Personification Life: EPIC (IC Thread XI) [CLOSED]

[Fvaarniimar]

Nick thought he might prefer having loved and lost...well, except that he found the thought of losing things which mattered to him terrifying. He wouldn't want to lose his friends - never. Wasn't love supposed to be an even closer relationship? Asking what it was like seemed...rude. But... Um. "How did you end up...well, together? You were together at times before, but..."

[Highfort]

Well, that was certainly interesting.

The manager sitting before them was a very strange-looking man, indeed. Septimus, of course, said nothing and allowed Neste to take the lead. He wasn't sure how exactly to approach the man and the annoyed tone in the manager's voice told the Representative that he'd better be very, very careful with the next words that came out of his mouth if he wanted to live. The makeup certainly wasn't helping anything; the man looked like death had paid him a visit and he'd told death to go fuck off and bother someone else. And Septimus wasn't about to make light of someone who could pull that look off.

Even if he was 2,000 years old, the cyborg was certainly not 2,000 years stupid. Meeting a quirky bastard like that meant one of two things - he either hadn't a clue in the world, or he was the heart and soul of the entire operation. And, judging from the ridiculous drop he and Neste had just been subjected to and the ridiculous riddled doors, Septimus safely ruled out the former.

Apparently, now would not be a good time to ask about the toilet paper. Sentia would just have to make do, and Septimus would have to deal with the undead cat's ire manifesting in ripped furniture and torn articles of clothing.

Coughing to clear his throat, Septimus followed Neste's introduction to the suited man with his own, "Septimus Itum, at your service. I'm the current Representative of the Building's Residents. Neste and I are here to discuss some matters pertaining to the quality of life of the Residents."

He paused to let the words sink in, licking his lips as he chose the next with extreme care, "We appear to have been... transported... by the Building to another dimension and apparently fell in at a bad time. Many civilians outside the Building were injured - as well as our own Residents - by the attack of some nasty creatures and our clinic proved woefully inadequate to deal with the influx of patients."

Satisfied that he had provided an adequate excuse for the upcoming request, Septimus outed it quickly and fell silent to allow the man and his parakeets time to ponder, "We require an expansion to the clinic - for superficial injuries - and a new hospital wing with a surgery to deal with the casualties that will inevitably begin flooding in during the next attack."

[Monfrox]

Brit noted the mess, but didn't dwell on it as she walked in. She took a seat on the sofa, leaning forward and fiddling with her hands as she continued to think. And yet, not matter what she thought, there was only one over-arching principle pushing itself into her mind: Be honest. And so she was. She took her hat off and put it on her knee before putting her hand to her face and breathing a long sigh.

"I...I don't think this is gonna work..." She began, sitting up, smiling weakly, and taking her hand off her face. "I don't think I can keep doing this. I tried, and I failed, and now people are dead because of my mistakes..."

She paused to breathe in, holding back tears and sorrow as she leaned back forward, putting her hands over her eyes. She breathed in again before one went to her knee while the other went to her cheek.

"I mean, I was always a fuck up. I've got a track record of not learning things until I screw it up, and if that's the tone I'm setting for my time here then I might as well just go fuckin' hide in my room and not get in the way when things go down. I mean...I'd like to help, and I want to do my part and show that I can pull my own weight, but I don't think that's going to be possible. God, what was I even thinking? Yeah sure, be a part of the medical team when I can't even stand the sight of my own blood..."

She put her hand over her mouth and tried to stop from crying. She had spilled everything in front of Sandy, and now she waited to see what he would say.

[Northwest Slobovia]

The Building, Apartment 6C

"I mean, I was always a fuck up. I've got a track record of not learning things until I screw it up, and if that's the tone I'm setting for my time here then I might as well just go fuckin' hide in my room and not get in the way when things go down. I mean...I'd like to help, and I want to do my part and show that I can pull my own weight, but I don't think that's going to be possible. God, what was I even thinking? Yeah sure, be a part of the medical team when I can't even stand the sight of my own blood..."

Sandy sat down in one of the chairs opposite Brit. He leaned forward, supporting his head by pinching the bridge of his nose between the fingers of his left hand, a pained expression on his face. I said 'professor' and not 'psychologist', right? She doesn't get it, not one bit.

Sandy sat up straight, making a visible effort to relax as he did so; he'd hoped this would go better. "Yes, you screwed up. We all do from time to time. Welcome to the world. However, that's not why we're having this conversation. Adrastus asked you to be a steadying influence on the rest of us, and lead the healers in crises. Instead, you decided to change clothing and fetch your iPod; what did you think was happening, a parade?" Annoyance flickered across Sandy's face before he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"You can't run off like that again. You'll need to learn to think before you act. I tell a lot of my students that, so don't feel too badly that you didn't do it this time. Our next encounter with the Fiends will probably be worse; there were a lot more of them that didn't reach us. So... next time, you'll have to do better. I'd like you to think about how you're going to do that."

"You still have a place in the healer group, but you're on probation. Stay focused, do your job, and you'll be fine. I already have an assignment for you. It's both necessary and good practice for thinking things out." Sandy paused, trying to judge Brit's reaction. "Any questions? Anything you want to tell me?"

The Burrows

Amanda polished off her eggs, washed them down with coffee, and refilled her mug from the coffee pot, leaving it almost empty. Margaret bustled over to replace it, and Amanda caught her eye. "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions? We'll need to find our way in this world, and we'll need some idea of how to start."

Margaret nodded and sat down, pulling up one of the spare chairs at the table.

"Outside, somebody mentioned the village had lost all of its sheep in the battle. Is that the village's main business, raising sheep for wool, mutton, and milk? I'm sorry if that's the wrong way to think about it. I'm a city girl, and I don't know much about small towns."

Amanda was about to take a sip of her coffee, then remembered the other thing she was going to ask. "Oh! You mentioned a city, Ascalon. How far away is it? How large a city? In fact, anything you can tell us about it would be a great help."

[Fvaarniimar]

He had almost gained them when a small girl nearly trotted into him. The Astartes came to a halt and bowed his knees to set the cabinet down.

"Hey girly, watch out. Might have been squashed," he wiped his forehead with a wrist. "Anyone else coming up with you? Don't want to squash them, either."

The girly shook her head. "No, only me." Another saiborg. They seemed fairly common here. Maybe it was like dark hair or blue eyes - something common to a specific region.

Although she rather wanted a nap, Rmwtyliin would wait at least a few moments for a reply as she believed that walking away suddenly would be impolite.

[Monfrox]

Yes, you screwed up.

Oh yes, she knew that fact well. You don't simply miss that when you fail to stop people from dying right in front of you. This was already setting the tone for the rest of this "talk".

We all do from time to time. Welcome to the world.

That didn't exactly make her feel any better if it was supposed to. She quickly gauged that it wasn't.

However, that's not why we're having this conversation.

Oh, here we go...

Adrastus asked you to be a steadying influence on the rest of us, and lead the healers in crises.

Here it comes...

Instead, you decided to change clothing and fetch your iPod

Wait for it...

what did you think was happening, a parade?

And there it was. The true color of the conversation. Brit's face just suddenly went stone. She reached a neutral expression and stared down at the floor as Sandy went on. He was talking as if that was all she nabbed, when in fact she had thought ahead and grabbed a lot of gear for "just in case things got even more serious". Perhaps he didn't care. He didn't seem to care about her side of the conversation.

You can't run off like that again.

She'd heard that one before.

You'll need to learn to think before you act.

She'd heard that one too.

I tell a lot of my students that

That one, burned inside her. What, so he was treating her as just another one of his students now? Did he think she was that bad that he had to bring that up and lump her in that? This was not helping things.

so don't feel too badly that you didn't do it this time

People died because of her actions. How was she supposed to feel?

Our next encounter with the Fiends will probably be worse; there were a lot more of them that didn't reach us.

That was reassuring.

So... next time, you'll have to do better.

Were it so easy.

I'd like you to think about how you're going to do that.

She had thought about that one ever since they had a break. She couldn't do better. She may have made one mistake, but she had still tried and the end result would've been the same: She was helpless to treat anything out of her league, and there was a lot out of her league.

You still have a place in the healer group

That was highly debatable right now.

but you're on probation

Oh, wonderful. Last thing she wanted was him breathing down her neck and critiquing her on what she hadn't learned to do yet. No, she didn't need that.

Stay focused, do your job, and you'll be fine.

Would she, though? Would she really be fine if she did? She highly doubted that.

I already have an assignment for you. It's both necessary and good practice for thinking things out.

