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

[Ganonsyoni]

OPERATION: LAST CHANCE
DIMENSION: 4590K
LOCATION: Xo Research Base, Veraka, Xo'Lokako orbit, Vim System, HZSC space
TEAMS: SECRET OMEGA TENTACLE

---

Kale fiddled with the device, trying to find a disguise and get-up that suited her well. It disappointed her that she would have to go with a more dull and drab look. Her creativity wanted to go more extravagant and vivid, but she was limited by the demands of the mission. She eventually decided on a dull brownish yellow color with a light-brown tiger stripe pattern going down her head and body. For clothing she chose a sleeveless vest in a dull brown color. She also chose a long brown cloak, which covered her head, shoulders, back, and thorax. The attire was simple, perfect for a lowly male on the hierarchy. She looked more of a servant compared to what Romulus would pick

Hearing Remilia as, she turned to look at the g- I mean bug man. It seemed Remilia went for a similar simple getup and had a dull leaf green skin. "You look fine Remmy," Kale said. The plant g- correction, the tiger striped bugboy lifted up her "hands" to look at them. Her body looked different but she still felt the same underneath. It was another layer of skin, an exoskeleton of sorts, that hid her true self underneath. It was fascinating technology. Nothing was this advanced back home, not even controlled illusions. Only some magic users had the power similar to this or even greater. But she had not met one.

She looked to Romulus who, as she predicted, picked out a pretty extravagant attire. He looked like a military general, which didn't really suit the frontliner type that Romulus was. Still, he looked great to her. "You look awesome Rommy!" Kale said to the now matriarch of the group.

[Holy Lykos]

OPERATION: LAST CHANCE
DIMENSION: 4590K
LOCATION: Xo Research Base, Veraka, Xo'Lokako orbit, Vim System, HZSC space
TEAMS: SECRET OMEGA TENTACLE

---

"Is this what I picked okay? I'm assuming I need to go as a member of their higher society in order for us to get far down there, right?"

"Going as a higher society member indeed would help. I've always posed as a member of their middle class of merchants to help explain how much I moved around."

Venla fiddled with her own device for a bit, flitting between the disguises of a few different species before settling back on her Xo one.Among a few notable ones would be the one Rwm had seen earlier: a dark skinned human woman that looked like she could be a relative of Oren's. Besides that there an almost draconic looking race that was built on similar scale to a Huvidu-Zaan. That one possessed scarlet and reddish-purple scales, wicked looking claws, and an almost malevolent aura around it.

But Venla's Xo disguise was much more modest. It was slightly shorter than her natural height, with maroon chitin under similarly striped 'fur' to Kale's except with a more bright tan for the main color with gold stripes. Almost a brighter version of Kale's own disguise with a different pattern of stripes. The alien's eyes were purple colored, as it glanced to the other 'bugs'. The same voice then came out of it, even though the Xo maw wouldn't really be able to make those noises.

"The stripes are a trait of the Islanders we'll be meeting first. Its an adaption to help them blend in with jungle and desert flora. They're known for being a bit more egalitarian along with wide traders. Its not uncommon to see at least a few of them in cities across the globe. I believe they name themselves based on their islands, and there's too many divisions in their cultures to really lump them together. We likely could pass as members of the same group, Kale."

The clothes were a slightly more ornate version of Kale's too. Rather lucky she managed to pin one of the styles without even trying. Either that or Venla preferred being rather plain while on the planet anyway. The cloak and clothing left bare the abdomen fur, which had a semi-ornate necklace with alien symbols set in jewels. From the attention to the symbols its likely a religious symbol. A simple sort of circlet went around her head, made of a silverish metal and set with similar motifs as the other jewelry.

But venla soon switched back to her own, shaking out her fur from a bit of static built up. "I do prefer to be myself of course. Let us go, we need to get on the ship." She beckoned for the rest of the group to head for the door, snagging her data pad again from the console she had placed it in during the brief presentation. Nexalis had wandered off as well, back to the main room to supervise repairs and meet with the Admiral who had arrived to ward off future attacks.

[Torrocca]

A few minutes had passed, and nothing. A few more, and the warrior at last emerged, clothed from the waist down and still wiping away water from his face and head. Unlike the muck-covered man that had left the room for a while, a new, cleaner, practically shining man had returned - any indication that he'd spent three years in his own personal hell had all but disappeared entirely, bar the rather obvious and obtrusive scar on his sword arm. "Ah... that was quite pleasant," he happily announced from across the room, removing the towel from his face.

"Ah, Naomi! You didn't have to!" He was genuinely pleasantly surprised by this kind act; it was the first he'd been surprised by in a long while, much different from the three years of war, death, and destruction he'd grown so use to. "But - thank you, truly. It was very kind of you." He walked closer and inspected the breastplate and the sword, and his eyes widened at the sight. "No one could tell if this was brand new; this - this is incredible work, Naomi."

[Saldinado]

Dining Room

"Oh. Well if you put it like that, then. I would have to go with the latter. If its only one spell, I would find purposes for it. I mean...just having that spell will be a honor as well...Its a magical spell. And its all about what you do with it and how you can use it to affect you as well as the others around you with either its monopurpose or multipurposes that matters the most.
One can even use that magic spell as a metaphor for how one goes about living their life. One might worry about the purpose or purposes that a a single average life can have and can hold yet whether or not you prove to yourself that there is some for of purpose to it is up to you. And if you can find at least one purpose to that little magic spell what one might associate with a special skill or something then try to find out how to either improve on that magic spell or try to find more uses for it. And if there aren't anymore that you can't think of, then maybe use it to improve yourself rather than the spell itself. You know what I mean?" He then softly smiled at Amanda as he leaned and rocked back and forth on his heels waiting.
And who? Baron-something? I taken that he's a rather...unique character judging by what she's telling me.

[Northwest Slobovia]

RAIDERS of the LOST BOOK

OPERATION: BIBLIOPHILE
LOCATION: Ashkelon, Judea, Dimension 257P
RotLB

Sandy got up to get some food out, unfolding the window table to do so. In addition to a round of flatbread, he unstoppered all the oinochoai of wine he bought, pouring some of one into his cylix, before offering the jug to the Baron. “Naxian wine? It’s supposed to be pretty good, but I, um, have no idea what it tastes like.”

The Baron nodded graciously. “Now we're talking,” he said quite pleased as he took the jug and drinking liberally. He smiled slightly as it traced the inside of his mouth savoring the unique taste before swallowing. “Pleasant. But not strong enough for me,” he laughed.

