack of teeth, it didn't work out that well.

Her? Eat with fleshies? That was an honor beyond a simple golem's imagining.

Wow, all the fleshies here were so nice. Primroses gave her a ring. Waffles gave her breakfast. Valentines Day gave her a special book. Now Pippa-Michelle was going to get to commune with them! Luckiest golem in the whole wide world!

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Oh baby, yeah!" the paper woman answered, spewing forth a piece from some generic pop tune.

[The Carlisle]

Kale looked at Torii with a bit of a mischievous grin. "Well, a thought popped up in my head. Remember when that genderbending monster attacked? Y'know, I turned into a guy, so on and so forth. Well, when Toscha turned into a girl, he got worried and tried to cover up his breasts," she said, "So I thought, maybe I should buy this for him when something of that sort attacks again. When he turns into a girl again, he'll have something to cover himself up!" She giggled a bit at a thought. "Plus, it would look funny if he wore this now," she said, giggling quite loudly. The cashier handed back Kale's items, putting each one in a separate bag. Kale skipped a bit, bags in hand. "You ready?" she said excitedly.

[Torsiedelle]

"Huh?", Torii liked up. She was pondering what last minute item to get.

"I, uh...I'll take the mascara...and can I get one if those bras? The pink one...um..D-Cup...I don't know what size, exactly..."

...

Torii followed Kale out, carrying her lingerie, makeup, and three new bras to try on. "I don't know what he'd be so upset about.", Torii said, referencing Toschs as a girl. "This'll be my first time trying one. I might not like it, either. It's better to be free, ya know? Still, I'm trying them on to make myself look prettier. Have you ever done that, to try and get someone to fancy you?", She asked, feeling the breeze on the sidewalk. She nodded to Toscha and stepped ahead. "We're ready. Wanna go somewhere else, next?"

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

Her? Eat with fleshies? That was an honor beyond a simple golem's imagining.

Wow, all the fleshies here were so nice. Primroses gave her a ring. Waffles gave her breakfast. Valentines Day gave her a special book. Now Pippa-Michelle was going to get to commune with them! Luckiest golem in the whole wide world!

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Oh baby, yeah!" the paper woman answered, spewing forth a piece from some generic pop tune.

Cerril's hooved leg started to falter a bit and grow tired, so he simply tapped his hoof, waiting for her to enter the elevator. "Well, you might want to get in first, unless you're taking the stairs up." He said, a soft smirk on his face.

Sherril leaned up against the elevator wall, looking half-asleep. Seemed she just wanted to get Cerril upstairs and then she'd head back to his room to sleep... Oh, right. She'd have to sleep on the floor, because she sure as hell wasn't sharing a crib with Saren. She yawned and gave herself a light slap to the cheek to keep herself up.

[Monfrox]

Sinyaya took the biggest breath in her life, resolving never to trust anyone else with being taken underwater unless it was Giov. Was she referring to herself when she meant any other strange magical ladies? She wanted to know more about her companion now, as her train of thought switched tracks just as fast as it always did. Her intense curiosity with everything could've easily been mistaken for Attention Deficit Disorder.

---

Cinnamon was a bit miffed at the third degree she had been given. It wasn't like she asked Willow to do that directly. She scowled at the accusation of her going along with such a thing like she was waiting for the chance every waking moment of her life and was about to say something when Flint cut her off. "Adin*!" The Stalker said loudly, pointing to the top left picture.

*"Adin" is the Russian word for "One"

[The New Velociraptor Empire]

Willow found himself jerking back in surprise at Jenny's description of her brother's conundrum, and frowned in both concern and secret wonder about how anyone, let alone a raptor, could get themselves caught up in such a way. He used his better judgement and decided not to ask, thinking it'd be rude, and cleared his throat.

"Well, I certainly hope he makes it out unscathed," he said, turning his surprise/concern into yet another reserved, polite smile. The pony turned slightly and swept his foreleg over toward a pile of boxes. "But while you're here, would you like to get a head start to call dibs on any props you want? They're all free now, and I know how siblings can be. I'll get the style selection back to you when I can. Oh, and I'll take that form."

The natural echo of the gym carried over Flint and Cinnamon's brief exchange, and caused Willow to twist in distaste. It was part awkwardness, part worry (he certainly didn't want the project to be misrepresented or misinterpreted in such an ungracious way, especially if there was going to be family participation), and somewhere deep down in his more picky side ("artist diva"), part insult. Cheap, back-alley eroticism, him? Ugh, no! Maybe if he wanted to commit total career suicide. Time to set things straight.

