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

[Germanic Templars]

Superbia tilted his head towards Minerva. "Oh please, I only know a handful of people. How the hell was I suppose to know about anyone else? Besides, I would hardly call it dick waving since it is not even mine, and I would not even do it for him since he kicked me down the stairs once... bastard." Superbia crossed his arms and snorted adding on to last remark, "And last I recall I am pride. I care less about mortals or anyone else unless they show a high about of jingoism, vanity, or anything that falls into my realm. M'kay?" He gave Minerva a nod and a thumbs up.

Rmwtyliin's attempt at Superbia's name caused the demon to mentally wince. "Please, call me Sups. Pronounced like that liquid stuff you humans drink after you eat the letters in them, made with tomato juice and what not. Easiest way to say my name. Full title not necessary unless we were in Hell, but I do thank you. Both of you."

[Swith Witherward]

DINING ROOM
"Just 'Minerva' is fine," the cultist leader grinned as she set several steaming mugs on the table and drew up her own chair. Romulus' comment on his prior activities stirred the grin into a smile as she offered one mug to him. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire! It's maddening, especially as you have no idea what happened back home after you left."

She added a bit of sugar and cream to her tea as Rmw introduced herself. "I'm afraid Rmwtyliin's home dimension, like your own, is rather far away now. Adjusting is never easy, especially when the languages and cultures are far different. It does give us a commonality to bond over, though. And no, Rmwtyliin, I don't believe Itum is too busy. Or perhaps it's more fair to say he's just busy enough to be too busy to sit down and relax. That doesn't mean he'll ignore you."

She nudged a tea mug towards the young woman before frowning at the demon. "Superbia, I've been here how many years now? Honestly, demon!" But, to show no hard feelings, the final cup made its way towards the white and red creature.

"Superbia was absolutely adorable in his baby phase," Minerva winked at him. "Charumati would rock him for hours. Then he grew up - again - and regressed into his usual pain-in-the-ass self. And that brings me back to your question, General, regarding Slaanesh - a chaos god, not a head of state. Charumati is one of its avatars, a facet of its personality. I serve directly under her."


LOBBY
"Oh!" Delighted to be of service, Myra scooped the cat from the floor. She gently cradled his weight, adjusting him so his head was below her chin, then opened her hand to intensely stare at the copper piece resting in her palm.

"See? It's the color of earth and warmth, and of good things. It's like the fur on some brown tabby cats, or the shimmery highlights you can sometimes see in redheaded people when they stand in sunlight. Oh, but wait!"

Cats must not have the same visual range as far as colors went? But if he were psychic, she could show him his friends! Taking no chances, her gaze fell on Giovenith. "See how beautiful her colors are? Her clothing reminds me of laughter and hugs, and of daisies and violets poking from grass. And look at Yuna! See how richly colored her skin really is?"

But her vision had a side effect - Nick was able to see the Lobby from her eyes. It was a doleful place, and almost funeral parlor in feel. The large picture behind the reception desk wasn't of Willhelm nor was it Volker's demotivational poster. The exquisite oil painting revealed the only bright patch of color to be found amid the sedate furnishings, and these came from the primroses and tulips cradled in a woman's arms as she sat on a bench. A small girl in white sailor dress nestled beside her, eyes cast upward to better stare at the adult's face. Myra hadn't intended to look at it. Memories flurried to the girl's surface thoughts as she caught a brief glimpse of the painting. Most were fleeting, many were happy, but all were tinged with a sense of mourning and regret.

"S-sorry," Myra carefully lowered Nick until his pads touched the linoleum again. Her fingertips worked her hair loose from behind her ears to curtain her face. It was best to change the subject.

"Catrain? That's a nice name. Um, no chocolate left in your home place? We should get a cup upstairs, just so you can be the first to enjoy it. Um, if that's okay?" This was asked to the group at large. "And... er, what's a Holder-Explorator?"

[Stormwrath]

"Ah, that's a tough one to answer, as we've only just arrived her last night. Building and all!"

Wait, what? Last night? Her CPU was trying to process what the receptionist just said. Does that mean this building never existed in this spot before? More importantly, how exactly did it get here? — well, wherever this place was in. The receptionist explained, "We were in Bielefeld when we went to bed last, and were awoken when we landed here. As for here? We suspect this is a pocket dimension of some sort, possibly fashioned by Demens himself. There's more to him than meets the eye."

The receptionist then began to introduce some of the residents in this floor, pointing to the mechanical man sitting in that chair, and the group of teenagers having some sort of conversation with a cat. Huh, guess it isn't just humans here, she thought. Turning to Macy he smiled, "What do you do, anyway?"

"Well," Macy replied to the receptionist, "that may depend on the programming required. If it's something mundane then I can do it easily, but if it's something that's harder, my CPU executes a program that plots a learning curve for me. Don't worry," she chuckled, "I won't do anything crazy." A few seconds of silence characterized the pause between them. "Ummm, uh… I can have the keys to my room, right?"

[Giovenith]

Giovenith knelt down to give Nick a scratch behind his ears and smiled at the new resident as Myra welcomed them. It seemed their new location didn't stop Demens from accepting more people... but, wait. How did they get here? Surely they couldn't be getting people from this planet moving in so soon, and you couldn't exactly choose to move to a Building on another world. Was Demens sucking people in against their will?

"So..." she stood up, and asked Cat. "How did you arrive here?"

[Zarkanians]

"Catrain? That's a nice name. Um, no chocolate left in your home place? We should get a cup upstairs, just so you can be the first to enjoy it. Um, if that's okay?" This was asked to the group at large. "And... er, what's a Holder-Explorator?"

"That sounds wonderful! Thank you," he beamed. He knew the answer to her next question well enough, but it was complicated to explain, especially with his mind drifting; he was forced to take a moment to pull it back together before he could begin. "A Holder-Explorator is... Well, two separate purposes, really. A Holder is an individual bred to store information. I don't forget things--they just wash around in my head, ready to be accessed. And, um, as for Explorator..." He shrugged. "It's just a word for "explorer." Colonial English, not Zarkanian. It hasn't been relevant for a few thousand years and a dozen cycles; there wasn't really much for us to explore, anymore. But this is new! And I was about to be unassigned when I was sent here," cold memories, "so I figured nobody'd be too angry if I resurrected the title."

The idea of purpose twisted itself around the cold memories, dosing them with colour. A bad experience became good, when it led to something good. He hadn't died, and now he was in a position to do what he'd wanted to do all along, without putting Zarkanians at risk. Some of the terror was leeched out--that made it a little easier to explain how he'd gotten here to the girl with the strange name and hair. Still, some of the excitement left his face, and his voice dropped to a more serious pitch. "I don't know how I got here. I was standing in a Politician's office, preparing to be unassigned, and suddenly I'm here. It took me a while to realize I wasn't dead."

[Highfort]

Septimus breathed a sigh of relief as the Manager and the techpriests got to work on the elevator. All the crises seemed to be over for the day - barring anymore unforeseen interruptions, so he figured now would be a good time to get all the Building's thinkers together. One last meeting to make sure they knew what their duties were for the upcoming week, and then everyone could get some well-deserved rest.

Neste's nearby presence further soothed him, though the brief image of Titus that flashed through the illicit tether left him feeling slightly guilty. He did owe his old friend a revival and offering to work on teleportation tech for the Building would only delay that, rather unfortunately. Still, his own personal promises and concerns couldn't take precedent over the Building's - this was, after all, his new home.

"If you need anything," he attempted to project contentment and peace through the tether, though only succeeded in really communicating his fatigue, "Let me know. I know you've had a rough day, and if I can make it any easier on you, don't hesitate to ask. You did good out there; we all owe you one."

With Neste heading down to the lab, Septimus turned his attention back to Sandy.

"I'm a bit addled, why don't we go to the dining room and get some coffee?" he pat the sorcerer, partly because he was pleased with the man's work with the healers and partly because the cyborg was so exhausted he needed something to lean on for a moment lest he collapse, "We can discuss the details on the teleporter there. Besides, I figure we're overdue for one last meeting so we can work out the details for the next few days. The city beckons and that's probably our best shot at getting any supplies. The villagers need sheep, too, and if we don't have a team already assembled to work on that we'll have to get on it before we wear out our welcome and piss off our only friends here."

[Fvaarniimar]

Normally serving a component of the personality of a spirit of something would have been more noticed by Rmwtyliin. However, it was quite confusing and - I am pride. He had called her mortal, human - why would someone who was do so? He had not included himself in that. An Iibii. Yet he was a concept. Did that make him himself a spirit?!

I have always been told to be proud of Fvaarniimar.  Of being Fvaarniimarn.  Of being of my family when we do something good.  Even of myself, at times.  Pride is a happy feeling. And yet he wore the color of blood and atrocity.   The princess certainly felt that Superbia outranked her, but - if he was a spirit, the red meant he was evil? Pride was at times ba -

Baby phase? What? Unfortunately or fortunately Rmwtyliin had a fair amount of relatives, and had met a fair amount of infants. A relative of the man she knew as her father came to mind, and suddenly turned white and - she should not turn him red, he didn't deserve that; another relative. (First daughter of somethingth daughter of somethingth daughter of a great-grandmother of Mother's. House S something. Name... J sound somewhere?) "Our youngest sometimes turn orange..." Her male relative suddenly was white with orange marks and Superbia's face. Her lips twitched as puffs of air escaped her nostrils. Home, home...

Grateful to be diverted from her irreverent thoughts, Rmwtyliin sipped the tea.  Bitter.  Minerva was adding something to hers - Oh, of course.  "Please, may I use those once you finish?"