“There’s a point to trying it: the Everfull Cup was originally a Greek spell. I can show some ... improvements without having to show all of what it can do. There shouldn’t be a problem showing, um...” He paused, thinking. “...people used to bronze tools a stronger bronze, but showing them modern steel? No.” He picked up the cylix, about to check the wine’s aroma. After a second, he added, “And something for you, Nick? I have a little cheese, and I can conjure cream, or even cream of turkey soup.”

Not paying as much attention as could have been the case, Nick didn't activate the collar to reply. Head under his front leg, he'd forgotten for a moment that Sandy was too far away. “Sure, those all sound delicious! Are you still mad?”

Sandy was so stunned, he nearly dropped the cylix. Gears ground in his mind as he tried to consider what this meant. A sly look came to his face, and he took a sip of wine, turning to face Nick squarely as he did so. Cheers! I hope you like the taste! The wine had strange notes to it: wonderfully fruity, with a hint of spice, but also a touch medicinal and a trace of a corky aftertaste. Better than he expected, but showing the limitations of Greek wine-making technology.

Nick pulled his head up fast enough to almost give himself whiplash. "Oh - Sandy - you found a spell which induces telepathy?" The wine - though a bit faint - was quite literally like nothing he'd ever tasted. "What on earth is that drink...?" And what was this about implications? "Uh, cool surprise! I- I'm still useful, right? I can scout..." The cat's doubt/insecurity wasn't as keenly felt as would have been the case with touch, but still was sufficient to confuse Sandy.

He stared blankly in Nick’s direction, trying to understand what Nick meant, and why he was more upset. After hanging for the longest time, the penny finally dropped, and Sandy burst out laughing. Nick, you’re doing this! He turned to the Baron, still chuckling. “Our travelling companion seems to have learned a new trick. Let him demonstrate.”

Staring at both, Nick activated the collar, which created a thoroughly odd echo effect. “You're kidding. It switched off. “Can I actually do this? No way...why now... Think of a number, think of a number - four - too low -” An image of a rather familiar snake who presently was driving Amanda batty appeared, if a smidge faint. “Persian-rat-snake. 6-No-7 3 5.” Apropos of nothing, the cat put his paws...over his ears? Over his eyes? ”This doesn't work.” Finally he settled for in front of his ears. “SEVEN. HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE! ARE YOU TWO GETTING THIS?”

The Baron nodded cautiously. “That is quite impressive,” he said slowly watching Nick carefully. Slowly a genuine smile cracked across his face. “My that is unique. What changed?”

You’re thinking of the snake your bought and the number 735. Sandy let his smile fade, and returned to mulling the implications of Nick’s telepathy now that it had some range. He rubbed the back of his head while he sipped his wine, looking thoughtfully at Nick.

”NO CLUE, Prime! ARE YOU SURE IT'S ME?...huh, YOU CAUGHT THAT TOO? Maybe the time travel did something? Should I...it's kind of a silly theory, why bother mentioning it to them? Wait, don't tell me. YOU HEARD THAT PART.” Amusement, surprise, excitement...and perhaps a touch of resignation. He hadn't realized that he was being quite that transparent.

The Baron looked at Sandy, “Did you catch that? Perhaps the time travel had sort of effect on Nick. The temporal effects and realignment could...” Primordial trailed off a long look of fear suddenly clouding his face. “Oh Elder Gods. We forgot to offer subservience to Tindalos. Do you think...a portal that large and continuous, it would have to have some kind of constant appeasement going on right?”

The Baron seemed stuck on some magical paradox and was now deep in thought with a grim look of worry on his face. Occasionally he glanced up to look at the corners of the room with a deep intensity.

Sandy slowly became aware of the Baron’s concerns. “Hmm? I’m not sure… You’d have to ask Myra, but…” He trailed off while he thought about the question. ‘Tindalos’ was a name he recognized as part of the Baron’s religion, but that was all he knew about it. A god, apparently, since it needed to be appeased. He chose his words carefully, more out of worry than fact. “I don’t think our host intends for his home to be found, so I don’t… don’t think interlopers would have noticed us arriving on street near the market.”

He took a last draw on his wine, set the cylix down on the table, then turned back to Nick. “I think I’m going to get some air. Keep ‘talking’ to me, and, um, keep an eye on what I see.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink.

“Uh, I can try. Will that work? Could you/Sandy try to send me whatever you're seeing right now? I can't get it yet… Nick shifted position, standing as opposed to flopping on his stomach. “Huh?” Sandy would notice something like his palm being poked gently. “Oh. My “moon rock.” Even Prim, who'd been busy at the time, would understand: it was a souvenir of a place few had been to, Nick’s first. The amused cat carefully picked the Ashkelon pebble he'd carried on up with his tongue, and walked to the case holding the incorrigible tea set. “Don't swallow, don't swallow…

Sandy picked up the cylix again, focusing on the abstract design running around its outside. “Try now.” The style was unfamiliar to Sandy, but it was several hundred years later than he was used to, and may have been a locally-made copy in any event. The pink and yellow figures on black were either a more recent invention or a local adaptation of Greek forms.

The colors were clear, but the abstract figures they formed were rather misty and faint - half overlay on the cat's vision, half mind’s eye - and almost shifting, writhing as Sandy associated other shapes and styles, Greek forms for instance. Sharing vision may not work very well with this… He pushed his own at Sandy. A somewhat blurred image of their luggage was overlaid by a quite-faint cylix. The analysis was a constant undertone - bits of reasoning drifted to Nick. He found found them and the pottery itself rather interesting, so he headed towards Sandy.

Shifting his head, he managed to just about line up said overlay with the greyed-out pattern. That's pretty cool. I thought you Sandy were familiar with these things? The tone wasn't of condemnation - rather astonishment that Sandy the expert didn't know exactly what they were looking at.

A mental shake of the head: Sandy knew better than to claim he knew everything about the Greeks. Of the many things I know about the Greeks, I know little about their art, and their pottery least of all. Sandy was disinterested in it, and his memories of learning about the subject were colored by boredom: lists of styles to memorize, pictures of ostraca. None of that held his attention. Pottery is useful to archaeologists to date finds, but once their work is done and my work starts, I think of other questions: where this came from, why and how it was for sale in Ashkelon, and what it would have meant to its owner.

There was a distinct pause in Sandy’s thinking as he switched gears, going back to his original request and considering other possibilities. Perhaps we should just stick to hearing, since we have that down. I want to see how far we can stay in contact; which senses we use do to it don’t matter.

After some moments of trial and error, the pair managed to combine their hearing at normal volumes again, although the other's portion had a distinct tendency to fade if either faltered in paying close attention to the fact that they were sending and receiving sounds. Feelings drifted back and forth as well - Nick felt quite curious, pretty happy, and more than a bit confused though not yet frustrated. So too did some surface thoughts. Sandy would find that more of his were passed to Nick when he intended for them to be; Nick, for his part, was growing resigned to Sandy being privy to the vast majority of his. At least they weren't as noticeable as those he intended to send...