Willow cleared his throat, and smiled calmly at Jenny. "Well, young lady, please feel free to pick up any props you want. There are no rules, dress as eccentric or fancy as you'd like. I'll bring you the rest of the necessities to fill out when time, but if you'll kindly excuse me, I have to take care of some other arrivals. Take care, have fun."

The pony trotted along about his duties, and Jenny was left to behold a multitude of colorful thespian gear. Giovenith was a wacky collector indeed, especially with a sister working at what was essentially the Broadway of their home country, so the plain brown boxes were overflowing with caps, wands, wigs, capes, masks, dresses, fakes swords, wands, stuffed animals, false facial hair, and even a few small kits of stage make-up. Anyone could be a ballerina-astronaut-octopus, or an accountant-alien-cowboy, or perhaps even a bowl of cat-turtle-wizard spaghetti. Or normal things too, if that was the preferred style. There was a shimmering rainbow of choices.

Meanwhile, Willow stopped back in front of the two women from before, patiently cleared his throat, and spoke in a very leveled tone: "Eh, heh. I assure you, this is very much a G-rated project. We are here to service people..." He still had to make a conscious effort to use the correct terminology when in this world. "... from the smallest members of families, to the single living hobbyist who might peak an interest in introducing themselves to the arts. We are not servicing poor, lonely gents of certain independent practices." For but a moment, Willow's smile dropped (along with his ears) into an annoyed deadpan, and his tone ran dry. "Is that understood? Because I do so hope that you didn't come too overly prepared for something else."

The artist's ears perked back up at the voice of the new arrived Rylli, whom he leaned around Cinnamon to see, and quickly brought back the polite smile with an almost embarrassed urgency. "Oh hello! Welcome to the shoot, miss." Hm, this was quite a few other ponies. Perhaps he shouldn't have sought to shoot alone. He'd have to work quickly. "I will get to you as soon as I can, just as soon as I'm done with these ladies here." With that, Willow turned back to Cinnamon and Flint. "I'd like to shoot you together for time's sake, if that's alright. A bit rushed now, have you selected a style?" The whole pin-up thing didn't matter at this point, Willow just knew he had to start working fast to meet demand, or this whole thing would flop.

Jenny handed back the form and dived into the pile of costumes, as her two brothers entered and joined in. Jenny came out with a red motorcycle helmet with flames and red dragon wings. "Mrr hurrdurr hm hurr!" she proclaimed a bit muffled from the helmet. Swift, the brother in the bomber jacket, came out looking like an 1800s naval commander with a multicolored foam sabre at his side. "Beware space pirates!" he shouted waving the foam sword around against imaginary foes. Robert simply found a pair of glasses and an old typewriter that was quite heavy. He silently tapped at the buttons with their satisfying mechanical clicks.

[Giovenith]

Sploosh! went Sinyaya and Giovenith, like a lucky coin swallowed up in a wishing well.

Good morning, sweet dreams await...

Darkness. Not the choking, smothering, inky kind, but an almost flowing thinness that whispered benevolently around the developing cheeks of the two girls. The water seemed to gently flow away like a chilly breeze, opening up to breathable "air" and showing the dark environment around the two figures. They stayed in place, though it didn't feel like there was a floor, or walls, or anything of the sorts.

"Take my hand," Giovenith offered her palm. "Calm on, we'll swim, it'll be alright."

---

"Realism, good safe choice," Willow rushed, snatching back up the selection sheet, swooping behind the two ladies, and hurriedly guiding them toward the backdrop and cameras. Whatever simmering specks of speared sensibilities buzzing around the three were blatantly brushed aside. "Come on now, this will be quick. I'll be back!" The last part called back toward the awaiting volunteers.

The backdrop wasn't anything special, a simple grey sheet kept in place with the almighty force of duct tape. It wasn't important by itself, rather it served to give the painters a better blank slate to create whatever background they'd later conceive of. There were several high stools clustered around the drop, and Willow dragged two in front of the stand-up camera before turning to face the two women. The pony pulled what appeared to be a black compact and facial brush from the hidden pockets of his sweater.

