PL IC Thread IX++ //Oddsbodikins & Atomic Kittens//

[Fvaarniimar]

Drat!

Oh, well. Plan B - once Willow's forelegs were low enough, Nick quickly warned Willow and carefully jumped to the ground.

"Thanks" anyway... With that, he headed for the fridge. Something different... Cream! Yum! But it's hard to pour and they're busy. Cheese...oh, and some multicolored meat! Smells good!

And so Nick snacked on cheese and salami (slightly put off by the spices on the latter), so focused on savoring the food that he wouldn't notice, say, Willow and Amanda leaving.

[Germanic Templars]

"Can I help you, miss?"

Wow, that was inexplicably polite. She was just used to being called "girl". Did he really not recognize her? He didn't seem to care who she was right now, whereas if he knew he'd probably make a bit of a scene for it. She counted her cover as safe for now and went to business.

"You own the gun store in town, right? I was looking to get some weapons exchanged."

Thriller raised a brow at what was asked of him. It was strange that someone he didn't know would ask about exchanging weapons, especially since the store was closed due to recent events. None-the-less, he figured that with things calming down he could resume business there - at least until some serious riots were to occur or something equivalent to it.

Thriller sighed deeply, "Tell me, have you been to the gun store? If so you would know that it is closed. Second, I do not know you, or any background to you, for all I know you could be a terrorist. Finally, if I were to I would have to tow along another member, in this case, Max. Oh and if I do open it for one I would have to open it for all, and run it."

"Though, I have been meaning to reopen most of the businesses I own, and opening the gun store would be a good enough excuse to get some of my kin back to working it, plus it would give me another thing to do while I wait."

Thriller backed up, opening the door with him. "Come in. Have a seat on the couch, i'll be ready in a moment. As you can see, sweatpants and a muscle shirt aren't the most professional things to wear in public."

[Monfrox]

Brit stood there as Thriller spoke before he gestured her in, to which she awkwardly and reluctantly accepted. To her, it was as if the lion was inviting her into her den to be dinner. So much she didn't think about. Of course it was never easy to just "exchange" weapons. Firearms were not toys, and she berated herself for thinking of them so trivially. She quietly sat on the couch and laid the 870 across her lap as she looked at it. Well, perhaps she should demonstrate she wasn't just walking around with these for show somehow. She took the shotgun and laid it on the coffee table, knowing she had already emptied it. However, the PPK/S was locked and loaded in case of emergencies. She pulled the magazine out and then ejected the chambered round before calmly dry-firing it and placing it next to the shotgun.

Brit wondered if she should tell him, though. His attitude would change drastically, no doubt, but could she afford it? She would go with cover for as long as she could, so no she couldn't. She sighed and took her hat off to place it on her knee before sort of fluffing her hair out. This, was going to take eloquence, patience, persistence, and intelligence for her to get this to work. The other thing would be to figure out just how much she could get out of these two weapons. The more expensive one was obviously the shotgun, even without the new barrel put into it. But how much would it go for. She started thinking of what kind of weapons she'd like.

[Tsuyoi Tekikoku]

“Were almost to my room...Edge would be happy to see you...I think she has a thing for Katya..”

"I think you'd like my homeland. We have a lot going for us right now. The economy is good, we have a new leader, science is really getting a lot done, and our military is getting stronger and stronger. Bielefield has nothing on my homeland, or even Russia."

"Hmm, I don't think Katya's too much of a people person anymore, but I think she'd appreciate that sentiment. I mean, our sisters would fight and then turn around and hang out. If you have a friend you can roughhouse with, then you have a friend."

Torii was done talking, and, for a few moments, the two were left in an awkward silence. That was, until Torii snapped her fingers. There was one other subject that she was interested in, going back to when her and Kale looked at the internet for clues on the bombing, and then her talking to FUBAR. "What do you think about the Drones? You know, I think they're really fascinating. I actually would love to know more about them, and kind of see what it's like to be one of them, you know? Machine races are awesome.” [/quote] “Ill come there one day..Edge isn’t much of a fighter lately, she’s been more focused with ensuring my nation a bright future in science, i’d hate to say it, but Tsuyoians are nothing more then a race of parasite-carrying war-loving amazons were not to smart, were only smart enough to survive and adapt.”

Tsu giggled, she remembered how Katya and Edge sparred, but she adopted a serious reaction towards the Drone question. “Drones...and any race that is fully robotic..you could say...Were racist towards, especially after hearing of the actions that they did. We view the Drones in particular as nothing more then your common robotic A.I with some sort of hive mind that only purpose is to destroy and ruin lives of others, if we could, we would wipe them and all fully robotic races into nothing. Robots to use are nothing more then tools and shouldn’t have any right to be sentient at all, they should only have any bit of humanity to perform only tasks they are made for. They are nothing but just walking piles of scrap that could be better used for building a mighty warship.”

[Torsiedelle]

"I think we have two very different beliefs in that subject, then.", Torii shrugged. "There's so much to machine life, I think. It may be different from ours, but I'm certain that there's some good there. I talked with FUBAR, and he was a grumpy one, always talking about assimilating humanity, yada-yada, but he wasn't out to kill me....okay, maybe he was, but he was nice about it."

That line made her laugh. "Anyways, I mean, Marcus and his people are all mechanical. They're not entirely robots, but they like to augment themselves with cybernetics, and Marcus is like a brother to me. I really care for him.", She told Tsu.

"Pfft, my nation is war-loving, now. We were itching for a reason to fight in Europe, and we got on. We wanted a reason to fight in the Middle East, and we found one. We like tech, but we love fighting. We aren't Amazonian, though. So, um, will we be seeing your sister?"

