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

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Swith Witherward
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Founded: Feb 11, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Sat Nov 21, 2015 6:51 pm

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING LOVED

Sometimes words really weren't necessary, nor did one require psionics in order to feel the depth of another being's emotion. Neste - for once in her life - had become a spectator, and had the good graces and common sense to allow Septimus the necessary freedom to cope with the things burdening his heart.

It was better to be carried in his arms rather than walk beside him, because the proximity allowed her to plant secret little kisses along his neck when no one was looking. And it was better to sit quietly as he bustled around the kitchen, if only because every movement was spurred by his own thoughtfulness rather than nagging or a sense of obligation. His hands had tortured untold numbers. His eyes had seen the universe's horrors. His lips had undoubtedly passed judgements and sentences on a hundred worlds. Not tonight. Tonight these parts all worked in sweet tandem for her sake. His gift became her salvation, a cleansing balm that seeped into all her ragged, emotional wounds.

But there are moments in life when words fail, and this is when a psionicist is at her best.

Septimus cracked open the dusty treasure box to display the rare gems inside. There weren't many in his long life, but the ones he kept were the ones that he most cherished. Neste felt them tap against her in a gentle rain, each fond memory a priceless gift for a pauper that had spent her life deprived of even the simplest things.

He gave precious gems to her; she offered up her undying love in exchange, and wrapped both minds together to grant each the ability to reciprocate the others raw emotions. Thoughts intertwined with physical intimacy. The soothing shower transformed into a sizzling deluge which neither protested. Dinner sat abandoned on the stove, and they cast their normal bedroom games aside in preference of love's raging tempest.

It wasn't until later, as Septimus' warm weight crushed against her and his primal growls stirred her ears, that inspiration plucked the locked-away depths of Neste's mind. She might succeed and return to him; she might not. She would leave a gift with him on the horrid chance that things went the way of the latter. Neste wrapped him more tightly in her embrace, savoring his toiling muscles beneath her palms, and then pressed her snout against his neck to surreptitiously impart a memory kernel. It would suffice, and would lay dormant unless needed.

Her lips parted to allow teeth to teasingly nibble his earlobe, and then Neste's awareness slipped away again as she rejoined him in their carnal lovemaking. The world outside their front door ceased to exist for either of them.
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Tiltjuice
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Founded: Jan 20, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tiltjuice » Sat Nov 21, 2015 7:26 pm

The BranRiech wrote: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.


Far was it from the Conservator to discomfit anyone, even without the new opportunities that had fallen into her lap and the load she'd taken up. Then, too, Catrain had the awkward air which was endearing in its own way. Loathe to perturb him any further, she picked up her spatha and began heading toward the door, intent on finding Hans, Minerva, or Mezran and Tavana. The Fiends, so far as she knew, hadn't yet been dealt with appropriately, and she felt obliged to take part.

As she drew near the door, though, another figure entered her field of vision, and she gave him a sunny smile. "Hello, Your Highness," she greeted, trying to adjust her patterns of speech a bit. "How are you today?"
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Cerillium
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Founded: Oct 27, 2012
New York Times Democracy

Postby Cerillium » Sat Nov 21, 2015 7:56 pm

BITS AND PIECES

The setting sun stole the brightest rays of light from the sky, much to Ocho's satisfaction, and now the thade was able to better examine the ground before him. Sweat uncomfortably trickled down his back as he remained in a squat close to the fungal pool's edge. The humid hazmat suit might withstand stray spores, but experience told him that the pool itself was anything but benign.

Ocho's clawed fingers flexed inside their Nordchem fabric prisons. He longed to unsheathe the hard talons and rake them along the back of his ear. A good scratch would do the world some good. This was not the time for it. The thade remained still, an ugly lump of a rock beside a reeking pool. Patience would pay off eventually, and it was all he could do to remain still as his eyes bore witness to fresh movement along the ground.

The grey and blue ascocarp bulbs emerged from their white nests to sample the evening air. Moisture glistened off the tiny balloons' surfaces, nourishing each weensie and vibrant vehicle's contents. One bulb - one colony. One colony was enough to wipe out the Building. It was enough to wipe out the surrounding land and take the planet hostage. One colony would form the thousands of workers and mindless drones, and from it would emerge one overseer. She might go to queen, in time.

Yet the fungal slurry in front of the thade's feet wasn't that of some nubile overseer. It came from a queen's remains, and it took every last drop of resolve to keep Ocho planted at that edge. An overseer could control one colony, but an experienced queen could combine them and that, most of all, sent ripples of fear across his intestines. This was a bad memory. This was bad, period. This needed to be purged before things became worse.

The thade's chest expanded as he sucked in a steady gulp of filtered air. Time was running out.

The bulbs snapped back into the ground at his sudden movement, but Ocho was gone before the tendrils stretched to investigate the spot. He didn't need to see or hear them slithering along the ash. His mind's eye did it for him, spurring him to gallop faster as he made his escape into the night.



A hammering upon his door roused Marcus from bed for the second time that night. His sire had the honor of waking him first, and the nightmarish rant tumbling from his weathered lips had left the teen wide awake and sweating between his sheets. It still dominated his thoughts, casting his face into a morose mask. This was the gloom he wore as the door opened a second time, and it didn't slip away as he beckoned the thade inside.

"Where is your patron?" The thade remained in the hall, much to Marcus' relief. Ocho had obviously been out for a run, or whatever the fuck it was his species did for exercise. Sweat-dampened fabric clung to loins and armpits. The smell was atrocious.

"Dunno," Marcus answered truthfully, almost fearfully given the thade's wild expression. "He came by earlier, but didn't say where he was going."

Exasperated, the thade struck a fist against the front door's jamb. The Building's cyborg population (outside the monastery brotherhood) shared little trust between them. Ocho was clasping sand, and each grain refused to stay contained in his massive palms. He could use a little help. Even a visit to the queen's door proved futile -- FUBAR insisted that Neste had gone back to her apartment. Considering her name wasn't on any of the mailboxes, Ocho's quest had morphed into pawing at haystacks to find a single needle.

"Listen, boy, I have an assignment for you."

Marcus eyebrow lifted. What? Now the thade thought he was part of the Brotherhood? Surely he realized that cybernetic parts did not a Brother make? He folded his hands in front of him and sighed. "How may we be of service to you?"

Ocho regarded this minuscule effigy of Brother Adrastus. The cheeky little bastard had, with a single word, made it known that the thade had no standing in the grand scheme of his life. The boy might consider it a favor and do what he asked, or he might fall back on his order's position and do nothing. The sand continued to slip away. Ocho physically drooped. "Listen, keep an eye on the lizard. The overseer one, Neste. Stick to her like glue. Don't let her out of your sight. And tell your father to see me as soon as possible. Tell him I suspect an attempt to transmalgamate. You stop her if she goes out that door."

Intrigue peppered Marcus' gloomy thoughts. Hadn't his father just asked the same? Only he told the boy to let her go, not hinder her, and to lock the door behind her. His father had also ranted about natural orders and doxies, and hadn't said a word about "trasmalgamation". Was it the same?

"Alright," Marcus offered a shrug. "But I can only do what I've been told, so the best I can do is watch her and alert the Brotherhood through our network. I'm not a fighter, Mr. Ono. And she's a war machine. Best I can do is try to persuade her to have some coffee or something. Can't you watch her?"

Ocho's glower wilted the boy, but he stopped short of snarling. The truth of the matter was that he could watch her a year and she wouldn't do a damn thing. It was when no one was watching -- that's how it always was with the sneaky Nifid cunts. A frustrated snort rippled his nostrils. "A group of us are going to collect sheep. It would be better if I kept Nila occupied with that rather than have her lurking about the..." Pit of eternal damnation, where her body would become a fresh matrix for a thousand spores?

