Personification Life IC IX - [Semi Open]

[The BranRiech]

"That's pretty. It must have taken you a long time ti build." she said with a nod and swam closer to shore. Like others of her people, like Yoshi, she was a strong swimmer. She stood up and slicked her hair back. "You look cold, I would hug you but it would probably only make you colder..."

"Was working on it all day. It's not very homey yet, but I like it at least." Toscha smiled. He was extremely glad to exit the water, and made a slower go at it than usual, thanks to the lower temperatures of the water. He tracked some water up onto the beach though, and quickly shook himself to dry off, and to warm himself up. "I-I didn't prepare on swimming, and didn't bring a towel." He shrugged. "You got one?" He asked, looking to Blossom as she offered to hug him. "Yeah, maybe some other time." He teased, figuring them just friends.

[Urran]

"No I don't, sorry." she spread her wings and floated over the ways and laid on her back on the beach, placing a hand lazily on her stomach, letting the other fall wherever it wanted. "Luckily for you it is warm out.' she teased. Her blue eyes glowed in the night and she sighed contentedly. "I have a craving for pigs blood all of the sudden...or goats....I just crave livestock right now, not bird, I've had too many pigeons lately." That reminded her, she had frozen pigeon blood back home. She and Gio needed to make frozen bloodsicles later.

[Swith Witherward]

Bran gaped, not knowing any of this information at all. He truly hadn't seen Swith until now, and didn't even bother to look for the absent Thriller at the party. Now he felt guilty. "And through all this, you asked me why I haven't asked Swith to give Rylli and I something we probably don't even need? Yeah, I'm sure that'd make her feel so great, right?" Bran scowled. Naomi had really just asked why they hadn't asked Swith for something so unimportant, and then just explained how pissed off she was getting about the exact same thing.

He didn't know why. Naomi seemed to be taking them on a guilt trip now. "And why are you saying this like it's my fault?" He asked then, wanting some sort of answer that didn't sound like an explanation leveled at a child. He was angry now, more than anything, at Swith's unwillingness to deal with something in a healthy way. She could have gone to anyone for help, anyone!

Considering how Swith probably felt about her own friends (In Bran's mind), he started to get up to leave. He couldn't take that.

Naomi said nothing while Bran ranted. She hadn't accused Bran... she only answered his question as to why Swith hadn't been around much. She sighed as Bran stood up.

"Bran, have you ever done anything that accidentally hurt someone and then you felt ashamed afterward? What if you thought that everyone would know of your failure or mistake the minute you walked in a room? What if you thought they'd laugh at you or judge you?"

She placed her marshmallow stick down and pulled her knees to her chin. "What if you were Swith? What if people knew that Thriller was dead? What if every time you walked into a room, everyone laughed at you because you failed to protect him and revive him? More than that, how hard would it be for you to go to your friends and admit that you'll failed to protect him and now he was dead? I mean, she isn't going to reach out and admit she failed."

Naomi's chin rested on her knees and her eyes looked beyond Bran and towards the stars. "Giovenith can appeal to her mother if she was in need. Thriller could pray to Elohim. The Luxans could plead with their gods. But when you are a god, you don't exactly have anyone to pray to. You can't ask some higher power for strength or hope or patience because, well... you are that higher power... and you suck. You just don't go roaming outside your pantheon. It upsets the balance. So... what does a forlorn god do? She doesn't burden mortals. She doesn't show weakness. Instead, she keeps it in. And if someone were to ask, she'd tell them. But she wouldn't go to them first. That's just... pride. And protection. Followers will abandon a weak god."

"I think we should send him an invitation.", Torii nodded. "That way, he'll have time and all. I still wanna see him for Christmas, though. "

Torii was excited now, since it seemed that someone wanted to help her. She would be so happy to have her parent with her for once, instead of just a friend or family member. She could decorate the hut, and read Christmas stories, and she could tell him about all of her problems. He also had an obligation to take her fishing, and there was no better time than on a tropical island!

Swith rummaged behind Tilt's workspace and found a notebook and pen. She carefully tore out a few blank pages and brought them to Torii.

"Well, jot him a note. I'll have Minerva leave it where he will find it. Maybe on his coffee up right before he drinks, or inside an egg where it tumbles out when he tries to crack it."

She was being silly, of course. The cultist would disguise herself as an average person and simply hand it to him when he answered his door.

[The BranRiech]

"Naomi. Admitting failure does not mean weakness." Bran said, addressing her last point with something he always thought. If Swith had failed to protect Thriller, why hold that all in? "She could have gone to any of us, Naomi." He sighed. He completely felt like an ass, wanting to go to Swith and ask her for something stupid in the midst of what seemed to be the low point in his friend's life. Why make her feel even more like shit? "Hell, I don't deserve to be her friend." He muttered sadly. He thought it true. He'd taken advantage of all Swith had to offer and what did he give back, what was something that he could have done for his true friend? Nothing. She brought him back to life, she shared a lonely old bomb shelter with him and didn't complain, and what did he do? Nothing.

"I just don't understand why you asked me if I was going to ask her to be Mer again, and then to go off and say that she hates it when people do that. That's what I'm getting from this, and I don't want to deal with it. This is all so sudden, you know? I just don't understand"

He looked down at the sand, feeling ashamed of himself once more, and started to walk off once more.

[Swith Witherward]

"... Mmmmm..." Eyes shifted to the side in thought.

