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

[Giovenith]

"I'm a tough cookie with a sensitive soul, all rights reserved; besides, I've got a good support system." The pony gave a smile and head bob as he glanced back at Giovenith, who was wrapped up in discussion with her friends. She was now as old as he was when he first came to Earth, but even considering that, Willow found some struggle in admitting that she wasn't entirely the child he liked to think of her as. "The godling and I often have our strong disagreements, but she still has been nothing but generous to and supportive of me. I'm just one of countless suckered into loving her, as goddesses seem notoriously prone to causing, but I'm okay with that. I like to think I have good reasons regardless."

Yes, yes, Giovenith was his most valuable friend in this world, especially so after Sterling had left him behind. Of course he couldn't give her all the credit. There'd been Nick too, fellow quadruped, as well as Brit, and Arthur and Kwa'a to some degree. He'd gone through a bit of a rough, sad period of feeling without intrinsic value, what with his sole attachment to Giovenith and the constant casual warnings about being easily killed in this world, but as he steadily gained more friends and realized the warnings were rather exaggerated he had lightened back up. Most of his culture shock these days involved technology and philosophy.

"Equestria isn't as technologically advanced as this place though," he admitted. "It leads to some issues, but I've been learning. Probably my biggest struggle is the differences in attitude and regard for certain things. Apparently, I am considered "cutsie" in this world..."

The dissonance between the skepticism in his tone and adorable pony features was almost comical. Willow spoke as if it was obvious this wasn't true, while his actual appearance screamed this was totally true.

"I'm not exactly very masculine, but none the less, most guys my age don't consider themselves on par with teddy bears or bunny rabbits," he flicked an ear. "And it comes with a host of other small problems here. People here seem to usually assume that "cute" means stupid, naive, immature, or easily frightened and confused. I don't like being treated like an idiot. Most people who know me do not act that way, but it still occasionally happens. Aside from a few cultural things, my brain isn't any different from any other 20 year old guy."

Taking a deep breath, he gave a mellow smile. "And what about you? How do daemons spend their lives beyond the stereotypes?"


Giovenith shook her head. "I don't know anything about this place, or why we're here. Yuna didn't say anything about it either. Oh, that means my mom might know where I am..."

Pearlelei was almost neglectfully tolerant of the wide variety of activities her daughter was involved in. Invasions, living with other pantheons, supernatural attacks, oh but heaven forbid she go somewhere without informing her first! She hoped she wouldn't be grounded too hard.

[Tiltjuice]

The heat and fire were where Conservators thrived, armor or no armor. So it was that Chrys crossed the room, standing even closer than Asdra, square to the blacksmith. The chatter on engines held no value for her; only the heat, the chance to craft, and whatever she could pick up about the Fiends. All in good Time, however; she had been quiescent for a time now, and she was content to let the newer Resident take the lead on the conversation.

If there was one thing she knew aside from the fury of battle, it was the flex of the bellows, and her eyes whitened for a moment in concentration and reminiscence.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Woolly Bowl 2015, Third Round and Long

Sandy desperately tried to pull his legs free of the entangling plants before the woolly swarm reached him. He failed, and keeping his head and wings above the horde of future socks was the best he could until they made their turn. Pegasus' keen nose was overwhelmed by the stench of skunk -- Kale had done an excellent job reproducing that, more’s the pity -- along with musty raw wool, notes of sweatsock, and hints of armpit. Sandy felt that with just a tiny bit more reek, the odor would form a visible cloud around them. Eeeeewwww!

The yarnballs' turn loosened the mass of stems and vines keeping him from getting airborne, and Sandy climbed steeply away from the flock. He took stock of the situation as he circled to gain altitude. It seemed fair to say the adults were now "distracted", even if they were all running in different directions, and the lambs... were gone! Crap! He hadn't seen where they went, he doubted anybody else had. Still, the Residents were in one piece, so they seemed to be making progress.

Sandy had begun to rethink the poetic fragment, but he wanted to try one last gamble on his original guess. All he needed was a drum machine, and he knew where to find part of one. He'd be the other part.

Sandy dove to where Ocho was still plowing through the sheep like a tall, furry weedwhacker. He flew at Ocho’s eye level, and watched him fling sheep into the air until he had Ocho's timing down. Then, he maneuvered to catch one on his back, upside down.

Sandy rolled a little to the left, letting the sheep roll out onto his left wing just as his wings started down. As the sheep neared his wingtip, he brought his wings back up, and the sheep rolled back to his body. With a little work, he had the rhythm set: down, sheep rolls right; up, sheep rolls back; down sheep rolls left, up, sheep rolls back.

One more set of rolling back and forth, and Sandy flipped the sheep off a wingtip, letting it land on its butt with a thump: *tum*; a nice kettle drum sound. Sandy caught another of Ocho's flung sheep. Having gotten a bit of practice, he was able to flick this one away so it landed on its feet and scrabbled away: it made a skittering sound, like a high hat. That would do.

Sandy paused, getting into sync with the rhythm of Ocho's throws. He caught the sheep and set a beat with them: *Tum*. *Tum* *Tum*. *Tum* *Tum* scribscribscrib. *Tum* *Tum* scribscribscrib...

Would percussion soothe the savage woolly beast? Or would this merely indulge Sandy's handler? He'd soon find out.

[Swith Witherward]

TELL ME SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
OH, TELL ME SOMETHING REAL
TELL ME NO MORE MAKE BELIEVE
I JUST WANT TO FEEL.

FILL IT FULL OF HORROR
FILL IT FULL OF LIFE
FEEL IT FULL OF FEELING
THERE'S MORE HONESTY IN STRIFE.

APARTMENT 4J

I knew him the moment he arrived in Bielefeld. He arrived old and frail; my own color had long since faded. He shuffled to the desk and spoke, and in that moment I remembered what it meant to breathe. I couldn’t believe that he was real. I couldn’t understand why fate would return him to me, and why, of all places, he would turn up here.

His sudden embrace stripped away painful and uncertain years. It was an odd sensation. Metal here, organic there. Bit and pieces and funny little machine parts that fashioned him as a being - a self-constructed construct. His scent brought back dormant memories. The Dystan library and that nation's jovial king, discussions revolving around road maps, tales of the Spire and the risks therein, reckless Jeep rides, and finally... the ship. I pinched my eyes closed to block out the sorrowful moment only to find my mind reaching for a blank section in my data. Metal here, organic there. Water cascading like tears across cheeks.

No, that’s not right. It’s tears that cascade like water, isn’t it?

Scel held the key. She had always done so, and now she’s gone. Damn you! Couldn’t you have told me before you left? Couldn’t you have explained why every rain shower reminds me of him, and why the same two words spring to mind when I gaze into the mists? Would it have killed you to do that, Scel?

Sentia bolted as the shattered teacup shards came to rest near her bowl. Splattered tea marked its flight path and collision point, dotting the clean floor and cabinetry. Neste breathed heavily, her pale claws gouging the desk’s corners as she once again confronted the gaping hole where memories should be. She lifted her eyes to gaze into the morning mists. A lip curled in frustration as the words once again taunted her.

Philia and… Eros

Septimus had never spoken these words yet her mind breathed them in his voice. The sensation of rain always followed, without fail. And then, inexplicably, the snippet unraveled until nothing at all remained.

Neste’s claws rattled the desk as she extracted them one by one. His cloak’s heavy material became her sanctuary. She wrapped it more tightly about her. Doxi would not wait. She needed to finish her thoughts.

My first memory of Earth does not include Septimus. Diplomacy is the furthest notion in my mind. I have come to correct a grievous error.


Exos paw the ground, their nickering rising in volume as drones roll through the gates to take up positions on the drop barrier. Low growls betray Scel’s impatience. I feel her weight shift as she snaps at the less experienced constructs flanking her.

The drums beat and mix with our jubilant screeches. This is the right hand of god come to pay gruesome visit on the heretics and swine. This is their absolution. This is their dissolution. This is for their own Good.

We part the sky under the cloak of our psionics, our minds and technology dampening us as we fall in tune with the Perseid meteor shower. One hundred five kilometers above the planetary surface, my body shivers as it makes contact with the atmosphere. I tuck my wedge head and present wide shoulders and back to the world below. The resulting hypersonic shockwave cushions me and disperses the hot gases until they lap around my balled form. Oblivious to the planet’s heat licking at the hardened scales, I use the brief fall time to recalculate my target. At sixty meters per second, one isn’t accorded much.

Not all my sisters will make it past the Kármán Line. Agony-laced voices split the night air as many of my sisters auger-in. Fools. They overcompensated during rotation. Let them burn. Only the cunning survive atmospheric entry.

Spent ablative scales fly from my body as I elongate my form. The double boom serves as the only warning they have that I have come for the witherwardians. The sky fills with the bangs, first my own, then my sisters’. Vengeance moves at ultrasonic speeds, and our psionics propel us. Our blunt bodies gobble up the distance at a respectable 8.5 m/s. My sisters deploy wings and dampeners, snapping atmospheric drag to retard their speed before reaching target. I do not. I am point.

Rigid canards rise from my head and neck to aid devastation. I do not slow until Cyfoeth is but one hundred kilometers away, and I engage psionic brakes as I skim Aberbrays’s cityscape, shattering windows and rattling doors in my wake. Praelitia is my target. I curl into a ball and strike the coastal city at a respectable seven hundred miles per second, leaving a water-filled hole and spewing toxic gases across the surrounding area. I obliterate every last man, woman, and child. The Nifid are come; now is the hour of reckoning.

The pen’s scratching ceased as Neste collected her thoughts. The details were unimportant beyond that point. Standard operating procedures hadn’t changed; the Nifid seldom veered from what worked best.

This was by no means a bloody campaign by Convocation standards. During the course of a decade, we decimated the population. However, we were limited in the amount of damage we could do. The planet was home to other species. The Nifid, in their infinite understanding, would not subject minor, unaffiliated species to the same internal cleansing.

I can’t recall how it ended. I woke and set off as I did each morning. The day was different. It felt different. Even the taste was off. This is the day treachery intervened on the witherward’s behalf. This was the day we were betrayed, and the day that I sought to escape only to find myself enslaved.

The punishments leveled at me did not fit my supposed crimes. No, death by my hand was swift and merciful, unless I was required to extract information, and so each life was quickly snuffed. I won’t kid myself or pretend that I didn’t employ methods considered criminal by the witherward’s evil standards, though.