Marcus' eyebrow climbed higher as the thade trailed off. Ocho snorted. "The Building, boy. I can't be in two places at once. I'll return if you encounter difficulties with Neste. My comms are patched to Adrastus' system. You call. I'll come."




Tiny reptile nails tapped against the nesting basket's edge. Nila, curled into a ball and fast asleep, capered about her dream world as Ocho entered his apartment. She failed to rouse at the sound of his keys striking the dining table's surface, nor did she flinch as he climbed the wall and settled his weight on the sleeping balcony. He tilted his head to regard her, and took in her fatigued face and flattened ears. She was exhausted.

Ocho batted at his own nest's smelly linens, reshaping the mess into yet another mess before climbing in.



The battle raged through the night, and bodies littered the tunnel walls. The thade dug deeper than they had ever thought possible. Warriors, priests and workers alike had set claws to Nthalnath's hard core, tearing their mother planet's body with an irreverent savagery. The priests declared it necessary, for did not the body become injured in order to remove a cancer?

"What are you?" the thade's high priest had stood at the pool's edge, unwilling to approach the creature suspended by fungal hair at its middle. Nifid were tricky bitches. He wouldn't be lured in. The question had become a desperate whine however. Ocho backed away from the bull to cower with his brothers behind the broken crates as his high priest's voice rang through the cavern again. "I said, what are you?!"

"Everything you're not," came the queen's reply.



The exchange between thade priest and Nifid queen remained buried over a century, nothing but yellowing lace decorating a small corner in Ocho's mind. Was it any wonder that he began hitting the bottle after his home world's destruction? But Nila teased the memory out decades prior, and he was forced to face it in a quest to stop her and her species from annihilating him on his station.

He had asked. She had replied. The knowledge gained didn't do him any favors, nor did he have an easy time wrapping his head around it. The old queen's answer to his high priest's inquiry hadn't been flippant, as he first presumed. It was sincere. She housed the genetic material from a thousand species. She was everything, but not yet thade. This epiphany left him overly paranoid, and his sleep became occupied by graphically perverse nightmares in which Nila herself had snuck beyond his defenses to consume his being.

Years passed. Trust established itself between Ocho and Nila. She was no longer his enemy. She was his friend. Why, then, did the nightmare choose to revisit him?

He awoke with a yelp, and found the apartment empty. Nila had left a note. If he bathed quickly, he'd meet up with the group in the nick of time.
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There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.

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Cerillium
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New York Times Democracy

Postby Cerillium » Sat Nov 21, 2015 7:56 pm

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Chapter Two


Fog blanketed the ashen fields as two vehicles trundled away from the Building during the pre-dawn hours that morning. One was bound for Ascalon and carried with it the hopes (and shopping lists) of many Residents. The other would perhaps restore the Residents' honor in the villagers' minds.

The rig's tires crunched atop the frosty gravel as Thaddeus maneuvered it onto the main road that would take them to the big city. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to revive him on such a cold morning. He made due with chainsmoking and a cracked window, and ignored Rodney's hissed protests about the breeze assaulting the passengers packed into the cab's second row seating.

The morning was already old for some of them, including Septimus and Amanda. Both had joined Sandy earlier and used the newly restored elevator to access the fifth floor. The lift's doors parted to reveal locked outer doors, and all occupants held their breath and wished their hardest as Septimus guided the golden key into its lock. A click, and the doors parted to reveal the new hospital's elegant lobby. It was all Thaddeus could do to pry everyone away from their playground an hour later -- it was all the time they could spare.

Now they were finally on that road to a bigger civilization, and he couldn't be more miserable.

Septimus' face loomed in the rig's rear-view mirror. Unbeknownst to Thaddeus, the little lizard had pleaded with her lover that morning, begging him to not put off his trip. Besides, she had said, perhaps the city has quality tea soothe her jumbled nerves? Of course, the old cyborg wasn't privy to any of that, but he did feel empathy for the other man. His gaze momentarily locked on Septimus, and he considered attempting a few kind words, but Rodney's incessant growling --

The vehicle violently swerved to the right, and Rodney's temple cracked against the passenger door's glass.

"Squirrel in the road, or something," Thaddeus' mouth curled into a grin. The Nifid now had something genuine to complain about -- which meant he wouldn't complain at all, much to the relief of all parties present.

The old cyborg returned his attention to the tree-lined road in front of them. The city was still a half hour away.



Ocho loped behind Sandy's Jeep as it wound through the ash fields and verdant trees. The vehicle wasn't designed to carry anything as large as he, and he opted to give Kale, Nila, and Aegis more leg room. The Jeep's heater and Kale's warm lap provided a perfect refuge for Nick.

Glowing windows indicated that many villagers were awake even at this early hour. Even the old herbalist had opened his door early, although the man himself was wandering through the crowd in order to distribute emergency balms and salves. His stock wasn't nearly as extensive as the new hospital's, but it would do for now.

Sandy pulled the Jeep to a stop just outside the village's gates, and a select group broke away from their loved ones to meet up with the Residents. The volunteer group seemed mainly comprised of sturdy creatures -- minotaurs, centaurs, grim dwarves, a harpy -- intermixed with stocky human men and their corn-fed sons. Their tension was palpable as they lifted their torches, yet their greetings were warm as they lifted their voices to welcome the Residents. Today was going to be a long day, to be sure.

"Are you ready, then?" the minotaur closest to them propped his club against a broad shoulder as he regarded the arrivals. "Won't get much farther in that thing. The roads become too narrow. We'll have to do the rest on hoof and at a quick pace."

His beetle black eyes assessed Kale and Nick before settling on Ocho. These people were like a box of chocolates, all odd shapes and filled with nuts.
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There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.

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The BranRiech
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Ex-Nation

Postby The BranRiech » Sat Nov 21, 2015 9:15 pm

"Guess everyone went out."

Drova sighed, shaking his head as he walked into the dining room, looking for something to eat. He was at least glad to have learned a new game the other day, and remembered distinctly how bad he was at it, failing to follow the directions in Simon Says. It was definitely a different game, but it wasn't too fun to have to follow orders.

He grabbed the yogurt again, and all of the items needed to make yet another parfait.

"Ugh . . ."

He still didn't know what to think of Marcus. One side of his mind saw Marcus as an uptight asshole, judging Drova for something he'd done nearly a year before. The other side knew that Marcus was his own person with feelings and personality, and might not have agreed with his inaction to stop Torii from getting her ass kicked. He'd barely known the girl by that point.

"Something bothering?"

A Russian accent turned Drova's head to see Bran, standing there, trying to fiddle with pancake batter, the smell of the heat affecting the fluffy batter drawing Drova as well. "No." Drova responded, struggling to listen to the man's accent. "I'm fine, just making breakfast."

Bran nodded, his shoulders rolling back in a shrug. "Same here. Yeah." He said, looking back down to the Waffle-Iron. Drova looked the man over, secretly wondering why anyone would wear a giant red monstrosity of a coat. It looked almost like a King's robe, but much more utilitarian, with large pockets, and red-stars adorning it. The man's hat looked a little nicer, mirroring some hats that Pyersai would wear.

"Well . . . G-good morning." Drova nodded to the strange Branriechian, carrying his Parfait out to the dining room, sitting down to his meal of the day.

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Highfort
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Founded: May 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Highfort » Sun Nov 22, 2015 5:13 am

The rig was one among many as it pulled onto what appeared to be a main highway, several other vehicles also pulling in from obscure country roads to the central nerve that would lead them to the shining jewel of Gallimaufry: Urbem Ascalon.

The first thing Septimus noticed - though he was surely late, for his mind was occupied with Neste's earlier morning pleas for tea - was the rising spire in the distance: the government building in the center of town. Minimalistic, bright, and with almost no visible windows or other defining features, it stood as a pillar to all in the surrounding lands. Urbem Ascalon was safe haven, civilization. Flanked by what appeared to be guard towers that no-doubt attached to bunkers, the building heralded their arrival at the outskirts. The city proper would be no more than ten minutes away.