Oh great. This was going to be a real treat. Now she really felt like one of his students. This whole routine was similar to the usual "see me after class" bits she heard about in school. She hoped he wasn't doing this because he pitied her, but she doubted he pitied anyone in his life.

Any questions? Anything you want to tell me?

Brit shifted her eyes to meet his. There were a lot of things she wanted to ask him, and a lot of things she wanted to tell him. Most were not things she'd say openly in good company. Honestly, she felt a bit insulted still, and it bled out in her words as passive-aggressiveness. Not the best tone to take, especially now, but she didn't exactly appreciate Sandy's choice wording at some points.

"Well I told you what was on my mind like you asked so what do you want me to do?"

Brit's mood had changed, but it was probably neither for better nor worse (like it could get any worse). Sandy said he wanted her to tell her what was on her mind, and that he wouldn't yell. While he didn't yell, what he said was still not what she would've expected out of someone who just asked her to tell her what was going on inside her head. There was a lot going on inside her, and a lot of things were definitely not helping her state at the moment. Right now, she would've loved being able to hit the range to blow off some steam if they even had a shooting range. She needed to get a lot off her mind and out of her system.

What Sandy wanted her to do would allow her to decide whether or not she would stay in the group or not. If he wasn't going to at least try to take her seriously instead of jumping on her case, then she wasn't going to take that, nor should she have to.

[Swith Witherward]

DINING ROOM

Let's pull this together, shall we? Of course. It makes it much easier. Chrys and Tasia's arrival brought more minds to the table. Adrastus, Romulus, Thaddeus (any other yutzes?), Mezran, Tavana, Nila, Bran, Superbia, Varona, Kelly, and Monfrox had huddled to share information, and to listen to what Jalo had to say.

The centaur scratched his ear as he considered the questions asked. Finally, he ventured to answer just as Nila was about to ask more about the MaCca-Bees.

"The Burrows has been able to hold the Fiends off by hiding indoors," he said as he poured some tea into his cup. "They don't seem interested in breaking into sealed buildings. I presume the ones in the field fell in due to their weight. The buildings in our village are field stone and well built rather than the wood and thatch cottages used by our herders. As for their appearance? We didn't know about them until recently. In fact, they didn't make themselves known until this past spring. We've looked, but we've never been able to determine where they come from. It's ... frustrating."

His tongue savored the bite of strong black tea as he combed his memory. Worries and doubts niggled at him. "The Fiends have never appeared in such large numbers before. I don't think this has anything to do with your arrival. The attack was already under way by time we noticed the ruins were no longer ruins. And they've never attacked so close to dawn before. This represents a major change in their attacks."

His ears flicked. Others had asked questions, and he could at least give them answers. "Ascalon is a long walk from here. I saw your trucks outside. You can easily reach it in an hour or so. The main road from the village will take you directly there. It's not paved until you reach the bridge that crosses the bay. Now, I can't say much about it. I don't go often. Given my size, it's hard to find anything I can ride in. But our huntsmen buy their firearms there, and that's where they pick up their ammo."

His cup returned to its saucer. "Pardon me for saying this," he politely addressed Romulus, "But we don't have a man to spare. Our bread and butter is our industry. We've lost the sheep, except for the few kept in the market pens close to the village. We lost the sheep, we lost their wool. Without the wool, our spinners have nothing to spin. With nothing to spin, our weavers have nothing to weave. We have very little to bring to market, and nothing to work with this winter. Every available man will either be out on a quest to acquire new sheep, or else moving stone to rebuild the old churchyard storehouse. They'll need to be kept there during Fiend attacks, if we can locate new sheep at all."

Now those ears flicked in ire. "If we were capable of defending ourselves, we would have done so, sir. We wouldn't have sent all those envoys to Ascalon to beg for assistance. By our tally, nearly one hundred villagers died last night, some to the Fiends and some to the grass and fire. What, pray tell, would you have us do? Put aside our only chance of surviving the winter just to play guard for your lot? All you need do is shutter your doors and windows. This structure we're in seems perfectly capable of withstanding their mass."



TEEN CLUB

Time had passed, and Marcus was feeling rather guilty for not going with the lizard and representative. He kept an ear on the conversation, however, and was was as surprised as Giovenith when Drova stated that he was seeing Torii. The girl had never mentioned it to him, so it must be a recent development.

Likewise, Myra was a bit perplexed. It was only a few short hours ago that Torii was trying to sort her thoughts, and had decided that a relationship wasn't the right thing right now. She'd focus on her stuff instead. Of course, a few hours ago none of them realized both sisters would have to leave. Maybe Torii had asked him to be her boyfriend after the announcement? That was possible.

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, perching her chin on top. This was in interesting development indeed. She waited for Drova to answer Nick.

Marcus stopped strumming the guitar. He'd always thought of Drova as a spoiled crybaby, or else a pompous ass - not being privy to private conversations that would have convinced him otherwise, he held his verdict in check and simply assumed Drova to be annoying. He felt his ire building now. What did he mean by "I almost feel like I'd rather have said no to her"? What the fuck was that? What. The. Fuck. Was. That? He'd rather reject the girl than suffer any sorrow. Selfish prick.

You know what? Fuck that shit.

Marcus put down the guitar and did what any sensible guy would do upon finding out his best tomboy friend was just some object to a stupid guy. His organic hand balled into a fist as he crossed the room.

"You fucking selfish bastard. Fuck you for fucking with her emotions," came the low growl. The punch that followed was backed by muscles honed from years of sweating over the forge and moving quickly to avoid molten splash, and he slammed the fist forward with every intention of popping the sweet prince in his sour face.

Myra squealed and slapped her hands to her mouth as she watched the usually-passive teen lose his cool.



HALLS

"Alright then," Deuce nodded to the girl on the stairs before happily changing course to join Insidious at the elevators. The car would easily accommodate the weight; it was designed to hold the largest of Residents. The Astartes breathed a relieved sigh.

"Don't think I caught your name," he set the cabinet down next to Insidious. "Can't be calling you 'girly' all the time, though that's how we refer to the fairer gender back home. I'm Dexter. Most everyone calls me Deuce."


THE PONY AND THE DAEMON... AND CATRAIN ARKAY

Professor Plum. It was true. It always seemed to be him. Rache chuckled as he opened the door for Willow.

They had just stepped foot into the lobby when Volker sounded the alarm. No, nothing fierce was attacking. The tunnel to the chandelier was obviously blocked. The fixture swung violently, then shuddered, and finally grew still.

"Hans! Hans, would you mind?"

Rache signed. Of course he minded. He always did. Hans wouldn't, however, and so he gestured towards the desk with a sharp tick of his head to indicate that they had a minor stop before seeking Klaus. The Daemon's host swept the coffee cup off the desk, then spoke loudly enough to the front desk cultist to be heard by the idiots inside the chandelier.

"See this? It's a gate. Repeat it."

Volker blinked at the cup. "It's a gate."

"Good, now you better duck, because if you don't, whoever needs to come through is going to slam into you." Rache's lips twisted into a fiendish smile as he handed the cup to the cultist. "And it's going to hurt. Very, very badly."

And since Volker suddenly found himself wondering just how badly it could hurt... it became so. The cup in his arms shuddered, and a second later a body flew out of it, smacking him squarely in the face. The pair tumbled backwards, and Volker's back painfully slammed into the desk, knocking the wind from his lungs with a mighty OOF! Both cultist and newcomer slowly slid down the desk's front, and then crumpled onto the floor.

"My kidneys," the former Nazi wheezed, tears forming in his eyes as he clutched at his back.

The new Resident didn't seem too badly off. In fact, he wouldn't have felt a thing, being fast asleep during his journey here. He also wasn't terribly large. Rache regarded him, taking note of his goggles and slumbering snores. The Daemon's host nudged him with a boot tip to break the spell. Poor Catrain would awaken to find himself in a place far from home, and a place that was a thousand times more strange than his weirdest dreams.

"Right, all yours. Make sure he signs the lease," Rache quipped as Volker extracted himself from under Catrain.

"Shall we?" Rache gestured towards the stairs.



THE COTTAGE

The old wizard's bushy eyebrows raised as he regarded Aegis and Kwa'a. Oh ho! So these weren't some silly beggars come to call. Well, good. Very good. Old Sam wasn't fond of annoying people. But they were Gatejumpers, and those were usually annoying in their own special way.

"That's very neighborly of you," he replied. "But you needn't babble at me in other languages. Most of them are useless in these parts. We speak the God's English here, thank you very much."

