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

by **Monfrox** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 5:13 am

Well, this was just turning out fine. She smiled at the squib, but then heard voices call out. The cutout raised her brow, much like the Rock who's imitation of his famous eyebrow raise was something she had down since early childhood. Girl with boobs? Were they talking about her? She looked around from the men talking to them about the boar hunt. Well she wasn't the only girl but with how specific they were being with the others...she looked down. No, she hadn't grown, much to her dismay. She was still very flat compared to the other girls in the building. Phooey. Maybe she should ask for something to solve that later. But in a flash, they were gone and her old pegasus friend fluttered down with that time paradox talk.

"Gotta do something, though. Girl's cross is getting too much to bear." Paper-Brit said to Paper-Willow. "But enough of that. Let's see...I'm thinking we'll need some food for bait. Lemme go grab some ham. Wait...isn't that like cannibalism? ..are boars carnivores or herbivores?" She asked, taking more dirt out to try to widen the hole.

by **Tiltjuice** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:08 am

Dora staggered, but shook her head as Katya left. The other woman was all passion but no real substance. Well, if she decided to go, that was that; it was what was best.

She climbed up toward the hill, half obscured in foliage, where she'd heard the whistle and the call. A pair of figures stood there, one familiar, the other less so.

"Legend had it that they were carnivores. Plan for the worst," she said, dropping into a crouch next to Brit. "Do you have any tools to spare?"

by **Holy Lykos** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:24 am

The Squib nodded vigorously, handing an extra Shovel to Dora. He gave a small smile to her, before glancing over at Giovenith. At least she was looking slightly better for the ordeal earlier. Hopefully she could get her time to cry later. Everyone needed it after a loss.

The Squib mindlessly kept digging away at the ground to expand the already growing hole along with the others. But the Squib's mind was soon else-ware, and his digging stopped as he mentally combed over the island for any animals that felt vaguely like the descriptions. With a description he had a better base. Maghrl stood a chance properly searching out a Boar for their traps to, well trap. And even would give him the ability to nudge it in a direction that was favorable.

But that would be for later, to encourage the boar to them with as little violence and danger as possible. Animals were simple. It wouldn't be hard to influence them massively.

Unless these were magic boars. Or secret hutts. They sounded enough like Gamorreans that Maghrl wouldn't be surprised to find a Hutt on the island.

by **Stormwrath** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:44 am

Beach

Ceased... to be? Is there even such a thing as ceasing to exist in this world, to stop standing on one's own feet and instead lie peacefully on the ground in a seemingly eternal sleep mode—no, an eternal deactivation? Simply put, she was... dead? Was this what death was like, the famed end of life that the other Residents talked about that would come someday? Was now the time for her end?

It was a lot for Macy to take in. She never thought that this day would be the last time she saw Tora alive, nor did she think that her time had finally come. How did this happen to her? Who did this to her? There were so many questions that began to pile up, slowly grieving her more and more. The android wondered how Katya felt about this recent tragedy—she must have been devastated by it all. The others were just as saddened by it, too, especially the ones that were closest to her like Marcus and Gio. Gloom filled Macy's eyes as if they were sapping the joy out of her, not only because of what she was told. How could Adrastus say it all so casually, so insensitive? Did not organic life matter to him as it did with the other Residents?

She glanced at the others going off with shovels and other weird stuff. Maybe wasn't the time for her to join them. Well, she loved to, since anything that they would do was often fun, but she felt like she couldn't just shrug someone dying on this day to just go look for boars. And so she walked in the other direction, entering the pavilion and pulling up a chair for her to sit in. It was an empty table she lay her head on as she stared at the Christmas trees.

by **Giovenith** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 8:55 am

"They're omnivorous, in every sense of the world," Giovenith said, wiping a dirty smudge across her face. "They're a type of pig, which are often referred to as the garbage disposals of nature. They'll eat almost anything. There are instances of even their more docile cousins, regular old farm pigs, eating cats and even human babies. They're not funny creatures like the cartoons make them out to be, so be very careful."

With the combined effort of all the diggers, the hole was now about four feet deep. Impressive, but still not deep enough for the boar. They wanted to make sure it didn't hop on it's hinds and pull itself out.

by **Swith Witherward** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 9:18 am

Diggers

Neste's nod affirmed Brit's suggestion. "Corn. Not ham. Maybe some fresh fruit? A dead mouse or six. It doesn't matter as long as it's buried deep enough to attract their curiosity."

Giovenith's words remained in her ears as she continued to dig, widening the hole per instruction. Her own knowledge of These Things might be use. Hell, living with Thaddeus had taught her a Thing or six. She set her shovel upright in the ground once more to rest upon.

"Miss Giovenith? About the girl, Torii." Overseers weren't ones to mince words, though they excelled at politeness. "Marcus obeyed his vows: Offer teipsum - Periculo salutem totius corporis. This can be interpreted many ways though it is usually applied as 'The health of the body is at risk. To save it, you must sacrifice yourself.' The way they do this is by crucible. A priest sacrifices himself... puts himself in harm's way... to create a combative situation in which concentrated forces interact to cause or influence change or development. To heal the body, one must cut the wound to expose the festering mess."

She sidestepped to get out of another digger's way, offering a soft apology for the inconvenience, and then picked up the train of thought once more. "The challenge is made to draw someone's focus to the sacrificial brother. The challenged may withdraw to contemplate his attitude and how it hinders Purpose of Whole. Or, if the challenged has a case of the ass, he will accept and attack the organic. Miss Tora lunged for the inorganic when she had all of his fleshy body to target. Poor form on the girl. This caused his defensive parameters to kick in. Marcus isn't a warrior-priest. His augmentations, while just as sacred as an arm canon, are used only to purify the machine and mend the components. Don't touch what's sacred. I learned that from Thaddeus... the hard way."

There was more to it but Neste felt the details and intricacies would only muddle her explanation. The paper construct shrugged, and began to dig once more. It was easier to talk while working. "People mistake my exo for a dragon sometimes. You have dragons back home. When your dragons are relaxed, they most likely fold their wings against their bodies and appear at ease. When my exo is about to engage in annihilation, her body relaxes in order for me to complete combat amalgamation." She paused to offer a half smile to Giovenith. "This is the problem we face in diplomacy. We assume that something functions the same, with the same behaviors, just because they look somewhat like us. I thought Miss Torii had taken the time to learn something as basic as "do not touch this" while hanging around with him. Either she did, and her actions were a suicide wish, or she didn't and then unfairly painted him with her own cultural brush."

The construct's shovel struck a rock. "But Marcus is an idiot for attempting to fix something outside his culture by using his culture. How many times did I tell him it was a fool's errand? Let his emotions serve up a harsh lesson," she squatted and began to work her fingers around the rock's edges. "Heaven help her sister should she seek revenge on my son, though." A grunt, and the rock rolled down the soft slope and landed among ferns.

Beach

The priests silently trundled past onlookers. Six in total, they gave off an air of being, well, standoffish. This is because I don't feel good today and am in no mood to put effort into them.