[Northwest Slobovia]

The Building

"Mrs. Bela!" the artist gasped with audible relief and excitement, flying up quickly to the woman with his cat friend close. "Oh, we've been looking for a way to contact you! What luck!"

Well, that was unexpected! "Looking for me? I've been looking for you, too! We need to, um... Perhaps we can talk in my apartment. Oh, I see you're just starting to fix lunch." Amanda pursed her lips, thinking momentarily. "You could take your ingredients with you, or see what we have at home. It seems most of the city is closed up, but there's an Indian place a couple blocks north that's open; they make deliveries. As you prefer."

Amanda waited for Willow to decide what to do, and then for him to follow her. They took the elevator up to the sixth floor; with few people around, the elevator came quickly. After letting Willow in, Amanda led the way to the kitchen table, where she offered Willow a seat, than sat down opposite him. "I've been trying to find the PR group. We need to meet and get organized, but that discussion can wait. Why did you want to get in touch with me? Is something going on?"

The Observatory

Marcus departed, and Adrastus turned his attention back to Sandy. "I can't be certain when Demens will Fold. The cultists say he's extremely pissed about the nonsense going on here. You'll probably hear it, what with being a magic user and all. It's my understanding that the Building whispers before it acts.

Sandy exclaimed "Really?" with visible surprise. An enchantment -- no, magical entity -- that size, and it could act as a single unit! Simply amazing!

Adrastus' following mention of the possiblity of more direct exposure to magic seemed almost anti-climatic, even though that would be far more valuable if true.

Two Sisters approached with boxes and the cyborg sighed. "I'm afraid I've got to get back to it. Listen, Marcus has things to add to this load, but you're welcome to catch a ride back with him."

"Oh, thank you! And thank you for arranging delivery of all the ingredients I asked for. I don't know how you did it, but I'm very grateful you did. Repacking our quarters and my workroom won't take long at all; we'd barely unpacked as it is. I'll see you at the Building!"

With that, Sandy took his leave, quick-walking down the corridors to the small suite they'd briefly called home. He tossed yesterday's clothes into their bags, followed by their travel kits. Done. Sandy threw the straps over his shoulders and carried their luggage to the garage, dodging priests and initiates as he went. Marcus was nowhere in sight, but Sandy had no problem stuffing the bags atop other things already loaded.

Three more trips brought everything in the worksroom but the refrigerator cum safe. Sandy marveled at the alchemetical ingredients Adrastus had supplied. He picked up one of the blocks of hardened sap that would yield the Balm of Gilead, sniffed at it, reconsidered, cast the Nose of the Wolf on himself, and sniffed it again. Oooh, such an intense aroma! Almost-balsam, a hint of pine, an uncurrent a bit like vanilla... and scents Sandy had no name for, because they were beyond the normal human sense of smell. This was some of the best raw Balm there was!

Regretfully, Sandy re-wrapped the resin block and placed it and the other ingredients into the safe. He wheeled the fridge down the garage, where he gave Marcus a hand loading another crate, before finishing the truck's load with the refrigerator. "Ready to go when you are, Marcus."

[Tsuyoi Tekikoku]

"I think we have two very different beliefs in that subject, then.", Torii shrugged. "There's so much to machine life, I think. It may be different from ours, but I'm certain that there's some good there. I talked with FUBAR, and he was a grumpy one, always talking about assimilating humanity, yada-yada, but he wasn't out to kill me....okay, maybe he was, but he was nice about it."

That line made her laugh. "Anyways, I mean, Marcus and his people are all mechanical. They're not entirely robots, but they like to augment themselves with cybernetics, and Marcus is like a brother to me. I really care for him.", She told Tsu.

"Pfft, my nation is war-loving, now. We were itching for a reason to fight in Europe, and we got on. We wanted a reason to fight in the Middle East, and we found one. We like tech, but we love fighting. We aren't Amazonian, though. So, um, will we be seeing your sister?"

“I don’t care...Machines do not deserve a life, those like Marcus, if they wish to augment themselves, i have no control over that or consider them any less, they must have some flesh under it.” She stared blankly ahead. “As for war-loving..i’d love to go back into service, i miss hanging with my old buddies in my squad..how we use to be covered in mud and talking about how’d we make it back and what we left behind.” With a sigh, Tsu smiled and knocked on the door of her room, a bit of shuffling later, The sleepy-looking Edge emerged from behind the door.

“Im assuming you broke the TV over a Mongoose, Tsu.” She said in a sleepy tone to her younger sister, who wanted to say something but remained silent. Edge smirked before turning her attention towards Torii. “Ah, why is it the young former love of miss Mongoose-Scaredy Butt, what brings you here?”

[Torsiedelle]

"I don't know about service, myself."

Torii's stomach sank. "I've thought about it, but it's scary. If I ever fight again, it's either going to be for my friends, or for a cause I really believe in."

She was pleased to run into Tsu's sister. It took her mind off of the war thing, and put it back on...Drova. "Well, I wanted to hang out, and talk about something. I've been feeling kind of uneasy today, and I'm confused, but I'm feeling a little better now, since I've been talking."

[Giovenith]

Willow hadn't really started making anything yet, just fishing out supplies and what have you, and didn't mind abandoning them to follow Mrs. Bela to her home. Sheer stroke of luck! When they arrived he smiled and folded his ears.

"PR work too, actually," he answered, feeling a big weight off his back. "I just had a discussion with a trusted friend about this, we were kind of confused and frustrated about not knowing precisely what to do. I already have plans for PW, if you'd like to see?"

Not waiting for a response, he quickly fished out a notebook and flipped to a page of careful diagrams, as well as a circled amount of $503,600.