"We should get straight to the government center first, then the commercial district, and then backtrack to explore the rest," Septimus directed his attention at Thaddeus, nodding at the older cyborg, "If anything happens and we're forced to head home early, we should at least get a formal treaty hammered out with the city government so they don't come knocking with guns in the middle of the night. Getting the supply run done is also of major importance; everything else: getting to know the locals, finding contacts, figuring out where the best restaurants are - that's all secondary."

As the rig rolled down the highway, an outline in the foggy distance illuminated into what appeared to be a multi-tiered bridge. The highway split into tendrils, each labeled with a sign in multiple languages indicating which vehicles were appropriate for which lane. Some of the lanes rose up to feed into the mouth of this multi-leveled beast, a steel and concrete centipede that snaked its way through the entire city, splitting and rejoining and intersecting at various paths. Strangely enough, there appeared to be a pedestrian lane as well as a civic-reserved branch, most likely to allow policemen and troops clear access even if the rest of the highway was clogged with traffic.

"I think we're due for the civilian vehicle lane," Septimus squinted as he read off the signs, "Looks like there's a checkpoint out front. Everybody be polite, we only get one shot at a first impression."

The checkpoint appeared to be heavily-armored though it didn't obscure the view of the buildings beyond its borders. Within lay the suburban and depressed outskirts of Urbem Ascalon. Resembling a 21st century slum, the shacks and one-story houses, gas stations, and mom-and-pop shops seemed to stretch out for at least a mile until they hit the fog. Beyond that - whether paradise or hell, technological haven or backwards village, was unclear.

As Thaddeus pulled the rig up to the stop in front of a lowered gate, a tall, armored man stepped out of one of the machine-gun nests at the bottom of a tower toward the driver's side of the truck. He looked slick - a slight tan, clean, polished, and probably a rookie, judging from the lack of wear on his gear. Or perhaps Urbem Ascalon was just rich enough to afford to replace armor before it wore in. Dark blue fatigues beneath silvery-grey armored plating indicated he was a policemen - and not one to be trifled with. To back up the look, he spun what looked like a little revolver in his hands, though it wasn't of any make or model familiar to 21st century Terrans.

"You know the drill: ID for the driver, registration for the vehicle, and a residency card for the Burrows. If you're from anywhere else, I'll need to see a government-issued visitor's pass," the man appraised the truck's passengers from behind the safe obscurity of sunglasses, slinging the strange revolver in his chest holster when he judged them friendly, "What's your business in Urbem Ascalon today?"

"Ah, quit harassing 'em," a female voice called out from inside a booth, "Come on, Harold, their truck doesn't have the plates and they look lost as fuck. They're probably new, don't make 'em think we're all assholes and stiffs."

"With all due respect, Officer Kleo, protocol dictates-" the revolver-wielding officer began, his shades tilting down slightly in disapproval.

"Protocol this, protocol that. By Demens' Balls, Harold, you're not in the academy anymore," the voice's body came out to greet the newcomers, a pale woman dressed in similar fatigues and armor, though she had a strange-looking rifle of similar style to the revolver slung on her shoulder. Approaching the driver's side cabin, she offered a friendly smile at Thaddeus, accented by the lack of sunglasses, "Border Officer Barruda Kleo, sorry about my colleague's questions. Officer Harold's a bit strung-up - fresh out of school, hasn't washed away the formals and stick-up-his-ass yet."

The aforementioned man offered a shrug of disgust before walking away to service a vehicle the next lane over.

"I hope he doesn't sour your view of our great city," she continued, looking over the passengers with some interest, "Forgive me saying this, but you don't look like those typical Burrows bumpkins - no 'taurs, no farmers, just humans and cyborgs. No, you look like city folk. Where'd Demens drop you in from?"
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The Carlisle
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Founded: Aug 25, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby The Carlisle » Sun Nov 22, 2015 1:53 pm

Kale sat quietly on the ride to the village. Her face and eyes showed tiredness. She was denied a good night's rest, nightmares keeping her up. Nightmares of the incident. Each time she fell to sleep, her dreams were drowned in the screams of the dying, a horrid symphony of death throes and pain. She walked through the razor grass field, as if on a rail, and forced to witness the dead and dying. Impaled by grass and blood running fresh from wounds, running down grass, and pooling onto the ground. She would wake every half hour, and would stay up an hour before trying to go to sleep. But the dreams haunted her sleep, repeating each time she rested.

Her mind was on the mission, but the dreams kept intruding her thoughts. She distracted herself from them by petting nick's fur (after asking the cat). Petting Nick helped keep her calm and distracted from the dreams. She gave the cat a grin when he accepted her pets. Though she worried how well she would fare without a good rest. She'll do her best though. She must.

When they arrived at the village, Kale looked out the window to see the villagers. People of all sorts of shapes, hair coverage, and horn protrusion. She paled a bit, thinking of the damage and deaths he caused them. Their murderer was before them, silent. She took some breathes, calming herself. She was hear to help them, she needed to be confident. Her face normalized and she gave a couple self-reassuring nods.While she still looked tired, her eyes showed a will to do anything she could. She needed to, for these people.
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Swith Witherward
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Founded: Feb 11, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Sun Nov 22, 2015 1:54 pm

ASCALON
The old cyborg quickly assessed the city as they drifting along with the other morning traffic. It wasn't the assassin's first rodeo in a foreign place. "Nobody screw around," he growled before rolling to a stop.

"Bielefeld, Earth, circa 2015," Thaddeus' heavy boots thudded onto the cool asphalt. No sense in making the officer climb the short stairs just to reach things. The old cyborg allowed himself to smile as he passed paperwork to the female officer. Registries for Bielefeld, registries for Fool's Paradise, and tax receipts were all he could provide for proof of vehicle ownership. He cupped his palm to provide a holographic display of pertinent personal identification, including operator's licenses for various bits of vehicles and machinery, and registries for his weapons. Although ugly as fuck, he maintained the relaxed and disarming demeanor of a road-weary transport operator."We arrived yesterday. Have no idea where we are, but we surely could use some assistance. Fuel station, bank to exchange currency, passport or ID offices?"

"And a copy of the laws, please," sniffed the Nifid as his own diplomatic identification card slipped past the cyborg's ear. "If guns or chocolate bars aren't allowed, I'd prefer to know now and not after the fact, thank you very much."

"And a copy of the laws," Thaddeus repeated through gritted teeth and a pained expression. A large metallic hand gently palmed Rodney's face to help push his body back before the damned Nifid tumbled out of the rig completely. "Mr. Bodkins is impossible, but he's also proof that Demens has a sense of humor. Lucky us."



DINING ROOM
"I'll take a waffle, if you please, Bran," Minerva nosed through the dwindling creamer containers, plucking the last French vanilla from the basket and emptying it into her cup.

The food concern weighed heavily upon her. They'd eventually run out of the basics. They might be able to make do by abusing Klaus' Men's curse. Of course, there were very few Men, and convincing them that pantries were full didn't necessarily mean they'd imagine food. Residents might open a door to discover a cabinet full of golf balls or used rubbers. One had to be very crafty when fucking with the Men. They might have better luck asking them to imagine up a hen house and a milking cow.

Meh. It was something to bring up at the next Resident meeting.



BURROWS
"Ooooh yes, please," Nila blinked golden eyes at the minotaur. "What's the game plan?"

The minotaur's noncommittal shrug revealed his willingness to play it by ear. "We go up to Sheepfalls. You charge the flock. We send our parties out to the various locations where the lambs usually run to hide. We'll face a few protective mothers but, mostly, the adults will focus on the loud invaders - that's you all - and we can grab what we need and run like hell."

"Hey, Gresh," the harpy fluttered over from the fence to perch on Sandy's hood. "Do they know what a sheep looks like?"

"Oh, of course we know what a shee- Oh my god, what the fuck is that?!" Nila's eyes opened wide as a villager emerged from the crowd with a small, woolen monster tethered by a chain.

