Personification Life, the Universe, & Everything [IC]

[Cerillium]

IC THREAD ITERATION XIV All you really need to know for the moment is that the universe is a lot more complicated than you might think, even if you start from a position of thinking it’s pretty damn complicated in the first place. OOCARCHIVE - SETTING DRAMATIS PERSONÆ RULESJOIN! SITREP

[Cerillium]

Sometimes life was difficult to sort properly. Thaddeus had always had a niggling feeling that it preferred to tuck its elements away rather than have them accounted for. This was why bus fare is always an odd number but requires exact change. It also explained escalator hand rails. Of course, nobody uses the handrail because we all instinctively know that the handrail moves 6 mph slower than the stairs. We don't even think to question it. The basic human right to rest our hands somewhere that obeys the same speed limit as our bodies has been lost. So completely lost, in fact, that not a single dissenting voice is raised. If a man were to stand on the escalator, notice his own limb wandering away from his torso like a timid rabbit, raise his face to the sky, and scream, "NO MORE!" -- he's the one who would be deemed insane.

Or perhaps we really are insane in the first place!, the old cyborg grumbled in his mind as he raised up his steaming mug of tea. The bitter-sweet coffee - for that was indeed what it was! - sloshed down his throat. His processor whined in protest. Normally, it whined over any little occasion. However, replacing God's Graceful Beverage with a dark pool of thrall sweat was certainly the ultimate fuck-you blessed upon him by life, or Fate, or-

The wizened old man stepped from the corner of the room, hands folded primly across his belly, and his watery, wide gaze dancing over the Residents that had assembled. For the first time, Thaddeus noticed they were all there. All. There.

Oh hell's meadows, if it isn't Demens! his processor whined even harder as bits of memory rewrote themselves. Sighing, the old cyborg brushed it off and turned his attention towards Demens.

Thaddeus had a few guilty pleasures in life. One of them was Cartoon Network, not that they could tune it in here on Galli. That particular network run a particular show - a cartoon, actually - that amused the old man to no end. At least, it used to, but then he met Demens. The uncanny similarity between the Greater Being and Markula the vampire landlord was really too much to bear. In fact, every time the program came on, Thaddeus was firmly reminded that his pet deposit was still in arrears.

He pulled his eyes from the hunched Being in his red cloak, and sought the television instead. He had decided to tune out whatever announcement was to be made by Demens (because it most likely was concerning pet deposits!). However, the largish screen suspended in the corner was bereft of the normal programming. Ascalon's Channel 9 logo was missing from the bottom corner, as were the plasticine smiles of the news broadcasters. This latter predicament could be attributed to the fact that they had been replaced by a crisp rendition of the City of Townsville. Thought the sound was off, his mind summoned up the narrator's voice.

A loud crash from outside the open dining room window caused him to startle. So familiar! His mind searched its corners and quickly identified it as the dropped tailgate of a delivery truck. This sound came every morning, once upon a time, when the morning catch arrived at the Fish Market.

Wait-

"Sit down!" Minerva hissed, turning from Zan to correct the old cyborg who, actually, hadn't realized he'd stood up at all.

He settled into his chair, eyeing her hesitantly. Of all those assembled in the dining room, not counting Demens himself, Minerva was the one creature that could retain anything when This Thing happened. It was attributed to her Curse, of course. Thaddeus' own memories seemed to be fading despite his processor's attempts to clutch the digital copies. He subtly thrust a finger towards the television. "Ascalon?"

"Gone," she said rather primly.

"What is?" Thaddeus raised a brow, having now completely forgotten the dreadful place.

This was how it always happened, of course. Demens would occasionally reset Life as they knew It. Not just that, but also the Universe and Everything. It would be annoying as fuck, had anyone the ability to realize the reset happened at all. As it was, only Minerva had the wherewithal to be peeved.

A pause, during which Thaddeus contemplated his mug of lukewarm lemonade. Well, things could be worse! his mind wheezed, Last time we rebooted, you were a Davenport.

"True," Thaddeus said aloud.

"What is?" Minerva raised her brow.

The old cyborg shrugged, his eye now trained once more on the landlord; Demens was slowly fading into the wallpaper. "I'm not a Davenport, and this feels like a fucking reboot. Bielefeld is now outside our front door." Apparently this small change was meant to be apparent.

"Ding, ding!" Minerva pantomimed ringing a bell, "Give the man a cupie doll!"

The cultist leader politely excused herself from Zan and Thaddeus, then made towards the front of the room. Of course, everyone's memory was fading by now. God Wars, Devourers, professional soldiering to prepare for whatever it was they were... something something? Of course, Bielefeld had always been right outside the Building. Ascalon was unheard of. The tiny planet had shifted itself just so. It was up to Minerva to sort things for the Residents. She often felt like Will Smith with his flashy-thingy, concocting a plausible story to cover up some of Demens' handiwork. It really was fucking annoying.

"Good morning!" she flashed a charming smile to them as her mind worked to sort the mess. "Thank you all for coming to today's Residents Meeting!"

She suspected none of them had a choice. Even Ocho's team had returned, having been picked up by the Wilting Succubus right in the middle of their fish steaming. Nila snuggled next to him - will wonders never cease! - with MB atop her head. Odd, but those in uniform looked a bit different in Minerva's eyes. Yes, the uniforms had shifted a bit, taking on a more subtle appearance. Still black, they now lacked patches. In fact, with a proper overcoat, they could blend in. They would recall recent missions field assignments, naturally, but the remembered reasons behind those assignments would be skewered to fit Demens new approach.

Right. On to business. Thankfully, Demens had stuffed some crib notes into her brain.

"As you may or may not have noticed, Demens has brought Bielefeld to us," she gestured towards the windows. "Things weren't going well there. As is his wont, it is now here, and the Burrows have been pushed a tad to the west, closer to the Wold." - what she neglected to mention was that it had replaced Ascalon entirely, being a much larger city and all - "This means we will be able to sustain ourselves better. Oh, we'll still keep our gardens out back, but we'll be able to buy fresh meats and cheeses locally now." Speaking of cheese, "This will allow the Agency to operate more efficiently, of course."

The Agency. This had always been there. They had always worked for it. Every book about it in the library would reflect this, as would personal journals. Such was Demens' potency.

Minerva took note of the varying expressions painted Residents' faces. Shock, yes. Relief, certainly. Curiosity, yup. She nodded.

"Let's recap, for our newest Residents," Minerva smiled at Zan, and at Desmond (who had signed his lease and was now seated at a table nearby, coffee at his elbow). "You have been hand-selected to serve a higher purpose. Most of you arrived here a moment before your deaths. As always, Residents are free to decline, though it means going back to that split second. Most of us would rather be a guardian for the omniverse than be fertilizer."

She paused to let that sink in. Honestly, she didn't feel many would protest. The usually sourpusses seemed to be missing from the group. Most likely, they wandered off and were eaten by Varg.

"As you know, all pantheons must abide by laws which govern not only themselves but their interaction with other pantheons. It's always been so. Red tape and bureaucracy at its worst. What does a god do when they need something taken care of quickly, quietly... without getting their own hands (or their pantheon) dirty? How do you reclaim what belongs to you without starting a war with the pantheon that stole it? Where do you go when you just don't have what it takes to answer a prayer or solve a disaster? That's where we come in. We excel at supernatural operations."