Now I feel bad for saying that. Don't they deserve some love? Have they not been breathed into this world? Alright, maybe they didn't choose to be comic relief. Fate was unkind to them. But they were still deserving of a bit more than me excusing off their existence due to a tummy ache.
The priests silently trundled past onlookers. Six in total, they gave off an air of being, well, standoffish to those unsettled by the amalgamation of metal and flesh. It wasn't their fault, really. In fact, they were very nice individuals once one got around their appearance.

The tallest knelt to assess the contents of the bag. No go; a cryotank was in the corpse's future. Without further ado, the medic-priest crew slid the bag onto a hover stretcher (yes, I pulled that out of thin air. Sue me. Tummy, remember?) and returned from whence they came.

Nila was at the pavilion, naturally. The emotional bullshit flying on the beach wasn't something she chose to sip. Mental walls slapped into place to ward off any intrusive thoughts as she tucked herself into a cozy corner to nurse a pale Christmas ale. The seclusion was brief. Macy's appearance intrigued her.

Everything about Macy did, actually. Nila's psionic scans told her that this was a tumbler tic-toc. Observation told her that this was an individual being seemingly with its own set of emotions. And AI, surely?

The short lizard slipped from her nook and settled into a chair at Macy's table. "Hullo." Innocent eyes glittered from the Christmas trees' soft lights. "I was wondering... what is this holy day?" And then, in an effort to commune with a tic-toc properly, she added, "Data incomplete. Protocol mandates that I inquire." Pfft. Biomachines, amirite.

Paper Romy would find her there, and perhaps find interest in the topic.

by **Swith Witherward** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 10:55 am

Drova

"You can't hide forever, Drova," Paper Yuna patted the prince's back. "She would have spotted you an hour from now, or six or, worse, found out in the middle of the night and pounded on your hut door."

The princess' head tilted as Turtleboss... bossi?... the two waterbears trotted by. "You know, I learned something from this person named John. He would visit when I was feeling down or overwhelmed. He never stayed long, and a lot of time passed between visits. But when he visited, there was fun. I mean, I know he had to take time for himself. He had things to do. If people are mad at you for taking time for yourself, that's on them."

She sought to lift his spirits by gently tugging one of his wingtips. "Let's see what the others are up to. And maybe you can tell me where you've been? I don't know where I currently am. The real Yuna. It was sudden and totally unplanned."

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Paper Yuna folded her arms to ward away negativity. "I'm sure I'm okay. Rache was at the table. And Chrys. Aegis. And two others. I think Brit and Willow. I don't think I'd willingly leave you for so long. I bet I'm working hard to find a way home to you, Drova." She blinked away tears before they could cling to her eyelashes. "I'm sorry I've been gone. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you through things."

by **Chedastan** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 3:02 pm

Paper Romy

It wasn't long before the paper General had promptly left Adrastus and Macy to seek Nila, after seeing how he wasn't needed any further on the beach. He of course had the courtesy to at least bid them adieu before doing so though. He preceded back towards the pavilion, and saw that things were mostly how they were when he left it just a few short minutes ago. He then wondered how many residents were even aware of the incident that transpired between Marcus and the now dead Torii, from what he could tell already, probably not too many. He contemplated whether he should even bother ruining the occasion with news of what happened, as he wasn't really Romulus after all.

Maybe he'll at least put a word in to Minerva about what happened, but right now his paper self was only really concerned with one other soul at the pavilion. He saw Nila rather quickly enough at a table with Macy, having come soon enough to hear her question of the event. Indeed he had wondered too of what was being celebrated, as he only had the holidays of his home to give him any kind of context. But given some of the similarities he saw in the decorations and general festiveness, it was most similar to Wilhelm Yule, but only remotely. As there was a distinct lack of Wilhelm Log and Wilhelm Lager available in readied abundance.

"This is remotely similar to Wilhelm Yule, but I doubt that's the case. And I would know, we'll all be drunk off our asses by now before the sun even began to set." He cheerfully said to them, then looked towards Nila. "Hello Nila, you'll have to pardon me, but the real me couldn't arrived, probably due to whatever that otter-bear-thing wanted him to do. I hope you are at least enjoying the festivities, because I certainly want to now." He took a seat across from them, feeling just glad to sit down finally.

He looked towards Nila eagerly, but even though his paper self had nothing to lose, he could still feel his nonexistent guts turn in nervousness. He gulped, and remembered that he was literally made out of paper, and whatever magic that was used to make him alive. And that he only had hours to live possibly, so this was crucial to a degree, as he may only had this one chance.. Or at least a chance that he'll be still motivated for and wouldn't be awkward later.

"Y'know it's funny, Nila. The real me would either be too clueless or too scared to say this, but I really want to say something to you while I'm still around, if you're all ears." He truthfully asked her, but wanted to hear from her first before he continued. Already he felt some weight was lifted off, weight that wasn't even his funnily.

by **Torrocca** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 4:21 pm

The Tiki Bar

"HECTAROS!" That shrill, panicked, frightened cry stuck with Hectaros like an unending nightmare as he traversed something that he could only describe as a tunnel between the Heavens and the Hells themselves - soft, calming blues as bright as the midday sky shifted into terrifying, fiery oranges and back again as he weightlessly floated through, headed in a direction he could not control. Time felt to have been passing slowly and forever, yet at the same time quickly and all at once, in this tunnel. "HECTAROS!" he heard again, distant and weak, crying out to him, wincing at the sheer desperation of the voice of his own brother, Natorin. Barely nineteen, and he was already subject to his own personal nightmares.

He had no time to dwell on these thoughts, however, as he was torn from the tunnel and thrown in a heap onto a wooden floor, his sword and shield still tightly clutched in either fist. A blood-stained bolt from a crossbow had made a home in his breast-plate, just right of his neck and in his shoulder, and a clear, shining slash from a sword that had not penetrated his armor was visible and obvious down from his chest near his waist. The back of his right leg was cut open from a sword's slash, with blood trickling from the wound and staining his pants. The legionary's vision was blurred, and he rose to his feet and turned about the room in a dazed, deluded craze, with shield close and sword outstretched, shouting, "Natorin? Natorin!" His desperation died as his vision returned, and he could clearly see - the place was unusual, and unlike any he'd seen before; unlike the white-stained clay or marble of Eteridone walls, the thatch and wood of the hut was something he'd never seen. And that was when he saw him - a man as unusual as the structure itself, dressed elegantly for a man apparently living in such a barbaric setting. Hectaros lowered his guard slowly as he saw the man meant no immediate harm, and asked him, "... Corre te?¹"

It was the eleventh night of that accursed siege of Terri Tudesnim, a beautiful city along a shining blue river and a jewel in its own right of Eteridone might, with its towering structures of marble and clay displaying magnificent engineering feats, it's beautiful stone walls that promoted security and peace of mind, and its lively nature that complemented the lush grasslands surrounding it. What once was a shining example of civilization was now an image of horror - a raging fire, barely tempered and controlled, lived in the southeastern quarter of the city, incomplete siege towers, trebuchets, and battering rams dotted the landscape outside the walls, and an army from the Hells themselves, numbering in the tens of thousands, stretched across the wide expanse of desert and ensnared the city in its strangling grasp. Fear ran rampant throughout the citizens of the city, which went unaided by the fact that food rations were limited with the presence of nearly thirty thousand soldiers inside the walls of the city.