…”is unusual. I haven't seen this often maybe Sandy (resignation) Sandy how did they do the wall uh-oh, time, he wants - you want to go out on deck or something - no need to answer - “know little about their art,” you said. OKAY, we're STILL IN CONTACT. READY WHENEVER YOU ARE!” The cat was clearly growing rather excited. Sandy’s enthusiasm had been contagious, Nick’s now was too… Fortunately for the Baron’s sanity, the emotion wasn't being transmitted to an extent that would result in a feedback loop.

“I wonder how far?! Maybe I could reach across Alexandria, or…” A hazy world map flickered in Sandy’s mind’s eye, zoomed in on the Eastern Hemisphere. “Multiple continents even? Or is that just silly - I'm definitely getting ahead of myself, In books, that's...really powerful.” Reminding him of his status as a humble creature, Nick's stomach grumbled. “TURKEY. Cheese. NOW- SORRY! That was rude - FEED MEEEE - Sorry, Sandy - would you please?”

Sandy did his best to suppress a smile, but got nowhere close to succeeding. He probably shouldn’t enjoy Nick’s mixture of enthusiasm and babbling thoughts so much, but he did. I’ll take it nice and slow. He nodded to the Baron out of habit rather than necessity. He stepped through the door, listening for the torrent of Nick’s thought. The small space between the cabins and the cargo hold bulkhead was empty, but he could hear voices coming down the companionway. There seemed to be chanting above the general clamor.

He took the stairs up, pausing at the top both to get used to the sunlight and to listen for Nick’s mental contact, which despite their efforts was growing fainter. Most of the sailors were in on the foredeck, weighing the ship’s second anchor, chanting as they hauled rhythmically on its cable. The other anchor was on deck already. The rest of the crew was amidships, some lowering the sail, others supervising or talking to each other. Both groups of sailors had pushed people out of the way to get space to work, so the deck was packed with unhappy people. Sandy could do nothing but wait to move further; Nick did his very best to face towards him, assuming that it would help. Focusing on the soft chanting, the cat struggled to overlay it with the quieter noises of the cabin.

The anchor-raising finished first, and Sandy was able to move with the crowd as it flowed -- oozed, given its slow pace -- forward. Nick’s subconscious babble started to fade out as he shuffled forward; the rest seemed a bit louder, as though Nick had raised his telepathic voice... Glancing over his shoulder, Sandy guestimated that he was a bit more than ten feet from the stairs down. By the time he was a little less than halfway to the mast, Nick seemed to be straining to make himself heard; twenty-thirty feet, Sandy thought. He pressed his way towards the nearer wale, getting out of the way of those still creeping forward, and then he waited again. No voice...but were some of the emotions Nick’s? It was hard to tell, and even that sense of maybe having a tenuous link faded some steps further on.

Once the sail was set, he was able to return to the cabin - finding that the contact was reestablished as he reversed his course, emotions first, then intentionally sent thoughts and so on - and tell the others his guesses. Many of the intentional thoughts were Nick’s continual apologies for his unintentionally sent “FEED ME” demands, but the undercurrent of wanting the soup remained.

[OOC: Collab with the usual Raiders suspects, now with extra telepathic power!]

[Chedastan]

OPERATION: LAST CHANCE
DIMENSION: 4590K
LOCATION: Xo Research Base, Veraka, Xo'Lokako orbit, Vim System, HZSC space
TEAMS: SECRET OMEGA TENTACLE

---

Romulus nodded towards Venla and Kale at their approval, having faith that they would have the right looks for this mission to appeared as appropriate as they should to not raise anymore attention than they would likely raise anyway. But he could tell already that it would only be an given that one of them would end up doing something suspicious in the eyes of the Xo, so he knew it'll most likely be in their best interest that they at least tried to blend in as much as they can to get as far as they needed before something compromising inevitably happens while they're still on the planet.

He had simply accepted the other disguises the others had chosen, assuming they were good enough for the mission given that Venla didn't object to any of them. "Let's get going then if we're all ready. There's that ship we can take to get down there, c'mon, let's go through this hall." He said to them as he began walking through the corridor to exit the room they were in to get to where the other station's staff were, having no doubt known that they should probably consult them first before leaving.

---

Dining Room

Nivea had simply nodded towards Amanda and Thaddeus as they explained that she could possibly end up being needed for something along the lines of whatever the healers needed, or whatever her courier experience could do to help. She was actually quite happy with such a possible arrangement for now, as she was quite eager enough as it is to start trying to make back to the building with whatever she can do. As it was certainly the least she could do for just today alone, surely? So only hoped that she'll soon in due time be able to hone in on her own abilities and skills to fully and truly dedicate what she can offer to the Building and its Residents to the fullest of her capabilities, and hopefully then some too no doubt.

Having saw that Amanda was busy talking to Henry, Nivea turned to Thaddeus again, trying to think if there was anything more they should discuss. "So we were told to bring our gear down here, I have a feeling that what I managed to find in my room might not be nearly as effective as what everyone else here has brought." She then said to him somewhat concerned, before getting her backpack up to the table to pull out a simple short crossbow made out of iron and fungal wood to present to him. It was unloaded of course, and looked quite medieval in design.

"I have a feeling that the majority of the people from your dimension were probably far more advance than what my own people could possibly ever dream to imagine. But this crossbow is probably the best my people could've come up with besides something that used fire." She explained to the man, remembering the rumors of the fabled and horrifying 'Byz'antine Fire' that apparently the more elite and grand of the City's Inquisition used on occasion to rapidly quell threats to their higher ranked clergy and leaders, even if those 'threats' were innocent people. She couldn't imagine what such a thing would be like if someone got hit with it.

[Mincaldenteans]

Akagi Sakurako

Akagi had been showering and looking for food in her apartment. She suddenly realized that there was a mandatory meeting to go to the dining room and put on some nice clothes and took her handbag. She combed her hair so it looked presentable and ran out her apartment. After a few minutes of walking around and finding her way back to her own apartment, she realized she was lost and hungry. "This is bad." She said as her stomach growled. She sat down by her door trying to ease the pain of her hunger.

If Fluffy had to admit, mornings were a particular favorite time for the overgrown avian. Crisp air, morning chills and the companionable silence that came with fresh thoughts and ruffled downy feathers. Clad in his customary uniform, complete with monocle, Colonel Fluffy was ready to start the new day, but now with an added meeting on the agenda. It was rather exciting, now that Fluffy thought about it" a room full of Residents he had yet met! Surely there were bound to be others he could partake a meal with; eating fried beetles alone was, well, lonely.

