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

[Giovenith]

"Good morning Torii," Giovenith greeted the other teen, and then looked between the two friends as if to indicate to Yuna, 'see?' "If it makes you feel better, me and Torii could try to fill you guys in on some basics before the meeting. You know, one-on-one friend style before adult-style serious comes along. After showers and such, of course."

The godling remembered that Yuna was something of a "junior cultist," and figured that it was especially important for her to know just in case she was given a hefty duty.

[The BranRiech]

"Good morning Torii," Giovenith greeted the other teen, and then looked between the two friends as if to indicate to Yuna, 'see?' "If it makes you feel better, me and Torii could try to fill you guys in on some basics before the meeting. You know, one-on-one friend style before adult-style serious comes along. After showers and such, of course."

The godling remembered that Yuna was something of a "junior cultist," and figured that it was especially important for her to know just in case she was given a hefty duty.

"Well, alright, that sounds fine." Yuna smiled, trying to keep the mood at least somewhat happy, despite the somewhat depressing idea that Gio had seen people killed before. She didn't want to be a part in an invasion, but at this point, there seemed to be no choice for her now. And while she didn't want to be involved to begin with, she didn't really even know anything about Bielefeld, except for the fact that it apparently wasn't safe at night, and that it was where she was living.

"But yeah, I think I should know some things." She nodded.

[Highfort]

As Neste's eyes sough his own, Septimus unconsciously let a small grimace play across his face. It quickly softened into a breath of relief as she didn't recoil from him, and he let out a nervous chuckle. Of all the scenarios not to prepare for... He''d skipped the entire manual on personal relationships. Probably would've been a good skim, even if it did mean one fewer days spent toiling away in the labs on some insignificant trinket or another. A part of him - probably the subconscious part that drove his processor on to mock him - wanted to slap himself for his naive mistake all those years ago, but that minority was overridden by the sheer confusion he was feeling.

"You... enjoyed it?" the words came out haltingly, each one prefaced and followed by a pause as his eyebrows knitted together and he tried to process the fact that he hadn't fucked up. Now would've been a great time for a witty comment, a sharp insult, anything to break the atmosphere and get him back in control of what he was doing. The absent processor did not abide.

As she cautiously stepped towards him, he gulped and licked his lips, unsure how to react as her snout found refuge amongst his robes and reptilian fingers shook on the cloth. Careful to avoid agitating her ports any further, he braced his own arms around her and he slowly pulled her into a hug. No snide comment about three hugs in under a week after a lifetime of refusing physical contact was forthcoming. He simply lowered his head to meet her own and breathed in and out slowly, the warmth of skin on skin reminding him of long-forgotten days nestled in his mother's arms, sheltered from the death and the destruction of the outside world that awaited him coming of age. He lifted his head slowly with a soft smile.

"I won't," he finally responded rather lamely to her request, lowering his arms as he found the physical motions of a hug far too alien and awkward to continue, "I... this... this is new to me. I'll need to read up on it. I'm not... sure how to feel right now. But it was nice, if that's not too... trite a word to use. It was nice."

Running a hand through greying locks, he let out a sigh as he enjoyed her warmth seeping into his robes and onto his chest, just standing there in the moment. As it passed, he quickly remembered the nature of the situation: he was still dead, she was somewhere in the real world, and they had work to be done. The peaceful interludes of whatever it was that was blossoming her could be pondered and enjoyed at a later time, in the flesh, when he'd returned from the dead. Lazarus was still waiting to be raised.

Gently pushing her away so he could collect his thoughts, he shook himself awake and smiled, "Right, business then. You've got the tail, hopefully what remains of my body, and proper equipment? What's the plan?"

[Swith Witherward]

Neste savored his warmth and allowed Septimus to determine when to break the embrace.

"It's not too trite." She pressed her hand to his chest one final time to reassure him. "It's a whole new avenue of research and physical exploration, if we so choose to engage in it when you require a break from your main research."

A nervous giggle accompanied her suggestion, and then she focused her thoughts on the pressing matters at hand. The exuberant sparkle returned to her soulful eyes, and her customary smile graced her lips. She was Neste again - the unburdened and lighthearted creature that had chosen to approach the world with curiosity rather than contempt.

"The plan is fairly straight forward," she clapped her hands to rouse Scel into fixing the library back into shape, and then returned her attention to Septimus as the exo faded away and the wall repaired itself. "You've been thawed - er, again - and the vat is standing by. There's a bit of prep work involved, of course. We've scanned your head and mapped everything. Now it's up to me to retrieve your processor and preserve your optics. We'll need them if we hope to restore you properly."

Her expression brightened as she stepped onto familiar (and less emotionally confusing) grounds. "It all comes down to how quickly I can work. I'll need access to your brain, and that will require cautious effort on my part. And a bone saw in order to open your cranial vault. FUBAR has machined a skull key, and that will make things so much easier, really. Once I've stripped and cleaned residual bio-matter from your hardware, we can begin to grow your new body. It will be identical in integration to your old, and you won't notice any hiccups. Standardized stuff, Septimus."

Neste raised her hand to poke her own head with a sharp nail. "Same process, in fact. Constructs likewise have processors and hardware. Genetic material is sequenced and the body is grown around them. Five hour's vat time until completed because my tail was already coded to you."

The lizard settled onto the ottoman to deliver the bad news. "The problem is that you've lost much of your hardware. I'm afraid you're going to be organic from the neck down. The cannon was obliterated, and there isn't anything left to power the rest of the arm or your legs. You'll need to readjust to being human, and all the physical limitations that humanity has to offer. However, you'll find that your engineered body has greater endurance and that it will, for a time, heal very quickly. That effect will wear off, though, and you'll be able to carve your parts off to your heart's content once it does."

Soft light returned overhead as Scel placed final touches to Septimus' temporary home. The library was just as they'd first seen it, a pristine storehouse of knowledge that both lizard and cyborg took comfort in. Neste's vacillating form returned to the plinth and the lizard rose from the ottoman.