"I thought of it as soon as that horrible incident at the museum happened," Willow explained, pointing to the money amount. "Long story, but I have come into position of exactly five hundred and three thousand six hundred dollars, and I want it all to go to the families who lost children or had children severely injured in the attack. I also have a very large statue gifted to me by one "Clumsy Joe," and would like to donate it as a monument in memory of the deceased children. All of this, of course, will be done explicitly with the message of unity between all Bielefeldans, as well as the fact that these donations came from EB sources. I'm not worried about vandalism toward the statue, because I feel this will only reflect badly on the anti-ab side."

Everything was recorded and laid out quite nice and professionally, as Willow had taken great care to come across as official as possible.

"My only problem is this," he continued. "I would like this act to be taken as representation of the greater pro-EB movement. I, as Willow Streaks, want to be anonymous in my donation, but I still want it to be clear what kind of sentiment these things are coming from. It's not easy for me to do that as a single, common person though. That's why I wanted to find you, because you're on the very official, legal side of all this, and thought you could help me in giving this the specific publicity and delivery it needs." He gave an eager smile, an unintentionally adorable one emphasized by his pony-ness.

[Highfort]

Septimus blushed at the kiss, acutely aware that he and Neste had done far more intimate things in public only a day earlier. Although, then, love and lust had clouded his senses in equal measure; now, he was clearly aware of how embarrassing such a gesture would be by Confederation standards.

He rubbed the cheek with some affection, a smile unconsciously gracing his face as the warmth of the construct's lips left a tingle radiating out from the skin. Neste never ceased to conjure the most pleasant emotions in him - much unlike Ophelia, who was quickly going from a nightmarish memory to a fuzzy, smudged face at the back of his mind. He supposed this was what it felt like to move on, though strangely any guilt over abandoning her was absent.

Perhaps because she, like the rest of the Regent Board, had seen him as little more than a tool to be used and then thrown away.

And why should he care about any of that, anyways? Ophelia, Brutus, Cato, and their ilk were worlds away from him now, and the Confederation only existed in his head as far as this dimension was concerned.

The raptors, on the other hand, were a more immediate subject and Septimus raised an eyebrow as he ushered both of them out the door, phone list safely tucked away in an inner pocket so he could take a photo later, "Perhaps we should discuss the Raptors over dinner."

He hoped no one else had picked up on what they'd said. The last thing he needed was the media or government hounding him for any perceived association with the raptors and the Institute. As the trio made their way down the steps and onto the sidewalk, he added in a lowered voice, "I'm sure that the confiscating of the Velocidoctor's furniture can be reversed with a bit of the right pressure applied; no need to get hasty over anything. Neste, Doctor, do you have any suggestions for dinner? Some place quiet, perhaps, and a bit more private than a government building?"

[Fvaarniimar]

As Nick finished his food, he found his mood worsening for no reason - no reason apparent at that time, at least. No fear was involved; if it had been he would have ran. He merely felt glum, grumpy, and QUITE irritated. What could do that...
Then, he spotted the sink.  He had known there was a sink, but suddenly he thought of it as - perhaps - a mini shower.   Hopping in and turning on the water, he flinched - it was not only water, it was ice cold!  "Aaowrw!"  Fortunately, he thought to swath  the handle to the left, and soon was...tolerating a shower in relative comfort.

He wouldn't have bothered, but he could see the dye washing off and going down the...

Drain...   No time like the present...  Figuratively speaking.  Contacting Klaus would need to wait until Nick was clean, groomed, and hence feeling rather more confident.  Meanwhile, he thought about what to say as the last of the dye washed away.

[Primordial Luxa]

After a long night of drunken debauchery and sorcerous shenanigans the Luxan stumbled back into the apartment building in a group singing Lovecraftian versions of Christmas carols and smelling of strong vodka and fresh blood. Aegis’s robes where missing and instead his skin tight leather military suit was showing he was carrying a bag filled with ill-gotten gains which he had taken from some street gamblers in a game of Senet. Insidious’s skin was taking on a series of blue and purple hues that made her look like an Arabian tent billowing in the breeze she had some very ancient looking jewels in her hands while she slowly stumbled forward. Primordial was in his elderly state and was tightly hugging a briefcase filled with the mad raving of some unknown stranger who Primordial had forced to spill the contents of his fractured mind onto paper in case any of it held some slight insight.

All the while they sang “Mi-Go we have heard on high, Weirdly buzzing in their flight
Multitudes of antennae Make strange voices in the night,
Ia, Ia Shub-Niggurath Ia, Ia Shub-Niggurath!
Fungi, why this revelry? Why collect our brains in cans?
What can your agenda be? Authors of some eldritch plans.
Ia, Ia Shub-Niggurath Ia, Ia Shub-Niggurath!”

[Northwest Slobovia]

Not waiting for a response, he quickly fished out a notebook and flipped to a page of careful diagrams, as well as a circled amount of $503,600.

"I thought of it as soon as that horrible incident at the museum happened," Willow explained, pointing to the money amount. "Long story, but I have come into position of exactly five hundred and three thousand six hundred dollars, and I want it all to go to the families who lost children or had children severely injured in the attack.

Amanda looked at the proffered notebook with interest, but her gaze snapped up when Willow mentioned the money. She briefly looked him straight in the eye, as though she could read his soul with her gaze, before looking back down at his plans.

That's why I wanted to find you, because you're on the very official, legal side of all this, and thought you could help me in giving this the specific publicity and delivery it needs." He gave an eager smile, an unintentionally adorable one emphasized by his pony-ness.

