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

[Torsiedelle]

Torii's smile faltered. "What? Not a fan of Shakespeare? I know it's a tad sudden, but I'm stuck here.", She shrugged.

Katya was waiting.

Audette was in the hall, leaning behind the doorway and tapping her foot.

Torii was suffering from...well, not writers block, but...

She whispered. "You know, Hamlet?"

Of course, Torii was no expert on literature, but she knew of Shakespeare, having done quite a bit of reading in her adolescence. She was running out of steam, so what could she do? Well, there was a castle, and a throne, and Hamlet...she would have chosen MacBeth, but Hamlet just struck her more.

[Primordial Luxa]

Aegis

Aegis was woken from his restless sleep by the pounding and gave Yuna a friendly kick to walk her up per her own orders. He didn't know who was at the door and in case it was the original owners he wanted Yuna ready to react. Right now the thing he dreaded most tripping over ponies hoofs and drawing attention to themselves. If he and Yuna could get through this entire endeavor with as few ponies as possible he would be greatful. His mind was still obsessed with the fact that the villagers had been very happy for a moment to hang them as witches and didn't want to revive that sentiment.

Aegis opened the door looking quite haggard and very tired. It was obvious his night's sleep had been less than optimal and he yawned before saying “Oh. Smart Cookie, Skywishes. It’s good to see both of you please come in. How are both of you doing? I apologize Ms. Cookie that we are squatting here but it got simply freezing later on in the night and we needed to take shelter.”

[The BranRiech]

Bran

"N-no! What am I supposed to do?" Bran asked in the face of his newest challenge. His face was full of confusion, but he felt like something was conspiring in Torii's mind. "Am I supposed to fight the Queen, or Katya?" He asked, looking back over at the proclaimed "Queen" with a befuddled look, as the man conjured a sword in his hands.

"What do I do, Torii?"

[Torsiedelle]

Torii threw her hands up. "Whoa, not yet, Nikanor. I meanx it was going to happen, yes, but later on."

Something faltered in the illusion around them. Torii shrugged. "Nevermind. So, I take it you never really read Hamlet?", She asked. "Sorry, I, uh, just went with it."

Katya called out. "What's going on?"

Torii sighed. "Nothing!", She replied. She went back to Bran. "Sorry, I didn't think this would be confusing. I just wanted to do something fun."

[Fvaarniimar]

Upon exiting, Rmwtyliin noticed the convoy and informed the others that she'd ask if any help was needed; if either wanted to return on their own, that was fine. She was in a rather good mood and sang loudly as she crossed the grounds; her path took her past Torii's tent. Grabbing as much cloth as she could carry, the girl started back, shivering as snow started getting in her shoes again.

[Torsiedelle]

Audette's ear twitched. Someone was outside.

What the hell was she doing here anyways? Maybe whoever it was could show her the way back out. Audette's low light vision kicked in as she concentrated, and slipped out of the tent. Snow crunched softly behind Rmwtyliin; the woman stared at her.


She looked young. Young and poor.

[Germanic Templars]

Inn

"Oh..." Giovenith knitted her brow and frowned. She wasn't offended by the fact that Lucius was leaving, though it did beg the question of why he didn't mention this sooner or just not come along at all. "I understand, and that is a disappointment, but we won't hold it against you. Do you think perhaps you could stay long enough to assist us with getting the supplies first?"

Lucius sighed heavily as his shoulders drooped, much to his disliking he would have to refuse on helping out his comrades even on a task he considered menial. "I hate to let you and the rest of the company down, but I must decline. Our travel here I was plagued by the idea of keeping it alive, of course that idea manifested itself into perturbation as soon as we got to this city.. If I stay I am afraid it is just going to drive me insane... Not literally I promise."

"The only acceptable outcome for the lich is eradication from the plains of life... Unless." The angel cracked a smile, lifting his head up as the metaphorical light bulb in his head came on, "Unless we can remove it's soul and place it into a n object. After all the guideline I follow doesn't say the undead being's soul cannot be transferred out of it's corporeal form into an object of whim, but rather and to put it plainly, the dead cannot be allowed to walk. So, what do you think? Oh and please don't be pressured by my option, your word is law on this and I respect that."

[Torsiedelle]

"Where did Audette..."

Torii noted the woman's disappearance. Did she not want to participate? And Bran wasn't too happy, either.

"Hey, Sis?", Torii called out. Her voice was a little weak. Katya noticed, and concern immediately swept over her. She whisked her dress away - back into her usual getup - and hopped down, crossing the room. "What's wrong?"

Torii shrugged. "This, well, actually isn't going like I planned, and, well, I want to end it. So, um, I'm going home."

Katya nodded slowly. What had suddenly got her sister down? She didn't understand Toriii, and it always left her feeling frustrated for not being able to help.

"Well, okay then. I guess I'll follow. It's probably late anyway."

Torii waved for Bran to follow. "Sorry, I know it wasn't as good as I wanted. Anyways, why don't we go home and have dinner?"

Katya was already stepping out as the tent returned to nornal. She called for Audette, who turned away from the girl and returned. They were finally going home, it seemed.

"Sorry, Bran, I guess we gotta go.", Torii beckoned. She dipped out, right behind her sister. She three checked to make sure they were good, and exited the park, waiting for Bran on the outside on their way home.

[Stormwrath]

Carnival

Macy also decided to help out the others rummaging through the tents for any supplies. There were some cans of soup that were stacked on the shelves, so she took some of them. There were also boxes of snacks that she carried, as well as a couple of curtains and plastic boxes. Whatever she could find that would be useful, she brought. On top of the pile stacked on her arms was the teddy bear she got from that other tent. It seemed to be playing around with a spoon.

[The BranRiech]

Bran

He'd let Torii down.

"Fuck!" He shouted to himself after the others had already left the tent. The look in Torii's eyes as she left her little fantasy world behind was absolutely soul-crushing to the man, who knew that the girl was having fun with her little version of her mind. She seemed to have an entire little story to play out too, trying to make their day a little more fun, and Bran had ruined it.

The tent's interior began to shift, considering that Bran was now left alone in the structure.

He walked to the exit down a winding dirt path through a green meadow. He'd been here before, when he was able to spot the house on the horizon, standing alone against the backdrop of a serene and lush coast. It was his house, where the memory of his parents lived. He could see their darkened figures against the setting sun inside the house as he made his way towards the exit of the tent, and with it, the carnival.

"Hey! Wait up!" He called after his friends.

It took him a few seconds after breaking into a sprint, but Bran finally managed to catch up to his friends. "I'm sorry, Torii. I didn't mean to catch you off-guard back there. We can go and get some food now, I think. I don't know, we shouldn't waste food."

--

Yuna

Smart Cookie and Skywishes were the ones at the door?

Before she'd gleaned that little tidbit of information, she'd been scrambling to get up after Aegis' gentle kick was able to jostle the young mare from her slumber. The last time she remembered being conscious, she'd been pulled right up from the dreadful Pony body, and brought to . . . Somewhere, to talk to Rache. Well, less talk and more listening. But at least she knew that they were going to see some of their friends today, the other residents that were all there with them.

"Morning, everyone." She stretched her four tired legs out, hearing the joints popping in each one of them.

She trotted up to Aegis at the door. "In a bit, doesn't have to be right now, but I need to tell you something." She whispered into her compatriot's ear.

She most certainly did need to tell him too. Rache's information was too important to not pass on, in-case Yuna managed to somehow forget the story. They were going to both need to convince the Chancellor to meet with the other races, as quickly as they could too, probably. Or at least waiting seemed like a generally bad idea, when famine and never-ending winter were at stake.

[Giovenith]

Aegis and Yuna

"Ah figured you two'd be alright given you already come from the wood," Smart Cookie flicked an ear and pursed her lips. "But it was still pretty worrying not hearing from ya. Probably for the best though, the Chancellor was out all night and I couldn't do nothing about the disc."

SkyWishes placed a muffin in both their hooves. They were small, dry, and tasteless, but it was better than eating snow. "Because of that scary monster pony last night, all the townsfolk are having a worship get-together today! Usually they're pretty fun with singing and food, but I have a feeling this might be different..." She frowned and looked to Cookie. "There's no right way to react to such a thing."

"Indeed there's not," Cookie replied, turning around and leading the other three back off to town. "On the way here we saw your set-up, hopefully it'll work. If any of the flying ponies do show up, we're going to want to be there to greet them when they do. I don't think any of the ponies here will attack 'em if they come without trying to be sneaky, y'know? They might be jumpy, but they know the difference between business and theft."

"And I've always, always, always wanted to meet pegasi!" SkyWishes grinned.

The secretary shook her head. "Better leave it to me and them, Sky. No telling what'll happen." She looked back at the two dimensional travelers. "Speaking of that, what exactly do you expect to happen?"

[Northwest Slobovia]

Kale came in from the carnival seconds after Amanda and Insidious parted company. Amanda was still considering her misjudgement of Insidious, looking pensive, when she noticed the green-haired plant mage. It never rains but it pours. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, mentally ticked off what she needed to say to Kale, and walked over to her. The girl looked melancholic, but she either brightened up at the arrival of Amanda or feigned it for courtesy. She led Amanda up to her apartment after a perfunctory greeting.

The apartment was cleaned up since the crash arrival. Trash bags with broken wares lined one wall and the wooden and tile floors shined from the sunlight coming through the windows. The kitchen island remained a mess though; with glue, paper, dust and pottery either broken or partly fixed on its surface. “Sorry for the mess,” Kale said as she guided Amanda past them.