Why engage our forces in trench warfare when we can draw them out by impaling their dead mothers and children on spikes? Why expose ourselves to IEDs when we can set their homes aflame?

But I get ahead of myself.

It was Aubrey DeStephano that changed my life. That damn, zit-faced zealot! I slaughtered her father. I crushed her brothers. I tore her life from her and turned her world upside down. Yet she believed. BELIEVED beyond all shadow of a doubt that we constructs were more than our design. We were sophont. We had feelings. We were merely shackled and oppressed by the Nifid and, if given a chance, we could become exemplary members of the community. She proclaimed this while prostrating herself across my muzzle, as if shackling herself to my exo in protest would actually cause her words to hold truth.

They didn’t hold truth, of course. As any fool will tell you, machina mortifero are machina mortifero, and not cuddly puppies or misunderstood slaves. Don’t put us in your pocket and then bitch when the we annihilate your atoms. Higher constructs are engineered creatures containing a storehouse of genetic information gathered from various sources. We absorb genetic samples from unfamiliar or new species, sequence it, and intertwine it with our own strands. In this manner, the universe is cataloged and preserved. N-Series – the first machina mortifero - were built for the singular purpose of annihilation. I am a weapon in that regard, capable of warping biomatter into a drone swarm under my direct psionic control. And yet here was sweet little Ms DeStephano, freedom fighter and PC activist, insisting I was capable of being trusted. How that little shit was appointed as the Minister of Ambassador and Consulate Affairs is beyond my comprehension.

They agreed with her demands. They hadn’t much choice. She was the witherward’s savior. She patted my nose and departed after they gave her assurances regarding painless reeducation.

Then they tore me from my exo, bludgeoned me until I maxed my regeneration cycle, tore memories from my mind, drilled holes in my skull to house their control devices, and robbed me of the ability to act in any way that wasn’t sunshine and daisies. They sent me to their Academies, because an educated citizen is a proper citizen, and crammed my head full of useless bullshit that has – as of this very day – not been helpful in any given situation.

No, I take that back. I can tell a good cheese from a bad, and have an appreciation for yarn now.

Suffice to say, by the time I met Brother Septimus Itum, I was a shell of my former self. I lacked confidence. I lacked self-esteem. I dreaded interaction. I feared offending, for offenses were punishable by the control devices in my brain. I was not permitted to own any possessions other than my sleeping basket. I was not permitted to read. I was forbidden to write. DeStephano thought she had done me a favor. It was Septimus that salvaged me, however.

I met Septimus and I saw parts of myself in him. I met him and I remembered the Convocation. More than that, I met a man that would one day learn of my past and not punish me for it. In turn, I would help him atone.

Through him, I discovered that the witherward could not purge my innate curiosity nor could it control my desire to explore. It took me from my logical counterpart, but could not steal away my childlike joy upon encountering new things.

And now, in the final hours before doxi, I know with absolute certainty that it can never strip away my love for him.

That is why I must succeed. The alternative is to have Bodkins scrape what’s left of me up, perhaps returning me to that horrid witherward. Septimus would not be there. Control devices and cruel handlers await me. I would rather render my personality void and embrace the machina mortifero existence than live a day without knowing Septimus’ love.

I place my faith in Dr. Trilb. I place my faith in his belief in doxi. If I survive, I will have a chance to live out the rest of my days with Septimus, my friend and lover, the only being in this universe capable of overlooking what I am in favor of who I am inside. If I fail, I will also be free, having gone beyond Bodkin’s reach.

And that, my dearest Septimus, is why I have chosen to do what I have chosen to do. I elect to spend my lifetime with you. This is the only free choice I have ever wanted to make. I’m not allowed to make it, either. If I succeed, you must free me. Please, free me.

The pen grew silent once more. Time had run out. She hadn't completed her thoughts. The construct tucked meager notes into an envelope before slipping everything into the box that once contained her tail. To it she added her screwdriver and a few trinkets collected over time. Tired hands folded Septimus' cloak. She pressed her nose against it a final time, inhaling his wonderful scent before placing it and the box on the bed.

Naked but for the woolen long coat she purchased shortly before leaving Bielefeld, she felt both liberation and dread. Her hand patted the pocket. Good, FUBAR's gift was still there. She added a grey carpule to it.

"Goodbye, Sentia. I'm sorry if I startled you," she called out to the cat. "You were always a good kitty. You take care of Septimus, alright? Make sure he knows when the toilet paper's running low, and please don't let him put Titus back in the freezer. That... just made me sad."

Neste allowed herself to have one final look around the apartment before the door gently snapped closed.




DINING ROOM

"Trade ya lives?" Marcus stuck his tongue out at Drova. "My work's only increased since we arrived."

He wouldn't trade. Not in a million years. As rough as his duties were, and as easy as Drova now had things, Marcus had one thing Drova lacked - Giovenith's love. The back of his finger sought out the godling's wrist to tenderly brush against it. He briefly captured her gaze. "You're so worth it. No matter where we go, we'll be okay as long as we have each other. We'll survive off laughter, and when that runs out, we'll survive on tears, and when that runs out, we'll raid the chapel. The Brothers hoard spam and wintergreen Tic Tacs."

Marcus bashfully looked away, although he grinning over his own awkward attempt at romance. "Besides, the sun's finally come up and-"

His smile dissolved as he caught sight of a feminine form walking afar in the ash field. The red lens replacing his right eye softly whirred as he focused in on her. Eh, how many other white lizards were there on this stupid rock? And of course she was walking straight through the field instead of meandering down a damn road. Damnit. Damnit fucking damnit!

Hot liquid sloshed from the mugs as he struggled to extract himself from the table. Neste wasn't supposed to leave the Building. He was supposed to stop her. And call his father... why the fuck are the comms down? Why was that old fuck offline? (Marcus didn't know about the tender love being showered upon his old man, or any knowledge of love boxes.) The fuck? Ocho was off grid, too? The fuck, man! The fuck is going on!

He hauled his pack from under the table. Mismatched hands frantically tore at the zipper until it opened widely enough to extract his wrinkled robes. Without so much as a blush, the young man cast off his hoodie, revealing a scarred belly and the cruel amalgamation of cybernetic arm to fleshy torso.

"I'll be right back," he babbled as he thrust a bare arm through the robe's large sleeve. "I gotta go. I'll... yeah, orders, because she's not allowed! Ho fuck! Okay, you stay here, bye! I'm sorry. Bye!"

The words frantically tumbled out as panic welled inside him. Marcus abandoned his attempt to get his other arm through a sleeve. He tossed the bag back under the table and jogged away, red material billowing behind him like broken wings.


Rache's eyes followed the teen as he bolted. Yeah, he probably forgot to polish a tile or sweep up some shavings. The Daemon merely shook his head at Marcus' departing back before returning his attention to Willow.

"Cutsie?"

Daemons had no appreciation for aesthetics. Not the Daemons in Rache's pantheon. Alright, Nesh's daemonettes were attractive, somewhat, if you didn't look too closely at their lobster claws. But Willow? He wasn't very cute at all by Rache's standards. The quadruped's odd color set him apart from other equines, and the marks on his rump were an unusual choice for a tattoo, but he didn't think it made Willow into something little girls would gush over.

What did little girls gush over, anyway?

He closed an eye to better see the Pony. Nope. Nada.

"I don't think you're cute," he ventured politely. "You have a serious face and deep thoughts. You aren't made of saccharin. But that's my view. I can understand why idiots here think your oodlie cutie."

Rache wrapped his hands around his mug, warming up his palms as he poked about Hans' memory. There was some Nazi study done back in the day. How did it go? Oh, yes -

"Konrad Lorenz was a psychologist during the War. His personal research was the study of what makes things cute. What he came up with is the kinderschema, the set of traits that people identify as cute and adorable. I shit you not. Some of those traits were a large, rounded head relative to body size. Large eyes relative to face, eyes below midline of head, too. And rounded, protruding cheeks. That's for the face. But the rounded body shape and soft, elastic body surfaces play into it. It evokes a protective, non-sexual (for most people) and disarmed attraction. It's rooted in the need for human infants to be cared for by human adults. It spills into other species. A round-faced kitten is more pleasing to the eye than a scruffy old cat. A chipmunk's stuffed cheeks draw out giggles and sighs."

A snort escaped him. "They look at you and sigh because you're cute, and you're cute because they identify with your kinderschema. So, they subtract intelligence from you because you should, in their minds, fit that juvenile mold. Doesn't seem fair to me. You'll look like this until you're old and grey. Not your choice. But anyone that spends time with you can clearly see you aren't stupid or any of those negative things. People judge books by a cover. Bad on them."

Rache hadn't overlooked the Pony's question. He chewed his lip thoughtfully before giving an honest answer. "I'm a Bloodthirster. I look like a sterotypical demon when not contained in my host. I'm massive. I have red skin. I have a doglike face, and large bull's horns. My feet are cloven. I'm extremely muscular because I'm meant for battlefields and bladed weapons. Few see my true form unless we're engaged in battle, at most of the time I prefer the frightened reaction to apathy. But not all Daemons are alike. We have varieties, depending on whatever god fashioned us. That healer in the clinic, Malaise? She's a Daemon with a human guise. Plague made her. There's the Purple Menace, Blythe. Can't miss her. Massive breasts, a funny little tail, pouting lips. Lust made her."

His voice lowered as he leaned towards Willow, and his eyes darted about to make sure there weren't any eavesdroppers. "The most perplexing thing I have discovered about humans is that some of them find us attractive. Lust, yes, I can fathom why humans would delight in their form. But me? I'm rotting-balls fugly. It unsettles me when humans gush over my appearance. I check out when Hans uses his computer. The... adult material makes my skin crawl. Weird kinks are disturbing sometimes."

[The Carlisle]

This ain't a Game, its a God Damn Rodeo!

Kale's confidence was dashed as the stampede crashed through and trampled the flowers. She froze up, raising her hands in front of her as if to block the incoming sheep. Was this the end? she thought before she was launched up into the air. Kale's fears set in, and she screamed loudly as she fell, despite how brief it was. She made a soft landing, now atop the back of one of the adult sheep. The fright from the fall was then superseded by self preservation. She held onto the sheep for dear life, wrapping her legs and arms around its back and clinging to its wool with her hands and toes.

She was in a terrible position. Riding bareback on a stampeding animal with the smell of skunk and shit dominating her sense of smell, the clattering and rumblings of the horde drowning out any other sound. Weirdly, some of the stimuli reminded her of riding a horse years ago with Garrus's Numunuu friend. Though, that was a horse... and a calm one... and with equipment to stay on and control it. Wait... equipment...