"One final thing," Neste clasped her hands tightly together to summon up her courage. "I know you're curious, Septimus, but if you want to know more about me, just ask. Maybe over tea rather than asking to see memories or read books? Please?"

---

The lizard's voice and warbles danced off the lab's walls, a lilting melody wrapping itself harmoniously around the vibrating saw's whine as Neste carefully gained access to her old friend's head. The process was made much easier by the fact that Septimus was completely dead; mostly-dead beings tended to wail and scream and writhe, and that behavior always became an annoyance after the first minute or two of work.

It wasn't that Neste enjoyed this particular job. She had spent some time beforehand simply studying his ancient face, tracing a finger along magnificent scars to memorize their beauty. Faces as heavily damaged as his were something to be admired amongst higher constructs. She had gone so far as to kiss his brow - the utmost sign of respect one could bestow upon another creature - before making her initial incision and peeling down his skin. If the processor hadn't been so damn important, she would have lopped Septimus head off at the neck to preserve his handsome wrinkles. Her mirth stemmed from the fact that he'd soon be restored, and alive once more to laugh and to explore the world around them.

The saw stopped. Neste held out a bloodstained hand to accept the hammer and chisel. FUBAR's key was unnecessary; the old cyborg had been reconstructed so many times that a simple tap sent the skull cap clattering to the floor where it rocked like an empty, upturned soup bowl. The lizard carefully untangled the last bits concerning the optic assembly, and then began to extract the device.

---

Margaret Brisby pretended to dry her hands on an old tea towel. She'd been at it several moments, her ears trained towards Roger as he conversed with the strange man that had come in to inquire about curry seasoning. He seemed a warm gent, although a bit stern and uptight, but his attire had initially cast a dreadful shadow upon an otherwise cheery morning. She trusted her Roger however. They'd been together a long, long while and he always held her best interests at heart. If he said something was safe, it was, and his current posture and smile were reassuring to her: the man wasn't there to do them harm.

Both men broke into throaty laughter and their visitor curled his fingers into a fist to rattle the table. The gesture only caused Roger to laugh harder. Margaret found herself grinning as she peered around the large lemon drop jar.

"Ah me," Roger wiped a tear from his eye, "But those were the golden years! I'd be right chuffed to see them again."

Margaret's quizzical look didn't escape her husband's notice. He lifted a hand to invite her to join them. "Come here, darling. Allow me to introduce you to Herr Fleischer-Schaefer. He has a proposition that just might be the perfect balm."

[The New Velociraptor Empire]

At Kwa'a's urging Arthur went into the restroom and looked for himself. "That is a near bottomless pit if I've ever seen one. Well If Brit is still alive down there we should be able to survive the fall too. Willow, you can fly so it shouldn't be a problem for you. I can survive an impact at terminal velocity, so I can just jump in regardless of depth. Although if spikes are at the bottom... You go first Willow. Kwa'a, we still need a rope to get out of the pit, find what you can." Arthur said as he went back to the dining area and packed the leftover food into a to-go bag. He set it by the bathroom door to grab on the go in case of emergency. He then took his flashlight in his claw and his Webley Revolver in his hand. He patrolled the doors and created flimsy barricades to keep them safe while they worked.

---

Scarface gathered the flyer along with the daily hate mail and Cease and Desist orders. Neil and Gretta shifted trough them during breakfast as the children munched on waffalo meat. "Oh bugger, does this put a damper on things... now where we take the children to get pizza?" Neil commented while reading an old newspaper a few decades old. "It seems like there is some interest in our prize. They must be stopped." Gretta said as he slapped down the flyer onto the table. "Here we go again." Neil replied tiredly at the implication.

[Swith Witherward]

"Surely you can understand my position, Ms. Trilb?"

Surely Ms. Trilb did not! She regarded the man seated behind the big scary desk covered with imposing sales receipt stacks and mountains of delivery documents. Mr. Hathaway wore his customary sour expression as he eased back into his chair. Hairy fingers interlaced themselves, momentarily rustling the Tesco store manager's lanyard as they sought refuge on his belly. His accusations didn't ring true.

"Mr. Hathaway, I haven't been late to work even once," she attempted to clarify once more. It would be impossible for her to be late. She was surreptitiously living on the premises and usually lurked by the time clock for an hour or so before her shift started.

The manager unfolded his fingers and lifted a stack of time cards from one of the piles. "You have been late to work nearly every shift, sometimes by as much as a half hour. We have been over this. Your shift is between the hours of 8 AM and 5 PM. These time cards indicate that you don't clock in until 8:30. We are done here, Ms. Trilb. Leave or I'll have you escorted. Don't make a scene. Don't return."

There wasn't any use in fighting it. Nila Trilb freed her hair from the gauzy net and tossed it on the desk alongside her employee name badge. Her shift had eternally been the same - 8:30 AM sharp - and she was certain someone was up to naughty tricks. She kept her department manager's handwritten schedule in her sleeping box but, given Hathaway's threat, there was no way to retrieve it.

Dejected, she closed the manager's office door and trudged down the stairs, exiting the supermarket that had sheltered her for so long. Hathaway heaved his burly bulk from the chair. A finger thrust through his window blind slats and his lip lifted as she crossed the parking lot. She paused at the bus stop before continuing down the street.

"Fucking abhumans." The blind slats slapped back into position as his finger retracted.

---

The girl's feet carried her here and there with no clear destination in mind. She realized that she would soon need to creep into the tunnels to procure nutrition; no carpules meant she had to fall back on other means of survival, not only to maintain her matrix but also to prevent the misfiring of her dopaminergic neurons.

She passed the bus stop and train station as paranoia set in, and she soon found herself far away from downtown without recalling walking the distance. Aching feet took her down Main until she found herself strolling along cobblestones. She has subconsciously returned to the carnival site. Fingers reached out to brush against the low wall that separated the street from the beach beyond - the smooth texture always reminded her of ice cream flecked with the occasional chocolate shaving - and her nostrils inhaled the stinging salt mist. The best vines were here. Lots of vines twisting and turning and speaking to her with their songs and tales. They weren't her vines, of course, but they provided the wine just the same.