Minerva cast her gaze towards the Luxans, and then slid it to hold Neste's own gaze a moment. "Who stores the things too dangerous to be left unattended in the cosmos? Who finds the missing artifacts? Who sends teams back in time to fix what's been broken? We have a reputation for doing the impossible."

The cultist leader tucked her hands behind her back and stood a little taller. Many of the veterans would swear they've heard this particular speech before. "We are all members of Demens' organization. It has many names - the Agency, the Organization, the Bureau, Demens' Chosen. Its oldest known name is Gesellschaft - the Society. Comprised of gods, supernatural creatures, mundane mortals, and everything in between, think of us as Men in Black on a multidimensional level, or Secret Services with a higher purpose, or whatever trope satisfies your taste. We haven't any special rank or title. We are simply the Residents - those experts serving the organization in a regular or full-time capacity."

It was Thaddeus' turn to raise a brow. He had, in fact, worked for Gesellschaft previously. He subtly scanned the room to find his cohorts - cultists and those few tech priests that were on the payroll during the good old days. So the cat was out of the bag? When? And for how long?

"Never mind," said his mind as it swept away the last cobwebs of the previous thread. Thaddeus smiled.

"Recap done," Minerva smiled. "Now for announcements." She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and skimmed it. "The Bielefeld Fall Festival is coming up. That means Oktoberfest in Memorial Park, and the usual arts and crafts booths on Main Street. The Brisby's would like to remind everyone that the Leaf and Kettle Tea Emporium is running a special on pumpkin spiced foods - 10% off for all Residents."

She turned towards a massive cyborg occupying half a table by himself. "Brother Adrastus would like to remind people that Priests are moving back to the Observatory, though we'll keep a crew here. This means that we now have space in the Building - and stocked labs and workshops - available for Mr. Kraken and Mr. Beckett, our newest Residents. Also a reminder - anything brought back from the field must go through the labs first, for proper testing. Professor Bela and Baron Primordial will likewise have a workshop for magical whats-its."

Minerva gestured to Sterling. "Mr. Venture, you'll find the book restoration room has some new equipment. Back of the library here, can't miss the new door."

The paper went back into her pocket. "Of course, we're due for a Zalgo, if Charumati is up to summoning. For now, however, we have a bit of a break." She rose on her tip toes to look over the Residents' heads. The windows behind them glimmered with morning sunlight. Just visible were the tops of the trees. Formerly green with late summer's crown, they were now a riotous palate reflecting Autumn's hues.

"That is all," Minerva finished. "If you need me, I'll be in my office downstairs. We have a few field assignments coming up, so keep your pagers close!" Looking to Zan and Desmond, she added for their benefit, "That's the door to the left of the phone booth," before handing each a pager on her way out.

Thaddeus watched her leave, then turned his attention to his mug. Ah, tea! Nothing finer for a crisp fall morning. The familiar murmur of Residents rose, and the old cyborg turned his attention back to Zan.

"Chemist? We could use more," he picked up the previous conversation. "Did you say schematics?" These would reveal the newest changes to the Building's garden level. Someone had already marked out the spaces, including adding Zan and Desmond's names to their separate workshop areas.

Marcus slipped from his chair to venture towards one of the tables. He hadn't any idea why Giovenith had a football helmet, and he was certainly glad to see one of the ponies had returned from a mission. Settling into an empty chair, he tossed a smile at both. "Welcome back, Willow. So, um, Giovenith - Fall Festival? Unless you have something else to do," he added quickly. After all, things had been a bit strained between them, owing to missions keeping them apart as well as Torsi's death. "You're welcome to come along, Willow."

And thus Life returned to normal - or as normal as can be expected when a Greater Being decides to switch things up.

[Chedastan]

Romulus held a frown of displeasure, mostly due to just mild annoyance with noticing they've been moved around at least somewhat drastically, but he couldn't exactly put his gauntlet-clad finger on it in any discernible degree, perhaps it was the fresh drapes? His mind wondered but then plainly started to accept once he heard the name Agency, and thought nothing more of the sort.

He wore only a simple tan jacket over his jet black body glove, the servos of his suit having led him to abandoned his powered armor in the basement once they've proven to finally stop functioning after having sustained significant damage due to that random blob beast they've encountered on that backwater of a planet. And at least the tan jacket made him stand out from everyone and their grandmother that wore the 'uniform.' He was already doubting the outfit would last at this rate, cause no doubt with the constant insistence for changes that happen often around here without warning, that uniform won't be the standard within a week.

Of course none of this is helped by the fact that he's been apparently gone for several days or weeks since he went on Venla's self-interested mission. He should've put a halt to that notion before it even got started in hindsight, but now it was clearly too late and he has to live with his inaction to stop it.

Calmly, he left the Dining Room as well to pursue Captain Blackwater back to her office downstairs after grabbing a cup of tea for himself, he wasn't interested in waiting around as he held with him only a single agenda in mind at the current moment.

"Minerva you seen my armor lately in its current state have you? Please tell me you have a assignment ready or in the works to help remedy that? Cause I honestly feel a bit naked right now without a minimum of several inches of plating and alloys in front of me when I know I'm gonna end up in some shit-hole eventually." He had popped in the room after giving a brief knock on the door and letting himself in.

"It's also nice to see you again, it had felt so long since I've been back here, and given where we are now it shows." He then added as he sipped from his mug.

---

Nivea liked to think she reached another chapter in her life, or at least it felt that way with all these weird and sudden changes that seemed to have happened. Though at the same time it felt that nothing actually has changed at all, like they've just been given a new face and that was it, but it wasn't much of a new face at all, as she seen it all the time before. She was however a bit bummed out though that she didn't get to meet any of the Thad cause they had to cut that mission short, but she guessed from Ocho that they were going to be much like him in ways, but the chance to try and negotiate with them was lost and was going to be put on hold for at least sometime, hopefully not for too long.

At least she got to see much of the other Residents again while they were all mostly here in the Dining Room for the moment, like Thaddeus. After grabbing some coffee she approached and took a seat next to him, "Hello Thaddeus, have you been well? I see you're talking to some newer faces I haven't met yet," She then turned her attention to them. "My name is Nivea, it's a pleasure to meet you two!" She introduced herself to both Zan and Desmond.

[Swith Witherward]

LOBBY - Meritari's arrival
old sauce

Minerva had said Bielefeld shifted to their current location, and that meant the Building sat at the exact address it had occupied back on Earth. Volker cracked open a front window to sniff at the salt air, and listened to the cheery sounds rising from the Market District. Main Street was as busy as ever. Volker pushed his cheek against the glass to peer towards the end of Subabsurdus Street, and found that equally active. Familiar faces turned towards him, and old neighbors raised a hand in greeting before going back to their business. Something felt off, however.

Volker couldn't place it... not until old Marie-Claire Toussaint rounded the corner and came up the walkway. Her eyes momentarily locked with his and, for him, it was like gazing through time. He stepped away from the glass and hurried to the front desk, rounding it to stand behind the counter just as she made her way through the front door.

"Madam Toussaint!" he cheerfully greeted her. "I never thought I'd see you again! How many years has it been since we've shared a drink?"

The woman paused to adjust her shawls and bangles, then brushed a dreadlock from her brown face. "Ten, Mr. Volker," she sighed. "It's been a decade. Where is Herr Klaus?"

"T-ten?!"

"Mhm, 'bout that," the seer's shrug caused another shawl to slip free. "Herr Klaus?"

Volker pulled a yellow post-it from its pad and tossed it in the air. "Have a seat in the lobby, Madam," he gestured towards the seating area as the post-it turned into a parakeet and flapped away to find the Resident in demand.