"Te anne noso tere setere, anderre te,²" Natorin defiantly said in a low voice to his brother, glaring daggers at his worried, older sibling.
"Noso, recare tere!³" Hectaros was adamant about his position - he knew what war entailed, and he knew his brother, naive and foolish as he was being, would not make it through a battle. Natorin suddenly slammed his fist onto a nearby table, angrily saying, "fabor noso te, noso tere decedide te andor!⁴"
Sadness washed over Hectaros, and he frowned, but he knew Natorin was right, in a way - even though he was the favored of their parents, he didn't have any right to dictate the fates of his siblings.
"Dorros terros paterros! Terres noso fabor! Te anne mene, teta... noso anderre tere.⁵" Natorin was unswayed by Hectaros' desperate pleas for him to find safety, and, in his rage, tore from his blood finger (right ring finger) his family ring and threw it at him. It hit his chest with a light, dull thud, and fell to the floor of the house with a metallic tink.
"Noso anne tere dedero! Te -⁶"
"Ce... ceda?⁷" the two brothers ceased their fighting as they saw the house owner's young daughter, groggily rubbing her eyes, enter the room. Natorin, still infuriated, silently left the room, while Hectaros knelt down and said softly to the little girl, "Nona, se buno. Recare noctor.⁸" The girl, still half-asleep, nodded and followed these directions, returning to her room. Hectaros looked down at the ring, thinking, "noso buno... dorre tere, Natorin.⁹" He quietly picked up the ring and placed it on his finger with a frown - his brother's wretched display and utter refusal to listen to reason brought him to sadness.

The march out of the city and onto the field of battle just before its walls was a march filled with uncertainty, hope, and most of all, courage. The legionaries, who the day before were told they'd be marching out to meet with their Kataliin foe, who outnumbered them near or perhaps even over double their number, were either wary of war already or just about to taste their first drops of it. Gathering crowds of citizens watched these brave warriors go, cheering them on in an attempt to raise their spirits; an attempt which worked well on the naive, fresh-out-of-training legionaries, but one which failed to gain much favor from the survivors of Secarlos. Some of the men and women, from this very city, bid their farewells to their families, friends, and lovers, lest they were not to return from the day's battle. One above all others seemed confident in victory this day, though - the young, experienced, noble-born general, Joros Arrbadte Quierros te Terri Deseroresnim the Chivalrous, son of Antolos Arrbadte Quierros te Terri Deseroresnim the Fireborn - unlike his fearsome father, Joros was everything a noble should have been in the nation - courageous, honorable, and skillful. Unusual for his young age, he was already leading an army of his own, in part due to the demand for new generals in this terrible time, and in part due to him already having proven himself on the field of battle.

On the field, the men of Secarlos took to the center as a vanguard, while the flanks were held by the newer legionaries who had yet to taste battle. Archers formed a skirmish line fifty meters ahead of the entire infantry body, and cavalry took to the wings, with the heavy cavalry on the right. General Joros watched from atop a rise in the ground from the back of the lines, carefully directing everything.

From his spot in the line - on the outermost edge of the Secarlos vanguard's left and just behind the front - Hectaros could see his brother, a few men behind and to his left, standing proud and ready for battle. He felt strangely proud that his brother was showing such courage, but also terrified of the possibilities of his fate today.
"Hectaros?"
He turned to the right to face the man who called his name, snapping out of his nightmarish thoughts and listening as he said, "Quete, Hectaros,¹⁰" smiling with pride. Those nearby who could hear this nodded and said the same, leaving him with a small spot of hope in his heart - his brothers and sisters on the field today, who survived with him, believed in him and, even though he was no officer or true leader, they stood with him. At the front, an Otienterore (officer), gave out some orders to his nearest men, and a shrill horn was blared three times, in unison with many others - the banner of the legion, which was held proudly in front of the infantry body, was lowered forward. "OTIENTES! ORA!¹¹" his thundering voice roared, and the legionaries began to advance, maintaining step with their steady, rhythmic chant of, "Lerodaros, Lerodaros, Lerodaros," - "protect us, God of War," they said. Across the way, over their loud chanting and their uniform footsteps, they could hear the Kataliin horns screaming their reply, and soon, another horn call, two blares in length, brought the formation to a halt.

Arrows, loosed from both sides, tore through the skies and hit men on both sides. "OTIENTES, GARVIOS GARVIOS!¹²" the Otienterore yelled, and the disciplined men quickly closed ranks and columns, raising their shields up and creating an effective defensive screen from the eastern archers. Their arrows thudded against the shields like rain against a canopy, harmlessly bouncing off or getting stuck in the wood of the shields. Volley after volley from both sides, and as the last was loosed, hundreds were dead and hundreds more wounded on both sides. "SOTERIOS! ORA!¹³" the men heard, and they lowered their shields and advanced once more, as the archers fled behind them. Distant horns on either end of the line cried out, and the cavalry took off, racing outwards and away from the flanks of the infantry. Another horn blare from the ranks of the infantry, and the men cried their battlecries, charging forth as the instrument ordered - over their cries, they could hear those of their enemy whom they neared, and soon collided with.

Shields struck together, swords clashed, and spears were thrust forth, and men on both sides fell, dead at the hands of their foes. Outnumbered as they were, the legionaries still held the type of professionalism and experience that the Kataliin army lacked, and as such, matched their foe all the same on the field. The man ahead of Hectaros screamed and fell before him, dead from a spear's stab. The legionary stepped forth, parrying an attempt on his own life and cutting down into the shaft of the spear, near where the man before him had cut in his own attempt to break the weapon - unlike him, Hectaros succeeded, disarming his foe. He quickly rushed forward and ran him through, drawing back as the man behind him attacked. All across the lines, the fighting went on like this, with the elite Kataliin spearmen either taking their scores of kills or the legionaries of Eteridone taking their own.

However, the tiring affair slowed to a crawl as it dragged on, and those fighting were felled in fewer and fewer numbers, until at last, both sides broke off at the behest of their commanders. Many were still well rested and eager to partake in the battle, but those in the front ranks were tired from the several grueling minutes of the initial bloodbath. Not all of the fighting came to a standstill, however - far beyond the flanks of the infantry lines, the horsemen still struggled against each other in a savage battle, with no apparent victors being seen in the clouds of dust kicked up by the galloping horses of both sides. Horses and horsemen from both sides seemed to be fleeing these fights as well, but it wasn't until a tremendous number of men broke from the left - Kataliin men - that it was determined who was winning the fight. The light horsemen, now unhindered by their eastern foes, swiftly took advantage to the break in infantry combat and the gap formed between the two lines to assist their comrades. A sickening display on the far left came about as lancers slammed into the ranks of ill-prepared spearmen, who weren't ready in time for a charge, and left the Kataliin right in disarray. Horns cried their shrill cries once more, and the legionaries charged forth once more, spirits aroused at the sight of the Kataliin forces losing. The lines clashed again, and the brutish melee resumed.

