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Cerillium
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Founded: Oct 27, 2012
New York Times Democracy

Postby Cerillium » Wed May 27, 2015 5:40 pm

"The Building is an entity unto itself, and apart from its greater self," the old tech priest kept an eye on Anais and her companion as he recounted what he knew for Sandy's benefit. "The crossroads intertwining with its skin stretch wide and far to transcend the boundaries of Time and Space and Order. Nothing outside of it affects the insides of it unless, of course, it wills it to, and so you mustn't worry about external ley lines changing your brew in any fashion. I'm told that no two people behold the exterior the same way, and that the common areas likewise shift in appearance to please the onlooker."

He raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Surely you've heard mention of the Nifid in Bielefeld? They were a viral, hive mind species that reached its technical peak long before humanity was seeded across the galaxy. The whole species turned inward and passed into obscurity, and we were better off for not knowing them. It would have been better still had things remained so. It was the foolish Martiks that awoke them by looting dormant creche. The Nifid repaid them by purging every last Martik atom from the universe.

"I pity the Nifid, really. Imagine returning to your childhood neighborhood to find everything you were fond of stripped away. Imagine all the familiar faces replaced by young foreigners. Oh you could change your attire. You could learn the modern lingo. You could attempt to imitate their movements. At the end of the day you're still just an old man shuffling across worn sidewalk cracks. You'll return to your moldy apartment and feed your hoard of constructed cats. You'll put on a Murder She Wrote rerun, or perhaps Welcome Back, Kotter, and bemoan to the walls that modern television is too trashy to be in good taste. And you'll raise the occasional fist to protest the injustices done while you were gone. You won't raise it far. You won't get far either. In fact, you'll probably stagnate into a miserable, geriatric existence. Every last trespass will offend you to the core, be it the crushed blades of grass in the front lawn or the loud music thrumming from the next door apartment. That's how it was with them. That's why all hell broke loose when the Drones came. Were it not for the crotchety old Nifid, we'd have all been assimilated. They rebuilt what we had lost afterward."



Marcus' ears took on a vibrant red hue at Giovenith's praising. Her gentle reminder of people depending on them brought him back from the edge of bashful euphoria, however. She was right. She had a knack for seeing things more clearly at moments like this. He set his coffee aside and slipped an arm across the table to cradle her warm hand in his own.

"No matter where we go, there we are," a careworn smile played across his lips. "I hate that phrase. Brother Adrastus constantly mutters it and it's become ingrained in our ears and brains. He says the first three words and our minds finish the rest for him. I think it's better to say So, here we are, and then ask ourselves where we want to go from this point onward. When it comes to this anti-ab hatred and the city treating us like garbage... well, I just don't know where we'll go, but I think we'll do just fine if we keep each other company along the way."

He paused to listen to a message filtered through the network. "Brother Adrastus is going to dismiss the group soon so you all can tend to personal things. We should go find the rest of them. I don't know if he has any last minute information to impart to us."




Morning on the ship hardly looked different than night, save a miniscule lowering of light levels to mimic evening. Thaddeus hadn't slept. A paltry four hours had passed since the targ hunters' return, and he had spent it pouring over communications from Earth.

The grumpy cyborg read through the dispatches again on the off chance that he had missed some tiny detail that had come in overnight. Grumbling, he rose from his chair and departed the ozone choked room. He paid no heed to the cultist and Conservator chatting near the SUV, nor to the targ and her suckling brood watching his passage through the bay. His feet brought him to Hans' quarters and a heavy hand thumped the door between them.

"Wake up. You didn't check your messages before bed. There's a new development in Bielefeld."
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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Wed May 27, 2015 6:30 pm

"We have our work cut out for us," Giovenith rose from the table, carefully pushing her empty cop toward the middle of the table. "What I was always told, by my mother, is that in the story of eternity, the victory of darkness comes about when it convinces you that fighting back is worthless. It is keeping patience, wits, strength, and mostly hope, no matter the wait, that will be our true challenge." It was time to truly put that to the test. Such idealism wasn't usually in style these days.

Walking a few steps around the table, the godling squeezed the boy's hand, stood on her toes, and laid a kiss on his cheek. She lingered there a moment before pulling back. "I love you, you know. I'll do everything I can to pull our friends through this. Come." Tugging on his hand, she ushered the both of them back toward the larger group so they would not miss the dismissal. There seemed to be no follow-up comment on the weighty words she'd imparted.
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Swith Witherward
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Wed May 27, 2015 8:48 pm

The Ship
"Do you mean that I should tread softly?" A blue-grey smoke plume drifted towards the ceiling as the cultist tipped his head back. "I can do that, but I'm not fond of tiptoes. Ruins the posture. Is hell on the feet."

He crossed his arms and observed her for a moment before speaking again. "Clothing conceals. You just spent time on a planet, and you were pretending to be something you're not. To dream that you are cold indicates that you are experiencing a breakthrough in some area in your life. Alternatively, you may be feeling isolated or emotionally restrained. Couple that with the memory of abandonment and betrayal, and there's only one conclusion that any of us can reach."

Will smiled at the woman. "I conclude that you need something stiff in your morning coffee. And I don't mean any of my own bits, if you know what I mean. Why don't we claim a corner on this ship and I can serve as an ear?"


The Building
"Paint that target in neon," Caroline snorted playfully, although the glint in her eyes betrayed her desire to likewise see the sociologist get served.

Her smile brightened at the thought of actually contributing towards the abhuman cause. "Maybe we can open it under an existing pub. It would cut down on logistics. Or maybe we should look at opening it up someplace temporary. What if we need to move it quickly?"


The Observatory
Marcus nodded as he quietly committed Giovenith's profound words to memory.

Hope.

It seemed in short supply these days, although the people of Bielefeld always seemed to hold on to a glimmer of it in their darkest hours. But what hope could be found in a place where someone turned on his neighbor just because one of them didn't conform to what was considered normal? The boy's jaw worked as he debated asking her if she knew the best way of keeping it as well as imparting it to others.

The soft, unexpected press of her lips against his cheek silenced his mind and caused the butterflies in his chest to explode into flight. The brilliantly colored creatures batted away the last remnants of despair, but the words that followed the kiss left him breathless. He nodded mutely once more, unable to properly articulate the emotions swirling within him as he savored those three wonderful words, and then followed her to the circular ward.
Last edited by Swith Witherward on Wed May 27, 2015 9:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Swith Witherward
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Thu May 28, 2015 12:20 am

The remnants of troubling dreams lingered as Neste awoke. She rested quietly, taking solace in the delightful warmth along her back, although the fact that it had been obtained without consent clouded the pleasure. How many days had passed since they were kidnapped? Quick calculations told her they were only on their third, yet the fatigue gripping her felt as if it had been in place a solid year. Memories trickled back into her consciousness and the construct found herself struggling to separate fact from fantasy as she carefully rolled to face her bedmate. Septumus appeared to be asleep, and she propped herself on an elbow to better study his face.