A pale hand pulled wind-whipped hair from her mouth and eyes as she gazed directly at the sun. It was pretty. Pretty, pretty big old star, how I wonder how far you are. Up above the earth so bright, if you're out then it's not night!

Her rump settled on the low wall and then she rolled back onto the sand. It was more fun that way, although she was too tired to make a proper game of it. Her attention turned to her shoes which stuck up in the air and partially blocked the sun. She set her feet together before separating them again, playing peek-a-boo with the funny yellow ball. Something in the back of her mind reminded her that she was mentally degrading. The girl rolled and picked herself up, cautiously walking along a pier until she reached the sewer opening. She'd follow that course a while until reaching the real tunnel, and then she'd carefully scrape the vines to drink the tar. It was the only way to replace what she lacked in proper nourishment, and the only way to stop the neurons from waltzing to the wrong tune. She was slowly dying... slowly. She could sense it.

[Giovenith]

Grabbbing the blouse and bag from the counter, Willow followed Arthur's command and darted down the hall, descending slowly so as not to scrape any sharp ridges. The last thing they needed was a bleeding wing. His eyes steadily adjusted to the shift in light, and he felt around for the girl in case she was out on the ground.

"Brit?" he spoke as he neared the bottom. "Can you hear me?"

[Germanic Templars]

A morning walk down main street was a daily routine for the mechanical Doctor, who found joy in playing music as he carried himself about down the sidewalk, nodding his head to the music that emanated from his head all while his eye color changed to a various hues of colors. His synthetic thermorecptors let him feel the cool air of the morning rush past him while also letting him feel the hard concrete below him to that his feet walked upon. This was Dr. Smith's daily routine every morning as he made his way to his work. This simple release of stress was enough to allow the doctor to carry on his normal day. The stress was not the walking or the music, but rather having the ability to clear his mind from all thoughts, including his unfortunate past mistakes he has made and that have been let loose all on his errors to not kill them. The walk was his way of removing his guilt while an attempt of forgetting the monsters he let loose onto the galaxy.


I should have killed them when I saw the signs. Should have had them shot. Should have gassed them. They should not be alive. These words rang in his head, loud enough that at max volume, he could not drown them out.

-----

Deep within the far reaches of the Milky Way, the rim of the galaxy, in the dimension from which the Templars spawn from, laid a smoldering lava world with thick clouds that covered it, but these were not clouds, but rather smog, smoke that bellowed out from the smoke stacks below on surface made artificially to provide place for them. Factories that varied in production. From armored cars, to tanks, to army and a droid army.

However, none was as more fearful as the new production that was being made. A terrifying hybrid built with the height and muscle as a Son of Conquest, the consistency and easily accessible creation of a clone, mashed together with the devastating fire power of a droid. Resilient to disease, mind control, and viruses, this new breed of super soldier was no creation of the Templar, but rather the concept of one man, turned to flesh. Rasputin. Once the Tech priest that gave advice and guidance to the Emperor, now exiled and following under a new leader.

A red cloaked cyborg, wielding a halberd as a walking stick, was accompanied by a few grotesque humans who looked as if they were burn victims that just got a skin graph done on their faces. The priest walked past the sights of a less than sterile room in which clones were being grown in. Those that were complete were ripped out of their pods and transported over to operation tables to where, despite all their kicking and screaming, were cuffed down onto the table to begin extensive surgery, starting with their left arm being chopped off with a cleaver.

One of the men who accompanied Rasputin limped up next to him bearing a question in mind, "M'lord. I see have expanded our forces, but tell me, what are these soldier and why them?"

Rasputin glanced down at the man with a look of disregard before looking forward, "These men are my creation. Dreadnoughts. We produce them just for Him. An army worthy of His strength. A soldier that does not eat, does not sleep, cannot feel pain nor sickness. Modern weapons are useless against such technology as this."

They passed by another clone whose arm was being refitted with a plasma cannon of such by the look at it, while another soldier on a table was having nano chips and other augmentations inserted into his brain and eyes.

A look of dismay came upon that same man who asked, " But, there is no way we can take on an entire galaxy, even with this army. And even if were able to, we would need thousands."

"Millions." The priest smirked, holding back his laughter as they walked towards the large doors at the end of the hallway. Approaching the soot covered steel double door that stood just at the end of the hall, sounds of chanting could be heard echoing through the halls, despite the thickness of the doors and the Gothic style architecture halls.

The servants clustered behind the priest in fear of what was on the other side of the doors. For as they approached, the chanting became louder and small vibrations could be felt. Rasputin prodded two of the men out from behind him with the pole end of his weapon and ushered them to the doors to hold open for him.

The moaning, grated friction of the metallic doors on their hinges gave notification to those outside of their leader's arrival. Hot air and the smell of burning fuel, and other byproducts rushed into the halls as the doors opened. The sounds of horns trumpeted as greetings to their leader. A sight to behold as Rasputin and his accomplices as walked onto the balcony that overlooked countless legions of Dreadnoughts that stood in ranked columns 50 deep and rows 20 wide. Pole ends of banners slammed against the ground as roaring chants were shouted regarding to their leader. The servants were dumbstruck at the sight as they gazed on at the army below.

A hand raised in the air as a gesture to quiet the perturbed crowd below. Rasputin held tightly against his staff for support. His tone became authoritative as his voice bellowed, "We, have been outcasts of the empire. Banished to die alone. But that will not be our fate! Through the fires of industry, acting as the wheel that turns progress forward! A new power is rising! His victory is at hand" There was a pause during his speech as the masses roared temporarily before quieting themselves. "And we still grow, as more of your brethren are born each day into the forces. Now, go now! Onto victory, in His service, under his guidance! March, my men, unto IES Malevolence! Sever the ties of dimensions, cut off the empire, leave none alive! To war!" This was his command to the men entrusted him.