Kale guided Amanda to a small dining table neatly arranged for the two of them. A platter of small and neatly cut chickpea sandwiches, a teapot, a sugar dish, mugs and plates were placed on the table’s surface for the two of them. Kale motioned for the woman to take a seat while she herself went off to the kitchenette to check on the hot water.

Amanda looked over the light meal set out for the both of them, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Oh, thank you!” She was very pleasantly surprised that Kale had been brought up properly. Tea wasn’t her preferred drink, but she was more than willing to play gracious guest to a gracious host.

Amanda turned in her seat to face her host while speaking to her. How to begin? She’d never represented a child in a tort before-- correction: such a young woman. “So, how would you like to do this? As I think Sandy said, I’m here to try to help you with the consequences of what happened while fighting the Fiends. If you would like me to lead this discussion, I can. I’d start by listening to your story, then asking some questions, and then offering some proposals for what to do.”

Kale watched the kettle as Amanda spoke to her, waiting for the water to boil. “Okay then… I’ll try to recount a bit of it,” she said, already feeling her heart being clenched.

“The more you can tell me, the more I can help you,” Amanda began in a tone between news anchorman and father confessor. “Let’s start with the battle with the Fiends, as close to the beginning as you can remember it. What happened?” She waited intently for Kale’s response. Some clients spilled their guts as soon as they were asked to start talking, others had to be drawn out, one tiny detail at a time. Others alternated between pouring out their souls and clamming up, depending on how sensitive what they were saying was. Which sort was Kale?

The girl gave a nod, though not looking at Amanda. “The first thing I remember is entering the lobby. So many people coming in, hiding away from the Fiends. I just had to protect them,” she said, taking a deep breath and tensing up, “So I exited the lobby doors to the outside. A lot of the building residents were doing there best to fend off the Fiends as well. I joined in alongside them.” Kale was picturing in her mind of the lobby and the outside. All the people, all the Fiends. It was chaos.

“Things were going fine until my magic went wild. The whole field got covered in tall grass. I couldn’t deal with it because I was busy catching and holding down Fiends. It wasn’t hurting anything, just a nuisance…” she said. Again, she pictured the scene: tall grass growing to the edge of her vision, with howling Fiends ensnared in her grassy grip.

Amanda cautiously asked a clarifying question. “‘Catching and holding down Fiends’? You don’t mean by hand, I hope.”

“No no… with grass… Stronger strands, influenced by my magic,” Kale said, clarifying for Amanda, “ I held them down with grass but…. there were so many of them. I couldn’t restrain them forever… so…” Kale tensed up and paused her speaking, hesitant to continue, more out of fear than to hide the truth.

Amanda spoke in a soothing voice. “And then? Please tell me, Kale. The more I understand about what happened, the more I can do to help you with it.”

The kettle water simmered through the silence before Kale got the will to speak more, taking a deep breath before going on. “I… I killed them…” she said, exhaling heavily,“The Fiends…. and… the people… they all died in the grass!” Kale clutched the countertop, her nails digging in as she pictured it all. Fiend and innocent alike, killed indiscriminately by razor grass, creating blood-red polka dots on a green canvas. “Oh Wakan! It’s all my fault! I should have noticed my magic going haywire again! I could have stopped it!” she exclaimed, her voice damp in guilt.

The self-deprecating spiel was interrupted by the whistling of the kettle. Kale snapped back to reality and quickly took the kettle off the stove and turned it off. She quickly walked over to the table and poured the hot water into the teapot. Setting the hot kettle on a coaster, Kale sat down in the chair across from Amanda. She stared at the tea pot for a while before looking to Amanda. “S-sorry for that…” she said, apologizing for the tirade against herself.

Amanda shook her head ruefully. “If anybody should be sorry, it’s me. This is an unusual situation for me. Where Sandy and I are from, magic is underground, so I’ve never had to consider the implications of wild magic in helping a client before.”

She tried a different approach. “But I can say that most of the people caught in the grass are fine now, and they’ve gone back to their families in the Burrows.” Amanda was all but positive that was right: Margaret said they’d lost nearly a hundred people total, and Sandy’s triage tallies were close to that as it was. Some were killed by the Fiends, and some were killed in the firestorm, so there wasn’t much doubt. Kale was already remorseful, so there was no reason to emphasize the body count.

Kale, she didn’t know how to feel. Relieved? No, she still hurt people. But the tension was easing. It unsettled her still, but the girl looked calmer than before. She looked to Amanda away from the teapot, seeing a face she could trust.

“Well… if you say so…,” she said, letting out a deep sigh,” But… I still wronged them.” She let out a weak-hearted chuckle. “I guess that’s why you’re here,” she said.

Seeing the teen relax, Amanda started her reply with a smile. “Yes, that’s why I’m here.

Maybe it would be better to first talk about how we can make the situation right. A group of ogres from the Freywold came by yesterday evening. They’re the police force for Freywold. They came to tell us we need to fight a dragon. However, I caught them on their way out and asked them about The Burrows. The Burrows-dwellers are likely to want compensation for their injuries. We can negotiate with them to reach some sort of settlement. I think you’d have to accept responsibility as well.

The ogres told us a very little about the local laws, but I don’t know what the Burrows-dwellers would consider fair. It may help, though, they you went and got them some new lambs already. From what the ogres said, that should show you in a favorable light.” Amanda neglected to mention the accusation of theft; Kale was upset enough as it was.

Kale nodded to Amanda's proposal. Compensation for the actions committed against them by her. It was something she thought of before Amanda mentioned it, but the woman would probably make it more like that is what she would have to do for the Burrow Dwellers than any other punishments. Kale wasn't one to negotiate for a better outcome; she was resigned to whatever fate they gave her.

"Yes... the sheep might help with negotiations. But if it don't go well, even with my assistance with the sheep, I accept whatever punishments they demand," Kale said in a calm and resigned tone.

Amanda shook her head, then smiled reassuringly. "They don't seem like the punishing type. It's possible the total compensation they ask for will be a large sum, but I'll try to arrange for you to pay it off slowly so that it isn't overwhelming."

Amanda nodded to herself, remembering one other thing the ogres mentioned. "There is a bit of community service you could do, and may have to do to. The meadow will need to be regrown. The ogres insisted that it be done without magic, to avoid disturbing the balance of nature. They gave me some instructions for seeds to sow. You could, and probably should, help with that."

Kale nodded along to what Amanda said, accepting of the plans. Payment over time was a reasonable sounding plan. And she knew she would be helpful with replanting the meadow. “Yes, I can easily assist with that,” Kale said to the meadow-planting. The one mundane thing she was especially skilled at was growing plants the normal way. Maybe she could also plant… no, nothing too crazy. She chuckled under her breath again.

“One last thing: you'll need to ask the Burrows-Dwellers for a specific list of seeds to plant. The ogres mentioned some, but it was clear that other plants grew in the meadows before the fire.” Amanda tasted her sandwich, and decided it was tasty if unusual. She'd never been much of a fan of vegetarian food, but Kale seemed to know what she was doing with it. The meal passed pleasantly, alternating silence and smalltalk. When they finished, Amanda excused herself, saying she needed to attend to other things.

[TotallyNotEvilLand]

"I was thinking the same, but its been absolutely forever since I've done any color theory. Librarians don't get to be creative very often, you know." Sterling nodded with a small chuckle, snapping his fingers. A bit flashy something he'd always wanted to do since he saw humans doing the strange little action. As the sound rung out a tie appeared around his collar, along with the color of his shirt changing to a deep red color, the pony looking over himself to see how it looked. The tie was a spiral patterned thing in black and gold, the primary color being black, with spiraling patterns of gold running diagonal across it. He huffed again, before shrugging.

"How's this?" He asked the one who was actually helping him fix up the colors of his outfit. He then glanced over at the man who's accent he thought was peculiar, but couldn't really place it to any one place that he knew of. "Never heard of those places, or this Germanic Templar. Who is this person?" He honestly had no idea what a nation was, being that his home was united into exactly one of them, with other groups in distant lands. No real thing as nationalism in his world, nor the idea of a nation-state. Not for a long time at least. "Oh and Equestria is quite the interesting place. Peaceful, everypony's nice and generally gets along bar personality conflicts, and the Princesses Celestia and Luna rule over us with benevolence and grace, controlling the heavens to make the sun and moon rise and set. Oh!"

It was then that Crysal rushed off, announcing her intentions to go help actually do something. "Oh yes, Mister Smith, if you wouldn't mind, could you aid us in getting supplies for the building? If nothing else food, since it seems we'll be short that especially from what I've heard, and any sort of useful bits."

"Strange. I would've thought a librarian a good profession for someone looking into writing. Tons of reference material and things to build your ideas off of, after all." Adri said, though she realized that didn't really connect with the visual, painterly arts that involved color. The lass put her hands on her sides and raised a brow up high. "I think the colors suit you well..." She listened with great interest as Sterling described Equestria. It sounded like something right out of a saturday morning cartoon to her. Surely there couldn't be a place that pleasant in existence, she felt.

Crysal had rushed out of one of the supply buildings a short time later, carting a few assorted boxes over her shoulder, looking like she hadn't put much thought into what she had grabbed. "Adri, did you remember to put in a notice about the status of your water?"

Adri huffed. The water in her apartment had gone... off lately, to the point she had to visit her sister's place to get drinking water. She'd meant to talk to someone about that today before the prospect of visiting the carnival distracted her. "I failed to, entirely... I'll be seeing myself out." She abruptly poofed back into her more youthful, childish form as normal. "It was good meeting you, Sterling! Feel free to stop by the apartment sometime." She said, turning around.