The girl held out a bouquet of flowers picked from his own field. Well, it was the though that counted, right? He accepted the flowers and nibbled at the petals as he puzzled out her question. "It's... a staff. Haven't you ever seen a wizard before, girl?"



THE ROOF... WITH KLAUS, PONY AND DAEMON

Klaus tucked a blanket around the two slumbering girls occupying a rooftop bathtub. They looked like children on Christmas Eve, so passive were their sweet faces. He leaned forward to gently kiss Katya's forehead.

"Thank you," he murmured as he smoothed her hair. "Thank you for the gift of life. Thank you for Nash."

His hands gripped the tub's rounded porcelain edge. The moment had come yet he was loathe to let them leave. They were the vibrant flowers in his field, always meddling in things. Though they were both outside his pantheon, he'd come to treasure their hearts. "Always fight for what you believe. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. You have proven that love tenfold while with us. Go then, and conduct your business. I'll know when it's time for you to return, and I'll be there to collect you and bring you home to us."

With a heavy heart, he pushed the tub away. The shower curtain caught the breeze and billowed outwards, and Katya and Torii's craft sailed away. Demens was in control now, and he would see to it that they reached a Gateway. Klaus' eyes followed their progress until the clouds swallowed them up. His senses told him that they had vanished, tub and all. The avatar pressed a hand to his eyes. It didn't matter what he represented; he was entitled to shed a tear or two of his own.

Rache had bid Willow to remain quiet as the tub departed. He understood that Klaus wouldn't be ashamed, and he respected the avatar's private moment. Several heartbeats passed. Klaus tugged his uniform jacket to smooth the wrinkles, and Rache guessed he was about to vanish. He coughed.

"Herr Klaus," the Daemon drew himself up to stand at attention. "Willow and I have come on the advice of Chi. We're seeking answers."

Klaus turned. His eyes settled on the Pony. Such a sweet creature; his was a world filled with goodness and friendship. The notion made the avatar smile. "Of course. I always have time to speak with Mr. Willow."

The rooftop patio and its furniture sat nearby. Klaus gestured towards it, and then pulled a low bench for Willow to sit upon.


MANAGERQUEST

"Ja, oui," the Manager snorted through his long nose. "What else would you be here for? Come and sit."

He plucked two birds from his desk and slapped them towards the floor. They struck and squawked a painful TWEET! before blossoming into cozy chairs. Unperturbed over their fate, or Neste's recoil, the Manager reclaimed his own leather chair.

"Do you see all these memos," he groused in his odd accent. "Do you think I don't know about the relocation? I'm not a happy being. In fact, I'm damn unhappy. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I have to fill out now? Insurance claims, mostly. Damn that plant girl and Hans. If I had a nickle for every stupid, fucked up thing Residents did, we'd have better toilet paper. Now you're asking for a new hospital wing? Do you have any idea how much paperwork that will be?"

His elbows pressed against the desk and he folded his hands to hammock his chin. "But I suppose it's necessary, no? I'd rather face malpractice bullshit than fill out death certificates. What are you still standing there for? Come and sit, and grab a blue bird and have some coffee. Unless you prefer tea? Grab a yellow bird, then, I don't care. And then tell me what you have in mind for these clinics and wings. What? How big? Where do you want them?"

Neste's ears quivered. Grab a bird? She cast a hopeful glance at Septimus before placidly coming forward to claim one of the chairs. Her hands latched on to a yellow parakeet. It pecked at her fingers, its heart rapidly beating inside its chest - and then the bird exploded, bathing her in feathers. A fine china cup had replaced its body, and the aroma of exotic tea wafted up to tickle her nose. She winced and shook the last vestiges of the bird's pain from her senses.

It wasn't her place to define anything. She'd wait for Septimus to speak.

[Zarkanians]

THE PONY AND THE DAEMON... AND CATRAIN ARKAY

Professor Plum. It was true. It always seemed to be him. Rache chuckled as he opened the door for Willow.

They had just stepped foot into the lobby when Volker sounded the alarm. No, nothing fierce was attacking. The tunnel to the chandelier was obviously blocked. The fixture swung violently, then shuddered, and finally grew still.

"Hans! Hans, would you mind?"

Rache signed. Of course he minded. He always did. Hans wouldn't, however, and so he gestured towards the desk with a sharp tick of his head to indicate that they had a minor stop before seeking Klaus. The Daemon's host swept the coffee cup off the desk, then spoke loudly enough to the front desk cultist to be heard by the idiots inside the chandelier.

"See this? It's a gate. Repeat it."

Volker blinked at the cup. "It's a gate."

"Good, now you better duck, because if you don't, whoever needs to come through is going to slam into you." Rache's lips twisted into a fiendish smile as he handed the cup to the cultist. "And it's going to hurt. Very, very badly."

And since Volker suddenly found himself wondering just how badly it could hurt... it became so. The cup in his arms shuddered, and a second later a body flew out of it, smacking him squarely in the face. The pair tumbled backwards, and Volker's back painfully slammed into the desk, knocking the wind from his lungs with a mighty OOF! Both cultist and newcomer slowly slid down the desk's front, and then crumpled onto the floor.

"My kidneys," the former Nazi wheezed, tears forming in his eyes as he clutched at his back.

The new Resident didn't seem too badly off. In fact, he wouldn't have felt a thing, being fast asleep during his journey here. He also wasn't terribly large. Rache regarded him, taking note of his goggles and slumbering snores. The Daemon's host nudged him with a boot tip to break the spell. Poor Catrain would awaken to find himself in a place far from home, and a place that was a thousand times more strange than his weirdest dreams.

"Right, all yours. Make sure he signs the lease," Rache quipped as Volker extracted himself from under Catrain.

"Shall we?" Rache gestured towards the stairs.

Cat had been expecting the sudden fade to total darkness. That was how he had pictured death. He'd wondered if he'd have time to sense the round that killed him, somehow--gravitic weapons didn't make any sound until after their payload had been delivered, but maybe he'd have time to feel a minute shift in air pressure, or eyes on the back of his head, or something like that. They never told you when they were going to kill you--you knew when it was going to happen, if you had an ounce of sense, and the general consensus was that being told didn't make it easier to deal with. Better to go without actually seeing the gun.

A few moments later, the lights turned back on. His eyes--they'd been unprotected, since he'd been in an unlit office, and it was considered rude to wear your goggles while speaking when the environment didn't demand it--were flooded with it; it cut into his head and laid him out, upside down, against the Politician's desk. He felt himself screaming and reaching desperately for his goggles. They were where he'd left them, around his neck, so with his eyes squeezed tightly shut (still felt like they were burning up) and his free arm held over top of them (not nearly enough; it flooded in from all around him), he lifted them into place. They were already polarized, and as he pulled them over he was engulfed in cooling, healing, reassuring darkness. It took him several seconds to feel safe enough to open his eyes again.

What the Hell?

He was sitting (upside down, as he'd noticed, though it felt less like he'd fallen and more like he'd been thrown) against a desk (again, partial credit; it was a desk, but the Politician's had been much smaller--an office desk, not something you'd stick in a lobby) in a brightly lit (ow ow ow ow ow) room entirely different from the one he'd just left. The Politician had kept their room undecorated, for the most part--there was a small, framed picture of a Vertrian anomaly on their desk, but that was it. This room was done up like a parade hall's lobby. Banners of soft, dark blue fabric hung from the walls, and the walls were as dark as the sky. Another thing about the desk--it was ebony, not the veneered fibreboard the Politician had been using. It felt nice. And the light fixtures were exactly what he expected them to be--ugly, soul-scratching brass, surrounded by bunches of frayed wires that ran into jagged holes in the wall. Why were they there? Was he being tortured in a repurposed lobby, for some indescribable reason? Or was this Hell? There was a man next to him--okay, yep, this was Hell; this man was very clearly not Zarkanian, and there was no way he could have gotten through the crack in the sky on his own.

He sat up, hissing his head's outrage at the sudden movement. Summoning all the politeness he could muster, and drowning the pain in the corner of his head where he stored recipes for Outsider meals, he began to speak.
"Excuse me, sir. Is this Hell? If this is Hell, I have a message." He paused. "If this isn't Hell, I also have a message. And a question. The question first: what's with the lighting? And how did I get here?" Oops. Shut up. Go backwards. "But if it is--Hell, I mean--then I understand; I'm surprised you let me keep my goggles, honestly. Thanks for that. That was polite of you." He didn't sound sarcastic--just polite, cautious and curious. He seemed, outwardly at least, to have recovered from his fit.