Giovenith wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. There were legends from the people about their Creation, but from what those stories said and what the godling knew to be the true workings of how the set-up of deities worked, they didn't entirely match-up (not shocking, humans did sometimes get crucial parts wrong). Giovenith had only been bold enough a grand total of five times in her life to come right out and ask her mother what the Beginning (as she had seen it) had really been like. The answer was always the same:

"She was bright, and she was unknowable," Giovenith finally explained, using the same words she had been given. "But she was cold, lonely, and without many things in the Nothingness. She had a name, but no real reason to speak it. She had interest and patience, but nothing to watch. She had love, but nothing to love. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening or who she was at times, or if she was dreaming, or what dreaming was, or of anything. Sometimes she Slept, but more and more often she was Awake. There was nothing, and it always hurt. Maybe it was like that for a long time, maybe a short time, or perhaps no time at all considering there was not much of anything else; there isn't a good way to know, but she doesn't really care. All she cares is that one day she decided she was horribly sick of the nothing, and wanted it to stop being that way. Then Creation began."

It wasn't a beautiful prose, nor anything inspiring or exhilarating. More likely than not, the description did the Creation terrible injustice. Where was the color, the light, the unimaginable, emptiness-crushing, reality-building choir, the holiness? It was not as if Giovenith hadn't wondered these things herself. Where mother's talent to make things astonishing and miraculous should have been at its strongest, it failed disappointingly. But she was not allowed to express disappointment, or at least, she felt was not... who would be so silly as to question the Creation as a Creator told it? That was the reason she had only asked on five lone occasions. Giovenith's mother loved her, she knew that, there was no question about it; that was why it hurt to run into a situation or question that reminded Giovenith of the inescapable reality that her parent was a thing still so far beyond her own comprehension, that it was practically monstrous. "Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children" taken to the Supreme. Normal people eventually grew up to see that mothers were only as they were, incapable of shaking mountains or moving the world, nowhere near as terrifying as once perceived long ago when they sat and viewed the vast world from upon their laps. They could keep their love for their nurturers, while slowly growing out of the silent, secret, sheer terror.

Giovenith would never live to witness any such revelation.

Having taken but a few seconds to allow herself that sinking, humbling thought before shoving it back into the far corners of her conscious where it belonged, Giovenith raised her eyes to meet Myra's. "I'm sorry, that's not a very fun story," she laughed a breathy chuckle. "But I suppose it's the closest one to being true, at least in the eyes of where I come from, what with the many things people say, you know?"

Now they were both secretly sick with lineage trouble, neither speaking it, for now. The shifting silence was a brief but noticeable one, as Giovenith turned the page to another, lighter idea.

"You are about my age, yes? A teenager?" she asked carefully, the corners of her mouth twitching upward again timidly. "Well, it just so happens that my friends and I have been discussing putting up a spot for people our age. We're all about sixteen and seventeen. Would you, like to join?" Maybe Myra would think it was silly to form a little youngsters' club as they were, but it was worth the offer. She seemed very nice, very interesting, and very deep... like the floor of the oceans and seas around them. Fitting they first met here, then.

Lonely ache on a cosmic scale. Myra wondered if this Creator fashioned the universe from her tears. She listened to Giovenith's story and her imagination conjured up a solitary feminine figure walking amongst the dark sky, each tear drop becoming a world. This was part of her own mythos, however. The saddest tears were the dead planets, but then happy tears came and those were the planets which housed life. The figure wasn't a woman, either. It was simply One, and One was First and hadn't any shape. But that was just mythology. Her father's people never spoke the truth behind how things were before they existed. They wouldn't dream of asserting that they were the first beings, or that they had the correct answers. So the truth was locked away and only the eldest studied it. Everyone else made do with Tears of One. It was like Santa Claus. Perhaps it was based in truth or perhaps it was so watered down through the ages that the real One was forgotten.

Myra shook her head to ward away the desire to dwell upon any of it. Doing that was too much like her father.

"That's a beautiful and sad story," she said reverently. "Thank you for sharing it."

She allowed a pause to convey respect for the matter, and then she brightened up. "A club? I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen on New Year's Day, though."

Excitement began to build as the invitation to join Giovenith and her friends swallowed all the loneliness in her heart. "Sure! Can I help with making the spot?"

[Swith Witherward]

"Naomi. Admitting failure does not mean weakness." Bran said, addressing her last point with something he always thought. If Swith had failed to protect Thriller, why hold that all in? "She could have gone to any of us, Naomi." He sighed. He completely felt like an ass, wanting to go to Swith and ask her for something stupid in the midst of what seemed to be the low point in his friend's life. Why make her feel even more like shit? "Hell, I don't deserve to be her friend." He muttered sadly. He thought it true. He'd taken advantage of all Swith had to offer and what did he give back, what was something that he could have done for his true friend? Nothing. She brought him back to life, she shared a lonely old bomb shelter with him and didn't complain, and what did he do? Nothing.

"I just don't understand why you asked me if I was going to ask her to be Mer again, and then to go off and say that she hates it when people do that. That's what I'm getting from this, and I don't want to deal with it. This is all so sudden, you know? I just don't understand"

He looked down at the sand, feeling ashamed of himself once more, and started to walk off once more

.

"Because," Naomi spoke softly, "At least it's something she can do. It'll remind her that not all things are impossible. It'll make her feel useful again. And because it's not something frivolous that you'll enjoy and throw away when bored. It's something dear to your heart."

Naomi picked up her stick and added another marshmallow to it. She settled it over the fire and watched the sides boil up and blacken.

[Torsiedelle]

"Um....thank you.", Torii mumbled. She reached out and took the paper and pen, grabbed her guitar to prop her paper against. She pressed the pen to her paper and wrote down:

Hey, daddy! It's your little girl, Tora. Anyways, I'm having a great time, and we're spending Christmas on a tropical island! However, I would really love it if you could be here for the holidays, so if it's okay with you, do you want to spend Christmas with me and my sister?

P.S., Katya thinks that nobody knows she's got a baby. I May not be the most perceptive person,, but that's plain as day!

Once finished, Torii neatly folded the note and handed it back up to the goddess with a smoke on her face. "Thanks.", She said, "I really appreciate it, miss."

[Giovenith]

"... Mmmmm..." Eyes shifted to the side in thought.