"This are light cosmetics," he explained. "It just makes sure the lights don't glare off your skin in the photo. You don't have to have any if you don't want, but it would certainly make it easier for me." Willow wasn't a photography expert, but he'd learned a thing or two from contemporaries and friends.

---

Pippa-Michelle hurried into the elevator, tripping on her face brutally on the way in, but like her stumbles down the stairs, recovered without so much as a gasp of surprise. She had still yet to put her hair back into proper place, and it flew and looped everywhere into a poofy, brunette knot.

"Somebody had an emergency!" she said, waiting patiently for the Tinellians. She wondered if they had any Cosmo to consume.

[Tiltjuice]

Collab with Cer, Min, and Swith

Mezran shook his head, grunting as he tried to pick himself up and pull together what wits he had left from that push and throw by the mutated tribble. It had screeched at him, the sound was horrendously painful to his ears and the Klingon swung his dagger hand in a weak attempt at a strike. Instead the creature grabbed him by the throat and slammed the Klingon against the bulkhead, once… twice.. a third time and the weapon fell, skidding across the corridor.

There was a shallow dent at the force of impacts. Either the Klingon ignored it or couldn’t feel it anymore but the warrior bared his teeth ready to face the final strike of the monster.

“Hey!” The shout came from Rudolf. There was no way in hell he’d allow the thing to kill Mezran.

The daemon turned. It had left the tribble body behind an hour ago and stood in front of Rudolf in its full glory. Purple and feminine, it might have been arousing were it not for the sharp needle teeth lining its maw. The cruel, crablike hands didn’t soothe the eyes, either.

“Hey!” Rudolf shouted again now that he had the thing’s attention. He then used the one tactic that had served his faction well over the centuries whenever they found themselves facing Lust’s forces.

zzzzzip

Rudolf’s hand pried sweaty skin from his thigh and then he placed his arms akimbo and wagged hello to the foul beast. “Like? Ja? Want? Come get!”

The creature roared at the offending weapon and charged the cultist. Rudolf clutched his pants to hold them up as he ran across the storage bay. He skidded towards the wall as if it were home plate, vanishing into the shadows that lead to reality. The daemon, unable to transition itself from the Warp, slammed into the bulkhead with enough force to knock itself out.

“If it were not for an actual need to this petaQ, I would take delight in torturing it before sending it to the Klingon underworld.” He spat at the creature (none of it going on his friend, that would have been gross), and helped to haul the mass with Rudolf to the engine room.

“They like torture,” Rudolf chuckled. “Pain is pleasure. I’d like to just kill it outright.”

Grunting with a shake of his head, Mezran let a growl escape his lips, tugging on the creature as its weight was shared between the two. The Klingon let a sigh out right after, “These things are very odd. I am beginning to think twice cursing such maddening creatures to Klingon damnation. Who knows,” he said with a dark laugh, “this filthy petaQ might throw a celebration instead!”

Hans trailed behind the two, fingers intertwine with Chrys’. Theirs had been a private adventure of a different kind, and one that brought them closer. His daemon was securely tucked in place once more and all that remained was the flight home. The cultist leader observed the efforts to cram the foul beast into the box but his mind was on home once again.

The daemon hadn’t any say in his new role. Minerva’s Lads returned in drips and drabs to assist in securing the creature but they left the rest in the capable hands of the warped tech priests.

“Beer?” Hans asked his companions once they were freed from their task. “Maybe a meal to pass the time on the trip home?”

Chrys had been uncharacteristically silent for the past while, still pausing to mull over the events of the past week (?). The experience of re-restraining Rache was, as all good and truly epic stories were, best kept in the imaginations of poets and songsters. She felt certain, too, that Mezran at least would agree, though his people tended more toward high art than humans did.

She acquiesced, twisting a few strands of her now-inky hair betwixt her fingers. (Magical daemonized tribble blood didn’t come out so easily, but her bright nature remained even if her hair was no longer so.) “Food and beer is a great idea. Toast to the end of the trip?”

“Then food and wine we shall have!” Mezran proclaimed with a grin and triumphant shake of his mek’leth. Together the group made their way to the mess hall where food and drink were served already, waiting upon their arrival. With the ship’s power back on, it wasn’t long before the tribblecrew found themselves back in orbit of Earth, the S.U.V. primed and ready for their descent home. It was as smooth a ride as they could expect, a fitting end to a rough-and-tumble adventure.

The S.U.V. touched down on the pavement in front of the Building, and its passengers disembarked one by one.