As the doors of the elevators slid open, large talons clanked upon the floor with the balance and sturdiness of a seasoned officer. But Fluffy stopped short, realized he was on the wrong floor. "Blast," he under his breath, realizing his flexible wings had once again pushed the wrong button.

Not too far away, a petite brunette sat by her door. Curiosity got the better of the Colonel and if the ostrich was going to be acquainted with his neighbors, now was as good a time as any. With confident steps closing the distance, Fluffy adjusted his monocle, getting a clear read out of it, though the information was about as empty as he could surmise without it.

"Good morning, young lady. You seem to be new. I am Colonel Fluffy of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force. Well," he chuckled (clucked really), "I suppose that's not quite accurate anymore, dare I say. Surely you must have heard of the announcement of a meeting? I'm headed to the dining room where surely the others are at. Would you care to join me? Oh, where are my manners."

Fluffy made a cluck, offerings his right wing to help her up, "I suppose it's a boon of a sort I landed on the wrong floor. The elevator buttons are far too small, you see, even for my wingtips. We'll be heading to the dining room on the first level."

[Mincaldenteans]

"Indeed," Fluffy replied. If he could smile, he would have but ostrich facial features were rather limited, what with a beak and all. Together they headed into the elevator and onto the second level. The ride was short and silent.

Feeling to need to break from that, Fluffy cleared his throat and spoke up, "Where do you come from, miss? I'd imagine this is all rather jarring. To the right, if you please," he gestured to the dining hall. Residents had already taken seats and clearly in conversation within their own groups, but they were early. Far too early.

"Perhaps brunch," Fluffy commented offhanded followed by a rueful chuckle as he guided Akagi toward the kitchen, "I'm afraid my dietary needs differ to yours. I wonder if they stock beetles..."

He moved away from her to the fridge, gripping the handle with his feathered wingtips and opened to assess the contents within. Ducking his head into the compartment, Fluffy was rather disappointed there weren't any cooked bugs, though the spotted bottle of marmalade with no one's name on it was fair game and he grabbed it. The ostrich reached for the bread on top of the fridge, settling his items on the counter. "So how long have you been with us? The Residents, I mean?"

[Tiltjuice]

Cuisine carefully brushed out the insect trap and shook the pan out onto the aluminum foil. There wasn't a whole lot of demand for cooked insects. Occasionally he'd leave a few out in a pail by the garden, and they'd disappear overnight.

The smell wasn't as bad as one might expect. A little nutty, as the beetles cooked. He molded them into sliders and drizzled the slightest touch of apple cider vinegar on. Striding forth from the kitchen, he laid on the spread for his leading customer in that line, among the Residents.

"Colonel, welcome back! I suppose we don't see you out as often. Who's your friend?" Turning to Akagi, the tall man in the chef's toque introduced himself.

[Northwest Slobovia]

"Oh. Well if you put it like that, then. I would have to go with the latter. If its only one spell, I would find purposes for it.
[...] And if you can find at least one purpose to that little magic spell what one might associate with a special skill or something then try to find out how to either improve on that magic spell or try to find more uses for it. And if there aren't anymore that you can't think of, then maybe use it to improve yourself rather than the spell itself. You know what I mean?"

Amanda shook her head, making her curls bob. "I don't think I do." In fact, she was certain she didn't, but saw no need to be that pointed about it. Perhaps Henry was so excited he was babbling.

She slightly changed the subject, returning to the one he'd started with. "But that is why Pegasus is special to Sandy: he's found uses for him over the years. Simply flying around seems to be one of his joys. I've come to enjoy it too, by the by. Even though Sandy now has a dozen spells, he still favors that one, simply because it was his first.

[Mincaldenteans]

"It is good to see you as well! Ah, you are also too kind making such a delectable meal!" Fluffy took the plate of sliders and settled it on the table, catching its aroma that sent a hungry pang immediately in his stomach. He looked at Akagi who silently ate her meal.

"Her name is," the colonel paused and tilted his head, his long thin neck bending ever slightly from the motion. He chuckled, "Well, I'm afraid the young miss hasn't revealed that to me, although I did find her sitting by a doorway - presumably her apartment? Rather famished if her silence is anything to go by."

[Giovenith]

Giovenith gently scooped MB into her hands.

"Only twenty, and I already feel like I'm too old for this," she sighed, then gave him a kiss on his head. "Let's head down. We don't want to be late and sent home. Heaven and Vegas won't know what to do with us!"

And so she placed him on her head and lead them both the meeting spot.

[Cerillium]

HEADQUARTERS
BOILERPLATE
THE OUTERMARK

[Kudos to Agy, Min, Tilt and Swith]

ESTABLISHMENT

Within the dense Green Stuff, near a small range of mountains, tucked beside a lovely lake, sat the old abandoned facility. It's presumed that the prior inhabitants were eaten, or got lost, or were abducted by man-eating flowers. Who can say? It doesn't matter in the long run. It was claimed by a rag-tag group of Chosen pulled from a post-apocalyptic hell, and then re-purposed by Neste once Demens filled everyone in on what was needed.

To say they roughed it for six months is to put it mildly. The facility was nice enough on the outside: a low white structure which, at one point of its life, had housed a celestial observatory. The dome remained, cathedral like in structure, but nature had made it her bitch for quite some time. The interior was in frightful state thanks, in part, to an infestation of cat-sized flying creatures which Devine dubbed "magguts". Vampiric and prone toward leaving slime trails along the floors and walls, the species seemed to have made itself at home on every subterranean level.

After copious assurances by the engineers and tinkerers that the building just needed a little TLC, and that extermination could be had with the help of some Overseer spawn, the group moved in and began to set up shop.

This led to the Maggut War, but that's a story for another day. Needless to say, once the teleporter to the Building was established, the infestation spread. Epic battles ensued and then, much to nobody's surprise, an entire Christmas was spent pretending to be natives to avoid the mass fumigation of both structures (and the wrath of the Building Manager).

By Christmas, the Boilerplate HQ's insides gleamed. The machine shop, the kitchens, crew quarters, recreational areas, radio room, small medical lab, and (outdated) map room passed both Esma and Neste's muster. Down in the lowest level, where necessary equipment and motors and small rodents with sharp, pointy teeth still managed to cling to life, Temir's handiwork resulted in a hydro-powered hum that was both soothing and annoying, depending upon where one stood in the structure. All in all, not a bad place to set up operations.

“...If you don't mind lingering Magguts and the Nifid Chirp Worms initially created to kill them,” Neste snorted and then stepped aside to allow Minerva and Klaus to enter the war room.