Crysal followed suit, extending her hand out to Sterling, and afterwards, to Smith. "Don't stay out too late." She said, following her younger sibling as the two headed back to the building.

Hmm, Adri wondered if it had a parking lot?

[Cerillium]

SERENDIPITY PART I
Starring the Residents of Demens Towers
Narrated by Professor Farnsworth
With Special Guest Star Justin Bieber

---

---

"Good news, everyone! All was not lost on this quest.


AND SO General Romulus gathered his intrepid band together - bringing from all the corners of the Building the strongest and bravest Bielefled had to purge offer - to continue on the Quest to Slay the Dragon-Litch. They set off from the Inn early the next morn. Really, they could have set off three weeks prior but their handlers took copious amounts of time off to do better things. Thus they found themselves back in the village just in time for tea, and then onward to home, whereupon they promptly wasted another day or two trying to sort their asses from holes in the ground. And so it was that the band members trained a bit, and sat on their asses and talked, and trained a bit more, and a few of the magic-type people actually did important shit, such as visiting Old Sam and raiding the village library. It was they that they discovered the significance of the "t" in "litch", but I digress.

AND SO General Romulus, having taken some time to review the magicy-type people's research, set off once more, this time to procure obsidian which the village blacksmith had agreed to craft into magical rings. Of course, they didn't need these rings but it was strongly advisable that they have them as choppy-choppy sabers and sun swords don't do shit against spirits, and the rings prevented anyone from being possessed. More so, the rings allowed the users to actually lay hands on litch (with a "t") creatures. A few obsidian-tipped arrows would be a good idea, too. Also, they were going in order to recover a tome which will come in handy eventually, once they find someone to translate it.

Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

AND SO the party trekked across the ashen fields and through the woods and along the paths that would take them to the Brood of Alessio, which the blacksmith said contained volcanoes. No sooner had they departed Ascalon (where nobody was molested because everybody had finally learned their lesson about doing Stupid Shit and having Consequences slap their dicks off, right?) *ahem* ...no sooner had they departed Ascalon when they came upon a sign beside the road.

"To that volcanic place!" it read. And, for all those that are doomed to die there, someone had penciled in, "Oh, don't mind those idiots jumping to their deaths - happens all the time." Had the cyborg Build Rep tagged along, he might have raised a brow at the weather-stained sticky note tacked under the penciling - ""Look, Ma! Kashtilag!" He was not present, however, and so the only one to raise a brow was Marcus (because Opa doesn't have any, natch.)

A day's journey on brought them to a forked path. The General, after weighing his band's numerous suggestions, sent the squires and Jedi to the right where it was foretold that obsidian littered the ground, while he and the others took the left towards the tower.

What tower? The one with the book, obviously.

The squires and Jedi had no sooner descended in the Valley of the Glass when they were besieged by a dreadful beast. Having no other choice, they fought the shit out of it, thus Drova finally proved he could to more with a blade than cut his dinner. Speaking of that, the beast was tasty, thus their supplies lasted another week.

Meanwhile, back in the tower - which was abandoned many decades prior - What? Yes, there were traps. Duh. No, they couldn't be circumnavigated by bullshit magical handwaving. Yes, there were clues, but all were in Greek. It was Sandy that bailed all their asses out, for he spoke the language well enough to pick up even the minute shit. Nobody died. Nice. Thank you, Sandy. Have a biscuit.

The tome (which is not written in Greek or any language any of the sage band members recognized) now procured, the General lead them away from the tower and towards smoke rising from the valley - where the squires and Jedi sat cooking their kill.

The sun rose, the intrepid residents gathered the obsidian, and a week later they were back in the village ... Where the blacksmith carved their glass into beautiful rings. It took a month of solid effort but the end result was stunning. Giovenith bestowed her blessings upon them, with the aid of the ever-inquisitive Alexia.

AND SO everyone at the Building had the opportunity to join forces in order to build the green house and do all the other nifty shit suggested by one of those demigod-type handlers.


Meanwhile, in Ascalon, it was time to deal with problems. No, not Amanda's, though it does deal with part of her story. You see, Demens had quite enough general skullfuckery over the last month. Dropped plots, forgotten clues, general sitting around and doing nothing. Ascalon was just one more straw atop the camel, and he had grown tired of handler's being afraid to send Residents there. "Buttered toast," he folded his newspaper, wiped his ass and flushed. "That's what Ascalon needs."

AND SO it was that the city was bombarded with the stuff. Toast, not shit. Buttered. It was an unholy commentary on the way the city was managed, a plague brought on by political peril placed by politicians too proud to permit the populace any peace of mind. On the third day, Demens rested, and the people raised their voices in protest of how shit was being handled by the management. After all, dropped toast lands buttered-side-down. How would you feel if struck by several thousand slices?

Now we won't kid anyone. You can't just wave a magic wand and purge the Uppers of all the crime. But they were given notice that they were on a short leash, thus things became a bit more calm so as to not detract from the newfound main purpose of this role play. Amiright? Oh there would still be something for Amanda to sink her teeth into, and the city was still intolerant of magical outbursts from non-citizens. However, it was a bit safer for noob handlers' characters.

Demens' arrival had other repercussions as well. The Fiends tucked their tails and agreed to find something else to mess with, though they would (like a certain dragon-litch) be available for other things later on.

"The FUCK is wrong with you?" he wheezed to no one in particular as he approached the Building. "I fucking try to get one fucking thing accomplished..."


PHOOMPBBBBT!

This is the sound made when a god forces you to burp, fart and sneeze simultaneously. It's also the painful noise you hear in your ears when plucked raw from wherever you were standing and shoved through dimensional walls. Which is what happened to every character except those in Equestria. They found themselves in the dining room. Nobody sat at the front table. Nobody, not even Thriller, dared to show any cheek. Demens was pissed beyond measure, you see, and it was fuckn' palpable. Even the Building Manager chose to sit at the very, very back at the room rather than be anywhere close to the Markula-esque entity.

"Pay attention," Demens softly growled now that he had everyone's attention (for if they are not at this meeting or handlers post that their characters misunderstood the words, they will depart the story most uncomfortably).

"What we're doing, it's not working. Not at all. You need cohesion. A tenth of you somewhat pay attention. The rest carry on about their lives as if there hadn't been any change at all. It's a muddled clusterfuck the moment the whistle blows," Demens lifted his legs from the floor and crossed them, sitting on nothing as he regarded seventy-two active Residents and the additional currently-parked thirty brought in from Bielefeld just to hear this special message. "I need you. The Cosmos needs you. Everything inside the Cup needs you. And yet you squirrel around? No more. We can't continue like this."

It was true enough. It would be all too easy to blame the god for lack of clarity but, and let's be fair here, every time the Residents set out on a quest which would finally reveal the god's master plan, they flaked. Dreadfully. The universe would shift. Things were glossed over. The end. No information. No means of departing a clue. Nada. But now the Residents were gathered, and there was little excuse to not Be Aware of Shit.

"There is a Strife in the Cosmos," Demens continued, "The eternal war between Greater Beings. This battle has eternally raged between Creator and Devourer Greater Beings. Chaos Greater beings have their hands full trying to weave what's been unraveled and keep balance. Some Chaotic Greater Beings are actually on the side of the Devourers, and are unraveling things as well. Are you aware-"

Several Residents looked incredibly confused by all these new terms. Demens sighed and obliged them, "Imagine all the Omniverse inside one cup. Now imagine something existing outside that cup. That's a Greater Being. That's what I am. We don't normally concern ourselves with mortals, invasions and so on although a few still take interest in what's going on inside the cup. Some are actively involved. Most have more important things to worry about, if they’re awake at all.

"So you're wondering if I'm a god. What I am is beyond your comprehension, except for Giovenith here. Her mother is my peer. So where do gods come from? Us. Sometimes, like now, we manifest. My lot sticks its finger in the cup and everything in the cup sees the finger as a god. The cosmic soup in the cup relates to that finger because the finger is now inside the known Omniverse. No one ever pauses to consider there's anything outside the Omniverse at all. That's why Greater Beings like me are so powerful. We create gods, or we give birth to them, or we form them from whatever shit we please, or we devour them."

Demens paused to make certain everyone was clear. "Now, pay attention. I'm not repeating this. If you have questions down the line, go harass Giovenith. 'Bout time she came into her own. So - There are three kinds of Greater Beings. Creator, Chaotic, Devourer.

"Greater Beings such as Pearlelei and Elohim formed the fabric of the Omniverse -- cosmic strings. They literally created something from nothing. Christ is an offspring of a Greater being, born the Son of God but also God because that Greater Being poured some of Himself into Christ. Giovenith is a daughter of a Greater Being - born from Pearlelei - but is independent of her mother. Just two examples. Got it? Good.

"Chaotic Greater Beings didn't create the fabric or cosmic strings, but they can weave it and manipulate it. Some Chaotic Greater Beings use the fabric of the universe to fashion gods. Zalgo, Cthulhu, and other gods were fashioned this way. These gods will never be more powerful than they are now, and will never be as powerful as the Greater Being that fashioned them. We can add other pantheons to this level as well since they have gods that both create and destroy within the Universe.

"Devourer Greater Beings destroy the cosmic strings, unraveling them. They stick a tentacle into the Omniverse but hardly ever manifest an actual independent entity. They consume. They leaving nothing in their wake. They will tear your shit asunder, Romulus. They will purge your pantheon from the Cosmos, Primordial. They will slip across the expanse until they reach Pearlelei's door, and they will cast her down and swallow all her beauty, gone forever. Everything that every one of you knows and loves, or worships, or holds dear, will fall and become Nothing. Every. Last. Thing."