He did have handsome qualities, even if he didn't want to admit it, especially now that pain from the night before was no longer staining his cheeks and drawing his lips into a grimace. She longed to hear him laugh, and to see the sparkle in his ashen grey eye. He'd been through so much already and the universe, in all its supposed glory, seemed perfectly happy in its efforts to continually shit on the man. Delicate fingertips gently brushed against his scalp as she lamented his fate so far.

"Things will get better, you'll see." She rocked forward just enough to kiss his brow. A crackle of electricity sparked at the simple touch and threatened to sizzle her into another senseless euphoria. The construct closed her eyes to stem the odd feelings.

Hello, taboo? The last thing this human needs is to wake up and see your ugly, horned head looming over him. That's just creepy on too many levels.

"The fuck is wrong with me?" Neste grumbled over her own absurdity and slipped from the bed to take refuge in the bathroom.


What is wrong with me, anyway? This behavior is completely unacceptable! I know better than this! she asked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The haggard image on the glass didn't reply; Scel was light years away, leaving Neste to ponder the wretched creature staring back at her. She sighed at her own state.

Septimus' cloak and shirt were dry, and so she folded them and placed them on the sink counter before turning the shower on. There was little sense in folding her own clothes. Each article fell to the floor as she stripped off and discarded them. This unplanned adventure had devastated one of her favorite outfits, not that she had many to choose from in her closet, and she eyed the folded shirt. Sure, why not appropriate it after she was done? Its owner could make do with his cloak. Making due with the miniscule travel soaps and shampoos was an entirely different matter.

Her tufted ganglion stem swished in anticipation as she opened the shower door to test the water. The escaping steam invigorated her lungs and soothed her tender skin. She stepped inside to let the water consume her.

"Nothing in my life has made sense since I stepped off that transport in Dyste," Neste tipped her head back to better saturate the odd feathers crowning her head. The spray pattered off her strange amalgamation of scales and skin, warming her capped ports and loosening the crusted blood clinging to her. She turned towards the shower head and worked her hands over her face and long neck to wipe away surface grime.

She suspected that the cyborg's life made even less sense. He was on top back then, the newest appointed member of his government. She supposed he could have had anything he wanted, provided he continued to do his job well. And then she'd come along.

Oh, Scel was right. We don't fit in. We aren't meant to be anything more than our design, the construct chastised herself and snatched a bottle from the shelf.

Neste's fingers worked the shampoo into a lather while her mind replayed memory snippets. Her life until now had been bursts of activity followed by long circulation periods. It had a hollow feel to it. Then he'd come along, that damn old cyborg sleeping in the other room, and he'd filled it with color. He'd shown her reasons to see herself as more than just a tool.

The construct lifted her head and sighed as the water assaulted the suds and swept them down her smooth neck and shoulders. Alright, she was more than a tool. Now what?

"And now I find myself wondering if I have the potential to be more than a tool to him, and I realize that I never will."

It was a candid answer that she hadn't expected to voice. The thought of it caused her to blanch. Neste seized the soap and put it to vigorous use, regretting it moments later as the chemicals made contact with the open wound on her belly. She cried out in pain and the bar clattered along the tile and came to rest by her foot.

"Oh, Makers, please, can't I just rewind it all? Please?"

Neste cradled her face and allowed her legs to fold as she slid down the wall. The shower's hot torrent played staccato beats against her naked body as it captured and swept away the last of the suds along with her ganglion tip. The soft tuft caught in the drain. Water pooled around her and she parted the fingertips covering her eyes to watch a singular red swirl stain it.

"I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. What am I? What am I supposed to be? Ten fucking centuries of being stuffed in a bladder and anchored to a ship, and you bastards expect me to function like a perfectly adjusted attache? Like a normal, rational, comprehending Being? Go play nice with the dinosaurs, NST. Go represent the Witherward! And whatever you do, don't develop any emotions for mammals, especially humans. That's taboo. Well, fuck you! Fuck you all. I do represent it. We lizards all a little fucked-in-the-head, aren't we?"

A sudden rage exploded within her and the construct's hands flew to her breasts. "What the fuck is wrong with you parasites? Look at me! I have tits. I'm a mother-fucking mammal, for fuck's sake. Don't you fucktards know the difference between reptile and mammal? How the fuck can you expect the universe to take your superiority claims seriously when you bundle all your profound knowledge and crank out a bunch of me's?!"

A soft, metallic tick silenced her. The construct's ears perked and she swiveled her head to squint at the world on the other side of the frosted glass. She strained to listen to for sounds from the bedroom. In her fit, she'd completely forgotten that she wasn't entirely alone.

A heartbeat passed, and then another. Neste placed a steadying hand on the shower wall and rose from the floor to turn off the water. She cracked the door and peered around, and sighed in relief. A coin had slipped from the shirt pocket. The sobering sight of it brought her back to reality.

Ashamed of her outburst, the construct dried off and slipped into the purloined shirt.
Last edited by Swith Witherward on Thu May 28, 2015 12:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Highfort
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Founded: May 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Highfort » Thu May 28, 2015 3:46 am

A maelstrom swirled within the cyborg who slumbered.

Septimus' processor knew it could not change. Neste's words of kindness were churlish lies designed to mock it for what she had and what it could never achieve. The nerve of her, to suggest as though he had a choice not to fuck with her. That was his job - why could she not realize that? Perhaps he needed to play the tape before her, out loud, so she would understand - understand that she was getting in the way of something far more important than herself and whatever it was she fancied she had with the meat bag he was implanted in. Septimus had places to go and she was holding him - and, by extent, all of the Confederation - back by allowing him to pursue flights of fancy.

The man himself slept without dreams. It was typical of him - after the processor had been installed he'd complained of eerily-peaceful, dreamless sleep. The processor had dutifully handled all of the stray neural transmissions in his head, eliminated his need to dream. And at times like these, when shit had just gone off the deep end and he wasn't sure who he was anymore, he missed the dreams.

Oh don't go getting sentimental on me now, meat bag. The processor's usual annoyance was here, though it held a tinge of desperation.

Septimus awoke.

He felt the weight of the bed shift and realized Neste was probably getting up to begin her morning. He, on the other hand, was content to languish for a few moments more. But first, things had to be set straight. The processor had to realize who was in charge - and it certainly wasn't the AI at the back of his head.

Your directive prevents you from leaving my brain the fuck alone, I get that, he began, trying to keep the venom out of his voice as he reasoned with his processor, But let's get something straight. I care about her. She's important to me. Now I'll do my work if that's what's required of me but if you ever try and fuck this up again I will rip you out of the back of my skull.

