DINING ROOM
A slow, sarcastic clap drew Marcus' attention from the Foxians to the doorway where, bold as brass, Amara leaned against the jamb. The android's humanoid face stood out in stark contrast with the supple black material encasing her entire body. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed Romulus. "Impressive, General," she intoned in a husky voice nearly devoid of inflection.
Her stiletto-heeled feet punctured the air with sharp toks as she leisurely strode towards the table. Amara was all about curves and bounce, from her strange wire-and-conduit crest to her rounded hips. The long-legged android didn't walk, Marcus noted with a sigh - oh no, she undulated. And, as the boy knew perfectly well, she was mean as hell.
"Readings indicate that you arrived after the fire, and after the Fiends had turned to ash. You have no idea how many "soldiers" are available to you. You don't know how many Fiends were in the fray, nor what they are, nor how they behaved when confronted. You stood in the aftermath of battle to strap a broken machine to a helicopter. This is not adequate exposure to the foe."
Amara's hands touched upon the table and she leaned forward on straightened arms, presenting those behind her with a suggestive view of her peach-shaped bottom. "A vanguard at the front will be eaten in record time. Marksmen didn't put a dent it in. Fiends roll in like a potent storm surge, blanketing the land and using their fallen as ground. They are Eldritch Abominations, a supernatural force of seemingly pure malice. Further-"
Her head turned to regard the boy unabashedly gaping at her. He closed his mouth with a loud gulp.
"Do I look like something the likes of you would have chance to interface with, tech priest?" she sneered at him. "I am Drone. I'm the only Omnissiah you'll ever need. Bring coffee to me. NOW."
He complied rather than remain as her target. There was bad blood between his order and the Drones. Suffice to say, it had curdled.
"FUBAR," there was veiled threat to Adrastus' voice as he addressed the android, "We don't have time for your Drone mischief and antagonistic behavior. Play nice or go away."
Amara - the extension of the aforementioned FUBAR - blinked twice at him before easing into a chair. "The problem," she said to the Froxian that had addressed the General, her voice still as monotone as prior, "is that nobody around here has a sense of humor."
Adrastus grunted as he politely returned to the conversation at his table. The Drone's arrival had served to take some of the heat off Brit. He cast a neutral expression in her direction, then motioned for her to sit with the rest of the healers.
"I'm hoping you're right," he turned the conversation back to Giovenith for a moment, speaking loudly enough to include the soldiers at the table nearby, "regarding the Mayor's assessment. I didn't have a chance to speak to any of the villagers, but some of the priests relayed snippets of conversation. They appeared to be in good health, Fiend attack notwithstanding, and weren't dressed in rags. I think it's safe to assume there's a thriving society or two outside our door. We're working to determine their technology level. Apparently the larger city - was it west of here? - broadcasts news and other programs. There are radio communications. Alas, none of your phones will work until we either establish our own network or find a means to tap theirs. The signals aren't the same, and none of the devices we brought from Bielefeld are capable of transmitting or receiving. Yet."
A smug smile accompanied this last statement. Adrastus loved a challenge.
"Sandy," he continued, "We need more information on the Fiends, you're right. Time may not be on our side. I sincerely hope one of the exo pilots might provide it; I presume FUBAR turned up to impart some along with his usual insults and rancor. The Luxans have means to detect things as well, and it seems the Fiends are right up their alley."
He paused to glare at Marcus as the boy returned with the android's coffee. Stupid lad.
"So we need several teams, then? One for the village. One to seek the Building Manager - I suggest Giovenith lead that, and take with her those who have been there before. One to see to organizing defenses - we have willing and able volunteers at the table over there. And a curfew is sound reasoning, Sandy. It wouldn't be prudent to roam outside at night."
His smile broadened as Insidious joined their group. Good. The Luxans were still on board. The raptors would be another valuable addition, but they'd withdrawn to wherever it was raptors went post battle. They'd appear, in time.
"Insidious, would you be willing to track supplies for us until we establish a larger clinic? In addition to your own supplies, that is. We'll start pooling them in the clinic downstairs for now, if you're all agreeable?"
LIBRARY
shh tik shh tik shh tik...
And then music began to play. It was tinny and light, and enhanced by the scratching of a needle on vinyl, but it was unmistakably jazz from a bygone era. A man in a Nazi uniform stood up from behind a table, his hands clutching cast-aside crayons left by the village's children. His head tilted. A playful smile tugged at his mouth's corners as he turned towards Willow.
"My host, Hans, fancied himself as Swing-Jugend - one of the Swing kids - before the War. He was too old, and he couldn't dress the part, but he defied the Nazi regime by listening to jazz at every opportunity," he wistfully explained. "The punishment in later years, if caught, was a trip to the concentration camps, but youth will defy authority! Ah, the summer before Hans left the Hitlerjugend to become Schutzstaffel was the finest one. He visited a local Neuhaus every Friday night to sit with others around the old radio. Sometimes they found musicians to play, Jews mostly, and they would dance and dance."
Rache deposited the crayons in a box atop the table, then brushed the waxy remnants from his hands. "Tell me, Pony, how is it that a species which creates anything as tasteful as jazz music should also create anything as distasteful as concentrations camps and the torture of the weak? Is it so where you come from?"
TEEN CLUBHOUSE
Myra weighed her options. It would be good to find out if other pantheons were barred. Yet it would be nice to hang out with Torsii and Drova. She bit her bottom lip as she mulled over the various implications of either activity.
"I think I'll be gone just a short while. We need to know just how lacking our shit is."
Now resolute in her choice, the girl offered a gentle shoulder tap back to Torsii before making her exit.
She had no idea how she would contact Lucius or the demon, but she knew where she'd find information: rooftop. The Lads in the hangar might help her out.
THE BURROWS
Amanda's words sent another whispering ripple through the villagers. So it was true? Demens had sent them some crusaders? A hundred, in fact! This was good news indeed.
Redeemed, Margaret wrapped her shawl about her shoulders as she approached the woman. "I'm Margaret Stern. I run the Inn, but was visiting my brother last night when the Fiends hit. This here is the Village of North Warnborough, although most just call it The Burrows."
She stopped in front of Amanda to peer at her intently. Everyone new Gatejumpers were practically lost lambs when they first arrived. Her expression softened. "We haven't any country, if you mean in the political sense, Amanda. We have regions. So happens, The Burrows sits smack between Urbem Ascalon and the Freywold. We pay our taxes to Ascalon, of course."
She thrust a hand into her skirt's pocket and produced a small coin, which she handed to Primordial to examine. It was a simple copper disk with Demen's symbol printed on its face and the image of bird on the reverse. "This is penny. Twelve pennies to a shilling, twenty shillings to a pound. It's the currency used here and in Freywold. Ascalon is more expensive, and you can expect to spend pounds rather than pennies there. And the markets in Alessio! Oh don't even get me started on how expensive they are! Lord save us all and keep us from the poorhouse!"
Margaret extended her hand to receive the coin back. "Don't think of counterfeiting them, either. We can tell the difference. But mostly, here, people like to haggle and barter. You'll find fair deals. We try to help Gatejumpers out. We're not like some places. But I don't think we can support a hundred of you for long! Goodness! Not with winter coming and no sheep to produce the wool."