"On this day, entire galaxy shall be stained with the blood of the Empire." He told himself as he walked back into the fortress that was his keep. A space elevator that dubbed as his home and one of his factories.

[Fvaarniimar]

Meanwhile, Kwa'a was looking for fabric strong enough to trust one's weight to. Like Arthur, she knew she would have survived the jump; however, at best it would severely incapacitate her. At worst it might send her back to Borksmiclen... Hopefully Brit had landed on something soft.

Some quick work with her shiv and some knots provided a base for the cord - a strip maybe 11 times her height, two thumbnails wide. To that she tied all of the fabric she could find in the restaurant - most of it from booths - and narrower strips from what remained of the comforter. (She'd considered using clothing, but concluded that it would be more useful on their bodies.)

An additional cord made of paper and fiberfill - from the napkins and comforter respectively - was twined with that of fabric. Paper was not something she'd trust to hold any of them on its own, especially not given the shortness of the strips, but maybe in combination with the other materials it could lower their probability of falling - especially as it would help keep the fabric twisted. (She longed for the days when she could have conceivably manipulated probability to the extent that using a thread of equal length would have been nearly as safe as using this rope now was.)

The rope was far from pretty, but -

She stomped on the end and tugged.

It would hold one person. More... Maybe. She would not risk it, given a choice. Coiling up the around-sixty feet of rope, she returned to the others.

"Anchor to something stable. At time any, rope on one!"

--

Her ward opened her eyes in her own apartment, empty save for Duncan and a flier. I need to wake up earlier... Or did she? Perhaps she could consider these lazy mornings a part of the cultural experience. (True, that was an excuse, but late mornings were pleasant.) Few people here seemed to get up with the sun... She would waste time, and miss the sunrise. She would need to think about it. Dressing in a pink shift and the green shoes, she walked to the door - and found the flier.

It occurred to Rmwtyliin that perhaps she should decode it. A material like that on which it was printed could not be cheap. It likely was important somehow. She would just grab a simple breakfast and return...

A glance at the naked mole rat, lying atop a pillow. Perhaps Duncan would have woken by then.

---

He hadn't. Gently shaken awake, he was offered a bit of breakfast before the Fvaarniimarn politely asked him to translate her horribly-accented reading of the flyer's English into her native tongue.

[Monfrox]

Nothing but deadening silence answered Willow's words. It felt as if the hole went on forever. He sure felt like he was going somewhere, but a few glances upward would prove that he was, in fact, staying in the same place in the hole even if he felt himself floating downward. The hole was obviously a product of the town, meant to take their venture onward. Kwa'a's own rope wouldn't reach the bottom if she decided to try it. Light seemed to be swallowed up by the blackness of the pit, forbidding one's eyes from seeing the bottom.

[The High Tatras]

A strange man entered the lobby of the building, closely followed by a golden retriever (dog, that is) and a saker falcon. The man was dressed from head to toe in Arabic attire, and he carried a large steamer trunk plastered with travel stickers. He walked up to the front desk.

"Excuse me, do you have any rooms available for us here? Oh, and can you fill up this please? All three of us are parched. My name is Nathan Kowalski, the dog's name is Dick, and the bird's name is Sally."

He held up an empty waterskin.

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

Whilst Adrisal was... in and not-about her apartment, cleaning her robes, someone of more relevance to this current post had finally made her way to Bielefeld. After a few hours spent surrounded by screaming infants and horrible food, she was finally free to stretch her legs. The rodent-like Reil followed a some hastily scrawled directions on a paper map, walking into a place known as "The Building". Or Llwallabillabingbong, but that was a very uncommon name for it. In fact, nobody called it that. Anyways, she wandered inside and placed her hands on the front desk, ringing the bell as she waited for somebody to stop by and give her some paperwork to fill. She'd been supplied enough money for a few weeks of groceries, rent, and any other necessities that she could possibly come up with. "'Ello, mister... manager guy! I am here to get a room."

Her accent was thick enough that you could probably use it as a wall if you needed to, some sort of vaguely Eastern European accent that was sort of a horrific merging of stereotypes everywhere. She looked over at a man dressed in some garb more fitting for the middle of the desert, rather than this fairly temperate landscape. He also had a dog with him. She lifted a hand and waved at him in a greeting. "New here as well, shemlit?"

[The High Tatras]

"Yes, I am new here, and not just new to this building. I have no idea where I am right now. I even have no idea when I am right now. I couldn't be more lost." said Nathan.

"Ruff!" said Dick.

[Cerillium]

"I have never understood Chaos' time or your travels." The scratch of pen on paper punctuated each word as Ocho checked boxes on the legal form. He jotted notes along the document's margins before passing the pen back it the old cyborg across from him.

"That's the benefit of time travel, Ocho. Gone an hour here, live a few years there. Makes things simpler." Thaddeus tucked the writing instrument into his pocket. Yeah, simpler, but his life had become all at once more complex and less burdened during that time. Divorce had a way of doing that. He lifted the coffee mug to his lips and savored the liquid's bitter taste. "The lizard does make a damn fine cup."

A high-pitched whine behind the nifid lab's closed door drowned out Ocho's grunt. The lizard's voice rose to match it and both males listened to the surprisingly pleasant melody for a while before Ocho broached the dangling comment. "Constructs usually do. They can cook too. Faithful, generous unless it's a cookie, quick to accept and forgive, not prone to selfish notions. Of course, the one in the lab is much different than the one I knew. Still, if you're considering an intelligent helpmate, you can't go wrong. Very low maintenance. Bung 'em treats. Give 'em a basket. Compliment their feathers when they grow in."

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow at the words. The xeno was pining for his companion rather than suggesting anything but the man couldn't help but feel chastised by his own heart. He was aware of some of the qualities Ocho waxed on about yet completely unaware of her other redeeming traits. He abused the hell out of Neste in the name of science yet she returned when summoned to subject herself to more experiments. Always smiling. Always trying to please. Always staring at him with soulful eyes that forgave him even as he hurt her. Her precious Itum's presence emboldened her enough to call him an ass yet she tucked an apology letter into his mailbox the following morning.