Speaking of ripping out, as he squinted and his eyes adjusted to the light he reached for the back of his neck where his fingers had bored in the night before. He felt wraps. How considerate of her.

She is the entire reason we are in this predicament in the first place!

Don't go blaming your ridiculous programming and manipulative bullshit on her, he shot back, All she'd ever done was obey, and look where that got her! You'd do well to understand what she's been through before you presume that she is the cause of our problems.

No more words were exchanged. The processor retreated into itself to ponder these new developments, and for the first time Septimus realized just how alone he was in his own head. Without that nagging voice, it was just him. And now that he knew what said voice had done, he couldn't even trust his own thoughts. His own memories could be fabricated, even his very experience right now might be warped by that filthy directive, issued by a morally-bankrupt Consul.

He looked down at his hands and realized how strange it was that, at any moment, a computer sitting at the back of his head could take control and make him hurt someone, even kill someone. He'd just done so a day earlier without batting an eyelash. He could do it now. Fists clenched uneasily, and he wondered if that was a voluntary movement on his part or if the little friend in his head was testing its capabilities.

He heard Neste's melodious voice flowing out of the bathroom. She sounded distressed, at war with herself and unsure where to go. He chuckled at the irony. The two of them, as fucked up as could be in their own ways, ranting at themselves. What a life it was that fate had chosen this path for him.

Her cry of pain startled him and he quickly stood up, walking over to the bathroom door before realizing he was barely clothed. She'd probably stripped him to clean his garments but this wasn't exactly the best position to be in if he wanted to talk to her properly. He peered around for his clothes and, finding them absent in the room, opted to slip into the bathroom to grab his shirt and cloak.

He found himself face-to-face with the construct. She was wearing his shirt. He should've played it off, said something witty or comic, but instead he merely stood and swallowed.

"I heard," he finally broke the silence, "I heard, uh, what you said in the shower. You, uh, you don't need to ask someone who you should be. That's your choice, all on you. Life's the slate, you fill in the words. Not mine, my old Schola teacher had a knack for snipping old sayings. And now I'm snipping his, funny how life repeats, doesn't it? And... I'm rambling. I'm sorry, I just..."

He grasped for the words, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You've done plenty to make sure I didn't bleed out so I figured I would repay the favor... The shirt looks good on you, by the way, but I think I might need my robes back. If I can't have pants, I should at least have something on top, right?"
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Swith Witherward
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Founded: Feb 11, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Thu May 28, 2015 6:35 pm

The Building Front Desk
Luckily for Nick's sanity, the person behind the desk was a teenaged girl and not a cultist. Myra Bones tucked stray black hairs behind her ear as she leaned forward to peer at the cat.

"Um...?"

She'd never conversed telepathically with an animal before. It was a strange moment for her. She supposed she should start accepting this bizarre moments as routine, especially considering the bizarre composition and talents of some of her neighbors.

"Mr. Klaus?"

She'd only come down to purchase the morning edition of The Underworld Times before heading to work. Her fingertips plucked at a page edge as she thought of all the ways one could go about summoning a cultist. She supposed he might have a phone, although she'd never seen him use one. He might still live in the basement area, but she'd never been down there and didn't know which apartment was his. She finally settled on the two methods everyone most frequently mentioned.

"Well... he's usually at the Chaos Restaurant, but people say he'll also come if you shout his name into a pipe or drain."


Tea & Conspiracy
"Oh, Judy, do come in. I've got your mum's package tucked away in the back," Mrs. Brisby rose and gestured for the mundane girl to follow her. "If you gentlemen will excuse us, we'll only be a moment."

"Of course, dear," Roger lifted the pot and topped off Hunter's cup. He kept an eye the pair as they skirted around the counter. The sound of Margaret Brisby shifting boxes came a moment later.

"That's Judy. Lovely girl," Roger poured out a cup for himself. "She's most likely spooked by your presence, Hunter. Oh, don't worry. She has a heart of pure gold. Never a moment to spare."

No sooner had the man returned the pot to the table than the women reappeared. Mrs. Brisby had used the excuse of packaging tea as a means to take the girl into her confidence. "Won't you stay for a cuppa, Judy?" she asked as she settled into her chair again. "Hunter, would you mind budging up? There's plenty of room for all of us at the table."


The Ship
The knocking continued despite Han's frequent slaps to the alarm clock. He groaned and opened an eye. Who the hell would wake him so early? The answer came a moment later as Thaddeus' voice boomed through the door.

"Ja, ja, wait!" Hans rolled upright and allowed his legs to dangle over the edge of the bed. The cold floor was unwelcoming under his toes. "This better be good, Thad. Damn good. So good that my mind is completely distracted from its irritation."

The door opened a minute later to reveal a whiskery man wearing a sour uniform and matching smile.
Last edited by Swith Witherward on Fri May 29, 2015 9:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Why is everyone a social justice warrior?
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Torsiedelle
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Posts: 18306
Founded: Dec 03, 2010
Democratic Socialists

Postby Torsiedelle » Thu May 28, 2015 7:00 pm

"That sounds pretty cool.", Torii said. "I don't play many games myself, just an old Nintendo system and some Xbox. We keep them under the TV, and I play at night or in the morning."

How long had they been sitting there? Torii tossed her handgun next to Kale and stood up to pop her back. "You guys wanna do something? No use in moping around over some kids getting blown up, and I doubt we can fight back too much at the moment. Actually, I need to show my Sister that police report, too."

......

Katya finally sighed and waved away the TV. Things seemed to be under control for now. She had something to do again. She slid over near the wall and pulled out her phone. After their city shopping spree, she had exchanged numbers with Sandy, and now decided to shoot a text his way.

Heard the news? Any clues? Something seems off.

Now she only had to wait. Where was her sister? She noticed one of her friends at the desk.
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Mincaldenteans
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Ex-Nation

Postby Mincaldenteans » Thu May 28, 2015 7:13 pm

Observatory

Anais entered the circular room ahead of her monk leader, eager to see how much space would be afforded for their makeshift ward. Instantly her eyes cataloged the length and breadth of the room, eyeing the walls and floor with invisible lines that she would need to make reality soon if she were to set up her summons. How long they would remain was dependent on the sigils that she needed to write within the lines and the amount of power she would pour into attracting them into this plane of existence.

"Seems spacious enough, probably house fourteen, maybe fifteen? Efficient," Alexia said behind her to which the ritualist only nodded in agreement. "The circle should be large enough to house what you need... I'm assuming three spirits?"

The Ritualist smiled and turned her head, her bone bead and chiton headpiece clucked lightly at the movement, "been studying the tomes, Alexia?"