A metaphysical lightbulb lit up over her head as an idea popped in her mind. Of course! The saddle and stirrups she used when riding the horse kept her stable on its back. And maybe she could control it with the reins and bridle. Though... this is a sheep, not a trained riding horse. But right now it was the best idea she had.

Her hands maintained the tight grip on the sheep's wool. She couldn't cross her arms. But she didn't need to. It was just a technique to help her focus and control her magic. She could use her magic without it. The smell around her was terrible, the skunkflowers still giving off their smelly aroma. But she ignored it as best as she could."Focus," she said, calming herself and grasping onto her magic, weaving her plan into action.

Various pieces of the destroyed skunkflower stuck on the sheep started taking new forms. A piece of stem stuck on the sheep's ear formed a bridle on its head with reins going back to Kale. The head of a skunkflower turned into a saddle underneath Kale, secured to the sheep with vines that wrapped taut around its torso, with two vine stirrups on each side of the sheep attached to it.

With the flowery and viney equipment formed, Kale grasped onto the reins and set her feet into the makeshift stirrups. She could already feel the difference. Even though the sheep was still stampeding, Kale was much more stable on its back than before. Though, that didn't last long.

The sheep wasn't having a good day. First there was loud noises and light interrupting its meal, then the fucking sky fell! Not to mention a terrible smell dominated its senses and made it persistently miserable along with scared. And now there was this thing on its back wrapping something around its head and body! So yeah, it was freaking the fuck out even more than the other sheep around it. So in response, the sheep charged ahead of the pack, trying to get the thing off of itself.

"OH COME ON!" Kale screamed in her mind as the sheep launched ahead. Her butt was practically slamming into the saddle, the sheep's movement very erratic and jerky. It was nearly as bad as before. Kale's mind raced as she tried to think of what to do from here. "Come on! What was it?" She said, trying to remember the command to stop a runaway horse, "Oh that's right! Please work... She hoped it would translate to a sheep, even a frantic one. She placed her left hand firmly against the sheep's neck and gave a harsh jerk upwards with the reins with her right hand, commanding the mount to stop.

[Primordial Luxa]

Wolly Bowl 2015
Aegis cursed the higher spheres of tenth-dimensional hibernation as his attempt at bludging the creatures away from him failed against such a singular and powerful stampede. When he was violently pitched by the merciless stampede onto the detestable backs of the unclear creatures he responded by digging his leather gloved hands into their rough wild wool. His curse was a mix of casual foul language and actual magical befoulment as one of his sorcerous kind was likely to engage in. Had he charged his words with a little intrinsic energy of the amorphous titan complex he might have given the undefined target of his malice a short spell of poor luck but unfortunately he wasn’t quite sure who to blame for all of this madness. He turned the gleaming mask that was his face about looking for his friends and allies to see if anyone deserved his scorn and the light from the newly emerging sun of the magical played fantastically off the strange alien gold which covered his head. He considered Kale for not creating a wall quicker and partially because she was already under scrutiny but when he saw her demeanor and position he discarded this idea as unlikely. Perhaps it was Sandy who appeared to have gotten in Kales way, but judging by how he had collided with her it seemed much more likely that he was hurled by something outside of his line of sight.

However Aegis didn’t waste too much time on place blame and instead looked around for an easy way to get off this train of fur without being dragged underneath it and violently crushed like a hand in an industrial press. It was at this point that he also wondered just how strong these creatures were, since they seemed able to support his unnatural weight but he didn’t focus on the subject for very long. Instead he focused on what little acrobatic training he had and the knowledge of his own strength which he proficient into leap to a side of the flock, both off of their backs and out of their path. The entire action seemed to bubble over with the surgically grafted and augment flesh that corsed through his body as extra nutrient blood charged biotechnically powered muscles.

[Swith Witherward]

WOOLLY BOWL 2015: first and 10

Simultaneous is as simultaneous does, as several teammates could attest to. It started with a silent <...FREEZE!...> that, mercifully, actually worked.

Too well.

Poor Nick. His sheep instantly froze in its tracks, four legs going stuff under it, a split second before it could run Nila over. The flock might have plowed over the poor thing, crushing Nick under its weight, but for a deft swipe from the thade's long arm which batted the sheep thirty yards while simultaneously catapulting the cat straight up. The frisky feline fell victim to gravity seconds later, landing on the thade's head with a resounding SLAP! Nick's claws dug in, not that the alien cyborg seemed to feel it, and then weasel and cat bounded off amidst the herd.

Sadly for Nick, he would need to rely upon his magnificent collar. Everyone knows thade can't make up their minds, given that they have three or four of them spread around their bodies, so telepathy with a six legged space weasel would be as productive as asking last night's leftover Jell-O out for drinks.

Sandy's musical composition was as melodious as it was outright weird, and might have continued to draw interest had Ocho not thrown Nick's fear-frozen sheep towards him. It did not make a pleasant *Tum* sound. No, it was more of a *Doonk*, slightly off pitch and certainly more than a bit flat. That'll do, sheep. That'll do. In fact, the musical sheep already played seemed more at peace, and took to waddling away from the frenzied flock. Perhaps this was because of the music. Perhaps they were humiliated over having their asses used as instruments (sheep are very sensitive about that stuff, you know.) Regardless, Sandy was managing to thin down the flock, persuading quite a few to forget the falling sky.

Sheep like music but they don't like rodeos. Kale's mount quickly got over its shock at being wrangled. It took on all the attitude of a bronking buck, rear legs lifting high and kicking out before dropping back down to allow the round animal to arch its back and hop upwards a respectable, sheepy two feet. Not much, for a sheep, but just enough to keep Kale hanging on for dear life. It had no intention of being ridden like a common horse regardless of how pretty its bridle and saddle were. To make matters worse, each renewed jolt set off renewed stink from the flower pods, and that drove the other sheep to near insanity. An entire portion of the flock broke off, eager to drive the stinkiest of them away.

Aegis' brilliant acrobatics served him well, carrying him off his mount and into the clear. Somewhat. The flock was still circling and veering and panicking and dodging. But that was the least of his concerns right now.

The morning sun glinted off his golden face, the eyebrows and cheeks sparkling as he... yeah, you see where this is going.

"OOOOOOHHHHHHH SHINY!"

WHUMP!

Something warm and happy wrapped its claws around Aegis' head, pressing his golden masked face between two flawless breasts. There wasn't a shred of animosity in the creature. In fact, the little emphatic beastie radiated admiration. And insanity, for Nila had gone 'round the twist years ago. She gave his head one more extra special squeeze, grinding the mask between her nipples, and then she vaulted off of him in time to avoid being struck by... you guessed it... the next cluster of frantic sheep.

[Swith Witherward]

VILLAGE

"Aye, engines," the Blacksmith bestowed a smile upon Bran. "The block was the biggest challenge. Dwarves are always the answer. They don't like working with aluminum alloy but they'll cast anything for the right price. You have to provide the mold, o'course."

And thus did Bran learn of a means to replace parts for his helicopter as they wore out. Ah, and you thought you were just here for chicken coop materials!

He mopped his brow with a handkerchief as he studied Asdra's hands. "You don't have the look of a striker," he commented, referencing an apprentice's position. "I'd say you've seen your fair share of the craft."

An idea trickled into his head. If the young lady were experienced enough, perhaps she might prove to be the solution to a problem that had plagued him for quite some time. "I'm the only smith this side of Ascalon. Not counting what you find in the Frey, o'course. But I have more contracts than I can handle as a result. What's your specialty? Don't mind farming things your way, if you have a setup for it."

He hadn't forgotten their reason for visiting, however. "Eh, before we get to talking shop, there's some metal scrap tucked there in the corner." He gestured for Chrys' benefit, as she seemed understandably uninteresting in the topic. "Look through it if you want. We'll figure price later."

[Highfort]

When the Man Who Would be Magistrate Met the Right Hand of Justice
Glorious collab with Northwest Slobovia

Amanda filed into the room with the others. So, this is the judge? All he needs is a chained girl in a golden bikini to complete the image. She’d noticed the guards escorting Septimus and Rodney in front of her earlier, and now had a complete sense of their number. With the bodyguards, they made fourteen. The group had no weapons, and Thaddeus and Romulus were trapped in high-tech cages: the judge was beyond sending them a message not to try anything funny, and and well into projecting insecurity.

the Judge flicked the revolver toward Amanda and licked his lips, "What about you? What's your deal? You don't look like them - you, the kid, and the stiff in the suit. What the hell are normies like you doing tagging along with a naked bitch, two cyborgs, and a power-armor wearing thug with delusions of grandeur?"

Amanda straightened and looked the judge in the eye. They were going for honesty, right? "I'm one of Mr. Itum's senior advisors. Legal, to be precise. I deal in justice. To say you're going to hold a trial when you've already decided we should be punished is hardly just. The four of us" -- she indicated Septimus, Rodney, Thaddeus, and herself -- "did nothing wrong. We complied with the border patrol's orders. We're innocent."

The Judge stopped his rotating revolver with his middle finger and holstered it, meeting her gaze with a dangerous glint and a strange look. She was interesting. He liked interesting people. He could use interesting people in his line of work. He remained silent, insisting that she go on. If she was that good, he had a perfect assignment for the little misfits.

Amanda finished her opening arguments. The judge seemed to be paying attention, something she hadn’t expected from him. "Rmwtyliin is a child from a culture without advanced technology. She had no idea the colored spots of light on us meant that people were aiming guns at us, and we had no time to tell her. Nor had the border patrol yet told us to put our hands up. So, she was trying to follow orders, but she couldn't. She didn't know how. That's a lesser degree of responsibility: not malicious, but still not in the right. She would have done right by you if she could have, Your Honor." His move: did he want justice or did he just like the trappings?


"Alright, what's your deal? You want me to clap?”, he snorted, rubbing his forehead and shifting his legs nervously. She knew her stuff - and that was good, the Judge had never found so good a talker, but how to convince her... Good talkers were always the hardest to get to agree to any kind of shady business, especially when it came to the Uppers.

“I can't just let you go - UA is watching, and the main city's never been kind to the Uppers before,” the Judge sighed, breaking his idle stance to walk up to one of the Love Boxes and tap it with a finger, “Pompous bastards think we can't handle ourselves, so how the hell am I supposed to handle you? And even if you four are innocent, there's still general wannabe, naked bitch, and the kid. Now unless you have a good reason why I should let them go…”

One of the guards by the easy chair let out a peep, what almost sounded like a suppressed chuckle, and the white-haired man instantly focused his attention on the previously-silent soldier.