It was obviously what passed for a magical sheep. It was only obvious because it had wool. The rest of it was roughly sheep-shaped, but the snout was hardly sheepish. Or camelish, or even llamaish. Round, black eyes stared unblinkingly at the Jeep's occupants. Its fishlike mouth broke into a yawn, exposing a nasty set of pointy teeth that would have been more at home on a piranha or shark. The sheep's green wool rippled into a bright crimson shade as it shook the morning dew from its back.

"Ovis leiodon, or smooth-tooth sheep in common tongue," the minotaur chuckled. "Watch out, they bite. They also run like the wind."

The sheep turned its head to regard Kale, and then the mouth opened. Nila expected it to bleat, but the only sound to come from the sleepy creature was the high-pitched squeal of sharp talons stroking a chalk board. Nila clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Oh, yeah, that's a defense mechanism," the harpy's head cocked. "The sound induces vomiting. You get used to it in time."
Last edited by Swith Witherward on Sun Nov 22, 2015 6:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Why is everyone a social justice warrior?
Why didn't any of you choose a different class,
like social justice mage or social justice thief?
Anti-intellectual elitism: the dismissal of science, the arts, and humanities and their replacement by entertainment, self-righteousness, ignorance, and deliberate gullibility.
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Primordial Luxa
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Posts: 12092
Founded: Oct 30, 2012
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Primordial Luxa » Sun Nov 22, 2015 2:54 pm

Burrows
Aegis hadn’t come very heavily armed for this mission but upon looking at the unfamiliar form of what these people considered to be mere sheep he began to wish that he had. As it stood he only had a dagger and a rifle with several clips of transcendental rounds, it was most likely enough but still the sheer size and unnaturalness of the wooly bully made him a bit uneasy. Truly it looked more like the mythical sheepsquatch than a regular version of the species. He blamed his self internally for taking Old Sams warning so casually and resolved not to make just an underestimation again.

However he still leaned over to Kale, Nila, and Nick, and said with a fair amount of cynical humor “Because it would be an absolute sin if anything was easy or normal for us right?”

Ascalon
Insidious was reserved and quite along the trip into the city and she spent most of the time looking out the window at the shapes rushing past obviously in a narcotics induced dissociative state that made her look more depressed than usually. He skin started out quite color in the burrows as a Pollock painting of green and yellow cascading with violet stars across her naked flesh but their movements and colors become more muted as they got closer to civilization until he had returned to her normal black and grey state when they met the guards.

She had brought a small bag with her containing a large quantity of gems, mainly Alexandrite, Red Diamonds, and Red Berylm but she also had some personnel identification of her own and at the urging of Primordial a single large silk piece of cloth to serve as clothing if such a thing was required her. The idea of it disgusted her to no end and she had gotten into a fight with him about it but eventually gave in.

Dinning Room
“Evening” Primordial said as he entered the dining room nodding to Bran and Minerva while playing with a small metallic contraption that looked a combination of a rubrics cube and and tiki statue.
Swith Witherward wrote:But I trust the people here. Well, except Prim. He has shifty eyes but his cute smile make up for it.

Monfrox wrote:But it's not like we've known Prim to really stick with normality...

P2TM wrote:HORROR/THRILLER Winner - Community Choice Award For Favorite Horror/Thriller Player: Primordial Luxa


Factbook (underconstruction)
Personification Life and GAU Posts
Luxan Imperial Narcotics (The ONLY narcotics store on GE&T)

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Fvaarniimar
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Mother Knows Best State

Postby Fvaarniimar » Sun Nov 22, 2015 3:09 pm

En route to Ascalon
After a few minutes the novelty of watching the land speed by had begun to wear off. Rmwtyliin had found that she could see her reflection decently in the window, and that she really didn't have enough to do.  Next time, bring wood.  She certainly wasn't at Ijj's level, but carving was a fun pastime.

Looking in her pockets for some sort of diversion, the girl had found some hair accessories.  She'd actually risen well before the sun that morning, using the extra time provided to dress in clothes which seemed elegant yet weren't as restrictive as was common in her time, to eat, to ensure that nuts were packed in a pocket - a little scatterbrained in all the excitement, she'd almost forgotten her hair, tossing in the supplies perhaps 1/625th of a day before she ran down to the lobby.

Having concluded that her modified style of two smallish buns atop her head would do for this event, the girl had set to it - and had found that her frequent practice was paying off.

She'd looked at her hair.  And then, at her watches.  Only one fourth of the time had passed. Removing the accessories, she combed it out with her fingers.  She had watched and helped with the styling of the actual hairdo enough times.  She actually had proper combs to hold it, along with some novel stretchy bands and thin pins. She even had wet hair.  A grin.

First she leaned forwards, dividing her hair into sections.  The leftmost was folded in half and rolled.  Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth. This first attempt went surprisingly smoothly, although it wasn't perfect.  Should I redo it?  Deciding that it was satisfactory, the princess threaded a strand of hair through, pinned it into place along her hairline, and started on the other side.  The first attempt would have been near perfect had it not slipped from her hands; six attempts later she had something similar to the left side on the right.

A crossroads.  Attempt the more complicated piling, or weave the rolls into a braid?  Rmwtyliin opted for the latter, splitting her hair into sections -

Her gaze fell on a clear stretchy circle.  Putting a pin on both sides, she wrapped it around the two rolls, pushing the pins through each other to help hold it in place.  Okay, now...one roll atop the other.  Split center in two sections. Something appeared in the middle of her reflection. Wow, that is tall!  Concentrate on your task.  Over, around, under - supposed to twist...  A bun on the end, wrapping itself back into the roll.  Hold loose end in place; braid it with end of strand threaded through roll.  Pin in place; repeat from split.

Finish off by - the conveyance jolted to a stop, startling Duncan from another nap.  Securing the braids - they are speaking.  She wrapped an elastic quickly around the right.  Another around the left. Duncan translated.

It seemed they were expected to have some identifiers.  A large needle - the pins.  Poking one through the elastic, she threaded it through the bottom center.  In, out, in, out.  The pin and another secured it.  Repeat.  It was fast, and maybe a tiny bit messy.  Secure with comb at center.   That done, she used her hands to support the three-inch-tall 'do as she leaned forward.  That word again! Perhaps...there are a lot of saiborgs in this conveyance, might it refer to them? It had had pins and combs inserted at every step, but better to be safe - the others had those identifiers.  Rmwtyliin's only identifier was her tattoo.  She tapped someone's shoulder, and pointed to it.  "Proof of identity needed?"

--

Burrows
Nick had certainly seen sheep in the past, but he had never associated the large grazers with the term.  Sheep were cute little fluffy cloud things one counted.  So when he'd joined the group in the lobby, he'd expected harmless fluffy creatures around his size.  It hadn't taken him long to learn of their teeth; he'd concluded that they'd be no worse than the spider because, after all, they wouldn't be any bigger.  He'd yawned as he crawled onto Kale's lap, back to the heater.  Normally he'd have started chatting, but this morning he just wanted to snooze; he'd been roused at an annoying hour by excitement, interest, and happiness.

No connection formed.  Not then.  It was a rather different story once they'd arrived at the village.  He woke with a terrified meow, clinging to Kale who presumably would shift him somewhere other than her lap.  A few minutes later he realized the source of the fear.

<I'm like a quarter of their size!>  That wasn't even considering the legs.  The cat was fairly certain that the sheep would tower over him.  Frantically, he groomed himself.  <I'd probably fit under that belly!>

But six were required.  They'd be one short without him, or have to return to the Building. They were counting on - Eyes widening as the sheep suddenly turned gray, he leaned forward, fear forgotten for an instant.  <Cool!> He could think of a few ways to help, actually.  If nothing else he could meow loudly. Maybe - could he meow and use the collar simultaneously? He could lend his eyes, climb trees to get a good vantage point.  Maybe even - were his claws sharp enough to shave the sheep?