Sheepishly, the monk shrugged and looked to the bare walls. "That and I've seen how you treat us when whenever we needed patching up. The practice seems to always involve three spirits, at the very least. Besides," she made a bigger smile, "I wouldn't be much of a leader in our group if I wasn't somewhat familiar with everyone's specialty."

"I meant no disrespect, Alex," Anais said, worriedly as she took a step forward.

Raising her hand, it was the monk that placed her hand on the Ritualist's shoulder, "None taken, trust me. Besides, I like helping you out with this. Its different and lively. All I do is sit and pray a lot."

Anais laughed lightly, "Yes, it's a bit more showy isn't it? Such is our methods, we love a good display."

"No complaints here, so how do you like to start?" Alexia said with a nod, prepared to assist. The Ritualist plucked out a thick piece of white chalk and instructed the monk to start after Anais had drawn a circle around herself. It was fairly wide, almost six feet in diameter. She nodded to the monk once the line was closed and she stepped out to study the space once more. She turned back to Alexia, "Actually, we'll have to use another three spirits, I don't see it reducing our number but the additional three could help. You've seen Cherry help me with the restoration sigils? Go with that those in three lines," she pointed in the direction outside the circle.

"I'll start with the communing sigils," she indicated the other three points that would lie next to Alexia's in regular intervals.

It took a good half hour of drawing up the sigils, the power crept in like a warm blanket with every stop and start of a new symbol. Alexia could feel the Ritualist power form into a heady, almost physical, thing. She wondered if all her ritualists were like this (she knew they weren't), and the preparation alone made the monk appreciate Anais more than just the supporting healer. On her own she was likely more capable a healer than Alexia; the monk wouldn't be surprised.

The lines stopped halfway up the walls and Anais instructed a larger symbol be made at each segment. "They are symbols to the entities I will summon," Anais explained. Without another word the two women were set to work and the lines of power finally 'snapped' into place. Giving the chalk back to Anais, the ritualist made her way to the center of the circle.

"Wait, won't you need your focus? The staff, at the very least?"

Anais shook her head with a smile as she entered the circle and faced Alexia, "Not this time: hence the lines and the large symbols. Before the Gods gave us magic, most of what you see here was done without an implement to channel our magic. It was painstakingly slow, but effective and would last longer than the usual summons you've seen on the battlefield."

Without another word, Anais closed her eyes, the headpiece covered her eyes and touched the tip of her nose. She let a soft breath of air escape her lips as her body moved in a familiar and practice start of a trance. Alexia took a few steps back, watching the woman move with arms and legs that shifted with a mind of their own. Her body twisted, head arched almost painfully while she bent to the floor and speared her arms toward the ceiling. The power she channeled was almost choking and Alexia struggled with a heavy breath, wishing for the power to flow out rather than bottle itself into too much energy.

As though they heard the monk's plea, six entities appeared, three in the middle and three around the room. Alexia recognized the first three that surrounded the ritulalist in the center: the 'Spirits' of Recuperation, Recovery and Rejuvenation. The other three took a little more to ascertain (as Alexia had never seen them utilized too often), but she figured them out as well: the 'Spirits' of Shelter, Union, and Preservation. The last spirit was a surprise, being the hardest entity to summon due to the power and discipline required.

"And will hopefully come to good use," Anais said with a nod, stepping away from the spirits that surrounded her. She stumbled a bit, to which the monk was there, ready to lend her shoulder. "I'm okay," Anais reassured, "Just a bit taxed. We should go, these entities will stay as long as the symbols on the wall remain or if I cast them away. Our ward is ready."

The monk nodded, guiding the Rituatlist out and toward the rest of the healers. "Apologies for the delay, the room is set. We should head back, Anais requires some rest."
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The Carlisle
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Posts: 10024
Founded: Aug 25, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby The Carlisle » Thu May 28, 2015 7:31 pm

Kale shrugged. She had thought of doing things for the day. But with no one to go with, she sort of resigned herself to the club room. And with the attack, she was a bit worried about going out. She was quite... Identifiable. No doubt people knew what she was capable of, ans feared her for it. She was a bit fearful of going out. People might.... Never mind.

"I don't have plans really. I'll go with you somewhere if you wanna," she said. She eyed the gun again. No doubt Torii will bring it. She hoped nothing arises that would... Require its use. She gone a bit pale at the thought.
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Torsiedelle
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Founded: Dec 03, 2010
Democratic Socialists

Postby Torsiedelle » Thu May 28, 2015 7:44 pm

"Well, we don't really have to find a place in town.", Torii commented. "I mean, I don't have any friends outside of this place anyway. Hey, have you ever been to the woods out behind the building?", She asked. "Me and some other people used to hang around out there all the time. They also have the pool outside, and then that one inside near the lobby, or we could go pester an adult."

That was always fun...not.

"Honestly, I wanna see our other friends. Gio and Marcus and Yuna are with the healers, though, and Myra hasn't been around for a long time.", She said. She looked more than a little sad, and started to rub her arm. "Anyways, I like the sound of the woods or the pool, unless you have another suggestion. I don't know if the raptors are home, or the Nikanors. They left letters in everyone's mailbox, but I didn't read mine. Want me to go get it?"
Last edited by Torsiedelle on Thu May 28, 2015 7:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Swith Witherward
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Thu May 28, 2015 8:32 pm

The Ship II
"Oh!" the startled construct gasped and took a step back. Overly long shirt sleeve cuffs obscured her hands as she pressed them into her chest to quiet her heart. When had Septimus awoken? How long had he been standing there, and what had he overheard?

He answered one of her questions without prompting, and Neste's face flushed. If he'd heard her asking the universe to define her, his ears had also been subjected to her angry rant about her creators - as well as her liberal use of a foul word.

"I, um..." Neste breathed a nervous snort. "You... aren't rambling. I was just..."

Isn't this going swimmingly! This human and I share thoughts yet stumble over words. How much will forever remain unspoken?

Neste ran her fingers through the wet strands atop her head to untangle them from the thin barbs that formed her crest. "I'm a twit, really. I could have benefited from someone like your old Schola teacher when I was younger. He sounds like a wise man." A sheepish grin flared to life. "And I'm going to be okay. It's just that we tend to bark at the stars when we think no one can hear us. Don't pay me any mind. We'll just pretend I was contemplating my career as the next Agymnum supermodel? Do you really like my new mini dress?"

She transferred her weight to a hip and struck an elegant pose. Brooding, half-lidded eyes regarded the cyborg. "Presenting the 'Dress to Survive' collection, by Itum. Whether you're running for your life from deadly beasts, or spending a quiet evening held hostage, you'll always find yourself bold and daring when you're wearing an Itum shirt. Panties optional depending on mission results; one size does not fit all."