She needed to say something acknowledging the Naabvimliikunz, but she couldn't remember his requested nickname in its entirety.  (Would a spirit be willing to do that? Was the length to test her?)  Suups pronounced like...  Had it been a long nickname?  Something about a drink?  Perhaps...

"Duncan.  Ssuupss?"  With a relieved nod at the translation, she addressed -

"Duchess Suups?  I...I am honored to meet you."  Honored enough, in fact, that she set her hand on her thigh - likely meaningless in this place but quite a gesture at home. Someone holding such a position required respect.  A spirit deserved great respect... at least if good.  The nickname had certainly been - "I would not mind use of a nickname, by anyone." She did hope no one here would take advantage of that. Once certainly had been enough.  "Few outside Fvaarniimar pronounce our names with ease." But Minerva had - Minerva! High status. "I am honored to meet you also, L -" She had not wanted a title. "Mihnrvah..." and she couldn't exclude the saiborg. "and Mihstdur Rahmmuuluussh Aphrodisiac."

--

Nick marveled at the coin. It certainly was worth marveling at, all bright and shiny and colorful - <Earth, warmth - some cats?> They weren't all gray? <There are people with red hair in books -> Seeing hair which wasn't gray really was a rare occurrence for the feline.  <Do you mean - WOW!>  Astonished glee as Myra turned to Giovenith. From the cat's perspective she had lit up.  A gray outfit (with maybe a hint of blue) suddenly was a color that hadn't even been on the rainbow at the Carnival.  And there was so much of it, and so bright!  Even her skin and eyes were suddenly vibrant.  Colors really did suit her.  He drank it in while it lasted, a little disappointed when Myra looked instead at Yuna.  The winged girl actually didn't look much different from before - only eyes and possibly clothes seemed more vivid.  Making the best of it, he focused on the eyes.  Wow. They really were vivid, and who knew when he would see more 'yellow'?

Up until this point, Myra's more colourful sight had filled in Nick's grayer; his was largely ignored although occasionally something in a corner might have been more visible.  When they looked at the picture, however, the emotional Nick's version of the picture was recognizable - the coast of the Island with the cave, done rather impressionistically in blues and greens, grays and white and black.  It brought back happy memories - not quite brought to the surface, but little snippets.   Little chats, a scarf, damp paws, many others, and of course emerging from the cave to sunlight that first time. It crashed into her consciousness.  It was where he had been accepted.  Myra'd likely want to smile seeing it, at least at first.

He hadn't ever really understood that that picture would be different for others. The <more yellow!> ovally bits were cool...flowers? They had stems. They sat between two girls...a girl and a woman? Surprise.  Curiosity.  <[i]Who's sh -?[i]> 

A little startled by the sudden negative emotions and being set down, Nick looked again at his friends.  Gray, blue, green, gray.  Had he really seen those other colors?  He focused on the memory.  Orange-red-brown/copper, shiny, gleaming.  A little - a little redder maybe with something else - blue?  And red make magenta.  Maybe.  He shut his eyes, seeing the pink; opened them to superimpose it, mentally, over how his first friend now appeared. A hand descended. Hadn't it had a sort of color to it...maybe a little coppery, but faint?...the stroking pulled the cat from his thoughts and he purred, nuzzling Giovenith's hand.

[Swith Witherward]

LOBBY
Volker nodded, adding the obligatory "Of course" as he slid the golden key towards the android. "Comes fully furnished. The elevators aren't working, so you'll have to take the stairs."

His finger extended to point out the staircase near the elevators. Macy's trek would give her a glance of the 2nd floor communal areas (kitchen, dining room, recreation room) before sweeping her away into the depths of the Building's higher levels.


Giovenith's question intrigued Myra as well. Catrain had somehow arrived in the midst of the battle's aftermath. And didn't Torii and Katya leave? So maybe there were ways in and out that they hadn't explored yet. Maybe it was time for the girl to put on her investigative hat. Did the little village have a library and archives.

These questions rumbled around her brain as the teens and new Resident crossed the lobby. Representative Itum's comment to Mr. Bela didn't go unnoticed. Sure enough, once they'd trudged up the stairs, the dining room was already occupied by adults, including that big General guy and (what Myra could only assume) a snakeman-demon.

"Maybe we should just grab some mugs and find a nice spot?" she suggested, unwilling to infringe on the adult's stuff - and she had no desire to be politely asked to piss off. "How about the recreational room? There's couches and stuff in there."


DINING ROOM
Minerva's glance confirmed that the teens should keep moving. She pushed the sugar bowl towards Rmw, and then the tiny, metal cream carafe.

"We really should wrap things up," she advised. "I have a feeling this space is about to be used again by the healers and dealers. It would be impolite to intrude."

The tall redhead's hands nimbly rubbed her lower back as she rose and stretched. A yawn was neatly stifled behind her fingertips. "General, I believe you expressed interest in traveling to the city? And Rmwtyliin as well? I believe old Itum has some business to take care of, so now wouldn't be a good time to talk, but why not meet up in the lobby tomorrow morning?"

How she knew this was... well, as always, a mystery. Her Lads had often questioned if she followed in Merlin's footsteps, living her life backwards and imparting future information in prophetic style. This was a load of old tosh, of course. Minerva was simply very observant.

- also, a parakeet had whispered into her ear earlier that afternoon. Trust the budgie!

"Alright, everyone find something interesting to do elsewhere so the others can meet in peace."

(So, you see, Myra was also astute in her own observations!)

[Northwest Slobovia]

Lobby

"I'm a bit addled, why don't we go to the dining room and get some coffee?" he pat the sorcerer, partly because he was pleased with the man's work with the healers and partly because the cyborg was so exhausted he needed something to lean on for a moment lest he collapse, "We can discuss the details on the teleporter there. Besides, I figure we're overdue for one last meeting so we can work out the details for the next few days. The city beckons and that's probably our best shot at getting any supplies. The villagers need sheep, too, and if we don't have a team already assembled to work on that we'll have to get on it before we wear out our welcome and piss off our only friends here."

"That sounds like a good idea. I saw that our jeep is still outside from the aborted rescue mission. Let me go park it downstairs and I'll catch up with you. It should only be a minute or two." Sandy strode towards the lobby doors, wondering where Amanda was. If she'd left the jeep out all this time, she must be very busy. But where?

Kale arrived in the lobby after talking with Aegis. The girl had a determination in her eyes, her mind set on the sheep mission. She could finally do something for the villagers that’ll help them in a big way. But she needed to find the others and discuss about it. It wasn’t gonna be easy, and they needed a plan. She reluctantly concluded that she needed to use her powers for the mission. She held doubts about her ability, but concluded it was the only way. No way could she outrun the adults, she didn’t have the speed for it. She needed to use them and use them correctly!

Her eyes searched and she spotted Sandy. His face was fresh in her mind, remembering the mission he sent her off on. She could tell him what he learned as well, knocking out two birds with one stone.

Kale walked to where Sandy was, looking at him. The girl looked resolved and had determination in her eyes, different than the nervous and tense wreck from before.

Sandy practically collided with Kale, he was so distracted by the twin thoughts of figuring out where Amanda was and what he was going to say at the meeting. He started to dodge out of Kale's way with an automatic "excuse me" before he Heard the clank of chains and the sad melody of the panpipes, and stopped to look at who he'd almost run over. "Oh, sorry, Kale." Sandy mentally shifted gears, then quietly asked her, “Did you find anything outside?”

Kale gave a quick couple of nods in confirmation before speaking. “Yes, I have. The plants are similar looking to our world…. well…. former world. But they have all evolved differently. I can… read them and could tell the differences easily. Not just the the grasses, but the flowers, trees and bushes as well.”

Kale noted in her mind how the plants looked similar to the ones back in her world. It felt odd to chock it up to coincidence. They were in another world, another dimension it seemed. She retained the possibility that the plants were intentionally made to look like the ones on Earth. But she was no evolutionary biologist. It could just be the optimal path of evolution for plants with these planetary conditions, which seem to match Earth’s from what she has seen so far.

Sandy’s brow furrowed. “Hmm. Very much like our own plants. I would have thought from Neste’s description, there was more to it than that, but if that’s what you can tell, I guess she’s wrong.”

Sandy thought a bit. “I’ve got another thing to ask you about: your necklace. But I think you might want to talk about that someplace else.” That was as oblique an approach to talking about the killer grass as Sandy could think of. He hoped that wouldn’t frighten her off. “One of our apartments, perhaps, or take a walk outside, or go up on the roof… really, any place that would suit you is fine with me.”

Kale froze a bit, but then relaxed back, but her body language changed to show more tension. No doubt caused by asking about the necklace. The piece of jewelry she rarely wore to begin with and looked odd on a girl such as herself. Yet nobody seemed to ask about it, or why she wore it. Except now as Sandy asked her. But asking about the necklace by itself wouldn’t have set the alarms off, it was him asking her to discuss it elsewhere away from others that did it.

He knew she was connected to the incident, the tragedy. Kale couldn’t figure how, maybe some magic. She didn’t know Sandy well, so it was a possibility. Regardless, it confirmed her suspicions of him.

Kale stood still, quietly thinking things over. She didn’t know what Sandy would do if she told him everything. He seemed like a good man, but even then good men will turn in a killer. It was an odd predicament. But she couldn’t leave or sweep it under the rug. He knew something was up, and there were no paths that’ll lead to a better situation. She’ll just have to trust Sandy to not tell. Not that she wouldn’t fault him if he did so.

“A quiet place…” Kale said in a quieter tone, mulling over where to go. A few seconds later, and she had her answer. “We can go up to my apartment. It’s quiet, and nobody will barge in on us talking….” she said, looking back up to Sandy.

Sandy nodded. “Lead on.” He followed her up the stairs to the seventh floor, and waited while she unlocked her door, then went in behind her. He waited a moment while she locked up.