Hectaros, acting bold and overeager with his newfound hopes, pushed into the Kataliin lines, taking on foe after foe. However, his push came to a halt as a bolt from a man's crossbow hit him on the shoulder, piercing his breastplate and dazing and distracting him - from his right, a swordsman took advantage of this distraction, cutting across the back of his leg and bringing him to his knees. He went for the kill, but the wounded Hectaros parried, but was pushed onto his back by the force of the blow. The swordsman slashed again, cutting across his breastplate and leaving his mark. Hectaros struck back, thrusting his sword at him and forcing him away; however, he came back, sword high and prepared for another strike, which he brought right down at the man. A clash of steel on steel just inches from his face, and his savior, none other than his own brother, screamed, "HECTAROS!" A burst of blinding light, and he was no more on the field of battle.

by **The BranRiech** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 5:10 pm

Drova

“Well, you’re fun whenever anyone visits.” Drova groaned, letting out a few breaths, stretching his back against the tree he was propping himself up with. Already he was feeling far less stressed, and he even managed to smile at ‘Yuna’. “Oh man… I just…” He couldn’t find words to express the emotions he was feeling. There wasn’t really a word for experiencing possibly every single one at once.

His wing feathers bristled as she pestered him to join the others, with the shovels..

“I’m glad to know that you’re safe.”

He had ditched trying to explain his feelings. It wasn’t going to work very well, and he knew how Yuna would get all gushy about people’s feelings. Even if this wasn’t really her he was talking to, he didn’t want to find out if she had the same penchant.

“I bet you’ll find your way home soon, been too long already. I-I have to say I’m scared of the alternative.” Drova admitted with a solemn nod, stepping forward to hug the cutout. He held her for a few moments, before stepping back, and dusting himself off.

“Alright then, something about digging?” He asked, already turning to head over.

by **Monfrox** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:12 pm

"An eye for an eye makes us all blind." The cutout quoted to Neste's. "But, if you ask me, I always try to find a solution without violence. And what happened here today will weigh on us for a long while. We'll take our time picking at it until we're satisfied, but the differences in culture are going to be the hardest to get around." Another heft of dirt out of the hole. "After all, my religion forbids it. One of the ten commandments is "Thou shalt not kill". But it's different with you and Marcus where you come from. We'll need to all understand each other if we're going to overcome this. I'll be back."

She put the shovel in and headed out to the dining table. In a few minutes, she was back with a plate full of randomly assorted food. A dinner roll stuck out of her mouth that she chewed on, putting the plate aside for now. Sgt. Kafka was also retrieved, to which she handed the girl her E-tool. While confused at first; Brit explained the boar hunt. Kafka nodded, mentioning that she had hunted and skinned boars in the Zone before.

by **Stormwrath** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 6:59 pm

Pavilion

Macy slowly lifted her head to see who it was. Guess she wasn't alone in here—perhaps another person can keep her company. And this one just happened to be a synth, too. "Hi Nila."

Guess she also wasn't alone in not knowing what this Christmas thing is. In fact, the more Macy doesn't seem to know now about it now that Tora's gone. Was this supposed to be a happy time where everyone's supposed to celebrate or was it a time of mourning? She really didn't know what it was. Things were much simpler with Ijessaliad...

But perhaps she couldn't withhold Nila from the answer she wants. Macy tried to put whatever words and phrases would make sense to describe this holiday. "A-all right... What I heard from Gio, Christmas is a holiday where people come together and celebrate the birth of Elohim's son. People give presents to each other, sing songs, and other things. It's a bit similar to another holiday, Ijessaliad, that is celebrated in Palmaria—though admittedly we only celebrate that to greet the New Year."

by **Swith Witherward** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 7:26 pm

Each memory Septimus articulated became a treasured gem. Marcus knew Neste could be daft sometimes, but he didn't expect his father to be quite so... human. He'd never imagined warmth. Oh, it was there when she told stories, but she had never really fleshed out Septimus' quirks. The young man found himself chuckling at the images painted for him.

"Can you imagine? Drooling on the floor because of a simple paradox? Ah, the old days were interesting." Septimus' laughter brightened his old face and, for a moment, Marcus glimpsed the younger man lurking within.

Here was someone that could look back on a derpy moment without shame, owning it to prevent it from besmirching his reputation. What irony. Thaddeus probably had derpy moments, but he never showed them for fear of exposing a crack in his defenses. The differences between the old cyborgs were glaring. He chose to file away questions regarding social impediments and emotional problems, sparing Septimus the need to explain himself, and focused on his mother's solution to it instead.

"Construct logic is convoluted," Marcus couldn't suppress a short laugh. "The Convocation itself is progressively-backwards and turnip. Their approach to everything seems pattered off frantic attempts to understand culture before killing or assimilating the species. The Nifid themselves do not have culture. The constructs they build are an attempt to understand what Nifid lack. And they breathed intelligence into them once they realized machines were just as inept at the task as they, themselves, were. The result is a straightforward approach which provides solutions that, while workable, go against cultural acceptance."

He paused, setting his cup aside as he leaned forward to survey Septimus' face. "You've... you've lived your life at full gallop, haven't you? Orders come, objectives are reached, go to the next. Keep going. Do what Brutus demands, avoid messing up if possible." He turned his face away and studied the cup beside him. "I'm not trying to pry. I'm just wondering because that's how life has been as long as I can remember. And that's how her life was. Rich lives filled with new discoveries and adventures. Campaigns won and lost. If experiences were recorded on tapestries, the fabric would wrap the world several times over."

Marcus returned his gaze to his father. "Didn't you ever want to step away? Settle down. Let others deal with the shit?" And then, a more pressing question came to his mind. "Will I always be galloping across dimensions, afraid of losing friends and loved ones, and never knowing what it's like to just... to just regret stupid things, like leaving the coffee pot on so the pot burns, or forgetting to pick up the post before the office closes? Why is every regret I have involving something fucking epic?"

He wanted to return to the story of his parents, to hear what happened, where Septimus had gone. He wanted the man's words had the power to hold the dark tigers at bay. Instead, he found himself curling forward a bit more to stare at the ground between them as his thoughts forked onto numerous paths.

"I'm not blaming you," the grimaced expression matched the huskiness of his voice, "I'm not. If you'd been around, I still wouldn't have had a childhood. It would still be full gallop. And maybe that's what pisses me off most about Torii. She's seen a tenth of what I have and copes by remaining an immature twelve year old. She's almost fucking 20. So I'm stuck shouldering the burdens, being the adult, keeping Giovenith from harm brought on by a silly bitch that refuses to grow up. And because I'm the adult, she brings her stupid problems to me... problems that could be solved by putting on a pair of pants, rolling up your sleeves, and taking actual responsibility for your actions. But no, all her angst is prepubescent. Some girl she likes doesn't like her back, and she's sad because nobody understands her."