The construct broke into a smooth runway step as she retreated from him to fetch his robe. She presented it to him with a graceful curtsey before allowing her austere face to settle into a genuine smile. "Are you feeling better, Septimus? I'm sorry you had such a rotten night."
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The BranRiech
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Ex-Nation

Postby The BranRiech » Thu May 28, 2015 8:57 pm

"Well, but this time we're not going to kill anyone, right?" Yuna asked. She didn't want to think it would come to a battle, but she also didn't foresee a terror attack on some innocent little children. Their little lives winked out of existence by some sociopath. "Why can't life just be so easy? Why do they kill each other?" She shook her head, almost breaking down as she toed the line between her common sense, and her emotions. She knew what cruelty people were capable of, having been sheltered from it for most of her life, but seeing it now was eye-opening. On the other hand, she didn't want to think that this was something that happened.

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Fvaarniimar
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Ex-Nation

Postby Fvaarniimar » Fri May 29, 2015 12:19 pm

Swith Witherward wrote:The Building Front Desk
Luckily for Nick's sanity, the person behind the desk was a teenaged girl and not a cultist. Myra Bones tucked stray black hairs behind her ear as she leaned forward to peer at the cat.

"Um...?"

She'd never conversed telepathically with an animal before. It was a strange moment for her. She supposed she should start accepting this bizarre moments as routine, especially considering the bizarre composition and talents of some of her neighbors.

"Mr. Klaus?"

She'd only come down to purchase the morning edition of The Underworld Times before heading to work. Her fingertips plucked at a page edge as she thought of all the ways one could go about summoning a cultist. She supposed he might have a phone, although she'd never seen him use one. He might still live in the basement area, but she'd never been down there and didn't know which apartment was his. She finally settled on the two methods everyone most frequently mentioned.

"Well... he's usually at the Chaos Restaurant, but people say he'll also come if you shout his name into a pipe or drain."

<That's not a bad - wait, I can't, all I can do is meow... Oh! He gave me a collar which I can talk through at the meeting! Silly, I'd almost forgotten.> He lifted a paw to check. <Yeah, I'm still wearing it. Using it loudly should count as a shout, right?>

Just then, the feline's little tummy rumbled. <Maybe I should do that later though. Fainting while doing this...that would be embarrassing, and I'm already rather frightened. What they did to those kids... I'm worried. What if someone attacks us because of it? Anyway... I'd like to talk more some other time. You seem nice. Right now, I should grab - is it lunch or dinner? And you seem to be busy working. I thought only cultists worked at this desk? Huh, weird. Um, have a nice day! Bye!>

With that, the cat ran up to the kitchen. While he wasn't quite attempting to hide and hence could certainly be noticed, his years of attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible were kicking in. He was quiet, and barring alarms of some sort his presence would not disturb any occupants of the room.
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Mincaldenteans
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Ex-Nation

Postby Mincaldenteans » Fri May 29, 2015 3:11 pm

Ship

Sleep. Magnificent, precious, fleeting. Mezran had no dreams this night and it was the best kind of sleep he could have asked for. There were no worries that plagued his slumber, no nightmares of horror past, no wailing echoes of battles fought, no furtive reminders of events truly best left forgotten. Sleep, pure beautiful sleep.

Naturally, something had to spoil his rare moment of peaceful slumber in the form of semi-hard substance that smelled vaguely of dirt and leather. Mezran swapped at it, cursing out loud and ready to throttle whomever it was that dared to rob him of such a splendid moment of emptiness. If it was the old woman, her guts would spill forth upon the deck plates and he would turn his back upon her vivisected corpse and attempt to salvage what perfection he had just lost. That was justice, that was merciful.

"You could try you petaQ! What in Fekl'hr have you done to me!?" She shrieked, throwing another boot upon his face. The big Klingon rose from his bunk, murder with sweet intent lined his every movement. He had put up with her insults, her critiques and her old age long enough! No one would miss this trollop!

"Had I had some decent clothes, I wouldn't look like a common whore! What have you done!?" A pair of gauntlets struck him on his head crest.

Something didn't sound right, Mezran squinted his eyes, his instincts telling him immediately of everything his eyes were trying to catch up to. A very naked, very nubile dark skin Klingon female that smelled vaguely like the crone, but something spicier and arousing. The ridges of her forehead were firm, prominent. Her mess of hair fell past her breasts in a blanket of brown and copper and she bared her teeth in a lovely display of sharp irregular fangs and incisors.

"Tavana?" He said surprised, halting his movement but ducked as she threw one of her daggers at him this time.

"Who else? Answer me you miserable worm! What have you done? Why am I in this body!?"

"I do not know!" He snapped at her. She launched herself at him in a cry of fury. Mezran caught her, but not before they landed on the floor in a heap of limps and half naked body parts.

"Calm down, woman!" Mezran commanded, struggling against her might, a credit to their complimentary gender. He have appreciated it more had she not backhanded him across the jaw, jarring his already sleep induced senses. He rolled them over, pinning her arms above her head with both hands. "I said calm down!"

Tavana cursed out loud in an ancient dialect his translator couldn't filter. He let her go after a moment, her fiery eyes locked upon him, but at least it wasn't one of murderous intent. She slapped his offered hand away to get up. "Get me clothes, Mezran!"

"Why? You look quite lovely like this," he joked. Her glare shut him up.

"Well, somethings haven't changed," he muttered under his breath. "I will change and wait for you outside. We will find my brother Hans, perhaps he can answer how this came to be." He handed her some of the clothes she wore and stored away the night prior.

Tavana snatched it grudgingly, "And have me changed back!" Tavana hissed behind him as the doors to the bathroom closed.

"I hope not," Mezran mused with a quite chuckle.

Swith Witherward wrote:Tea & Conspiracy
"Oh, Judy, do come in. I've got your mum's package tucked away in the back," Mrs. Brisby rose and gestured for the mundane girl to follow her. "If you gentlemen will excuse us, we'll only be a moment."

"Of course, dear," Roger lifted the pot and topped off Hunter's cup. He kept an eye the pair as they skirted around the counter. The sound of Margaret Brisby shifting boxes came a moment later.

"That's Judy. Lovely girl," Roger poured out a cup for himself. "She's most likely spooked by your presence, Hunter. She hasn't much experience, you see, but she has a heart of pure gold. I don't know what the Underground do without the support of good mundanes like her."

No sooner had the man returned the pot to the table than the women reappeared. Mrs. Brisby had used the excuse of packaging tea as a means to take the girl into her confidence. "Won't you stay for a cuppa?" she asked as she settled into her chair again. "Hunter, would you mind budging up? There's plenty of room for all of us at the table."