No sooner had she collected her wayward fashion accessory and settled onto the Floral Couch than the chandelier above Volker's desk began to rattle. It never rains but it pours!

"Something wrong with your electrics, Mr. Volker?" Toussaint straightened her spine to better see the cultist.

He shook his head. "New arrival, nothing odd."

Everything about a new arrival was odd, as the old black seer was about to discover for herself. A light bulb unscrewed from the chandelier and vanished into its socket. Something colorful oozed from it in a gooey strand, and then the blob dropped to the floor and reformed into a female deep in slumber. She was, of course, unhurt from the fall.

"Thank you!" Volker shouted at the fixture, but the only response was the soft squeak of the reemerged light bulb returning to its former place. He shrugged at Klaus' visitor. "Nearly every new Resident arrives that way, now. Wasn't always the case. But times have changed, and dimensions have shifted. Excuse me."

He hefted a new clipboard, bringing it to the counter with a sharp SMACK! to wake the newcomer from her enchantment. "Hey, you down there! Meritari Ir-en Useramun, ja?" Amazingly, he didn't butcher her name, despite his Bavarian accent. "Wake up and sign your lease, please."

"She looks dead," Toussaint commented as she shuffled towards the desk and prone woman.

"She was almost-dead. Demens spared her," he explained. "She won't remember the moment she was snatched. She won't remember the trip here. Deep, magical sleep. Look, she's about to come out of it."

The old woman closed her eyes. An exasperated sigh escaped her. "Germans are so dense," eyelids fluttered open once more. "And Nazis are stupid. This woman is from Egypt. She doesn't understand English."

It was slowly dawning on Volker why Klaus' Men tended to avoid the know-it-all seer back in the day. "We have Bable fish for that," he plucked said creature from a bowl on the counter top. "It goes in her ear and-"

"You are a babbling fish," Toussaint snatched the small, leech-like creature from him, then squatted to stuff the thing in Meritari's ear. "Don't pay him no mind, dear," she crooned to the rousing woman, "Just wake up slowly and, most of all, don't panic."



MINERVA'S OFFICE

Minerva said nothing as the General let himself into her office, nor when he voiced his honest discomfort at lacking his favorite set of armor. In fact, she was entirely mum even when he paused to sip from his mug. She remained in her chair, unblinking eyes staring straight at him, or through him, or perhaps not seeing anything at all. It didn't help that her jaw was slack and a bit of tongue drooped out at one corner of her pale mouth.

Of course, Romulus couldn't in any way have known that Minerva was running on fumes. Indeed, he had been out in the field for quite some time, and had missed out on waterbears flooding the lobby, as well as Zan's arrival and all the events that had lead up to this particular moment. Nobody would blame him for not remembering the woman's death schedule, nor would they wag a finger and accuse him of killing her.

However, if one has never seen the woman die, it can be quite the odd experience. That didn't excuse the fact that Minerva had passed on. She was no more. She had ceased to be. Bereft of life, she rested in peace in her chair and, had not gravity kept her in place, she would have keeled over to push up daises on the floor. She was, to put it bluntly, an ex-Cultist... now that her inner daemon had gone off to feed.

[Tiltjuice]

A shapeless heap of dusty, old, faded red robes shambled its way across the room to the two newcomers. The garments appeared not to have seen the light of electricity, or day, for some little time.

The being underneath - if there was one - could not be identified by sight alone. However, as it extended two equally shapeless appendages and made contact with each man's shoulder, unusual and unnatural warmth radiated down and out. Only for a moment, however, as the being pulled back and seemed to stand straighter, warm air now swirling around the trio.

Two smallish hands made themselves known, and then suddenly the robes vanished, falling into powder too fine to be seen by the naked eye.

"Hello," said the slightly built woman on the other side of Des and Zan from Nivea. Eyes as white as the other woman's hair faded back to their normal ice blue, matching her white-blonde hair much better, and the air cooled off gradually. "Welcome to the Building; I trust Fate chose to bless your journey? I'm one of her priestesses. Please call me Chrys."

[Giovenith]

They were at a table suddenly. Strange. Wasn't there something they were meant to do...?

Whatever questions and thoughts may have emerged from this restructuring of time and space were blown away as Marcus approached the residents of 2D. Giovenith sucked in her lips and adjusted her helmet nervously. She wasn't sure what to do in light of what had happened. She knew what she wanted to do — she wanted to keep working for the future she had dreamed of since the day in that tent. But would that be the right thing to do after the incident on the beach?

"Well," Giovenith twiddled her fingers, avoiding Marcus' eyes. "I guess..."

Willow slowly blinked up at her before reaching out a hoof and touching her arm, drawing her gaze. He tilted his head with a smile and flattened his ears. "Your story is too good to end over this."

Willow gave her another encouraging pat before scooching out of his chair and taking to the air, hovering for a moment to face Marcus. The pony and cyborg rarely spoke despite interacting so often with the same girl, but they could be described as on good terms.

"If I didn't think you were good enough for her, I would have struck you with lightning a long time ago," Willow said with a smile. "You're not the only one who can do it. It's not my style to play third wheel though, you cats go wail. Maybe we'll catch up later."

Giovenith blinked after the departing pegasus before turning back to the cyborg. She sighed but smiled, pushing herself up from the table.

"Marcus," she said. "I didn't choose to be with you not knowing of the different worlds we come from. I know that sometimes you must leave me, and that you're used to doing things in a harsher way. I already accepted that. What I want is for us to be able to figure out how to balance those things for the sake of us." She offered a hand. "Shall we do it over games and pumpkin?"

Willow, meanwhile, floated along listlessly until he spotted Sterling. The sight cheerful purple pony gave the painter a mix of frustration and guilt. It was a visceral reaction, his anger at him for leaving, but not a very fair one. Willow shouldn't have yelled at him. Too many dark things were stirring inside of him already to waste a perfectly good friendship.

"I've gotten my way around this place while you were gone," the pegasus said in greeting, landing beside the unicorn. "And I still barely understand more than you. Regardless though, these are our people now, we should stake our place among them." He let his eyes wander across the room. "I've got a few friends who have been feeling, out of place as of late. I'm sure they could use a nice little group to be with — a learning group I was thinking, for our duty." He flicked his eyes back at Sterling with a knowing smile. "You wouldn't happen to know anypony who's great at learning, would you?"

[Chedastan]

MINERVA'S OFFICE

Romulus briefly stared and waited for a response that wouldn't come as Minerva only sat lifelessly in her chair looking back at him with dead eyes, only when it started to become rather uncomfortable did the General finally come to terms with the fact that Minerva's life had suddenly ceased, if only for now.

"I've been conditioned far too much to assume dead eyes meant someone was just going through a catatonic phase, blame Wilhelm for that." He calmly said to a clearly deceased Minerva, knowingly not waiting for any response to come from her corpse. "Y'know it's not really practical at all that someone like yourself should be in the position you are in, given you die daily and are away for half the day until you reincarnate or whatever it is you do to come back alive."

He walked softly to her desk, placing his mug on the table after having another sip. "I still won't forget what I saw in that tunnel you guided me through, of course you live with that daily so you're not as afraid of it as I was, I suppose that's admirable enough." He then took a pen and a piece of paper lying on the table and started to write a note.