Marcus pushed off the bench and began to pace, caught up in his own emotional purge. "I'm sitting there. Alone. All I have left in the fucking world is your arm. ALL I have LEFT. The woman I'm going to marry has died on the fucking day I was going to ask her, and the god I'd always respected as a place to turn for advice died with her. You're gone. Neste is gone. Naomi is gone 'round the twist. The old cyborg is drowning himself in work to avoid his own miseries. And Adrastus is practically exploding because, for some reason, I'm behind on work."

Scowling, he spun to face his father. "And there she is. Knock, knock. Oh Marcus! I'm soooo upset because the girl I want to finger has died. Boo hoo. I can't eat. I can't function." His pacing resumed, an angry and prowling walk punctuated by animated swipes at the vegetation beside him. "The fuck am I, a therapist? She has Kale and a host of other babyland friends. Go see them! But no, come to me and burden me more. So I give her a solution. She won't listen. Naw, won't work. Okay, bye!"

Marcus forced his pace to slow. He had no right to dump this on Septimus. The man was just a cardboard figure. But he was a figure. He was someone. And he could at least fairly judge Marcus, having been through enough hell himself.

"Giovenith returned," Marcus used his wrist to scrub the damp from his cheek. "It was like being reborn, for me. And there came Torii. Boo boo, I'm having a crisis because you've returned, so comfort me, Giovenith. I lost it. Totally lost it with that clingy shit. Girl, I got too much heavy stuff on my plate to have to deal with this. Just because she refuses to grow up doesn't mean the rest of us haven't. So we're picking up her pieces, and it adds up, Septimus. It fucking adds too much burden. She refuses to stand on her own feet."

The ferns no longer had fronds. Marcus increased his range to torture the ficus dotting the perimeter around the benches. "I tried. The vows mandate that I not dwell on things. I let go. And then she goes and does something brand new and equally stupid, and I let go again. And this time? This time she stood in a clearing with her racist sister and talking about killing natives. In earshot. We have fucking healers and couriers in our group. It's just me and the Jedi, and baby Torii and her pop pistol. You don't put your friends at risk just because you want to kill some natives. I... I almost shit myself when Opa came crashing through the trees. I seriously thought that was it. Game over. We're about to die because Katya and Torii refuse to grow up."

Savaging the plants did nothing to alleviate his frustrations. Marcus slumped onto the bench across from his father. Defeated, he sighed. "I challenged her because it was the only way I know how... the only way that might force her to stop being so selfish and immature. And instead... instead of using her brain, she suicides by going for my arm. She knew. I told her when she was looking at yours in my shop. How the fuck do I explain that to either Mom? Naomi is gonna be pissed! Neste understood your violence, but Neste was a fucking Overseer. I mean, fuck, they called her Malice because she enjoyed her job a wee bit too much." He rubbed the back of his head in frustration. Neste would have stood up and clapped. "Giovenith isn't like her. Giovenith is... not someone that approves of this... stuff. And part of me knows that Torii understood that and, by going for my arm, she saw to it that Giovenith would turn on me. A spite action. Torii could be very spiteful in her childish choices."

The young man leaned forward to lock eyes with Septimus. The anger had purged itself, leaving Marcus raw. There wasn't any reason to not be brutally honest at this point. "I'm not sorry. I mean, I'm not gonna get me some cultists and reanimate that silly bitch so I can kill her again. But I'm not really feeling regret over this. The only thing I'm regretting is that my life has momentarily stopped galloping, and it stopped in the last place I'd ever want it to. I wish-"

What? What could possibly make all the stress leave?

Marcus exhaled his last bit of angst. "I wish I could go with you. The real you. I can't get back my childhood. I can try to become a stronger man. But you? You don't have all the answers. You fuck up. You did bad things. But you stayed the course. I wish I could learn that from you. For once in my life, I want a parent - a dad - and not galloping adults dragging me along with them."

by **Fvaarniimar** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 7:40 pm

RAIDERS of the LOST BOOK

OPERATION: BIBLIOPHILE
DIMENSION: Gallimaufry then 257P
LOCATION: Above the Max Thunder Fury Road Beyond Ascalon Dome
TEAMS: MU
RotLB

Again, Nick's thoughts were largely images and concepts, but the others would understand. For those not in his mind, the gist was that he was listing possible assets:

<...Sandy, you can sense basically everything around - with all our ears we know exactly where sounds are coming from - weapons - cannon on ground -> A disgruntled face.

<We could hit the dragons in the face. Maybe in the eyes! But just the cannon is in range - we aren't close enough to some - we have radios! If -> One very rushed conversation later, the cat activated both his collar and his radio.

"Nick here, urgent! Shoot guns -" He gave an angle which would likely hit the lizard diving for the scout in the eye, and might possibly clip one near the convoy. "We can help you target them -" another position rattled off, this lizard off to their side and diving - "Within, oh, an inch." The third direction would hopefully pick off the second diver.

"The plan is that you'll stun them," upwards this time, at a circler or two. Nick hoped that the roar of gunfire wouldn't temporarily deafen them. "After that, aim -" the position given was the estimated one for the most threatening of the three convoy attackers a few seconds later, although if the group's hearing wasn't interrupted the intel would be tweaked. "We'll take them out of the fight."

by **Fvaarniimar** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 8:39 pm

Monfrox wrote:
She put the shovel in and headed out to the dining table. In a few minutes, she was back with a plate full of randomly assorted food. A dinner roll stuck out of her mouth that she chewed on, putting the plate aside for now. Sgt. Kafka was also retrieved, to which she handed the girl her E-tool. While confused at first; Brit explained the boar hunt. Kafka nodded, mentioning that she had hunted and skinned boars in the Zone before.

Not-Nick took a long sniff. It seemed a shame to waste good food, but if they ate it (and could they?) they'd only have a few scraps left as bait...
"Food scraps! Bones and fruit debris!" Presumably the shout drew attention. More rasping noises - this critter was not accustomed to being watched by a crowd, much less public speaking.

"The garbage from lunch should be full of scraps - if anyone is willing to go back... there to get them, at least. Um... Bert, right? Would you mind going and getting the trash can or whatever? Or Nestlee? You're calmest." Admittedly he sounded less than thrilled by the latter detail. How can she smile at a time like this? And yet they were supposed to be cheerful - meant to be merry companions.

"Oh! And about what you said, Purple - I can help track them, too. My nose is good for sniffing."

by **Giovenith** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 8:48 pm

Giovenith sighed deeply and kept her eyes on the dirt as Paper-Neste spoke. The philosophy she recalled didn't entirely make sense to her but she understood the general gist of what the construct was trying to get at. It loosened the chaotic nature of the situation a bit but didn't do much to alleviate her feelings. Understanding something didn't always excuse it.

"My real counterpart is half-way right you know," Paper-Willow randomly added in, happily digging away at the hole.

"What does that have to do with anything?" the godling grumbled.

"Willow is a sensitive pony at his core," the cutout shrugged. "He is easily saddened. He recognized this when he was young and chose to combat and hide it, for fear of holding others back. This is not the best thing to do, but he does so because he does not want to be in love with his own sorrow. Some people on the other hand are more than happy to be. Ostensibly they hate their hurt, but wallowing in your sadness... it can become an addictive form of vindication. Some people feel like getting upset is the only way they can stick up for themselves, that if they show off enough dysfunctional agony to the world eventually, one day, somebody's eyes will widen and their jaws drop as they realize with horror all the undeserved ill that has been thrust upon that person and personally lead them to happier days, and maybe even punish the things that hurt them to begin with."