[Monfrox]

"Swim?" She asked, trying to remember her mother ever taking her to swim. There was the one time in the Great Swamp, but that was more of her learning how to control her powers to allow her to walk on water, which still needed some work. Sinyaya didn't really know how to swim like a normal person, but took Giov's hand tightly to keep herself close to the god child. "Okay."

---

Cinnamon and Flint looked at the cosmetics and decided against them, as neither had used any such things in their lines of work. They put them down and looked at the camera. Cinnamon yanked Flint's hood off and nudged her. "Smile, would ya?" Flint sighed and the two smiled together with their shoulders to each other.

[Primordial Luxa]

snip

The pale form of Primordial was the first to greet them, he seemed strangely older than he was when they last saw even more so than he should be. His entire body looked healthy and pristine but their was a dark undercurrent like an image was superimposed over him of a gnarled and wither figure of devilish proportions and intent. His suit bubbled and hissed as it melted and reformed in a constant state of molten tar like texture. "Welcome back." he said dryly leaning on silvery cane with one hand and carrying a six pack of expensive Luxan beer in the other which he offered them as they exited the van.

[Giovenith]

"Swim?" She asked, trying to remember her mother ever taking her to swim. There was the one time in the Great Swamp, but that was more of her learning how to control her powers to allow her to walk on water, which still needed some work. Sinyaya didn't really know how to swim like a normal person, but took Giov's hand tightly to keep herself close to the god child. "Okay."

With the barest minimum of effort, Giovenith lifted Sinyaya through the blackness and downward into what has before felt like solid ground. "Swimming" was a loose way to put it, as the older girl seemed more to somehow be pulling them along on their journey without friction or interference. So they sailed for a few dozy moments, before something tiny but bright whizzed past their heads and shrunk off into the blackness behind them.

"Oh good, we're right on time," the godling remarked, gently pulling the little girl up through the 'air' and effortlessly holding her up on one hand by her chest, as if Sinyaya was a mini flying superhero. Back in their normal world, Giovenith wouldn't nearly have been strong enough to do this, and Sinyaya not light enough to feel comfortable with it. But here, where ever here was, it seemed the dark did actually work a bit like normal water in regards to making weight more bearable. Thus, the little Russian blue bird stayed aflight with the godling's help, as more and more streaks of light from before began to zoom past them the farther they went.

At first most of them looked like racing pinpricks, but through the journey they got larger, shinier, and even more musical. The sound that flew along with every passing streak could be described as what it would sound like if a wind chime could scream in excitement.

"We're getting closer," Giovenith informed Sinyaya, matter-of-factually.

Cinnamon and Flint looked at the cosmetics and decided against them, as neither had used any such things in their lines of work. They put them down and looked at the camera. Cinnamon yanked Flint's hood off and nudged her. "Smile, would ya?" Flint sighed and the two smiled together with their shoulders to each other.

"Heh." The flying pony fiddled with the very old-fashioned camera (it being the only model Equestria had reached), flicking clicks here and there, and turned around to smile yet again at the two humans. This time, other than the polite formalities before, it seemed genuine.

"No, you don't have to smile, if you don't want to," Willow assured, hoof flicking some extra switch on the photo-taking machine. "You could, but you don't have to. It's better to be yourselves. Even if you're the grumpiest son of a gelding in the whole wide world, I'd prefer a glimpse of the real soul over a social convention. A sincere scowl is always prettier than an artificial grin, and vice versa. It's your choice, though. Are you sure you're happy with everything?" A grey hoof steadily slip up the top of the dark box and hovered over the button.

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

Pippa-Michelle hurried into the elevator, tripping on her face brutally on the way in, but like her stumbles down the stairs, recovered without so much as a gasp of surprise. She had still yet to put her hair back into proper place, and it flew and looped everywhere into a poofy, brunette knot.

"Somebody had an emergency!" she said, waiting patiently for the Tinellians. She wondered if they had any Cosmo to consume.

Cerril barely flinched as Pippa tripped another time. Seeing immolation, dismemberment, and what can best be described as gibbing had sort of ruined his amusement or shock for people falling flat on their faces. He sighed and reached over for a button once she recovered, having it take them up a for. "Erm... yes, you did. You aren't human, I'm guessing?" He asked, giving an unamused glance over to the paper golem.