“The fuck was that? Was I talking to you?” up went the revolver, aimed right beneath the facial shield and at the man’s chin, “Was I talking to you?”

“No sir,” the guard responded stiffly, all emotion having left his voice.

“Right, I was talking to her, so keep your big mouth shut before I blow it off,” the pistol was reholstered and a pleasant, almost fatherly demeanor came over the Judge as he turned back to Amanda and motioned for her to continue, “My apologies, please. Why should I let them go? For that matter, given that you’re in the Uppers - the urban jungle - what makes you think it’s just for me to let you go? The way of the streets isn’t the same as the sanctimonious ‘justice’ people talk about in their plush, comfortable living rooms in the main city.”

Amanda had followed the judge with her eyes until he reached the Love Box, then turned to keep him in view. He seemed to be almost convinced of their innocence, but that wasn’t the only thing on his mind. He seemed unduly concerned with public relations and --

For a moment, Amanda thought she’d see a man killed in cold blood, and she flinched. To shoot a man for opening his mouth suggested the judge was barely in control of his own people, or barely in possession of his own sanity. Neither boded well, and Amanda started to worry the discussion would spin bloodily out of control.

’The way of the streets’: now the demonstration with the guard and the concern for the rest of the city made sense. The judge needed to seem strong, severe, and, above all, in control. Amanda needed a minute to think, but she also needed to keep up the conversational momentum. She let her rigid posture soften slightly, shifting to a more relaxed stance.

"Your Honor, it sounds like you want to be fair to us, and you need to be strong doing it. I think I see a way to work this out, but it would help if I knew more about exactly who needs to see your strength. Street justice I understand: at different times I’ve worked both prosecution and defense in Philadelphia, a city on Earth with its own rough rules. But who in the city matters? The Council? Or other Bosses?” Street justice and the mob: that explains the Burrows. It’s not ‘tribute’ they pay, dear Sandy, it’s protection money. Oooh! Amanda’s mental image of the Council shifted to men in suits with bowlers and cigars. “Or are they one in the same?”

“Huh, an egghead with a pretty face. I pinned you right,” the smile widened. Yes, she’d work perfectly indeed. Reclaiming his position in front of the chair, he held out his hand for a cigarette and one of the guards obliged, lighting it for him as he began the usual explanatory tirade he had to drop whenever new jumpers were in town.

Only this time, it would actually be worthwhile.

“Urbem Ascalon’s not the shining jewel that the Council likes to think it is, but you knew that already,” he paused to blow some smoke at the ceiling, smiling at the curious patterns it left against the flickering candlelight, “The Uppers is where all the freaks go - the non-humans, the cyborgs who didn’t make it amongst the elite in the main city, the poor, the sick, you know the whole deal. Some of my guards jumped in from Philly, they told me how it is.”

“Council’s just the tip of the iceberg, really,” he sat the cigarette between his lips and began pacing around the guard-herded group, gauging the newcomers with a friendly smile and a cool stare, “Seven of ‘em, set the budget and do all that bureaucratic crap. One of ‘em gets to be mayor, rotating basis. So they got everything pretty well locked-down on their end. There’s elections but, surprise surprise, they always win their seats back. So you know what I’m saying when I say I don’t want the UA breathing down my neck of the woods, right?”

“There is, however, one clincher: city manager,” he took the cigarette from his mouth as though to emphasize this point, mashing the half-smoked stub against his shirt before flicking it onto the carpet, “Council picks them, one a year. No repeats, thank Demens. To get through to the Council, you gotta know the city manager. He makes or breaks entire syndicates. Him and the Council run the show. The rest of the Bosses are just like me - fighting over what turf we can get and protecting it and the people in it with our lives.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he finished, arms crossing over as he returned to the original position, now confident that he had the right lady for the job, “But you’re the oddest person I’ve seen yet, now I know why you hang out with this line-up. You talk like an Upper-dweller but you dress like one of those main-city pricks.”

Amanda risked a tiny, amused smile. “No, you don’t. We’re scouts for a much larger group. We’re here because we volunteered. You’re not seeing the other ninety or so reasons we hang together.”

“Oh? Try me,” the Judge made no comment on her smile, though it scared him a little. Here she was, little miss wannabe-boss and she was already upstaging him. A little care would need to be taken later with the men, make sure they didn’t get the wrong idea that he was going soft.

“You’re jumpers, you come from the same place - or different places, what does it matter? Point is, you’re all new and this world ain’t that friendly,” he gestured at Amanda’s companions, “So you band together. I’ve heard the reports - the Building coming out of nowhere and saving the Burrows from another attack by those… things. You don’t belong in the Uppers but you’re stuck with these folks until you get into the main city, is that it?”

Amanda shook her head, less in disagreement then a sense of the discomfort she’d have moving out. “Home” was Philadelphia on an Earth she’d fled, but the Building and the Residents had grown on her. “The Building is out in the sticks, but it’s home, and the people there are my friends and neighbors. I’m not sure any of us will move to Ascalon.”

“Anyway, we’re getting away from business. With your explanation, I think I understand how the city works, and so I’ve got an idea for how you can do right by everybody. But I’d like to be sure we can trust each other, because this will work only if we can trust each other.”

“Trust, eh? Fine,” the Judge’s lips creased into a smirk. He so did enjoy playing head games with newcomers, especially if they were valuable. A good laugh did wonders for loyalty and friendship, he often found - far more than could be bought with runes or fine clothes and jewelry, “Johnson, the lady’s gun. Bring it in here. Time to test just how much we can trust each other, Mrs. Bela.”

A snapped salute, servos hissing with compressed air, indicated the order had been heard. Further hisses and groans from the aging exoskeleton indicated it was being obeyed, the grunt leaving wordlessly to procure Amanda’s pistol from the armory.

Amanda raised an eyebrow at the Judge’s offer and expression. Her gun wasn’t exactly what she wanted now, but it seemed like a good initial offer. She cocked her head to the side. “Checking to see if I’ll try you and all your men? I’m not likely to confuse going out in blaze of glory with dying in a hail of bullets.”

“Who said anything about my men? We’re the one’s negotiating,” the Judge snapped his fingers and flicked his head toward the door, “Leave us be. You’re all on break from now on. Tell the guards at the doors the same goes for them.”

“Sir-” one of the fresh recruits raised a metal-covered arm, “What if-”

“Break, before I break your neck.”

“Of course, sir,” and his more-experienced fellows followed him out as the dispatched guard returned with Amanda’s pistol in hand, nervously eyeing the lawyer from beneath his bulletproof visor before striding up to the Judge and holding out the gun, barrel pointed toward hissing exoskeleton.

“It’s her gun, isn’t it?” the old man gestured at her with a raised hand, watching with an amused grin as the guard silently turned to Amanda and thrust out the gun in his hand toward her, no pretense of politeness being summoned.

The Judge’s other hand came down to draw the revolver from its holster for yet-another spin, the hammer pulled back to chamber the next round. Rather noticeably, however, he kept the revolver pointed away from Amanda’s body. Its aim drifted between her associates but never settled on the no-nonsense blonde lawyer, “Alright, Mrs. Bela, we can talk as soon as Johnson’s gone. Johnson, you’re on break; if anyone’s still at the door tell ‘em to scram. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

A wordless salute indicated the man had heard, retreating steps being followed by the slamming of a door. The group was alone now - just Judge and the troublesome newcomers.

Another odd exchange between the Judge and his men. Amanda watched them with a studied eye; the Judge seemed too desperate to seem in charge for a nice family man and nowhere near violently demonstrative enough for a gangbanger. Who the hell was he, and how did this criminal culture work?

She reached out leaning a tad forward to retrieve her gun from the armored man. It had a familiar heft, surprising given where she was. She released the magazine, sliding it out just far enough to verify it still held cartridges, then repeated the check with the bolt. They hadn’t even taken the round out of the chamber!

“You see? Now, can we talk? You’ve got your gun, there’s no guards outside, and your friends look like resourceful people,” the Judge rubbed the bridge of his nose with some annoyance at needing to go through this charade, though he knew he needed this woman on his side if the gang situation was ever to be resolved, “If you don’t like what I’m offering you can shoot me - and if you’re quick I won’t be able to shoot back - and make tracks before anyone else figures out what happened here. So we’re even, talk.”

“OK, we talk.” Amanda crossed her arms, tucking the Walther behind her left elbow. She left the firing-pin lock on, but rested her thumb on it. She wasn’t planning on anything rash; regardless of what the judge said, she doubted she’d get out of the “palace” alive if there was an exchange of fire.

“First things first: you need to render judgement. I need to prevent a miscarriage of justice. With your men out of earshot, there’s an answer. Send one of us home in a coffin.” She flashed the judge an enigmatic smile before going on in a professional tone. “Oh, alive and kicking, of course. Just make it look good. Somebody gets sent home in a box, they lie low for a few months, avoiding the city. You get to make an example of somebody for pissing you off, and we’re done with it. Then I’d like to hear this offer you have.”

“Send ‘em packing in a box, eh?” he lowered the revolver, though decided against holstering it. They were still in the process of negotiating, even if she did understand his style pretty well. A bit too well, now that he thought about it - she might see right through him, and that would be a problem if they were going to work together for any extended period of time, “And I can trust your friends aren’t going to just show up the next day and play me for the fool? You, I can believe, but some of these morons over here I don’t really trust, forgive my skepticism.”


Amanda hesitated for the first time since they started bargaining. She hadn’t considered that any of the Residents would be crazy enough to test a mobster’s parole. “I… think we can take responsibility for them.” She pivoted a quarter turn on the ball of one foot to get a better look at Septimus and Rodney without entirely turning away from the Judge. “Gentlemen? Are we prepared to do this?”

Septimus had remained silent throughout the proceedings, merely glancing back and forth with some worry. His face betrayed nothing, carefully remaining at a neutral, polite smile as the Judge and Amanda went at it, each seemingly testing the other before pulling back to consider other options. This was good - if the Judge considered them valuable enough not to say anything particularly demeaning, then they might be able to get a deal going.

Amanda’s participation had surprised him some - while there was no doubt that she was a lawyer and an excellent political brain, as he’d seen with their brief conversation in Bielefield, she’d gone from a secondary voice on the truck to the head of the group in almost no time at all. Impressive. A bit intimidating, perhaps, but impressive nevertheless.