He paused again to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Thank you. Not too long ago, from my perspective, I walked in the place where only my kind dwell. Many sat around, kvetching about mortals. They had the balls to have a go at Giovenith here while her mother was walking Elsewhere. Bitching about her companionship with you toerags, and about how you all heap your mindless shit on her. They said to me, 'Will you just sit on your ass and do nothing while mortals dictate the will of the gods we created?'"

A sneer lifted Demens' lip. "I told Ouranos to summon his god-children. We'll wait. Of course, he wouldn't. The gods' era ended long ago. They fucked up, and their worshipers are all extinct or, like Primordial here, off on tangents pertaining to their gods' will rather than actually working on preventing the Devourers from winning. You think Yellow King will turn up to bless you on any endeavor that doesn't reflect power onto him?" Demens' eyes narrowed as he addressed the Luxan. "He deserts his followers, leaving them to their own devices while he walks his own heaven. Pray to him. Worship him. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll pull his head out of his ass."

He gestured to the rest of the Residents, "The same goes for all of your chosen gods. Damn shame. I rather liked most of them before they started that aloofness shit, and before their Greater Beings started blaming all of you for the gods' fuckups. I digress-

"Some of my brethren held me in contempt. Who the fuck was I to offer an opinion of their handiwork? I've never created a fucking thing. Not gods. Not mortals. Nothing. What do you expect? I'm Chaotic. I called her a silly slut for her ineptitude. I have always drawn the adrift to me. You. All of you, mortal and god alike, that we might take a final stand against the Devourers. The Greater Beings and their gods would allow all of you to perish from their own apathy. And I challenged them to reveal themselves in order to cast aside your doubts - the doubts of every last thing inside the cup. Reveal and gather your strongest followers or I will gather them in their stead. Of course, they lapsed into fretting and quarreling, incapable or else unwilling to take a stand. I told them to fuck off."

A triumphant expression seized Demen's gnarled face. He crossed his arms in defiance. "And then I created this place, my Heaven, and this Building. I gathered you all here, and many like you wander Gallimaufry Mundi. There is apathy outside my gates. They would blame mortals, holding you accountable when your gods failed you. I blame the deities and their games and their inability to keep themselves amused sans mucking with the mortals in their charge! Enough of that.

"I gather here all the forgotten things in the universe - the downtrodden, the forgotten magic, the mysteries, the lost keys and odd socks and neglected people - and house them together
so that they might prove just how wrong the gods and Greater Beings are. Call me spiteful if you wish. Call me proactive in combating the Strife. We must make things right out there, and we must bring the forgotten things here where they won't be sought out by the Devourers and destroyed before they can join forces with us against the Devourers. You are not here because of serendipity. You are Serendipity, and I have chosen you to change the fate of others. Each of you. Mortal, god, or menace alike."

Demens continued on in this manner for quite so-

What?

Yes, I know there are people off in ancient Equestria. Don't worry. All this shit will come to them in a dream. They'll retain Demens' words and purpose. Let's continue, everyone!



AND SO it was that Demens explained that he needed Residents to retrieve his Chosen. They were to utilize the gates to enter the dimensions, though the Guardians would keep at bay anything foolish enough to try to gain access without his permission. He would not expand upon the gates, and forbade the Luxans from messing with them (because Demens' heaven was outside the cup, and no being other than his own kind should understand how the devices worked).

He drew Torsi to his side to praise her pluck and to remind Residents that the strongest forces in the cosmos were often those simple things such as motivated the goodness in the human heart. He pointed a stern finger at the Jedi and Sith and bade them to put aside their home dimension's differences -- or else. He advised them to form Gate teams, only a few on each, and to have them stand at the ready should Serendipity be required. And he appointed Minerva and Klaus to an extraction team, should the first team fail to complete its objective in a timely manner, and commanded them to see that his will was done.

Finally, he addressed the issue that started off this adventure -- Varg.

"Go. Find him. I would not have brought him here to be slaughtered, however. We need him, and his necromancy talents. Convince him to forgive those that imprisoned him, and assure him that he is free to rest where he is without persecution, provided he gives up his plot for revenge."

Have you ever attempted to convince a dragon-litch of such a thing. No, you have not.


AND SO General Romulus gathered his intrepid band together again - this time armed with rings and knowledge - to embark on the Quest to Convince the Dragon-Litch. A great many things happened during that trip, one of them being a chance for Dan to meet with the Fey of this world (where he would remain for a time).

At the Building - the hydroponic garden thrived; a small clinic was established in the village; Residents were able to explore a bit of Ascalon's culture and dining, and they had access to technology that allowed them to build useful things (provided those things weren't an asspull); the ogres were soundly told off by Demens for whinging about letting the dragon live; the elevator's teleporter, so kindly built by Septimus and Marcus earlier that winter, was fully operational; the chickens and pigs housed in structures attached to the Building now thrived; Kale managed to get seed lists from the village, and to replant the large meadow again with the help of a borrowed plow and some cheerful friends to keep her company; well, you get the idea. Shit was established to make life easier.

As for that dragon? He wasn't happy to see the Romy and his band. No, he was livid, and much hell broke lose in the form of overwhelming violence before he quieted enough to listen to Giovenith. Her message struck a cord with him and, coupled with his outright fear of Demens, he agreed to the proposition, though his promise felt shaky to all of them. As a measure of good faith, he assisted in reattaching Romulus' arms and Pegasus' wings, and flew to look for poor Maghrl, who was clinging to Opa for dear life when the dragon-litch had savagely punted the android over the mountain range.

Hang on, there's still things to establish, right? What about the "t"? You'll see. Be patient.

And the phones? Do we have them? Yes. The Priests spent the better part of the winter developing a system and retooling existing phones. They had also taken Demens' orders to task, and by time the first bulbs poked their flowers from the snow, they had developed a communication system that would allow teams to touch base with the Building (with Demens' blessing).

And the area? Amanda and Minerva's frequent visits to the city provided Residents with a wide assortment of maps and books pertaining to their new world. Further, Residents cottoned on (hopefully) that pissing in their own pool was a bad idea. Galli was in fact a very tiny world. Harming it, or its inhabitants, wouldn't bode well for anyone. Further, there were still mysterious patches to explore, and new people to meet.

And finally, once the General and his band returned in early spring, there was a chance to train others how to fight.

Wait.... wait, wait, wait. What about Special Guest Star Justin Bieber?

That's what they fed to Varg to placate him. Now shut up so I can work on Part II and get us moving again.

[Cerillium]

SERENDIPITY PART II

---

---

collab w/Swith

"Klaus, dear, I'm going out," Minerva slipped her Walther into her thigh holster before blowing a kiss to the avatar napping on the couch.

Several months had passed since Demens' visit. During that time, Minerva had worked to set up teams. Of course, they were all on call, but no mission had come up yet to test anyone's mettle. Soon, perhaps. Teams weren't selected for talent or power, but by dedication to the cause and to respond to the sort of mission at hand. Not every Resident served on a team, either. Some were charged with staying behind to keep things running smoothly, while others remained in order to work the village clinic.

She left her apartment and trotted up the stairs to the lobby. A smile brightened her face as she passed the Lobby's front doors - in the distance, glinting in the morning sunlight, was the field so carefully planted by Kale. The tender shoots had begun to poke through the soil, casting the ground in a vibrant green carpet. The grasses and plants would be knee high in another month or two.

Volker offered the cultist leader a polite salute before going back to his copy of the Ascalon Chronicle. There wasn't any real news this morning, other than a cutting review of someone's new play. The weather forecast called for typical spring rainstorms in the afternoon, though Volker doubted they'd last long. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, taking his hands away only to find Minerva staring at him. "What?"

"Have we heard anything from Hans or Chrys, or any of the other missing people?"

Volker shook his head. "Building Manager said not to worry. I'm not worried. They'll turn up eventually, right?" The cultist retrieved his paper and turned to the comics, leaving Minerva to her own thoughts.

"Right," Minerva snorted. "Listen, I'm heading to the Gates this morning. If they should co-"

"-come back, notify you at once, ja," Volker breathed his frustration through his nostrils. Damn annoying woman. The mantra hadn't changed in months.

"Good enough," came her reply. Minerva offered her own jaunty salute, and then turned and walked to the base of the lobby stairs. The cultist leader drew a deep breath. "HEY! I NEED VOLUNTEERS! WE'RE GOING TO THE GATES FOR SUPPLIES!"

Hopefully Demens' Gatekeepers had remembered to ship coffee grounds.

[Torsiedelle]

A tuft of blonde hair bobbed around the corner at the top of the stairs, then jerked back. Around it, Torii had stopped to think about what she was doing. Were they really going to fetch supplies?

She popped back around the corner. She'd decided to toss her camo jacket on that morning, and her handgun sat tucked at her side as usual. She hadn't planned to go far outside the building, but she figured that it couldn't hurt. "Good morning, Ma'am.", She said, stepping down. "If you want, I could help to go get supplies. Is that cool?"

Meanwhile, in another part of the apartment....

Rubble littered the floor. Sosewe had done it; he was angry, frustrated. He had been practicing, sparring, but something seemed off. He just felt as though he wasn't doing his best. He stumbled, and found himself crashing into the wall, and, in a fit of anger, had reactivated his lightsaber and destroyed a part of the wall.