Amanda couldn't help smiling back at Willow, and suppressed the momentary urge to tousle his hair. He's got a hell of a baby face; back home, he could be one of those mobsters we'd never put away because nobody would ever believe such a good-looking guy was really responsible for whatever heinous crime his henchmen had committed.

Amanda drew a deep breath as she composed herself. "It's an excellent plan, and you appear to have nearly all of the resources you need to carry it out. I've got good news and bad news, however."

"Good news first: we could set up a foundation to handle the funds and guarantee your anonymity. The director of the foundation can make the donations with the message you wish; that's not a problem. We -- that is, the PR group -- could even hire an outsider to do that, so they'd have no idea who the foundation's benefactor is when they make the announcement. I can definitely help you with the legal work that needs to be done."

"The bad news: I'm not very official. About the closest I come to being 'official' is to say I was one of Representative Itum's campaign advisors. He's the only person we have with official status. You're just as well placed as I am to present your plan to him, though I'm more than willing to support it. I expect Septimus will back it; he'd be a fool not to. I can try to help you with the publicity as well, but that's what the PR group is for. I'm a lawyer, not a publicist or marketing director; I'm not the best person to give you specific advice on that."

"However... your plan seems to sell itself. It's simple, straightforward, and very desirable for any of us EBs to be associated with. I expect you'll have everybody in PR falling all over themselves to help you. Prossibly even mundane politicians will want to be associated with it; saying they somehow contributed to helping the injured and bereaved just looks good."

Amanda gave Willow a few moments to think about that. "But if you would, please tell me about this half-million or so dollars you've come in to. That's not a small sum you're asking me to turn into an anonymous donation."

[Germanic Templars]

Brit stood there as Thriller spoke before he gestured her in, to which she awkwardly and reluctantly accepted. To her, it was as if the lion was inviting her into her den to be dinner. So much she didn't think about. Of course it was never easy to just "exchange" weapons. Firearms were not toys, and she berated herself for thinking of them so trivially. She quietly sat on the couch and laid the 870 across her lap as she looked at it. Well, perhaps she should demonstrate she wasn't just walking around with these for show somehow. She took the shotgun and laid it on the coffee table, knowing she had already emptied it. However, the PPK/S was locked and loaded in case of emergencies. She pulled the magazine out and then ejected the chambered round before calmly dry-firing it and placing it next to the shotgun.

Brit wondered if she should tell him, though. His attitude would change drastically, no doubt, but could she afford it? She would go with cover for as long as she could, so no she couldn't. She sighed and took her hat off to place it on her knee before sort of fluffing her hair out. This, was going to take eloquence, patience, persistence, and intelligence for her to get this to work. The other thing would be to figure out just how much she could get out of these two weapons. The more expensive one was obviously the shotgun, even without the new barrel put into it. But how much would it go for. She started thinking of what kind of weapons she'd like.

Thriller shuffled through the drawers, looking for something more appropriate. Something like blue jeans and a black longsleeve. The idea then hit him: both of these clothes were conveniently hanged in the closet, in fact they were apart of his daily outfit, black trench coat included with a pair of brown steel toed boots to match. This to his relief since it was his favorite outfit to wear such to the point he had duplicates of the outfit for Monday through Friday; only for seasons autumn to spring, summer was another beast Thriller didn't mess with on occasions.

Strapped and tied up boots, zipped up pants, and buttoned up shirt, Thriller was almost ready to head out. All he needed was an eye patch to choose from. Not feeling too particularly picky, he donned the Eye of Sauron eyepatch before heading out of his bedroom.

Thriller, standing in the doorway to his room, looked over at Brit, "So those are the weapons you want to trade?" He asked. He leaned on the back of the couch, looking at the guns. "Honesty, as much gems as they are, they are kinda shit." Thriller stood up, "But I digress, for as long as it can kill it can be serviceable."

Thriller then glanced up at his TV, keeping a mental note on the situation at hand. "Come now, lets see if we can get ya something better, or maybe upgrade those guns. I got the dog waiting at the store."

[Giovenith]

"Well, a small portion was earned by myself through commission selling," Willow explained, carefully but quickly thinking ahead so as not to make his explanation incredible or dubious sounding. "I made around four thousand by myself from that, specifically a thousand from selling at the fair in the Market District not too long ago, and another three thousand six hundred from a commission specifically order by the Von Eldritch family. They're quite rich. The other several thousands were donated to me by the same "Clumsy Joe" who gave me the statue..."

And there was where it got tricky.

"Which was actually given to me during Zalgofest," he added, biting his cheek a bit. He knew this would sound silly. "The big chaotic party that overtook the city? That one? I woke up next to a beatnik, the statue, and all the money. I have a note saying it was in thanks for a, 'wild ride.' I have absolutely no recollection of what that means, as nopony remembers what goes on during Zalgofests. It is securely my own though, there should be no ownership troubles when donating it. I know the story seems, 'whacky,' to say the least, but since it is anonymous, I don't think people questioning it's source will be an issue. It could be from anypony as far as they all know."

The prospect of working with politicians was both exciting and daunting. Willow had done business with the elite in Canterlot before as a producer of luxury paintings, but that was a trade of excess and non-necessities, not a power play. However, if they could just set up the foundation and make the right calls, that should have been all that was necessary. Yes, it could work.

"Oh, and the statue too?" he reminded, suddenly remembering. "It is an outdoors piece. Obviously we'd probably have to get permission to actually put it somewhere too. I was thinking maybe the museum where the tragedy occurred, if the people who run it are willing."

[Monfrox]

Brit shot a mean look up at the Emperor as he gave his two cents. Yeah, she knew the .380 wasn't going to hit much but that 870 wasn't exactly shit in her eyes after Silent Hill.