It wasn't very convenient when you suddenly bought the farm as soon as I entered your office, I recommend you start showing me how you get those mission assignments so I can stand to finally make your life a little more easier, when you're alive again of course. If failing that I'll start seizing control and begin to refer to the Agency as a Wilhelm Junta every 12 or so hours at a time when you perish if only for everyone's connivence, I kid of course, but don't give me any actual reasons to want to do so.

I of course hope you are feeling well when you come back by the way.
-General Romulus Aphrodisiac.

He left the note in front of her and then simply stood there with a mere pause, then he spoke to only himself, "Demens you sure know where to find and pick us."

[Reventus Koth]

The principle of parsimony, more commonly known to humans as Occam's Razor, is a theory that states that the answer to a problem is most likely the one that requires the fewest assumptions. In other words, the simplest explanation is usually the right one.

Zan Kraken was quickly learning that this basic scientific principle was only one of the many that this universe would regularly shit all over.

He had been waiting for Thaddeus Usseio to reply to his bumbling request to use his lab mere moments ago. Anything much farther beyond that was for some reason becoming a bit blurry. At first, Zan was nervous that Thaddeus had been simply dismissing him. As the tension grew, however, he noticed that Thaddeus was clearly lost in thought...not unlike himself much of the time. Whatever he was thinking about erupted from him as he suddenly stood up, as if he had come to the conclusion that he'd been reading clocks backwards his whole life or that he had at once accepted that the chicken indisputably came before the egg.

"Sit down!"

A wave of what could only be described as confused enlightenment washed over Zan out of nowhere as Minerva snapped at Thaddeus. Whatever he was experiencing right now, Zan began to realize it too. He could almost feel the knowledge he had acquired over the past day begin to morph in his mind before much of it slipped away like when the word you're thinking of is on the tip of your tongue before vanishing.

Reality itself had just changed. Before today, Occam's Razor would have told Zan that he was just having some mental issues, anything from a migraine to a fucking stroke. He had learned nothing from his brief time in the Building, however, if not that simple explanations are actually usually the worst in this new world he found himself in. He looked around at all the faces in the room that he knew could not have been there even a minute before. He felt his mind fill in the blanks as he scanned their faces, fabricating memories of how the group had assembled. This couldn't have been a simple Jedi mind trick, whatever the two scientists were experiencing was far beyond what The Force was fabled to be capable of.

He stared at Minerva and desperately tried to summon memories of her. He knew Minerva better than any of the Residents, and yet everything about her now seemed so bland. She had helped him get acquainted with the Building, yes, but he couldn't shake the feeling, no, the certainty that she had explained to him something critical about how this world worked, and why he was here. As if on cue, she had risen and begun addressing that very subject.

But Zan was barely listening. His mind was screaming, desperately trying to put back the pieces of a puzzle that had been smashed to bits by some greater force. Not a force, he realized as Minerva spoke, a being. His gaze drifted to the entity in the red robes.

Demens.

Zan had no concern for the expression on his face, which by all accounts depicted a mix of bewilderment, anger, and pants-shitting terror. Truth be told, there wasn't anything really scary about the form Demens took, but Zan understood that what he was looking at was greater than any thing, any person, any equation he'd ever laid eyes on. This was a being that treated reality itself like another tool in the box, and it knew Zan was onto it. He wouldn't have even noticed that Thaddeus had finally replied to him at all if he didn't point out Zan's name on the very schematics he had just procured. Surely there was no way that the schematics had suddenly redrawn themselves to include Zan's very own lab during the time he had picked them up and brought them to Thaddeus, but there it was. Sure as shit.

Demens' Razor: The simplest explanation to a problem is that it was probably the fault of an unfathomably powerful being with way too much free time.

Of course, Zan quickly realized that the schematics had included his lab all along. It had been created for him in advance, and it was only the strange side effects of his trip to Galli...Bielefeld, that convinced him otherwise. He was losing his grip...was Demens walking toward him? Oh, yeah, that was happening. Before Zan could figure out how to even form words again after the reality warp, Demens had touched his shoulder and faded from view. Inexplicably, another wave of enlightenment overcame Zan. For a moment, his purpose was clear. Demens had chosen him for a reason, but whatever that reason was didn't matter. In fact, the reason could change at any time and Zan would never know. Usually this level of bullshit would infuriate him, but for now...Zan at least felt like he understood why he was there. Finally.

He didn't know how long he sat in contemplation of his moment with the greater being, but when he finally did open his eyes (whether they were actually open the whole time or not he wasn't sure, but he definitely wasn't seeing anything before), he looked up and Nivea and responded.

"Zan Kraken. Chemist, hacker, tinkerer...oh, and apparently Agent of Demens. Nice to meet you too."

[Holy Lykos]

During the.... transition of thought, Maghrl looked mildly uncomfortable. His mind managed to hold onto the old ideas just a bit longer as the new ones were being pushed in so a rather unpleasant effect of severe cognitive dissonance happened until the effects of Demens pushed the old ones out of his mind. The Force was tricky, and often made minds more resistant to alteration, but faced against a greater being even the Force yielded its normal ways. Though, if it had its own avatar, it send a strongly worded letter to Demens later for the unexpected reality shift that effected some of its adherents. But that was probably not the case.

But, the meeting was short and to the point, and it was a pleasure to be back home to the building, so Maghrl quickly discarded the old thoughts as flights of fancy and promptly forgot them. In fact, given the sheer fact... literally one other force sensitive seemed to be on this whole world... Maghrl could feel them sticking out like a sore thumb in the same room. He glanced around for a moment to locate the source. It... really wouldn't take long but Maghrl also noticed at that moment that the presence seemed semi-clouded. She didn't want to be found! Maghrl couldn't help but grin before letting off on his little search through the force (Which she'd probably have felt, he didn't bother hiding his presence at all by this point).

Instead, Maghrl decided it was time to meet this other being from their own universe, a Mon Cal of all things! They always had such wonderful wonderful items for sale when he'd visited their world in the past with one of his squib friends, though they did have to leave in a bit of a hurry after they were accused of scavenging wrecks without permission...

Which they did. The government was just wrong then!

Either way, Maghrl, wearing a fairly typical jedi outfit save the cloak (back in his room, it need washing from all the dust of that planet they visited), and boots. Well, typical except for the excessive number of patch jobs on it of Maghrl's own doing. Squib weren't exactly very used to clothing on their homeworld, so tended to accidentally rip and tear their own when abroad or add extra pockets all over the shop. Maghrl still had that habit from his childhood as a result. Maghrl gave a little nod to the other ones in the scene, the tech priest, cloaked one, and the pale humanoid.

"Hey-heyo, Moncal! Not oftentimes Maghrl see beings from own homeplace-time, aye?" If Zan had any dealings with Squib (which he probably had as a rebel, the Squib were avowed supporters of the Old and eventually New Republics, and so had helped the Rebellion as spies and suppliers for decades), he know they spoke oddly in basic and spoke it fast. Along with the voices being mildly squeaky and high pitched, Squib tended to sound a bit goofy.

"Thisone's" He pointed to himself with at thumb against his sternum, "name-title is Maghrl. Longername not much needed yet. Maghrl is Jediknightness...." the squib paused for a moment, noticing the attire of the amphibious fishy looking alien."Old Rebel? Oh! Moncal is old rebelfighter, yes yes. Fighting goodfight to Empire. Good Moncal-person" Maghrl grinned widely again and stuck his hand out and up for the Moncal to shake. "Nice to meet, Maghrl local Jedi 'n roboticist n' Scavenger."

