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

[Mincaldenteans]

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.

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.

Dining Room

The ritualist kept her smile and shook her head, the beads and chitin lightly clattered at the movement. Chrys was not a familiar, more in passing if memory served Anais right, perhaps it was at a meeting or something similarly fleeting? And the new person was definitely a stranger, but that didn't keep Anais from introducing herself.

"I don't believe so," Anais responded to Chrys' inquiry and continued, "I'm Anais. I'm with the Gui-," she quickly corrected herself, "I currently lead the Guild."

She couldn't help but notice the stuttering coming from the new person. She looked at Chrys with a perked eyebrow to convey a curious message to the timid response. Anais would chuckle at the nervousness but she dared not, likely it would make him withdraw. Hoping to help ease the man's nervousness, Anais took to following along with the subject at hand. She looked at the Conservator, "A fighting priestess you said?"

[Primordial Luxa]

Burrows
Aegis joined Sandy to take a closer look at the sheep and thankfully his helmet was equipped to filter out much of the noise it create as a defense measure however it did mute other sounds essentially deafening him painlessly for a few moments. He looked at the creature sizing it up against his ammunition and felt reasonably certain that unless the wool was steel or the bones were rock he wouldn’t have a problem with any of them. However an image of the fiends came flashing back to him and he suddenly thought about having to deal with a large malicious swarm of these creatures and how unappealing that sounded.

Sandy asked many of the question Aegis was about to and some he hadn’t thought of so he listened intently if anyone answered him. Afterwards he went up to Sandy, Nila, Kale, and Ocha and handed them a small object about the size of a pebbled and covered in about half a dozen insect like legs and segmented bug like plates. “This is a Spinneret of Bade Consciousness” he explained “Their like spiders only they create webs of thoughts rather than silk. There absolutely harmless I assure you but they allow a group of people to stay in near constant communication with each other. If you want just place it behind your ear it should be painless and will allow us to stay in touch if any of use gets separated. Trust me when I say it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as it looks.”

Dining Room
Primordial wandered into the kitchen past Bran and began rummaging around in the various cabinets pulling out what appeared to be massive amounts of seemingly random or untouched food and began compiling a strange meal. He was hungry and unlike other creatures which might be able to go a long time without food he didn’t have the luxury and so he began voraciously feasting on loose pieces of meat, bad vegetables and raw sugar. He stood on the other end of the counter looking at Bran and Minerva and after downing a very bruised looking tomato he asked “Was their anything you wanted their Bran or are you just getting a little bit stir crazy like me?”

Ascalon
If insidious had a collar on she would had pulled in to emphasize her next statement. “Oh boy! They really mean business here don’t they? I suppose that’s…good.” She said that last part without much meaning obviously showing she didn’t like the amount of security here and that she would need to make a trip by G-Sec to check what the laws were exactly.

Unconsciously her skin changed color to match that of the surrounding car, she did seem to notice for a quite a while but eventually reverted to her traditional image. It was at this point that a question based in deep root fear began to emerge in her brain and she asked the others will a much more gleeful reaction “This does all seem a like excessive for a simple checkpoint, this can’t be just to stop someone with a gun from getting inside right? They must have all these guns for something bigger! Something meaner! Right? Oooo I can’t even imagine what that might be.”

[Swith Witherward]

DINING ROOM
"It's been hell around here, yes?" she added a butter pat and watched it melt into the crannies. "And we still don't actually know where here is yet. Not officially."

The waffle's sweet scents tickled Minerva's nose. Bran's had lived up to his Waffle God title, oh yes indeed. She was sure of it with her very first bite. It took every bit of effort for her to curtail obscene noises while she chewed. Lad role calls, the talk with Primordial - it would wait until she was done. The wait wouldn't be long, however. Minerva practically inhaled her breakfast.

She dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin and pushed the plate away. "Bran, what do you know about tending chickens?" The city might not provide everything they need. Perhaps a fallback plan would be helpful?

Ah, and here was Primordial. His appearance saved her the trouble of tracking him down. "We need to put our heads together once the sun has come up," she nodded to the man, "If you're not too busy this afternoon?"

She overheard the others chatting in the dining room proper, but it was still too early to engage a large group of people. Minerva preferred the intimacy granted by the kitchen-dining pass-through counter.


SAVIOR WILLOW
Hans' face curled into a sheepish grin as he carefully maneuvered the toaster out for Willow to see. "My host requires sustenance. I... do not eat, and Hans' woman did not come home last night to cook for him."

He pursed his lips and watched Giovenith's retreating back. "One can live a long time with a being and never learn their habits. Do you know how to use this equipment? And is it too early to ask for assistance?"



ASCALON
Thaddeus wasn't overly concerned with the prospect of being shot. Bullet holes were valid excuses to make repairs, and good reasons to upgrade augmentations. He'd lived too long to really give two shits. Besides, he couldn't die. More concerning was the fate of the flesh bags in the cab behind him. Thaddeus kept hold of his papers as he lazily lifted his hands. No sense in raising them over his head - he was already a foot or more taller than nearly everyone around him, and on par with Romulus in stature and girth.