Apartment 7F

Sandy got down to business quickly, taking a gentle tone. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me. I might as well just start in with the answers. I’ll start with the two that are probably the most important to you. Yes, I know it was you who cast the spell that made the grass attack people. The tree-man too. I’m going to tell only one person: my wife, Amanda. She’s a lawyer, she’s bound by law and honor not to tell anybody else, so the story isn’t going any further than the two of us.”

Sandy let her digest that part before going on. “Now, you’re probably wondering how I know it’s your spell. I see and hear magic. To my eyes, your necklace swims with colors that shouldn’t be there. It makes sounds, too. I can tell… more or less… what it does. It’s interfering with your own ability to cast spells… you’re punishing yourself, or something like that. I didn’t see or hear the grass, but I heard the tree-man as it was burning.”

“Those don’t necessarily point to you, but Nila said there weren’t any opposing spellcasters leading the Fiends. That means it was a Resident, and those three things plus how you were acting when I found you on the roof don’t leave much room for other alternatives.”

Sandy took a deep breath; that was a lot to say and a lot for Kale to take in. “So, that’s my part of this story. Please tell me yours.”

Kale stood still as Sandy spoke, not nervous but obviously tense. She had already confirmed in her mind that Sandy knew it was her, yet him speaking of it still hit her. So he could hear magic, that’s what allowed him to find out. She wondered for a second what her necklace sounded like. Did it sound like guilt?

Kale stood silent for a bit before speaking, finding the words to say. It was like a criminal speaking to the detective who deduced it was them, leaving no wriggle room in their deduction.

“Yes… I am punishing myself… for what I did…” she said. The memories filled her mind as she recanted her crime. “The grass was my doing. When I molded them to kill, it… it went out of my control and… attacked everything in the field. Enemies, allies, and civilians…. injured or killed indiscriminately. I couldn’t tell it slipped nor what it did… the deathroes of the Fiends... drowned out the screams of the people...and the act of… killing overwhelmed me so much that I couldn’t feel them slip. And Tom… the treant.... was me as well... I summoned him to fight, control him from where I was but…. I lost consciousness and control over him…”

Kale was visibly shaking from this, her face showing revulsion and fear. It was not long since the event, and even when she steeled herself for a while, tracing her steps back made the emotions come back in full force.

“I-I had to fight… to defend my friends… the people… and my home… but I acted rashly, thought too quickly and overestimated my limits and…. ended up causing pain and suffering instead of defending them…” She said, tears now streaming down her eyes. Her heart felt like it was in her feet, her guilt and sorrow weighing it down. “Irreparable pain…. the injuries will never be forgotten and… the murdered can’t come back… ever…. and I’m the one who is guilty of it all…” she said, then taking deep breathes as she tried to calm herself before she broke down again. It helped a bit, easing the pain and sorrow. She started talking again after she was done.

“Which is why I’m sealing away my powers, so I can’t hurt anyone with them,” she said. Her mind was mixed in thought, feeling once again that she couldn’t use her powers yet still set on the mission which required them. And the guilt and sorrow still remained, seasoning this thought concoction.

“That’s my story….” Kale said, focusing on Sandy though her words were wet with guilt,“Y-you don’t have to hide the story with just your wife.You can turn me in to whatever authority there is here. I won’t blame you if you do. It’s probably for the better…” The girl looked resigned at this point, as if accepting whatever fate befell her at this point.

Oh, boy. Sandy looked stricken as Kale poured out her heart over what had happened on the battlefield. Wild magic was one of the more crippling Gifts there was, almost as bad as complete Blindness.

“Could we sit down? I’d like to think about this for a moment.” Sandy indicated the chair and sofa. Sandy sat down in the chair, leaving the more comfortable sofa to Kale. The girl sat on the sofa, looking intently to Sandy. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of his face, considering the problem. Kale didn’t mean to do any of what happened, but yet her magic had done plenty of damage.

At length, Sandy sat up, rested his hands on the arms of the chair, and softly said, “It’s not as bad as you think. True, nothing can be done for the dead, but much can be done for the living. You can redeem yourself. The Burrows-dwellers need new sheep. The sheep will need new grazing fields. You can help with both. You should help with both, and should do as much for both as you can.”

“You’ll need your magic to grow new grass. You may need it to get more sheep. Denying yourself magic doesn’t help you or anybody else. Wearing your necklace so you think before you cast is a good idea, though. In the longer term, we’ll have to find you so additional training: some people can learn to tame their wild magic.”

Sandy closed his eyes, thinking over the last part of what Kale said. Finally, he nodded and opened his eyes. “I’m not sure what authorities there are to turn you over to, but I don’t think you need punishment. You need to try to make the situation right. There are doubtless ways you can help the injured, and ways to help the families of those who died. I’m sure Amanda will have a good idea how to do that. If you ask, she can help you do it, too. That’s her job.”

Kale stared at Sandy as he spoke, listening to every word he said. After he was done, the room went quiet. For a while, the girl sat quietly, her eyes swimming with thoughts, wearing the same sullen face from before. Her mind was a cacophony of thoughts and feelings, Sandy’s words causing a reaction in her mind. When the girl finally spoke, it wasn’t guilt-ridden like before, but still dull.

“I… I guess you’re right…” She said, “I...I can help people with my magic. It’s what I do best at. But I should be careful… I can’t let more people get hurt by my wild magic,” she said, “ I don’t know about redeeming myself, but I will do everything I can to help the villagers. I have to. I’m going to go help get new sheep for them and restore their fields.” Kale’s face slowly showed more confidence with each word she spoke, the guilt slinking away. “Amanda would help. I can’t really go to help with what I did still fresh. Someone to speak for me, and professionally, will assist greatly in what I have to do,” Kale said, speaking with a new determination within her, “And… thank you Sandy, for helping me in this. I… I guess I needed to talk someone to help set myself straight.” For the first time since the incident, Kale’s face had a wide grin on it.

Sandy nodded, returning her smile reflexively. “I’m glad I could help. I’ll go with you to find sheep. I’m not skilled enough as a spellcaster to help you gain control of your magic, but since I can see you cast, I may be able to help you stop casting before it gets out of hand.”

“We won’t need the fields restored until we have more sheep, so you can wait on doing that. That’s also a good way to practice controlling your magic, since there’s a lot of space to work with, and you can try restoring it a bit at a time.”

“In the meantime, let me talk to Amanda. She’ll probably come up for a chat a bit later, since Itum wants to meet with us now. We'll be talking about the details of getting sheep, so she'll let you know what the plan is. I may come back with her. So, until then..." Sandy flashed a quick smile, and took his leave.

A Brief Interlude

Sandy quick-walked to the stairs, returning to his previous ponderings. He'd need a couple of books on military subjects for the meetings, and those were all at home. Home was just one floor down, and Sandy double-timed it the whole way.

He was just finishing choosing books off the shelves when he heard snick of the door's deadbolt snapping open, and Amanda entered carrying an unfamiliar book. "Oh, hello, dear. What's that?

Amanda walked over to him, opening the cookbook as she did so. "There's the oddest bookstore in the Burrows. You'll have to visit soon. But first: is this magic? You may need Pegasus' ears to answer that."

"Wha...?" Sandy mumbled, utterly baffled by the unexpected question. "A bookstore that sells magic books? You'd better start from the beginning." There was a hurried catching up.

[OOC: yeah, it's a collab with Carly.]

[Tiltjuice]

The uncharacteristic silence was broken as Chrysanthe stood from her seat in the dining room, the scabbard banging against a chair leg. The smell of coffee drifted her way from the Representative and the professor. Needs were, however, and she swept out into the lobby, to catch sight of Macy, Giovenith, Myra, Catrain and the others as they were heading up the stairs.

The idea of purpose twisted itself around the cold memories, dosing them with colour. A bad experience became good, when it led to something good. He hadn't died, and now he was in a position to do what he'd wanted to do all along, without putting Zarkanians at risk. Some of the terror was leeched out--that made it a little easier to explain how he'd gotten here to the girl with the strange name and hair. Still, some of the excitement left his face, and his voice dropped to a more serious pitch. "I don't know how I got here. I was standing in a Politician's office, preparing to be unassigned, and suddenly I'm here. It took me a while to realize I wasn't dead."

For a moment, she froze, calculating whether or not to approach; but her new responsibilities straightened her spine again and she moved toward them. The uniform and the sheathed spatha across her back weren't the most welcoming, but she spread her hands, trying to dispel the image.

"All's well that continues being well," she said, in her usual tones, checking herself. "But I'm glad you're all right. It's good to have more new faces around here."

[Zarkanians]

"That sounds good," Catrain said, glad to be given an opportunity to move on. He didn't like dwelling on how close he'd come to nullification. Being purposeless was bad enough, especially when you had no way to find a new one, but the thought of being unassigned filled his gut with ice. He had to focus on the memory of his arrival--the good part, where he realized what it meant--to keep his face from falling further.

The uncharacteristic silence was broken as Chrysanthe stood from her seat in the dining room, the scabbard banging against a chair leg. The smell of coffee drifted her way from the Representative and the professor. Needs were, however, and she swept out into the lobby, to catch sight of Macy, Giovenith, Myra, Catrain and the others as they were heading up the stairs.

The idea of purpose twisted itself around the cold memories, dosing them with colour. A bad experience became good, when it led to something good. He hadn't died, and now he was in a position to do what he'd wanted to do all along, without putting Zarkanians at risk. Some of the terror was leeched out--that made it a little easier to explain how he'd gotten here to the girl with the strange name and hair. Still, some of the excitement left his face, and his voice dropped to a more serious pitch. "I don't know how I got here. I was standing in a Politician's office, preparing to be unassigned, and suddenly I'm here. It took me a while to realize I wasn't dead."