---

Sterling felt a strange niggling at his head and memories for just a moment. Strange. But nothing excessively new for the building. Sometimes things simply felt off. The purple unicorn simply shrugged them off for now and yawned. He could use a bit of sleep, but was otherwise pretty decent. He'd sat a moderate distance from Willow, feeling the pegasus still needed a bit of space after the confrontation earlier.

But the news of a restoration room? That was something new! It had been the main job of his own library in Ponyville actually! Sterling perked up at that, ears flicking up as he tilted his head a bit, before beaming happily. He gave a nod of understanding at Minerva but didn't speak up.

He'd in fact been about to go check out the new room when Willow drifted in to talk. Sterling shrunk back for a moment, but Willow seemed in a better place now than earlier. "... That might be quite fun I'd say." Sterling readjusted his hat before nodding again. "It has seemed in my brief time back that the learned among us haven't had much of a chance to apply those skills, so it might be good for us all to create that group. Of course I'd be able to help!" Sterling smiled at his friend, before grinning widely.

Sterling stood back up onto all fours, stretching his limbs a bit before gesturing with his head towards the room's exit."I was about to go check out the additions to the library! Want to come join me, Willow? Sounds like I'll be able to practice more of what I learned in school than I thought, and it might be a good meeting place for this research group of ours."

[Giovenith]

"Of course," Willow nodded. "And maybe after we check everything out and get established we can swing by that festival."

So it was on. Willow turned around to where Brit would have been seated and waved her over. He didn't know where Rache was, but he was sure the daemon would have no trouble finding him when he wanted to. Together, they would find purpose in this agency.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you by the way," he mentioned to Sterling. "It wasn't your fault. I just have to pull myself together after all that's gone on."

[Chedastan]

Nivea lightly nodded her head as she listened to the strange looking fishman explain to her of his role in Demens Agency, she had never known of any chemist before, rather she had known only about alchemists which might've been similar to their craft. She could only imagine that chemist might've just been a more modern term for the alchemists she was well versed to back home in the Underworld.

"Zan you sound very well versed and talented, no doubt that was part of the reason Demens picked you up and brought you here. As for myself I was a courier when I got here a couple of days, now I'm a currently unemployed one." She grinned a little and then took another sip from her coffee.

"It can be pretty jarring to first arrive here, I think it's like that for everyone, there's just so much here you don't have a clue in understanding, and so many people to meet on top of that. But we all manage to get through that phase, for some I guess it comes naturally, for others it can take longer, but you I'm sure you will manage quite fine here, you just need to find your place and know what you're doing is all." She told him just before gulping what remained of her entire mug whole, coffee was indeed the Nevidian's one constant companion.

[Reventus Koth]

Nivea was a very welcome presence in the wake of Demens' calming touch. While his feeling of enlightenment had been quickly fading, Nivea's words were like a fluffy pillow to rest his aching head upon. Zan smiled in her direction as he listened to her speak.

"Well, I appreciate the compliments. May we all find our purposes, right?" Zan nervously replied. His left eye had already darted towards an incoming Chrys, whom remembered briefly speaking with not too long after he spilled out onto the floor. His right eye turned to look down at the schematics, and he vaguely gestured to Nivea the location of his lab: Room G18. "That's probably where I'll start to find mine."

Chrys had made her way to the opposite side of Nivea, forcing Zan to awkwardly point his eyes in two opposed directions. He was visibly unsure if he was supposed to answer her question. How would Zan know if he was blessed? It was a silly concept to him to begin with, and the fact that Chrys fashioned herself as a priestess of fate only served to confuse him further. He rose his finger and poised himself to respond before being thrown completely off by something he hadn't seen since his arrival.

Something familiar.

The Squib jumped in without any concern for how crowded the scene had become and commanded the scientist's attention. Kraken's eyes clung to his patchwork jedi robes, the lightsabers...the multiple lightsabers he kept at his side. His ears twitched with recognition at the butchered, lightning fast Basic that flowed endlessly from the Squib's mouth. Everything about this creature was familiar, yet so off. How was he in possession of such legendary relics? Why did he speak of being a Jedi Knight like it wasn't ridiculous? What did he just...

"What did you just say about an 'old rebel'?! Are you telling me you're from the future? What do you know about the Rebellion?!" Zan barked out as he stood to his feet. The scene around him had completely faded from his attention, and he looked down at Maghrl with the look of a student who had finally found the book deep in the library that would actually help him understand his studies. Not completely ignoring the gesture of politeness the Squib had presented him, he reached his arm down for a quick handshake. It was undoubtedly a better greeting than being rubbed against, as he expected from Maghrl's kind.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

For the second time in her life, the woman called Meritari slumbered peacefully in the midst of a strange and unfamiliar place. Of course, despite being superficially similar, the two situations were in reality massively different from each other, though of course this was not something that a sleeping woman could appraise. However, as she dreamed of distant lands and foreign stars, a sharp noise echoed through the air and within her mind, causing everything to vanish as it awakened her and brought her back to what some people called reality. The first thing she noticed was an unfamiliar voice that appeared to be calling out to her. It was a man's voice, and though it spoke in a tongue she had never heard before, the Kemetian recognized her own name, spoken clearly by the stranger. Another voice soon joined the first, this one belonging to a woman, though she still could not understand a single word of what they said.

As her senses slowly returned to her, she felt the smoothness of the ground beneath her, and the sunlight that filtered through her eyelids. Perhaps what caught her attention the most, though, was the smell. The air was quite unlike that of her home, though she could not quite place why, having never traveled far enough to the north to perceive a similar scent. Her drowsy mind did not dwell on this for long, though, as she soon felt a strange, funny sensation in her ear, and a moment afterwards, the voice of the woman from before came back, but this time, through some unknown miracle, the words she uttered were understandable, as if they were spoken in the tongue of Kemet, yet with the woman's strange accent. Hearing the kind words, Meritari felt reassured, and slowly opened her eyes, giving them time to adjust to the light streaming in through the windows.

At first, the area surrounding her seemed familiar, and so she paid no mind to it. Instead, she attempted to slowly rise up, her long black hair falling in a cascade as her head separated from the ground. The rustling of papyri falling to the ground reminded her of her situation prior to falling into a deep slumber: she had been running from the mercenaries hired by the priests of Tjenu, bringing along records of the knowledge of her mentors in an attempt to preserve it. But past a certain point there was nothing that she could remember. The fact that she was unharmed along with the papyri she had brought along with her indicated that she had been saved somehow, and as she found herself in an unfamiliar place, she could only assume that something very similar to what happened two years prior was what had saved her. Her bracelets were untouched, so she doubted that the mercenaries had ever reached her.

Confused about her situation and distraught at the thought that her mentors might not have been as fortunate, Meritari nonetheless knew better than to make a scene and embarrass herself as she had years ago. Instead, she looked around, her eyes settling first on what seemed to be the woman that spoke to her. In a way, she looked just like a nehesu woman, what with a skin tone just like hers and abundant jewelry; however, her clothes were something that the Kemetian had never seen before, and the fact that she had previously spoken in a completely alien tongue certainly didn't support the idea that she was from the lands to the south of her home. Yet, this was the woman who had spoken to her with kindness earlier, and so, Meritari decided to respond with a smile before continuing to appraise her surroundings, slowly rising to her feet.