Anyone who was looking would see a very short young man wearing thick, black goggles, and dressed mostly in black. His pants and shirt were black, his gloves were black, and his jacket was a very dark shade of blue. He had an earpiece in his ear, but as it was feeding him nothing but white noise, he shoved it into his pocket--it used something non-traditional to pick up signals, and since the Tertians were the only ones he knew of who used it, he didn't expect it to be useful any time soon, wherever he was. His skin was very pale--like he'd never seen the sun, or any star, for that matter--and his hair was short, oily, messy, and black.

[Fvaarniimar]

Girl?  Kwa'a was fairly certain that the term referred to female children.  It might be appropriate for Rmwtyliin.  It seemed rather rude for a stranger of Kwa'a's apparent age, never mind -

Her forehead creased.  So...either the 'wise, powerful' man was not frighteningly knowledgeable, or he knew and really had a...lot of guts.  If the former, it was reassuring.  (Of course there was the possibility that he did know and had said it to lull her into a false sense of security, and myriad other possibilities besides, but pondering those would take far too long to be practical.)

If the latter, here was someone who perhaps could accept Kwa'a as she was. Perhaps even someone older! Or perhaps he was not an entity on or above her level - if so such courage certainly merited her respect.  The term would pass unchallenged.

He called her a girl, and...himself a wizard?  "Aegis said you wise."  The concept of a wizard did exist in Borksmiclen - most concepts had at some point - but not in identical form.  Staves were associated with the old, and occasionally with strength or fighting.  Unsurprisingly, the English term had been a smidge too esoteric for Kwa'a to have learnt it previously.

---

Nick winced.

---

Rmwtyliin continued upstairs, arriving fairly quickly at 9A where she collapsed into bed to - barring anything particularly jarring - sleep for several hours.

[Giovenith]

Naturally, Willow had quite a bit of issue processing and accepting the crazed things happening around Rache and him as they sought after Klaus, from the violent arrival of the new resident to the scene on the roof when they finally found the Chaos avatar. Needless to say, Willow had absolutely zero idea what the hell was going on. He slightly recognized Torii as one of Gioventih's friends, though why she and another woman were in a bathtub on the roof was beyond him, and it was clear from the atmosphere that he wouldn't be allowed to question this at all. His ears flicked and he frowned in horrible confusion as the tub flew away into the figurative sunset, sent on it's way by emotional yet context-less words on the part of Klaus. The whole thing was very clearly solemn and deep, a heartfelt good-bye, yet the sheer off-put from the random wackiness of a flying tub of all things...

Oh god.

Oh god.

There was a word for this.

Bathos.

He was so fucking done.

Oh no you're not, Willow reprimanded himself with a defeated sigh. His attention peaked up again once Rache respectfully addressed Klaus. Feeling apprehensive, he took a few steps forward, looked back at the daemonhost, and then made his way over to sit on the offered bench.

"Thank you," the pony said, looking out once more after the bathtub's sky path with a questioning look before getting straight to business. "It's important, I promise. After the townspeople left, Hans and I..." He remembered to not spill the beans about the host's condition. "... decided to take it upon ourselves to tidy up the library where they were staying, and we came across this book." The pony whipped to the page with the poem and held it out to see. "We talked to Chi a little about it, I wanted to know what it was all about because it both talked about Giovenith, and Demens wanting us to participate in a fight against the Devourers. Giovenith is my close friend, so of course I want to make sure she's safe, and of course I want to be able to know how to go about dealing with whatever plans Demens might have for us. Chi told us that you may know of a longer, full version of the poem, and would probably have more to tell."

Finishing that fast recap, Willow let out a quick whew, set the book down on the bench to keep the poem open, then pulled his forelegs close to himself somewhat protectively and held his breath, unsure what to expect of Klaus' reaction.

[The BranRiech]

TEEN CLUB

Time had passed, and Marcus was feeling rather guilty for not going with the lizard and representative. He kept an ear on the conversation, however, and was was as surprised as Giovenith when Drova stated that he was seeing Torii. The girl had never mentioned it to him, so it must be a recent development.

Likewise, Myra was a bit perplexed. It was only a few short hours ago that Torii was trying to sort her thoughts, and had decided that a relationship wasn't the right thing right now. She'd focus on her stuff instead. Of course, a few hours ago none of them realized both sisters would have to leave. Maybe Torii had asked him to be her boyfriend after the announcement? That was possible.

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, perching her chin on top. This was in interesting development indeed. She waited for Drova to answer Nick.

Marcus stopped strumming the guitar. He'd always thought of Drova as a spoiled crybaby, or else a pompous ass - not being privy to private conversations that would have convinced him otherwise, he held his verdict in check and simply assumed Drova to be annoying. He felt his ire building now. What did he mean by "I almost feel like I'd rather have said no to her"? What the fuck was that? What. The. Fuck. Was. That? He'd rather reject the girl than suffer any sorrow. Selfish prick.

You know what? Fuck that shit.

Marcus put down the guitar and did what any sensible guy would do upon finding out his best tomboy friend was just some object to a stupid guy. His organic hand balled into a fist as he crossed the room.

"You fucking selfish bastard. Fuck you for fucking with her emotions," came the low growl. The punch that followed was backed by muscles honed from years of sweating over the forge and moving quickly to avoid molten splash, and he slammed the fist forward with every intention of popping the sweet prince in his sour face.

Myra squealed and slapped her hands to her mouth as she watched the usually-passive teen lose his cool.

Drova tracked Marcus from the very beginning of him getting up from his seated position, ears picking up the very moment the guitar's music halted, the notes ceasing to flow through the air. On the verge of tears already, it was an interesting sight to see as Drova's face twisted into confusion. "I-I just meant . . ." He stopped, eyes narrowing in on the clenched fist as it began swinging towards his face. A deliberate hit to his face had the very real possibility of maiming him for life, with a Pyersai's bones being lighter than a Human's.

"Agh!"

With one leg still rested on the other, he swung into action, the foot on the floor kicking against the lower wall of the couch. His hands desperately clutched at the cushions, pushing him down and out onto the floor, well out of the way of the incoming punch.

Wings facing the sky, his feathers rustled.

"What the fuck!?" He cried out, his own ears ringing with the words. Still a little dazed, the Prince rolled over onto his back, making sure his wings didn't get caught and bent, as he jumped to his feet. "I-I didn't mean it like that, you piece of shit." He backed a few feet away from Marcus before uttering those words.

[Primordial Luxa]

Burrows
Primordial listened with much intensity to Amanda and Margret talk about far off locations while he ate and ordered more food. He had nothing major to add and was frankly becoming quite exhausted as his mind processed a wealth of new information he was absorbing from his surroundings. His enhanced senses and cognitive capabilities allowed him to pick up a wealth of information form a very cursory scan of his surroundings so he spent the time listen with one ear to their conversation and another trying to better analysis the accents of a nearby pair of villagers. He was watching the different body language of the creatures and trying to detect other sorts of mannerisms.

Halls
“Insidious” she said giving the elevator a short quizzical expression of surprise at how it could support such a massive amount of weight before turning back to the Noise Marine. “A pleasure to meet you Dexter, I’ve seen you around but it’s nice to finally get to know you. Did you join us for our most recent fight?” She pressed a button in the elevator after helping Deuce slide the cabinet into the life.

Cottage
Aegis nodded being slightly relieved that everyone around her may speak a common language but also disappointed since that most likely meant that creatures he would refer to talk with like the hissing serpent men or the piping yithians would most likely not be here or perhaps very scarce.

“I would like to say that our visit was entirely neighborly but the fact of the matter is that we are very lost and unfamiliar with this alien surroundings. I came here because I figured that a man versed in the arcane might give us the clearest picture of the surroundings and perhaps someone like mind for me and my kin to talk with.”

[Giovenith]

Quicker than could be spotted, a flittering substance flew out and simultaneously wrapped around both Drova and Marcus' wrists, tightening and dragging them both respectively across floor and through air to opposite sides of the room, holding them there for a second.

"That's not the appropriate way to do this!" Giovenith chastised harshly, one hand on Myra's head comfortingly. "Torii would hate this, and you both know it."

The paper she had around their wrists brittled and crumbled, leaving them unharmed. She couldn't control what they said, or if they went at it again, she could only prevent someone breaking a thing or two.