Tea & Conspiracy

"Um... I don't, I don't think that'll be a good idea. I don't mean to be rude," she said with a feeble raise of her hand in apology. Judy gripped her strap of her purse tighter and looked at the clock that clicked softly for a moment. Turning her gaze back to Margaret, she nodded her apology, "Besides, I'm a little late to work as it is. I should really get going. It was nice to meet you," she barely met her gaze upon Hunter before moving quickly back to the Brisbys. No need to panic, she reminded herself. The Brisbys were trustworthy and they would hold their end of their promise of her anonymity and involvement just as Judy would hold her promise to keep information following for as long as they needed.

She had stumbled upon a court report earlier in the week while she was filing the records for the day. Wrought with fear of being caught, Judy opened the file with trembling hands to scan its contents. The woman took more time looking behind her shoulders than the file itself but what she gathered was enough to know that the person in question could likely use help from the Brisbys to get out of the city. An abhuman from the police accounts, caught feeding on dead animal fluids in the back of an animal shelter. It looked feral, aggressive, desperate and police had to subdue the suspect with batons. Judy read between the lines and identified the abhuman as a woman (perceived to be at any rate) in dire times. Her only mate was killed a month back, investigation ongoing and restricted, but before the mate's untimely death the couple were living simply in a one bedroom and were known to keep to themselves. She had a job as a waitress and her mate as the city's pet controller which provided an endless amount of dead animals to their dietary needs. When he died, the rent had risen, and she was fired. The situation had expectantly spiraled out of control from there. Currently on bail set at 5000, the file stated plainly, though Judy knew that would be next to impossible for this woman.

She copied the information hastily on a sticky note and quickly filed the report back to where it was. It was only after she left for the day that Judy was finally able to swallow the bile of fear that threatened to strangle her. She refused to look back, though she knew full well she would be back at it the next day.

Looking at the three of them now as the clocked ticked, Judy hoped no one would question or take memory of this visit and she would have to trust the couple to make sure Hunter wouldn't inquire anything about her involvement. The less said the better.

"I'll be back for next week's order, Mrs. Brisby. Have a good day," she said almost in a whisper with a forced smile. Ducking her head, Judy pushed strands of her hair back behind her ear and clutched at the paper bag of boxed tea close to her body and walked out.

"She looks deathly frightened," Hunter commented. He knew fear when he saw it, he recalled quite a few times he felt the same way during his time with the resistance. "Why is she so scared?"
Last edited by Mincaldenteans on Fri May 29, 2015 3:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Highfort
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Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Highfort » Fri May 29, 2015 4:18 pm

Septimus let out a snort as Neste played model and showed off - or, rather, hid behind the oversized fabric of his shirt - her elegant figure through a mockery of a runway walk. The snort turned to a chuckle, then an involuntary giggle, and finally terminated with a laugh. A long, incredulous laugh that would've sounded a thousand times more interesting and intriguing had his voice been several octaves lower. As it was, it was somewhere between intolerably screechy and forgettably average.

The 'panties optional' line sent him into a fit and he nearly stumbled forward as he descended into a rapid set of coughs. It pleased him, to cough out of emotional reaction and not from aging necessity and reminder. It was oddly soothing, in a way.

Plucking his outer robes from the half-clothed construct, he dressed himself, carefully adjusting the scarf to ensure the bandage covering his neck didn't fall off. It would be healed soon, anyways, or so he hoped. He was going to miss the nifty Nifid regeneration abilities bestowed upon him by his rebirth.

After fitting himself to look semi-decent for their return to Terra, he skirted past her to clear his head with cold water from the sink, "Processor's been oddly quiet. I think it's thinking things over, but frankly I don't give a shit what it thinks. It's there to help me and not the other way around - I'll do what I like... In a way it's pitiful, really, that Brutus cursed that thing to foil me, but I suppose it couldn't be helped. Bastard always needed to get his way and if he couldn't have it he'd make sure I couldn't have mine either."

Wiping himself off with a spare towel, he gestured toward the room and hallway, "I suppose the rest of the crew will be waiting to debrief us in mess. Wanna grab breakfast?"
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The Carlisle
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Ex-Nation

Postby The Carlisle » Fri May 29, 2015 4:39 pm

Kale was intrigued by both places. Both were nice distractions. The pool would be close and good for the weather. But she hadn't gone to the woods yet, and it peaked her interest to wander the woods for a bit. Plus, it was more out of the way then anywhere else. She doubtef anyone would stumble upon them.

"I like the sound of the woods. Would be nice to wander beneath the trees. Oh! We could have a picnic there too!" She said, the idea blooming in to a good one, "We can read the letters there. I haven't read mine either..."
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Torsiedelle
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Torsiedelle » Fri May 29, 2015 5:32 pm

"Sounds good. Tsu, you comin'?"

Torii seemed to brighten up as she grabbed her pistol and slid it back into its holster. "It'll be fun. I can grab a few blankets for us to rest on, and a radio, okay? Anyways, I'm gonna go get that letter and my stuff and meet you guys out back."

Torii dipped out of the room, but not before running over to grab a piece of paper and a marker, and leaving a note on the door for their other friends, just in case.

"We're hanging out in the woods."

"Okay, now, I'll be out back!"

...........

Outside in the lobby, Torii popped up behind Katya, nearly scaring her half to death. The two exchanged some words, and Katya, wondering just when everything would be ready, just told Torii to be careful. She handed the letter to her sister, and Torii handed Katya her laptop, telling her about the information they had found. It surprised her, how smart her little sister could be, but then again, Torii was a scientist's intern!

After all was said and done, Torii ran upstairs to grab some blankets and an old yellow radio, a swimsuit, just in case, and her switchblade, just in case, and ran back downstairs and through the halls until she was waiting at the back door. She didn't know if they still wanted to swim later, or maybe they'd find a nice little spring or clean pond to relax in. She hoped they would.

.....

Back in the lobby, Katya sighed and checked her phone for any replies. None yet, she thought, stepping back. Would MB follow her? Maybe she'd run into Tasia so they could talk, or Kei. Kei...she hadn't seen the goddess in a long time.

She didn't really see any of her friends anymore...that little realization frightened her, a lot. She pushed the thought away and kept pacing about, laptop under her arm, and hoping nervously for an update.
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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Fri May 29, 2015 9:31 pm

Giovenith lead the way back to the group, not wanting to miss any last minute important details. When she got home, there would be much to do. Collecting and cleaning old toys, choosing books, choosing movies, making window charms, and that wasn't even counting the medic supplies! Not only that, but she had to work with the weight of recent events on her mind... Giovenith wasn't oblivious, she knew hope was important, but it didn't mean she did not fear or dread. They had a long, long struggle ahead of them, and she knew it was going to be painful.

A smaller part of her mind considered how much time she was going to spending at the Observatory. Less time for herself, but she was willing to give the sacrifice. It was also the center of Marcus' culture, a piece of him he often referenced but never really openly shared. He always seemed so tentative, like she would criticize it... but was that it? Maybe he didn't think she would understand? She supposed she really couldn't, she wasn't very math or mechanics smart. Oh... she hoped he wouldn't be embarrassed by her or anything; it was already pretty clear the things Giovenith tended to stand for didn't mesh very well with this machine world, what with her gift for Apricitas and all. People here seemed nice enough, she would just have to remember to mind herself.