This world seemed to function much like the Building itself. Demens drew things in and dumped them, all little mismatched socks and odd key rings, with full expectation that those things would find their niche. It was exciting to be a newcomer. But to everyone else in the Building, it was a grueling experience. People hated having to explain the basics over and over. Yes, you are in a new place. No, the laws aren't the same as where you came from. No, you have no authority here. No, nobody gives a shit about your money back home, or your might, or your diplomatic immunity, or what you have for breakfast. Surely the city's police forces felt the same, annoying burden.

"How much would it cost us to persuade you to keep ol' Romy a few hours while we shop?" the growl was almost playful as it left his lips. A soft snort accompanied it, and he tagged on, "Although you'll be the ones persuading us to take him back when we leave. He bends ears."

Rodney had no desire to become anyone's target. Air hissed from the seat's cushion as he pressed his back against it. "I suggest we all keep calm," he muttered in an undertone to his companions, "And madam, perhaps you might use that wrap if we have to get out. These people spook too easily. I get the distinct impression they aren't fond of unusual or fantastical things."

"...He arrived at the same time we did. He hasn't adjusted yet," Thaddeus continued outside. " I have no problem with your men searching the vehicle."

[The BranRiech]

"Oh, hiya, Prim."

Bran shook his head at Prim's question, and turned back to face Minerva, watching as the waffle he'd made for her was gone within a timeframe that he didn't even think possible for enjoying a breakfast, even a waffle. He was even about to ask if she wanted any syrup, but hadn't the time. It was heresy to eat waffles without it, in Bran's mind at least. He only smiled though. "And yeah. Chopper's good for a while yet though. I went through . . . 2, uh, maybe 3 rocket pods yesterday."

He sighed, doing the mental math.

"Have a few extras in hanger, as well as a small fuel tank, but it won't last, yeah?"

He stopped, and turned from the waffle-iron, facing both Minerva and Prim. "I can do chickens, we had some in the Air Force, on the base and such." He said with a not-so-sure nod. "And well. If we were still in Bielefeld, I was going to go down to my workshop with Rachelle, but I'm apparently free now, considering we're no longer in Bielefeld."

[Swith Witherward]

"Do you want my opinion?" Minerva added the dirty napkin to the plate, then waved her hand, "Of course you do! I rather like the fact that you don't have that workshop. I rather like not having to race through my morning just to get paperwork delivered downtown. Do you realize how long its been since we've actually come together for waffles? Just for the sake of eating waffles, with no meetings attached to it?"

She slapped a palm against the counter. "We are building a chicken coop, Branson Nikanor! It will be the best damn chicken coop this side of wherever the hell we are, and, come hell or high water, those damn birds will produce eggs for the best damn waffles this side of the universe. Do you know why? I'll tell you, Sir. We'll do it because these are just the things we used to do before life became so damn complicated around here."

Centuries of always being on the go. Countless years spent running this, or running that, or directing Lads, or answering Charumati's call. For the first time in quite a long while, Minerva had absolutely nothing scheduled save one meeting with Primordial. She fancied they could do it outside with margaritas in their hands, if they so chose (and if the cold weather warmed a bit).

The fiery redhead's eyes settled on Catrain as he lurked the corner. "And you, my dear New Resident, should help us. You can't say you've lived unless you actually get active in life. You see, life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death."

[Giovenith]

Willow dragged a forearm across his face and used it to pull on his lower eyelid for a pregnant pause before sighing.

"Come in, lucky for you, toasters are one of the few things we actually do have in Equestria too," he said, opening the door wider to let the host in and gently taking the toaster up in his forearms, wrapping it's cord around it.

2D had been upgraded. Apparently no longer content to have the whole gang cooped up into one room with one bed, it had been transformed into the clock apartment. How, why, when? Who knew, who cared. Giovenith and Willow had already gone through their whole excited freak out the night before, so there was not as great an enthusiasm right now. The pony artist lead the daemon host over to their new counter table by the kitchen and started unwrapping the cord from the toaster.

"You know, I get that some people make the choice to be more gender-traditional in their roles, and I respect that and all," he explained, putting the plug into an outlet in the table and looking around to see if they had any left over bread. "But I still think that males should at least be able to cook for themselves even if they sit out from it most of the time. If guys really are supposed to be all taking-life-by-the-reigns and self-reliant and other tough-manly-whatevers, I think the bare minimum of that includes being able to feed yourself. That's basic survival. But I digress..."

They had about half a loaf left from their snack stash (all of which had miraculously been shifted to the kitchen cabinets, but only as it had been, nothing extra), which was plenty to share in Willow's opinion. He pointed out the fact that the toaster was plugged in to Rache before dropping the two pieces of bread in.