[Chedastan]

"The key to a General's success is his willingness to do what is necessary in his own eyes. Whether that be serving his Wilhelm, serving Wilhelm's creed, serving Maccabees and the whole pantheon, or even just himself. It doesn't matter, as in the end, it all ends up revolving around Wilhelm. As his own continued survival meant that he was still serving Wilhelm through and through. No matter what sacrifices he has to made, no matter the losses of his men, and even himself. He was still serving the Will of Wilhelm. No horrors shall ever tarnish that Will, for it is embedded in his mind and soul. And as a farmer will do with old crop, burn to grow anew." -General Pompey Brando, of Wilhelm XXVII.

The old General's quote reminisced through Romulus' mind as he listened to Jalo, having been read by him so many times at the Academy. It acted as comfort fuel to his thoughts of what he felt they had to do within the next ten days. He wasn't exactly too thrilled to hear what Jalo had to say about the village situation, to say the least. Too many times has he seen semi-cooperative places get completely devastated by not heeding anything the Wilhelm Imperium wanted them to do. These were typically outside places that were often too small-minded to fully understand the concept of total sacrifice for a Will, they never get in time that survival far out weigh any losses received, and they needed to give in fully before it was too late. The General hoped that wasn't going to be the case for the village people, their survival was going to depend greatly on their cooperation, he can sense it as he did with so many villages, towns, cities before them. But he doubted they'll like to hear any of it, but he felt they were going to need to if any of them wanted to live afterwards. Sacrifices are sadly inevitable.

"Trust me, it wouldn't be playing guard if it means you get to live afterwards. Lost sheep are going to be the least of your worries when those things change their behavior to realize they can smash down any obstructions in their path with seer weight and numbers, your village for instance. While we're not sure of the extent the Fiends are capable of, we should not rule out possibilities of anything else foul that put itself in the mix. But as far as I know, this Crisis threatens your people the most, given how more vulnerable you all are, as you pointed out. Which is why you gotta get everyone back home to defend your entire existence. You must think short-term first to get anywhere long-term, and heavy losses from a defense and a counter assault could alleviate possible famine, and prove to be your survival in the long-run. It's not an attractive option, but you should've known either way that people were doomed to die anyway in the coming events."

He addressed Jalo with the morbid suggestion, with a serious look to himself. He didn't want to have to be the man to say that stuff to someone who might not listen at all, and he had a good feeling already of that. But he felt deep down they had to be said. The fact that he didn't even have an real obligation to do any of this, and in fact he could be trying to get home right now, could arguably say a lot. But he knew he had to say something else before the crowd gives him some inevitable dirty looks.

"Listen, in my 17 years of armed service to the Wilhelm Imperium, I've seen so much horrible shit. But the most damning comes from those that didn't realize how bad it was until it was too late. So even if the Fiends don't tear down the village, then what? You all live like that's normal? Well normal until they slaughter you again because you gotten too used to it. If you want to think longevity, those things have to be destroyed at all costs. Because if you don't, any next time they should up, could be the last if they destroy enough..." He paused for a moment, thinking up of alternatives, remembering the city mentioned. And then he remembered General Pompey Brando again.

"So besides what could happen if you don't do that. The survivors can remain in the building as the Fiends are lured away from the area, but they need something to attract them no doubt... The city! Now if we can divert them to the city, they would either have the firepower to wipe them out, given how they don't seem to be much of a problem for them, from what I'm hearing. Or, we end up causing a massive war of sorts, and the city may be wrecked in the aftermath." He finished finally, he knew either could be disastrous for different reasons, but he gave his thoughts at least. He needed more tea no doubt.

[Highfort]

Septimus cleared his throat as he observed the Manager pluck two unfortunate parakeets from his desk and threw them against the floor, chairs appearing in their place. While they did look comfortable, the cyborg's reaction was mostly dominated by confusion and mild nausea at seeing hapless avian creatures blown up into cozy chairs. Licking his lips nervously as he eyed the colored birds that the make-up man was offering, Septimus shrugged. He supposed that there were worse fates for birds, and his nausea dispersed as he inhaled the sweet aroma of exotic tea.

Plucking a yellow parakeet in turn, he found his index finger gripping the handle of fine china and the warmth of freshly-brewed tea seeped into his skin. The Representative took his due seat next to Neste in the other cozy chair and sipped his tea, letting silence settle for a moment before he reached out to Neste's mind. They had to appear like a team - either one alone wouldn't present the most compelling case toward the Manager.

"Neste, can you address that we need a surgery inside the hospital and more hospital supplies on the first floor? You know firsthand how bad those fiends were, maybe your testimony will get us a little extra? I don't want to get on his bad side."

As he waited for her to interject and offer her opinion, Septimus continued to sip his tea and tapped his foot nervously. Something about the manager was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. A lot of things were off and inexplicable, of course, but that was just the Building and its eccentric nature. The Manager himself had an... aura to him, one of whimsy with a darker edge lying just beneath. The cyborg wasn't so sure he wanted to scratch beneath the friendly veneer of the suited man.

[Northwest Slobovia]

The Burrows
Amanda listened closely to Margaret's description, the gravity of the village's situation becoming clearer to her. "I hadn't realized that the entire village depended on the sheep for income. Your generosity in the face of that loss is incredible! I feel I should return the favor that by helping you get more sheep, but I gather that the sheep aren't the easiest to come by. They're not sold at a market, or something like that? Are they caught in the wild?" Amanda made a helpless gesture; she really didn't know anything about sheep.

Amanda was surprised that Margaret didn't know much about the nearest city, but she'd heard that people who lived all their lives in small towns were sometimes very insular. "I'll ask the hunters about Ascalon. I'd expect those who sell your woolens in Ascalon are familiar with the city as well. If any of those people are here, I'd like to meet them... when it's convenient, of course. Perhaps after breakfast would work."

The Building

"Well I told you what was on my mind like you asked so what do you want me to do?"

Sandy shook his head, disappointed. "A sullen near silence is not going to work here. We're going to need to communicate if we're going to work together. I rather doubt that that's all that's on your mind: I saw you freeze when I mentioned you left to change clothes. I think I hit a nerve there. Are you going to explain why you did that? Are you going to defend your actions?"

[Monfrox]

"What is there to talk about? What happened happened. I can't go back in time and change it, I can only change how I act from now on. You've got something for me? Let's hear it. There isn't any real reason to dwell on past mistakes except to learn from them. I've learned, though that has yet to be proven to you and the others."

Brit sat there, still stone-faced, but holding a lot back. She didn't want to blow up in front of Sandy. He didn't need that. She didn't need that either. She would do like her therapist back home said she could do, and use all that pent up darkness as fuel for her future endeavor. Sandy's frustration and anger caused animosity in her, and instead of cussing him out, she'd buckle down and do her job like she'd done when she was a dishwasher. She wasn't surprised to realize that when she did that, she worked more efficiently. Well...as efficient as hand-washing dishes could get.

[Cerillium]

LOBBY

"My kidneys are in hell," Volker wheezed back words studded by his Berliner accent. "But this not hell. It's - well, I don't know where it is."

He rose and offered his hand to Cat. "Up you get. And you are not dead. You've come because you've come, and you've arrived because you arrived. Now you need to sign the lease. If you don't, you can sleep in the lobby for a night or two, but then I'll turn you out as a vagrant."

Volker's voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't have time to check the list to see what your name is."


Dr. Smith would hear Residents' voices echoing down the stairs. The lobby itself was fairly empty and the front desk cultist had his hands full.


WOODS

"Some say I'm a wise ass. Others say I'm a jackass," the wizard leaned upon his staff and reflected upon all the nice labels villagers had for him. "I'm not heartless, just preoccupied. I'm old. I'm Sam. They call me Old Sam. Come inside."

He stepped back to allow them passage, but extended a gnarled finger to point at their feet. "Leave one shoe outside. That's the rule. Bring both in, and you remain forever. That's the spell." It was an odd request but, should they comply, they would find themselves entering a remarkably comfortable room.

Old Sam wasted no time in seeing to his guests' needs. From the pantry came some hard cheese and a few apples, and three ale bottles floated themselves up the cellar stairs to alight upon the scrubbed wooden table. The wizard made quick work of the scrolls cluttering its surface, plucking them up with one swift swoop to sacrifice them to the kitchen hearth's flames. His knees snapped and crackled as he settled into the chair closest the fire. Up went his legs, and a nimble footstool galloped from the corner to accommodate him. (He, too, was wearing only one boot. The point curled up from the toes in order to house a tiny bell at its very tip.)

"Alright, here we are. Comfy?" A sharp snap of his fingers frightened the caps from the bottles. "Now I should warn you. Everything here is arcane. You. Me. The village. This region. It's a fantastical place filled with beauty and danger, and plagued by unicorns. Nuisance beasts. But we'll play the Question Game. I'll go first. What are your names and from whence do you hail?"