The Dune Runners were already gathered around the table, most attired in the same black uniform as Myra wore. The brief tour had already left a positive impression on Klaus, but now he raised a brow in appreciation of how sharp the group looked, as well as what he presumed to be a unit patch adorning the right hand side of every chest.

"Uniforms? Will we all have them?" his eyes held their customary twinkle as he held a chair for Minerva and then settled beside her. He suspected she had already assessed everyone by the time her rump touched the cushion.

"Our Administrative branch uniforms are meant for comfort," the construct explained as she gestured for the pair to take a seat. She eased into her own chair and folded her hands in front of her. "Our Operations branch uniforms are meant to support an operative in the field. All are woven with Confederation precision, the materials being Convocation in design, and then imbued with certain, undetectable magics. And yes, we intend to outfit every last Resident, including your Lads and Men if you're open to using your magic to keep their daemons from crossing through the fabric."

"It will take effort, yes, but it's possible to do," Klaus leaned back to allow Esma to set twin mugs of steaming coffee in front of him and his companion. My god, they even have merchandise with the unit patch on it?

"This symbol?" his thumb caressed the device screened onto the mug's shiny porcelain. Eyes danced over the words encircling Demens' personal mark. "Abyssus abyssum invocat? My Latin is a bit rusty, but doesn't that translate into 'deep calls to deep'?"

Neste smiled. "It does, and it carries layered meaning. In the general sense, it serves as a reminder that one misstep leads to another. But it also touches upon the fact that we were all called by Demens. Each of us possesses skills that set us apart from others back home. We are unique. And it also has a small bit to do with Nietzsche. He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster-"

"And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee," Klaus finished. "You must have been talking to Fritz."

A nod from her affirmed it. "Before we get to the briefing, let's get introductions out of the way. As you know, I am Overseer Trilb. My prior military assignments include a brief stint as Aufseher for the joint-forces Convocation-Chaos Panzerdivision during the Drone Invasion. Prior to that, I was attached to Enneagonon 437-1, a division of the Convocation Classis overseen by the GNC Hereward Proelium through an appointed Tenth Iteration Tier Magister Utriusque Militiae. I operated at that level, which is a roundabout way of saying I lead a division that controlled the solar interstellar neighborhood within a nebula."

A pause. A sip of coffee.

"Our Dune Runners, as I affectionately call them, all hail from the same post-apocalyptic world. Demens brought them over as a group. This is Esma," Neste gestured to the physically exquisite woman as she finished serving coffee. Her darker skin tone, eye and nose shape, and physical stature whispered of Turkish origins though the tattoos visible just at her hairline clearly marked her as Rom. "Her specialty is wilderness survival. She has invested much time familiarizing herself with not only the Outermark but with some of the more frequent Gate destinations."

The Rom settled into the chair next to a bald Asian with a natural tan and entirely too much disdain curling his lips. Neste continued, "Mr Devine. This individual's mastery of reconnaissance and observational analysis will come in handy, and very few would dare mess with them in closed quarters."

She nodded to an athletic, Nordic duo whose demeanor and bearing smacked of military upbringing. "Maximilian and Mia, retired UNSECESM-R3 Peacekeepers. Siblings. If it rolls, hovers or flies, they are our go-to. They also handle programming."

On to the next pair. "Mathias is our resident naturopath, and Calani has more than a passing familiarity with negotiation, distraction, and entertainment." The tall, quiet Scandinavian man in the glasses and head wrap cast a light shadow over the shorter, curvy redhead with blued steel eyes.

The final unfamiliar face wasn't pretty. The skin had weathered, slightly wrinkled appearance, though he was only in his early 40s, and stretched tightly over his high cheekbones. Discolored due to scarring and the aforementioned burns, his ethnicity was difficult to discern - he was mostly a light brown with some pale splotches. "The Iron Face, Temir. Nobody can forge like he. We've set him up in the Boilerplate bowels."

She paused to sip her coffee and then continued.

"Captain Blackwater is our covert ops specialist. She's also the one Demens appointed to take charge when a crisis threatens the Building."

The leather-clad redhead nodded to the group.

“I like her style,” Devine murmured to Calani on his left as Neste continued on.

"Maximilian von Klaus, God of War. I do not think we need any further introduction beyond that," Neste chuckled. "And lastly, we all know Septimus, our diplomat. Please forgive me, but I know our Chaos forces prefer to not disclose too much about their history."

"Thank you for respecting that," Klaus' head bowed.

“With introductions out of the way, I think it’s best we got to work,” Septimus tilted his head to adjust his black collar before pulling some manila folders from a small suitcase, “I’ve taken the liberty of collating some basic assignments for us to look over…”

---

THE BUILDING

The intercom crackled to life. An unidentified voice (most likely belonging to Adrastus) reached every last nook and cranny.

"May I have your attention please? Meeting. Dining room. Gravitate to this area and find a seat. Thank you."

The gravely voice cut out but the intercom did not go dead. Instead, an upbeat retro song, "Holiday for Strings" began to echo down the corridors and throughout each apartment and communal area. Not that anyone minded the choice at first but - much to several people's dismay - the track was apparently on a loop that would continue to assult the Building until everyone had gathered in the right place.

[Granis]

Iso looked up at the sound of a strange, disembodied voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He listened as it spoke, telling everyone to go to the buildings dining room.

Once it had finished, he turned to the small reptile beside him.

"I don't suppose you know here the dining room is, do you? Because I have no idea. On a somewhat related note, what on fucking earth was that? Where did that voice come from? Oh by every monster in the world, why is the afterlife such a confusing place?"

Oddly enough, despite his words, his voice was actually quite calm, as if he was just asking for directions.

[Tiltjuice]

"Up on the second floor. It's not too far away," Luce replied mildly after taking a few sips of tea. "Miss Meps, will you be joining us?" He offered an arm and led them up to the chamber in question, where quite a few Residents were already milling about.

In the dining room itself, MB peered upside-downedly at Giovenith. Ask Cuisine for make special dessert? Bring a little bit of Vegas here?

The chef did, sometimes, throw a touch of alcohol into his tarts occasionally. Maybe a little dab would help people unwind after the meeting. There hadn't been a whole lot of relaxing before it, anyway.

[Primordial Luxa]

Dining Room
Insidious walked into the dining room, her skin a swirling texture of greys and light pink vines. He looked refreshed from a long rest. She was filled with exuberant passion and a decadent intensity. Along with her came a paper version of Aegis the soldier and Primordial the scientist. Neither seemed to share Insidious charm and delight.

She barely regarded her allies and was enjoying the fact that they were merely imitations of her real friends. Mistreating and degrading them carried little weight in her eyes. She revelled in the feeling of being a superior original.