For a moment, she froze, calculating whether or not to approach; but her new responsibilities straightened her spine again and she moved toward them. The uniform and the sheathed spatha across her back weren't the most welcoming, but she spread her hands, trying to dispel the image.

"All's well that continues being well," she said, in her usual tones, checking herself. "But I'm glad you're all right. It's good to have more new faces around here."

Catrain's eyes darted to the sword, widening with shock. "Uh. Uhhh. Good morning, sir. And, um, thank you for the welcome!" His face had flushed with confusion and apprehension, as if he'd been confronted by God on his way to the bathroom. "Is there anything you need?" What was this place?

[Tiltjuice]

The Conservator's own eyes widened.

"If you have some time, and you all wouldn't mind, I could join you and help clear up whatever the others don't," she suggested, treading lightly. It was clear the stranger felt out of place, and so she stepped around the front of the group and led the way back up to the recreation room.

[Fvaarniimar]

A certain member of the group was more than happy for the Conservator to join.  He showed it by pouncing on her feet <Hi, Chrys!  We don't mind...>

Feeling embarrassed at being so presumptuous, he flicked his tail forward and washed it vigorously. <Er. I don't. They're nice, I don't think they will...>

--

Rmwtyliin nodded as she finished stirring in sugar, automatically starting to get up. Her brow furrowed. She was a healer - fairly good with splinting and bandaging at least. The table was large enough. Sitting back down, she looked around for something with which to fashion a cone for Duncan while pouring in cream.

[Zarkanians]

"I don't mind; of course I don't mind, sir!" He was beginning to panic. The rational explanation was there--swords couldn't mean the same thing, here--but no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it, it kept sliding away, to be replaced with images of armoured Zarkanians with dark masks watching from high places as Politicians explained new ideas to crowds of waiting individuals (Cat had only had the opportunity to view orations of that sort twice, but they were all on record). What if this was the same, and she was here to tell him that he was to be sent back, or that he had somehow found his way into some sort of grand sociological experiment by accident, and that he would be removed before he could tarnish it further, or--he closed his eyes, and thought of flowers.

[Tiltjuice]

The brightly-lit space, hopefully, would dispel the antsy young one's discomfort. Chrys gave him as bright a smile as she could manage while leaning down to rub behind Nick's ears as a greeting. The warmth echoed the nature of its creator, and the dark brown leather couches facing each other across the coffee table were the perfect furniture for wary, weary dimensional travelers to sink into.

She unstrapped the blade and sheath and laid it on the table, point facing toward her.

"My name is Chrysanthe," she said, smiling slightly again as she offered Cat a hand.

[Chedastan]

Romulus was a tad confused of how the girl, Rmwtyliin, was pronouncing their names. Perhaps it's customary that her people draw out syllables? That would explain her name at least. Still though, he was a little startled at first when she began, believing at one moment that something was wrong. But given the reaction from the other two, this had to be normal, or at least just plain accepted. He was used to meeting new and bizarre cultures all the time, but even from what he's been through, and what he read up about, there were still some that managed surprised him, this being one of those instances, but on the more milder end of the scale.

When Minerva came back with the mugs of tea, the General had gladly taken the one she offered to him, and he was already drinking from it. He noticed too that she was grinning and commented on what he said earlier, about home. He stopped drinking and paused for moment. He couldn't even imagine what could have been going on back at home, it worried him, not just what could be happening right now, but also what he's missing out on too. He just hopes everything is okay and fine, he couldn't bear the thought of what if. All those people... All of them he had cared for, all of them he had led, all of them that he had guided. What could become of them? What has already? What of the Wilhelms and even Maccabees? Why...

Did she just say that he was a demon?

He stopped, then realized she actually said that Superbia was a demon. Well that's something explained. Still though, really? Then she went on to say that she served under a chaos avatar. Well this just keeps getting better and better. Then he himself realized the hypocrisy of what he was thinking of. After all, he did worship Maccabees and the rest of the Pantheons through Wilhelm's Creed, but then again though, this Slann-Essh chaos god didn't sound too good to him. Minerva still seemed like a reasonable enough person though, maybe it wasn't too bad? If there was one thing he was taught about other religions though from his predecessor, Titus Everest, is "never trust what an outsider worships, 1 out of 3 times it's an insane cult, so don't even play with those odds!" Then again, he was probably just exaggerating... Hopefully.

Rmwtyliin had said their names again, saying also that she was honored to meet them. "It's good to meet you too, Rmm-wit-yilin." That was a abysmal! Why couldn't he say it, he already heard it enough times? "Pardon me, Rm-wt-yil-" This was difficult! "Rmw, Rmw..." He sighed, a little embarrassed in being unable to actually pronounce the girl's full name. Wars were started with that sort of piss poor communication before. Hopefully she wasn't offended.

He nodded at Minerva when she said that they should clear out shortly, he felt he was here too long anyway.

"Agreed, the lobby sounds like the perfect place to meet up tomorrow. I'll go see to my new residence then, 6D I think it was, maybe I'll call it an embassy." He smiled jokingly at the notion of an embassy apartment, but he guessed that'll be what it was technically, as he was also an ambassador to Wilhelm and his Imperium, along with the other titles he has. "Good day." He departed them, and made his way onto the stairs to the 6th floor, finding his key in his suit.

[Swith Witherward]

DINING ROOM
Minerva's stern "shoo!" scooted the rest of the lingerers away. It was unceremonious, but necessary, and soon Rmw would find herself in the hall along with the teens, the conservator, the Zarkanian, Superbia, teens, cat, and the rest.

Myra bid a quiet farewell to her friends once they departed the dining room. The morning's chaos had awoken her too early, and now her body was bone-weary. If rumors were true, there'd be a new hospital wing or something, and maybe she could involve herself in fixing that up? Even stacking paper cups would be beneficial. Yet small thoughts tickled her brain, and the village wasn't too far. Maybe she'd take her meager "Demens" pennies and see about browsing books tomorrow? Yeah, sure, why not!



[collab w/Slo, Agy, Cer...]

NOT LONG AFTER, AS EVENING SETTLED OUTSIDE THE BUILDING'S WINDOWS...

The sound of milk pouring into a glass of steaming coffee was interrupted by the clacks of shoes and the mumbling of a crowd as the self-appointed leaders of the Building took refuge in the dining hall, intent on another discussion. Hopefully, this one would put to rest any other affairs for the day so everyone could get some proper rest for the supply runs that were coming up. Urbem Ascalon beckoned, and the Burrows still needed their impressively-productive sheep restored to the ashen fields that once held so much life - so much promise…

“Coffee, anyone?” Septimus grunted, sipping from his own mug with some pleasure as the caffeine restored some function to his brain, “We’re going to sort everything out now so people can have some peace and quiet this evening. One battle was bad enough, let’s try and not spark another by having people running on fumes the rest of the night.”

Pausing, the cyborg turned from the crowd of people assembled around a long table so he could fill up the coffee machine and set it to brew. Rubbing his tired eyes, he first addressed concerns about transportation to the newly-minted fifth-floor hospital.

“Sandy, you wanted to know more about the teleportation devices, no?” the Representative gestured at the sorceror, “I can get a one-way prototype up-and-running by week’s end if I find the right supplies in the city nearby. Circuits, a power source, communications channels to facilitate the actual transportation, a computer setup to monitor both ends - the works. This’ll be a closed-circuit operation so it won’t be adaptable to the dynamic extraction model I mentioned earlier - that’ll have to be developed later, possibly working off of the prototype and scrapping it for parts. But right now all we need is functionality - it doesn’t have to be pretty or adaptable yet.”

“Speaking of the journey tomorrow,” he continued, gesturing at the wider crowd now, “Any ideas for how we’re going to get to the city? Do we have any contacts in the city? And how are we going to pay for any goods we find? Won’t do us any good to waste a day just exploring - we need to get right on-task if we want to make the most of the time we have before the next Fiend attack.”

"Transportation will be easy enough," Minerva swept a cup from the stack only to find the coffee still brewing. "I believe Thaddeus' rig will accommodate everyone. It's my understanding that the city isn't too far from here. A nice morning drive through fields until we reach the road, and whatever bridge your centaur guest mentioned."

She considered the old cyborg's blustery personality, quickly adding, "And you better believe he won't let anyone drive that rig. You should count him in."

“As for money?” the cultist leader continued as the last drops trickled from the machine’s filter. “I suggest we bring something valuable. Gold? I wouldn’t suggest gems.”

“We’ll need gold that was mined somewhere, not conjured into existence,” Amanda joined the conversation, putting down her mug of Sandy’s Special Blend. “The locals can tell, it seems. But there are other things we can make, especially if we’re willing to burn the midnight oil. If they don’t have what we’re used to, relatively simple works of magic or technology might sell for quite a bit. The Burrows-dwellers were willing to let us bank on Demens’ name; I wonder if anybody in Ascalon would. With a little credit to get started…”

“Let’s not bank on it,” the pessimistic cultist leader chuckled. “Our credibility should rise once we’ve procured sheep. Locally, naturally. We don’t know how Ascalon operates, however. We should decide exactly what we hope to accomplish by going, other than to go for supplies.”

“Do we have any political goals for this trip?” Amanda’s question caused Minerva’s brow to rise, but the cultist leader said nothing as the woman continued. “The Burrows seems to get a lousy deal: they pay taxes to Ascalon, but the city sends the army to defend them when it suits them. I think we can do better, but what do we want? I’d be happy enough with ask nothing, expect nothing. I just wonder if they’d give that to us; we’re aren’t just buying enough weapons to equip a small army, we are equipping a small army. That may make them nervous.”