"Still don't see what that has to do with what she said," Giovenith gestured to Paper-Neste.

"This might be the problem with your Torii friend," he said. "She's addicted to the wait for that sympathetic gasp. Even when she gets it, she stays where she is because she needs a fix of that precious wait. It's the only thing she knows works in influencing her life, and because she went so long without any deserved sympathy. Unfortunately, she hasn't figured out that it doesn't work forever. Like any addiction, every hit becomes less potent and you need a bigger, more extreme fix to feel the same. People start catching on that you're not willing to let them truly save you, that you don't want to leave the tower, you just want them to gallantly slay the dragon for you over and over..."

Giovenith narrowed her eyes.

Paper-Willow puckered his lips and closed one eye. "Sorry. Anyway, people stop trying to rescue you, and you begin to cry out even harder to bring them back. You lash out. You do whatever you can to convince them you need them more than ever. Eventually, all you convince them of is that you are beyond what they could ever handle. And they leave. Your Marcus should not have harmed her. But it's clear it was his way of saying he's not saving the day anymore."

Upon Paper-Brit returning, Paper-Willow dropped his shovel and cheerfully flew over to collect some snacks. "I'm going to go ahead and start burying some of these. Don't worry about me getting hurt, I'm only paper after all!" And he flew away.

The young woman in pink was quiet for a moment as she mulled over what both Neste and Willow had told her. She pieced all the bits together to form an ugly picture of the underlying issues that had festered beneath the three of them's friendship before finally coming to a boil tonight. This wouldn't be brushed off. Things were going to change one way or another, the issue now was figuring out how she wanted them to and what she could do to make it that way, if anything at all.

"They say that when you lose everything, you should turn to a higher power," she finally spoke. "That if nothing else has worked, God is your last and only hope. I'm god. I guess, in a way, I felt like I had no choice but to hang on and keep doing my best to help. But, like Marcus said... nothing has really changed, no matter what I do or say... how can I be sure when it's time to stop helping? How do I know when I'm turning my back on someone in need versus when I'm turning my back on someone who won't let me really help? Who needs me to walk away?"

She looked around at her friends sadly, pleading them to have the answer.

by **Swith Witherward** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 9:09 pm

Pavilion

Nila chuckled over the General's suggestion of excessive celebration had the party been for other reasons. Of course, her body would purge the alcohol thus deprive her of the experience. It was rather unfair, now that she thought about it.

Her ears rocked forward. Did he just say the real General was unaware of or afraid to speak his mind about something? Romulus had never given her that impression. In fact, he didn't seem to hold back his opinion at all. It was the lint, wasn't it? He'd somehow found out she had a collection of it. She steeled herself before nodded lips at Paper Romy. "Alright, please do say what needs to be. I will list-"

"A-all right-"

Macy seemed to have organized her thoughts on the holiday. Nila cocked her head and digested the brief explanation and process. Comprehension finally dawned. Paper Romy had commented earlier that he hoped she was enjoying the festivities and, until a moment ago, she really hadn't been because of... oh my Maker. I've been doing it wrong! He was trying to politely explain my slip is showing. The real General would never take the time to correct a machine for foolishness!

"We must get to festive!" Nila smacked the table. "We must sing songs about Mr. Wilhem Yule and drink his alcohol, and celebrate the Son of Elohim's Ijessaliad festival as they do in Palmaria, though I do not think the new year arrives for another week. But where are we going to find gifts?" If it came down to it, she would split her lint collection between Macy and Paper Rom. Everyone deserved to have the comfort of lint to keep them warm at night.

Drova

Paper Yuna relaxed in her brother's embrace. This was family. These were the things one fought for, and fought to come home to. She wrapped her arms around him more tightly. "Don't even think of the alternative. Just think of all the wonderful memories we have yet to make."

She allowed him to break the hug first, and smiled when she saw a bit of his old self emerge. Now to just keep that good mood going.

"Race you up the hill!" Yuna darted past him and took to the same path the waterbear had used.

The jungle was much cooler than the beach, and the darkness was soothing at first. There was a brief period where she couldn't see anything at all, despite her species' senses, and then the jungle gloom lifted to reveal the digging party. They had quite a hole going.

"Hello everyone! Drova and I came to see what you're all doing."

Tiki Bar

Corre te? Ah, another Ancient warrior. These were the best people. Volker firmly believed that. Moderns tended to get too caught up in useless issues. But Ancients... the very people that Klaus wouldn't hesitate to invite to a fireside chat... Volker had a special fondness for them. He patted the air with his hand to indicate he needed a moment, and then dug through his pockets.

"Aha! Got you!" He hauled something small and pale and rather hairless out of a trouser pocket. Get your mind out of the gutter. You all know it's a Duncan. The naked mole rat twisted from his grasp and scurried up Volker's arm to perch on his shoulder.

The cultist nodded. "Let's try this again. Greetings, Hectaros. I am Volker. Mr. Demens has chosen you to fulfill a great purpose. He has brought you here for that reason. Most likely, he had you pulled moments before your death, if I go by your current state."

The thing on Volkder's should sat up, a small paw curled to cover a soft cough as it cleared its throat. And then, unexplained, the naked mole rat opened its mouth and spoke in Hectaros' own language. "The Front Desk Cultist, Volker, wishes me to convey to you: Hail, Hectaros. A great god has pulled you from the jaws of death that you may fulfill a greater purpose!"

The creature tapped its chin with an ugly claw. "Listen, it's going to take forever if I have to keep translating everything Volker says. The basics of his rambling are this: Demens needs you. You have some skill or talent that will save the Cosmos. He's been gathering all of you Chosen Ones for a while. We are on this Island to celebrate a holy day but, soon, we'll go back to Demens' Tower to plan for the battles ahead. Will you join us? Will you lend us your sword and knowledge? Will you fight beside us for the sake of your gods and your people?"

He was rather fucking eloquent for a naked mole rat.

by **Northwest Slobovia** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 9:16 pm

RAIDERS of the LOST BOOK

OPERATION: BIBLIOPHILE
DIMENSION: Gallimaufry then 257P
LOCATION: Above the Max Thunder Fury Road Beyond Ascalon Dome
TEAMS: MU
RotLB

Fvaarniimar wrote:"Nick here, urgent! Shoot guns -" He gave an angle which would likely hit the lizard diving for the scout in the eye, and might possibly clip one near the convoy. "We can help you target them -" another position rattled off, this lizard off to their side and diving - "Within, oh, an inch." The third direction would hopefully pick off the second diver - or at least douse its fire.

Sandy half-heard to Nick through his telepathic subvocalizations, visualizing the desired result: tracers arcing up to catch two diving lizards in the face. In his peripheral vision, he could see the bright blurs of their first attempts to hit. Hit, dodge, or burn; the convoy's choices were savage. A flicker of doubt, and worry: their fire direction was the convoy's best chance at self defense, and Sandy dreaded a repeat of the aftermath of the killer grass and firestorm.