"Crass as ever..." She murmured as she pocketed the pistol and slung the shotgun over her shoulder.

It struck her that walking around in public with open-carry weapons wasn't going to be the smartest thing, though she wouldn't tell him just yet. She at least hoped he thought that far. Still, what would she get? It wasn't like he was going to just let her pick from anything she wanted. He ran a business, and he had to make somewhat of a profit. She heard about the new Ohio Ordinance Works Heavy Counter-Assault Rifle, but she highly doubted he'd let her have something like that.

[Swith Witherward]

Toast crumbs littered the counter and floor, and Hans wasn't entirely sure the scrambled eggs were completely sans their shells, but it wasn't too bad a job. At least, that's what he told himself as he carried the tray towards the bedroom, walking slowly to keep the orange juice from sloshing out of the glass. His bare feet soundlessly carried him to the bedroom door, and he nudged it open with a big toe.

There she was, his chrysanthemum. It almost seemed a shame to wake the Conservator, so beautiful was she while slumbering. But a woman had to eat, and a cultist had to cook, and he had done so, therefore so should she! Ah, cultist logic.

"Chrys?"

He stood beside the bed, still dressed in his pajama bottoms and old tee shirt, with the tray held close to his chest. A smile festooned his whiskery face, and merriment kept his eyes alight. Hans had never - not once in several thousand years - thought that he could find companionship willing to accept his inner daemon. Granted, that daemon was just as eager as he was to forge a path outside of their pantheon, so Rache made no real protests over Chry's presence in their lives. The daemon was perfectly happy to "check out" during those sweet cuddle and kiss moments, suspended within the Between by a spindly tether. War and Lust got along like oil and water.

"Breakfast, dear battlemaiden," Hans called again, this time because the tray was overly loaded with the eggs, toast, beverages, a bagel and the morning paper; he feared dropping it. "Technically, it's what's for supper."



"Ah-yup," a smile flickered to Marcus' lips as he climbed into the truck's cab and waited for Sandy to slide onto the passenger seat. In truth, he wasn't looking forward to unloading everything, but the task was made less daunting by the knowledge that he might get a chance to visit with Giovenith. His mind remained on her as they pulled away from the Observatory.

The trip through the tunnels was uneventful as always, although Marcus noticed an odd tinge to the walls the closer they got to the Building. He supposed it was the work of the Nifid, or the priests, or the cultist. Meh. Who could say? All three groups were bizarre in their methodology.

"Hey, I wanted to thank you again for dinner," he said by way of small talk. "Maybe Giovenith and I can return the favor soon?"

This brought on a harsh realization - the carousel he'd crafted for the godling was still awaiting her viewing and use. Oh shit! If they were really going to lock down everything, she'd never get to see it. A year's work, wasted. His foot nudged the accelerator and the truck picked up speed. If he could get some priests to unload the truck, he'd have plenty of free time to start work on dismantling it. Why, it would go right in the back yard! Everyone could use it to chase away the doldrums. But that would take time, and time was something he didn't have. Unless...

Marcus vowed to hunt Minerva down. He'd never asked the cultist leader for anything - and lacked the balls to talk to her, normally - but this was a Giomergency! Surely she'd help him, if she knew his plight?

"Sandy, you ever love some one so hard that you'd cast aside fears to stand before the guardians of hell?"

Well, that was a bad analogy, considering that Minerva didn't guard anything. The same threat of harsh reprisal remained, regardless.



Neste's nose playfully crinkled as the cyborg's cheeks tinged. His reaction was endearing, and buoyed her self confidence. The painful memories of harsh rebuke and impatient snarls had faded away over the last week or so, replaced by a feeling of security whenever she was in Septimus' presence. Ambassador Sage no longer loomed over her, nor did she feel as if she had to perform continuously. Neste could be herself around Doctor and cyborg alike.

"How about the Prytaneum?" she shrugged. It was right across the street. "Or I could throw together a light meal at the apartment, if you don't mind all of us being squished into the same cab. I was planning to make chicken stew. We can talk while I work."

Her attention momentarily shifted to Velocidoctor and she added, "You never arrive without a good reason, so I'd like to hear about that, too, if you don't mind? Actually, that might be something best discussed where walls lack ears."

Turning back to Septimus, she asked, "Stew alright with you?"

[Giovenith]

"Well, I think that's the last spot," Giovenith stepped back from the hospital walls, admiring the good job she'd done. It was all a lovely, very relaxing shade of green, and it wouldn't be long till it dried. Ready for patients! The only thing next was the windows, and then supplying the books, toys, movies, etc.

"Muted mint, perfect for the holidays!" Pippa-Michelle jabbered, a dumb but cute smile fixated on her face. She didn't actually know anything about color coordination, but she was deeply pleased that she had spent so long being of such good use to her creator. It was joy beyond all compare! The golem picked up her creator and gave her a loving, squeezing hug.

"OH! Yes, yes," Giovenith smiled back and patted the golem's forearm. "You did very well too, thanks for the extra hand. I really don't give you enough attention, do I?"

Poor little golem. At least she was safe here though, right? Though what of the future? Not that Pippa-Michelle had much vision of "the future" outside of hoping she'd never be discarded, Giovenith had to consider just what she wanted to do with the paper girl. She wouldn't destroy her or trade her away to someone else, that would make her feel horribly guilty. Though what of when she was older, when she was dwelling some place beyond? A fully grown god having a golem was a bit like a millionaire hiring a neighbor's teenage daughter to babysit for them--you could obviously just get a nanny, why bother with a substitute that was meant for someone with less power than you? And that's what golems were, largely servants for mortals. Gods could usually get mortals or subordinate gods to do what they wanted, so a golem became moot. What to do....