He banished his trend of thought and returned to their original topic: Itum's lawsuit. "Now that Fram's been served? What's the next step?"

"Hmm? He has a week to read it over," Ocho tapped the tidy paper pile resting between them. "We meet for mediation. He agrees or we go to trial."

Thaddeus chuckled. "I can't believe you're suing Chaos for wrongful death, cost of reanimation, and pain and suffering. That's twisted."

"I can't believe nobody has sued them prior."

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

"Yes, I am new here, and not just new to this building. I have no idea where I am right now. I even have no idea when I am right now. I couldn't be more lost." said Nathan.

"Ruff!" said Dick.

Elka chuckled lightly, nodding at him politely. "If it helps I didn't even know this place existed before last month. I'm just hiding out here until the latest wave of anarchy blows over back home. I'm Elka, by the way." She looked down at Dick, giving him a wave. "And hello to you too, puppy-dog! Try to avoid bears. I lost two of them that way." She said, bluntly before returning her eyes to Nathan. "Anyways, you're in a place called Bielefeld. That's the extent of my knowledge besides a little map of this city."

[Cerillium]

The man behind the counter cleared his throat as he rose from the chair. Attired in a woolen Nazi uniform (the swastika's had been replaced by a strange symbol) and presenting a respectful yet bored expression, his heavily accented voice went into the routine New Resident pitch.

"Welcome to the Building," fingertips slid two clipboards towards the pair. "We've been expecting you both. Here's your lease. Rent is due the first of each month - just put it in the drop box behind me. Mr. Nathan Kowalski? You'll be in 9B. That's on the ninth floor. You can take the stairs there or take the lifts. Communal kitchen and dining room is a flight up - there's a Resident Meeting scheduled later this evening. Ms Elka Kazatimiru? You're in 7E."

His eyes roamed the lobby. As was his wont, he wondered how it appeared to each new resident. The Building's unusual properties often crafted the surroundings into something most pleasing or "at home" for each Resident. Some things were eternally the same: a bench along one wall, comfortable chairs by a window. The mailboxes in the foyer. Several marked doors leading to different areas. The front desk itself. The cultist (for that's what he was) saw only the grey interior of an insane asylum regardless of where in the Building he roamed.

OP NOTE: THT please look at the other posts on this page and strive to meet that standard. We are not a chat location thread. Players are expected to put effort into their posts, including a bit of description or character emotion. Feel free to take time to craft posts rather than posting dialog alone.

[Giovenith]

"Guys, this really doesn't..." Willow trailed off, unsure how to describe what was going on. His most gut reaction was dread, the dread that this hole was truly this deep and Brit had met a crunchy end far outside their reach. He reached out with his hooves and carefully patted the walls around him, until something--rock, concrete, plaster, whatever--broke off in his hoof wrist. He gripped it, reached out, and let it fall.

Silent.

The pony ascended slightly and called back to the others. "It just keeps going and going. I can't even hear anything drop to the bottom. I'm going to try one more thing before coming back with up..." Hopefully it wouldn't kill him too.

Willow centered himself upright in the hole, took a deep breath, and snapped his wings closed. It was a simple trick, easily learned as a child, it should have been easy. But just as he fell, something took hold of him, and he could only muster a gasp before blacking out.

He, like Brit, would not return.

...

Willow steadily came to, head still spinning from the mysterious "fade out" that had happened when he'd allowed himself to fall. He let it pass for a moment and became aware of his surroundings. It was dark, yes, but then most places in this place were. Floor was lumpy... and kind of warm...

[Northwest Slobovia]

I will have my revenge..." The voice was Nick's, but more worn, deeper, minor-key.
The scene ended then, and Amanda might feel unaccountably embarrassed. <Wait... Er. Don't worry, I'm not actually 'having my revenge.'

Amanda jerked her hand away from Nick. "Oooh! Don't do that! Warn me next time, please." Then to Sandy, seeing his surprised expression: "He sent me a vision."

Sandy thought about that for a couple of seconds, and then got an impish grin on his face. "Oh-ho-ho! You can send people telepathic images! I'll hazard that you can receive them too, and that means we've got a job for you!" His grin broadened into a face-splitting smile. "We can make the Ox Blood so much faster if Amanda can do more of the work."

"Wait, I can't do more because..." Amanda's eyes widened as the implication sank in. "I'll be able to see magic!" Amanda balled her fists and vibrated with childlike delight. Once again, she was a pretty princess with a magic flying pony who could turn into a handsome prince. Or maybe it was the other way round, but she didn't care, because she was a very lucky princess either way. "And I could hear magic too, if you'll turn into Pegasus!"

Amanda caught herself immediately after saying that. That's just self-indulgence. We've done this dozens of times, and Sandy's Sight will be enough; it's clearly enough for him. We're already treating Nick as an object -- a radio, a fancy video card -- and that's bad enough. Remember Katya in the howdah: I wasn't going to do this any more. Amanda was about to take back her suggestion, but Sandy said, "If we get far enough, I'll show you my party trick", and Amanda was back to being a pretty princess again.

Amanda was chagrined that she must have spaced out for a little while fantasizing about hearing magic, because Sandy was already leading Nick into the lab, carrying his laptop but still shirtless. She hurried to catch up with them. The lab was exactly as it was when they fled Philly: one third classic wizard's lab piled haphazardly with books, scrolls, and mysterious objects; one third modern chemical lab, with a refrigerator, instruments, and neatly organized equipment; one third modern modern scholar's desk, with large LCD displays and docking stations for two laptops, and one third recording studio, which Sandy used to try to record and study what he heard as Pegasus.

Yup, four-thirds full: what had been their master bedroom was now crammed with desks, tables, samples, diagrams, electronics, and stuff. There was barely room to walk between the desks, bookcases, and cabinets lining the walls and the central workbenches, except for a marked off space just barely large enough for Pegasus to stand between the nearest workbench and the door.