At least their situation wasn't as dire: they still had altitude over the lizards heading for them. They could provide more direct assistance to the convoy. Sandy rolled into a tight turn, wings outstretched for the fastest turn -- and incidently, silence for their combined hearing -- heading for the diving lizards, driving his riders into his back with the G-forces.

As the distance between the diving lizards and the group shrank, Sandy and Nick felt the Baron's hands tense on his lightning gun, and more distantly, felt his bloodlust rise. Sandy rolled level as he felt/half-saw Primordial take aim, and the air sizzled twice as the unnatural electric discharges tore though it.

Sandy Listened for a moment, turning his ears to where the group's fused hearing told him the closest lizards should be. Good, they were still slighly below him. But were they preparing to spit? Would he Hear the rising notes of building fire magic? He resumed his climb, hoping to cross above them as they closed. The climb was jarring, two powerful wingbeats, pause, two more, and pause: intervals for Nick to help the gunners on the ground.

by **Torrocca** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 9:50 pm

A great god? Greater purpose? Surely, they jest, Hectaros figured - he disbelieved the wild theories of prophecies long since they were first made of his birth. He was no great, mighty, renowned warrior, nor any powerful, brave, daring hero - no, he was just as he was - Hectaros Varinos, son of Andorin and Sicella Varinos, brother of Natorin and Calina Varinos. Natorin... Natorin! His mind was flushed with what he last remembered - the battle of Terri Tudesnim, his brother, Natorin... "HECTAROS!"

"My brother! Where is he?!" he asked in his renewed desperation, staring wide-eyed at Volker and the naked mole rat. He grew frantic again, looking around the bar in a futile belief that he'd find him. "Where am I?! Where... where is my brother? Where is my family?" He dropped to his knees, eyes fixated on the ground for the longest of times.

With both a metallic clattering and a dull, heavy thud, his sword and shield respectively hit the ground, and he brought his open palms near his face, looking at them as if they held the answers to his woes. "O, Natorin..." he thought, removing his brother's ring from his finger and staring at it. It was a simple thing - made of bronze, with a black inscription that read, "Varinos - Alde quorros!" "Forever Invincible," it translated to. He stopped staring at it and gazed once more at Volker and his pet, asking in a choked, dry whisper, "If I fight for you... will I see my family again?"

by **Swith Witherward** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 10:18 pm

"This isn't a god matter, even if you are a god," Neste snorted at Giovenith. She brushed off her hands and then sat down at the edge of the hole to rest. "Look, Miss Giovenith, nobody should be a doormat. The easiest way to tell if you're a doormat is to ask yourself if it's mutual. When you're with someone, is it always about them? Does every joyful moment for you melt away into a tedious afternoon spent doing what they want? Do they express any interest in what's eating you, and can they listen to your woes without somehow making it about them? Do they ask how you're feeling or just sit quietly with you when you're sick? Do they take your needs into consideration? Or is it always all about them? People like that will suck you dry if you don't put your claw down. People like that are opportunists that prey upon your good nature."

Neste fished a peppermint from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. "But if Willow is right... if someone is addicted to the wait for that sympathetic gasp... if they're unable to function without someone there to comfort them, or to complete them? That's unhealthy. You'll enable mental illness each time you give in to that sympathetic gasp. You aren't doing a favor. You're bringing harm." The peppermint rattled around her teeth a moment as she carefully selected her next words. "Gods are not psychologists. Neither are ponies or constructs. We risk harming someone with our armchair analysis. What Torii needed was a competent doctor. What we need to do is what a competent doctor tells us is right for her therapy plan. Otherwise we make choices that could tip her into suicide. So many suicides are simply a cry for attention that turned into an accident."

Seeing as there were some newer Residents around, Neste added for their benefit, "'Dead' does not always mean 'finality' here among the Chosen. Miss Torii might still return. Unless we don't get this hole dug, and the natives return to find no boar."

by **Giovenith** » Tue Dec 27, 2016 11:06 pm

Slowly, the young woman nodded.

"You're right, we need to focus on this for now," she said. "Sorry for getting distracted. Let's save the day first and handle social issues later."

The hole made good progress. It eventually got so deep that Giovenith had to produce a small step ladder so that they would be able to climb in and out. It was hard, blistering, dirty work, but she didn't feel like there was a moment to waste. There was still the matter of getting the board in by sunset.

"Maghrl!" she called upward, the edge of the hole now about at her eye level. "Have you found any boars yet?"

Yuna and Drova appeared. "Oh, you guys! Good! Grabs some shovels and get in here!"

by **Highfort** » Wed Dec 28, 2016 3:15 am

Septimus nodded in agreement at the oddity that was construct logic; the elder cyborg had long-ago filed it away as one of the subjects that he would never understand, and not for lack of trying. It saddened him, though, that the construct project ultimately was just an attempt by the Nifid to understand everyone else. Neste and Nila, and all the others he'd only had glimpses at through her stories and memories, were so much more than that.

Before the thought could eat away at him anymore, however, he found himself appraised by his son.

"You've... you've lived your life at full gallop, haven't you? Orders come, objectives are reached, go to the next. Keep going. Do what Brutus demands, avoid messing up if possible."

It was a brutal description of the last two-thousand years, but it wasn't wrong.

"I'm not trying to pry. I'm just wondering because that's how life has been as long as I can remember. And that's how her life was. Rich lives filled with new discoveries and adventures. Campaigns won and lost. If experiences were recorded on tapestries, the fabric would wrap the world several times over."

Whether "rich" was the right descriptor or not was, in Septimus' opinion, up for debate. True, Neste had seen fantastic and wondrous things, and had the heart to share them with him, but she'd seen the full panoply of the universe's ugliness, too. Her life was full, perhaps, but of what? Was it really rich, like caviar or gold or any of the other niceties that aristocrats on primitive worlds bothered themselves with?

Or was it something uglier, something only people like them could appreciate - or even look at?

"Didn't you ever want to step away? Settle down. Let others deal with the shit?"

'Every moment when I wasn't focused on the task at hand, when I wasn't torturing some poor worker or destroying some hapless village. Every waking moment of my life when I wasn't a machine,' was what he wanted to say. But his lips wouldn't move. And Marcus didn't give him the opportunity.

"Will I always be galloping across dimensions, afraid of losing friends and loved ones, and never knowing what it's like to just... to just regret stupid things, like leaving the coffee pot on so the pot burns, or forgetting to pick up the post before the office closes? Why is every regret I have involving something fucking epic?"

'Because you are a wheel-turner, a gear-oiler, a world-changer. Not by choice, but by circumstance and by opportunity. You are not immune to the material conditions that surround you, that make up your life. You are a slave to the universe,' but nothing came out.

Septimus Itum was quite a poor excuse for a father.

And he continued his total butchery of the position as Marcus delved further into his sorrows: into his lack of a childhood; into Torii's incredible life of shelter and privilege and games; into what would become of the Godling, Giovenith; into the present absence of all of his parental figures in his time of crisis.