"You put them in these slots and adjust your setting," Willow explained, showing the knob. "It moves right, and the higher the number, the longer and more thoroughly it cooks the bread. Turn it too low and it will barely scorch the thing, but turn it too high and you'll burn it. Once you have the setting you want, you push down this lever..."

He demonstrated, adjusting the knob to an average setting and popping in the bread.

"And once it's ready, it the machine will push the bread back up. If at any point you want to end the cooking early though, there's a little button here that pops it back up immediately. It's cook for if you think you accidentally put the setting too high and want to save it from burning."

There was a brief moment of silence as Willow zoned out for a moment watching the toaster, considering the soft orange glow coming from within. His mind and body were still adjusting to being awake.

"This isn't a very substantial meal though. Do you want me to make you something else?"

[Stormwrath]

A light flashed repeatedly on her navel, and a series of beeps accommodated it — indicating that she was already fully charged. Her auditory sensor units (fancy android devices located from within her silicone ears) picked up the beep, which served as her personal alarm clock. Of course, she had a digital clock by her bedside, but that was for telling the time. Getting off the thick warmer, she got up with her arms stretched out to the sides. Bending her neck around in a circular manner, she slid out of her warmer and slipped on her fluffy slippers.

Her nightwear consisted of a cerulean camisole with a cute grizzly bear on her chest and a pair of red pajamas with a tartan-like pattern of black and blue stripes intersecting each other. Her long, synthetic blonde hair looked the same as before she went to bed, though there were some strands that seem to be curling upwards. Eh, she'll get to comb that off after taking a shower. Turning on the lampshade she took a look at the window and saw that the sun was still not up yet. Did she plug in too early or were her battery levels not entirely exhausted before she charged? Who knows?

She disconnected the wire on her navel and returned it inside the charging station. After taking a shower and changing her clothes to that of an orange shirt with beige trousers, with her blue jacket and sneakers — Macy took the golden key with her, turned the lampshade off and went out of the bedroom. Now the problem was how she was going to close that knobless door. First she tried to close it by pulling on the edge of the door with her hands, but that didn't seem to work, as her fingers only served to keep the door from closing fully. Next she tried using a stick to try to close it but it couldn't get a hold of the door.

Finally she figured that perhaps she should go back into the room, hold the door and go outside to the living room, slamming the door shut. She did so, and the door finally closed with a click. The energy that she had used to close the door may have been too much — one of the picture frames on the wall tilted because of she shut the door with a slam. Macy climbed on the sofa and straightened the painting, making it level. Seeing as how everything is now in order, she exited her apartment room with another slam — this time with the entrance door. The same picture frame tilted again.

She traversed the hall and made it to the elevator — thank goodness that there was no sign saying "Out of Order" anymore. That isn't to say that the stairs were a problem for her, since she doesn't get tired. She arrived at the 2nd Floor and made it to the dining hall, looking passive. Yes, she is a robot and can't digest most food served to organics, but hopefully they serve android-oriented shake that would relubricate her joints — doing it manually would take too much time and effort, considering there were so many joints to lubricate. Macy may have noticed that there were a few others who were also going through their first meal of the day, as the humans called it. They were up early as well for some reason — what was going on? "Ummm, hello," she waved to her new ummm, roommates — or neighbors. "Why are you all up so early?"

[Zarkanians]

"Do you want my opinion?" Minerva added the dirty napkin to the plate, then waved her hand, "Of course you do! I rather like the fact that you don't have that workshop. I rather like not having to race through my morning just to get paperwork delivered downtown. Do you realize how long its been since we've actually come together for waffles? Just for the sake of eating waffles, with no meetings attached to it?"

She slapped a palm against the counter. "We are building a chicken coop, Branson Nikanor! It will be the best damn chicken coop this side of wherever the hell we are, and, come hell or high water, those damn birds will produce eggs for the best damn waffles this side of the universe. Do you know why? I'll tell you, Sir. We'll do it because these are just the things we used to do before life became so damn complicated around here."

Centuries of always being on the go. Countless years spent running this, or running that, or directing Lads, or answering Charumati's call. For the first time in quite a long while, Minerva had absolutely nothing scheduled save one meeting with Primordial. She fancied they could do it outside with margaritas in their hands, if they so chose (and if the cold weather warmed a bit).

The fiery redhead's eyes settled on Catrain as he lurked the corner. "And you, my dear New Resident, should help us. You can't say you've lived unless you actually get active in life. You see, life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death."

Cat stepped back, but quickly reoriented himself. He was more used to situations like this. He stood up straight (practically at attention), and nodded, fixing his goggles into place. "Okay; what do we need, what's a chicken, what's a waffle, and what tools do we have available to us?"

[Mincaldenteans]

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.

Anais silently berated herself for not attending to Drova whom addressed her first. Where did her mind go? No matter, the ritualist could fix that easily and set it upon herself with a gesture of her hand for Chrys to take a spare seat and join them at the table. The prince visage was strange to her, having pointed ears, a dark complexion, and wings, which stood out the most to her. She wondered idly if that mean he was a capable of lifting himself in the air, perhaps even fly? She thought to ask, but maybe later, at a more appropriate time.