“We’ll just have to make it worth their while, then, Mrs. Bela. They don’t want to do any dirty work in protecting their tax-paying provinces: fine,” the Representative sniffed in displeasure at the reminder of the dark side of Confederation politics, setting down his coffee cup and rubbing his chin as an idea wormed its way into his head, “We need to get paid, anyways, and this should stabilize trade relations between us and Urbem Ascalon. They can farm out the Burrows and any other small settlements to us for a small fee and the right for us to levy a military.”

Amanda nodded slowly. “If we can avoid doing anything stupid, the Burrows-dwellers may prefer us to their current overlords. We’re right next door, we’re well-equipped, and so far, we’re relatively friendly.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Minerva peered over her coffee cup, “But it’s not our policy to roll in and take over. We don’t know this place.”

She set her coffee down and peered at each person in turn. “There has to be a reason the city won’t step in. It might be because they don’t have forces to spare. It might be that they don’t give a shit. However, we’ve just left a place where the supernatural are loathed. It might very well be that the city thinks poorly of this little hamlet. But who are we to assert ourselves here?”

The cultist leader breathed a heavy sigh. “No offense to any of you, but this Building is populated by some of the best - and some of the worst! - people. Raptors and Luxans are deadly, yes, but so are Confederate board members and Chaos avatars. Don’t even get me started on Rodney Bodkins!”

“Speaking of the Luxans, one of them came out with me to the Burrows today. I’m worried about him making the ‘avoid anything stupid’ part… difficult,” Amanda interjected, concern playing across her face, “Do you know Primordial? I’m not sure he can be left unsupervised. His behavior in the Burrows today was… unsettling.”

“I’m very familiar with the Luxans,” the bemused smile gracing Minerva’s lips didn’t reach as far as her eyes as she considered Amanda’s words. “They are distinctly strange. However, they’ve proven themselves to be steadfast here. It’s just that they-”

Oh, but there was no polite way to say it, was there?

“They’re adherents of Cthulhu’s pantheon? The Great Old Ones?” Thaddeus prompted as he entered the room (fashionably late) and with a datapad and some paper tucked under his arm. The chair groaned as he eased his bulk into it.

“Yes, that,” Minerva’s expression turned sour. “Competitive pantheon with our own. Invaded once. Wasn’t pretty. That aside, the Luxans shouldn’t be disparaged for their natures or habits. We would no more snub them than a lich, would we? But we need to keep an eye out for liches and Luxans alike. One missing child snatched from its crib, and the village would most likely come pay us a visit.”

“We shouldn’t disparage their habits, even if their habits are to the detriment of the rest of us?” Septimus frowned, mechanical and organic eye narrowing as he paced across the room, “I can understand tolerating someone’s nature: the spider does not mean any malice when it harms the fly, it’s just hungry. But a habit is a choice - they should be encouraged to stop and restrained if they cannot. We can’t just have them running amuck.”

“Habits can be controlled,” came the old cyborg’s retort. “The Luxans see nothing wrong with their behaviors. We can’t lock up everything that doesn’t pass muster. Otherwise, we should lock up the Nifid before Malice decides she’s done playing nice. Someone needs to explain to our more… colorful… Residents that playing nice with others is more important right now than satisfying urges.”

"You-" the cyborg's voice lowered and he grit his teeth, offering what he hoped was a withering glare toward his older counterpart, "She has nothing to do with this, Thaddeus. If you have a problem with her, then you can voice it here - but we have clear evidence of Primordial’s misbehavior. Neste’s been nothing but helpful - even critical - to our current successes."

The ice grew thin. Thaddeus wasn’t one to back away from Septimus’ frost, however. “The mortem machina is deadly, yet polite. So, too, are the Luxans. You don’t know her as well as I do. I’m not saying I trust either. I’ll try to trust them to put aside their nonsense to do the right thing for the group itself.”

“You don’t know shit about her,” Septimus muttered, though he did his best to leave the venom out of his voice. Now was neither the time nor the place, and they had other things to discuss, “Whatever the case, I’d like someone to at least keep an eye on Primordial so he stays out of trouble. A babysitter, if that’s not too difficult to provide. He’ll be a great asset to the Building if we can just keep him out of trouble.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Sandy raised his voice to be heard over the two quarrelling cyborgs. “It may take several of us to explain to our problem children that they will have to behave. And it may take all our eyes to be sure that they do behave. For the moment, yes, they are trying to be good, but… but they’re not entirely sure how. Gretta Von Eldritch was doing surgery this morning, though her bedside manner leaves something to be desired. Primordial placed a ward on the Building’s front doors that should keep the Fiends out, but he neglected to mention this to anybody else. If I hadn’t Seen it, we would have been unaware that we had a second line of defense, and may have wasted lives holding a line we didn’t need to worry about.”

Sandy gathered his thoughts for a moment. “So, I think we should take them aside once we’re back from our errands tomorrow, and make it clear that we’re not going to tolerate wrongdoing that will endanger all of us, we’re more than capable of keeping an eye on their activities, and we’ll turn them over the authorities if we need to.” He paused for emphasis. “And if they’re willing to work with us, they’ll find us willing to support their beneficial personal projects, just as we’d do for anybody else.”

“I’ll handle the talk,” Minerva’s tone remained passive although her insides churned from indignation. The nerve of moralistically driven people - people that thought nothing was wrong with replacing the Burrows-dwellers “current overlords” with their own leadership! Yet Luxans were the bad ones of the group?

Sandy closed his eyes, trying to recall what else he was going to say. “Oh, right! Lines of defense… I have some information on historical fortifications used on Earth.” Sandy opened up one of the books stacked by his elbow, turning to a page marked by a scrap of paper. “This is the main gate of Side, an ancient city. Straightforward defenses: the towers flanking the outer gate and the walkway around the courtyard allow the defenders to bring a lot of fire to bear on attackers.”

“Against the Fiends, we might do well to leave the outer gate open, and just let them pile into the courtyard, where we can kill them more easily. According to Mayor Mercer, the Fiends will pile their own bodies against the walls, so we can’t hold them forever, but we can slow them down a lot. Likewise, we can copy the towers along the rest of the ice wall -- assuming the young woman that made them is up for that -- which will get us enfilade fire along the wall. We’ll need automatic weapons to really make this work against the Fiends, though.”

“I’m guessing burning bodies is out of the question given the frozen fortifications we’re using,” Septimus nodded in approval at the ancient defenses pictured on the paper, “Depending on how dangerous they are after they’re dead, we could periodically close off the courtyard and lead them on a chase while some of the Residents clear out the corpses. Would be better than letting them stack their way up to the roof and getting in through there.”

“Has anyone considered the possibility that the Fiends are not an enemy?” the cultist leader’s fingers interlaced and she shifted her gaze between Septimus and Sandy. “Thylacine spring to mind. These creatures were slaughtered because it was believed they posed a threat to sheep. The Tasmanian wolf was simply an apex predator, and kept to its habits as was its wont. I’m not exactly an eco-warrior, but I believe we should investigate more before hastily judging a creature. I could be completely wrong, of course, but I’d rather be safe than guilty of exterminating a species.”

Her fingers sought her temples, and she massaged them gently. Frustration was the word of the day. “The Building has exemplary defenses, including the ability to project a field around itself. It withstood the bloody Drones, and would have continued to withstand them had we not agreed to let the whole thing get blown up as tradeoff for saving the rest of the world.”

The force field rang a distant bell in Sandy’s mind, but he’d never seen it used. “If they’re not enemies, I’m struggling to see what they are. If the Fiends are natural predators here, this may be a very tough neighborhood. There may be more like them. Even lesser predators could be a serious threat to us.”

“However, if we’re going to stay behind the Building’s force field the next few nights the Fiends could appear, we don’t have to decide now what to do about them. So,” Sandy moved further down his mental to-do list, and pulled his healer pager out of a pocket. “Thaddeus? Adrastus gave the healers these pagers in Bielefield. I’m not sure what’s become of the transmitter that sends to them. I’d like to get another. Is that possible?”

Thaddeus pushed his datapad aside to examine the offered device. It was standard issue, and not difficult to replicate, yet it would take time to establish a network.

“Can we get more than one?” Sandy inquired. “The first is for the front desk, since that’s where emergency cases will come in from the outside. If we can get 24-hour staffing for the hospital’s reception desk, we should have another there. A third, if reasonable, is for whoever is on call for the healers. I wouldn’t mind having one, but that’s not important if there’s other demands on the tech priests’ time.”

“Would need to set up a switchboard of some sort, or a system that can process the signal along a network of radio transmitting antennas,” the device’s plastic case glinted in his fingers as they manipulated it to better see the registry number. “Yes, it can be done although range might be limited. I’m note sure about staffing the desk, unless you want to convince Malaise.”

“Should set up the shift schedule as well,” Septimus looked between the two men at the little pager, an antiquated piece of technology he’d never seen outside of a Terran history book, “People on-shift won’t need a pager since they’ll be in the hospital, but anyone off-duty should have access to a pager so if assistance is needed we don’t have to use the Building’s comms. Don’t want to disrupt the residents - bad for morale.”

Sandy turned to face Itum, surprised he had an interest in the running of the hospital. “I was hoping to have just a single healer on call at any given time. There’s only a handful of us, and generally, no patients to treat. If our hospital becomes the Burrows’ primary clinic, we’ll have to bring in their existing medical staff -- um, Mercer mentioned herbalists, so there are a few people with at least rudimentary training -- or hire professionals from further away.”

“Excuse me for a second”, Sandy shifted a bit to catch Thaddeus’ attention again. “How long for the first transmitter? I’d like to let the other healers know when we’ll have some way of communicating again.”