Though she had earlier ignored the building, as it looked just like those back home, now that she observed it carefully she could not avoid seeing various objects that seemed quite out of place, making her wonder what their purpose was. At the same time, she noticed that there was another figure nearby, quite likely the man who had spoken earlier. He was very different from the woman, resembling the few themehu men that the Kemetian had seen in her birthplace. His clothes, much like those of the woman, were unknown to her, though these had a certain aesthetic appeal to them. Past him, there appeared to be several more unknown objects, as well as doors with markings that she could not understand.

Having finished inspecting her surroundings, at least for the time being, Meritari picked up her papyri, looked at the man and the woman present, and finally spoke. "I offer you my thanks for awakening me." She said, assuming that they had been the ones to cause the noise that had roused her from her slumber, though she dared assume little else. Still quite uncertain about her surroundings and the events that had led to her current situation, she continued. "If I may ask, what is this place? It seems similar to the great halls of my home, yet so very different at the same time. How did I end up here? What is..." The Kemetian woman questioned, though she trailed off as her brown eyes settled upon an object on the counter next to the man, an object that bore the same hieroglyphs as the documents she had brought with her. "Is... is this the writing of my people?" She asked, quite surprised, though she reasoned after a moment that if they had been able to speak in her tongue, it was not a stretch to think that they could read and write in it as well.

[Holy Lykos]

Maghrl was only mildly regretting being so forthcoming to the fellow denizen of his universe. He'd just been too excited to see someone else he could talk to and might even be familiar with droids, and now he accidentally told someone from almost four decades ago huge details about the future.

...Well, might as well go all in.

Maghrl pulled his hand back after the handshake, tapping his chin and thinking of how to formulate the thoughts. "Yes, Old-Rebel-group. Somethinglike 40 years-ago, JediLuke killed Emperor with Rebelfleet at bigbig spacestation Deathstar. Bighuge boom, Empire starts crumble edgewise. Jedi rebuilt by JediLuke. Becomes new Jedi Grandmaster, guides New Republic through crisisdecades...."

Then Maghrl winced. Zan might not like hearing this next part. "But... Empire not dead... Ally now. Run by goodies, not Sithers. New GalGov the Federation of Free Alliances." The last one was obviously practiced enough to be said easily. "Three main parts of Federation: Jedi, New Republic, Fel Empire. Share power, keep peace. New Empire is goodiegood, thankful. Even have own order of Forcers, Imperial Knights. Lot happen since old Rebellion, most not very good." Maghrl frowned, and sighed.

"But... That's past, for bothUs. Different worrytimes now. Magh from Future of MonCalabeing, yes yes. Might not be... Same... future though, if Maghrl understand how multiverse works. Your galaxyfuture still unwritten." Hopefully that would be a bit more of a comfort. The purple alien smiled up at the fish, ears flicked back in worry but trying his best to look happy and bright. It was the best he could do for the Moncal in this situation, honestly.

[Mincaldenteans]

Maureen
Now they were part of an Agency. She corrected herself, a "Society", one with multiple names and endless carefully worded platitudes toward its own grand scheme against... what? Exactly? Maureen huffed, crossing her arms and legs while listening upon the Residents' mission and purpose to having been Chosen. She knew full well it was better than being cut down by a Sith. Near death, that was what Fluffy had told her during the brief orientation before she was volunteered for the mission with the others. How long had she been gone, she couldn't tell, and it seem there was no real worry among the others in her group to find out just how long they were away. Instead, they had proceeded as normal, or whatever passed as normal. Maureen could only frown, unhappy to the purpose given, vague as it was, and if not for the words "conscripted" painted across Minerva's mission statement, Maureen would've thought they were being rightly duped. When the redhead left, she was half tempted to follow the general, but refrained. She would bide her time, gather more information before making a decision.

What decision? Maureen question herself. She had no where to go, she had no idea what to do, and she felt no kinship toward any in the room including those she accompanied for a rescue mission. So it was a universe's cruel irony that she spotted a Mon Calamari among the Residents and a presence that was undeniably a force sensitive. A Jedi. In her own time, a Sith's presence was like an extreme of hot or cold, burning with anger or devoid of remorse. A towering fire or a endless cold pit. It had a way of slithering across her skin, almost pervasive. But a Jedi, they were warm, unlike a hearth, yet fleeting, as though it purposely kept itself distant, captivating and tranquil.

Maureen turned her head to see an odd, short, furball walking toward the Mon Calamari. While the robes were patched into various patterns, she knew full well the trademark of the Jedi. This one, for all its odd patterns, kept a tradition in her own time where Jedi were noted for customizing their outfits and weapons. Each piece was a resemblance of themselves, a part of the whole. Self-serving and arrogant. It looked as though some things hadn't changed. She scoffed silently, keeping her presence clouded as much as possible and shifted her attention toward the rest of the crowd within the room before the Jedi could spot her.

[Reventus Koth]

Zan's expression slowly turned into a grimace the longer the Squib talked. His initial reaction was to yell at Maghrl for embellishing the events. Who could seriously believe that Luke Skywalker not only personally killed the Emperor and his right hand man, but destroyed the Death Star afterwards? The timeline was all wrong here. And so Zan readied himself to lay out the Squib, before he remembered...

Demens' Razor. Right. There was a "simpler" explanation for Maghrl's weird story: the multiverse is fickle and things may have happened differently in his lifetime. The Squib came to this conclusion as well, and Zan Kraken closed his eyes and sighed instead.

"I guess there's no point in having asked, then. I don't really know if there's a point in any of this, honestly. Demens doesn't seem keen on explaining our 'higher purpose', and apparently the Rebels will be fucking fine without me. So I really am just drifting in paradox space with a bunch of other rejects our dear leader finds amusing. Thanks for the help, Maghrl," Zan ranted as he curled his fists into balls and rolled up the building schematics.

"Room G18, that's my lab," Zan dismissively told the people surrounding him as he began walking away. "That's where I'm heading. This room is suffocating."

[Economa Incorporated]

"Welcome home, Desmond Beckett. Today is the first day of your new life. Imagine what tomorrow holds in store for you!"

Desmond really couldn't imagine what tomorrow would hold in store, actually. Like a waste packet ejected from the airlock halfway to Mars, he was currently drifting in an environment utterly foreign, exposed to strange and wondrous sites, and utterly directionless. He'd already said "fuck it" and decided to go with the flow when a not-nazi and a dude in a turban told him he'd been abducted from certain death to serve a magical purpose, and then handed him a lease. While one might have expected to then be given a tour of one's new home, Des was instead informed by his welcomers that he'd arrived with rather poor timing (something he was, of course, entirely not in control of), and that such things must wait - there was a critically important "resident's meeting" they must first attend. He'd followed them, was guided to a chair, given a coffee, and told that someone would show him around after - and then his hosts melted away as fast as he'd met them, leaving Desmond there to sit...and to stare.

And stare he did. The coffee sat ignored, while his gaze wandered around the room, jumping from one strange resident to the next. Almost in a trance, he passively let the sights and sounds of the room wash over him; he was well past the point of caring enough to be astonished. Fairies? Ponies? Humans pulled straight out of an exhibit at the natural history museum? Why the hell not. What else was he going to do? Either it was real, or it wasn't, and either way it was well and truly out of his control at the moment.

An unknown man in a red cloak began to talk at the front. Desmond didn't listen. Was he even technically a resident, yet? He'd signed a lease, sure, but he hadn't even seen what he'd leased, yet. He certainly hadn't moved in. Whoever he was, whatever he was saying, it was of no consequence to him. Instead, he watched the crowd. Something odd moved through it, suddenly. Whispered conversations stalled, then restarted, hesitantly. A wave of confusion passed along the faces. Brows furrowed, then shouldered shrugged. Very odd. But no more odd than a winged pony, so, whatever. He forgot about it as quickly as he'd noticed it.