She turned to Drova and gave a warm, but apologetic smile. The sway from her movement let the pieces of bone, shell and chitin fragments that adorned her headpiece resonate in a soft and dull tone. "A pleasure to meet you, Drova, I'm Anais. No slight is taken, in fact, I believe I should apologize, I did not mean to jump over you. Although you do not look familiar to me, and neither does that person," she gestured quickly with a hand toward Cat that had wandered toward the others.

"How long have you been here? The Building, I mean?" She asked idly and was about to ask more when the spirited talk from Minerva caught her attention. She grinned, having overheard the captain's voice above the rest. It was odd, however, as it didn't sound like the same person they hosted in the guild hall. She let it go, although the Ritualist found it a tad awkward to have two separate groups.

"Perhaps we should join them?" Anais suggested to the Prince and Conservator.

[Germanic Templars]

"You air force people." Thriller remarked as he walked into the doorway. His standard for his appearance have gone down since the news from home. His beard was thick and unkempt, while his uniform was grimy; his eye red from the lack of sleep. "When I served, all I got was oatmeal, a sausage patty that was probably microwaved before serving, and a stale biscuit... Assuming I was not eating MREs. God I hate my life sometimes."

Other than the moment of negativity, Thriller relaxed his posture as he gave a quick glance around the room, only noticing Minerva as another familiar face. He nodded his head at her. "Minerva. How is things going?"

[Tiltjuice]

"You're right. Having too few people around feels off; come with me and I'll explain it a bit more. And of course, call me Chrysanthe."

The Conservator felt more at ease with the ritualist. Perhaps it was their shared sex, or the fact that Anais was less high-strung than Cat. The gladiatrix in her wanted to follow through, to find what exactly was so fearsome about swordbearers where he came from, but she made a note to leave the blade at Hans' for public gatherings.

Wandering over, she had intended to join Minerva and Branson in their conversation, but instead found herself walking into the presence of another member of royalty. Rather more literally in this case, and she fell back apologizing to Thriller.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I seem to be doing that quite often, with the Pyersai prince, earlier. And - " she chopped off the rest of her sentence, deciding instead to wait for a response. It seemed like something the others would do. While nothing was happening, however, she waved at Anais to join them so the two groups could be in the same place. The less awkwardness, the better.

[Primordial Luxa]

Dining Room
Primordial indicated his interest in Minerva’s comment but raising a quizzical eyebrow and said “No I shouldn't be that busy my only real to do item is to try and instal some sort of communication tower and then try and do some cartography. Whatever it is I have some time for...what exactly may I ask?”

All of this was true he and Insidious had worried about communicating with each other while she was away and he had resolved to sent up some sort of telecommunication node so that the residents could get better wifi and cell services. He was sure that Demens provided but their was no reason he needed to be relied upon. He also wanted to take a look at the nearby out space geography and maybe talk to the raptors about putting a small satellite up there, assuming the sky wasn’t filled with something strange or their new god did not get in the way.

[The BranRiech]

"You air force people." Thriller remarked as he walked into the doorway. His standard for his appearance have gone down since the news from home. His beard was thick and unkempt, while his uniform was grimy; his eye red from the lack of sleep. "When I served, all I got was oatmeal, a sausage patty that was probably microwaved before serving, and a stale biscuit... Assuming I was not eating MREs. God I hate my life sometimes."

Other than the moment of negativity, Thriller relaxed his posture as he gave a quick glance around the room, only noticing Minerva as another familiar face. He nodded his head at her. "Minerva. How is things going?"

"Well . . . Uh."

Bran shrugged, looking slightly annoyed at the comment. "It's not that we had fresh chicken every night, it's that there were severe shortages of food. The government wasn't in any condition to pay for a functioning air force, let alone adequately feeding it's troops. We had to keep ancient Soviet airframes in the air as long as possible." Bran explained, in essence, also explaining the source of his mechanical expertise in repairing things. "We had chickens on base because we needed to feed ourselves."

He turned back to Minerva, who seemed to be in the middle of some firebranded motivational speech.

While Bran was quite confused, he did know that life seemed a lot simpler without Bielefeld to worry about. Of course, their new world most certainly contained a bevy of problems the residents would find themselves mired in, but what couldn't they solve?

"Mmm, I can build coop, with help too." He smiled, eyeing Primordial, and the newly arrived Catrain as well, having not been acquainted with the height-impaired Zarkanian. Bran could barely tell whether Catrain was even human, not even beginning to guess the gender of the being. "You two, want to build with me, and I assume Minerva as well? We might probably need wood, of course, cut down some trees, or find it from old furniture?"

He ended with a bite from his own waffle.