The lab was almost the same as it was. Sandy had added three things to it: the dustbunny was sitting on a desk, surrounded by a Cold Iron ring; Giovenith's bird was next to it, along with some of Sandy's notes; and the feathers from Chaos were in a clear plastic envelope on the workbench.

Amanda caught the end of what Sandy was saying to Nick. "...out of date, so we'll have to figure out what we actually have here, and what we have to make tonight. That may take a few minutes." Sandy pulled a three-ring binder off a shelf, flipped through it, took out two identical plastic pages, and attached them to clipboards: their checklists. He handed one to Amanda along with a grease pencil, and they fell into a comfortable routine of gathering materials and equipment. They had everything they needed, and Sandy was right: they even had some concentrates and isolates.

Amanda got a brief thrill when she pulled the rack of isolates out of refrigerator: each tiny vial contained a bit of pure magic Sandy had transfered from the its alchemetical source to a little bit of chemically pure liquid. She was intensely curious what they'd look like, since Sandy sometimes mentioned their bright colors.

With all the ingredients piled laid out on the workbenches, Sandy drew a deep breath. "OK. I'll show you both some interesting stuff, so we can get it over with. Then we'll get to work. So, Nick, if you would..." Nick, sitting on the workbench, pressed against Sandy's side, and Amanda put a hand on Nick. Sandy picked up the rack of isolates.

"Oh, wow! They really are bright!" Amanda found her vision confused, and closed her eyes. She was seeing from Sandy's viewpoint, not her own. He turned the rack in different directions, and lifted some of the vials out their holders so she and Nick could get a better look at them. They each held a bit of impossibly-colored light. The light had distinct colors, and some of it looked like it was sort of red or blue, but calling it red or blue would be wrong, because it really wasn't. They were no colors Amanda had seen before.

Nick said to hold on, and the point of view Amanda saw shifted to Nick's sight for an instant, than snapped back to Sandy's. <Sorry about that.> Amanda decided she's just make do seeing the world as Sandy saw it.

Sandy said, "So this vial contains a bit of magic tied to life, which the Ox Blood needs, but without other magic, there's no telling what would happen if you drank it. You might sprout flowers, or one of your toes might walk away under its own power, or something else bizarre."

"These things are more interesting..." Sandy picked up the feathers he got as change at Chaos, and a pair of colors swam in each. One orangy-looking one seemed to lazily drift around in the feathers, but the other one, more like yellow, formed little spots that chased each other around.

Sandy put the feathers down, and slid a gallon jar of concentrate across the workbench, so it was directly in front of him. It seemed to flicker with an internal light, but it was hard to make out its faint color... baby blue, maybe? "This is one of the reasons that alchemy is much harder without the Art. Most alchemists had to work with stuff like this, which is hard to handle and makes for really big bottles of potions and ointments and such. That's the classic image of alchemy. But this is much neater."

Sandy put an empty vial in the isolate rack, micro-pipetted a clear liquid into it, and started chanting in Arabic. He went on for several minutes, repeating the same few sentences like a mantra, but nothing seemed to happen. Then, after a few more repetitions, the flickering in the jar seemed to start slowly coalescing, and after another minute, it was definitely smaller and brighter. It quickly shrank to a bright not-really-blue light hovering in the middle of the bottle, and Sandy seemed to reach throught the bottle's side, grab it, and stuff it in the vial.

"Dear, did you..." Amanda began, and Sandy nodded agreement, causing Amanda to gasp. But Sandy smiled and shook his head. "No, that's just a magical projection of my hand. It looks real because Nick's sending you an image of what my magic looks like to me. Another sorceror would see it as a hand in my signature colors, and Pegasus would hear it as some sort of tune. Enough play? I imagine Nick wants something for his burns."

Amanda and Sandy divided the checklist up, and Amanda was pleased that she'd be able to try some making some of the concentrates. She put three ox leg-bones on the workbench, picked up a hand-held power saw, and began to slice them into hunks, explaining to Nick, "We need something in the bone marrow, something that organizes the other magic so that it will heal whatever is wrong with you. But 'Ox Bone Marrow Stuff' just doesn't sing, so the potion ended up being called 'Ox Blood'. Or maybe whoever named it that knew the connection between blood and bone marrow. It's an old recipe, so we don't know."

The whir of the saw attracted Plutarch, the couple's african grey parrot. He perched on a corner of the workbench, but kept his distance from the preparations. He did whistle and do an excellent imitation of Tweety Bird's "A taught I tau a putty tat!".

Sandy isolated more bits of magic, and Amanda set the pieces of ox bone to boil in a glass kettle. She also extracted a brown liquid from a mass of tangled roots, and did some chemistry on it using the checklist recipe.

After the ox bones had been cooking for an hour, Amanda asked Sandy to show her were the magic was in the kettle. He put his head next to Amanda's to give her almost the right viewpoint, and asked Nick to squeeze between them, then glanced at the kettle, and that was all Amanda needed to start siphoning out the broth: a flickering mass of blue-green light clung to one side of the kettle in defiance of physical law. "That's the problem alchemists had: magic plays its own rules, and they didn't know what they were", she said to Nick. Sandy looked into the kettle a few more times as Amanda siphoned it, but even as the blue-green light slid down the side to stay below the broth's surface, it was easy for Amanda to get off nearly all the non-magical liquid. She then poured the good stuff into a bottle.

The evening passed with similar work, and at a quarter past midnight, Sandy poured the last part of the final product into the last of eight thumb-sized bottles. He woke Nick, placed a bottle in front of him, and said, "Drink up! To your health!" Sandy picked up another bottle, drained it in a single swallow, waited a second, and then stre-e-e-tched his back and arms. "Much better. I'm going to hit the sack. I'm beat. You're welcome to stay here, Nick."



By seven the next morning, Sandy and Amanda were already planning their day. They wanted to accomplish the mundane tasks of settling in as residents of Bielefield: getting green cards, opening bank accounts, and other trivial but vital tasks. They were pleasantly surprised to find out that they could do a lot of it online, but some things they'd have to do in person, and they'd divided them up. First stop would be a currency exchange, to change their mixed collection of greenbacks, euros, pounds, and Swiss francs into local dollars, ruinous fees be damned.