A woman stood up, catching his eye. He watched her move to the front to take the place of the old man. Des had begun to tune her out and return to scanning the room, as she spoke something full of proper nouns unknown to him, when he suddenly caught her referring to him. The high-browed speech that followed was full of purpose and pride not felt by Desmond, and not likely to be felt by him any time soon. If anything, it sounded like the synopsis to some cookie cutter blockbuster du jour that arrived by the dozen ever other year with the resupply from Earth - enough action to pass the time, not pressing enough to waste network time on sending when it aired. Not even his type of movie. He'd seen enough death firsthand to know it was no popcorn matter. For all the references to a "higher purpose" and "preventing disaster," things sure sounded like this Demens just saved people with skills he desired to do his bidding for the advancement of his power among his peers. Mercenaries for the gods, for the benefit of one? Not exactly something he would have chosen to spend his life doing.

It wasn't like he really had a choice, was it? Back to not giving a fuck it was.

Reflection concluded, he tuned back in to the woman wrapping up with what was once again gibberish to him. He noted the location of her office, and was surprised at her suddenly approaching him. Before he could say much, or even ask her for her name, she handed him a pager, and scurried off. A pager? Magic, possibly advanced science, and the best they could do to send people messages was a fucking pager? For some reason, this is what stood out to him as nearing the point of unacceptably unrealistic. Magic, strange beings, costumes, different dimensions, whatever, but really, they're still stuck on pagers? Maybe that's why they'd grabbed him, because holy fuck...

Desmond sighed, shoved the relic of the 80's into a pouch manufactured nearly a century after the device was made obsolete, and again scanned the room. This time, he spotted some aliens to stare at. Normally, Des would feel rude for staring, but he'd noticed no shortage of people latching their sight onto his dusty spacesuit as well, so, all's fair. Notably absent from the room was Volker. So much for getting shown around. Maybe he'd go ask the woman who gave out technological museum pieces like candy what was up, seeing as she seemed to be some kind of authority around here, and he actually knew how to find her.

His wandering train of thought was again broken, this time by a very pale woman, who introduced herself to him and his tablemate as Nivea. Niv. Niver seen the light of day. He could remember that, hopefully without ever saying that mnemonic out loud. The apparently also relatively new resident alien besides him was Zan. Zan.... Zany. He was a comically ludicrous alien straight out of a paperback novel. Zany, Zan. Good to know. Even he seemed to know a bit of what was going on, though. And he was also a tinkerer? Further proof that whoever runs this place may just actually be trying to recruit people to phase out the fucking pagers. He let the two talk, waiting for a good time to reply himself.

Before he could do so, though, another strange figure approached. After touching the shoulders of both him and Zan, it transformed into a woman, and introduced itself as well. She would be easy. Chrys, like a chrysalis, can transform. He was on a roll with these. Again, before he could say much, Zan replied, and then yet another being approached. This table was getting crowded. The newest addition introduced himself as Maghrl (Mongrel was the word to remember there) and immediately started babbling more effective gibberish to Zan, who seemed to be rather "excited" at this interaction. The two hopped right on into it, leaving Desmond again feeling at a loss to get a word in otherwise

A better time didn't seem to be coming any time soon. With a sudden spurt of motivation to be an actor rather than an observer, Desmond stood up, and spoke, quietly, more aimed at Chrys and Nivea than the other two. "My name is Desmond. Desmond Beckett. I've been here about twenty minutes. Nice to meet you, and thanks for the kind words. Please excuse me, I'm going to go try to find someone who can show me where I can take this suit off." With his inaction shattered, he strode off with newfound purpose, passing such figures as a winged pony conversing with a unicorn, and a young woman sitting with a cyborg, towards the exit that the speaker-woman had disappeared through. Taking into account Volker's words that the building's appearance met his expectations, he assumed that the field comms station randomly placed against a wall was the "phonebooth" referred to, and headed towards the left of it...

[Fvaarniimar]

They were at a table suddenly. Strange. Wasn't there something they were meant to do...?

Whatever questions and thoughts may have emerged from this restructuring of time and space were blown away as Marcus approached the residents of 2D. Giovenith sucked in her lips and adjusted her helmet nervously. She wasn't sure what to do in light of what had happened. She knew what she wanted to do — she wanted to keep working for the future she had dreamed of since the day in that tent. But would that be the right thing to do after the incident on the beach?

"Well," Giovenith twiddled her fingers, avoiding Marcus' eyes. "I guess..."

Willow slowly blinked up at her before reaching out a hoof and touching her arm, drawing her gaze. He tilted his head with a smile and flattened his ears. "Your story is too good to end over this."

Willow gave her another encouraging pat before scooching out of his chair and taking to the air, hovering for a moment to face Marcus. The pony and cyborg rarely spoke despite interacting so often with the same girl, but they could be described as on good terms.

"If I didn't think you were good enough for her, I would have struck you with lightning a long time ago," Willow said with a smile. "You're not the only one who can do it. It's not my style to play third wheel though, you cats go wail. Maybe we'll catch up later."

Giovenith blinked after the departing pegasus before turning back to the cyborg. She sighed but smiled, pushing herself up from the table.

"Marcus," she said. "I didn't choose to be with you not knowing of the different worlds we come from. I know that sometimes you must leave me, and that you're used to doing things in a harsher way. I already accepted that. What I want is for us to be able to figure out how to balance those things for the sake of us." She offered a hand. "Shall we do it over games and pumpkin?"

Willow, meanwhile, floated along listlessly until he spotted Sterling. The sight cheerful purple pony gave the painter a mix of frustration and guilt. It was a visceral reaction, his anger at him for leaving, but not a very fair one. Willow shouldn't have yelled at him. Too many dark things were stirring inside of him already to waste a perfectly good friendship.

"I've gotten my way around this place while you were gone," the pegasus said in greeting, landing beside the unicorn. "And I still barely understand more than you. Regardless though, these are our people now, we should stake our place among them." He let his eyes wander across the room. "I've got a few friends who have been feeling, out of place as of late. I'm sure they could use a nice little group to be with — a learning group I was thinking, for our duty." He flicked his eyes back at Sterling with a knowing smile. "You wouldn't happen to know anypony who's great at learning, would you?"

Passing a window, Nick veritably bounced. We're in Bielefeld!

Well, of course they were! They'd always been here. But it was home, and he'd missed so much - during the weeks of the… field assignment. He couldn't WAIT to feel the cobbles and concrete under his feet again, visit the - ooh, the library! Small-caps library, it couldn't even compare to the Mouseion! Nor could their own little Residential library… his eyes widened. Not yet. What if it could? What if we improved it, expanded it? We could copy over the Library books and add them, that would be a start. We're allowed to use Agency resources, reasonably...and what if every mission just added a little goal of bringing back one extra item? One book, one piece of knowledge, one unique audio file… We could get donations from Residents, even! Books copied from all over the cosmos… The thought made him giddy with excitement, as did an impossibly welcome sight. Which, of course, was why he entered the room! It wasn't as though they were having a Residents' Meeting or anything, after all.