Aegis, being a man acquainted with the dark and strange, might chance to notice details tucked into the nooks and crannies. Most of these visual treats were things only his mask allowed him to sample. None of them were nearly as important as the small creature partially concealed behind a rusty kettle high atop a shelf. The being was unmistakably an imp. Hollow eye sockets seemed to cast its expression into one of worry. Aegis, if he remembered some of his arcane lore, would realize the imp was only deadly when the eyes returned to their place. As for where the eyes were currently? They were surly somewhere, and watching both guests most closely.


ROOF

Sunlight glistened off ink as the soft breeze toyed with the exposed page. Klaus didn't need to examine the words. He'd done so plenty of times already, each time for sake of the godling and her fellow Residents. The book went ignored once he claimed a seat for himself.

His fingers intertwined to offer a platform for his thumbs, and he twiddled these while prodding his memory. Where to begin? Better to begin with the end than to jump into a false start, no? "We left Bielefeld on the heels of adversity. Or perhaps we left it to its own demise? I don't know. I don't even know where we are, but I can tell you that this dimension - wherever it is - is unlike any other I've ever encountered. There's a church in the village, and the symbol crowning its steeple belongs to our illustriously temperamental landlord."

The thumbs came to a rest. "Michel de Nostredame had his quatrains. Your poem's author was fond of epic works. Both men were contemporaries, each regarded as a prophet. The difference between is that your poem's author didn't occlude everything. Not as far as I can tell. So, the beginning--"

The beginning?

"The poem started with a direct reference to events that, at the time I stumbled upon it, hadn't yet unfolded. I was there for the Drone War. Bielefeld was yet to be fashioned. So, understandably, the first few lines confused me. By now, all the others who had fought at Bielefeld— At least those who had survived the Drones and and other horrid things— Were safely rested after the fall of the proposition." His eyes twinkled as he added, "I'm assuming this "proposition" refers to Ballot Issue 13."

The chair creaked as he pressed his back against it and briefly lapsed into thought. Klaus didn't have all the answers, nor would he ever, or so he believed. Not even Fritz kept track of everything the universe held. He sighed.

"The poem said that Demens was still upset, even after the measure failed. The more time that passed, the angrier he became. Well, perhaps not angry. Snarky. Yes, that's a good word. Demens was snarky. So he went home and groused. Mostly he groused about apathy. A passage in the poem states, Even though Residents retained within were not pitiable, except that select few that lacked ambition and thus remained a challenge to his temperance. So, off he went to see what the other Greater Beings were doing, and he found them sitting on their mystical asses. All of them were bitching about gods and mortals. That part concerns Giovenith. She is a godling on the cusp of godhood yet she dwells with, and loves most, the mortals she calls her friends. Ouranos, if I recall the poem right, was bitching that gods allow mortals to control them."

The avatar's chin lifted to observe a tiny cloud creeping across the sky. Mortals and gods, and gods and mortals. "Most gods do nothing," he broke the brief silence. "Demens pointed that out to the Greater Beings. Their children - gods they fashioned to tend the mortals - had gone away. Some gave up. Some caved in. Even Zeus and Hera refused to take part in anything. So everything falls upon the mortals, I suppose. Demens remained adamant in this. The Greater Beings gathered there were out of touch with reality. Of course, where they dwell, reality is subjective. So he told them to shut up because they really shouldn't bitch about things they couldn't care less about. He told them that the era of the gods had come and gone, by the gods' own stupidity. Man had turned his back on the gods. And we, fresh from our near escape with Issue 13, were proof that man no longer tolerated the supernatural."

Klaus peered at Willow through half lidded eyes. "Tell me something, Mr. Willow. If you wanted to devour the universe, wouldn't it be prudent to strip away your opposition first? This is what has been happening all over. I've come to the conclusion that Demens gathers Residents, but not to make them into warriors. He gathers us to save us from the mundanes that would believe the Devourers' sinister agents. He gathers us because the day will come when humanity will see the Enemy and quake. At that moment, his bravery will falter. At that moment, he will need to believe that Ponies can fly, and that Daemons really do possess hosts. We are perhaps to be a beckon. But we have so much apathy in our midst that we, too, will falter."


DINING ROOM

Jalo's ears laid back in annoyance. Who was this General Romulus to tell him what his village should and shouldn't do? Here sat a Gatejumper with all the answers to questions that weren't even important. The centaur snorted in disgust.

"Now see here," he rose to stamp a front hoof. "I think we know a tad more about the Fiends than you do. We've endured them longer. We are quite safe provided we remain inside. Our existence isn't yet compromised."

The centaur's hoof tamped again as contempt threatened to blanket his good senses. "You say that, either way, people were doomed to die anyway in the coming events. You, sir, might be doomed to die. We, sir, are not. You say that the survivors can remain in the building as the Fiends are lured away from the area? You mean, the non-combatants can remain in the Building, as we did a little while ago, while those with weapons and experience drive off the Fiends? Yes, that could work. Be our guest. Find a way to drive them away. They've never been seen near the city, but perhaps you might persuade them? Herding them like that would require the ability to outrun them, which will take vehicles. Lots of vehicles, given the River of Fiends. The vehicles will have to be armored to survive the Fiends, since they will try to attack the vehicles." His tail swished. "Perhaps the general can pull an armored division from his ass? I surely can't. We have three vehicles total in our village, and the blacksmith would be loathe to part with them. And when the city comes knocking with all their might to take our hides for setting monsters upon them, you can be the first to step forward and claim the action."


BURROWS

Most villagers had lived in the Burrows several generations. Some species, such as Centaurs, retained their horsey body language. Yet all shared a common tongue, leaving Primordial little to work with. Their ears had perked up at the mention of gathering more sheep, however, and they now paid keen attention to what the Gatejumpers had to say.

A young lad, perhaps no older than twelve, separated himself from his peers and edged forward until he was close to the Gatejumpers' table. "We lost nearly all," he replied. "My family lost all of ours. We've raised them for generations. I- I could take you to where they run wild. My father showed me once. He'd show you now, but--"

"There's a good lad," Margaret swept from her chair to gather the boys shoulders under her arm. "You need to stay here with your mother. You leave that quest to somebody else, and when it's over, you can be the first to pick your lamb."

She shooed him towards his friends, watching the sorrow press his posture down, then softly explained to Amanda and Primordial, "Pierce's father was one of our chief shepherds, and was one of the first to fall when the Fiends first came. He's the man of his house now. The hunters usually return by nightfall, and they gather here at the pub. I'm sure they'll speak with you."


HALLS

Dexter paused to rub more sweat from his eyes. Insidious? Now there was a name too ugly to match the enchanting creature before him. "Aye, Insidious. I was outside for it, until the grass and the tubs. That water bug thing, Turtleboss? Picked him up before he could be squashed, and was just making my way towards the garage when hell broke loose. If I hadn't been pressed so close to the brickwork, I'd be dead by now."

He licked his lips at the memory. Some things just weren't meant to be discussed. "The water bug thing spooked after the fire, and ran off into the trees. And you? Were you out there in it?" The notion was a strange one, but he'd heard the Luxans were uncommonly brave. He didn't doubt for a minute that this woman would back down to oversized rats.


CLUBHOUSE

The prince was cowardly, or so Marcus presumed. It didn't help that the fucker had called him a piece of shit. The boy's rage grew. He would pound the feathers out of Drova, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Giovenith's quick magic halted him in his tracks. His eyes took in the paper binding him even as it pulled him further from his opponent. He should have felt awe. It was seldom that he saw her talents in action. Instead, he felt only revulsion and guilt over his own actions. The godling's mention of Torii fanned the embers still thriving in his heart, and he found himself caught up in too many emotions. The world rushed in to smother him, and his heartbeat toyed with his ears. He'd reached a breaking point. And then, inexplicably, the anger abated; Only contempt for the prince remained.

"He isn't worth my time," the icy words tumbled from snarling lips as he shook the paper's last vestiges from his wrists. "You're right, Giovenith. This isn't the appropriate way to do this."

She'd probably dump him. Fine. He would defend her honor just as much as he did Torii's. No, he'd defend it even more. But she was a passive godling and he'd crossed the line. His eyes lifted to lock with Drova's. His sentiment became crystal clear. If she was going to dump him, she should know why he loathed Drova so much.

"I know what happened the day that Aksarben prince beat the fuck out of Torii," his frostily intoned. "It was her birthday. You just stood there."