Nick was asleep, and they decided to let sleeping cats lie. He could let himself out, and the door would close and lock behind him. They didn't think he was crazy enough to mess with the lab: lacking the Sight and knowledge of alchemy or chemistry, he'd be more danger to himself than anybody else. The irreplaceable stuff was under lock, key, and ward; if he could get into that, taking him back to his apartment first would slow him down only momentarily.

They took the jeep downtown, with Sandy's bike stowed in its rack.



A little before two in the afternoon, Amanda returned to find Sandy eating take-out Thai. He said, "It's not bad, but I'd prefer it hotter. How'd your part go?"

Amanda chuckled. "It's Denmark in Texas. They accepted my Pennsylvania gun license and CCP. Their only question was why I had one; I said I worked for the Philly DA, and that was enough for them. Then they gave me a perfunctory safety exam and checked my shooting. I think they decided I'd pass after the fourth hole in the X-ring, but they had me shoot off the whole clip to be sure. They didn't ask to see the other clip, and I didn't volunteer it."

"My legal credentials are another matter. I'll need to pass the local bar. I can sign up for cram classes and study the case law online, but there's a lot to learn. Fortunately, they offer the exam a few times a year, so I have some time. I watched part of trial; it seems familiar enough other than the precedents and the judicial regalia. There seems to be some open jobs downtown. I could even work as a public defender, and if I pick up local citizenship, maybe even with the prosecutor's office. These guys must get a lot of ex-pats to be this willing to work with foreigners. How'd you do?"

Sandy chewed the pad thai he was eating, swallowed, and answered. "Better than all expectations. Remember when we got here, a strange guy said that we were anticipated? We must have been. After I hocked the silver, I went to that bank to set up accounts. On a lark, I had them try a transfer from the numbered Swiss account... the one at Gemeinschaft Bank, the triple-zero-717-whatever account. It worked; the bank asked for and accepted the one-time passphrase. So I had them transfer 2,000 francs here. But there's no reason that should work: this isn't our Earth, somebody must have set that up for us. I don't like that." His face twisted into a sour frown.

Amanda grabbed a fork from the drying rack and swiped some of Sandy's pad thai. "You know better than I how much the local magic exceeds anything we've ever seen before. They can see into the future... or the past, or other time streams. Something like that. I don't know. What can ya do?" She made a helpless gesture, ate the pad thai she'd swiped, then took another fork-full.

"Hey! The Thai place is just down the block; you can get your own! But... well, I was going to see what I can learn about it. Maybe the magic here is better developed than back home because people are more willing to play nice. Adri seemed open to the idea of trading spells; that didn't happen a lot back home, at least not with magic of any power. Maybe other Residents might be as well. Might even be other sorcerors in town, if only I knew which door to knock on. Anyway..." He passed Amanda a wad of bills and an ATM card. "I was going to spend the afternoon figuring out what is the workroom, maybe make a shopping list, and start listening to the carnival music."

Amanda answered, "I'll be right here until the meeting, trying to figure out what I need to study." She did, however, get up to wedge the door open and hang out a sign reading "Welcome! Knock and come in!"

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

The man behind the counter cleared his throat as he rose from the chair. Attired in a woolen Nazi uniform (the swastika's had been replaced by a strange symbol) and presenting a respectful yet bored expression, his heavily accented voice went into the routine New Resident pitch.

"Welcome to the Building," fingertips slid two clipboards towards the pair. "We've been expecting you both. Here's your lease. Rent is due the first of each month - just put it in the drop box behind me. Mr. Nathan Kowalski? You'll be in 9B. That's on the ninth floor. You can take the stairs there or take the lifts. Communal kitchen and dining room is a flight up - there's a Resident Meeting scheduled later this evening. Ms Elka Kazatimiru? You're in 7E."

His eyes roamed the lobby. As was his wont, he wondered how it appeared to each new resident. The Building's unusual properties often crafted the surroundings into something most pleasing or "at home" for each Resident. Some things were eternally the same: a bench along one wall, comfortable chairs by a window. The mailboxes in the foyer. Several marked doors leading to different areas. The front desk itself. The cultist (for that's what he was) saw only the grey interior of an insane asylum regardless of where in the Building he roamed.

Elka nodded politely, shoving her room number into memory. She looked around, admiring the... excessively modern look of the place. To her, she saw bright colors, glass walls, a massive area for her to walk around in... something out of a science fiction movie, minus the robots, aliens, and edginess. She signed her lease and smiled at the man. "Thank you kindly. I'll be sure to attend the meeting, thank you for letting me know." She stood back and stretched her legs, checking her pockets... okay, she hadn't left anything on the plane. Phone was still there, earbuds, everything was in check. "Have a good day, sir." She turned around and make her way upstairs to check out her room, passing a robed Arkadacian on her way up.

Adri gave the Reil an aside glance as she made her way to the lobby... that wasn't a species she expected to see here. Still, she didn't have anything to say to the Reil, and she seemed old enough to figure things out for herself. The Arkadacian rolled her neck and looked around the lobby, thinking of her agenda for the day. She had some time to kill until that meeting began, but nothing really struck her. Perhaps she'd catch up with Sandy and Amanda again.

[The High Tatras]

The man behind the counter cleared his throat as he rose from the chair. Attired in a woolen Nazi uniform (the swastika's had been replaced by a strange symbol) and presenting a respectful yet bored expression, his heavily accented voice went into the routine New Resident pitch.

"Welcome to the Building," fingertips slid two clipboards towards the pair. "We've been expecting you both. Here's your lease. Rent is due the first of each month - just put it in the drop box behind me. Mr. Nathan Kowalski? You'll be in 9B. That's on the ninth floor. You can take the stairs there or take the lifts. Communal kitchen and dining room is a flight up - there's a Resident Meeting scheduled later this evening. Ms Elka Kazatimiru? You're in 7E."