Giovenith wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. There were legends from the people about their Creation, but from what those stories said and what the godling knew to be the true workings of how the set-up of deities worked, they didn't entirely match-up (not shocking, humans did sometimes get crucial parts wrong). Giovenith had only been bold enough a grand total of five times in her life to come right out and ask her mother what the Beginning (as she had seen it) had really been like. The answer was always the same:

"She was bright, and she was unknowable," Giovenith finally explained, using the same words she had been given. "But she was cold, lonely, and without many things in the Nothingness. She had a name, but no real reason to speak it. She had interest and patience, but nothing to watch. She had love, but nothing to love. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening or who she was at times, or if she was dreaming, or what dreaming was, or of anything. Sometimes she Slept, but more and more often she was Awake. There was nothing, and it always hurt. Maybe it was like that for a long time, maybe a short time, or perhaps no time at all considering there was not much of anything else; there isn't a good way to know, but she doesn't really care. All she cares is that one day she decided she was horribly sick of the nothing, and wanted it to stop being that way. Then Creation began."

It wasn't a beautiful prose, nor anything inspiring or exhilarating. More likely than not, the description did the Creation terrible injustice. Where was the color, the light, the unimaginable, emptiness-crushing, reality-building choir, the holiness? It was not as if Giovenith hadn't wondered these things herself. Where mother's talent to make things astonishing and miraculous should have been at its strongest, it failed disappointingly. But she was not allowed to express disappointment, or at least, she felt was not... who would be so silly as to question the Creation as a Creator told it? That was the reason she had only asked on five lone occasions. Giovenith's mother loved her, she knew that, there was no question about it; that was why it hurt to run into a situation or question that reminded Giovenith of the inescapable reality that her parent was a thing still so far beyond her own comprehension, that it was practically monstrous. "Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children" taken to the Supreme. Normal people eventually grew up to see that mothers were only as they were, incapable of shaking mountains or moving the world, nowhere near as terrifying as once perceived long ago when they sat and viewed the vast world from upon their laps. They could keep their love for their nurturers, while slowly growing out of the silent, secret, sheer terror.

Giovenith would never live to witness any such revelation.

Having taken but a few seconds to allow herself that sinking, humbling thought before shoving it back into the far corners of her conscious where it belonged, Giovenith raised her eyes to meet Myra's. "I'm sorry, that's not a very fun story," she laughed a breathy chuckle. "But I suppose it's the closest one to being true, at least in the eyes of where I come from, what with the many things people say, you know?"

Now they were both secretly sick with lineage trouble, neither speaking it, for now. The shifting silence was a brief but noticeable one, as Giovenith turned the page to another, lighter idea.

"You are about my age, yes? A teenager?" she asked carefully, the corners of her mouth twitching upward again timidly. "Well, it just so happens that my friends and I have been discussing putting up a spot for people our age. We're all about sixteen and seventeen. Would you, like to join?" Maybe Myra would think it was silly to form a little youngsters' club as they were, but it was worth the offer. She seemed very nice, very interesting, and very deep... like the floor of the oceans and seas around them. Fitting they first met here, then.

Lonely ache on a cosmic scale. Myra wondered if this Creator fashioned the universe from her tears. She listened to Giovenith's story and her imagination conjured up a solitary feminine figure walking amongst the dark sky, each tear drop becoming a world. This was part of her own mythos, however. The saddest tears were the dead planets, but then happy tears came and those were the planets which housed life. The figure wasn't a woman, either. It was simply One, and One was First and hadn't any shape. But that was just mythology. Her father's people never spoke the truth behind how things were before they existed. They wouldn't dream of asserting that they were the first beings, or that they had the correct answers. So the truth was locked away and only the eldest studied it. Everyone else made do with Tears of One. It was like Santa Claus. Perhaps it was based in truth or perhaps it was so watered down through the ages that the real One was forgotten.

Myra shook her head to ward away the desire to dwell upon any of it. Doing that was too much like her father.

"That's a beautiful and sad story," she said reverently. "Thank you for sharing it."

She allowed a pause to convey respect for the matter, and then she brightened up. "A club? I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen on New Year's Day, though."

Excitement began to build as the invitation to join Giovenith and her friends swallowed all the loneliness in her heart. "Sure! Can I help with making the spot?"

"Of course!" Myra's enthusiasm did quick at brightening Giovenith's own mood and demeanor, making the girl quickly perk with everything the other girls had previously planned. "We have a place to actually make the spot, and we're all going to contribute our own styles together tastefully! It will probably be a little bit of work, but I'm sure it'll be real fun too!"

This was so lovely, the club was already gathering so many good people. It was finally happening, something Giovenith had known of since always but always been denied, she had a gang of peers. And boy oh boy was it turning well so far! Giovenith was glad that so far it did seem to be about friendship, but they had managed to avoid the parts on television and in books she had found more unsavory... like everyone suddenly developing oniomania. They didn't need that burden.

"I think we're going to get started tomorrow, probably. I can find you and bring you along then! If you're not going to be busy, of course."

[Swith Witherward]

"Um....thank you.", Torii mumbled. She reached out and took the paper and pen, grabbed her guitar to prop her paper against. She pressed the pen to her paper and wrote down:

Hey, daddy! It's your little girl, Tora. Anyways, I'm having a great time, and we're spending Christmas on a tropical island! However, I would really love it if you could be here for the holidays, so if it's okay with you, do you want to spend Christmas with me and my sister?

P.S., Katya thinks that nobody knows she's got a baby. I May not be the most perceptive person,, but that's plain as day!

Once finished, Torii neatly folded the note and handed it back up to the goddess with a smoke on her face. "Thanks.", She said, "I really appreciate it, miss."

Swith nodded and took the note from Torii.

"Miner-"

"Yes?"

"-AH! Oh, I hate it when you do that," Swith grunted as the cultist leader stepped out of Torii's shadow.