Saren, in the meantime, awoke with a startled squeal, looking around and flailing about before starting to cry, wrapping his arms around Cerril's neck and hugging him tightly. "PAPA!" He yelled out.

Cerril looked down with a concerned and slightly amused look before wrapping his good arm around the foal. "Nightmares again, Ser? I'm guessing your aunt forgot to put on her headphones again..." He muttered out, looking up to the dazed and barely awake Sherril.

"Mmrr..." Sherril grumbled like a teenager crawling out of bed, grazing her fangs across her bottom lip, hoping the mild pain would keep her awake.

[Rygondria]

Sir Reginald Crowley walked the streets he was on his way to his new home, a apartment he had heard good things about. He saw the building. It was kind of smallish but it looked perfect sort of like the hunting lodges he went to in Africa and one of his earlier trips to the Canadian Northwest. He said to himself in his posh British Accent," Well i guess this is my new home". He climbed up the small flight of stairs while holding on to his baggage and a cage that contained his pet boa Samia. He saw the lobby and he was amazed it really did look like a hunting lodge his perfect place to live. He saw a couple doors one was marked "clinic" the other one said bomb shelter" the last one said " chaos quarters". Sir Reginald said to him self," Very odd but no matter". So he rang the bell at the reception desk and sat down on the bench and waited for a employe so he could sign his lease. He thought to himself as he sat down," Never thought I had to live in a apartment but oh well".

[Mincaldenteans]

Sir Reginald Crowley walked the streets he was on his way to his new home, a apartment he had heard good things about. He saw the building. It was kind of smallish but it looked perfect sort of like the hunting lodges he went to in Africa and one of his earlier trips to the Canadian Northwest. He said to himself in his posh British Accent," Well i guess this is my new home". He climbed up the small flight of stairs while holding on to his baggage and a cage that contained his pet boa Samia. He saw the lobby and he was amazed it really did look like a hunting lodge his perfect place to live. He saw a couple doors one was marked "clinic" the other one said bomb shelter" the last one said " chaos quarters". Sir Reginald said to him self," Very odd but no matter". So he rang the bell at the reception desk and sat down on the bench and waited for a employe so he could sign his lease. He thought to himself as he sat down," Never thought I had to live in a apartment but oh well".

With the tribblecrew walking in, Mezran's nose twitched the different smells of the city, completely different to the city of Varth, it smelled... clean. The air was slightly thinner and the breeze was cooler instead of humid. Even the heat was gentle compared to his homeworld. But, Mezran was glad to be back in Bielefeld, he had things to do in short order and needed an expert metalsmith of sorts to do what he intended. Lest he do it himself if there was none in this city. He asked Hans and Rudolf about some such again as they entered the building. His nose picked up a different scent and the Klingon turned his head to a man sitting on a bench. A new person perhaps? They were gone fairly long and Kahless himself could only comprehend what went on while the tribblecrew battled with furballs that turned into daemon possessed furballs.

Narrowing his eyes, the Klingon lowered his mek'leth arm from his shoulder and closed in on the new fellow. His boots thudded loudly with each step, and the small plates that adorned his leather arm made smaller clinks in tandem. The hulking Klingon towered over the gent and the captain poked at the man's arm with the butt of his bladed weapon. "'Iv SoH 'ej nuq Davang naDev?"

[Germanic Templars]

"Oh, please!" Natiya grinned at the reference to lunch. "We can talk this out over a nice burger or something." She nodded at Khro's suggestion, being the thing they were meaning to do for the past few hours, but never really got around to doing for various reasons.

"Sure thing, there is a nice little food court down the street on the seventh floor. Holds other foods from other planets though. Certain sections for certain species, I know where the human part of the food court is. Come, follow me." She said as she lead them down the street.

Moments later they arrived at the food court. Khro did not lie about other species, for there were strange food that lined the area accompanied by variety of different smell. Ranging from a pungent, putrid smell to the most elegant, sweet smell. Collide them together you got yourself an overload of the senses.

---

Lunch! Food important. MB's stomach rumbled lightly, as the elevator dinged to announce their arrival on the second floor. Why no augmentations for animals? He squirmed slightly, trying to get a look at what the workers were doing.

And will there be delicious glassware? he asked hopefully, ears rotating slowly in opposite directions.