His eyes roamed the lobby. As was his wont, he wondered how it appeared to each new resident. The Building's unusual properties often crafted the surroundings into something most pleasing or "at home" for each Resident. Some things were eternally the same: a bench along one wall, comfortable chairs by a window. The mailboxes in the foyer. Several marked doors leading to different areas. The front desk itself. The cultist (for that's what he was) saw only the grey interior of an insane asylum regardless of where in the Building he roamed.

OP NOTE: THT please look at the other posts on this page and strive to meet that standard. We are not a chat location thread. Players are expected to put effort into their posts, including a bit of description or character emotion. Feel free to take time to craft posts rather than posting dialog alone.

Nathan was shocked and horrified. He had been shocked and horrified many times over the last few hours, but this was the most shocking thing yet. Fascists were one of his "berserk buttons", and a few moments ago he had just escaped a war zeppelin that was filled with them via his Sikorsky S-38 hydroplane the "Wild Goose Chase" that had docked to it. Then the zeppelin fired some kind of very bizarre weapon at him that brought him to where he was now, wherever and whenever that might be. He thought he would be safe here, but evidently he was not. Someone had followed him into this strange new world.

"Of course they have been expecting me. This was all some kind of elaborate trap. I wonder if this building I was escorted to is some kind of secret prison. Who knows what kind of horrors may be hidden within this building? They know my name. They must have a fate worse than death planned for me." thought Nathan to himself.

It was certainly obvious to everyone around him that he was inwardly panicking. He removed his dagger from its sheath and brought it up to his throat. Then he spoke.

"Heavenly Father, please forgive me for this last trespass. I have no choice anymore." said Nathan out loud. He was sweating and beginning to shed tears.

[Torsiedelle]

Torii gave Gio a nod and leaned against the wall. "So, you were talking about invasions?", She asked. "You think that's what the meeting today is about, right? So do I."

She looked tired, and her gaze darted around for a second before she spoke back up. "I want to know what it's about now. I hate how we're left in the dark until the last moment."

[Mincaldenteans]

Nathan was shocked and horrified. He had been shocked and horrified many times over the last few hours, but this was the most shocking thing yet. Fascists were one of his "berserk buttons", and a few moments ago he had just escaped a war zeppelin that was filled with them via his Sikorsky S-38 hydroplane the "Wild Goose Chase" that had docked to it. Then the zeppelin fired some kind of very bizarre weapon at him that brought him to where he was now, wherever and whenever that might be. He thought he would be safe here, but evidently he was not. Someone had followed him into this strange new world.

"Of course they have been expecting me. This was all some kind of elaborate trap. I wonder if this building I was escorted to is some kind of secret prison. Who knows what kind of horrors may be hidden within this building? They know my name. They must have a fate worse than death planned for me." thought Nathan to himself.

It was certainly obvious to everyone around him that he was inwardly panicking. He removed his dagger from its sheath and brought it up to his throat. Then he spoke.

"Heavenly Father, please forgive me for this last trespass. I have no choice anymore." said Nathan out loud. He was sweating and beginning to shed tears.

"Whoa there," Hunter said out loud in attempt to grab the suicidal man's attention as he halted in his tracks. He peered around wondering if anyone else was catching this and just his luck the lobby was empty. Wonderful, of course he had to be the one lucky enough to stumble upon the a stranger with a knife. The nevidian shook his head with a soft huff. And this morning was turning out so peacefully.

Hunter was, well is, human. The differences between his race and humans were little past the pale skin, completely blue eyes where the whites should have been and were it not for the modifications he had painstakingly gone through to look like the average human, it was likely he'd freak the stranger out even more with his by his natural ghastly appearance. Thankfully, he looked nothing of the sort, with color in his skin, brown hair, and even human looking eyes.

He walked up carefully to the stranger with his hands up and open to show that he wasn't a threat. The back of his mind wanted to smirk at that, "Might wanna take the knife from your throat before you fillet it," the nevidian suggested to the stranger.

"I take it you're new here? Likely still getting used to the setting? Don't worry, same here and trust me, whatever you just saw is only the surface. You can be thankful for that, too."

[Qeno]

"Gnuuuh..." Qeno mumbled to herself as she lay in her bed and her tail twitching as it fought against the covers. "Time to get up, Time to get going, and Time to do something for today" She added as the young woman leaned forward to push the covers off of maroon colored robe covered chest. She sat idle for a moment before stumbling out of her circular bed before almost tripping over her feet in the living room of the apartment and finishing with a somewhat audible thump on the front door.

'Does Belelefield deliver mail to the doorstep? I dunno...' Qeno thought to herself as she opened the front door to look down the hall.

[Giovenith]

Torii gave Gio a nod and leaned against the wall. "So, you were talking about invasions?", She asked. "You think that's what the meeting today is about, right? So do I."

She looked tired, and her gaze darted around for a second before she spoke back up. "I want to know what it's about now. I hate how we're left in the dark until the last moment."

"We're not law enforcement, Torii," Giovenith reminded her friend, while looking around to see if anyone else was waiting for the bathroom. "Likely if they knew but didn't tell us earlier, it's because they thought it was manageable and wanted to keep us at peace while they fixed things. If they are telling us, it's because things have escalated and they're preparing us, far from a 'last minute' thing."

[The BranRiech]

"We're not law enforcement, Torii," Giovenith reminded her friend, while looking around to see if anyone else was waiting for the bathroom. "Likely if they knew but didn't tell us earlier, it's because they thought it was manageable and wanted to keep us at peace while they fixed things. If they are telling us, it's because things have escalated and they're preparing us, far from a 'last minute' thing."

"Couldn't that also mean that they just don't know either? I mean, that happens right?" Yuna shrugged, trying to remember a time similar, but her mind was drawing blanks on that end as she tried coming up with ideas. There wasn't much for her to contribute in the form of killing things (Yuna's heart sank at the thought of having to do it), but that didn't make her entirely useless. "Well, whatever it is, I mean, I sure hope we're all fine."