[Germanic Templars]

Thriller pointed at Bran with a knife hand and remarked in a joking manner, "That is what you get for not joining Freedom America^tm or Freedom NATO^tm. You get outdated planes and chicken you have to catch on an airfield." Thriller's mind wondered off to him imagining the chickens themselves wearing goggles, running down the airstrip, flapping their tiny wings in an attempt to fly off the runway like the planes. The thought was enough to cause the man to grin. "Fuckin chickens." He muttered to himself.

Though his mind shifted back to reality. Long enough to hear Chrysanthe and direct his attention, and his knife hand, towards her. "You, if you want you can talk with us. Nothing wrong with that. And please no majesty. Just Thriller, or Cornelius."

[Fvaarniimar]

Rmwtyliin nodded, leaning back to finish securing her hair.  Waking up the phone she'd been using as a soft light and taking out her wooden needle, she unraveled another bit of thread - and jumped, stabbing her hand, as someone shouted.  As she pressed the wound, she kept glancing at Duncan impatiently - until something lit up the interior.  Entranced, the girl tried to touch a colored dot and found that it was suddenly on her hand.

As she reached for another, Duncan started speaking.  Oh no.  Her hands were on her head already.  She wasn't going to move them.

She remained frozen until Romulus replied.  I doubt you can afford to be condescending.  With a sigh, she continued pinning, wondering if there was anything she could do to help.  Maybe...tell them how much they were looking forward to the visit. Compliment the tall architecture. Possibly act so clueless that whatever violation occurred would be excused on the grounds of their group having been unaware. And... Have someone apologize for that irritating guy from yesterday?  Maybe he was expected to apologize for himself, but lacking a means to transfer a message to cue him -

But they did have such a means!  Not realizing the problem with that strategy, the girl pulled her cheap, entirely mundane phone back out of her coat pocket and turned to Amanda with a grin.  "What is the number for Rahmmmuuluss?"

[The BranRiech]

Anais silently berated herself for not attending to Drova whom addressed her first. Where did her mind go? No matter, the ritualist could fix that easily and set it upon herself with a gesture of her hand for Chrys to take a spare seat and join them at the table. The prince visage was strange to her, having pointed ears, a dark complexion, and wings, which stood out the most to her. She wondered idly if that mean he was a capable of lifting himself in the air, perhaps even fly? She thought to ask, but maybe later, at a more appropriate time.

She turned to Drova and gave a warm, but apologetic smile. The sway from her movement let the pieces of bone, shell and chitin fragments that adorned her headpiece resonate in a soft and dull tone. "A pleasure to meet you, Drova, I'm Anais. No slight is taken, in fact, I believe I should apologize, I did not mean to jump over you. Although you do not look familiar to me, and neither does that person," she gestured quickly with a hand toward Cat that had wandered toward the others.

"How long have you been here? The Building, I mean?" She asked idly and was about to ask more when the spirited talk from Minerva caught her attention. She grinned, having overheard the captain's voice above the rest. It was odd, however, as it didn't sound like the same person they hosted in the guild hall. She let it go, although the Ritualist found it a tad awkward to have two separate groups.

"Perhaps we should join them?" Anais suggested to the Prince and Conservator.

"No worries." Drova responded in the same cordial manner he always did when greeting. It was a tone of voice he was expected to master, when greeting others of course. He'd been trained on that for the better part of a month, learning various pleasantries, and how to initiate conversations. It was all mostly useless to Drova, with the exception of meeting new people of course. His friends would be spared hearing him speak in such a patronizing way.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you, Anais."

He stopped, and shook his head, silently cursing himself, the habit he couldn't break, of sounding like he was sucking up to the woman. "Agh, you don't need to apologize. It's early in the morning, and we're all tired, I assume, from everything that happened yesterday." He suggested, his tone sounding a bit more genuine, more real as he took another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth.

The Prince refused to speak until he was done eating the bite, but it gave Anais plenty of time to ask her question.

"Few years now, at most. I live here with my sister, Yuna." Drova explained, deciding to hold off on giving the woman his whole life story. He turned his head at the mention of the others and shrugged. "Well, I think they're just making some food right now, they'll probably end up joining us in a few moments." He said, leaning back in his chair, the large wings hanging from his back awkwardly shifted in.

"And not to press of course, but yourself?"

[Mincaldenteans]

"No worries." Drova responded in the same cordial manner he always did when greeting. It was a tone of voice he was expected to master, when greeting others of course. He'd been trained on that for the better part of a month, learning various pleasantries, and how to initiate conversations. It was all mostly useless to Drova, with the exception of meeting new people of course. His friends would be spared hearing him speak in such a patronizing way.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you, Anais."

He stopped, and shook his head, silently cursing himself, the habit he couldn't break, of sounding like he was sucking up to the woman. "Agh, you don't need to apologize. It's early in the morning, and we're all tired, I assume, from everything that happened yesterday." He suggested, his tone sounding a bit more genuine, more real as he took another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth.

The Prince refused to speak until he was done eating the bite, but it gave Anais plenty of time to ask her question.