Minerva smirked. "Right, take the letter to father, bring him back here."

The redhead gently touched a freckle on Torii's shoulder. "Ah. Alright!" She vanished into the shadow again.

Tracing things wasn't so difficult outside of time. It meant following a course, much like a blind man holds onto a knotted guide rope while he's walking a woodland trail. She felt the nodules of events slip through her fingertips and simply glided along, going back and then back some more, waiting for things to bisect. They always did, if you paid attention to Signs.

She felt warmth in the "rope" and slipped into time to see a simple house. To the side was a man hunched over and cutting at some wheat with a sickle. Minerva slipped into a shadow and grinned as Torii quietly snuck up to him, then covered his eyes. "Hi, daddy!"

"What the hell?" he said, obviously surprised. He turned and grabbed at Torii. She laughed and ducked out of the way. The man laughed, and the two tumbled to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Minerva laughed as well, enjoying the emotional moment, although none could hear her from her hiding spot. Cultists may spend time lurking, but never in judgement. They preferred to watch others and momentarily reflect that life had pleasant moments. Torii and her companions entered the house and Minerva slipped out of time. It flowed forward now and she ghosted it, just a finger caressing the milky cord. Things progressed, and time began to line up once again.


The knock on Peter Dimitrov's door came at a respectable hour. Perhaps he was smoking his pipe in his favorite blue chair? Minerva seriously hoped she hadn't woken him from a nap. She stood on the doorstep in a simple and unrecognizable uniform from a different (and perhaps future) era.

Meanwhile, Swith had helped herself to some wine and had resumed her seat on the log.

"Of course!" Myra's enthusiasm did quick at brightening Giovenith's own mood and demeanor, making the girl quickly perk with everything the other girls had previously planned. "We have a place to actually make the spot, and we're all going to contribute our own styles together tastefully! It will probably be a little bit of work, but I'm sure it'll be real fun too!"

This was so lovely, the club was already gathering so many good people. It was finally happening, something Giovenith had known of since always but always been denied, she had a gang of peers. And boy oh boy was it turning well so far! Giovenith was glad that so far it did seem to be about friendship, but they had managed to avoid the parts on television and in books she had found more unsavory... like everyone suddenly developing oniomania. They didn't need that burden.

"I think we're going to get started tomorrow, probably. I can find you and bring you along then! If you're not going to be busy, of course."

"Tomorrow would be awesome!" Myra replied ecstatically. Her toes dug into the sand playfully and she wiggled them like little sausages. "I'm not doing anything except reading. I have two beach chairs, if the others want to use them, and my camera. Maybe we can make a scrapbook of the whole vacation? I have supplies for that... colored card stock, scissors, and glue. I forgot to pack the glitter, though, but we can add that when we get home. And I only have black pens. I use them to make maps."

If it wasn't for the fact that Myra didn't want Giovenith to think she was "some crazy girl", she would have done cartwheels right down to the surf. Granted, admitting her love for cartography could have landed her in the nerd corner, but she somehow didn't think Giovenith would think her too nerdy and revoke club membership.

[Giovenith]

"Tomorrow would be awesome!" Myra replied ecstatically. Her toes dug into the sand playfully and she wiggled them like little sausages. "I'm not doing anything except reading. I have two beach chairs, if the others want to use them, and my camera. Maybe we can make a scrapbook of the whole vacation? I have supplies for that... colored card stock, scissors, and glue. I forgot to pack the glitter, though, but we can add that when we get home. And I only have black pens. I use them to make maps."

If it wasn't for the fact that Myra didn't want Giovenith to think she was "some crazy girl", she would have done cartwheels right down to the surf. Granted, admitting her love for cartography could have landed her in the nerd corner, but she somehow didn't think Giovenith would think her too nerdy and revoke club membership.

"Perfect, perfect!" Giovenith clapped her hands together in delight, then reached her arms over to pull Myra into a sudden snuggle-hug of the ages. "We are going to have fun, and tell stories, and grow things, and put eggplants in microwaves, and do jumping-jacks, and draw stuff with chalk, and ride unicycles, and make our own peanut butter, and name our shoes, AND ANYTHING ELSE I CAN'T THINK OF!"

Of course they probably wouldn't actually be doing 80% of those things, but that was just Giovenith being Giovenith. She soon released her new friend and gave her a squeaky grin.

"And it shall be good!"

EDIT: Sorry! Didn't read the other posts well.

[Torsiedelle]

Coughing could be heard from inside the house, followed by deep mumbling, before the bolts on the door came unlocked, and Tora's father opened the door. He stood there, looking slightly down at Minerva. A glimpse behind him would reveal the lights on, and the TV on. There were also several rifles mounted against the wall, and an old AKM on the wall.

He looked at the woman with deep, but curious eyes. "Aló?", He said, tilting his head slightly. He didn't expect company at this time....or ever, really. Was this another government worker, or a distant relative? He sure didn't want it to be a distant relative. He liked his solitary home.

.....

"Awesome.", Torii said with a little giggle. "So Minerva's on her way already?"
She had been wondering every now and then about those cultists. Well, really, she usually thought about the Nazi fellows, them being more to her what the Allied ones were to others. They had some weird powers, teleporting and messing about. She wasn't sure whether to be impressed, or wary.

"They really get around, huh? Those people like her."

[Swith Witherward]

Coughing could be heard from inside the house, followed by deep mumbling, before the bolts on the door came unlocked, and Tora's father opened the door. He stood there, looking slightly down at Minerva. A glimpse behind him would reveal the lights on, and the TV on. There were also several rifles mounted against the wall, and an old AKM on the wall.

He looked at the woman with deep, but curious eyes. "Aló?", He said, tilting his head slightly. He didn't expect company at this time....or ever, really. Was this another government worker, or a distant relative? He sure didn't want it to be a distant relative. He liked his solitary home.