If nothing else he could be moral support, but - hadn't he been an actual help at some other time?  No details were clear, but he thought so.

And then he started coughing. Kale would feel embarrassment. A hairball in public? Those really grossed humans out. He was actually somewhat relieved to have had an excuse, and relaxed a little as Aegis commented on the situation. "Mrow." It was a rather amusing observation.
Last edited by Fvaarniimar on Sun Nov 22, 2015 3:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Zarkanians
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Founded: Sep 12, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Zarkanians » Sun Nov 22, 2015 3:42 pm

Cat hadn't gotten much sleep last night. He'd had no difficulty finding the room that had been assigned to him, but he'd been hit hard by the realization that his computer--a constant companion of 18 years--was still back in his room, where he couldn't reach it. That brought on a series of other realizations--no Politicians to talk to, no peers to compete with, all of his old sketches, gone, all of his old keepsakes, gone. He'd had to scratch things--his wrists, his hands, and his mind--to keep himself from crying. Crying hurt. And it wasn't satisfying. It felt like drinking distilled water and getting food poisoning. Physical pain was more satisfying, but more importantly, it was something he could focus on. So long as he didn't pierce the skin, he was fine. It was something he'd been taught to do when he started to get overwhelmed.

He'd dragged himself away, eventually, back into the present; that jerked him awake and brought his eyes to the door. He'd wanted to go out and explore. Not the area around the building--he wasn't suicidal--but the building itself. He'd restrained himself only because he had no idea what anything was and no way to figure it out without help. He still didn't know what the elevators were, exactly. Clearly they weren't gravitic in nature--any sort of failure would have killed everyone within a few miles, assuming there were countermeasures put into place--but what did that leave? Simple machines? A motorized pulley, supporting a large metal box? In retrospect, he should have realized that earlier. He hated being slow. Did this room have paper? It did. He began to draw.

He'd fallen asleep at four in the morning, surrounded by sketches of things he'd memorized mixed with things he'd imagined, and coated with emotional twists (faces altered to match ideas, skies given stars oh my god this place had stars, colours added to jackets (he'd always liked Arathaean art--too much white, too much emphasis on light, but the way they used colour to help describe ideas!), walls given texture, etc.). When he woke up, a few hours later, his back ached and his mind felt wilted, but he didn't feel as nervous. He went downstairs, a sheaf of papers clasped under his left and and a few pencils in the pocket of his jacket, to where they'd said the dining room was, saw someone bringing food out of an attached room, and stepped through into that room before anyone could tell him not to. He wondered, cheerfully enough, if he'd recognize anything in--well, he could tell that that was a stove, of some sort. And that was definitely a refrigeration unit, yep. Huh.

"Hi," he said, noticing that there were people in here as well. Probably wouldn't do to try and behave as if he wasn't there.
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Northwest Slobovia
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Founded: Sep 16, 2006
Anarchy

Postby Northwest Slobovia » Sun Nov 22, 2015 5:49 pm

Into the Woods
Cerillium wrote:Sandy pulled the Jeep to a stop just outside the village's gates, and a select group broke away from their loved ones to meet up with the Residents. The volunteer group seemed mainly comprised of sturdy creatures -- minotaurs, centaurs, grim dwarves, a harpy -- intermixed with stocky human men and their corn-fed sons. Their tension was palpable as they lifted their torches, yet their greetings were warm as they lifted their voices to welcome the Residents. Today was going to be a long day, to be sure.

"Are you ready, then?" the minotaur closest to them propped his club against a broad shoulder as he regarded the arrivals. "Won't get much farther in that thing. The roads become too narrow. We'll have to do the rest on hoof and at a quick pace."

Sandy looked over the welcoming crowd. The dwarves and the harpy caught his attention, the latter especially. He was always amazed by what myth preserved and what it lost: what he knew of harpies was half precisely correct and half utter nonsense.

Sandy killed the jeep's engine, yanked the parking brake, and got out.

Swith Witherward wrote:"Ovis leiodon, or smooth-tooth sheep in common tongue," the minotaur chuckled. "Watch out, they bite. They also run like the wind."

The sheep turned its head to regard Kale, and then the mouth opened. Nila expected it to bleat, but the only sound to come from the sleepy creature was the high-pitched squeal of sharp talons stroking a chalk board. Nila clapped a hand to her mouth.

Sandy started to walk over to to the tethered sheep. He winced and looked queasy as it screeched, but then got as close to it as he dared to get a better look at it... and a better Look at it, wondering about the nature of its magic. "Charming creature", he said to the villager holding its leash as he inspected it.

After studying the beast for a little while -- bringing alchemetical cures proved a good idea, but the Panoply of the Wise would have been better, had he known -- he turned back to the minotaur who was outlining the day's plan. "How large is the flock? How many adults?" A moment later, Sandy was struck by a thought, and he added with a smile, "You said they run like the wind. How fast does the wind blow around here? And, um, how bad would it be if we hurt the adults?"

On the Road Again

Amanda sipped coffee from her travel mug. It had been a long morning already. The creation of the hospital went well enough; Demens Construction must have won some award for shortest time between groundbreaking and ribbon-cutting for a major medical facility. But after that, chaos. She'd spent far too much time frantically going through shelves, drawers, and boxes to find the pepper spray. It should have been with her old .25, but it was buried in the back of the coat closest. She eventually remembered her logic from when she'd put it away: why does a woman carrying a gun need pepper spray? Apparently, that was a riddle she hadn't recognized at the time. The stuff expired this month, and Amanda hoped it would still be good. A tiny test spray on the porch seemed to work, she guessed she'd find out soon enough.

Watching the country scenery roll by was relaxing, but when the the city came into view, she craned her neck to get a good look at it. Armed to the teeth. Lovely, just lovely. At least she was warm despite the open window; she had about five hours of the Critique of the Chill left before she'd have to rely on her suit jacket and overcoat.

Highfort wrote:"We should get straight to the government center first, then the commercial district, and then backtrack to explore the rest," Septimus directed his attention at Thaddeus, nodding at the older cyborg, "If anything happens and we're forced to head home early, we should at least get a formal treaty hammered out with the city government so they don't come knocking with guns in the middle of the night. Getting the supply run done is also of major importance; everything else: getting to know the locals, finding contacts, figuring out where the best restaurants are - that's all secondary."

Amanda turned to Septimus, a note of surprise in her voice. "You expect to complete negotiations today? I'm hoping for nothing more than an agreement in principle. Even if we meet with the decision-makers today, they may leave the details to underlings, and we may need what we bring home to be ratified by the other Residents."

When they stopped at the checkpoint, Amanda reached into her jacket, and pulled out what she thought would be the most useful things to give to the cop: Bielefield residency ID, US passport, Bielefield and Pennsylvania gun registrations and concealed-carry permits. She passed them forward to Thaddeus to hand to to officer.
Last edited by Northwest Slobovia on Sun Nov 22, 2015 6:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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The BranRiech
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Founded: Mar 24, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The BranRiech » Sun Nov 22, 2015 6:00 pm

"I was making a few extra, for the kid out there." Bran responded somewhat dryly, still a little stressed from the battle the other day, and their sudden arrival to the strange world. He hadn't been informed much, and didn't know where everyone had gone, considering some strange and evil gremlins had placed a cardboard cutout of him at the meeting. "Oh . . . And uh, good morning, Minerva. It's good to see you."

He managed a smile, flipping over the waffle-iron, a plate already readied underneath as a fluffy waffle flopped forth. The conscript, already equipped with 2 waffles for himself, seated on their own plate over by him, slid Minerva's plate over to her, almost threatening to bowl over her mug of coffee.

"Almost out of batter."

Bran sighed, wiggling the jar back and forth. There was enough for a few more days, which Bran could easily turn into weeks if he rationed them properly. "Some people are gone, yeah? They go into that giant city? If they go again sometime, I'll tag along for some more." He mused to himself, mentally writing it down.