“I believe we are,” Septimus spoke after a moment, nodding at her as the polite smile widened just a fraction to indicate genuine approval of how things were going, though it would’ve been lost on the Judge, “If you can trust us, Judge, you can trust that we’ll keep everyone to their word. Ms. Insidious and Mr. Aphrodisiac are part of the group and it would be demeaning not to take responsibility for their actions, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Bodkins?”

[Giovenith]

Unsurprisingly, Willow was having a hard time envisioning Rache's true form, though the description didn't seem outlandish for a daemon. He hadn't ever seen many terrifying creatures in person throughout his life, though they were a thoroughly documented fact of life in Equestria's world. They all mostly lived in distant lands, and on the off-chance they posed a threat to the country, there were ways of dealing with them and protecting the citizens. Even when they had no ill intentions though, they all in all kept their distance.

The attraction thing was out of left field though. It showed in his face, which jolted into a very confused and critical frown. Why could that be?

"Um... maybe it wasn't really sexual, so much as they were trying to kiss up to you?" he offered uncertainly. "Like, flattery so you don't crush to death them, or something? I don't know though, there's some pretty fucked up kinks out there. I don't really know from experience, but as a painter, the crowds I sometimes get paired with during work tend to be a bit fringe. A lot of modernists like it strange, but... damn, not that fucking strange. No offense."

Willow was purposely quiet about his own thoughts and feelings in sexuality for the obvious reasons: He was pretty sure none of these bipedal primates were interested in what the Equidae family was into, and he really wasn't interested in what they did at night either. Sure it probably wouldn't have been much different from watching a nature documentary in premise, but sentience tended to smear an extra layer of taboo over the whole thing.

"The closest thing I could relate to that is this little dragon who used to live in my old town," Willow described, gesturing his hooves to indicate a tiny figure. "A baby dragon, about the maturity level of a 10 or 12 year old. He was raised entirely by unicorns his whole life, not other dragons, so now he's actually attracted to ponies, primarily unicorns. I've also heard of the occasional pony-griffon relationship, but it's not too common, and I'm not entirely sure if hippogriffs are actually a thing or just kind of a racist legend. Some people kind of force themselves to be experimental, which can get annoying and cringey. I'm really only into ponies, no real racial preference, though I wouldn't be put off by a zebra either. Humans? Fuck no, no offense. Daemons? Even more fucks no, again, no offense. I'm not going to judge others, but I'm just not that adventurous. Hans, has a girlfriend though?"


Giovenith smiled at Marcus' words, but drew worry as he rushed to get up and move off. She sighed and shook her head.

"He works so hard," she told Drova. "And often. I don't mind for myself, I don't get lonely easily, but I do ache for him. He deserves to have more than just silly ol' me making his life worth it."

She offered the prince some licorice from her pocket.

"What about you? You know, I think sometimes we forget to look our situations realistically. Marcus and I have dwelt in the daycare of the gods our whole lives, so it's only a puzzle when these sorts of things happen to us. I imagine it's hardly the same for you though? How do you deal with being here among us, going through this?"

[The BranRiech]

Drova's feathers rustled, the whoosh of air as Marcus bolted off causing them to stand on end, puffing up slightly. His eyebrows went up as well, as he turned to face Giovenith, catching her right as she started talking. "Mmm." He nodded, letting his hand out of his pocket to receive the licorice before popping the little pieces in his mouth, chewing softly.

Daycare of the gods, an interesting phrase.

"Wouldn't say it's too different than you guys really." He admitted. Gio and Marcus were raised around Gods, and of course, Drova wasn't, but he was raised into the most powerful elite of his society. "I mean, I guess the only difference is that we pray to people like you." He smirked, nodding. He knew it wasn't an answer that complimented the question, so he went on. "And well, being with you guys again, isn't too different from . . . Normal friends? Is that a term that makes sense? I've come to accept the goings-on here as normal." The Prince nodded, his hand retreating back into his pocket.

Drova blushed a bit, as his feathers started to return to their normal state, sleekly pressed against the skin of his wings. "I'd never tell Yuna, but being here, with all you Gods and such, kind of rekindled my faith in our own Pantheon."

[Primordial Luxa]

Wolly Bowl 2015
Aegis struggled violently against Nilas enamored grasp trying with barely restrained fury to push her off of him and struggling not to resort to actually striking her. Had she not have vaulted away gracefully when she did he might have just done something aggressive he regretted in his haste, and of course he still might.

“Nila! Pull yourself together you’re going to get someone killed.” he shouted across the clearing

Things were falling apart in a way that was quickly making his ire and rage grow to incomprehensible levels. He steadied himself trying to regain his balance after both a heavy fall and an sudden jostling. His mask whirred to replicated the grimace that was behind it with eyebrows lowering and and the lips mechanically flattening out.

At the sight of another stampede of raging woolly creatures coming for him Aegis found his patience thinning and he dodged in order to position himself out of the sheep's path. He then began running, hopefully to more placid place where he could actually think. So, black cloak flapping he dashed about trying to avoid the sheep sometimes in an almost comical fashion as he also looked around for his rifle before spotting it some distance away near the part of the clearing where they had entered. He made his way slowly but surely over there dodging loose creatures along the way but trying with all his might to retrieve the weapon.

[Tiltjuice]

The Blacksmith carried a knowing air about him. Not unreasonable, given his status as the closest metalworker to the city dealing with customer after customer, and Chrys merely did as she was bidden. The temperature difference was great enough, though, in the corner that she instinctively started to channel her powers to raise it a couple of degrees. Kneeling, she sifted through a few of the larger pieces, judging their quality. In truth, she had come to buy and hire. An exchange of labor might be in order.

It was the only thing she could think of, barring the last few gem chips stashed in the little bag in the Building. Those had to be saved up.

[Fvaarniimar]

Perhaps Ocho of the several brains would only comprehend the fact that he kept getting swatted by a puffed-up tail, but the cat didn't know this. <Not again! Sorry.> Some pain, although it wasn't necessarily coming through. His ears rung from the bleating. His head spun, and bile rose in his throat. Hey, vomit's distracting. Deliberately he turned his head towards a large group of sheep and puked.

Feeling a little better, he intended to greet Ocho.

Hello, I'm Nick and sh*t you're huge! I mostly see you from a distance...

...so I really am sorry...

Sheep behind you!

Maybe you could - Yeah. That works.

Ocho hadn't seemed rude in the past. Why is he ignoring me - is he? Hastily-automatically, Nick shifted his balance again. What if he's like those roboty no-mind sand things of...Thomas? (I think that's his name...) Except no, he's a Resident and from how he - Talked - The cat would have facepalmed had he not been clinging to the head of the six-legged space weasel.

"Okay, er. Thanks for saving me - I think I should - behind you!" Oh, wait, they aren't h - it doesn't matter where they are for you does it? "I think I'm more help elsewhere?" Now wondering how Willow's cleaning had gone, Nick bent his legs, readying himself for a jump - and hesitated. There were too many. "Ocho, would you set me on Sandy? Or maybe Kale?" Or just anyone moving slower.

[Swith Witherward]

UA

Were the tendons not atrophied and the optics incapable of movement, Thaddeus would have rolled his eyes as the conversation played out. He considered various thoughts as they cropped up but wasted little effort exploring them.

"Fuck me running," the growl rose from the love box one he sensed a lull. "Damn lawyers."

The old cyborg's monotonous ticks and whirs ceased as he completed his diagnostics. "The only way to take responsibility of this magnitude is to force control, Ms Bela. You can't force control on a being without taking some of their free will. You also shouldn't agree that Insidious be punished for a crime she didn't commit. The woman clutched her purse and panicked. It was a tense situation, very foreign to her. The mistake was the guards'. Their misunderstanding. Their lack of training or experience. They behaved as if they'd never encountered a confused gatejumper before."

He sighed as he leaned against the box's wall. "Your solution is an example killing. For this to work, you must guarantee Insidious won't be spotted again. Can't return from the dead. That would destroy the Judge's cred. You must trust Insidious to obey you. You have not earned her trust, Ms. Bela. The fact that you would defend the innocent-looking little girl while completely overlooking the fact that Insidious has the exact same defense paints you as a bigot. The same goes for the General's cultural misunderstanding, and the example killing. Can't risk him being seen again. The only way to take full responsibility is to imprison Insidious and the General in the Building -- or put a round through their heads."

Thaddeus rubbed the scars surrounding his optics. Amanda played a good game but she had no idea just how much shit she was about to wade in to. She couldn't be blamed for that. She was a newer Resident, really.

"The accused contract you to save their skins, Ms Bela," the cyborg sighed. "The powerful contract people like me to save their credibility. We minimize risks. Please, stop trying to play my hand. Respectfully, the only people in this room aware of the cards remaining in the deck are the Luxan and myself. Let's up the ante."

A soft shuffling indicated that the confined man had turned his head to address the area of the room the Judge currently occupied. In the gloom of the box, Thaddeus folded his hands and adopted his customarily bland expression. "I am an assassin for a Chaotic pantheon. However, I am also a paid retainer for Mr. Demens and his Building. My role is to...minimize risks while also protecting the owner's credibility. Your Honor, you've suddenly found yourself in a very unique position. You seem like a man who wants what's best. You seem to care. Perhaps you do care, and perhaps that is why Mr. Demens saw to it that we arrived at exactly the right moment to fall into your custody. Perhaps, of all the bosses in this city, he has found only one with heart. I honestly don't believe you to be a man comfortable with killing innocents, Sir."

He coughed softly. "Would Mr. Demens be pleased by how Gatejumpers are treated by this city? He brings them through the gates because it is his will. All Gatejumpers are his Chosen Ones. I presume security is tight here because they make pests of themselves. It's understandable. I appreciate your efforts. You say the UA watches you. You have to take extreme measures to maintain a hold of your territory. Undoubtedly, you have used these extreme measures in the past. Imagine their confusion when you refrain from those extreme measures now. Granted, I see no reason why Insidious and the General shouldn't be banned. It's for their own safety. However, regardless of what anyone here does or says, word will eventually get out that the Building is owned directly by the god of this universe, and that we are his Chosen. Once that word spreads, people might be loathe to fuck with you. After all, you are aligned with god's Chosen. As for any problems you might wish us to take care of? That will involve open talks between us, not charades or demonstrations of power, nor shady deals. A contract is a contract. Both parties should mutually benefit."