It would be hard to fix it. He focused his thoughts, his energy. He focused hard, and, before his eyes, the rubble began to move. Sozewe was careful to rebuilt the section, and, with as much force as he could, force the pieces together.

He needed to calm down. The Sith Warrior slipped on his signature robe and his utility belt, made certain that he had his blades, and stepped out into the primitive walls of the building that he had come to know as his home. He was having a bad morning, but perhaps some interactions with the neighbors would give him some respite...not that he was a people person, but it seemed better than doing nothing at all.

He remembered what the man...Demens? Had said. The Jedi...

[Primordial Luxa]

Insidious

Hopping lightly up from where she was sitting just off the side of the lobby the blurring skin of Insidious came into view. She had let her hair grow long in the time since they had arrived in this new realm and it made her look much older than she usually did. Today her skin was a vibrant shade of majestic purple that mimicked her own lofty personality.

She had been sincerely begun to finally enjoy the apartment now they they were back to what she considered the “bare essentials for community living”. She did what she could to help out most days but other times kept herself cooped up in the DEiMOS working on little pet projects such as extra-strength plant growth formula or protein based bandages. However today she had decided to read on Gnosticism and was happily distracted from the slightly cynical magic system by Minerva.

She folded one of her crystalline mechanical devices in half and placed it inside a purse of strange reptilian skin hanging from one of her arms. She gave Minerva a polite nod as walked in and asked “Would you be alright with my assistance?”

[Highfort]

Within the bowels of the Building, a heavy mass of metal and oil - and code - shifted softly. Whirring gears and hydraulic servos groaned to life as the machine ripped itself from the charging platform so thoughtfully provided to it in the basement. Clicking sensors assured the machine that its visual and auditory perceptions were accurate, and the soft hum of a plasma rifle filled the void of the concrete hallway as it emerged.

The soft flutter of a torn standard reminded the machine of its home. It had been months since any familiar faces had shown themselves. Septimus had up and disappeared - to where, how, and why, the Residents did not know. But to Opa, that meant it was stuck - possibly indefinitely. Now there was naught left but to wait and to serve, to preserve its new home in the hopes that, one day, perhaps the old cyborg would return. One day, perhaps, Opa would return to the familiar dusty streets of its old world and once-again stand vigilance over its old home.

... Home...

For now, however, it had a mission.

Bounding up the stairs with extended legs, the riot robot found itself stationed in the lobby, ready for orders. It turned to address the woman who had become one of its de facto operating officers in the interim after Septimus had left.

"Captain. Blackwater," out came the stilted voice, the shield raised in a vague gesture that could be interpreted as a salute, "I understand. There is. A mission. I believe I. Could be of. Assistance."

[Monfrox]

Brit had about had it. Truly, the juxtaposition between that god awful nightmare and the sickly sweetness of the maid and her breakfast was wearing her out, and she hadn't even gotten out of the damn bed yet. That elixir seemed to offer some help, but she never truly believed in anti-depressants. She also hadn't had nightmares in a long while, having gotten over them in her early childhood. No, having a nightmare to her was a red flag now that something was messing with her. Could it have been all the stress over the last year about all the things she'd seen and gone through? Perhaps, yet unlikely giving their current situation. What she wouldn't give to be like Willow right now. At least if the Peagasi were a militant kind, she'd been able to find some comfort in that routine.

The unicorn slid herself out of bed and looked down at the water basin beside it. Cold, more than likely, but that was good. She dunked her face in it, shaking her head back and forth before coming back up and wiping the excess off her. Well, that certainly woke her up, but there would be fatigue to come from that nightmare that stole sleep from her. She also would've loved to go back to being human. For all the examples of telekinetic powers she'd seen, she still hadn't the damnedest clue how to use hers. Trying seemed to produce no results at all, so she simply gave up. She wanted her camo, her rifle, and her old body back more than ever. It was then that she realized she'd been spacing out and sighed, sitting on the floor.

"Why me..." She groaned softly to herself before turning around and having a go at that toast Lily had brought for them. It was a nice gesture, and she needed some good food right now more than ever.

[Chedastan]

Several Months Later- Lobby

The General just entered the room after taking the elevator down, he was just wearing his dress uniform underneath his suit of power armor and had brought along his sword in its scabbard. He found it hard to believe it had already been several months since he first arrived here, to think he originally thought that he'd be at least somewhere to getting back to his home dimension by now, but alas no progress had been really made. As he was by now certain ever since that meeting with Demens, that no matter what he tried to do to escape, he was surely gonna drag him back in for the long haul.

Romulus was still trying to come to terms with what Demens had spoke to them about in that meeting, literally the being himself. And in the months he had to ponder it, he honestly still wasn't so sure of who or what he was even fighting for now. Was he still trying to fight for the Wilhelm Imperium and for the chance to return to it, to his home? Was his home even still relevant in the face of all the immensely powerful horrors that manifested themselves in all their own very existences? What of Maccabees and his whole Pantheon, or hell, all the infinite amount of gods that must inhabit his dimension alone. What were they all in the whole grand scheme of things, and should he even want to know at this point? He was already questioning his existence enough as it is.

He could only know that for himself right now, he was obviously and most assuredly part of Demens' plans for this grand war of insanely powerful beings. And he had undoubtedly been already partly playing the role that was intended of him by training the residents in what he knew of combat and strategy in the months following. He of course had no idea if any of it would truly be of use in terms of the whole 'having to fight a greater being that's a god to your own gods' sorta thing. Unless him and the other residents were only ever intended to simply recruit other beings like themselves, then eventually work together to wrangle a stronger being that was more likely to be able to do something. Which to Romulus would make more sense, but also meant that they were basically lowly grunts that would likely die in a instant when the real fighting actually happens. To which he wasn't at all comfortable about, which also brings back the natural desire to trying to find a way out of this situation.

Regardless though, he still had a sense of duty to something, if anything else.

Minerva had just called to them in the Lobby for volunteers for a supply run, just as he had been staring momentarily into the eyes of Wilhelm XVIII's portrait. He departed it, and bid it adieu. He was quite interested to finally use the Gates in action actually, he wondered where they'll end up too for this first run. After a couple or so paces though, he realized that the team that would go had already been assembled. Feeling a bit awkward just standing there, he attempted to make his way towards the Dining Room to hopefully acquire some breakfast.

[Swith Witherward]

Fool's Circuit: Prelude II [collab with Agy]

It was time to go under the knife.

Septimus cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. A week had passed, and Neste was finally ready to preside over the operation. She emerged from the depths of the garden to reassure him with the customary press of her snout against his shoulder, though her downcast eyes indicated reluctance to bring harm to him.

“How have you been, Septimus?” the golden eyes lifted to match his gaze. A beguiling smile curled her mouth's corners. This was the first they had seen of each other since her journey into the fungal fields. Though her physical appearance remained as before, serenity now radiated from her. The shift proved jarring to Septimus, though the cyborg said nothing. If she felt his hesitance, she didn’t see fit to comment on it just yet.

He cocked his head and offered a soft kiss on her snout as she pulled away and greeted him, his words halted and unsure, “Bad. Ill, very ill. It’s good that you’re back now, Neste. Everything’s alright.”

He wasn’t sure if the statement was more a point of fact or a reassurance to himself that the construct before him was the same one he’d fallen in love with, the same being that had stood with him through it all. The question echoed in his mind, and the Representative hoped that the diplomat before him was willing to answer it before putting him under.

"Ill?" an ear swept back in concern. How much would they endure before the universe granted them reprieve? Depression, self-doubts, regret: these were the horrors that prowled the shadows of their minds. The displeasing thought cast her face in a frown, but fierce determination quickly replaced her scowl as Neste raised a hand to cup his face, "Peace breathed, Septimus. I am back, and I am still your Neste. Nothing will ever change that. Time will not dull my love for you. I will cross any distance to return to your side.”

“Of course,” a ghost of a smile flitted across the cyborg’s face, though the reservations churned in the recesses of his mind. Phantoms had lied to him before; if that was true of the alluring creature before him, he would have to end her.

But he was in no position to do it now. He needed her, and if she wasn’t the real thing then she could fill in for the time being. There was work to be done.

A hand came up to run over the fingers caressing his cheek, “Death has not dulled you, either. Just as I remember, so you have returned.”

Beautiful lies - easy lies to tell and get away with. He could punish himself later if she was a mere shadow sent to torment him.

“There is work to be done,” he intertwined his fingers with hers, pulling the hand from his face, “The sooner we begin, the sooner we can piece this all together. And the sooner we can focus on things that matter, again. Close the old book and leave it behind us.”

"Close the old book," Neste drew her bottom lip between her teeth to stem further words, mutely nodding in agreement with him. He had given voice to her greatest desire. Freedom was only as free as one allowed it to be. A new book was in order, and the promise of it delighted her.

A bit of her bashful side crept through her cool veneer as she gazed at the fingers entwined with her own. For the briefest moment, her expression echoed that of the timid construct from the Dystan library. "Can we go to Ascalon look for a Greek restaurant, Septimus?" the whispered request tumbled from her lips as a blush stained her cheeks, "for the wine, and because I miss those carefree days. After our work is done here, I mean."

The nervous, withdrawn appearance that graced Neste’s features sent a pang through Septimus’ heart. How could she be a phantom? She seemed so… familiar. Perhaps… Perhaps this was really her.

“I would like that very much, if we could find one,” his voice lowered, though the cyborg didn’t notice, too absorbed in the gentle blush on the construct’s face, reminding him of happier times only a scant few days ago, “Drink and laugh and… forget. Forget and remember; wash away the worries.”