[The BranRiech]

"Yeah? And you're holding that against me?" Drova asked, standing steadily on the other side of the clubhouse, dragged over there by Giovenith's magic. His eyes were narrow, and as much as he wanted to liberate his smug face from the rest of his body, he knew that he'd lose a fight. Drova was tough for a Pyersai, but Marcus was part . . . Machine. Drova knew he'd be killed if there wasn't some sort of advantage he could take into effect.

"He was my friend, and I didn't know Torii at the time." He snarled, thankful as hell for Gio's attempts at keeping the two from murdering the other. Drova's wings twitched, a loose feather or two drifting to the floor. "And she didn't dare hold that against me! She's my best friend, Marcus. MY GIRLFRIEND!" He spat, shaking his head. The fight wasn't worth it in the slightest, the two former 'friends' driven to the point of wanting the other dead. His fists were clenched, waiting for the inevitable continuation of the fight. "My girlfriend for what, not even 20 minutes?! And I don't have the right to be a little fucking bitter? Go die!" He screamed, anger welling up inside him, his heart tightening in his chest, lungs aching as his voice grew hoarse. The Prince's cheeks turned red, his mouth wide open as he shouted, tears welling up.

For all his tenseness, Drova was feeling increasingly weaker. His legs trembled with fear, anger, and sorrow. The boy sighed, and dropped to the floor, leaning himself against the wall he'd been brought to, shaking his head. "Go die . . ." He whispered to himself.

[Zarkanians]

LOBBY

"My kidneys are in hell," Volker wheezed back words studded by his Berliner accent. "But this not hell. It's - well, I don't know where it is."

He rose and offered his hand to Cat. "Up you get. And you are not dead. You've come because you've come, and you've arrived because you arrived. Now you need to sign the lease. If you don't, you can sleep in the lobby for a night or two, but then I'll turn you out as a vagrant."

Volker's voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't have time to check the list to see what your name is."

Cat took the man's hand, appreciative of the assistance; this whole situation terrified him, but in a new, interesting way. He'd been terrified a few minutes ago--that had been a fear that had built up over the course of years, and peaked the moment he received his summons. This was something new, and interesting. "Catrain, Holde--er. Unassigned." A brief, awkward pause. "Catrain Arkay, that is." Another brief pause. "Catrain Arkay, Unassigned." A third, much longer, no less awkward pause. "This is really weird. How did I get here? And what is here? Why am I not dead?" His voice cracked. Maybe he wasn't controlling himself as well as he'd thought he was. "Sorry. Right. The lease. Do you have a stylus? I don't think mine was on me when--I don't think it came with me?" No, okay, that wasn't any better. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he couldn't tell whether it was due to the light or shock. He opened his mouth to ask why it was so bright in here, just in case, then snapped his mouth shut. It was bright because these were ordinary humans with ordinary eyes, obviously. "Sorry," he murmured, staring at his hat.

[Chedastan]

DINING ROOM
Jalo's ears laid back in annoyance. Who was this General Romulus to tell him what his village should and shouldn't do? Here sat a Gatejumper with all the answers to questions that weren't even important. The centaur snorted in disgust.

"Now see here," he rose to stamp a front hoof. "I think we know a tad more about the Fiends than you do. We've endured them longer. We are quite safe provided we remain inside. Our existence isn't yet compromised."

The centaur's hoof tamped again as contempt threatened to blanket his good senses. "You say that, either way, people were doomed to die anyway in the coming events. You, sir, might be doomed to die. We, sir, are not. You say that the survivors can remain in the building as the Fiends are lured away from the area? You mean, the non-combatants can remain in the Building, as we did a little while ago, while those with weapons and experience drive off the Fiends? Yes, that could work. Be our guest. Find a way to drive them away. They've never been seen near the city, but perhaps you might persuade them? Herding them like that would require the ability to outrun them, which will take vehicles. Lots of vehicles, given the River of Fiends. The vehicles will have to be armored to survive the Fiends, since they will try to attack the vehicles." His tail swished. "Perhaps the general can pull an armored division from his ass? I surely can't. We have three vehicles total in our village, and the blacksmith would be loathe to part with them. And when the city comes knocking with all their might to take our hides for setting monsters upon them, you can be the first to step forward and claim the action."

Romulus was growing a tad annoyed now. If only everyone understood the concept of destroy or be brutally killed, only then will this go in a more sensible way he could trust on. Though he did admired the adamant attitude the centaur was displaying against his ideas, as no one really did that with him back in the Imperium. Granted he was usually right and they knew it, and there wasn't much to argue with as the campaigns were planned well enough before hand that anything that pops up was dealt with in short order, here though on the other hand... Just a mess by comparison, and not something the General liked at all, he was reluctant to have to deal with them now, in this of all places as well.

"It's not like the city seemed to respect your lot anyway. Considering they won't give a lending hand to what I can only assume your village is either an unincorporated ghetto, that didn't play its cards right in joining the more successful powerhouse that rose. Or a ghetto that didn't pay enough tariffs in time. Honestly, I'm surprise your ghetto hasn't been wiped out a long time ago with the attitude you're implying, you should be more lucky they haven't decided to invade you long ago, or some barbarians hadn't come and burnt it to the ground already. Either way, I can think why they wouldn't care at all of what happens to the village, which is why you shouldn't even care for them either, keep the feeling mutual." He spoke back to Jalo, ignoring any pouts from the hoofing. He eyed the more advanced looking people and machines around the table. If they wouldn't listen to some backwater, they would have to listen to some foreigners, surely.

"Yes, I can't materialize a needed armor division out of no where, but I could alternatively bring someone else's to fight the Fiends. While the city might not listen to your lot, they would have to listen to what some sufficiently advance strangers would have to say if they showed up on their front door. I mean they'll be hopeless not to. And unlike the village, we could stand to maybe give them something equal in return, knowledge and advance technology. I'm pretty sure we'll have something here they didn't have, something they would want." He pitched to the whole group at the table.

[Giovenith]

"I know," Giovenith said with a frost, standing up and bringing up Myra with her. "I am the one who confronted him for it on her last birthday party, during the October festival. I told him that he could either stand with Torii and the rest of us, or with the Aksarben prince and have no one, but not with both. I laid down my sentiments clearly, but I did not allow it to disrupt the peace, for more Torii's sake than anyone else's."

Giovenith's feelings in the matter were not so flighty. She had no intentions to break it off with Marcus, but her values came first in the moment, though her sympathy was hardly with Drova either. Despite the prince's screaming and insistence, and her willingness to acknowledge that she didn't have to full story behind his and Torii's apparent relationship, she too was having her doubts about the purity of Drova's sentiments. She would have very much liked to talk to Torii about it, but that wasn't going to happen.

"I don't know what happened between you two," the godling addressed Drova, hanging onto Myra with one arm and scooping up Nick with the other. "But I do know you remember what I said to you at the party, and the mentality you had then. Therefore, you do not have my full trust in this Drova, I have not witnessed anything to prove otherwise. But regardless of what happened..." she addressed both the boys now. "... I do know that bruises, blood, and cursing does not correct the past or make you understand the present. Neither of you are idiots."

During all this, Giovenith had lead the rest of their friends to the door, her energy clearly focused on giving them refuge from the storm that had taken hold of their group, like a third party relative sheltering children from their dysfunctional parents.

"And because neither of you are idiots, you can both have your time to figure out what our friend would have wanted you both to do, if either of you are so concerned about her heart," she imparted her last advice. "She was still here not ten minutes ago, it shouldn't be hard to figure out. Take the hour. Talk, ignore each other, scream some more, do what you will with that hour. But keep the hour to yourselves, and hope that you have something wise to bring back to us when it is up."

She opened up the clubhouse door and gestured to the rest of their friends. "Come on guys, let's get some fresh air."

[Swith Witherward]

MANAGER QUEST

The nervous smile playing about Neste's lips grew rigid. Address the need...? Her protocols took flight immediately upon Scel's demise, leaving 'Ambassador Trilb' no more than a husk sans a brain. Well, in this department anyway. The old girl swallowed as her teensy processor raced to formulate something plausible from memory snippets. Its speed was positively dismal compared to Scel's computational abilities and, to Neste, a second felt like eternity. Another second. A third.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do." Of course she would do something! Septimus did things, and half his mind was out to lunch thanks to her meddling.

Finally, mercifully, workable memories surfaced. FUBAR's patient lessons played across her mental screen, intertwining with a small sampling of Grevin's speeches and a walloping dollop of common sense doled out by none other than Septimus himself. She lacked Scel's cool logic but she possessed chutzpah in spades.