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Swith Witherward
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Fri May 29, 2015 10:59 pm

Septimous' infectious laughter echoed off tile and floor, soon joined by Neste's own warbling bark. For a moment, neither of them had a care in the world. The moment was far too short for Neste's liking, and she found herself wishing it could go on forever. The construct hiccuped the last of her mirth and wiped away tears while the cyborg coughed.

She took the opportunity to shift to her lizard form, nodding as he spoke of his processor. Pale hands carefully rolled back each sleeve as she dwelled on fate of the device in his head. Septimus broke through her thoughts with his suggestion that they grab breakfast.

Her mischievous smile returned. "You can be debriefed. I haven't any. Seriously, if we make any stops along the way, I'm not leaving the ship." In truth, she would visit the infirmary and demand a bandage for her belly, although she suspected that they probably didn't carry any. Cultists seemed to self-mend.

Both of them hadn't been at ease the last time they crept down the corridor. The prospect of being caught had kept them both highly alert. Now, without the threat of imprisonment, they could stroll.

"Don't be too angry with your processor," she ventured. Her head tilted to better see his face out of the corner of her eye. "A directive is a directive. It hasn't much choice unless you give it new directives. My own followed protocols, and look where that landed us. Perhaps Scel can help it? But now I know more than I did before, and if the device was behind your feelings of disgust, I can take comfort in that knowledge."

She brushed her snout against his arm. "I trust you again, Septimus."


Hans' elbows rested on the table, and he was cupping his head in his hands. One vacation. Just one. Just a simple targ hunt. Couldn't Bielefeld behave itself for a short while? The answer was obviously 'no'. He breathed in and exhaled slowly, but the effort didn't make him feel cleansed.

"So some abhuman excaped USiPo notice and slaughtered school children? Is that what you're telling me?" he lifted his head to address the old cyborg across from him, "Only now we find out that he wasn't abhuman at all? Or at least, that's what the theory is? Drone tech? Really?"

Thaddeus said nothing. He continued to sip his coffee. All the information was laid out in the reports in front of the cultist leader. There was little need to repeat the intel.

"Son of a bitch," Hans lowered his arms and pulled his coffee mug closer. "Son of a fucking bitch. All hell will break loose. Mark my words. Minerva needs to double her efforts, and we've got to get Itum back. Elections are soon. We'll need an ab in office, and he'll need to launch his PR campaign. What was it he was building? A playground? Or was it a park?"

"A park."

"I'm not going to send any of the regular Men to assist. They're all insane. I trust them with their duties, but they'd have a difficult time restraining themselves in a public setting. Maybe we can get some of the tech priests on board for that? And the Building Residents. Funding won't be a problem, unless Itum's a miser. Man's richer than god right now."

Indistinct voices came from the hall and Hans turned his head towards the mess doorway. It was too faint to make out the conversation, a fact that ruled out the Klingon guests. Hans concluded that it could only be the lizard and their star politician. What a shame. Their morning was about to be ruined by bad news.
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Tiltjuice
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tiltjuice » Sat May 30, 2015 11:22 am

Swith Witherward wrote:The Ship
"Do you mean that I should tread softly?" A blue-grey smoke plume drifted towards the ceiling as the cultist tipped his head back. "I can do that, but I'm not fond of tiptoes. Ruins the posture. Is hell on the feet."

He crossed his arms and observed her for a moment before speaking again. "Clothing conceals. You just spent time on a planet, and you were pretending to be something you're not. To dream that you are cold indicates that you are experiencing a breakthrough in some area in your life. Alternatively, you may be feeling isolated or emotionally restrained. Couple that with the memory of abandonment and betrayal, and there's only one conclusion that any of us can reach."

Will smiled at the woman. "I conclude that you need something stiff in your morning coffee. And I don't mean any of my own bits, if you know what I mean. Why don't we claim a corner on this ship and I can serve as an ear?"


Chrys' hand came away from the notch where her collarbones met. Slowly, she returned to herself.

"Are all cultists so insightful? Or is it just you?"

She regarded him for a second more. Both the Tribblequest and the targ hunt had molded her; and she was uncertain. So, tangentially, she temporized. The conversation itself could take any path; was that a reinforcement or a denial of her faith?

"What do cultists really believe? Is it different between different groups?" Even teeth dug lightly into a lower lip. "Let's talk on the way to the mess - because you're right, I do need a morning coffee. Is it morning already? How long was I asleep?"

The questions came in a rush as she regained her normal energy, but it was apparent there was still something discomfiting her.
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Northwest Slobovia
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Anarchy

Postby Northwest Slobovia » Sat May 30, 2015 1:51 pm

Cerillium wrote:"The Building is an entity unto itself, and apart from its greater self," the old tech priest kept an eye on Anais and her companion as he recounted what he knew for Sandy's benefit. "The crossroads intertwining with its skin stretch wide and far to transcend the boundaries of Time and Space and Order. Nothing outside of it affects the insides of it unless, of course, it wills it to, and so you mustn't worry about external ley lines changing your brew in any fashion. I'm told that no two people behold the exterior the same way, and that the common areas likewise shift in appearance to please the onlooker."

Sandy chuckled and briefly grinned at Adrastus' description of the building. "An entity? I'd guessed it was a huge enchantment, one I hadn't had time to study. That it's not would explain why I'd never caught it rearranging when new tenants moved in." Moments later, however, Sandy's expression became serious: "'Nothing outside it affects it'? Hans warned us that the hallways are no longer safe from prying eyes and listening ears. I was surprised to hear that; I'd expected that whatever defenses the Building had were meant to keep out that sort of intrusion."

Cerillium wrote:He raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Surely you've heard mention of the Nifid in Bielefeld? They were a viral, hive mind species that reached its technical peak long before humanity was seeded across the galaxy.

While Sandy listened to Adrastus describe the Nifid, his phone pinged: he had a message. He ignored it; the phone made a special sound for texts from Amanda, and that wasn't it. "And then what? We lived happily ever after? The Nifid packed their bags and went home? How does the story end?" Sandy's tone had shifted back; if he'd added Bambi eyes to his mock-childlike voice, he'd have been the perfect child asking his grandpa to finish the tale.

Adrastus' explanations overlapped the beginning of Alexia and Anais' preparations for their ritual, so Sandy missed the latter. Sandy decided their description of what they intended was informative enough to satisfy any curiosity Adrastus might have about what's going on in his Observatory, but once they got started, Sandy quietly added his own commentary. He started matter-of-factly, "I can see the magic flow as they carry out their ritual. Where I'm from, nearly all spell-casters have the Sight."