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The Carlisle
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Founded: Aug 25, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby The Carlisle » Sun Nov 22, 2015 6:05 pm

Kale watched from the window as the villager brought one of the sheep to them. It was huge! Bigger than any other sheep she had seen before. And its head, it was so... unique~! The jaws lined with sharp teeth, no doubt to shred its food. And its eyes were like round pieces of jet, shiny and smooth. And its fur was so colorful, turning crimson from green~!

When the sheep opened its mouth a screeched, unlike the others who reeled back, Kale sat still, staring at the creature, like nothing had happened. She grinned widely, having a clear 'can I pet it' look on her face. She was absolutely enthralled with the creature, forgetting for this moment that this creature could easily tear her apart. Such a strange little plant girl.

Though she did eventually notice Nick clinging to her. She looked to the cat and petted him gently. "You okay Nick?" she said, then thinking he was afraid of the sheep, "Don't worry, it can't get you. Especially with you in my arms." She gave him a reassuring smile and giggled.
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Chedastan
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5626
Founded: Jul 25, 2013
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Chedastan » Sun Nov 22, 2015 7:00 pm

Earlier this morning, Apartment 6D

Romulus at least had the comfort of Wilhelm V's face looming over him from where he could see it from his bed, with his door wide open to the rest of the apartment. Has it really been close to a day already? Because that certainly wasn't some bad dream unfortunately, this was real, and is still happening, and he is alone. Something caught his eyes as he stood out of the bed, causing him to cover his face with his gauntlet covered hands. While he can leave his suit at anytime, the gauntlets had to stay on him at all times, in case he needed to use his sword, or else his hands would melt off from the burning heat of it. Those gauntlets may as well have been his hands since he became General and acquired the Magnum Langschwert Madeleine, speaking of which.

He checked the sword by opening up the scabbard, and taking it out. He was immediately lit up by the brightness of the blade, and rainbows and bright lights beamed all over the room, and even out the window. He was used to it by now, and his eyes payed not much to the blinding light as they looked away, and he kneel down, and with both hands raised the sword up high. He began to murmur a prayer of sorts, as he always done each morning.

"By all the powers bestowed upon me, by the Gods, and Wilhelm XXIX. I wish for safe travels and good fortune in this brave new world I have found myself stuck on right now, but only so that I can return home once more, and continue to serve as General of the Wilhelm Imperium, for I am also the Beacon of light, and Guardian of the Meek."

The blade hummed, the lights were getting a little sparkly too from the prisms. He lowered it, and returned it back to its scabbard. He stood up and sighed a little, hoping someone heard it. Guess it's time for some tea and biscuit then, before he goes downstairs. He also needed to check on the suit.

After a minute or two later, he was taking a sip from his mug, and munching on a biscuit, while he examined the rig his armor was being powered from. Or much rather receiving hydrogen from a tank that he was pumping it into the engine power plant. He was impressed that this setup alone was even present when he got in here. But unfortunately it was only a full storage tank with a pump that was in here, and not a wishful thinking hydrogen generator whatsoever. That would have been pretty big though, and likely wouldn't fit well in the apartment. Guess he has to acquire one within a few weeks, or else the suit has nothing to go on, and will just be reduced to being very unnecessarily heavy armor.

He had time though, and they were going into a very well populated city, which hopefully was developed enough to be able to have a hydrogen plant even. But obviously he was still quite concerned over this new founded problem, that he admitted though could've been a lot worse than it was, as he really only needed to get a plant going, but that could still take some effort to do. Until a solution was found though, the suit was definitely going to have to go on economy mode for as long as possible to put it at maybe a few more months left, and be used as less as possible. The suit was going to suffer efficiency very heavily though, but he at least needs enough to make it ready for the Fiends some 9 days from now.

Now just for today though? He was going to need the suit for the city, if only just for symbolism, and to help prove himself to be a General of the Wilhelm Imperium, impressions are going to be key here. He doubted he's going to fight today, or at least not much, by putting it on economy mode right now, it should suffice for now and the coming days.

He pressed a glowing button on the suit, causing it to turn green, but also have its internal compartments open up for Romulus to climb in and wear the suit.

Time for the day then.




Ascalon

He was in the back of the truck of course, not that he mind too much though, as at least it wasn't as cramped as it could have been, but the quick turns on Thaddeus's part didn't help though. He was surprised to see how orderly these roads were, as compared to elsewhere he has been to, and the countryside was a nice view. And the city itself, indeed a very well built looking civilization. Which Romulus worried could be a problem, as it meant their stuff could potentially be less valuable, and they'll give them less for it. Hopefully when it comes to that, they have someone with very good bargaining, as they ideally preferred a full buck surely, or even more than that. He agreed with the others were saying what they should do, nodding, it sounded like a good enough plan to him.

When they got to the checkpoint, the General eyed the officer who had his revolver out. Unprofessional tit. He thought, frowning a little, then he eyed the machine gun nests, wondering who they were typically used on, but also wondering what other forces they could have clashed with over the years, enough to prompt this much security. He relaxed more when the officer's colleague came, being more friendlier at least. But he caught that she said Demens.

Did they knew about us already? A somewhat worried thought came to him, fearing the lost of an advantage he felt they had. He remained silent and continue observing though, also realizing he needed identification too. There was probably a file somewhere in his suit, he rarely had to present any though, as everyone he usually worked with knew who he was already, and his armor was a good indicator of who he was. But he doubted the officers would know that though, Oh well. He lowered his face plate and searched for that file... There! It started printing, and Romulus took it out and examined it, making sure it was alright. It pretty much got of the gist of who he was.

General Romulus Aphrodisiac of Wihelm XXIX... Blah blah....
33 years old... Respected Citizen of the Wilhelm Imperium...
1st Stock, Male Human... Dark Eyes... Height.... His Face... Blah...
Blah... Serial numbers... Blah... Requested POW treatment... etc...


That should work, but he wasn't so sure about weapons though, as those records might have not been in the suit at all, and instead back home. Hopefully him being a General would be enough for that. He held his sword's hilt, not wanting to lose it to customs. He released his grip, lifted his face plate and got up, and opened the door from the back of the truck, and took a step outside with Thaddeus, and walked towards the Officer Kleo.

"Hopefully this is sufficient for you, Officers." He said as he handed them over to her, not trusting the colleague with the poor gun handling.
Last edited by Chedastan on Sun Nov 22, 2015 9:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Tiltjuice
Post Czar
 
Posts: 33944
Founded: Jan 20, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tiltjuice » Sun Nov 22, 2015 7:11 pm

Sleeping on one's sword was far from the worst things that one could do to oneself with a sword. Even if her back now ached terribly and there was a dent in the sofa cushions. Chrys sat up with a sudden jerk and swiveled to the left, only turning an awkward-looking fall into a handspring into a sideways roll. The blonde stood up, hair messy, and breathed in the scent of pastries. A number of familiar figures dotted the scene. Minerva, Bran, Drova - generally busy with each other or breakfast.

She glided across the room toward the cupboards, intending to find something the Klingons might have enjoyed as a morning meal. Trips to locales elsewhere were handy, she'd come to realize. On the way, though, she stopped again as Catrain arrived and greeted no one in particular. Reaching out, she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.
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Swith Witherward
Senior P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 30302
Founded: Feb 11, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Swith Witherward » Sun Nov 22, 2015 7:48 pm

The daemon paddled down the hall in his host's body. Poor Hans. He'd had his shower, and there was some salvation in the form of the electric razor, but he still looked very disheveled despite his inner daemon's best efforts. The uniform was definitly not as pristine as it could have been. To start, the tie was all wrong. And then there were the bread slices poking out of the pockets. Definitely not standard issue.

A trail of crumbs dotted the carpet behind him. Rache paused in front of Giovenith's door, creating a second, smaller pile of crumbs as he shifted the toaster to his other arm. Pale knuckles rapped against the wood.