"Sir, it is my understanding that the Building anticipates needs. I suspect that feat is somehow made possible thanks to your intervention," she nodded approvingly. "The hospital is indeed necessary. Too many good people perished today, and a great many more suffered because we lacked the resources to properly help them. Residents currently face barriers to accessing health care services. We're so far from home. Consider our request to be an extension of Mr. Ogotimatu's existing clinic, which would now function similar to a rural hospital and wellness center."

Neste's mind formulated various arguments in support of her request, but she cast each aside in turn. To hell with it. Didn't he just ask "How big? Where do you want them?" She crossed her legs and used her knee as a platform for teacup and saucer. Here goes nothing!

"We are prepared to staff it with trained doctors, healers, nurses, and clinicians. These professionals require examination rooms. We would like to expand the existing clinic's small operatory into a larger series of suites, and bays for preop and post op recovery. We need a triage space capable of handling a large influx of wounded. Perhaps a special area set aside just for pediatric cases? A pharmacy would also be appreciated. Further, we have a large tech priest population. Their treatment bay is currently crammed into small room in the maintenance corridor. This is unsanitary. Of course, we could use a nice waiting room as well."

Her long toes caressed the floor, gently tracing the rug's whimsical patterns as she considered the Building's existing layout. The abstract notion of hammerspace always confused her. Could Demens fashion an interior so large that not even his pocket dimensions could handle it? "I leave the location up to you. I wouldn't presume to know what spaces are available, nor what supplies and equipment you're capable of providing. I'm confident that the priests can fashion machinery for our use." Truly, the little construct was expecting nothing but empty rooms from the Manager.

She cast a sidelong glance at Septimus. It may not have been what he wanted her to say, but she wasn't yet ready to scratch at the recently clotted wound. Not yet. If the Manager was as competent as she thought him to be, he would already know of the suffering outside the Building's doors. He'd know she was suffering, too. She exhaled her frustrations in a long, steady breath, and then turned her head to offer a sad smile to her dearest friend.

"Have I left anything out, Septimus?"



TEEN CLUB

The retort died on Marcus' lips. Giovenith's words stole away his thunder, and that was perhaps a good thing although it left him feeling hollow inside. His head bowed and he didn't raise his eyes until Yuna's wings swept through the door. The latch caught. The door's soft snap held a note of finality to it, and seemed unnecessarily loud to the teen.

One hour. One hour to spend with the asshat prince.

It would have been so easy to blame everything on Drova. Marcus wasn't stupid. He knew his own attitude played into the current mess. That didn't excuse Drova, however. It didn't excuse him for allowing a stranger - a girl, none the less - to be beaten nearly senseless. It didn't excuse the fact that His Highness hadn't sauntered in until after the Fiend attack. And this bullshit about dating? Torii was lesbian. Marcus was fully aware of her crush on Giovenith.

One hour. An hour to contemplate why Torii meant so much to him. She wasn't his crush. Never had been. But she was the closest thing he had to a sibling his own age.

Killing Drova was out of the question. It wasn't in Marcus' nature. Chagrined by the notion, he ran his fingers through his short hair. Meh. Let the spoiled brat explain himself. Marcus didn't care. He shuffled towards a chair by the window and threw himself into it, staring out the window in broody fashion as his processor ticked away the seconds until the door would open again.


Myra struggled to compose herself. Giovenith's warm touch dispelled some of her anxiety, but her imagination refused to cease its conjurations: Torii laying on the ground somewhere; Torii bleeding and crying. Myra had never realized that the brave girl had been a bully's victim. They shared something in common after all.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled once they'd swept through the narrow space to emerge into the lobby again. She couldn't meet Yuna's eyes. "I- didn't know. I didn't know he'd stood by..."

He had done similar after the bully attack, hadn't he? It was all about him. She had been the target and Torii had rushed to save her, and all he could do was whinge because he wasn't getting all the attention. Myra's quivering lips pressed themselves into a thin line. The girl wanted her friend back again, right there beside her. She hadn't hugged her hard enough. She hadn't been there often enough. She wanted to fly back in time and scoop her off the floor, and soothe her fears.

Two fat tears emerged and rolled down her cheeks one at a time. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Giovenith. I didn't know. She was there for me, and I never knew about..." The whispered confession hiccuped to a stop.

[The BranRiech]

with his rage nearly non-existent at this point, Drova could merely sit and listen as the surrounding teens simply built it right back up. Marcus was at least sitting down, but both Gio and Myra were tearing into a decision he'd made almost 2 years ago. Leaning against the wall, Drova's cheeks were still flushed red, his eyes clenched shut, not-daring to make eye contact with anyone. It was a few seconds of contemplation, and stuffing the rage somewhere else, that Drova finally spoke, wavering.

"I'm not going to explain myself for something that happened 2 years ago." He started, almost growling. "Unless he . . ." A finger was raised, pointing at Marcus. "Unless he explains why he tried to kill me . . . Oh, I don't know, just a damned minute ago. I'm not going to be judged by a kangaroo-court like this."

Were his friends so willing to all turn on him like this the second Torii was out of the picture? Was there some sort of resentment held for him? Yuna had absolutely no trouble getting along with these assholes, so what the hell was wrong with him?

He stood up, full intending to not spend an hour more with anyone.

"And you know what? If you're all so hung up on me not jumping into a fight I wouldn't win, then why didn't Torii hold it against me. Mmm? Why would she come up and ask me out, if she hated me for not saving her from the other Prince? Why is she still my best friend?"

He turned back, looking out the door for a few moments, letting his questions sink in. He didn't leave, and the boy just stood there cautiously.

[Fvaarniimar]

A part of her wouldn't have entirely minded remaining.  It seemed cozy, and safe.  Unfortunately or fortunately, Kwa'a knew her own mind.  It couldn't be fully subconscious.  A  break was alright - making it so that she might never return was shirking her duty.  She wouldn't have been able to convince herself that it was an accident.  (Rmwtyliin, who incidentally was snoozing contentedly at the time, too was her responsibility, but she thought the girl would be alright alone.)

Deliberately removing a sturdy shoe, she stepped across the threshold. And then he threw scrolls on the fire!  The woman's eyes widened as she assumed a horrified expression.  Zeeburdoig's - (well, insulting his gonads wouldn't work.  People she cared about had been descended from him.  The problem was reversed with ancestors.  She fell back on) -  bastard son with a mosquito,  a destroyer of knowledge.  She didn't cry out - crying out could - waitamoment.  They were in the abode of "Old Sam".  It would be reasonable to assume the scrolls were his property.  Could she be misconstruing the situation?  They might be garbage, or replaceable, or the best fuel available.  She blushed.

As the ale floated up, she gaped. Her eyes widened again.  Maybe she could have knocked it over with some wind, or helped it not break tumbling from a shelf.  Powerful?  Indeed.  Three bottles (three!! Heavy!!  Bottles!!) along with the food - for them, she assumed?  It was good that she had eaten already so she wouldn't tear into the repast like animal.  She gingerly reached for the bottle - "Comfy?"  Yes - if a bit unnerved by the galloping furniture.  She nodded - then yanked the hand back reflexively as the cap rocketed off.  Zeeburdoig's bastard son with a mosquito... The apple might be safe.  She grabbed it.  Took a bite.  Crisp and juicy.  Perfect for fall.  (Quite excellent cooked.  Perhaps she could bake some later.)

"Kwa'a Bhewehg.  Borksmiclen."  That covered that.  Did she get to ask a question?  He had asked two.  Are we safe here...  What do you know about us...  The personification settled on, "How - the bottles?!"  To help clarify, she slowly lifted her hand, snapping her fingers when it could go no higher without her standing up.

---

A flattened ear and tail had poked out from behind one of the couches.  Nick had retreated into the best hiding spot he could find and stayed there - he had barely even considered pouncing on Drova's shed feather!  When a hand started pulling him out, he was actually scared.  It didn't last long - just long enough for him to smell that the hand belonged to Giovenith.  Crawling out, he promptly latched onto her dress.

<Thank you thank you...>  Safety.  Before things had been going too quickly.  Now the cat had time to think - to wonder about the answer to his question.  And to realize - <If I hadn't asked that stupid question...I'm really sorry, Giovenith!>  Had Nick been able, he'd be bawling his eyes out.  Instead, regret and sorrow - over this, over other things - hit the girl as he meowed.  The meowing was incessant, plaintive, higher in pitch than was typical.