.....

"Awesome.", Torii said with a little giggle. "So Minerva's on her way already?"
She had been wondering every now and then about those cultists. Well, really, she usually thought about the Nazi fellows, them being more to her what the Allied ones were to others. They had some weird powers, teleporting and messing about. She wasn't sure whether to be impressed, or wary.

"They really get around, huh? Those people like her."

"Aló," Minerva chimed while giving Peter a respectful bow of her head. She extended the letter to him, curtly placing it in his hand. "I'm just a messenger, Sir. I'm also your transportation should you accept."

She stood in a somewhat easy parade rest on his doorstep, hands tucked behind her back and a warm smile adorning her face. Minerva had never given Torsiedelle much thought other than to look it up on a map once. She was aware of the sister's varied views of their nation (she was actually somewhat communist herself) but she never judged a person by where they lived or what flag they saluted. She'd learned long ago that not X equaled Y. So, to her, Peter was simply a father. Possibly a fellow soldier now retired. She was absolutely honored to have been the one to deliver the message. Besides, Klaus would have fucked it up by doing something utterly silly.

---

"She's probably handing it to him as we speak," Swith assured Torii.

Torii's words reminded Swith of the girl's mistrust. She was aware of her angst with supernatural beings... she'd heard of the outburst at the city meeting. Maybe it was time to extend an olive branch and explain a bit about 'those people'?

"Not all of them are that handy," she began. "Minerva is unique. She's cursed, you see. Her abilities were thrust on her when she died during the war. Um, World War II. The curse within her consumes her twice a day, and staying in our dimension and time... walking with us, talking with us, and socializing... drains her. She dies an agonal death every twelve hours. It's a dysfunction rather than a power. Some would call it a disability or hindrance. Minerva chose to rise above it. She's my cultist leader not because of her ability but because of her clever mindset, determination and military training."

Swith sipped her drink and snorted. "Then there's War... my brother. His cultists are so fucked up that it's not even funny. Nearly all of his cultists suffer from some sort of mental illness. All of them are a bit homicidal, but those most able to interact with society are the ones you see around Bielefeld. The others... those who are too mentally far gone to trust leaving unattended in society... they're kept under lock and key."

She looked around until she spotted Hans and Chrys. They were standing quietly to one side, very close to each other and apparently speaking fondly of the sleeping toddler in Chrys' arms.

"Take Hans there. Schizophrenic. He's also War's cultist leader. Schizophrenia is a brain disorder that affects the way a person acts, thinks, and sees the world. People with schizophrenia have an altered perception of reality. They may see or hear things that don’t exist. With such a blurred line between the real and the imaginary, schizophrenia makes it difficult—even frightening—to negotiate the activities of daily life.

"However, there's balance. He was always schizophrenic. When he died, he was cursed. That's where he gained his "power", although really it's just a manifestation of his dysfunctional mind. The curse has been labeled "a gestalt psychic field". What he believes is what is so. Let's say he believed you were naked. Well, you'll find yourself naked! Or he believes that gold comes out of belly buttons. It will, as long as he believes it. But let's say he believes... that for one single moment he convinces himself... that the child in the Conservator's arms is on fire. Do you see where this is going? What if he thought he didn't exist anymore? It would happen.

"The horrors that they experienced while serving as SS stayed with them. These are nightmares which haunt them. The ones allowed to interact with society counter it with ludicrously. That's why you'll see them jump into cups or hear them shout at you through sink drains. They aren't doing it to show off. Usually, when they're behaving very mischievously, it's because they feel themselves slipping into insanity. The foolish antics are a therapeutic measure."

She turned and looked at Torii. "They don't want these powers. They want to be like you, whole and complete and mortal again. They want to be sane. They watch you in the halls or outside and they laugh when you laugh, and they cry when you cry. They do it because they can feel those emotions coming from you. Believe it or not, it's because of you and the other mortals that they've been able to become less dysfunctional. That's why they respect you, and why they admire you. That's why they protect you. You, and the other mortals, are treasured more than any supernatural being in our building. They don't watch you to spy on you, and I don't think they really give a flying fig about any secrets you'd have. They certainly would never hide under your bed or in your closet. But, if you ever need one of War's cultists... if your situation is ever dire... they'd come to defend you if you shouted down a drain for help."

[The BranRiech]

"Because," Naomi spoke softly, "At least it's something she can do. It'll remind her that not all things are impossible. It'll make her feel useful again. And because it's not something frivolous that you'll enjoy and throw away when bored. It's something dear to your heart."

Naomi picked up her stick and added another marshmallow to it. She settled it over the fire and watched the sides boil up and blacken.

"Well, I don't know about it. I really don't want to burden her, but if you think she'd like it, I'll do it. Rylli and I wouldn't mind getting into the water again, and I can't swim without it really." Bran chuckled. He still felt like shit though, and had the urge to go and apologize to Swith for some unforseen transgression. He sat back down though, and took his Marshmallow out from the fire, seeing it done.

Rachelle and Natiya soon did the same too. The girl, however, just took one of the sticky, brown lumps and ate it right off the stick, saving the other in case anyone with a graham-cracker and chocolate showed up.

"Yeah, I'll ask her when she seems done with Torii."

--

Toscha sighed. He'd have to get dry somehow, although he was at least lucky the sand wasn't sticking to him as much as a Human's skin would. "Well, I might head home, unless you still want to hang out, Blossom." He smiled, looking back towards his house.

--

Hearing something about the club from a while away, as well as the crackle of the fire (And a few other conversations with some other people), Yuna made her way over to the group of people at the fire, spotting Giovenith chatting with some other young-looking person! Maybe she was in the club too? Eh, she'd see, and maybe ask abou-

Were those Marshmallows!?

Yuna was there in a second, nearly bouncing up and down in anticipation, waiting to see if she could have one.