"Well not all animals have bans on them. Just most of them do. Livestock and non-exotic creatures or household domesticated creatures can be tested on. Same with criminals, though not to sure about the laws here in this town, possibly not on criminals. Yeah, would agree so after certain incidents." Sapphire explained to her little fur-less friend. "Tell me this, why do you like to eat glass so much? I mean, doesn't that stuff hurt your guns and/or digestive tract?"

[Giovenith]

Pippa-Michelle hurried into the elevator, tripping on her face brutally on the way in, but like her stumbles down the stairs, recovered without so much as a gasp of surprise. She had still yet to put her hair back into proper place, and it flew and looped everywhere into a poofy, brunette knot.

"Somebody had an emergency!" she said, waiting patiently for the Tinellians. She wondered if they had any Cosmo to consume.

Cerril barely flinched as Pippa tripped another time. Seeing immolation, dismemberment, and what can best be described as gibbing had sort of ruined his amusement or shock for people falling flat on their faces. He sighed and reached over for a button once she recovered, having it take them up a for. "Erm... yes, you did. You aren't human, I'm guessing?" He asked, giving an unamused glance over to the paper golem.

Saren, in the meantime, awoke with a startled squeal, looking around and flailing about before starting to cry, wrapping his arms around Cerril's neck and hugging him tightly. "PAPA!" He yelled out.

Cerril looked down with a concerned and slightly amused look before wrapping his good arm around the foal. "Nightmares again, Ser? I'm guessing your aunt forgot to put on her headphones again..." He muttered out, looking up to the dazed and barely awake Sherril.

"Mmrr..." Sherril grumbled like a teenager crawling out of bed, grazing her fangs across her bottom lip, hoping the mild pain would keep her awake.

There was a small clinking sound, as Pippa-Michelle kept her gaze forward with a bubbly expression and ripped an engraved dogtag necklace from around her neck. The long arm stretched over to Cerril, and opened it's hand, revealing the first and only form of clear communication Pippa-Michelle possessed, engravings which read:

"Hello, my name is Pippa-Michelle. I am a golem, so unfortunately I am not very bright and cannot properly talk. If you have found me, please return me to 42nd Subabsurdus Street. Please do not put me near liquids or fire."

Assuming the royal was aware of what a golem was, this would explain a lot about the woman's antics, from the loss of her arm, to the lack of discomfort whenever she happened to slam into something, as well as her speech patterns which, while somewhat advanced for the average golem (depending on the power of it's creator), were still sorely lacking.

[Rygondria]

Sir Reginald Crowley walked the streets he was on his way to his new home, a apartment he had heard good things about. He saw the building. It was kind of smallish but it looked perfect sort of like the hunting lodges he went to in Africa and one of his earlier trips to the Canadian Northwest. He said to himself in his posh British Accent," Well i guess this is my new home". He climbed up the small flight of stairs while holding on to his baggage and a cage that contained his pet boa Samia. He saw the lobby and he was amazed it really did look like a hunting lodge his perfect place to live. He saw a couple doors one was marked "clinic" the other one said bomb shelter" the last one said " chaos quarters". Sir Reginald said to him self," Very odd but no matter". So he rang the bell at the reception desk and sat down on the bench and waited for a employe so he could sign his lease. He thought to himself as he sat down," Never thought I had to live in a apartment but oh well".

With the tribblecrew walking in, Mezran's nose twitched the different smells of the city, completely different to the city of Varth, it smelled... clean. The air was slightly thinner and the breeze was cooler instead of humid. Even the heat was gentle compared to his homeworld. But, Mezran was glad to be back in Bielefeld, he had things to do in short order and needed an expert metalsmith of sorts to do what he intended. Lest he do it himself if there was none in this city. He asked Hans and Rudolf about some such again as they entered the building. His nose picked up a different scent and the Klingon turned his head to a man sitting on a bench. A new person perhaps? They were gone fairly long and Kahless himself could only comprehend what went on while the tribblecrew battled with furballs that turned into daemon possessed furballs.

Narrowing his eyes, the Klingon lowered his mek'leth arm from his shoulder and closed in on the new fellow. His boots thudded loudly with each step, and the small plates that adorned his leather arm made smaller clinks in tandem. The hulking Klingon towered over the gent and the captain poked at the man's arm with the butt of his bladed weapon. "'Iv SoH 'ej nuq Davang naDev?"