It was rather quiet now, wasn't it?

"PM, come along," the godling lead her golem out of the hospital. "I'll give you some sparkly paper and tuck you in for a nap."

Pippa-Michelle loved sparkly paper, and she loved naps. The sparkly paper usually served to fill her normally empty media with mildly whimsical visions as she slept, mostly consisting of staring at sparkles for the whole time she was under. Once they got to Pippa's room, she felt enormous satisfaction at having done a good in the hospital, being tucked in, nibbling on sparkly paper, and having creator gently run a brush through her hair. Life was good. Life was so good. She loved everything. It wasn't long before she was asleep, cradled by utter, simplistic bliss. All was well.

It was at that opportunity that Giovenith slowly backed out of the room, shut the door behind her, and made her way back to the kitchen from early morning, having a struggle within herself about what she was considering. It wouldn't be too wrong to check, right? After all, things were less bad in Bielefeld than they initially believed when they made plans, so it couldn't be too dangerous. There were also plenty of supplies she'd left home that she could have used for the hospital. It was worth the tiny risk.

Plugging the drain and turning on faucet on the kitchen sink, Giovenith allowed the water to slowly pool to a considerable height in the sink, hoping no priests would be too upset by a little water load. She turned it off before it could overflow, and allowed the water to settle it's miniature waves, turning her head this way and that to see if it was catching the light just right. Once satisfied, she hoisted herself up onto the counter itself and crouched, watching the water, until she tentatively put her feet out toward it, pushed herself forward, and was swallowed up by the reflection.

Back at the Building, she tumbled out through the mirrors on her closet. Willow wasn't home.

[Tiltjuice]

-snip-

The sheets were crisp, and the pillow plump. All of which made it harder to get up, especially after the long hours and late night. Still and all, peaceful moments came few and far between; and so it was that Chrys sat up and swung her legs over to the floor. A pale hand covered her mouth as she yawned, eyes narrowing.

"Sorry," she mumbled through the ending of the yawn, smiling lightly. "I think I might have fallen asleep on you early on. It was a long day...is it really suppertime?" As she rolled to her knees, the tray fell below her line of sight and she sniffed appreciatively. "Just what the cultist ordered - it looks great, Hans." The atmosphere now was simple and almost ridiculously peaceful, no matter how supernatural she and Hans were; they still had the same routine and needs and thoughts and feelings as anyone else.

She patted the bed next to her, the rumpled uniform shirt whispering slightly as it rubbed against itself with the motion. Reaching up to take the glasses off the tray, she blinked up at him. "Penny for your thoughts?"

[Germanic Templars]

Brit shot a mean look up at the Emperor as he gave his two cents. Yeah, she knew the .380 wasn't going to hit much but that 870 wasn't exactly shit in her eyes after Silent Hill.

"Crass as ever..." She murmured as she pocketed the pistol and slung the shotgun over her shoulder.

It struck her that walking around in public with open-carry weapons wasn't going to be the smartest thing, though she wouldn't tell him just yet. She at least hoped he thought that far. Still, what would she get? It wasn't like he was going to just let her pick from anything she wanted. He ran a business, and he had to make somewhat of a profit. She heard about the new Ohio Ordinance Works Heavy Counter-Assault Rifle, but she highly doubted he'd let her have something like that.

"Come now, off your ass and on your feet, we got some a business to get to and no time to get there." Thriller wasn't wasting time, even if it did involve guns.

He closed the door behind them before heading out of the apartment. After traveling for some time the two arrived at the gun shop with Max standing out front. The dog didn't seem too bothered by Brit nor seemed to want to both her either, he did however kept his eyes on her as Thriller and Brit entered the store.

The store was dark, with the only light coming from the light that shined past the iron bars that protected the door to the shop, but this minor inconvenience was solved with the flick of a switch closeby. The weapons rack, the glass casings, the shelves, all of the show floor items were gone! With good reason too as Thriller soon explained, "Yeah, nothing out here in the open but as of recent, I have been moving some crates back into the shop, storing them in the tier 3 armory until I can get twenty-four hour security set up in camera, alarm, and guards. So far I have Aleki for daytime but he hasn't returned yet for specific reasons." He walked behind the counter to the right, opening a door that let off a cold breeze.

"Come now." Thriller goaded Brit as he entered into the empty room. "This is where we would keep Tier two weaponry. Body armor and weapons such as Light machine guns and high caliber rifles, for example. Again, empty due to recent events." Thriller then walked up to a large vault door, wasting no time, they entered into a room, this time luminated by a red light.

Thriller folded his hands in front as he walked towards the pile of crates in the corner. "Now then, tier three room. What to say but this is where all weapons worthy of a revolution is kept. Such like RPGs, grenade launchers, High-explosive-incendiary-ammo, armor piercing ammo, Twenty mike-mike machine guns, AT launchers, and best of all," Thriller reached into the crate, pulling out a Stinger and an AA-12, "anti-air guns and automatic machine shotguns. Even better, I have special ammo for said shotguns too, and it is all perfectly legal for me to own, ship, and produce due to me owning a type 11 FFL."

Thriller then placed the three boxes on the floor next to each other before taking a crowbar nearby and opening the two remaining boxes. After that, he stepped off to the side. Now then, we are not officially open, and we are not officially dealing arms, but I guess I can loan you these weapons for a little while till I can get things sorted out, after that, some payment and better documentation than an "IOU" and a consent form will be needed... Also a minimum type 9 license will be needed. If you don't got that, i'll help you get it later on. Sound fair? Good. Now then, two of three crates holds guns, other one holds grenades and ammo." He glanced one final time at the crates. "Middle holds ammo, while other two holds weapons. Small arms like pistols, rifles, and shotguns you would need to look in the right, left is heavy. Now any questions?"