[Cerillium]

Was Catherine's mother dead? Wren searched her mind but couldn't recall what Dr. Smith had said. If Sapphire was just trying to placate the child, wouldn't Catherine come to mistrust her if the cleanup ended and her mother was dead?

She wasn't about to contradict Sapphire, though. What would it accomplish, other than making the little girl more confused and sad. Maybe this was just how the Templars operated. "All's well unless it turns out otherwise"... seemed, well, it just seemed to be how they were. It just wasn't right. It wasn't right that a child not be told. It wasn't right that a child be left with false hopes if no hope were possible.

Wren turned her face away and stared at the wall without seeing it.


The Genetor’s mechanically disproportionate mass lay prone under the cracked dome. The torrid weather raging above him went unregistered by his unresponsive optics even as the acidic raindrops seared the metal and flesh of his grotesque body. His cloak, once a rubicund standard which demarcated him as one of the Ruling Priesthood, was crushed to the tile and fouled by blood and mechanical fluids.

The child in the box mewled but the wind stole the sound and left howling turmoil in its place. Blood-caked fingernails tore at the gap to no avail. They snapped one by one and left the child with nothing but ragged, bleeding fingertips to use in effort to gain liberty. She pressed on in desperation and her soft complaints evolved into petrified shrieks that only ceased once heavily clad legs cast a shadow across the opening and blocked the dead Genetor from sight.

The box rattled. The child fled to the farthest corner. The lid opened and Thaddeus eyes leveled upon his firstborn. Her tiny chest rose and fell in rapid cadence and she pressed herself more tightly into the corner to avoid his reaching hand.

“Mamma! I want my mamma! I want my mamma!”

She raged against the old cyborg. She thrashed like a caught rabbit and willed his grasp to break.

Thaddeus maintained his grip and shook her for good measure. “Your mother is dead.”

Velvety blue eyes momentarily locked upon his deathly white lenses. The child’s mouth became unhinged as the rosy hue drained from her face. It was incomprehensible. The Genetor said mamma was only at the tower; she’d return once the Nids were routed. Mamma was Sagitarii; mamma was invincible.

Thaddeus hadn’t time for his child’s whinging. The Master of Skitarii shook her again for good measure and painfully dropped her to the hard ground. “Your mother is dead. Cover yourself with your cloak. We are leaving now."

His bolter's muzzle pressed against her skull. “Move, Mavis-Wren. I’ll offer no leniency for your snot and sniveling.”


Wren drew a shuddering breath. Perhaps her father's methods were uncaring and barbaric, but they'd left no false hope in her heart. Things were or they weren't. This place, these people... Dr. Smith's project, Sapphire's words, the children's pain and struggle... the differences in culture were too great for Wren to understand. She lifted her eyes to stare into Barox's and tears splashed down her cheeks as she silently pleaded with him to take her home.

Barox looked at her and saw the pain. he gave a silent sigh and looked back at Sapphire. "Sorry to leave you with the kids like this but, we have some other things to go do. But before we go, can we please see the dining facility underground, cause I am a bit hungry."

Sapphire, whose sorrow turned better into a grin, replied, " O Barox, I was joking about that, there is no underground dining facility, nor anything underground at all, except the lava and dirt. If you wanna eat, you have to wait for shipment to come in."

"Ah Christ." He sighed with a look of disappointment. "Alright, I guess we go then. Bye." He gently took Wren by the hand and lead her out, leaving the children under the care of the Doctor and Sapphire.

"I'm sorry," Wren forlornly murmured once they were out of Sapphire's auditory range. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be an ass to Dr. Smith. I kept my mouth closed when Sapphire gave Katherine false hope; I seem to remember someone saying her mother was dead."

Her cloak's hood was notorious for obscuring her peripheral vision but she didn't care. She drew it over her head to hide her face. "I'm trying, Barox. I'm trying to understand your people but I'm bound by my own religious tenets. There are many things the Hereteks do that I disagree with and it's a constant struggle of wills at the Observatory. But this? Mutants?"

Wren had waited so patiently for Barox to return from war. She'd appealed to the Machine God daily to ask that his augmentations not fail and that his equipment remain functional. She'd missed her friend and business partner. She loved him because they shared the same quest to help children (and pets). Now she worried that he believed as Smith did; that it was alright to use science to fashion monsters and to fib to children.

A soft hiccup escaped her. She drew close to Barox and buried her face against her friend's chest. Her shoulders shuddered in time to her gentle sobbing. She was going to lose him. She was sure of it. He'd walk away because their doctrines were incomparable; the Templar held ideals she couldn't embrace.

[Urran]

"I am having fun with you, I am just sorry that it's too cold for you." she said smiling. She felt bad for getting her new friend cold when she knew that he hated the cold. She looked up at the tree house and wondered just how difficult it was to build. She also wondered where Jacob was, she had not seen him at all on the island.


Anew stepped out of the forest, no sign of Tieria, good. She stripped and plunged into the water. Like Conservators of gods, Innovaters had no problem with nudity and did not care if anyone else did. She looked around for someone to talk to. Maybe they could tell her about Tieria's usual habits.

[Torsiedelle]

It took the father a few seconds to realize it was English, and translate it all, before he understood what Minerva had said. "A message?", He asked in a heavy accent. "From who...."

He turned back around and walked to the table by his chair to fetch his reading glasses, and looked over the notes for a minute. The whole time, he had his hack turned, but he eventually turned with a pleasant grin on his face, and nodded to the woman.

"I would love to spend the holidays with my girls, of Tora wants me to. After all, it doesn't happen every day. Just....allow me a minute to pack some belongings."

.....

Torii had never known about the different cultists like that. It never really occurred to her that some of them may have not wished to be like they were. It made her think about how she really didn't want to be a soldier, or a worker. Well, she wasn't any of those things anymore....