The free hand came up to adjust the processor at the base of his skull, “But we do have work to do first. You’re up; best of luck, lest I end up a drooling vegetable.”

His eyes narrowed, “If I do, and Scel fails to bring me back - not that she would, magnificent as your exo is - do not hesitate to end me. The fearful, drooling mass that would be left of me without my processor’s functions is not worth saving.”

"We will not fail you." Neste's breath warmed his nose and upper lip as she whispered her vow to him. She would not lose him. Not after all they had endured. Her lips planted a tender kiss upon his own, and then she pulled away.

Down went the cyborg, in a sickening thump! as Neste swept him, rather gracefully had any onlookers been present to comment, with her tail. Rolling him over with careful, nimble fingers, she pulled the dislodged processor from the base of his skull. Thin, slime-and-sinew covered wires followed, their connections snapped and replaced with carefully-crafted synapses courtesy of Scel. They would hold… for the time being.

Nila emerged to claim the flesh-covered metal computer, turning to Scel with a bright smile before the duo set to their task of recovering the data and making sure the processor remained intact.

Septimus remained.

“Feels so… empty,” his hands reached unsteadily for the gaping hole in the back of his head, hair and skin having been torn away by the processor’s messy removal and leaving exposed skull and brain matter, “What… is this?”

The lizard's head tilted in response to his voice. She had fully expected the man to crumble into a heap, and was much relieved to find he was still able to converse. However, there remained that horrible hole, and the human body was terrible at thwarting infection once skin was laid open. Neste popped a small packet open and plucked the sterile contents out with her nails. "Sit still," she crooned as she deftly pressed the medicated patch into place. "And don't fiddle, Septimus. It will adhere in sec- well, now."

She stepped away and allowed herself a moment to slow her heart rate. Concerned brows knit together as her eyes raked over his face. She pressed a palm to his forehead, and then allowed herself to exhale as her fingertips grazed through his hair. "Perhaps this isn't as bad as you thought?"

A brief flicker of confusion crossed man’s face as he rubbed the medicated patch now keeping his exposed skull and brain from getting infected. Odd trick, it was, and after Septimus lost interest with it he noted his apparent caretaker.

Specifically, he noted their close proximity and that she was running her hands through his hair - which was oddly short. He’d taken to growing it out along with his fellows in the Schola. Eyebrows knitted together mirroring hers as he took in the situation.

“Um… How do you know my name?” He offered a crooked smile, blush slightly coloring his cheeks, “Are you… from the Schola?”

A quick snap of the fingers, “My parents must’ve sent you! Oh! I don’t need a, um, a babysitter. I’m very capable of caring for myself, thank you.”

As he raised a hand to pull hers away from his forehead, the man-turned-boy felt a brief twinge of familiarity pass.

He knew her. From lab? No, he would’ve remembered a face and race that distinctive. Maybe she was a transfer? She certainly looked mature enough to be one - probably from off-world, judging from her non-human features. Hell, he’d probably seen her in-passing in the halls!

And hey, for an alien, she didn’t look half bad. In fact… She looked rather nice, and familiar, like an old friend. But as he gazed into her golden eyes, the poor kid couldn’t figure out for the life of himself why she looked so familiar.

Septimus ran his fingers over her arm absentmindedly as his voice deserted him and he was reduced to a mumble, “But… I guess you could stay.”

The construct's lips quivered as she fought back a laugh. He was far from being a fearful, drooling mass. Perhaps he was playing a prank on her? Something sweet to amuse them both? Yet his face; the customary expression was gone, the burdened brow and serious eyes relaxing as innocence settled in. She could only assume he had regressed to a time prior to his surgical process. Her head tilted and the lips formed a kindly smile. "Schola? No, Septimus, I am not from there. I'm a caretaker, for lack of a better term."

She was loathe to shatter any concepts his mind had shaped to cope with the sudden loss of amalgamated self, and would go along with whatever he presumed - within reason. She had never pried into his memory-book in the library, however. Was he prone to tantrums as a child? Was his a violent species? Surely his shy behavior and polite tongue indicated otherwise but Neste, though in full memory of Marcus now, wouldn't pretend she knew anything extraordinary about motherhood.

The lizard became cautious for the cyborg's sake. She lowered her hand to help him rise. "I'm a caretaker, for lack of a better term. Let's have some lunch. We can get to know each other. You're very intelligent and polite. Tell me, how old are you?"

Accepting the help with averted gaze, Septimus nodded at her, “Lunch would be good, I’m famished. I’m 14, by the- huh, my voice. Deeper than I remember, did someone pull a prank on me with the sulfur hexafluoride from chem lab again? That wasn’t funny the last four times.”

Before Neste could stop him, he trudged forward toward a mirror hung next to the doorway of the little lab where Marcus had been healed in the prior week. A soft gasp indicated Septimus had just been rudely shaken in his new adolescent state.

“Fuuh… shiiii…” the cyborg-turned-human cut himself off, mumbling the tail-end of the curse as his mother had insisted, “What… happened to me?”

He whirled around, slightly dizzy from the lightness of his head, and raised a finger - now noticing that it resembled more a middle-aged man and matched his greying hair rather than the softer, youthful hands of a student - at Neste, “What’s going on? Why am I like this? Just who in Kashtilag’s name are you? Did Titus put you up to this!? It’s not funny!”

The lyrical cascade of giggles escaping Neste echoed in the small room, despite pressing her fingertips to her snout to stem them. Here was the gentle soul she had sensed deep within the grizzled man. Even his advanced age hadn’t sufficiently disguised it but now, no longer fettered by processor and the horrid taint of Ophelia’s handiwork, he was free to be himself. Awash with delight, Neste lowered her hands and pressed them to her chest, revealing a vibrant smile in the process.

“I’m sorry, I am not laughing at you. Please forgive my joy. I am Neste Trilb,” the construct bowed her head in polite greeting. Thoughts of the man in the tank in the garden beyond killed off her lingering merriment however. She sighed. Septimus wouldn’t be content without answers; there wasn’t any point it keeping up the illusion. “Titus did not put me up to this. Many years have passed since your fourteenth birthday, Septimus. Your days at Scola are but distant memories. Until now.”

“Distant memories?” He lowered he accusatory finger and scratched his head, before rubbing his chin at mention of her name, “Neste Trilb… Sounds familiar. Have we met before, at all?”

A brief image of golden eyes bearing down upon him flickered in his head. But it was muted, missing depth and soul. All Septimus saw was the lines, the colors, the form. He couldn’t make out what was behind them.

Running a hand through greying hair to appraise his new form, accepting it slowly as though in a dream, the man strolled back toward her, “You look incredibly familiar. But I can’t put my finger on it… Did we TA for the same professor? Gallien? Bio lab?”

Something about the newly-introduced construct was so… friendly? Motherly? Motherly! Where had that come from? The Representative stopped in his tracks and took a step back.

“Have you got psionics? Messing with my head?” He squinted at her, a bit of venom creeping into his voice, though his eyes softened when he realized what a horrid accusation that was, “Sorry. Still taking it all in. I’ve been told I ramble when I’m nervous. That’s not a good trait.”

“You also tend to pace,” the construct’s ears flared in comical fashion. “Back and forth. The faster you go, the more dire the situation. And of course we’ve met before. We’ve known each other a while, though I’m no Confederation citizen.”

She blinked at him as she marveled his mind’s efforts to find rational answers. How easy it would be to simply push shared memories into his head. Yet that would solve nothing, the poor man. This was surely a dreadful moment for him. Neste brushed aside her sudden desire to enfold him in an embrace.

“Bio lab? Your mind seems to substitute one element for another. It strains to recapture the accurate memory. This is perfectly reasonable,” she assured him. “Am I psionic? Yes, but I have no reason to mess with your mind.”

The construct shook her head again, this time allowing her form to shift into something decidedly more human. “You are Septimus Itum, second youngest member of the Regent Board of the Confederation. You are a philothanatophologist. You are a diplomat. You’re brilliant at both, by the way,” Neste waved away further questions as she headed towards the door, the warmth of her tone and tip of her chin indicating her pride in his accomplishments. “And I suspect you find me familiar because we are lovers.”

Neste, seemingly unperturbed at the notion of dropping such bombshells, paused at the door to cast a glance in his direction. “Come along. Lunch, remember? And do not touch anything in the garden. It’s deadly.”

“Titus must’ve put something in the beer again,” Septimus scratched his head. None of this made any sense to the man - whatever he was tripping out on, it must have been wild, though. Best not to question it lest he woke up in a pile of his own vomit without at least enjoying the ride first.

Philothanatology - a dream of his; to cheat death, his ultimate ambition. And what better way to achieve this than with the resources of the Regent Board? Brilliant at both, as would suit his wildest dreams.

And with a stunning woman who loved him.

He was almost certainly not going to wake up in the morning. And, Septimus figured, why would he want to?

“Uh, alright, um, love. Sure,” he rubbed his quickly-warming face as he blushed at the notion, following her to the door with a nervous shuffle, “Where are we getting lunch?”

“Now what?” Nila’s fingertips plucked trapped strands of hair from the processor and deposited them on the table.

Just connect it like I told you, came Scel’s irritated reply. The exo lifted her head from crossed paws and gestured with her snout to the black object nearby. Once it’s connected, we force it into repair mode and tell it there’s a fatal error. It should dump its memory, if Itum knows what he’s talking about. Trust the Gizmo.