[Chedastan]

Paper Romy

It had taken the Paper General about a minute to arrive to the Dining Room from the Library, having felt somewhat obligated to answer the summons for the meeting that had been called over the intercom. While a part of him was sure the meeting may not have necessarily meant to include him or the other paper Residents, he still felt it was required of him to attend, given the fact that the real him would've certainly had been there for it and it's clear that he was still absent from the Building. He felt it was only right that he at least made some notes for his real self to follow up on, so he wasn't completely clueless when he returns.

Paper Romulus only hoped the real Romulus was at least doing something meaningful on Venla's mission, assuming the mission had any worth in it. He couldn't really tell, as all he could remember was the meeting they had in the same Dining Room a day or two ago before they left for the Gatehouse. He sure hoped he was okay though, for theirs and Nila's sake.

He had obviously spent the majority of the day in the Library, and in that time he had actually began to read some new material for once that wasn't related to the Wilhelm Imperium. As was indicated by him holding a copy of The Art of War under his arm, and a book of the world atlas of Earth to go along with it, and he had intended to get back to reading those books and more after the meeting had concluded, as he found it very intriguing. He had also obviously brought some regular pieces of paper too to write notes down with too, and a pen to write with.

Walking into the Dining Room, and merely hoping that the quaint, yet increasingly annoying music playing on a continuous loop will eventually stop once all the other Residents have arrived. He then quietly preceded to take a chair and have a seat where he presumed the meeting would mostly be in the room, he then calmly waited for Residents to make there way in and take their seats by reading some more of Sun Tzu. Obviously there were some Residents he knew already there, but he saw that they were already entrenched with talking and mingling with one another and he simply didn't' want to interrupt them, he was certain though that he was probably going to give enough of his fair share to this meeting as it is already.

[Holy Lykos]

Upper Floor

Up in his room, Sid and Amaranth had been discussing their situation. Neither really had any idea how to take this but Sid was certain they were stuck. Right when it looked like Amaranth was about to say something, Sid winced, held onto his stomach and the tree apparition faded. He hadn't been able to hold it any longer, though it had been the longest time Amaranth was manifested. Maybe this place was useful for practicing at extending the time he could keep the being around. He was pleasant enough company.

Amaranth's disappearance coincided with the strange announcement however, so Sid was soon distracted. It was about time for the meeting, and that song was refusing to stop. Maybe this place wasn't as friendly as he thought. Or just insane.

The jury was out on which.

The man lugged himself up to his feet and grunted, heading out of his room and for the dining room. It wouldn't take long to get there, and Sid would find himself a place to sit near the coffee machine once he got something to drink from it. He needed energy, the fatigue of keeping Amaranth manifested was not fun to deal with.

Dining Room

Meanwhile, the Squib's ears flattened to his head from the harsh noises and song. He sighed, scowling for a few moments and closing his eyes, trying to block out the noise and focus on Drova to help hear it. Though he noticed something rather odd. The Prince was slightly more... present in the force than most around here. He opened his eyes again, fixating them on Drova intensely. "Yes... Holocron likewise book, data storeplace. Force-powered, used to keep force secrets, yes yes. Jedi hold close, before purges. Emperor-Sith had many, broke more." The squib seemed a bit distant when answering, as if preoccupied.

He hopped up onto the table, sitting himself in front of the Prince and looking right into his eyes, up close. Mag's eyes were a vivid blue, similar to the vividness of his fur. His species was very colorful after all, much the opposite to the nearly monochrome Pyersai.

"Drova may be Force-sensewise. Or just species. Mag unsure. Know way to test though." He didn't let Drova really respond to this though. The squib put a finger to each of Drova's temples, using the contact to reach into the Prince's mind more directly. Mag mentally trekked to a part of the mind that had a special reaction to force pressure, near the back of the skull. It was surprisingly easy to traverse through the Prince's untrained mind, especially with direct contact like this. This would seem almost instantaneous from the outside, though, Myra seeing the Squib's eyes close and Drova's reaction within moments of each other.

The Squib mentally prodded said point, not really expecting much of a reaction. If he was a force sensitive the reflexes of his mind would immediately shut the squib out and potentially throw him back from the Pyersai. It depended on his natural strength in the Force or lack of it, to be honest!

[Torrocca]

The soldier of forgotten times took pause as the intercom crackled to life. "What is... that?" He asked Naomi, listening intently as a voice seemingly belonging to the wind informed the building to gather in the dinning room. Although surprising, the legionary, at first, had figured what it was: no doubt the message of one of the many Gods residing within the building as well.

More surprising than the spoken words, however, and quite confusing to Hectaros, was the music; he'd never once in his life heard such music. For him, marching horns and drums and, on occasion, small bands of strings and other percussionists were what he'd known. That or the choirs of holy men in holy temples and at holy sites, singing their praises of the Gods and Goddesses above. This was as strange to the man as the whole rest of this new world was. He didn't know what to think of it.

[Giovenith]

"Perhaps," Giovenith touched her nose to MB's and took a seat in the dining room. She had a feeling it was going to be a long, long talk.

The sound of crinkling flaps heralded the form of another beside her, nodding in casual greeting. "Hell-o!"

Giovenith flinched at the newcomer's sight. "Will- Paper-Willow?"

A hell of a lot had happened in the short time since the cutout had been brought to life to when they'd arrived back at the Building. He was still physical-wise an exact clone of her pegasus-pony friend, but he'd gone through a fashion rehaul. His once accidentally messy hair now swept up and aside with apparent intent. He'd found a small-sized leather jacket (still a bit big for a pony) and thoroughly abused it until it submitted to his frame. A loud smack and the smell of mint told her he was chewing gum.

He noticed the look she was giving him but didn't catch the purpose for it. "What?"

"What happened to you?" Giovenith demanded, settling MB in her lap.

"Oh! Demens gave us a place in the library. Real slick."

"Not that!" she tugged at the collar of his jacket. "This!"

Paper-Willow looked confused. "I changed my clothes," he explained, as if he'd done nothing more than put on a clean shirt.

Giovenith nearly facepalmed. "Oh my god, are you a greaser?"

"What's a greaser?"

Greasers were that other black-garbed American subculture of the 1950s, the dirtier and more extroverted contemporaries of the beatniks. Both weary with the artificial gaiety and peace thrust upon the world by the older generations in order to cope with the horrors of World War II, the beats had sought their reprieve by turning inward, searching for a sense of philosophical purpose in the bookstores, cafes, and jazz clubs where they gathered, exchanging writing, art, and thoughts; the greasers had turned outward, finding their purpose in thrill and dare. They wouldn't have been caught dead waxing poetic when they could be fixing their cars for the upcoming (illegal) derby, nor wasting time with the drear of jazz while the rumble of rock called.