Was pre-dawn too early? Were Ponies nocturnal? Rache wasn't so sure.
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Highfort
Minister
 
Posts: 2869
Founded: May 11, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Highfort » Sun Nov 22, 2015 7:58 pm

Taking a step back to allow for Thaddeus' bulk, the officer looked over the registries offered by the elder cyborg and nodded, "Yeah, definitely new. Earth, eh? Seems like that's a popular place for Him to pull people from. If you're ever feeling out-of-water, drop by Alessio - all the merchants there are from some place - Greece? Arabia? Not really sure, but they're from Earth. They'd probably appreciate your company."

Chuckling as she looked over the cyborg's holographic display, she clucked her tongue at Rodney, "Mr. Demens must have a very interesting sense of humor if He chose to tag your friend along. Don't worry, chocolate and guns are fine - although you'll need permits for any firearms. No permit, don't be surprised when the boys fuck you for flashing a piece."

Glancing over at the machine-gun nest and then at the adjacent towers in the other lanes, she motioned for Thaddeus to bring his ear close, and she whispered, "If you need anything, I can hook you up. Permits, passports, IDs, signed documents - the works. I know a couple of info-runners, too, if you need any information you can't find on the extranet. Runes can buy your way to the top; consider that your free tip."

Pulling back from him, she raised her voice once more and offered a wink, "Fuel you can find in the upper neighborhood through this checkpoint. It's not too safe, though, so the banks stay on the east side of the river near G-Sec - the Government Security District. If you stay in the Uppers, mind yourself. Don't get shot by some two-bit fuck with his daddy's gun."

Rmw's tap on Septimus' shoulder was met with a quick shake of the head and a whisper, "Don't show them any identifying marks. If you don't have ID, just wait. If she doesn't ask, we don't have to give it."

"You can find a list of the laws in the Government district inside G-Sec; they have high security requirements to get in, but if you want I can forward your guy's names and vehicle ID so they'll let you in. Unfortunately, none of your documents are valid here - too easy to fake - but I like your faces so I'll let that slide. Get some legit copies for next time you're in town - not everyone will be as friendly as I am," she offered the passenger documents back to Thaddeus with a smirk, "You look like a friendly-enough lot; don't make me regret letting you in."

Taking a step back, she waved at one of the officers having a smoke near the machine gun nest. A gruff, older man with scars on his face, he slid over to the truck at a leisurely pace, his armor worn and dented. Putting out the cigarette with his feet, he brandished what looked to be a shotgun and nodded at Officer Kleo before addressing the passengers.

"I'm Officer Charles Harlem. If y'all don't mind, me and Kleo are gonna check your cargo hold," he smirked as he saw mostly-humans inside the cabin. Earthlings were always fun to mess with, "It's just a formality for new visitors. If you have any contraband, I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate it, unless I am, well, 'persuaded', you see."

Before he could continue with the usual droll and ask for his pay cut for letting them slide with whatever was in the trunk, he was interrupted by Kleo's gasp as a man in an impressively-outfitted suit of power armor made his way out of the back with his hand on what looked like a sheathed sword. There wasn't a moment's hesitation before what happened next.

Ignoring the papers in the armored man's hand, Kleo quickly unslung her rifle and aimed it at his exposed face, her expression melting from casual cheekiness to a serious demeanor with narrowed eyes, "Freeze! Let go of the weapon and put your hands on your head!"

Harlem followed suit, the shotgun's barrel rising up in a blur to match his colleague's rifle as he leaned over and spoke into a mouthpiece near his ear, "All units, be advised, armed individual with heavy armor has just stepped out of creme-colored truck in Civilian Lane 3A. Support requested, hold your fire. Danger close; repeat, hold your fire."

The entire checkpoint fell silent as civilians were shuffled back into their vehicles and hundreds of laser dots were trained on General Romulus. Machine guns, plasma cannons, sniper rifles, rocket launchers, and even a patrolling helicopter's minigun were brought to bear, the distinct clicks of safeties piercing the rumbling of vehicle engines and the deafening silence of the road.

"Hands off the weapon!" Kleo repeated, "Put your hands on your head or we will open fire! Your comrades will be caught in the crossfire if you do not comply!"

Septimus let out a quiet sigh. Shit. Nothing could go right the first time, now, could it?
Last edited by Highfort on Sun Nov 22, 2015 7:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Giovenith
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Giovenith » Sun Nov 22, 2015 8:06 pm

There was a little moment of silence before shuffling was heard behind the door and Giovenith answered, looking pulled straight from bed. She winced as her sight tried to adjust, and she gave a sniff. "Hans? What do you need?"

"IIIII got these funny sections and I know how to use them," Willow hissed from behind her, looking equally groggy and wielding a rolled up newspaper between his teeth. Like her he winced his eyes to see who it was, then dropped the plan to beat the shit out of the visitor for waking them up so early. "Oh, hello. It's for me, Gio."

Too tired to question it, Giovenith waved it off, left the door, and shuffled back to bed.

"Hello Rache," Willow greeted, stretching and snapping the joints in his wings. "What brings you here so early?"
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Mincaldenteans
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Ex-Nation

Postby Mincaldenteans » Sun Nov 22, 2015 8:16 pm

Guild House - Pre-dawn... or dawn, or some such time fuckery

Mirroring the quiet night outside the building, the guild hall stood in the dark, bathed in the soft glow of the moon and the cool embrace of the eternal blanketed every inch of the Guild's home. Soft noises rang sweetly in the air, not enough to stir a sleeping soul, but just enough to affirm life under the moon's purview. While most of the the guild members slept, Anais and Alexia had risen early at the request of the monk before everyone had tucked in. Anais didn't need her connection to the ether to know something had troubled the monk, something that she felt the need for privacy, without the others' input on.

A fire crackled in the cavernous main hall, lighting up the spacious room with candles and braziers lit at regular intervals around the room and tables. Anais sipped on a piping cup of herbal tea, giving in to the comfort of its aromatic flavor and smell. She leaned back against the tall chair and had been taking time to consider Alexia's words. It had taken the Ritualist by surprise.

"What do you think?" Alexia asked softly as she looked out the window, tugging at her hair, feeling its coiled braids under her fingers. She felt nervous, but resolute; it was a sound decision and they both knew it.

"I would ask why," Anais replied with sincerity, bringing the cup to her lips for another sip. The warmth of the tea held her reluctance at bay, something the dark cool morning had partnered with her mixed feelings, ghosting its touch over her skin. She looked at the back of the sun-bathed monk, the fire passing shades of summer across the monk's figure.

"It's practical," the monk nodded to herself, keeping the visage of courtyard. "I'm not the face of the guild, not since we've been here; you are. It's taken some time to figure that out, but I'm perfectly okay with that. You're infinitely more level headed than I ever would be, more outspoken than Traxt, and tempered in a way that Cherry isn't. We're small, but our presence could be bigger within the larger community, I'm just not sure if I've handled it correctly."

Anais perked an eyebrow, "And you think passing the mantle onto me would improve matters?"

"It'd be an added benefit," Alexia turned to face her friend, letting go of her braided her and crossed her arms. "You've spoken on behalf of this guild, the only added responsibility is making the decisions for it, not that big of a leap given all that you've already done. Tell me you'll take it, Anais."

The Ritualist took another moment to gather her thoughts. She stared at her friend and contemplated everything that came with the role. "The others?"

A rueful smile spread across the monk's face, "They'll support you. It's not like I'm asking for us to follow a Charr."

Anais let a soft chuckle out, nodding after, "I'll do so temporarily: this is your guild, you founded it, and eventually they will need your when we return to Tyria."

"Perhaps," Alexia conceded as she approached the ritualist and laid an emblem upon the table: the mark of the guild leader. Its design was identical to the guild emblems save for the silver lining and obsidian gem that distinguished itself from the rest. "Or perhaps this is where we truly need to be, and you're the best person for it."