The construct’s cringe spoke volumes regarding Gizmos and her level of trust in them, and she approached the organic device with trepidation.

“Alright,” it was the best she could manage given her proximity to the hideous thing perched on the counter.

A caress of her finger triggered the tricuspid valve set in the device’s front panel, each flap peeling away from the center to grant access to the sticky chamber within. Nila hastily placed the processor inside and then retracted her hands as if scalded. She flinched as the valve sealed.

Interfacing with foreign technology was the Gizmo’s singular purpose. It assessed the device inside of it, then extruded fleshy conduits in order to make contact with the AI.

The processor did not respond kindly.

Fleshy conduits were repelled with arcs of electricity - minor annoyances, but painful nevertheless - as the processor initiated defense routines to protect its payload. Confederation security could not be compromised, even if it meant the owner of said processor had to die. A dim signal was sent out by the little box across across the local distance - an emergency signal to indicate to local Confederation forces that a processor was being tampered with by an unapproved source.

Scel’s head tilted as her own sensors picked up the processor’s unhappy protests. Lovely. It’s looking for authorization and bitching because it’s being harassed without permission.

“Can’t the Gizmo just force its way in?” the construct sputtered.

Really, this is like throwing a scorpion and a spider in a jar and shaking it to see which is the better predator. The two of them are having a fierce battle in there, Scel uncrossed her paws and scooted closer to the device. Her ears rocked forward to catch the whinging coming from the Nifid tech. The Gizmo can’t work without direct interface. The processor won’t permit it without a passcode. It wants a response to its signals. We need it to believe our purpose is valid, so let’s give it some to sort.

Nila’s brow arched. This shit was… well, she’d rather be chewing on Ocho’s slippers than hacking some stinky human tech. She just didn’t have the patience for it. “So you’re telling it a bunch of passwords?”

Yes.

“And hoping one works? What then?”

We pose as maintenance and tell the processor we’re going to affix a diagnostic cable. Scel closed her eyes and took up the effort with fervor.

Rapid clicks and beeps echoed back and forth. Numerous rejections filled Scel’s vision, but she continued on, undaunted. For any available Confederation technology, brute-forcing the correct maintenance signal would’ve taken more time than the multiverse itself had - after all the stars in the vastness of space and time had burnt out forever and the Nifid, gods as they were, were no more.

She rapidly burst through signal combinations in milliseconds, nearly destroying the processor with the effort of processing all the signals. No Confederation designer had accounted for such an elegant machine. Heat began to vaporize the water molecules within the Gizmo housing that Nila had placed the processor into, and the Gizmo’s tendrils withdrew in reflex as the processor nearly thought itself into a meltdown and inevitable death.

A long pause ensued as the rest of Scel’s requests were rendered null and void, and dumped from the cache.

“Welcome, maintenance engineer ERROR ERROR,” the distorted voice of the processor echoed through the lab, pitched low and slow, rumblings from within a red-hot, wounded core, “Releasing control. Maintenance mode… engaged.”

Force a maintenance error to trigger a memory dump, pleased with the outcome so far, the exo flared her nostrils. Carefully, mind you. I won't be made a liar. The processor will have freedom eventually, should to prove to be sophont. Scel remained resolute in her promise to the device.

The Gizmos' tentacles slithered towards the device once more, though hesitantly given the amount of heat the box was capable of generating. It had cottoned on to the processor's purpose, and was prepared to mimic whatever was necessary to put the device at ease. Scel considered what she knew of Confederation technology, then referenced the memory book in the library for good measure, before proceeding with what she thought was the most likely thing to accomplish their goal.

After several tense moments involving Nila staring curiously at the Gizmo and wondering if the processor within was as evil as the toaster Neste kept in her apartment, the desired data began to flow. Written into the pages of a previously-blank book within Scel’s library, flowing binary and hexadecimal digits flooded the imagined paper in black, gothic script.

The book thickened and thickened until the spine was nearly the width of several sheets of paper.

But it was done.

“CORE DUMP COMPLETE,” rang the hollow voice, the processor almost sounding exhausted as steam hissed from the Gizmo, “SHUTTING DOWN…”

“Is it supposed to do that?” Nila almost sounded relieved at the prospect. “Will it shut down forever?”

Scel ignored her, turning instead to take stock of the pilot and cyborg emerging from the garden. The latter looking rather lively rather than a drooling mess, much to her relief, and seemed content to walk with fingers intertwined with her pilot’s own.

We have successfully dumped the core, the exo advised. Now all that remains is re-implantation.

“And lunch,” Neste released Septimus’ hand in order to shoo off Nila. “Go on, then. Fix us a nice tray and well take it out to the garden patio.”

The smaller construct willingly obliged, if only to be shut of the Gizmo. She pressed her snout to Neste’s shoulder, and then left her to tackle extraction.

Neste chewed her lower lip. The stench coming from the Gizmo was troubling, and absolutely foul. “I suppose he put up a solid fight then,” she gently stroked the valve to coax the Gismo open, then stepped back to avoid the acrid smoke seeping between the cusps’ seams. The valve shivered before peeling back to vomit out the stench of burning flesh and ozone. Tentacles flailed, slapping the Confederation filth from the Gismo’s innards.

The construct shot out a hand and caught the processor on the very tips of her fingers. Panting as she drew it closer to her body, she retreated towards Septimus. “We’ll wait until it cools. Maybe after lunch?”

Septimus offered a smile, but his lips quickly curled downward as he found the metal lump that was the processor inexplicably shrinking in Neste’s hands. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, he found that the processor continued to shrink and a strange, black void seemed to be growing from the center.

“Neste… Put that down, it looks like it’s destabilizing…” he began, making an attempt to grab it from the construct before the blackness spread to her fingertips. Unfortunately, in a flash, he joined her in the void. Scel followed suit, seemingly drawn toward her pilot as a limb to the body.

Before Nila had a chance to even think about what shape of sandwich Neste and Septimus would like, they were gone.

“But… the sandwiches,” Nila’s ears drooped, and she stared at the spot that once contained the trio and the little box. Only Gizmo remained, forlorned and detached from the exo. The lone pilot hefted it up for storage.

Several months had not dispelled the sorrow that had come to roost in Nila's heart. Her grief became an obsession compelling her to check behind every door and inside every box for any signs of her Overseer. Yet she knew it was futile. Neste and Scel no longer registered in the Wash. Nila was alone. Were it not for Buttons, she would have gone insane before the snow melted.



DINING ROOM

"Excuse me," the soft voice coming from behind Romulus was accompanied by a gentle poke from Nila's snout. "Please to move so I can coffee?"

His was not an unfamiliar figure, though it was an imposing one. Still, Nila didn't fear him or think ill of him. The construct had learned some of his social quirks over the last few months (mostly through observation) and was in no mood to trifle with him. Yet he was someone, wasn't he? He was someone with a voice, and that voice could help banish the silence in her mind. She lifted her snout to peer at his face, reptilian scales glistening under the room's diffused lighting, to regard him with her golden, soulful eyes.

"Good morning, General," she spoke kindly, and gestured towards the dining room entrance. "Coffee required."

And then, simply because Swithwardian custom and her own forlorn heart demanded it, she laid a hand upon his wrist as gently as possible, and smiled. "Please, then, join me?"



TEAM

"Good morning, Miss Tora," Minerva brushed fiery mane from her face to better bestow a smile upon the young women. She didn't have an opportunity to say much more. Insidious and Opa arrived just in time, and she was glad to see them. "Good morning to you both as well. Yes, I think we have enough. Come on, then. From what I understand, it's just a supply run."

Just a supply run. One could only hope. The cultist leader opted to use the lift for Opa's sake. No sense having the machine trudge up stairs when a quicker option was available. In no time at all, the group had climbed the roof stairwell's steps, and slipped Opa into his sling. Minerva settled into a bathtub, secured the droid's line, and then the pair left the roof with Insidious and Torsi following in their own tub.


It was a beautiful morning for such an outing. Though the air was still crisp, it carried with it the early promises of spring as it billowed the bathtub's shower curtain sail. Bulbs and flowering trees cast vibrantly colored dots on the ground far below. Minerva watched them pass until the sea replaced land, and then she laid back in her tub to enjoy the somewhat automated ride. Really, the darn things only went to the Gatehouse and back. She didn't bother to peer over the lip until the sound of rushing water drew her from her silent musings.

To understand Gallimaufry Mundi was the understand the workings of chaos. Demens' odd thought patterns were readily manifested in some of the strange planetary formations, but nothing stood out quite so much as the Hole surrounding the Gatehouse. This massive square of ocean - for it was indeed a square! - was a window into the planet's very core. Or so Minerva assumed. The ocean's waters were held back by some odd, invisible barrier, although the fluid occasionally sloshed over the edge to be swallowed up deep within, but nobody could ever explain what the barrier was nor where those waters went, nor how the ocean replenished what was lost. It was unsettling for Minerva, actually. It reminded her that her entire world was held together at the whim of a single Greater Being.

"Almost there!" she called out as the Gatehouse came into view within the Hole. The bathtubs changed course slightly as they floated towards the chunk of ground suspended over the Hole. Minerva's tub lowered itself until Opa's feet could touch the grassy soil, and then it patiently hovered while the cultist leader undid the hoisting straps. Soon three bathtubs were neatly lined up in front of a squat marble building settled squarely on the island.

Minerva wasted no time in ushering Residents towards the Gatehouse door. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darker interior. Nothing had changed since she was last here. The room still contained the same things: a wooden chair, a side table, a dormant silvery ring large enough for several Opas to step through at once, and the Guardian.