The cyborg shrugged. "If you doubt the veracity of my statements, you are welcome to go through my papers again. The little faded envelope. It contains a contract with Bielefeld granting me jurisdiction to operate within nation borders. The contract isn't important; it's moot now that the Drones are no longer a threat. The odd contact number is what matters. Dial it into any telephone, enter it into any browser window, speak it into any clear channel on a radio, and you will reach Demens himself. I don't mind the wait. If my chronometer is still accurate, he's finishing up tea right about now. He'll be in a good mood."

[Stormwrath]

The Chickening

---

So this is the blacksmith's place. Looking around the place like everyone else, Macy gazed at the works of his hands. There happened to be some swords hanging on the wall, partly reflecting the light coming from the furnace with its albedo. Some embers appeared to be blown out of the fire kindled in the furnace, faintly glowing like ashen fireflies glowing in a dark space. There also happened to be some more contemporary objects as well, such as the engine block that the other residents were looking at.

The android concentrated her gaze on one of the swords and began to slowly reach out for it. The striae of the steel blade, arranged in discernible and enticing patterns that one could notice if he/she looked hard enough at the surface, seemed to enchant her vision. She slowly leaned in, and her hand was almost about to touch the sword—her finger just a couple of inches—but its peg serendipitously loosened, causing the sword to fall to the ground with an audible clank. This may have been loud enough to cause heads to turn and eyes to glare at Macy. Bringing her hand back to the side of her body, she turned around in an attempt to appear innocent. The stares coming from everyone else began to feel more uncomfortable to Macy. "Don't look at me," she responded, "I didn't do it."

[Chedastan]

He couldn't believe what he had just heard, he was shocked actually. The General didn't expect to hear such things from Amanda, but from what insanity he heard, he could tell now that she was what those democracies called "lawyers." It dreaded him. Always sociopaths or sadists he found them to be when they came rolling in, and always trying to negotiate on more one sided terms when they try to get away from the Imperium, thinking they were on grounds to pull off something, but failing to realize no one can escape Wilhelm's Will or Maccabees's Light. No doubt her efforts will eventually bring her to ruin, and from the looks of it, probably sooner than expected.

But that would be more of a thought for later, because right now, he was completely outraged! Who by Wilhelm's Last Name did any of these people think they are? Sticking him, a General, is this Love Box, for what would account to a misdemeanor at most? After they assaulted him for little else, other than slight association with whatever the hell that idiot girl is, after he complied? And he continues to comply still, without even much of a complaint! And now the Lawyer was proposing nonsense, to what amounts for a "Judge" in the city that may as well have been on the fritz to begin with, given that he couldn't feasibly see any of this continuing on for any longer. He can't come up with the enough words to describe how furious he was to that so-call proposal of hers, which obviously was going to entail him getting the worse of it from any indication he gathered, he needed those supplies, he needed to be in this Godforsaken hellhole! He was the Goddamn General of a Imperium that wiped out and conquered places far greater and more powerful than this dimension's inhabitants could even fathom, let alone practically all other dimensions that existed out there if they had the opportunity to. He ought to deserve more respect than this, than these primitives could bothered themselves with. Pathetic.

Before Romulus could utter any word (or snarl), Thaddeus had joined in before him. The General paused in his Love Box, his anger lowering a degree as the cyborg explain why the Lawyer's proposal wouldn't work, and then giving out an alternative, that to Romulus was bizarre. Giving a card to the Judge to call the apparent eldritch god of this dimension, Demens? He was still having a hard time understanding the concept of this being, but apparently he has a card with his number on it. A very causal eldritch being is he? Much more so than Maccabees at least, his only real point of reference.

He breathed and try to calm himself, but he was still furious at Amanda for her idea of what she had wanted to do to him. If it wasn't for the subjectively crazier in concept alternative that Thaddeus just said now, the General would have been expressing what he thought of the Lawyer right now, but instead he had stopped himself from doing so, as he partly wanted to see what the Judge would even think of it. As it literally went against every bit of logic or reason he had known about all Gods and planning up to this point in his life, as you can't just call a God on phone to get you out of something, right? If that called picked up, he wasn't sure what he'll do now with the knowledge of that just... Happening.

If anything, it may just prove his way out of this dimension to be way more difficult than it already was. If a God can take a phone call, he could probably stop him from making any attempts to get home. That thought terrified him more than anything, right now, at this very moment. So he stood, in his Love Box, silent and pondering at the thought and implications.

[Northwest Slobovia]

"Fuck me running," the growl rose from the love box one he sensed a lull. "Damn lawyers."

Well, it seemed like they weren't prepared to do that. Amanda let her face soften into the impassive mask she reserved for listening to opposing counsel's arguments.

What she heard next astounded her: Thaddeus was responding to an offer she didn't make and the Judge didn't demand. Even if he had, she could think of half a dozen ways to make somebody vanish in plain sight in this world. And why in any god's name would Thaddeus think Romulus or Insidious would be so stupid as to think that they'd survive tweaking a mobster's nose like that? Romulus wasn't adapting well, but he would in time, and a death mark would doubtless speed that up. Insidious may be one of those damned Luxans, but if what Baron Primordial heard yesterday was any guide, she wasn't at all eager to meet the god she mistook for her maker. No, it was simply a matter of making sure they kept up appearances religiously.

Ooooh! Adding insult to injury, Thaddeus? To accuse her bigotry because he didn't understand that legally Rmwtyliin's and Insidious' situations were incomparable was galling. Perhaps he should stick to his knitting, and let her practice law.

But as Thaddeus' line of reasoning shifted, Amanda grew intrigued and then baffled. He was an assassin to the gods, and on Demens' payroll? Amanda briefly showed emotion, dropping her chin and raising her eyes and eyebrows in an "Oh, really?" look at Septimus. Did he know that? Oh, and Insidious was somehow in a privileged position too? Damn it, man, we should have known! From what Thaddeus said, Insidious was both valuable and likely to get into trouble, but by neglecting to mention that, nobody knew to keep her out of trouble... God damn him! One word of warning could have prevented this whole mess!

And to agree that their problem children needed to be banished after lecturing her on free will was no better. He couldn't just be free associating, he seemed to be driving at someth-- Oh! Well, that's a hell of a trump card there. Amanda couldn't have made quite that move, but she regretted not making the weaker one she knew: they were special, and Demens was a name to conjure by. Damn. Well, nothing to do about that now: Thaddeus had smacked the rhetorical ball right back into the Judge's court, and she could only wait for his attempt to return it.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Woolly Bell 2015: We’ll Ring it in the Morning

Sandy's musical composition was as melodious as it was outright weird, and might have continued to draw interest had Ocho not thrown Nick's fear-frozen sheep towards him. It did not make a pleasant *Tum* sound. No, it was more of a *Doonk*, slightly off pitch and certainly more than a bit flat. [...]Regardless, Sandy was managing to thin down the flock, persuading quite a few to forget the falling sky.

*Doonk*

Sandy was blindsided by an unexpected sheep, and knocked out of position for the next one. He fluttered drunkenly down, a ring of birdies and stars circling his head. Probably just a side-effect of the Wyld’s Fey magic. He blinked and shook his head, scattering his halo, then touched the ground with his rear hooves. Sandy took his weight on his rear legs as he settled, then lept off, pumping his ivory-feathered wings to regain the sky. So much for that plan.

Sandy corkscrewed up, taking in the situation. The living drum machine had worked, but there were too many sheep left to make it worthwhile. Time to try something new. He needed a bigger, louder instrument, and he flew a complete circle thinking about the problem. The dome had made a “tink” sound when Aegis shot it, and Sandy wondered if it would make a good bell. Only one way to find out...

But first, he checked on the rest of the Residents. Nick and Ocho were safe, and a scaley glint in the corner of his vision told him Nila was fine too. But where were…?

Something warm and happy wrapped its claws around Aegis' head, pressing his golden masked face between two flawless breasts. [...]She gave his head one more extra special squeeze, grinding the mask between her nipples[.]

WOW! Sandy suddenly understood Ocho and Itum’s interest in the quirky aliens, and his mind wandered a bit while he considered if they’d invested in glitter for … recreational purposes. What he saw next snapped him back into reality.

Kale's mount quickly got over its shock at being wrangled. It took on all the attitude of a bronking buck, rear legs lifting high and kicking out before dropping back down to allow the round animal to arch its back and hop upwards a respectable, sheepy two feet. Not much, for a sheep, but just enough to keep Kale hanging on for dear life. It had no intention of being ridden like a common horse regardless of how pretty its bridle and saddle were.

Kale seemed in danger of being thrown and trampled, and Sandy broke from his circling to dive towards her. Elegantly getting her off her bucking if tiny steed was out of the question, and Sandy pitched up into a high-drag but heroic-looking rearing posture to catch the the teen plant-mage between his rear knees. The climb-out was awkward, but Sandy didn’t have far to go, and he set Kale down in the nearest spot with nothing charging towards it.

Sandy resumed his human form, though he was still clothed below the waist in nothing more than a green pyrotechnic figleaf. He looked Kale up and down. “Are you all right?”

Kale was still shocked from the bucking bronco ride she had, but she was calming down now that she was on solid ground. She looked to Sandy with thankful eyes. The man was her savior from that chaotic situation. She didn’t care how he did, just that she was still alive. She walked up and hugged him, burying her face into chest. “Thank you Sandy!” she said, grateful for saving her. After a few seconds of hugging him, she quickly let go. She blushed, embarrassed she invaded someone’s personal space. “Sorry,” she said, apologizing for it, regardless if he actually cared or not.

Sandy was surprised by Kale’s hug, and initially held his arms awkwardly wide, unsure what to do. A moment later, he recognized her gratitude, and gently embraced her, practically beaming as he did so. “You’re welcome. What are Resident neighbors for, if not dramatic rescues?” He waved off her uncomfortable apology. “It’s OK, really. You’re allowed to be thankful.”

He stepped back, allowing her some space. “But now that you’re here, there’s something you might be able to help me with. Music seems to calm the sheep, but my previous attempt wasn’t loud enough to calm very many of them. I think the dome surrounding the Garden of Shadows will make a great bell, though. I’ll need your help with that: the dome is damaged and I’m concerned it will crack or break if we ring it, and we’ll need something to use as a clapper. I think a tall tree and a vine swing will work for the clapper, so somebody can swing and strike the dome, but I’m not sure what to do about the crack. However, of all of us here, you seemed to have magic most likely to help with that.”