Sandy was about to make a suggestion to Itum, but Amanda covered his hand with hers, stopping him in his tracks. She broke into the conversation. “Thaddeus, Sandy mentioned that Adrastus wanted to get our phones working with the local network. That would do the same job as the pagers, and work for the whole group of us at once. The Burrows seems to prefer a simpler lifestyle, but I suspect Mayor Mercer wouldn’t mind keeping in touch with us, as well. Do you have an idea if that would be faster?”

“The Brothers are busy with other, more pressing needs,” came his somber reply. “Telecommunication will available when it’s available. The Building takes priority. The sudden shift tore out plumbing and electrical. Water can be tapped - the Nifid did so. Power is a different matter. We’re building something to take the strain off the Manager. We do have a few handheld radios. Again, range is an issue. Anything that can handle long distance comms is already in use,” he jabbed a finger against his temple, “and you won’t have access to the hardware unless one of us dies.”


“It’s getting late,” Minerva’s cup returned to its saucer. “I know some people expressed interest in seeing Ascalon. The mayor sent a hunter over a short while ago, and he had a map that lead to the city. Let’s get a final head count. Thaddeus, you mentioned taking people in your rig?”

“I have room for six passengers.”

“Right. Septimus, I’d like you to go along. Rmwtyliin and Romulus both expressed an interest in accompanying the group. Insidious wanted to get a feel for their magic. Amanda, perhaps it would be best if you tagged along to make sure we didn’t tangle with the law too badly. And Neste’s internal comm system would be-”

“-Better suited back here.” Thaddeus crossed his arms and glowered at the cultist leader. “Take Bodkins.”

“Rodney Bodkins! Are you daft? I don’t thi-”

“Bodkins is a Triumvir Scientem Representative. His knowledge outstrips my own,” the old cyborg’s scowl intensified as he crossed his arms. “Neste is already compromised. You’d only hasten her death by asking her to expend more energy.”

“Mr. Bodkins is not welcome,” Septimus cut in cooly, eying Thaddeus warily after the older cyborg mentioned Neste’s possible death, “If Neste is… compromised, as you say, then we’ll make do with fewer staff. Besides, at the very least, we should give Mrs. Bela a break from having to babysit. This is a diplomatic mission, a lawyer and a diplomat should suffice along with a sorcerer to ascertain the city’s magic capabilities and a few extras to level out trade negotiation.”

Minerva’s lips pursed. Thaddeus raised a hand. The conversation was over. Rodney… or nothing. He sighed. “You mentioned the hunter?”

“Yes,” her tone had grown cold. “He’s under the impression that some of our people are going to fetch lambs tomorrow. Ocho has volunteered. He’s a predator, after all. I believe Aegis is going as well as Nick and Nila. A few others might turn up tomorrow morning. That said, there’s a cap, according to the hunter. It’s explained in a very old poem which he passed along to me.”

Her brow furrowed. Whimsical verses weren’t her cup of tea.

“Ten to go upon the fields so green,
Nine to catch them along the stream,
Eight to creep through hoary wood,
Seven to rope them into brood,
But the six go forth into the dawn,
Faces long and faces drawn,
To keep the nasty adults at bay,
To distract them all
And lead them away.

“The hunter was rather adamant: The villagers will provide the ten, and nine and eight, and the seven. The six will come from our side, and they need to be at the village an hour before the dawn. We have four. We need two more.”

She sighed. “I”ll use that time to speak with Primordial about everyone’s concerns.”

“I’ll go. Amanda’s description from the Burrows-dwellers and the poems’ emphasis on specific counts makes it sound like we’ll be in or very close to the Freywold, which is apparently rich in magic. Kale, one of the teen spellcasters, expressed an interest as well. Our abilities may prove necessary.” Sandy added an afterthought: “Thank you for speaking to Primordial, Captain.”

Amanda felt that that settled the matter. “If that’s set, could we revisit the subject of Ascalon? What’s our agenda? Even if we’re not going to meet with the Council, I’d like to find out what we can about them. Same goes for weapons: even if we don’t buy, I’d like to know if we can, and where we can. I’d like to buy some ammunition at least: I shot off about 150 rounds this morning. I’d like to replenish that, just in case.”

“And if it’s not too much too ask, I’d like to find about about Ascalon’s amenities. It is the only large city nearby, and I’d like to know what they have for culture, dining, and restaurants. That should be our lowest priority, but if we have time, I’d like to.”

“We’ll be doing some exploring to find the local Council and the merchant districts, anyways, but we can’t afford to come back empty-handed,” Septimus replied, “The Council should have sufficient interest in us considering that word’s spread in the Burrows and any upset of the balance of power might upset their tax flow. If you want, we can kill two birds with one stone and meet the Council at a restaurant - the environment should be more conducive to generosity on their part, since they’ll be among their constituents.”

Amanda nodded approvingly. “Good idea, let’s try to do that. So, dress for success or dress for being inconspicuous? Which doesn’t matter to me, so long as we’re all the same.”

“Success,” Septimus spoke after a moment, tipping his head back and forth as he weighed the options, “We don’t want to pretend we’re like them - they already know quite clearly from our random appearance that we’re not. If we’re up-front about our spell-power and firepower, we should be able to convince them that having us around as on-call mercenaries would be a good deal for them. Give us the guns and we’ll do the job.”

“Right then. We should make sure everybody knows: best business attire. Oh…” Amanda’s face darkened, and her tone became a bit grave. “I got a curious warning earlier today. The bookseller in the Burrows claims the gift of prophecy. I’m not positive that’s true, but she did know who Primordial and I were, and what we were looking for. She told me that a gun wasn’t enough for Ascalon, and when I asked for clarification, she recommended I take pepper spray, gold, and… um, a sense of humor.” Amanda smiled uneasily at that last part. “I’m not sure if she was telling me to loosen up or to simply expect the city will be strange, but either way, it sounds like the visit won’t be entirely uneventful.”

“A sense of humor? Wonderful, that’s just what we needed - an unpredictable city,” Septimus ran a hand over his face and tapped his chin pensively, “We’ll have to make do, I suppose. No plan survives contact with the enemy and all that. We’ve got a pretty good team, at any rate, so I trust we can improvise if the situation calls for it.”

Thaddeus’ loud yawn revealed far too many missing molars. It was followed by a grumpy sigh. “Is that all? I have things to do before bed.”

It was all, as far as he was concerned. Let the others yammer away. He pushed himself from the table, scooping up papers and instruments. “Good night, then.”

“He has a good point,” Minerva’s hand concealed her own yawn. “Let’s call it a night. Tomorrow is a long day.”





Septimus followed Thaddeus towards the stairs, jogging to keep pace with the enormous steps of the bulky, imposing cyborg. The man’s mention of Neste’s impending death had left Septimus in slight alarm, though he knew from experience that the Nifid’s children were hardly so fragile as to die from mere battle. Neste had been serving for several hundred years - surely this was no strange occurrence?

“What did you mean by ‘hastening her impending death’?” the younger cyborg and Representative caught up with the elder and pulled him aside lightly, “Thaddeus, Scel can be brought back, can’t she? Neste brought me back and I’m not even Nifid - surely there’s some contingency in place for Scel?”

Guess you didn’t know her as well as you thought? The cyborg hid his smug grin well. “The exo is gone. The pilot will follow. It is symbiosis at its worst and best.”

“So that’s it, then? No contingencies? You mean to tell me the mighty Nifid, the scourge of a thousand worlds, don’t even have backup plans in place when their troops get hurt?” Septimus snorted incredulously, though a nervous tingling began at the base of his spine, “That is bullshit, Thaddeus. There’s got to be a way. I was regrown in a vat - there’s got to be a way to do that for her.”

“You were regrown from the whole. Half of her is already dead.” an apathetic shrug rolled from his shoulders and caused the ends of his duster to flutter, “They are one creature.”

“How can you just… talk about her like that?!” Septimus sputtered, exasperation mixing with the exhaustion from the battle and the ensuing events, shoving an accusatory finger toward the elder cyborg, “There’s got to be some way. If she died, and she was preserved in a tether like I was, could she be brought back with Scel, concurrently? Damn it, Thaddeus, you say you know her so tell me how to fix this!”

Several cruel retorts died on the cyborg’s tongue. His resentment hadn’t decreased. Septimus hadn’t been there. He’d run around playing good little diplomat, but for what end? Meh. “I don’t have time to explain the Nifid life cycle to you,” he rumbled. “These were things you should have asked about sooner.”

“Sooner? Thaddeus, we have jobs to do this Building,” the Representative balked in disgust at the cavalier attitude of his contemporary, “Do you think I just left her there because I didn’t give a shit?! There were other people I was responsible for and she was in the care of the healers. Not all of us can just drop everything because we feel like it, we have responsibilities. I would think a man of your stature would understand that.”

“Your responsibility was to be there for her!” Thaddeus snarled. “But that’s right. Wouldn’t step up as a handler. Wouldn’t take on that responsibility. So caught up in your moral righteousness that you couldn’t possibly understand her as being anything more than a cute, expendable fucktoy.”

A metallic finger lifted to point at the Representative. “Sclerata is nothing but a damned innocent arthropod, and your sweet Neste an endoparasitoid” Ass. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

“Wouldn’t step up as a handler?” Septimus scoffed, though he took a step back when Thaddeus raised his metal arm. Best not to get killed before he could root out a solution for Neste, “Cute, expendable fucktoy?! Don’t act like you understand me, you rotting piece of shit. Neste is a sapient being and no sapient being should be a slave. That’s what a handler is - an excuse, a softening of the title: a slaveowner. I didn’t agree to be her handler because I love her and because I love her I didn’t want her to be a slave.”