"Few years now, at most. I live here with my sister, Yuna." Drova explained, deciding to hold off on giving the woman his whole life story. He turned his head at the mention of the others and shrugged. "Well, I think they're just making some food right now, they'll probably end up joining us in a few moments." He said, leaning back in his chair, the large wings hanging from his back awkwardly shifted in.

"And not to press of course, but yourself?"

"Indeed," Anais responded with a nod, "But after a few hours rest, I find myself a little restless to charge through the day and find out exactly we will be doing."

The Ritualist took a quick glance at the food Drova was half munching on, added with the light scent of breakfast that wasted little time in permeating the air, Anais ignored the growing pangs in her stomach, not being a breakfast person like Cherry or Erick. Instead Anais refocused her thoughts upon the day and glanced at Chrys who waved in her direction to join her and another person.

Not missing the second inquiry, Anais turned her attention back and gave a light shrug complete with a rueful smile, "I'm afraid I haven't kept up with the days since my guild's arrival; we dropped at trying times and I think our guild has made do trying to adapt. For a building full of different coexisting cultures, it seems we attract more negative attention than is warranted. Matters not, my friends and I have been in one foray or another for the better part of five years before we arrived in Bielefeld and since then . Given yesterday's unfortunate events, I think mornings such as this will be a rare thing indeed."

Anais caught Chrys' eyes once more and nodded politely. She addressed Drova once more, "Speaking of rare opportunities, might I trouble you with joining the warrior priestess and her companion? If anything we could likely do more than just a chicken coop for the day and you can tell me more about where you're from."

[Tiltjuice]

The familiar burn coursed its way through the Celt's blood, slow, heady, and steady. Her hand half-tightened as if searching for something around which to wrap, but then Anais glanced her way and the trance was broken.

Temporarily.

"All right, Thriller," she acquiesced, and then turned her attention to Drova. Distantly she wondered, giddily, if the Pyersai would take offense to the idea of raising chickens in an enclosed structure like a coop. Perhaps not, since they were subterranean.

Either this was a sign that she needed to work off some steam, or ask Hans to imagine up something that could calm her. Was he the sort of cultist who partook?

[Swith Witherward]

THE IMPORTANCE OF KNOWING A PONY
Hans' nose twitched in response to the savory smells released by rapidly browning bread. The human salivated. Ah, so perhaps it wasn't a good idea to snap the toaster from the counter, the daemon thought to himself. He sought to save time by having the device beside him while he sorted the daily reports. No juice near the couch, and no juice unless the toaster's tail was shoved into the odd outlet. Makes sense in hindsight.

Rache's rumbling purr and an eager bob of his head indicated his approval of Willow's offer.

"I have things to cook," he offered, unwilling to steal from another's provisions during a time of war. Correction, unwilling to steal from another's faction. Stealing from ones own faction was perfectly suitable. Needs, must! Besides, his people sucked up plenty of emotional energy yesterday. "And I have this!"

Rache thrust a hand into one of Hans' hammerspace pockets and rummaged about until his fingertips brushed against the cover of a very old, much beloved book. He withdrew it, almost tenderly, to present to Willow.

"Erntedankfest, Helga," he explained as he adjusted the cover for the Pony to read before opening it to show the yellowing pages. "Children's book on the harvest celebrations. Look inside. Hans' people are known for their Oktoberfest but Erntedankfest is also important. And this book has Helga, a German child."

Typical of many books written before the War, Helga's adventure introduced the young reader to the adult word as she quested to find the meaning of a holiday. The pages - eagerly poured over by Hans during his own childhood - boasted instructions for making Erntekrone (harvest crowns) as well as lyrics for songs and recipes for traditional foods. "Helga's sister is chosen as Erntekönigin," the daemon snorted, a bit displeased that she did not die at the end, "And later in the day, there’s more music, dancing, and food. There is also an evening service followed by a lantern and torch parade - the Laternenumzug - for the children. And fireworks."

The daemon settled his host's body into a kitchen chair and propped his elbows on the table. "You and Klaus, you look for ways to mend things? Start by mending people's lack of gratitude. Nobody here is thankful for what they have. They bitch and whine. We can taste it. Maybe we need Erntedankfest here? A substantial meal. To express thankfulness that they're all still alive and have a roof over their damn heads."

Rache left the book with Willow and returned his hands to the pockets. "I have parsnips and potatoes. I have fowl. I have corn. Okay, the corn is in cans, but I have it. You want wine? I have that, too. I can't make the food edible. It's raw. Except the corn. I don't think that's meant to be eaten. Humans don't digest it properly, do they?"

He produced a flour sack from a breast pocket and plopped it onto the table. "You cook, and I'll make fireworks?" he lifted a brow to show his sincerity.

His teeth crunched into the try toast as he eased back in the chair. "And you don't tell anyone this was my idea. Feasts and music are hedonistic... they belong to Perfection's corner of the pantheon, but not War's."



DINING ROOM
"The priests are working on communications," the steam rising from Minerva's mug curled around her cheeks as she sipped her tea. "The problem isn't a lack of a tower, or the lack of several towers to increase range beyond the Building. It's the setting itself."