[Monfrox]

Brit wiped a bit of drool off the corner of her mouth. Ohhhh man, this was heavy shit. Literally. But she knew that she needed something light to use. Something like a service rifle that was designed to be used by the common infantryman and took less training to adapt to. A sniper rifle was out of the question. She was no where near experienced enough to effectively use something like that at long range. She looked over at the other crate that had more simple firearms that she was used to. Carbines, assault rifles, pistols, and the like. She almost started drooling again when she started poking around in it. HK, Colt, Beretta; she knew the weapons by their companies alone. She took out an M1911 and an HK416, setting the latter aside to study the former.

"Well..." She said, oogling and getting a feel for it while still practicing basic gun safety. "It ain't Big Boss's custom, but I'll take a 45 over a Glock any day."

It struck her when Thriller started talking again. She had no permits or anything to license her as able to carry and use these weapons. She had no felonies or trouble with law enforcement, but then again she was in a foreign country. She looked at him.

"I suppose you can take the Express Magnum and the PPK/S as a sort of advance payment. But uh...I mean I'm all for filling out paperwork but you know how it is being in Bielefeld. Ehe...ehe...heh...ehhhhh..." She sheepishly chuckled to herself, still wondering if it'd be worth it to spill the beans or not.

[Germanic Templars]

Brit wiped a bit of drool off the corner of her mouth. Ohhhh man, this was heavy shit. Literally. But she knew that she needed something light to use. Something like a service rifle that was designed to be used by the common infantryman and took less training to adapt to. A sniper rifle was out of the question. She was no where near experienced enough to effectively use something like that at long range. She looked over at the other crate that had more simple firearms that she was used to. Carbines, assault rifles, pistols, and the like. She almost started drooling again when she started poking around in it. HK, Colt, Beretta; she knew the weapons by their companies alone. She took out an M1911 and an HK416, setting the latter aside to study the former.

"Well..." She said, oogling and getting a feel for it while still practicing basic gun safety. "It ain't Big Boss's custom, but I'll take a 45 over a Glock any day."

It struck her when Thriller started talking again. She had no permits or anything to license her as able to carry and use these weapons. She had no felonies or trouble with law enforcement, but then again she was in a foreign country. She looked at him.

"I suppose you can take the Express Magnum and the PPK/S as a sort of advance payment. But uh...I mean I'm all for filling out paperwork but you know how it is being in Bielefeld. Ehe...ehe...heh...ehhhhh..." She sheepishly chuckled to herself, still wondering if it'd be worth it to spill the beans or not.

"Nice pick on the M1911, Heckler and Kosh on the other hand, well.. If ya prefer German weaponry, but that is just the bias American in me." Thriller commented. He reached into the ammo crate, pulling out several boxes of ammo. "Now then I am going to give you the ball and tracer rounds free of charge. There should be 60 bullets per box, in total that should be 120 rounds or 4, 30 round magazines. You have magazines to hold them in, right?" He raised an eyebrow before shrugging it off. "Armor piercing is out of the question, sorry. Now for pistol, I can spare a box of 50 for the M1911; hollow point or ball for your choice of ammo for the pistol?" He asked as he set the box of ammo on the ground.

"We'll get everything finalized as things start picking up, for now I would be happy to take those guns as an early payment after all could try and see what work I could have done to them."

[Northwest Slobovia]

The Building

"Which was actually given to me during Zalgofest," he added, biting his cheek a bit. He knew this would sound silly. "The big chaotic party that overtook the city? That one? I woke up next to a beatnik, the statue, and all the money. I have a note saying it was in thanks for a, 'wild ride.' I have absolutely no recollection of what that means, as nopony remembers what goes on during Zalgofests. It is securely my own though, there should be no ownership troubles when donating it. I know the story seems, 'whacky,' to say the least, but since it is anonymous, I don't think people questioning it's source will be an issue. It could be from anypony as far as they all know."

Amanda started out looking skeptical, but was nodding her head by the time Willow finished explaining. "Anywhere else, I'd question your sanity, but here, that's more than plausible. I'm not sure what Zalgofest is, but some huge party overnight has shut down most of the city. So I'm not going to doubt you."

"I suspect you're right that nobody else would ask twice about the donation. Not here" -- Amanda shook her head slightly -- "the city's laws about moving large amounts of money are very loose, and there are lots of ways to come up with a half-million dollars legally. Just passing the hat for the bombing victims citywide would probably come up with that much money, if not more. It got my attention because I used to prosecute organized crime, and mysterious sums of money are a hallmark of that. I expected you'd have a perfectly good reason, but I felt obliged to ask anyway. Nothing personal."

"Oh, and the statue too?" he reminded, suddenly remembering. "It is an outdoors piece. Obviously we'd probably have to get permission to actually put it somewhere too. I was thinking maybe the museum where the tragedy occurred, if the people who run it are willing."

"Yes, a place to put the statue was the one thing that your plan was missing. That will likely take care of itself once the plan gains momentum, though."

"I think we should open the next PR group meeting with your plan. I've got a list of things we could discuss, but I'd rather you go first. I think your plan will get everybody in agreement. We're gonna need that; we've got a lot to do for the EBs, and we had... problems working together the last time. We'll have to do better next time."

Driving in the Tunnels

"Hey, I wanted to thank you again for dinner," he said by way of small talk. "Maybe Giovenith and I can return the favor soon?"