Kale pictured the plan in her head. The dome was way high up. A tree of that height would have to be huge, a thick base to hold the canopy. Could she do that? No, she’d have to. She performed great feats like this before, like the bridge in the dystopia. She can do it here, and she must. “I see…” she said, “It’ll take a lot out of me, but it sounds like the best plan so far.”

Sandy’s expression grew uncertain. “I think the problem may be in the other direction. Magic flows very freely here.” He looked around for more on-rushing sweater wannabes, then continued. “You may have seen the fireworks I conjured just after Aegis fired his gun. That fire-fountain was produced by a spell that usually makes 6” tall displays. So you might want to try growing a seedling first, while I watch the magic you draw. I’ll try to guide you in your casting to help keep the spell under control, so take it slowly please.”

“After we see what you get the first time, you can try enlarging it a little at a time until the tree is the size we need.”

Sandy cast his gaze down, thinking, then looked back at Kale. “Once the tree has strong branches, it may be safer for us to get up into them, so we don’t have to worry about the sheep.”

Sandy turned in place, seeking the chipped part of the dome with his eyes, then pointing it to Kale. “It may be better to have the tree closer to that, to provide a starting point for any patch we can place across the damage.” He lowered his eyes and scanned the ground. “It may be better if we fly there, if it’s all the same with you.”

Kale squinted her eyes, looking at the crack. She was taken aback a bit by the fact that the place was enclosed by some… magical barrier or whatever it was. Wild magic, a magical dome, voices. this place was truly maddening.

She looked back to Sandy when he mentioned flying. He could fly? Kale didn’t know much about him, but flying wasn’t something she saw him do before. Wait a minute… Kale put two and two together, realizing that Sandy was the pegasus. So he was a shapeshifter as well?

Regardless, Kale showed some worry on her face with the whole flying thing. I mean, the plan was good, staying high above the ground from the sheep. But… she was a grounded person. Being in the tree and more so flying wasn’t her cup of tea.

“Well… I’m not so sure about the flying…,” she said, thinking it over,” I’m a bit… scared of heights. But… it is safer than being on the ground. I guess I can do it. Just know I’ll be holding on super tight to you on the way up.”

Sandy nodded reassuringly. The fear of heights struck him as a terrible thing, and he wondered how Kale survived living on the seventh floor. “I’ll stay low, just low enough for me to flap my wings. Once I transform into Pegasus, I’ll kneel down so you can get aboard. Then I’ll kneel when I land so you can get off. Pegasus is tall, even as horses go. Oh… one thing about Pegasus: he’s mute, so I’ll just nod or gesture if you have any questions during the short flight.”

Sandy took three steps back to give himself room to cast, then slowly worked his way through the Greek chant. He ended with his familiar arms across his chest and then sweeping his arms out wide as he transformed. As promised, he knelt for Kale to get atop him.

Kale took a few deep breathes and got onto Pegasus Sandy’s back. She made sure her butt was firmly on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, enough to be tight but not choking the man… horse… whatever.

Sandy skimmed the Garden of Shadows, flying so low that his wingtips brushed a flock of sheep as it raced along below them. During the flight, he occasionally turned his head to check on Kale, and more frequently glanced up to check their progress towards the crack. He found a suitably safe spot, and continued his landing into a kneeling position.

After Kale dismounted, Sandy rechecked their position relative to the crack. “OK. This spot is close enough. Nothing’s heading our way now, so let’s get started. Just grow a seedling, and we’ll see what you get. I’ll do my best to watch your magic and advise you so you don’t draw too much power at once.”

Kale gave Sandy a nod and set to work. She dug into her hair, pulling out an acorn of a white oak. She set it on the ground and backed away. Crossing her arm’s she grasped her magic and started weaving the plant into what she desired. Instead of gunning directly for a full grown tree, she encouraged the acorn to grow into a seedling, then a sapling, and steps afterward, monitoring its growth as the Wyld’s power helped influence it.

The acorn sprouted and dug its little roots into the ground, growing a green stem that soon grew its first barkskin. It quickly grew higher and wider, the Wyld and her magic causing it to grow years in seconds. Ten feet, twenty feet, forty feet, eighty feet. When she felt it was high enough, she cut off her magic, letting the Wyld do the rest. The canopy of the big oak grew until the leaves were brushing against the dome ceiling. When it stopped its growth, Kale grasped her magic again and started weaving a vine swing. Letting the Wyld assist, two vines dropped down and reached to an good length, then tying their ends together to form a swing. Done, she let go of her magic and looked to Sandy. “Good?” She said.

Sandy marvelled as the oak grew; he hadn’t doubted that Kale could do that -- she’d cast a bigger spell yesterday -- but he had no idea how the effect would look. Nor did he really understand how her magic would interact with the Wyld, but now he’d Seen them twine together, and heard their odd harmonies. “Oh, yeah…”, he said in a dreamy voice; he always enjoyed Watching other spellcasters play with their toys.

His wandering gaze became a directed study as he judged the distance from the treetop to the crack. He then took a close look at the descending vines. Without turning to Kale, he said, “Let me take a closer look at the crack and the uppermost branches. I think I have an idea…” He transformed into Pegasus and took flight, climbing near-vertically along the tree before making like an equine hummingbird to examine the foliage and dome. He ducked his head into the branches and came away holding a bit of plant between his teeth.

Sandy spread his wings like parachutes and let gravity bring him to the ground. He spat out the tendril he’d plucked from the tree, then regained human form. He retrieved the bit of vine from the ground, and pointed out part of it to Kale. “These sticky things, what are they called? Holdfasts? Clingfasts? Something like that? I think you can use them to run the vines to the dome, and make a mass of vines to cover and surround the crack so it doesn’t spread.”

Kale nodded to the idea. Striking the dome, with the cracks it already had, might damage it further. And she didn’t want to find out what happened if they broke the dome. The image of opening Hell’s Gates popped into her mind and she shuddered.

“A mass of vines will absorb any shockwaves to that area,” she said. She crossed her arms again, weaving the vines high into the sky. The Wyld shaped as well, encouraging massive growth in Kale’s miniscule weavings. Vines in the treetop grew upwards and attached to the dome ceiling with an adhesive oozing from it. More and more vines clumped up, either weaving between holes created by others or gluing themselves to one another. This went on until a massive clump of vines stuck to the roof, held up by glue and some willpower.

“That should do it,” Kale said, letting go of her magic.

The vines were a bit more than Sandy was thinking of, but it seemed they would do. Kale was probably right that more was better than less. “Yes, that’ll do. Now, the fun part.” A twinkle came to Sandy’s eyes. “Let’s see if we can play a melody on what has to be Galli’s largest bell. You swing to set the rhythm and tempo, and I’ll use my weight -- or rather Pegasus’ weight -- to try to tune the dome so we can play notes on it. Any music you’d like?”

Kale thought for a moment on what tune to play. She remembered a number of pieces from her tribe, and a couple of national themes. But nothing seemed to fit for a bell tune. Bells and chimes she thought, thinking of a piece she heard. A lightbulb popped over her head, remembering a personal favorite of hers. “How about the theme to Harry Potter? It’s fairly simple, and very memorable. Gosh, I remember going to the movies when they first came out. And reading the books. Gosh I love Harry Potter!” she fangirled. She blushed, realizing she got carried away. “Anyways, it sounds nice and pretty calming. It should work,” she said.

Oh, boy! He didn’t have Amanda’s gift for music, but he’d do his best. It wasn’t such a complex theme, but all the pitch changes bothered him. “I think I can do that, but that’s gonna take some effort. Start swinging, and let me find the right spots on the dome to get the notes. When I nod, start in on the Harry Potter rhythm.”

Sandy patiently recited the familiar Greek chant and took to the air. As he gained altitude, two mental images duelled for his attention. The first was the reality of magical training in his world versus the story of Hogwarts. There simply weren’t enough people with the Art to have any formal training system; apprenticeships were all catch as catch can. The other was of his godparents, the Muses. He could see Thalia doubled over in laughter at his attempts, and Euterpe studiously considering his performance while fishing through her scorecards to see what value was appropriate given the degree of difficulty. For a change, he was comforted by his lack of contact with them.

Aloft, Sandy waited for Kale’s first swing to connect with the dome. The dome sounded with a dull, hollow sound, more like a hollow-log drum than a bell. All the better: the sound would die out faster, with less effort on his part. He swivelled his ears to locate where the dome was vibrating at its fundamental pitch. All he needed to do was put his full weight against the dome -- and as much force as he could generate with his wings -- to change how the dome vibrated. Nothing much.

He found a likely spot for the first note, and pressed his rump against the dome. The vibration was bone-shaking, but the pitch changed. A little. That would have to do. With some trial and error, Sandy found a set of places to rest his ass that produced an adequate range of pitches to avoid completely butchering the theme. He nodded to Kale. Here goes nothing!

Sandy remembered little of the next interval, just numbing shaking alternating with sprinting flight. He did remember to check the sheep a couple of times to see if they were responding.

[OOC: Kale appears courtesy the Roseward Academy Gardening Club.]

[Cerillium]

FEASTQUEST

Flattery? No, Rache would go with the pony's second assessment: fucked up kinks. Humanity was, to Rache, perhaps the third most fucked up species in the multiverse for this very reason.

He listened intently as Willow unraveled more of the mystery behind Equestria's kind, kith and country. Lips curled as the fiery artists sternly dismissed human partners, and a coarse (but amused) laugh broke from him as Willow put his hoof down regarding daemonkind.

"Hans is seeing the Conservator Chrys."

Rache drained his cup and wiped the corners of his mouth with his knuckles. "Hans is. I check out when they go dovey. Five gods in the pantheon, but only one's associated with lust or love. I've heard tale of Krieger having a romp with Perna -- that's Minerva's inner daemon -- but by and large, war's creations have no interest in intercourse."

He eyed the pony. "That's not to say Chrys isn't a nice human. She's alright. Hans is smitten with her. But pleasure and arousal aren't my gig. Haven't told her yet that he's on a mental walkabout. Maybe I should?"

This brought him back to the entire Humanity train of thought. Equestria hadn't any. Just ponies or other creatures doing whatever it was they did to thrive. The society should have sounded hellish to war's daemon, or he should have at minimum been thinking of ways to corrupt it, but all Rache could focus on was the thought of going somewhere where humans didn't clutter up daily life with their kinks and species nonsense.