She pinched her eyes closed, momentarily blocking out the conversation around her as she tried to recall Adrastus' words from earlier. "Cell phones use radio waves to communicate, yes? Radio waves transport digitized voice or data in the form of oscillating electric and magnetic fields, called the electromagnetic field - the EMF. The rate of oscillation is called frequency. Radio waves carry the information and travel in air at the speed of light. The problem is the electromagnetic field on this planet. It doesn't behave as it should, thus the frequencies wildly modulate mid-transmission, often vanishing completely. That's why all our atomic clocks are shitting kittens. The 60 kHz wave is... well, it's not, half the time. That's the problem. The tech priests rely upon several methods to maintain their comms, only one of which is radio waves. Another is quantum, moving a qubit from one location to another. Don't ask me to explain how they do it. That old priest told me three times and I still couldn't fathom his factoids."

The cultist leader set her cup down with a sigh. "They'll figure it out."

But Time was fluid, and Minerva was cursed by its schedule. She recaptured a bit of her former spark and set things to kindling again. "Alright, how about that chicken coop! While people dig up wood for it - we still have the stuff for the Building windows, never used during the Drone invasion - Primordial, let's put our heads together."



BURROWS
Ocho shook his head, and offered the device back to Aegis. "Thank you. Our brains aren't like other species, and we keep them in various places in our bodies," he apologized. For him, though, it was also a mistrust of organic machines.

"The adults?" the minotaur shrugged at Sandy. "They'll put up a good fight. You shouldn't kill any of them, however. The adults produce the lambs. Demens' balls, man, you'll doom us all if you start slaughtering them."

The villagers grew uncomfortably quiet. Had they made a mistake in accepting the offer? These Gatejumpers seemed unaware of resource management, and perhaps lacked the ability to understand how critical natural harmony was to an everyday existence. Several heads turned towards the lizard as her jaws carefully crunched down on the morning snack Aegis provided. She paused in her efforts and smiled at them. So lovely in the villager's angry torch light.

"Let's move out," Ocho swiped the creature from Nila's grasp before she could harm it, and set it upon Aegis' shoulder. "Shouldn't we be at the field by dawn?"

The minotaur snatched a torch from a companion. "Yes, we need to set out now. But I want it perfectly clear - we won't be pleased if you kill sheep."

They moved as a somber mob, trudging through the town and towards a direction farther from the Building.

[Swith Witherward]

LOBBY
Volker the Front Desk Cultist lowered his newspaper. The news, like the paper it was printed on, was already three days old. He leaned over the counter to peer at the woman on the floor. She'd arrived a few seconds prior. He took in her appearance before craning his neck to observe the light fixture overhead; a light bulb was rapidly screwing itself back in, covering the opening she had just tumbled through.

"Wake up, Ms Karenis," Volker's voice broke the spell placed upon her during travel to the Building. He didn't know her place or time of origin. In fact, he knew nothing about her except her name, and only because it was carefully printed on a yellow slip of paper on the desk in front of him.

The former Nazi tugged his uniform into place and cleared his throat. "Are you listening?"

[Fvaarniimar]

Burrows
Nick's white whiskers twitched as he looked at the eldritch bugs. Interesting, and it would be useful to communicate with the others without attracting attention, like at the Carnival, or to call for help if needed... The guy had said it was communication. Why couldn't he be the communicator? What if it wasn't just words? Am I useless here? Too short range to help? Imagining himself shaving countless sheep in one go might be amusing; it was hardly realistic. He wondered if, like the Allspice fight, this would be wrapped up before he even moved to join the fray.

It's a tool - just a tool - in case we get separated. Maybe similar to my powers. Maybe it can even help me understand them? Inhale. He exhaled. "Hi. Do you have extra...Spinnerets of Bayed Consciousness?" Actually he probably does, Ocho just rejected his...

[Northwest Slobovia]

Burrows
“This is a Spinneret of Bade Consciousness” he explained “Their like spiders only they create webs of thoughts rather than silk. There absolutely harmless I assure you but they allow a group of people to stay in near constant communication with each other. If you want just place it behind your ear it should be painless and will allow us to stay in touch if any of use gets separated. Trust me when I say it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as it looks.”

Sandy glanced down at the creature, and a wary look came to his eyes. His eyes lifted to Aegis' face, then he examined the spidery thing a bit more. "Sorry, no thanks... at least not now. Perhaps when we get to the falls I'll have a better opportunity to study one and make a more informed decision." He'd need Pegasus' ears to really understand their magic, and even then he had his doubts he'd completely understand the Luxans' reason for the offer. He had little interest in nightmares of sunken cities.

"The adults?" the minotaur shrugged at Sandy. "They'll put up a good fight. You shouldn't kill any of them, however. The adults produce the lambs. Demens' balls, man, you'll doom us all if you start slaughtering them."