"You're gone. Neste is gone. Naomi is gone 'round the twist. The old cyborg is drowning himself in work..."

"You're gone. Neste is gone."

Just where were the real, flesh-and-blood counterparts of him and his beloved? What could possibly be more important than their own son? Would the flesh-and-steel Septimus remember any of this? And would it matter, anyways?

"You're gone."

And who was he, a cardboard doppelganger - a papery tin-man - to be a father?

The vegetation suffered beneath his son's wrath. Even outside of the Confederation, Septimus couldn't escape Brutus. He couldn't escape the conditioning by Ophelia which left him little more than a razor-sharp tool for diplomacy and death. Even his son already resembled his father, and without any proper torture to really beat it into him.

Even outside the Confederation, Septimus could not escape himself.

"How the fuck do I explain that to either Mom? Naomi is gonna be pissed! Neste understood your violence, but Neste was a fucking Overseer. I mean, fuck, they called her Malice because she enjoyed her job a wee bit too much."

Perhaps there really was something to only people like them understanding each other.

"Giovenith isn't like her. Giovenith is... not someone that approves of this... stuff. And part of me knows that Torii understood that and, by going for my arm, she saw to it that Giovenith would turn on me. A spite action. Torii could be very spiteful in her childish choices."

Bitterness flooded the cardboard cyborg's psyche. When things didn't rhyme, they had to get worse.

"I wish I could go with you. The real you. I can't get back my childhood. I can try to become a stronger man. But you? You don't have all the answers. You fuck up. You did bad things. But you stayed the course. I wish I could learn that from you. For once in my life, I want a parent - a dad - and not galloping adults dragging me along with them."

Silence. The sipping of coffee.

"The real me has spent his life chasing immortality because of friends he's lost. He's trying to go back to being a child. He can't think of anything else but to be a child - to serve, to be told what to do, to be nurtured and then used as a tool."

Septimus stood up.

"I'm sorry. I'm not your father. And... to be frank, I don't think he'd make a good one even if he tried," the cyborg's eyebrows lifted and his gaze softened as he lay a consolatory hand on Marcus' shoulder, "And if you went with him, he'd just take you galloping across the galaxy in search of immortality. And Neste would be right there with him, and they'd gallop together. And maybe she might slow down a bit so you could have a mother, but..."

He moved to pull Marcus into a hug. He rested his head on the shoulder of the man who would be his son, if he was the real Septimus Itum.

"Life is painful. Life is painful because everything has to change - has to end. He is a reflection of that; and I am, through him. All he has ever tried to do is escape that pain: by becoming immortal; by falling in love; by making amends with his son through me. He's so terrified of it all ending that he can't really do anything but gallop away from it."

The hug ended, and Septimus pulled away to adjust the image of brown robes that the cardboard cut-out of him had been designed with.

"What could you possibly learn from that?"

by **The BranRiech** » Wed Dec 28, 2016 4:49 am

Drova

"What hill!?"

Drova's eyes couldn't penetrate the thick brush of the jungle, leaving him unable to identify where his sister had planned their little race. But Drova wasn't one to be outdone in physical challenges, at least ones he could actually win at least, and so he took off running after Yuna, following the whiteness of her robes, and the dark contrast of black feathers jostling around on her wings. He dodged a few loose vines, and at least one or two roots as he only really sort of stuck to the trail. If there was a tree or two he could skirt around and shave off a few seconds of Yuna's lead, he'd take it.

All in all though, even Drova wasn't light enough on his feet to catch up to the paper cutout, who was already greeting everyone in the digging circle. Giovenith was there, as was the Jedi from earlier, but who were the others? Neste... Right? He couldn't put a finger on where he'd seen her before, probably in passing one day at the apartment a while back.

And Brit was completely unknown to the Prince, they'd never had the time to meet.

"Oh whoooo..." Drova huffed, emerging from the jungle, wheezing as his legs burned from the run. It wasn't even the furthest he'd ran (Of flown for that matter), but being cooped up in one's apartment didn't lend itself to improved athletics, even if he managed to stay mostly fit.

"Yeah." He addressed the group, looking down, wondering why Gio was in the hole. "We were talking on the beach, and we saw..."

What the fuck even was the stubby little creature (And his little clone) that carried the shovels past?

"...Those things, carrying shovels. We were interested."

Fuck. He shouldn't have even said anything. He knew his friends were nothing like Torii (Well, Gio definitely wasn't), but was he the person they wanted to see after everything that had happened?

by **Tiltjuice** » Wed Dec 28, 2016 6:22 am

"Little sister, it doesn't matter what you could do or not. The second kind - you'll know it, quickly. A lot of them will just do their best to get away from you. Exactly like sand between your fingers, if you'll pardon the expression. There's no point finding a bucket. The most we can do is just to keep doing it. Never doubt; but step back and look always. Perspective is everything."

Dora looked next to Neste, putting in her own two cents. "Are your people religious? I had planned to lend what help I could on that count. Life ends and begins everywhere, somewhen."

And then up to Drova, who had just stepped out of the underbrush and toward the lip of the deep hole. "If you think shovels are interesting, you should hang around us more." It wasn't even a joke, given how weak it was, but the line was the best she could do at the moment. She squinted.

"Aren't you the one with - the attraction to my Sister? Nice seeing you again. I think I caught sight of you earlier, didn't I."

by **Fvaarniimar** » Wed Dec 28, 2016 11:06 am

Holes

"Drova." The acknowledgement wasn't quite cold, but it certainly held no warmth. Greeting a friend was understandable; still, it had led to her death.

Yet, if nothing else, he was a distraction from Neste's words. They rang...far truer than he liked. Torii had carried Nick on occasion, which was helpful, and wasn't hesitant to cuddle - but Nick had always comforted her and tried to help with her worries even while things fell apart around them. Wasn't that what a friend did? Honestly, it had comforted him at times, too - it had been something he could do, to make things better. A way to feel less helpless.

Wasn't that what a friend did? Comforted? Nick certainly thought so - had thought so from his earliest wishes of having some. Yet...the contrast was startling. He'd helped calm Giovenith down - but not only had she provided a leg to cling to and a pair of cuddling arms, she'd reassured him - not to mention the others! - in return.

He wrenched his mind back to Drova, hesitant Drova. His action led to this - but I could have acted, chose not to - "It really wasn't our fault, Giovenith?" He looked down. "I considered interrupting, when they were about to fight. What if I had? Would everyone be okay?" If he's to blame...so am I. I really don't want that.

His mind had turned back to the past. "During the Building collapse! When I really needed a friend, she held me. I don't think she asked for anything, then. We went our separate ways - me to help numb - her to try to help - but when it mattered the most, Tora Anastasia Dimitrov was there for... me. For Nick."

"She always cared. Sometimes she didn't show it well, but she cared very much. I hope I can get to know her." The cardboard cat appeared quite startled; the paw clapped over his mouth of course didn't muffle the next sentence. "I didn't mean to say that bit - out loud...it slipped out...sorry..." He knew a great deal about her. He remembered having her as a friend...
Isn't that enough?

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

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