These were the thoughts rolling around his mind as his rough hands tipped the porcelain cup to reveal grounds sloshing in coffee dregs. The grounds shaped themselves into a rabbit's head, or perhaps a duck's skull and long bill. The duality of an image held great significance with him, although bunnies and duckies really weren't anything special.

"We should go sometime," he grunted. "Would be nice to get away from the bullshit around here. There's enough Hans present for me to convince him he's a fucking zebra or something."



CHICKENING

The loud clatter caught the blacksmith's attention. He leveled a frosty glare Macy's way. "You mar it, you bought it," came the indignant grumble.

The day was getting on however, and the coop no closer to being built. The blacksmith had work to complete as well. A bit of bartering (which we will skip here for sake of brevity) gained the group some nice scrap metal to use, and they were soon trudging back the way they'd come (with an invitation from the blacksmith to stop by to visit whenever they liked).




SHEEPENING

Ocho's species were an empath's worst nightmare. Their physiology spared them from the worst of the Nifid's attacks but, in the grand scheme of things, it also hindered them from experiences all the joy telepathy had to offer. The thade hadn't heard a word the hapless cat hurled in his direction. Not a one, until the collar broke through the general noise and Ocho remembered the cat on his head was not Sentia.

He squinted as he peered around the meadow. The light was almost too much for him to see properly by, but he spotted Aegis' athletic form easily enough. Simply turning around afforded him the view of a new oak tree and Kale, and Pegasus' horsey form stood out against the bright sky. The sheep calmed now that he was no longer batting the living fuck out of them. Mellow hands plucked Nick from his head as the music began to play.

"Sandy? He's a changeling of sorts," his head tipped back to get a bearing on the Pegasus. The last he'd seen of this form, Sandy was pulling rodeo duty. Perhaps the safest place for the cat really was with the wizard?

By now most of the sheep had begun to settle onto the grass. Exhausted, lulled by the dull sounds, and in no mood to continue their flight, they were almost docile enough to pet. Still, better to not take chances. Ocho's massive hand wrapped around Nick's middle to balance the cat for-

"HEY! WIZARD!"

Nick soared through the air (perhaps with a perfunctory yowl) high above the now-passive meadow, striking the Pegasus on the face just as he finished the second to last note.

Sadly for him, his own ass struck nothing, instead sailing through the air where the dome should have been. Whatever magic contained them had dissolved. The reason soon became apparent to Aegis as the harpy settled on the grass near him.

"Right, well, that's that," she tucked her wings before regarding him with beady eyes. "We have enough, thank you very much. Looks like none of you died, at any rate."

[Primordial Luxa]

Post-woolly bowl
Aegis relaxed his grip on the strange fire arm he was cradling even though he whirred around to face the harpy with an aggressive motion. For a moment he had thought that it might have been some magical denizen of the forest angry at someone he or one of his compatriots had done. Instead he was pleased by the familiar face of the mythical creature which they had received their orders from earlier and he relaxed his shoulders at the sight.

“Yes...well” he stammed, nearly out of breath “We are happy to assist in any way we can, I trust that none of you were harmed either? I’m sure the youngling are less boisterous but still. In any case thank you for this opportunity we enjoy being able offer help and make amends.”

He began looking around the clearing and yelling at the other members of the sheep party trying to usher people towards him so they could all journey back to the safety and comfort of the apartment before he turned back to the harpy. “I apologize again but I don’t think that we have been introduced I am Aegis.”

UA
Insidious allowed the conversations to continue around her with little input or comment mainly because she felt a twinge of responsibility for the situation that she was in. Obvious she was very much at fault but her own personnel dissociation and nihilism kept her from assigning herself too much blame. Truthfully she was more interested in listening and avoiding raising anyone's temper at this point so she kept her mysterious mouth shut and mused fatalistically about their situation.

Insidious had a sudden epiphany during this time mainly surrounding her acquaintance Thaddeus who she had only had a passing relationship with, occasionally seeing in the hallway or hearing about his political and militaristic feats. For the most part she had always seen as a bit of a bore, being one of those mechanically reliant cyborgs that were so aesthetically disgusting to her. But she found herself livening up to him more as he pleaded a case in support of her since it obviously meant less of her needing to be thrown under the proverbial bus.

Perhaps she had more in common with the out of style machine then she thought, even if she had no idea what he was referring to when he mentioned that she might know about what cards were still in the deck. She new a great many things and he could have been referring to her magical, extraterrestrial or scientific knowledge. Meanwhile her opinion on Amanda soured and her perception of her changed to one of a person who saw her in naturally unsympathetic light.

Regardless of all this she remained quiet and kept her skin its normal greyish black while trying to avoid taking offense at being constantly referred as a naked bitch by the judge who was on her immediate list of most hated individuals at the moment. If she didn’t think that they all couldn’t, or that some of them would be unwilling, to shoot their way out of here she would have seriously considered killing him. In addition she would most likely curse him at a latter date with a terrible plague of some kind, most likely in a few years when it would be less suspicious. But this was mostly just a mental ploy to keep her from doing any rash but she was also fantasizing to stop from being bored of this inane trial.

[Tiltjuice]

There was silence for some time, until Chrys finally spoke (chimed?) up.

"I like him; he's friendly, in a gruff sort of way. In the meantime, Asdra - I was wondering a bit more about your runes. What exactly do they do? How do you work them into metal?" The questions, of course, were disjointed and followed no coherent train of thought, but that was her way when she really got enthusiastic about something. Hair color notwithstanding.

[Highfort]

The feeling of relief that had been creeping up Septimus' spine was promptly quashed by the blunt comments of the elder cyborg housed in one of the black monoliths. An insult rose to his lips, and he almost let out a hiss as Thaddeus threatened to destroy all the progress the group had made on getting the Judge to let them out with as few concessions as possible.

Though his cyborg eye was disabled, Septimus nevertheless picked up on Amanda's surprised expression and flashed the lawyer one of his own, a brief widening of his lone organic eye and a slight downturn of the polite smile. Thaddeus hadn't told him and judging from her face he hadn't told her, either. Crazy bastard had let her talk and talk without even once considering that dropping Demens' name would have been a good idea earlier in the conversation. Covering up his annoyance with a sigh, the Representative intervened to defuse the tension. Some things had to be set straight before tempers sparked and things went wrong again.

"Mrs. Bela was not saying that we would guarantee Insidious and the General would remain outside the city," Septimus said, "There are many ways of avoiding detection while inside and many forms of disguise that, combined with a proper bribe, will keep any nosy individuals off our trail, Mr. Usseio. As an assassin you know this well enough, and I doubt our resident lawyer is so ill-versed in the underworld that she would not know this as well. They are free to roam provided that they don't upset the Judge's current reputation."

"Whatever the case, I'm more interested in your line with Mr. Demens," the Judge interrupted, holstering the revolver with some hesitance at the man's words. Even in a Love Box, he seemed rather intimidating, and if Thaddeus was willing to butt heads with Amanda the Judge wasn't so sure if he wanted to mess with the cyborg, "Whether or not what you say is true, Mr. Usseio, that doesn't excuse anyone's behavior here. Ignorance of the law does not excuse this shapeshifting bitch; she should've complied with the guards if she wanted to be treated properly. Disobedience of the authorities is a crime regardless if you don't know why you should be obeying them, Mr. Usseio."

He paused, sighing and rubbing his forehead, "But you're right, would be stupid of me not to check first. Killing a friend of the God is no small mistake, let alone killing several of his Chosen. Give me a moment."

A tap on his green collar betrayed the presence of a microphone, off until this point, "George, bring me Mr. Usseio's credentials; no guards. Just you."

A nervous voice vibrated through the implant in the Judge's inner ear, and his greying brows curled in annoyance, "I didn't stutter, did I? Bring the documents yourself, no guards. I don't pay you to be insubordinate."

A shorter man in fatigues - the smug smile now gone from his face as he hadn't the protection of a blast door or shatterproof glass - scampered into the room holding a manila folder and quickly handed it to the Judge before running off without further word, his nervous eyes never making contact with any of the newcomers. It was better this way, he figured, better to not be recognized lest anyone wish to take revenge on the Judge using him as proxy later on.

Out came the worn flip-phone that the Judge had insisted on serving as the backup for personal calls and any business he couldn't yet trust on his newer model. The digits were dialed, some apprehension on his aging face as wrinkles appeared to frame the frown. A dial tone echoed from the phone, then a long silence.

"Is this Mr. Demens?"

[Giovenith]

"Yeah, I would like that too." Here, Willow lost his smile. "But I can't. I didn't arrive here willingly. I was tossed to this world by misfortune, and the one time I was able to contact one of the princesses, she told me to stay put and wait for a sign. I haven't seen a sign or heard from her since. I guess the only conceivable way back outside of portals would be trekking through Tartarus..." He paused, realizing that might need an explanation. "Equestria holds a physical opening to there. Celestia rents out the space to hold some of our worst criminals. But Giovenith says that's not a very good idea, for the obvious reasons."

He put down his cup with a sigh.

"The only real clue I have is three antiques that showed up at my side one day. They're old, but do bare marks of Equestrian craftsmanship. I've kept them safe, learned of their minor abilities, but never what they mean. Giovenith doesn't have any answers either. If we wanted to find our way to Equestria, they would probably be the only way."



"Funny. For some it has disturbed their faith," Giovenith said, putting aside her licorice. Her look was critical, but not at Drova, merely at her own description. "Mostly those who belong to faiths that require exclusive belief in their god, or uncritical judgment. I remember talking with Misses Bela about the very thing, how existence of people like me was making her feel uncomfortable in her religion and it's outlook. It's generally for these reasons, many gods remain hidden..."

[The BranRiech]

With Drova not even having a full understanding of his own religion, mainly the opposite was true, he thought. "No reason to remain hidden. I'd say." Drova shrugged. He figured that if someone's faith could be challenged by the obvious existence of other gods, it was either flawed in it's understanding, or simply wrong."And I mean, I'm not the most devout person, never have been, but it is nice knowing that there are higher powers, and even cooler to get to . . . Well, live with a few of them that I can consider friends." He nodded, pushing his glasses up, nestling them tightly into his ears, hugging the rim of his petite nose.

Drova's look of polite interest faded away however, his brain lingering on the talk of being friends. "You uh . . ." He lowered his voice. Even while he knew that Marcus had gone to take care of something, he wasn't going to take any chances as he leaned in slightly, cheeks faintly red.

"Marcus didn't say anything about me, right? I know we had the fight the other day, and I'd like to get past it, but I don't know how he thinks. Even after the elevator fell." He frowned.