"Kill them??" Sandy was astonished at the reply, it seemed so funny. "I was more worried that they would kill us if we got them angry. I was thinking that we might enrage them and they'd swarm us like bees, or lead to something like sharks' feeding frenzies. Their teeth suggested predatory fish. No, I wasn't intending to kill any of them; I'm not sure I could."

Sandy felt a sudden chill, and he was unable to tell if it was because the cold had finally cut through his windbreaker or because he'd said something irredeemably wrong. if he'd shot his mouth off, he'd make it up with his actions, and if it was the wind... Sandy took a moment to cast the Critique of the Cold on himself, and tossed his windbreaker into the jeep. He locked the door out of habit, then fell in with the group heading out. Despite the fog cutting visual range to next to nothng, Sandy decided he'd feel more comfortable with better sight into the the shadows, and added the Eyes of the Wolf to the Critique.

[Giovenith]

Willow carefully took the old book in his hooves and looked over it as Rache talked. It was a relic, to be sure, and his scant knowledge of humanity's past gave the crinkly pages an extra layer of mystery and intrigue. The pegasus didn't have many things left over from his own childhood--he'd been one of those fools so eager to be old--but he supposed that for a man with a life such as Hans', holding on to innocence was a matter of survival.

Rache's criticism of the other residents caught his attention. Lack of gratitude? It wasn't something he'd picked up on himself, but then Willow didn't "eat" feelings, and he still wasn't quite as integrated into the larger community as some of his neighbors. He did however understand the sentiment. Willow could be a very supportive and understanding pony when he needed to be, but there was only so much support a person needed before they started being an outright emotional vampire, and the artist had long since learned not to put up with that crap. He liked to actually try to get shit done, not play the let's-all-hold-hands-and-feel-sorry-for-ourselves game. Still, the residents were under a substantially higher amount of stress than most, so perhaps the daemon was right in that they all needed a warmer reminder that there were things to be grateful for even in times of trial.

He was surprised at the sudden unloading of raw food, and even more so when he caught on that Rache had a whole feast in mind. "They can't digest the corn itself, but it helps them to digest other foods..." he answered absent-mindedly as he watched the food pile, carefully moving the book out of the way so as to not be ruined. " He bit his bottom lip. "There's over a hundred people living here, not counting the ones living in the shadows and such..."

He stopped and better considered his words. Just yesterday he'd put on a big damn display about how he was prepared to work hard to help the situation for the daemon and Klaus, so there was no backing out of this. Had to make it work.

Willow took a deep breath. "Alright," he switched into analytical mode. "Yeah, I can do that, but not alone. If we're talking a whole miniature festival for the Building, I'm definitely going to need extra help. Especially for the bird. My father taught me how to prepare just about anything, but ponies are herbivores, even non-sapient meat is considered macabre to us, so somepony else will need to be proficient enough to handle it for me. Everything else I can do. Exactly how much do you have?"

[Charmera]

The former Nazi tugged his uniform into place and cleared his throat. "Are you listening?"

Asdra got up, peeling herself off the floor which she had been so recently ejected onto. She rubbed her head, as if that would help her determine how she had gotten here, where here was or anything else that might be useful. She didn't recognise the voice, but supposed she should answer it anyway. "Yes. I am listening." She replied, a little tersely than she meant, she was a little cranky after her face had impacted the ground after being dropped on the floor. She looked to the person whom was speaking, again, nothing in the least bit familiar about him, nothing to explain why he knew her name. She wasn't famous after all, so it didn't make a lot of sense. Then again, nothing seemed to be making much sense. She looked up to see the light fixture which Volker was looking at, then back to him.

"Where am I...?" She asked, very direct, though not in a rude tone. "And how do you know my name?"

[The BranRiech]

"Aye, we could talk all day if need be." Drova responded, figuring it wouldn't be a problem to take part in some form of manual labor. Building an enclosure for animals didn't sound very hard, knowing that back home, the Pyersai were able to find a way to have Bat-farms, providing a good chunk of the meat that his people ate. Building a coop for some flightless birds sounded even more simple than that.

With a few last bites of his parfait, Drova raised the handkerchief he had in his pocket to his lips, wiping them off, revealing his fanged canine teeth, one on each side of his mouth. It wasn't very noticeable, except for when the Prince's mouth was wide-open.

"Join them?" He looked over at Chrys, stifling a slight grin.

Placing his hands on the table, Drova twisted his torso back and forth, eventually emanating a few satisfying popping noises as his bones released some much needed tension. "Yeah, we can." He nodded, looking to nod at blonde woman, noting her striking blue eyes.

--

"Glad I never bothered with communications." Bran whispered to himself, listening to Minerva's explanation of their difficulties in that field, with how the world worked or something. But unless the physics of chickens were different in this world as well, they shouldn't have much difficulty at all. "So we need some wood, right? Or like, some sort of container at least that can hold them." He mused for a moment.

"Hey, Minerva. Do we have axes around her e for wood as well? Might be problem if we don't, because . . . No wood, right?"