Sir Reginald looked up. At first he thought it was an employee at the building but what he saw surprised and confused him. It was a relatively large humanoid figure in armor speaking a a strange language. Reginald said to the figure," I am sorry sir i can not comprehend you dialect but if i where to make a guess you are probably asking my name. If that is the case my name Is Sir Reginald Crowley. If it is anything else feel free to communicate in English". Then Reginald started to read a journal dated April 5 1896.

[Mincaldenteans]

Sir Reginald looked up. At first he thought it was an employee at the building but what he saw surprised and confused him. It was a relatively large humanoid figure in armor speaking a a strange language. Reginald said to the figure," I am sorry sir i can not comprehend you dialect but if i where to make a guess you are probably asking my name. If that is the case my name Is Sir Reginald Crowley. If it is anything else feel free to communicate in English". Then Reginald started to read a journal dated April 5 1896.

The klingon muttered a curse, jabbing his fingers into the mini-translator that was tucked into his armbrace. The damn thing was damaged with a few dents into it that looked serious. How'd that happened anyway? Mezran chanced it to being slammed against the bulkhead by the mutated thing running down the hallway back on the ship. He jabbed a dirty encrusted fingernail into the device and the utilitarian looking device bleeped a few times, indicating it had some life in it and there was a cracking sound that meant the klingon tech actually worked. He'd have to get it looked at, maybe his companions could help him afterward.

"Reginald," he said with a deep rumble, lined with annoyance (but not toward the human), "Son of Crowley. You must be new. What brings you to this city?" The klingon didn't say it out loud but the captain was already analyzing the human. He didn't look like a threat and his speech seemed different somehow, not the standard in which the Klingon had understood... yet understood. Humans and their speech patterns, another frustrating thing that confused the warrior.

[Rygondria]

Sir Reginald looked up. At first he thought it was an employee at the building but what he saw surprised and confused him. It was a relatively large humanoid figure in armor speaking a a strange language. Reginald said to the figure," I am sorry sir i can not comprehend you dialect but if i where to make a guess you are probably asking my name. If that is the case my name Is Sir Reginald Crowley. If it is anything else feel free to communicate in English". Then Reginald started to read a journal dated April 5 1896.

The klingon muttered a curse, jabbing his fingers into the mini-translator that was tucked into his armbrace. The damn thing was damaged with a few dents into it that looked serious. How'd that happened anyway? Mezran chanced it to being slammed against the bulkhead by the mutated thing running down the hallway back on the ship. He jabbed a dirty encrusted fingernail into the device and the utilitarian looking device bleeped a few times, indicating it had some life in it and there was a cracking sound that meant the klingon tech actually worked. He'd have to get it looked at, maybe his companions could help him afterward.

"Reginald," he said with a deep rumble, lined with annoyance (but not toward the human), "Son of Crowley. You must be new. What brings you to this city?" The klingon didn't say it out loud but the captain was already analyzing the human. He didn't look like a threat and his speech seemed different somehow, not the standard in which the Klingon had understood... yet understood. Humans and their speech patterns, another frustrating thing that confused the warrior.

Reginald said to him," i came to this city because i need to adapt to modern technology. As you can tell chap i am not from this time period i am from the 1890s. This was the most affordable apartment i could find. You probably do not believe me but what i am saying is true". Then he continued to read his journal thinking to himself," These people are going to think i am a bloody loon but oh well".

[Mincaldenteans]

Reginald said to him," i came to this city because i need to adapt to modern technology. As you can tell chap i am not from this time period i am from the 1890s. This was the most affordable apartment i could find. You probably do not believe me but what i am saying is true". Then he continued to read his journal thinking to himself," These people are going to think i am a bloody loon but oh well".

The captain laughed, "Modern technology. My friend, you will quickly find out how that does not quite fit in this place. You are, after all, talking to an alien." Klingon could only shake his head in amusement. Everything here was as backward from his own time, and progressively forward that he had already experienced himself - a flying S.U.V. and a daemon powered ship to name a couple off the top of his head. He walked over to the counter, picking up the same clipboard he was given upon entering the building the first time and slapped the object down upon the human's arms, who had obviously been too distracted with his book to pay attention.

"Fill this out," Mezran commanded with a humored tone, "Then place this in that receptacle over there," he gestured with his bearded chin to the box behind him over the counter. "A key will materialize and take you to your lodgings. There are a few things you'll need to get acquainted with such as this building, the city, and a few merchant venues. All newcomers get these; make use of it as you see fit."

Finally getting to his own introduction, "I am Mezran, Son of Ja'Goth."