At least, that's how it was on Earth, Giovenith wasn't sure how beatniks got started in Equestria or if they had a greaser subculture. All she knew was that her Willow fit squarely into the earlier group and had never shown a hint of crossover. What was with this cutout? He was weird. She didn't like it.

"Look, it doesn't matter," she sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "More important things are going on right now."

"Ah yes, the war!" Paper-Willow smacked his gum with a grin. "I haven't got a dog in this race, but I figure, gotta make sure Willow will be up to speed when he comes back, you know?"

Giovenith pouted. "I could have just told him."

Paper-Willow shrugged. "Yeah, but sometimes you gotta hear news from the best possible source. And who better than oneself?"

"You are barely Willow."

"Ouch, that hurts Gigi."

"Don't call me that. I thought you said your job was to imitate Willow as closely as possible in order to make me happy, but you just look like him, you're not the same inside at all."

"Sure I am," Paper-Willow pulled out a switch-comb and adjusted his hair. "I'm exactly the same on the inside as your Willow. I've got all the components - they just come together differently."

"Come together? What does that even mean?"

He snapped his comb closed. "It's like chemistry, babes. You got the same elements, but maybe you create a yummy food dressing, maybe you create a poisonous gas. All depends. Or maybe in your case, two people look at the same painting and have a different interpretation. Same info, different results. Don't ask me how, it's just the way it is."

This was giving Giovenith a headache. She had too much weighing on her as it was.

[Swith Witherward]

HECTAROS' Apartment.

Naomi tilted her head to catch the sounds. Typical Adrastus with his hoaky music. "The intercom allows us to reach every spot in the Building. Think of it as a means to send signals, only using voice rather than lanterns or smoke. Radio, it's a fascinating thing. If we don't hurry, they'll subject us to Lawrence Welk. I'm not a polka fan. Let's get to the dining room. It's on the second floor."

She rose from the floor and brushed lint from her hands. "And you're welcome, Hectaros," her head nodded towards his armor. "The body craves a bath after a weary battle, and the metal craves a polish."



LOBBY

Volker groaned. No sooner had the hunter, lizard and Conservator headed up the stairs when the chandelier began to sway again. The bulb unscrewed, the ooze poured onto the floor, and Volker peered over the desk to watch the mess form into Tsu.

Well, not Tsu. It sort of looked like her, but she had somehow changed. Matured perhaps, or came from an alternative dimension? He sighed. Some things just weren't meant for him to know.

"Wake up, Tsu!" Volker banged the clipboard on the desk to break the spell Demens had put on her. She would recall nothing of her journey back to the Building, of course. "Welcome back. I have a new lease for you to sign, and then you have to hurry upstairs for the Residents' meeting."

[Monfrox]

Sergeant Kafka, like any good special forces soldier, had spent the time from her arrival at the Building up until now surveying the surrounding land. Green plains, but landmarks. Those were good in the absence of a compass rose. She didn't stray too far, because she had heard the announcement. More likely than not, this was going to be about that "Chosen" business. She walked in to watch something ooze out of a lightbulb and form the shape of a person (the process of which about made her wretch a little). Strange things. Strange things indeed. She nodded a bit feverishly to Volker (yep, nothing to see here, business as usual), and shuffled into the dining room.

[The BranRiech]

Drova

"Well hey." Drova sighed. "Kind of nice we're already here." His ears had perked up at the intercom announcement. He had been ready for the meeting before it even began, all of his gear neatly packed up with him. Biding time talking about the Force with Mag and Myra had been fun, but now it seemed it was time to get a little more serious. They'd likely be informed of some rather important information. After an island trip, it had seemed that the group all needed it badly.

He paid little attention as the Jedi hopped up onto the table in front of him, waiting for the meeting obviously.

Wishing Yuna was there with him, He tried to think of other subjects, though none of them he was rather fond of. Recent events weren't a good source of happiness for his troubled mind. They were filled with dead friends, draining physical activity, and an overwhelming lack of self-worth.

Wait, did Mag just say something about being "Uh... Force sensitive?" The Prince mumbled back to the Squib, who was now standing on the table in front of him. He sat there and waited, letting the Squib delve deep into his mind as his digits met the Pyersai's temples, brushing his white hair to the side. Drova didn't feel much, at least for just a second...

The smaller Jedi was flung back, enough to topple the chair behind him, that he'd left unattended.

"W-what was that!?" Drova yelped, almost losing control of his own chair, nearly falling backwards himself in fear. His cap had flown off and landed on the floor behind him.

[Holy Lykos]

When Mag was sent flying (mostly due to his stature, and being so light), one of his sabers was sent off another direction. Midair the Jedi used the force to pull it back to him before it could hit anyone unfortunate enough to be in the path of a near solid metal hilt. But the distraction led to him landing on his back, a bit winded. Not that it would show, the Jedi letting out a sharp laugh for a few moments before shooting back up onto the table like a purple blur.

"Ooohh! Prince definitely force-sensitive, yes yes. Mag teach. No question. After metting, though. More explanation than nowtime. Not much time, few minutes till meeting starttime, yes?" He glanced between the two, Drova and Myra. "First Force-Sensitive Mag met not from home dimension! Koovy koovy koovy!" The squib couldn't help but hop up into the air from excitement, using the force to lift his chair back up and land in it to sit back down.

"Maghrl always want teach Force to someone... Definitely need holocrons, Jedi thingies... Trip to Illum? Maybe! Drova need lightsaber pieces, yes yes."

[Cerillium]

OPERATION: Steingrímur Magnússon
DIMENSION: 512A
LOCATION: Drake Passage (Mar de Hoces), Earth
TEAMS: War Cultist Retrieval Cell 6

The unpredictability of Drake's Passage tormented and conquered the brave souls that sailed it, forever banishing wooden vessels to the lowly depths therein. Tonight was no different, though the squalls were rather uncharacteristic even for this turbulent stretch of sea. Howling winds and sea spray pummeled the three-masted ship's bow as it rode out the storm. The brave crew worked feverishly to chip the thick ice from her deck and rails. She was far too heavy in front and, despite the captain's seasoning, there was no way in which to turn against the wind. Such was the sinister nature of the waters where the waves, winds, and currents all seemingly conspired against any intrepid adventurers.

The ship rose under a vicious wave and then perched precariously at its crest before plummeting down the other side. Loose tins and cups rattled across the floor to strike those crouching within the darkened hull. It was unwise to light a flame in such conditions. Steingrímur Magnússon and his team had no other choice but to clasp onto each other and pray for God's mercy as the objects struck them repeatedly. Broken glass salted the researcher's clothing and exposed skin - the 'sailor's shave' left the skin folds under his chin raw and bleeding.