He grit his teeth, “Sclerata is not just an arthropod and Neste is not just an endoparasitoid. They’re women I love, so for the last time, would you please pull your smug head out of your ass and help me figure out a solution besides JUST LETTING HER DIE?!”

“Handlers don’t own them,” the cyborg’s tone softened as he cast aside some of his animosity. How much had the construct revealed? Probably nothing at all. Protective measure on her part, most definitely. “Handlers are entrusted with them. There are two types of handler. One agrees to tend them officially. One agrees to tend them unofficially. One keeps them bound to duty. One sets them free.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Let nature take its course. You don’t understand. For fuck’s sake, put aside your duty and responsibility for an evening, and spend it with her. Not in meetings. Not plotting trips.”

“So that’s it, then?” Septimus held in a sob. He wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction - hell, he’d already lost control and he was sure Thaddeus was pleased about that, “She’s going to die.”

Something between a hiss and a sigh left his lips and he swallowed, licking his lips as he took in this new reality. His voice came out stiff, and formal, though a slight edge was still present. Without the processor, he couldn’t quite get down the tone of total neutrality, “My apologies, Thaddeus, for wasting your time. I let my emotions get the best of me; you’re right. I should be spending the evening with her.”

Sweat broke out on his forehead, “If anyone going on the city trip asks, I’m not around.”

And with that, Septimus shuffled down the hall, down the stairs, and toward the basement. If these were to be her last days, then she should at least be happy. The Building that Neste and Scel had given their lives in protecting owed her that much.

He owed her that much.




Warm condensation obscured the man's neutral expression as he drifted in his vat. His flawless body, now pale from lack of ultra violet rays, barely twitched as the reptilian finger lifted to dot the glass. A second press and a swipe - now two eyes frowned back at her, their edges bleeding minute rivets of pooled moisture.

"Hello, Titus," Neste's breath fogged the surface anew. The superimposed frown remained, a shade different than the pristine glass around it. She frowned in turn before wiping the expression off his face with her palm. The situation wasn't fair. Not to him, at least. How long would he hang in limbo? How long before he is sacrificed into Reunion? This strange question - incessant mental pawing on behalf of Scel - had become too frequent during the last few weeks.

The exo's former resting place in front of the tank remained empty. It was a hideous reminder of all the lizard had lost. Too much. Neste settled onto the warm, worn floor and cast her eyes upwards at the tank. What was the draw? What the hell had the exo found so intriguing about the dead man? To her, he was simply a toned human trapped in neutral buoyancy. He wasn't remarkable nor imposing. He simply was, some dead thing without a clue, and yet...

Neste's palms slid forward and her belly and breasts planted themselves on the strangely yielding surface. Her reptilian throat and jaw settled flush with it, and her eyelids fluttered closed to shield her duplex retinas. This was Scel's perspective, but not quite her vision yet. A pair of freckles atop the construct's skull rippled and lightened to reveal her parietal eyes. Her soft cough brought a phlegm bolus to her tongue; fingertips applied it to the freckles to aid in translucency.

Seconds ticked by. Then a minute. Then ten.

She gasped.

Titus' shadowy form loomed. Handsome features became blurred through her third eyes, wresting away his humanity to cast him as something different - the blurred outline of a pilot in stasis. Splayed fingers, barely perceptible in the dim light, curled into cups - a sacred symbol among the sisterhood. Each hand held the universe, one dark and one light, and combined they forged the veracity of the construct's riddle -

Trilb dicebant "paries, quid cellularum divisio - quid locus minoris resistentiae? Neste whispered, "luctor et emergo apud Scelerata. Doxi omnia vincit.

Unthinkable!

Yet, was it, really? Doxy was a long-standing theory that had been proven, in part, by the adaptive nature of the construct's own tail. Hadn't Trilb delved into the genetic code? Hadn't he proven them all wrong?

"Opisthokonts!" insanity whispered.

Neste's eyes flew open and she beheld Titus once more. Pale arms wrapped around the tank as she pressed her cheek to the cool glass. "Thank you," the sweetly spoken murmur perhaps fell on deaf ears. No matter. It was followed by a promise. "If I don't return, Nila will take my place. And Buttons will tend you."

Er, that might be a form of hell. Perhaps? Yes, it was, but all the more reason to succeed!

Emboldened by her own reckless plan, Neste dried her forehead, and then rummaged through a cabinet. There were many things to tend to before the morning, but she would have at least one more delightful night with Septimus. Just one, if she failed. The construct resolved to make the most of it as she dropped an instrument into her pocket.

She slipped into the biolab entrance's short tunnel to find FUBAR a foot away, red orbs boring into her. Neste hesitated, then silently transmitted a message as her fingers played upon the doorknob. For one possessive moment, she feared the Drone knew. And then she considered the possibility that Thaddeus lurked about. Undoubtedly, both might have guessed her thoughts had they witnessed her actions of a few minute's prior.

"Good evening, FUBAR."

The Drone did not reply.

"I'm going upstairs. Keep the lab safe, won't you? Don't let anyone in. They might harm Titus. I- I locked the door, you know."

FUBAR remain silent as she offered these weak excuses and impetuous actions.

Determined shoulders rolled back as the construct regarded the machine. "I might not be home until later because I- I might... I might go see the village. And Bubbles is going to work in a new external tunnel, so don't be alarmed by the noise."

This bold proclamation was met by a darkening of the orb's color. Constructs couldn't lie - not without severe consequences swiftly dealt by processors. If they could, they'd lie terribly, as Neste was doing now.

Neste startled at the sound of FUBAR's compartment cover sliding back. Guilty ears pressed flat against her head, but the Drone merely extracted a small sidearm.

"You will require this," it intoned.

"Y-yes," she gulped. Trembling hands accepted the strange device. She pocketed it as she edged around the massive machine. How could-? No, best not the think about it. "Goodnight, FUBAR."

The Drone did not respond as she opened the main lab door and stepped into the maintenance corridor. The strange encounter was purposefully forgotten as Septimus' footfalls heralded his journey down the back stairs. He'd come looking for her despite his fatigue? The poignant realization struck her at her very core, and Neste resisted the urge to fly into his arms.

"There you are, Septimus! How about dinner, and some wine?" her long ears swiveled forward as she presented a playful smile to him.



Thaddeus set off in search of Ocho, but found him nowhere. Perturbed, he detoured back to the second floor. Hard knuckles rapped against Marcus' door.

[Highfort]

Her smile.

It killed him that she could smile at a time like this. Maybe she didn't know? Well, that just made it all the worse, that her impending doom was coming and Neste was blissfully waiting for it with a smile on her face. Her cheery demeanor disarmed him and he thought, for a moment, that maybe she was just keeping up the veneer, just like he was.

Well, if she was, then so be it. They'd pretend to be happy for each other and maybe, by the end of the night, they might really believe that she was going to be fine and nothing bad was going to happen and they'd wake up tomorrow and laugh about it and...

"Dinner and wine would be," Septimus choked, masking the uncomfortable pause with a slight cough and meeting her gaze with glassy eyes, "They'd be lovely, Neste."

A nervous smile flashed on his face and the cyborg pulled her into a quiet embrace, his lips nuzzling the tuft of molting feathers on her head, "I'm sorry about everything today. I was being... I was distracted by the wrong things - work and everything. Let's just have a quiet night, huh? After dinner and wine we can just..."

He let the sentence dangle in the air. It was punctuated by a grunt as Septimus picked up Neste bridal-style, arm and back muscles protesting at the load, no matter how light. Life as a diplomat had seldom afforded him the strength to carry anything, but she deserved a little romance tonight. Even if it was cheesy, he hoped she appreciated it. No words were exchanged as they ascended the steps, just the heavy thumping of his boots and intermediate breaths as he struggled and broke out in a cold sweat, never even thinking about putting her down. No, all his thoughts were on tomorrow. When she was gone...

No, it wasn't time to think about that yet. There was time yet to savor and memories to claim. A gentle kiss was claimed on her snout as he closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, the bumpy skin brushing against his lips. He'd miss that, among the other million things about her.

Shifting her weight, he fished for his keys and fumbled, attempting to keep her hips up as his fingers manipulated the keys and opened the apartment door. The familiar room greeted him, though Sentia was absent. No doubt she had curled up in his room. He wondered if the little cat would miss Neste when she left.

"I'll cook tonight," he whispered in the construct's ear, setting her down on the couch, "I'll get a bottle of red and some glasses."

The pot of water went on the stove, beginning to bubble as telltale signs of warmth seeped into the liquid. He hummed tunelessly, trying to fill the air with noise so he could think about that and the patterns rather than the fact that Neste was going to be gone soon. It wasn't fair, that he'd tumbled through space and time and somehow... found her again. And now that was going to be over. But he knew that fate was a fickle mistress and that was no different here. He didn't deserve the lizard curled up on the couch near him, and now fate was making good on that.

Thick noodles went into the water, and a timer was set. Then, to the cabinets, to the nooks and crannies where Demens had hidden away apartment-warming gifts he'd never bothered to look for. Two glasses and a bottle of Merlot were procured, and he returned to the couch and poured the wine quietly.

"I love you, you know that right? Even when... it doesn't seem like it," he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, offering her the glass, "I... I got so busy I just... It was... I have responsibilities and I could just never..."

He reached out through the tether and send across images of her. Striking ones - when they'd first met, when he'd shoved her down on that beach to protect her from all that glass, on the Klingon homeworld when they'd fought together, when she'd been there with him in the cave, and all those moments in the tether's library. Every one was burned into his mind forever.

His voice died in his throat and in that moment Septimus knew than when she left, he'd never be whole again.

[The BranRiech]

"A-anyone!? Help!"

Bran rushed into the lobby, the brief run up the stairs from his home was followed by his cry for help.