The later was hideous beyond all reason, though Minerva guessed Insidious might have found it attractive. Its body shifted, never assuming any fully recognizable form, as it kept watch over Gate and door. It never slept. It required no food nor did it need water. It simply Was, and what it was could not be defined. Demens had warned the cultists when they first arrived. He had extended that warning to all the Residents once he had unveiled his plan: Do Not Fuck With. Minerva had lived long enough under his employ to take his words to heart.

"Hello," she chanced a greeting, much as she had every time she saw the thing. It did not respond, though it lazily went through the motion of pointing out some boxes stacked by the door. Minerva sighed and turned to the team. "Right, looks like we really are doing nothing more than schlepping things this morning. Opa, can you pull out the heavier containers? The rest of us will focus on the lighter things."

And then, because work was dull without conversation, she smiled at Insidious and asked, "How has your research been going?"



RACHE AND WILLOW

Rache's flickering nostrils detected the tempting flavors coming from Cloud Duster's bag. Perhaps he wasn't as useless as the daemon thought? Still, it was a bit odd to see all these treats on the table when, just the night before, they were told that the gruel was all that was available. What then could have prompted Cloud Duster's superiors to grant them such a luxury? Or, how much had it cost him on the black market?

The thought of purchasing extra provisions crossed his mind. Yuna and Aegis were undoubtedly tired of mush. Perhaps he could-

"Cloud Duster, would you mind if we stopped in to pick up more of this? We have some friends who might enjoy it, if we manage to meet up with them today."

He glanced at Willow but hadn't had a moment to share information with him. Yet the pony was certainly clever in his own right. "I'm thinking we might find Yuna and Aegis mucking about the woods near Groundtown."

[New Aksarben]

A Few Months Since Whatever

Maghrl slipped out of his room, still quiet from the meditation he'd just finished. While it was months later, the words of Demens still ran through his mind, the little alien ruminating on this whole thing with Gods, Greater Beings, all such nonsense to Maghrl. The Squib as a whole had long ago forgone the worship of any real gods, if indeed they ever had any proper ones aside from barter and trade. Though belief was common among his people and indeed the greater galaxy that the Force as a whole was powerful and important, it was never treated with any sort of reverence except by the Jedi Order who tried to follow its wishes to the best it could. But it was not a god, just a Force of all life in the universe and apparently beyond.

But now the Jedi was confronted with real gods, and things even greater than them. If it turned out those ancient beliefs were true, then couldn't, for example the faith of the Vong have been true as well? Their many gods which demanded death, sacrifice, and utmost service to them regardless of damage to the individual's form? It was a strange thought thinking they had been directed by something real instead of blind faith in the incorporeal. Though the war with them had ended over a decade ago, many were still wary of their motives despite their general disappearance from galactic affairs on Zonama Sekot. While the Vong themselves were far away from the Squib who's childhood among many other's they'd terrorized, a group here in the building he'd drawn a sort of parallel to them: The Luxans.

They were just as strange to him, worshiping strange gods he didn't understand and with strange practices and self modification. He'd learned a bit about them over the last few months due to his semi-frequent meetings and discussions with Primordial, who'd taken up teaching the Squib more proper diction in Basic(or as he'd now learned it was called here, "English"). They'd also discussed bits of things such as their philosophies and where they came from, in polite conversation of course. Though mostly the main benefit was the alien could now communicate easier, as his grasp on the grammar of the language he struggled with was a bit tighter now. And with that he could finally discuss his and the Sith's tenative peace. It'd so far been to the tune of mutually ignoring each other, but that couldn't go on forever.

So, the little Squib padded through the halls, searching through the force for the presence of the dark side user. Easy considered he didn't keep it close to his chest like Lightsiders tended to do. Plus the destructive outburst earlier that had shook Maghrl from his meditation from the sudden flareup of his presence in the Force was enough to remind him about Sosewe's existence. So he was seeking it out, nudging the man's presence with his own in a subtle way of saying "We need to talk," as the Squib padded for the dining room, his presence definitely enough to draw the Sith to him now that he'd prodded him mentally.

----------

Meanwhile, Sterling was simply busy reading through some of the books he'd discovered in his room, which seemed to be a random assortment of things from his homeland. A useful repository should they ever need to visit there again to recover any new pony or something else from his home. Mostly about history, but a few books about the unique lifeforms and how Equestrian culture was set up. Also, plenty of fiction. It was based off his own home library after all, or at least his private portion that he rarely let people into except to retrieve a book. Such was the life of a librarian, especially one who literally lived in his own library.

The pony's mind however was preoccupied by his eating and honestly had forgotten that it was way past time to eat that day. At least until his stomach grumbled and he blinked in surprise. "Oh my, I forgot to eat again didn't I. Its a wonder I'm not skin and bones with how often that happens back home." He tutted to himself, before rolling his eyes and levitating his bookmark into the book and setting it aside to clamber to his hooves. He stretched out his limbs and shook himself off a bit, using a bit of magic to adjust his glasses and mane, before trotting out of his room in search of food, or at least company. Couldn't spend all his time reading. Though he had been out and about a lot more, learning how to help on the medical team which he'd signed up for what seemed like forever ago.

[Highfort]

Opa gazed at the guardian without so much as a word after Minerva untangled the robot from its sling and allowed it up. The riot bot's sensors betrayed its limitations - the guardian of Gallimaufry could neither be judged as one species nor as even existing in one temporal dimension. Sight and sound told the machine that the creature before it must be real, but sensors indicated it was nothing more than an anomaly in space-time.

Spoken from within a room buried in a square patch of cleared-out ocean, of course, such a silly idea probably had merit. Opa did not dwell on these things. They taxed its processor and making heads or tails of what was going on was impossible. But these thoughts did linger, curiously, at the back of his brain.

Most of its processing power was devoted to moving the boxes in spite of the fact that it had no available limbs both strong and dexterous enough to properly carry out the task. Resorting to pushing them with its shield, Opa set about moving the boxes toward the bath tubs and onto the harness that it'd previously occupied. Minerva would be able to hook them in once they were in position.

As the machine returned for a second box, it made the odd decision to broach its usual silence and communicate with its teammates. While banter and casual communication had been normal with its old operator and fellow combat droids, Opa had abstained from such familiar habits up to this point to keep distance from the Residents. After several months with no word from Septimus or the Confederation, however, it was becoming increasingly obvious that the riot bot was stuck here. It would be best to make allies for future engagements and, perhaps, to help find a point of contact to reach the Confederation. Perhaps the gates would be the key?

"Miss. Dimitrov," Opa caught Tora's attention, "Where are. You and your. Sister from?"

[Torsiedelle]

Shit. Well, at least he had found the person he was looking for.

Sozewe changed direction; he knew where the dining room was, having familiarized himself with the place finally. He only wondered why the two would be meeting. It was going to be interesting.

Only a couple of minutes later, the man appeared in the doorway. He crossed his arms and leaned forward. "You called?"

....

Torii was surprised when the robot asked about her and her sister, but she wasn't upset. She was happy to indulge Opa with her story, as she picked up some smaller crates and boxes. "Me and my sister are from Torsiedelle. It's a little country right under Russia, in Europe."

She remembered the last time she had seen her home, nearly four months ago. She remembered the city life of Stavropol, and the farmlands just beyond. It made her miss the place, just a little. "It's a beautiful country.", She said. "Russia is beautiful, too. Me and my sister? We're Russian, quarter German."

Securing as many as she could, Torii looked like she could easily fall. She was too tiny to be carrying half of what she had, but she could manage.

"And what about you?", She asked. "What's your story? I don't even know your name, sorry.", She snorted. The robot looked cool. It was obviously a combat robot. It made her feel a little tingly inside when she ran into another giant war robot. She couldn't explain her interest in them, like FUBAR. She also liked Marcus a lot just because of his cyborg parts, not to say she didn't love him because of how awesome he was. Torii just had a love for machines.
....

Fire

Audette shot up. She could feal it, see the flash in her eyes. She launched herself out of bed, panting...

Nothing. Her room was fine. She wasn't going to relive "that", She told herself. It was a dream. She was freaked out by a dream, and only crazy people did that. She wasn't crazy, and she had no reason to let some dumb dream bother her.

Maybe it was just the whiskey from last night...

....

Katya had to make sure that everything was perfect. Her coat had to be unwrinkled, her tie and tie clip nice and neat, her shoes polished and clean, her hair just right, and her nails cut, filed, and clean. She had appearances to keep up, after all, and she always wanted to look her best. Even if she had no money now, she was a Dimitrov, and she took her family name with pride. She was an elite, and she needed to give off the air of an elite.

[New Aksarben]

The Jedi's ear twitched a bit, as he sipped the coffee he'd gotten from the strange machine in the corner that had a presence in the force. Not a very malevolent one, but quite mischievous. Either way, it'd given him what he wanted. He set down the cup he'd been given before speaking, giving the Sith a bit of a smile to try and set him at ease.

"Maghrl thinks us Force-users should along-get better. Demens said as muchish. Maghrl been thinkings over few months, no need friend-level, though if Jedi-Sith workings together, should along-get." He explaind with a nod, taking more time with his words than he had previously, though like always his speech was relatively fast paced and high pitched. He gestured for Sosewe to sit across from him "Does Sith drinks coffee, tea, what?" He continued, glancing at the machine behind him, which undoubtedly to Sosewe had a presence similar to that of a non-sensitive sentient too.

"Machine gets what Sith wish-want for. Seems to have mind of own, so careful around machine."