Sandy hoped Marcus was too fixated on driving to notice his slight jump. "Erm..." What an odd encounter with her this morning. It doesn't make any sense except that she's annoyed with me, despite how it ended up. That could be awkward. "What is mean is that Amanda was planning to make dinner arrangements with some of the other Resident couples. I expect she's started on that by now, so I don't know what our social schedule is for the near future. So if you could hold that thought until I talk to her, I'd appreciate it." ...and hopefully with one, single quiet evening, it'll make more sense. Just one evening... "Oh, and you're most welcome. We'd be glad to have you both over again."

"Sandy, you ever love some one so hard that you'd cast aside fears to stand before the guardians of hell?"

Sandy nearly burst out laughing, but managed to hold his reaction to chuckling. "As a married man, I think the only safe answer I can give to that question is 'Yes, of course I do'. Sandy paused to compose himself, and then went on more seriously. "I had a first love, a long, long time ago; I was younger then than you are now. I would have done anything for her; I did a number of foolish things for her as it was. With Amanda, the 'guardians of hell' part is closer to literally true, but that's a very long story, probably best told over something to drink."

Sandy had to think about what to say next, since it wasn't going to be, "Yes, Amanda convinced me to join in attacking a werewolf mage who'd already left a trail of supernatural bodies up and down the East Coast, and I agreed because I love her." Instead, he said, "So, yes, I know the feeling. What brings it up now?"

[Monfrox]

"They...were my father's. He replaced the barrel on the 870 with a new one, and I do have slug and single-ought buckshot rounds in my room for them. The PPK/S has just normal ball rounds and another magazine. As for ammunition for the HK, I'm sure full metal jacket is just fine. I don't plan on taking on anyone wearing kevlar or anything." Brit said as she started looking over the carbine.

"American bias. Well, I heard Ohio Ordinance Works recently took a stab at redesigning the Browning Automatic Rifle and modernizing it from the ground up. They call it the Heavy Counter-Assault Rifle. It still shoots the same thirty ought six rounds, but has a pistol grip and rails and different barrel lengths that also are dimpled for more cooling. The big thing though, was that they installed a hydraulic piston behind the action to dampen the recoil." She cocked the 416's stock onto her hip as she leaned to look back at it. "So, with that, you'll feel the same amount of recoil shooting that as you would shooting an M4. Truly a great design. I'm just glad they aren't like those idiot who take perfectly good M1 Garands or other old guns and strip it down to modernize it. People like that aren't right in the head." She shook her's and walked over to the ammunition crate, setting the weapons down.

"As for the pistol rounds...hmm...I think ball rounds would be fine. Unless you have a preference to hollow points." She took a second to smile a bit, remembering a little poem. "As for extra magazines, well no. I mean I have a really shitty Lancer Tactical vest that I used for airsoft and cosplay that can fit STANAG mags but not any real empty ones lying around. I also have an old Vietnam magazine pouch that goes on my web belt, but that's for the 20 round ones, not thirty. I mean...if you want, I'd be more than happy to work my tab off as your assistant here or something like that. I've always really wanted to work in a gun store." It was a long shot, but maybe he'd go for it. She wasn't hoping for it, though. Best not to build hopes up.

[Highfort]

"Stew would be excellent, and I think the apartment would be a better place for sensitive discussions than the Prytaneum," Septimus raised his hand to hail a taxi, adding with a nervous chuckle, "No offense to Mr. Kelphanos. If the man's got an interest in politics - as friendly as he might be to the abs of this city - then I don't think it would be wise to let him intrude on affairs pertaining to the good Doctor."

A cab of the traditional yellow and black stripe pulled to the curb, a friendly human face peeking out from within. Septimus frowned slightly before offering a polite grin and then opening the back doors so Neste and the Velocidoctor could situate themselves. The abhuman taxicab drivers were being slowly moved out of the city, and the cyborg hadn't yet had a chance to reverse or even question that legislation. But, with Zalgofest having capped the previous evening, such things were outside of his reach until he could pull aside some of the representatives during work hours.

"The Building, 42nd Subabsurdus Street," he felt odd actually pronouncing the address of the residence in a serious tone but nevertheless nodded at the cabbie before getting in next to Neste and closing the door.

"Representative Itum, right?" the man attempted to make small talk as he pulled up to a red light, shifting lanes to avoid the traffic pileup in the right turn lane, "Poor bastard in front is spewing - been sick since yesterday. I tell ya, Zalgo gets worse every year."

The aforementioned driver was sitting in his car, pulled up to the crosswalk and halfway through a right turn, desperately trying to angle his vomit into a plastic bag as the angry drivers behind him cursed and shook their fists, hoping that visual and verbal persuasions would prove effective in getting him to clear the road so they could get home.

Septimus grimaced at the sight, "Septimus is fine. This happen every year?"

"Yeah, sometimes the newer schmucks push their limits a little to hard when Zalgo rolls in and they end up regrettin' it," the cabbie pulled forward as the light turned green, the car rolling toward the Building at a leisurely pace as the meter ran, "Say, who are your friends? Rathaus doesn't hire abs, far as I know."

"Just friends," Septimus replied, hoping the man wouldn't press the issue, "Er, well, the lady to my left is a particularly special friend."

"Girlfriend?" the man chuckled as he rolled the steering wheel to the left, "Look man, don't say 'special friend'. Sounds like you're talking about a hooker or somethin'. Not that I would accuse this fine lady of selling herself, but... just a friendly tip, Septimus."

"Er, yeah, right," the cyborg rubbed the back of his head, a blush of embarrassment appearing on his face as the cab sped toward home.