--//\\--

Dining Room

Anais had finished her cup and left the guild hall, feeling the need to stretch her legs and gather any updates since the day prior. She bid her farewell to Alexia with a hug after having the emblem handed over, leaving the former leader to gather her thoughts and to spread the news when the others awoke. Walking down the hall, the ritualist couldn't help but feel a wash of pride and confidence having been selected to be the new leader; but she knew better than to let pride get in the way and tempered it with the same reserve and calm demeanor she had since their arrival. As the doors closed, Anais quietly prayed to Grenth for strength and guidance to her new duty.

Stepping out, Anais realized it may have been too early for anyone to be awake. She pursed her lips, not letting the absence of people in the early morning deter her yet and headed into the dining room. To her surprise, others were awake, noting Minerva, Chrys and a few other 'unfamiliars' gathered.

"Good morning," the ritualist greeted with a polite smile. The kitchen appliances were all alien to her (being used to wooden stoves or a fire pit), but the smell of breakfast was definitely recognizable. Anais took an empty seat and joined the others.
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Zarkanians
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Ex-Nation

Postby Zarkanians » Sun Nov 22, 2015 8:23 pm

Tiltjuice wrote:Sleeping on one's sword was far from the worst things that one could do to oneself with a sword. Even if her back now ached terribly and there was a dent in the sofa cushions. Chrys sat up with a sudden jerk and swiveled to the left, only turning an awkward-looking fall into a handspring into a sideways roll. The blonde stood up, hair messy, and breathed in the scent of pastries. A number of familiar figures dotted the scene. Minerva, Bran, Drova - generally busy with each other or breakfast.

She glided across the room toward the cupboards, intending to find something the Klingons might have enjoyed as a morning meal. Trips to locales elsewhere were handy, she'd come to realize. On the way, though, she stopped again as Catrain arrived and greeted no one in particular. Reaching out, she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.


Cat twisted around (a few sheets of paper slipped out from under his arm as he moved), startled and suddenly nervous, again. He felt less terrified than before, though; maybe the sketching had helped with that. It helped that she didn't tower over him like most of the people in this place; why were they all so tall?

"Um, good morning, sir," he said, stooping to retrieve the paper as he went. It had a different texture than the stuff he'd used in Zarkanians; he wondered why that was.
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Tiltjuice
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Founded: Jan 20, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tiltjuice » Sun Nov 22, 2015 8:49 pm

Chrys scratched her head, adding a quizzical element to her smile now. "Please, no formalities. I'm only a -"

Only a what? How did Dora or Luce manage this so effortlessly?

" - A fighting priestess. Definitely not a 'sir'," she ended, deciding that humor was the best way to go. He was still so on edge, and she wondered why, but knew enough that pressing him was tripping him. Instead, she turned to Anais. "Hello, have we met? You look somewhat familiar...both of you actually. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something similar about you both to people I've seen before."

The dripping of the coffeemaker ceased and she reached for the mug she'd placed underneath it, wrapping her small hands around its heat.
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Zarkanians
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Ex-Nation

Postby Zarkanians » Sun Nov 22, 2015 8:57 pm

Oh, fuck, so it was a symbol of office. Still, the fact that she seemed to believe that her office was "only" something helped calm him, a little. "Sorry. Swords, um, mean something, where I come from." He struggled to come up with a comparison. "In this place, are there any entities who are, um... Like gods, but not gods--they're not elemental forces or manifestations or whatever; they're definitely people, but because of the way they're emphasized by," fuck, he'd never had to explain this in a way that would make sense to someone who didn't already understand, "sociological pressure," what the Hell did that even mean? "they still receive," okay that sounded bad--like they were dictators, or something, "and deserve," too much emphasis, overly defensive, "the same level of respect." The sentence didn't so much end as trail off. Catrain looked as if he'd lost another three inches in the process.
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Chedastan
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Founded: Jul 25, 2013
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Chedastan » Sun Nov 22, 2015 9:20 pm

At first Romulus heard the officer mentioned checking the cargo hold, and a thought came to him that he should gone back in the vehicle. But he was right here to hand them in? Surely they-

Weapons were immediately raised at him, and multicolored laser dots from sights dotted all over his armor, and reflected off it in multiple directions. In fact it was making him look like a rainbow beacon, one shiny rainbow beacon to shoot at. The previously friendly officer was now ordering him to let go of the hilt of his sword, and ordering him to put his hands on his head, or else they will shoot him and everyone else. Even his armor has limitations of this much stuff potentially hitting it, and the others didn't have that small luxury. He doubted he could kill enough of the paranoid bastards before that. He should have probably expected this, it wasn't even like this was the first time for him either. Why were outsiders so quick to assume the worst?

"Wait, Officers! Don't open fire, this is a big misunderstanding!" He exclaimed at them.

Knowing full well how futile resistance would be through force, he quickly moved his hand away from the hilt, and put his hands on the back of his head, while also dropping the papers on the ground. He found it funny actually, because the wrist-mounted autocannon was still on his wrist the whole time. He knows he'll have to explain a few things, he composed himself.

"Okay first off, I am General Romulus Aphrodisiac, of Wilhelm XXIX, of the Wilhelm Imperium. That's his face on my chest. Now there's no need for violence, as I have you know I am also a statesman. So lets all calm down and talk like sane individuals here, and lower out weapons. Now I am assuming you, Officer Kleo, and you, Officer Harlem, don't want to have to shoot anyone today, especially not a General. And I don't want to have to hurt anyone today either, especially not any officers of the law. Now I can see it now that we come from very different places, and we're all thinking very different things right now. But please, lets not be barbaric because of our simple mistakes, we're better people than that."

He said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, but especially the officers to hear clearly. He knew full well he had to dissolve tensions right now, or else people were going to die, that was simple, and he only hoped he did it with grace.
Last edited by Chedastan on Tue Dec 29, 2015 11:41 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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The BranRiech
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Founded: Mar 24, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The BranRiech » Sun Nov 22, 2015 9:29 pm

Mincaldenteans wrote:Dining Room

Anais had finished her cup and left the guild hall, feeling the need to stretch her legs and gather any updates since the day prior. She bid her farewell to Alexia with a hug after having the emblem handed over, leaving the former leader to gather her thoughts and to spread the news when the others awoke. Walking down the hall, the ritualist couldn't help but feel a wash of pride and confidence having been selected to be the new leader; but she knew better than to let pride get in the way and tempered it with the same reserve and calm demeanor she had since their arrival. As the doors closed, Anais quietly prayed to Grenth for strength and guidance to her new duty.

Stepping out, Anais realized it may have been too early for anyone to be awake. She pursed her lips, not letting the absence of people in the early morning deter her yet and headed into the dining room. To her surprise, others were awake, noting Minerva, Chrys and a few other 'unfamiliars' gathered.

"Good morning," the ritualist greeted with a polite smile. The kitchen appliances were all alien to her (being used to wooden stoves or a fire pit), but the smell of breakfast was definitely recognizable. Anais took an empty seat and joined the others.

Drova looked up, having been intensely staring at his parfait for far too long, failing to take a single bite from it. He watched as Anais sat down nearby, joining him at the table along with the few others that were still in the kitchen making their various foods and beverages. "Morning." He smiled curtly, going back to his intense stare with the yogurty treat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity (The staring contest with his breakfast lasting if only a minute), Drova picked up his spoon and took the first bite, chomping on some granola he mixed in as well.

"I'm sorry." He burst out suddenly, the Prince looking up at Anais.

He blushed, his mind focused on a small number of things, pleasantries not among them. "Forgot my manors. I'm Drova." He shrugged at the woman. His mind was still dwelling on the events of the day before, debating internally over whether it was worth it to keep up the Teen-Club, considering he felt like he'd been the cause of the animosity.

No use being part of a group that didn't trust him.

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