Maybe they weren't such bad people. Hell, she knew that they weren't, but still, she was having a moment. She was feeling conflicted. She didn't know about Minerva either. "I guess I never saw them that way...so they're no just having their antics for fun, or asserting heir strength on the city for other reasons?"

She sighed, now probably thinking that she was an ass for being so jumpy. "Damn, I guess I'm sorry, then. I wasn't very wise about that. And Miss Minerva? That sounds really bad."

[Giovenith]

Out of nowhere came Yuna, swooping into the firelight and taking Giovenith by pleasant surprise. Speak of angels!

"Yuna!" Giovenith backed up to create friendly space between her pyserai friend and Myra, gesturing her arms between the two of them for cheerful introductions. "Yuna, I'd like you to meet my brand new friend, Myra! She's sixteen too. Myra, this is Yuna, one of the friends already in the club. She's sixteen as well, really nice, and super smart! I thought she could join the club!"

[The BranRiech]

"I am having fun with you, I am just sorry that it's too cold for you." she said smiling. She felt bad for getting her new friend cold when she knew that he hated the cold. She looked up at the tree house and wondered just how difficult it was to build. She also wondered where Jacob was, she had not seen him at all on the island.

"No, it's fine. I accepted to go swimming. It's my fault." Toscha chuckled. He didn't really mind getting cold for a friend, but being cold was never fun either way. "You know my power, right? I forgot if I told you or not, but if I did, you know how I have problems with the cold in addition to my physiology." He shrugged.

"So, where would you like to go, Miss Blossom?"

--

The young Pyersai looked at Myra and Gio at the same time, about to stuff her face with a marshmallow. "Oh, hey guys." She grinned quietly, still donned in her Cultist's uniform. She found that the rugged uniform, not her delicate robes, suited her a helluva' lot more than anything else in her wardrobe. "We're still doing the club thing?" She asked with glee.

[Urran]

"Power?" Blossom asked. "What power?" Lamia's had powers? Like fire and ice and electricity and stuff? Cool! The vampire had no idea. but, because it was naive Blossom, she was almost certainly wtong in her assumptions. As any rate, she was content to let Toscha lead wherever he wished.

[Germanic Templars]

Barox looked at her and saw the pain. he gave a silent sigh and looked back at Sapphire. "Sorry to leave you with the kids like this but, we have some other things to go do. But before we go, can we please see the dining facility underground, cause I am a bit hungry."

Sapphire, whose sorrow turned better into a grin, replied, " O Barox, I was joking about that, there is no underground dining facility, nor anything underground at all, except the lava and dirt. If you wanna eat, you have to wait for shipment to come in."

"Ah Christ." He sighed with a look of disappointment. "Alright, I guess we go then. Bye." He gently took Wren by the hand and lead her out, leaving the children under the care of the Doctor and Sapphire.

"I'm sorry," Wren forlornly murmured once they were out of Sapphire's auditory range. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be an ass to Dr. Smith. I kept my mouth closed when Sapphire gave Katherine false hope; I seem to remember someone saying her mother was dead."

Her cloak's hood was notorious for obscuring her peripheral vision but she didn't care. She drew it over her head to hide her face. "I'm trying, Barox. I'm trying to understand your people but I'm bound by my own religious tenets. There are many things the Hereteks do that I disagree with and it's a constant struggle of wills at the Observatory. But this? Mutants?"

Wren had waited so patiently for Barox to return from war. She'd appealed to the Machine God daily to ask that his augmentations not fail and that his equipment remain functional. She'd missed her friend and business partner. She loved him because they shared the same quest to help children (and pets). Now she worried that he believed as Smith did; that it was alright to use science to fashion monsters and to fib to children.

A soft hiccup escaped her. She drew close to Barox and buried her face against her friend's chest. Her shoulders shuddered in time to her gentle sobbing. She was going to lose him. She was sure of it. He'd walk away because their doctrines were incomparable; the Templar held ideals she couldn't embrace.

"Well mutants, depending on your definition, are quite normal. Hell the term mutant can be as broad as describing a child with Fragile X, to as narrow as describing a child's ability to walk through walls. Either way the both deal with genetics. But that doesn't matter now, what does matter if we can find a quiet place where we can collect our thoughts." He suggested as he gave her a hug and a pat on the back.

He really didn't know what to make of the current situation for the most part, he did however, note the obvious and did with what he could in his power to change things to a more calmer level.

[Cerillium]

"Well mutants, depending on your definition, are quite normal. Hell the term mutant can be as broad as describing a child with Fragile X, to as narrow as describing a child's ability to walk through walls. Either way the both deal with genetics. But that doesn't matter now, what does matter if we can find a quiet place where we can collect our thoughts." He suggested as he gave her a hug and a pat on the back.

He really didn't know what to make of the current situation for the most part, he did however, note the obvious and did with what he could in his power to change things to a more calmer level.

Barox had a very good point. 'Mutant' could be applied to anyone with mutations, even naturally occurring ones. Wren still didn't believe in mutating for experiment's sake. She stepped back and wiped her eye.

"Alright," she allowed him to lead her away.

"I fell in love with him, you know," she said as they walked, "with Datus. He's so clever, and kind. I guess the thought of him being orphaned tugged on my heart, and I thought maybe he could flourish at the observatory. So finding out he's just an experiment, and that Smith "adopted" him because of what he is or whatever. Well. I just want to give him all the good things in life. The magic of childhood. I don't want to see him cooped up in a lab like an animal. Same for Katherine."

[Cerillium]

Marcus sat back from the fire and did his best to avoid notice by Rachelle. He liked her. She was a sweet kid. A kid, and a little one at that. His brain dwelt on his last-minute calorizing efforts before leaving home; the thin layer of aluminum skin he'd applied to several exposed arm components seemed to be flaking off intermittently. He'd rust. The sea air wasn't helping. He wondered if Thriller still have his mech bay on the island. If so, perhaps he could see about a hasty chromizing to seal things up?