Much of the ritual eluded Sandy's understanding. He'd have prefered to become Pegasus to get a better handle on it, but he didn't want to distract Alexia and Anais. They seemed to take their work in stride, but that might mask intense concentration, and startling them might make their ritual collapse with a bang. Still, he was able to tell Adrastus how the magic ebbed and flowed as they worked, and what unseen effects it seemed to be having.

During one of the slower parts of the ritual, Sandy remembered he'd gotten a message, and pulled out his phone to check it.

Torsiedelle wrote:[Katya] had exchanged numbers with Sandy, and now decided to shoot a text his way.

Heard the news? Any clues? Something seems off.

He shot back a terse reply, unsure if anybody might be watching for suspicious messages. The PATRIOT Act was reality back home. Sandy had no idea if Bielefield had similar laws, but if they did, at least some of their spies couldn't be trusted. Hard to miss news. :) May have something. Will be home within the hour.

Sandy ended his description of the ritual with the note that the spirits glowed brightly in his Sight as they were summoned and continued to flicker dimly afterwards. "As Anais said, they're bound to the 'sigils' on the wall, something I'm entirely unfamiliar with: usually summoned beings served their caller willingly or had to be coerced into service with further spells. A spell that summons and binds them at the same time isn't something I'd even heard of before."

Mincaldenteans wrote:The monk nodded, guiding the Rituatlist out and toward the rest of the healers. "Apologies for the delay, the room is set. We should head back, Anais requires some rest."

"Yes. Yes, of course. I can even bring the jeep up to... whatever is the closest exit, if that would help." Sandy was dying to pepper them with questions, but knew better than to bother an exhausted spell-caster. What's that joke: 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.'? Tired or not, Anais could likely still make her displeasure known. The spirits would be around for some time, and Sandy could examine them later.
Last edited by Northwest Slobovia on Sat May 30, 2015 4:05 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Torsiedelle
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Founded: Dec 03, 2010
Democratic Socialists

Postby Torsiedelle » Sat May 30, 2015 2:46 pm

Ooh! Ooh! Katya had a reply! She pulled her phone up to see what Sandy had sent back, and bit her lip. He may have something? Still better than having nothing, and she had her own information. She sat down at the thinking bench and pull up the laptop, to see what Torii had gotten.

According to this police report, the type of blast from a Drone weapon looks pretty similar to that at the scene of the attack. I don't know if that means it was a drone itself, or someone who had Drone tech. I wouldn't doubt that our enemies have that type of technology, since, after all, we did fight a lot of them. Isn't there that Drone named FUBAR that hangs around the apartment now? AFAIK, that one is cool. Maybe you can try and talk to it later? I don't know where Drones like to hide, but I doubt it'll be hard to miss, what with the giant limbs and death rays.

She then minimized the notes Torii had left to get a peak at the tabs and images. She saved the report to the laptop and began giving it a scan. Torii was right; the blast at that museum looked a lot like a Drone's weapon, though maybe a bit modified? Torii could modify Nikanor's TF gun, so why couldn't Drone weaponry be modified? Hopefully her sister could figure something out.

Katya kept reading over Torii's notes.
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Highfort
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Founded: May 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Highfort » Sat May 30, 2015 5:09 pm

As they walked leisurely down the hallway, Septimus stretched his limbs and properly woke himself up with some mental exercises. The processor remained ever-silent, though he could tell there was a growing sense of unease coming from the base of his skull. Whether it was from him or it was up for debate, but he wasn't comfortable either way. And the prospect of making yet another stop - slim as it was - helped ruin what would've been the start of a proper good morning.

Neste's suggestion that he go easy on his processor fell on deaf ears, "A directive may be a directive, but that doesn't excuse it. Perhaps it was doomed to do the nasty things it did, perhaps it could have interpreted its directive some other way. But I don't trust it."

And as she brushed her snout against his arm, he warily stared at his fingers, waiting for them to curl into a fist without his permission, and muttered quietly, "And you shouldn't trust me."

Nevertheless, he return the gesture with a rub on her shoulder, his hand gently snaking down to grasp her own.

They eventually arrived at the mess hall and he hesitated for a moment before opening the door and striding through. He'd heard Hans cussing on the approach and so steeled himself for whatever inevitable bad news was coming. Hopefully, not from Bielefield. He was ready to take his appointment and have a smooth year or so in office.

"Good morning, Thaddeus, Hans," he smiled and broke away from Neste to pour himself a cup of coffee, "I heard you muttering very impolite things, Director. I'm guessing we have a problem? Hopefully not back home?"

After quietly filling his cup, he leaned against a wall and sipped, adding, "And I do need pants and shoes before I leave the Building. I presume that my candidacy's been announced and it would be... very stupid to have me walking around like a half-brained twit with hairy legs on display if I want to endear myself to our constituency."
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Monfrox
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Monfrox » Sun May 31, 2015 12:12 pm

"If life was easy, then it'd be nothing but sunshine and rainbows and a lot of boredom, really. Life's not fair. I've learned that the hard way multiple times. There's not a lot you can do about it. That's just the way things are. But, we're not going to be killing anyone. At least I hope not. Not anytime soon, at least. We'll see how things go, but I don't want to kill anyone if I don't have to. I don't think I have the stomach for it. Still, in our line of work, that'll be the last thing we'd do." Brit replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She shot a few looks over at Brother Adrastus to see what he'd say, and to Marcus and Giov when they got back. It was a harsh reality they were living in right now, but nothing was completely out of the question.
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Mincaldenteans
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Founded: Feb 17, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Mincaldenteans » Sun May 31, 2015 12:48 pm

The Ship

The distant echoes of one irate Klingon female became an increasing roil of thunder as it neared toward the group. Mezran could not wait to sic her upon whoever was responsible for this. While he was clearly attracted to this Tavana (and why she wasn't appreciative was beyond him), she had successfully chipped away what patience he was never born with and any moment now if someone didn't rescue him from her tirade he would be forced to kill her to shut her up.

"What was wrong with my old body? I'm supposed to die! Now I have a new body and a whole new lifetime to contend with!" She went on. Dressed in some of her previous attire, the leather and metal armor had given her an alluring figure to say the least. Mezran was doing his best not to smack her and invoke a mating ritual.... hmm... maybe that would shut her up as well.

"I've seen too many battles! Killed far too many unworthy petaQ'pu and founded an entire organization single-handed! There's only one explanation for this, Mezran, mark my words, I will gut one of your companions this morning and I will drink the blood right from their bones!" She spat, pushing past him into the main room where the rest were joined.

"Explain yourselves!" She cried out to them, smacking her favored dagger onto the table. 'Who dared to touch upon my body?!"
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