Heavy in front, the laden bow struck the wave's deep trough with inexplicable force. The wind tore away sailors' screams. The impact and water ripped one from their number. No alarm was raised. Recovery in these conditions was impossible.

Screaming, clawing at the water in a desperate attempt to reach safety before hypothermia set in, the drifter was the singular witness to Retrieval Cell 6's arrival. They knew his fate and thus paid his presence no mind. He parted proximity with his vessel as another frothy wave rolled in, his numb mind barely comprehended the presence of the unfamiliar men holding fast towards the stern. How do they do that? It was his final thought before the chill claimed his consciousness.

"Everybody remember where we parked," the cell leader's telepathy to his cohorts prevented the wind from swallowing spoken words.

Thought weighed down by their soaked wool uniforms, the cultists continued their climb upwards to the deck. Pale hands latched onto the rails, their fingers' strength easily crushing the ice beneath them. Another vicious wave captured the ship and, for a brief moment, their bodies swept vertical to the deck itself, jack booted feet suspended in mid-air like flags thrashing in the wind. They took advantage of the momentum as the ship rolled over the crest and downward once more. Six undead former Nazis rolled over the rail and landed hard on the deck.

And then time stopped. The motion ceased. Sailors posed like manikins, some hovering above the deck mid-tumble.

"Well, allo, allo!" Will's nasal British accent made the Germans cringe. The British pilot, himself a tad soaked, stood with feet planted resolutely upon the wooden deck. He leaned forward a bit (as the ship itself was still pitched). "Nice of you lot to join the party."

"Was ist die Bedeutung davon?!" Rudolph the Cell Leader shook an angry fist at his former enemy. "You know you are not to get involved!"

Will shrugged. "You know the Captain. Sees things we miss. She left a note telling me to be here. Lucky for you, yeah?" The 'captain' in this case was none other than Minerva Blackwater, the fiendishly clever leader of Perfection's Cultist Forces. Apart from Time itself, she had a knack for knowing when shit needed some intervention.

Rudolph scowled. "So, you come to steal our thunder? We were sent on this mission. Not you."

"My, but aren't we just a little titchy tonight!" The sea water squeezed out of his tan uniform as Will folded his arms. "I'm not here for the Package. I'm here to keep Time at bay while you get it. I don't care how clever you bastards are. You'll be swept under in thirty seconds otherwise."

"Fair point," the cell leader conceded. "Let us get on with our task."

It took them no time at all to raid the ship's bowels. Magnússon's meager possessions found their way through a portal to join the few articles the cultist had already pinched from his dwelling back home. Rudolph searched the clustered researches while his Men worked, finally squatting before Magnússon himself.

"You don't look so good," the beam from his halogen flashlight played across the frozen man's face. "You are very lucky. You are Chosen. You come with us." Rudolph paused to examine the frighten faces of those beside Magnússon. "I am very sorry. You should know, we cheated this time. We stole your voices and used them to whisper into your loved ones' ears. They think it only premonition. A bad feeling something is wrong. You should know, you are all brave, even if you failed to reach the pole first. We respect you for your sacrifice."

Will's clucking tongue drew Rudolph from his apologies. "You broke the rules. You know, you keep doing that and people will think War is going soft."

Rudolph ran his fingers through his bristly hair. "I know. But it breaks my heart when innocents die."

"There's always the Triangle," a smile parted Will's lips as he cocked his head. "You get Magnússon to the Building. The Lads and I will sort them."

"Sailors, too?"

Will sighed. "Right, sailors too. Consider it a late Christmas gift."

It took only ten minutes to disentangle Magnússon from his companion's arms. The Germans hauled him onto the deck followed by Will. They gave a nod, and the former British pilot released Time. The ship's bow slammed against the trough, this time with an intensity that pitched it ass over tits. But the Germans and Magnússon had slipped into a shadow seconds before. The crew and passengers, including the castaway, would be plucked from the frigid waters, Rudolph was sure of it. They'd wake up on a sunny beach somewhere, perhaps on the Island of Ni itself, to live out their spared lives.


LOBBY - Steingrímur arrives at the Building

Tsu had yet to awaken with the chandelier moved once again. It wasn't goo that poured from the exposed light socket first. This time, it was icy salt water. Volker squealed and stepped away from the desk to avoid the sudden downpour. Sleeping Tsu was not so lucky. It slapped her, hard, before sloshing across the floor to assault anyone nearby.

"What is the meaning of this?" Volker demanded, his accent betraying his Berliner origins. It took him a moment to realize there wasn't any ooze forthcoming.

Instead, a grey-clad man elongated from the fixture, one jack boot at a time, and dropped to the floor. He carried a man in his arms with all the gentleness of a groom ushering his bride over the threshold.

"Steingrímur Magnússon, researcher," Rudolph laid the man on the wet floor in front of the Lobby Desk. "We took the liberty of addressing his wounds before bringing him."

Volker scratched his head. "You didn't put him under Demens' sleep spell?"

"No. Our own. He sleeps but he'll remember his final moments before his slated death."

The Front Desk Cultist arched a brow. "Why?"

Why, indeed. "He was brave, though he lost his race. He has tasted defeat and the futility sometimes found in life. He only knows his final moments on that ship. Will was there to help." There wasn't any need to explain the Brit's methods. Volker was already familiar with them and could guess what he'd done. "Steingrímur Magnússon will remember the open ocean and screams. We dropped him into slumber after that. Let this motivate him. He couldn't save them. But he can save the omniverse, present and future. He is Chosen." Rudolph smoothed Steingrímur's dry hair to lift the spell. "You were brave. You did the best you could."

He stepped over the soggy Tsu and departed through a door just off the Lobby (it was marked 'Chaos Quarters'), leaving Volker to handle another new arrival.

"Time to wake up, Mr. Magnússon," Volker neatened his own Nazi uniform - the swastikas had been replaced by the odd symbol of his god - before stepping around the desk to crouch beside the newest Resident. "I know you're probably feeling a bit shocked. Don't worry. I'll explain everything."

Magnússon would awaken to find himself lying on the Lobby floor. Such were the properties of the Building that the room took on whatever ideal appearance he would assign to it. Some things were forever present, such as the staircase and lifts along the far wall, and the seating area in front of the windows. Spring sunlight shone through those windows, beckoning one to take a moment to appreciate the pastoral scene outside. A loud din echoed down the stairwell - many people chatting with each other as they gathered for a meeting. The puddle of seawater faded away, absorbed by the Building's healing properties. Magnússon himself was dry and clean, unlike the woman on the floor nearby.

"After you sign your lease, we'll get you some coffee, ja?" Volker soothed.