Oh, and girls. His mind was definitely on girls. And some parts he'd put on his Christmas wish list. And, most importantly, he was doing his best to avoid his father. Sitting around and doing nothing was counterproductive; Ceril never failed to come up with a chore to keep him moving.

His augmented hearing picked up the girls' club chatter. He recognized Giovenith but hadn't met the girl sitting beside her. An eyebrow raised as Yuna joined them. What the fuck was she? Her coloration and wings reminded him of a large fruit bat. Hell, she was cute but she sure wasn't human. He liked the way the fire reflected off her white hair. It reminded him of the furnace glow back home.

A club meant he wouldn't be out in the open. He could spend the entire vacation totally avoiding the old cyborg. Heh. He could spend the entire vacation with girls. Cute girls but what the fuck? Why weren't there any boys his age? It was a conspiracy by the landlord. It had to be.

Marcus slumped off the log and loped towards the giggling huddle. He planned to saunter up and say, "hey, ladies, how's it going?" or else, "yo, wassup?"

He didn't saunter. His awkward lope turned into a bored skulk that drew him to their location. He knew he was intruding. There was nothing - NOTHING - more intimidating that trying to talk to a pack of girls. They were like cells clumped together to form a single organism. One wrong move. One wrong impression. One accidental slight. That would be the end. The organism would turn up its collective nose and glare at him until he retreated, and then they'd scowl or giggle and flicker glances in his direction until he completely removed himself from their line of sight.

Marcus' mind frantically tried to think of a means to mesh. He doubted they shared anything in common with him. He'd completely overlooked the fact that he was physically augmented and weirdly attired. His eyes spotted the yoyo.

Then he was upon them. His organic hand worked in tandem with its gunmetal-black mechanical twin as he tugged his obsidian trousers up a bit so he could squat. Soft brown robes parted to reveal a black cotton tee. He kept his hood up but the firelight cast a warm glow on his skin while also dancing off the metal plate surrounding the red optic lens of his right eye.

"Hi," his voice was gentle and low and (thankfully!) didn't crack into an embarrassing squeak. "I haven't seen a yoyo in a long time. Mind if I try it out?"

[Giovenith]

Giovenith tilted her head and looked up at the newly-appeared Marcus, having not spotted him before. It took a while for her to actually remember who he was, having only met him once as a child, and then a second time as this age back on Gilese. The lightbulb eventually pinged however, lighting up a sincere smile on her face.

"Of course," she said pleasantly, reaching over, picking up the yoyo, and wrapping up the string. "Yoyo's are tricky, but lots of fun." She carefully leaned over from her crouching position to hand it over to him. "You're, you're, um, Marcus, right? Mister Ceril's son! I remember you were little, and then not little on Gilese."

[Cerillium]

Giovenith tilted her head and looked up at the newly-appeared Marcus, having not spotted him before. It took a while for her to actually remember who he was, having only met him once as a child, and then a second time as this age back on Gilese. The lightbulb eventually pinged however, lighting up a sincere smile on her face.

"Of course," she said pleasantly, reaching over, picking up the yoyo, and wrapping up the string. "Yoyo's are tricky, but lots of fun." She carefully stood up from her crouching position to hand it over to him. "You're, you're, um, Marcus, right? Mister Ceril's son! I remember you were little, and then not little on Gilese."

"Uh huh," a shy smile brightened Marcus' face. He accepted the yoyo and slipped the string's looped tail over his finger. "We left before the last Drone invasion. Went to the future. My dad wouldn't let me stay here alone so I spent a few years there before coming back here."

The yoyo descended and swung lazily near his knee. He chuckled and rewound the string. "You're Giovenith, right? I remember seeing you at the ball."

His hand flicked and the yoyo complied with his request, gracefully rolling outward before returning to his waiting palm. He became absorbed in the effort for a few moments and then tried to 'walk the dog' - very unsuccessfully.

"Ah well. I used to know trick moves but I've forgotten them. Know any?" He handed the toy back to her.

[Germanic Templars]

"Well mutants, depending on your definition, are quite normal. Hell the term mutant can be as broad as describing a child with Fragile X, to as narrow as describing a child's ability to walk through walls. Either way the both deal with genetics. But that doesn't matter now, what does matter if we can find a quiet place where we can collect our thoughts." He suggested as he gave her a hug and a pat on the back.

He really didn't know what to make of the current situation for the most part, he did however, note the obvious and did with what he could in his power to change things to a more calmer level.

Barox had a very good point. 'Mutant' could be applied to anyone with mutations, even naturally occurring ones. Wren still didn't believe in mutating for experiment's sake. She stepped back and wiped her eye.

"Alright," she allowed him to lead her away.

"I fell in love with him, you know," she said as they walked, "with Datus. He's so clever, and kind. I guess the thought of him being orphaned tugged on my heart, and I thought maybe he could flourish at the observatory. So finding out he's just an experiment, and that Smith "adopted" him because of what he is or whatever. Well. I just want to give him all the good things in life. The magic of childhood. I don't want to see him cooped up in a lab like an animal. Same for Katherine."

"Doubtful they will, but we will ha-" Barox was interrupted when another tech priest called his name. He looked to see who it was. Standing there at the height of 6 ft 9 even with a hunchback, a tube cutting into his trachea that was connected to an oxygen tank, and a mechanical claw for a right arm stood carrying some tools. "Yes, Gregor?" He called to the man.

"Ye, can ya help out here a bit? We are doing a bit of demo."

"What, why?" He asked in surprise tone.

"Home called and they need all the metal they can get to help in rebuilding the nation."

"So everything must be torn down? What about the clone troopers and all?"

"Don't worry, we'll still have 2 platoons of 30 clones here and the factory, just that we are down scaling." Gregor explained in full.