--

A few minutes before

Being replaced in the new world by a cardboard cutout was certainly interesting, if Bran had any idea whatsoever. He was sitting on his couch, having just woken up moments beforehand. He figured his wife and children were still asleep somewhere, or maybe already out getting groceries. "Strange." He looked around the room, standing up almost as quickly as he had sat down. There was no sign of his family even existing in the room. Pictures were gone off the walls, Rylli's various belongings (Usually scattered around haphazardly) were also missing from the home.

He didn't know that his family had been left behind in Bielefeld, and of course, they were probably worried sick over the sudden vanishing of the building, and most people in it as well. "G-gone?" He repeated, making his thoughts vocal, the words bouncing around the room.

Where could they have gone?

Bran felt a rising panic in his chest, tightening his heart up until he felt it would burst. He dropped the TV remote he'd been clutching for the past few moments, and bolted out the door, and up the stairs.

"A-anyone!? Help!"

[Fvaarniimar]

Communal Gathering Room
Half a couch away from the main group, Rmwtyliin savored her final sip of now-cold tea before setting the empty mug next to the saucepan on which Kwa'a had insisted.

Nick on the other hand was crouched on the table closest to the main group, roughly equidistant from Giovenith and Chrys.  Somehow he'd acquired a saucer of turkey juices in lieu of the poisonous cocoa.  This, too, was clean.  In fact it had been for upwards of five minutes, and the cat felt rather bored.  What did people usually go at these gatherings?

Games.  He hadn't seen any board games, but it might be worth checking.  Truth or Dare could maybe work, but sounded as though it might be problematic; there had been a fight due to such a question just that afternoon after all.  Twister wouldn't really work, at least not for Nick.  Besides, a lot of board games sounded interesting.  Chutes and Ladders for instance... Glancing around, however, Nick didn't spot anything which looked like a box for one. Weren't there other games? For instance, something about mimicking. Sssomme. Sime. Simon Says! That sounded fun! And amusing, for whatever reason. Before he could talk himself out of it, Nick activated his collar."

"Hey! Does anyone want to play Simon Says? Can I start? Please?"

Rmwtyliin's head turned. "Is that some type of game?" She smiled slightly.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Fragments from a Laboratory Conversation

Amanda peered into a tiny beaker she'd been stirring with a fine glass rod. "So that's what the very best of the resin does when worked up?" She held the beaker up for Sandy to examine, pointing at a rich orange-gold layer at the bottom.

Sandy looked up from his side of the work table and put down the mortar and pestle he'd been grinding a grey powder in. "That's impressive." He reached across the table and Amanda handed him the beaker to better See its contents. "Nearly all the magic is in the golden oil. It's almost concentrated enough me to isolate as it is. Here, trade you." He slid the mortar and pestle across the table and started the ritual the would pull all the magic in the proto-Balm of Gilead into single place.

Amanda picked up the mortar and pestle set and continued the work of making mundane salve that was the rest of the Balm. "Anyway, she must have known she has wild magic. And given that, she should have known better than to cast spells into a crowded battlefield. Susan gave us all warning before--"

Sandy replied without taking his eyes off the beaker or stopping his intricate finger motions over it. "Susan was an extreme case: she simply couldn't cast a spell properly to save her life. It's Pandora's curse; all the world's magic, none of its control." Sandy paused, then corrected himself. "Is an extreme case. As far as we know, she's still alive. Anyway, Kale's magic doesn't seem to be entirely wild. The treant was under her control until she passed out. She's probably just a typical wild mage that way: her magic usually works as she wants, sometimes does strange things, and once in a blue moon goes completely haywire."

"Mmmm, but it's the odds that matter, isn't it? There's a big difference between the wild casters whose spells work 90% of the time, fail 9%, and go off the rails the last one percent, vs 90% reliable and 10% mayhem. I'll talk to Kale and talk to some of the other Residents, and see what I can find out. If Kale knew the odds weren't in her favor, she was negligent and she owes people a fortune. The Burrows-dwellers may accept less in a settlement, but the truth will out eventually, and they'll be less than pleased if they think they were cheated. If Kale accepts me, I have a duty to her, but I don't think allowing the possibility of a lynch mob is part of that."

Sandy nodded distractedly, concentrating on the liquids in the beaker. "I think I should have emphasized 'almost'. I may be at this for a while."

. . .

Pipetting Ox Blood into thumbnail-sized vials was pretty dull, and Sandy's mind had wandered to other subjects. "I think you and Itum need to be careful about what you negotiate tomorrow. There's significant questions about your legitimacy. Nobody in the Building needs to accept anything you agree to."

Amanda had curled up as best she could in Sandy's desk chair, reading the cookbook she'd been given. She didn't look up. "Yes, I know. I think Mr. Itum knows, but I'm not entirely sure of that. He certainly has the right approach, though: make it worth Ascalon's while to accept us on our terms. He should tone down the "mercenary" talk, though: that's not going to go over well."

"Mmm-hmm. Protecting the Burrows -- if the Burrow-dwellers want that -- is one thing. Going out looking for trouble is another."

Amanda glanced up, nodded, and made sound of agreement, wondering if the herbalist might sell some of the exotic spices a repice called for.

[Zarkanians]

Catrain's entire focus was on the cup of hot cocoa in his hands. There were two reasons for this. The first was that it was amazing. It reminded him of something grown from beans, back in Tertia--a breed of coffee (the Colonists had managed to save that, at least) tilted with something darker from one of the outer worlds. Except here, the darker thing had taken priority, and had been mixed with sugar. Under other circumstances, he would have wanted to draw this.

The second reason, however, was the proximity of the individual with the sword.

He kept trying to reassure himself that this woman wasn't who she wasn't. She didn't look Zarkanian, her uniform clearly wasn't Zarkanian, and she was communicating with them directly, in person. Colonels didn't speak with common individuals in person unless there was something serious to discuss. But he couldn't work out what the sword meant, if it didn't mean what it was supposed to, so his mind kept taking him back to his first conclusion--unease, accompanied by distant terror. That seemed to be the theme of this place.

His mug was empty. He looked up as the cat spoke. "How do you play?" He wished he could justify putting his goggles on.

[The BranRiech]

"Simon Says?"

Drova's faint voice echoed from the entrance to the room. He was standing in the doorway, looking in at the teens assembled. He had been by himself for most of the day, at least until Yuna had demanded privacy in their room in order to practice her prayers more. He knew it would lead to them butting heads over who had to be more quiet if he stuck around, so after a few hours, he left and headed down to the other relaxing room. It wasn't the teen club, and that fact comforted Drova some. He didn't want to be reminded of the fight that Marcus and he had engaged in just earlier that day.

He walked in, the sounds of the apartment fading somewhat, as he passed through the doorway.

"And hey, everyone." He sighed.

Suddenly he perked up a little, the bespectacled-winged Prince could only notice Giovenith among the small crowd that had gathered (Besides the cat of course). None of these people even knew who he was. Unlike the others, he figured he'd be free from their judging eyes, and contemplative stares.

The Prince's cheeks also turned red.

"C-chrys?" He whispered, the beauty of the woman never ceasing to amaze him.

[Fvaarniimar]

Sitting up, the cat curled his tail around himself.

"Someone is Simon. I think. So, Simon orders the group to do stuff like stomping or touching their noses. But, he or she has to say 'Simon says.' If Simon doesn't say Simon says and you do it...YOU'RE OUT!" He paused dramatically, and looked around...to find at least one confused expression. "Oh. Okay, would an example help?" Apparently the question was rhetorical. He continued. "If I said, 'Simon says touch your ears. Touch your feet,' and you didn't touch your ears, you would be out - you'd stop playing until everyone else had gotten out as well. Not doing what Simon says gets you out. If you touched your feet you'd be out. Doing something if Simon - uh, if it doesn't follow 'Simon says' gets you out. To stay in you would need to touch your ears and not try to touch your feet."

Rmwtyliin had been frowning. Duncan didn't translate instantaneously and it wouldn't be fair to hold up the game while he did. Besides, he looked sleepy. She really didn't want to sit out... A few moments after Nick finished clarifying something occurred to her. She had started to recognize the cue words before Duncan's translation. "Could I just raise my hands when I hear 'Ssaheeemuun sehzz?'

Nick licked his paw. The girl seemed familiar - too bright colors? Nervousness. Lobby. Not familiar enough to remember, but he was fairly certain she didn't speak English. Licking his tail, he glanced at the others. "I think you could?" Rmwtyliin tucked Duncan back into the hopefully-quieter saucepan before taking a seat on an adjacent couch.

Nick, who unsurprisingly liked cushy things, did the same, jumping onto the leather with a plop before looking up and deciding that visibility could be useful. A leap and he sat atop it. "Simon says stomp your feet." For fun, he kneaded the couch. "Simon says pat your heads. Stick out your tongues." Rmwtyliin's hand went down slowly. "Simon says wipe your faces Make funny faces -" Possibly among others, Rmwtyliin was out. Nick shook his head at her. She nodded, sitting quietly. "Simon says tickle your feet!" Shoes came off. "Simon says touch your ears Simon says touch your nose touch your ears -"

Something rather devious occurred to him. "Look at me." He continued, expression smug. "Pat your bellies. Simon says pat your bellies. Simon says meow like cats! Scratch your heads, Simon says - oh. That was fast! Who's the New Simon?"

[Zarkanians]

Cat might have done better if he'd realized that you were allowed to stop doing what you were told to once Simon moved on to the next one. Distracted by the amount of concentration he was placing on stomping his feet and patting his head, he stuck out his tongue without thinking, and was forced to sit down. He muttered an apology, staring mournfully into his empty mug on the table beside him.