He'd held out hope. Of course he had. But, by and large, he'd opted to distract himself from the unpleasant likelihood that quite literally his first friend in the world and the one person who always could make things okay - had died. At least it had been...not a good death, but one that had counted for something. She'd saved them all. And she actually hadn't died doing so!!

Bouncing, he barrelled forward. Giovenith would “hear” her name being called, quite loudly and exuberantly, a moment before the normally-heard shout of, “YOU'RE ALIIIIIIIVE!” A paw touched her ankle, and she was utterly deluged with relief, love (although not of the Marcus variety, of course), excitement, happiness, and a sense of all being right with the world. <Imissedyousososomuch wealldid ->

Viewing her own wake, even blurred by time and from a worm’s eye view, would likely prove unnerving. <Thank - probably your mom!>

And then, of course, he noticed Marcus. “Oh, carp. I interrupted you two, didn't I?”

[Monfrox]

Brit had been trying to hang onto every word that was spoken, but her mind turned off at these kinds of things. It wasn't her fault, between her constant yawning but straining to pay attention. It wasn't anything new, but her mind was a bit fuzzy. Things itched inside it and she couldn't help feeling that she had forgotten something, but that actually happened pretty often in her life so she ignored it for now. It would go away, eventually. When all was said and done, she nodded. Her mind was uncharacteristically heavy in her thoughts, bouncing off all sorts of things. It made her zone out from time to time. But she caught movement in her peripheral vision and looked to see Willow waving at her. Oh yeah! She had stuff to do with him! Without much of a word, she slipped out and walked over to join him.

[Economa Incorporated]

Taking into account Volker's words that the building's appearance met his expectations, he assumed that the field comms station randomly placed against a wall was the "phonebooth" referred to, and headed towards the left of it...

...and knocked on the door he found there. Silence, interrupted only by the ambient sounds of the building and the distance sounds of the remainder of the resident's meeting, hovered in the air in reply.

"God Damnit," Desmond muttered to himself. He knocked again, harder, to no different of an effect.

"She said she'd be here just a few minutes ago. 'Where do you go when you just don't have what it takes to answer a prayer or solve a disaster?' More like 'where do you go when you can't find a place to take your fucking space suit off?' 'Who finds the missing person who shows me my fucking room?' There's no apparent excelling at just plain natural operations. Does the reputation for doing the impossible cover me finding someone to give me the basic tour?"

Mental monologue having sufficiently stirred his feelings into an organized train of irritation, Desmond grunted and poked in frustration at the control panel beside the door..and was moderately surprised to see it actually slide open. His surprise increased slightly on immediately seeing a rather Earth-normal-looking office behind the door. Apparently, some of the rooms are not Mars-y. Suppose it makes sense that personal spaces would match their primary user.

Neither of those reactions, however, held a candle to his surprise at seeing the room's occupant - and the person he sought -slumped in the chair behind the desk, tongue hanging out an open jaw, eyes lifeless and unblinking.

After an instinctive step back, the instincts of his training kicked in, and Desmond rushed forwards, frantically detaching his helmet as he moved and dropping it on the floor. She can't have been in here for more than a few minutes. She'll still have some brain activity, and a chance. With both urgency and care, he slid the woman whose name he'd yet to even learn out of her chair and onto the floor, where he could begin to work. He gently grabbed her hand, and touched two fingers lightly to her wrist. No puls- Uh, shit, uh, can't take a pulse, not with gloves on, and they don't come off unless the whole suit does. Fuck. No time for that. Next step. Moving on, Desmond hovered his cheek just above her mouth and nose and looked down towards her chest, allowing him to simultaneously listen, feel, and watch for any signs of movement or breathing. Nothing. Fuck. Fuck fuck. Uhm. Compressions. That's what I need to do. And start yelling. They have to have medical staff here, right?

Desmond took a deep breath, and then heard...footsteps. In the hallway outside. Wonderful timing.

"HEY! You! In the hallway! Hurry, I need help!"

[Tiltjuice]

Taking into account Volker's words that the building's appearance met his expectations, he assumed that the field comms station randomly placed against a wall was the "phonebooth" referred to, and headed towards the left of it...

...and knocked on the door he found there. Silence, interrupted only by the ambient sounds of the building and the distance sounds of the remainder of the resident's meeting, hovered in the air in reply.

"God Damnit," Desmond muttered to himself. He knocked again, harder, to no different of an effect.

"She said she'd be here just a few minutes ago. 'Where do you go when you just don't have what it takes to answer a prayer or solve a disaster?' More like 'where do you go when you can't find a place to take your fucking space suit off?' 'Who finds the missing person who shows me my fucking room?' There's no apparent excelling at just plain natural operations. Does the reputation for doing the impossible cover me finding someone to give me the basic tour?"

Mental monologue having sufficiently stirred his feelings into an organized train of irritation, Desmond grunted and poked in frustration at the control panel beside the door..and was moderately surprised to see it actually slide open. His surprise increased slightly on immediately seeing a rather Earth-normal-looking office behind the door. Apparently, some of the rooms are not Mars-y. Suppose it makes sense that personal spaces would match their primary user.

Neither of those reactions, however, held a candle to his surprise at seeing the room's occupant - and the person he sought -slumped in the chair behind the desk, tongue hanging out an open jaw, eyes lifeless and unblinking.

After an instinctive step back, the instincts of his training kicked in, and Desmond rushed forwards, frantically detaching his helmet as he moved and dropping it on the floor. She can't have been in here for more than a few minutes. She'll still have some brain activity, and a chance. With both urgency and care, he slid the woman whose name he'd yet to even learn out of her chair and onto the floor, where he could begin to work. He gently grabbed her hand, and touched two fingers lightly to her wrist. No puls- Uh, shit, uh, can't take a pulse, not with gloves on, and they don't come off unless the whole suit does. Fuck. No time for that. Next step. Moving on, Desmond hovered his cheek just above her mouth and nose and looked down towards her chest, allowing him to simultaneously listen, feel, and watch for any signs of movement or breathing. Nothing. Fuck. Fuck fuck. Uhm. Compressions. That's what I need to do. And start yelling. They have to have medical staff here, right?

Desmond took a deep breath, and then heard...footsteps. In the hallway outside. Wonderful timing.

"HEY! You! In the hallway! Hurry, I need help!"

The door flew open and Chrys rushed through it, blinking in surprise and not a little fear, footsteps sounding heavier as her boots met the ground. Had the Umbrum found its way into the Building? No. Not possible - right? Was it Time and/or Fate then, come to pay her a visit in person? White-blonde strands flew everywhere as she shook her head in consternation.

Then she took in the sight in front of her, and skidded to a stop.

She knelt next to Desmond, the fabric of the black uniform rustling and the beige/tan shirt she wore within - as a symbol of her first allegiance - rippling subtly as it peeked through the jacket. "Peace. It's perfectly all right. Captain Blackwater does this every twelve hours. It's her pantheon's curse on her; or, say better, her sacrifice for Chaos?" Her gaze settled over him, something within it deep, uncanny for someone of her apparent youth and all-pale, bright innocence. And there it was again, that lightness in her voice and also in her entire bearing.

"Come with me? We can get you settled in your new rooms."

She held out a hand.

[Giovenith]

There was a warm nudging at Giovenith's leg followed by a stream of positive thoughts. It took her a second to register, but she was happy when she looked down to see a soft purring form. "Nick!" The real one this time! All her true friends that had been replaced by paper were returning. She bent down and scooped up the feline, holding him close and scratching behind his ears.

"Of course I'm alive," she reassured him. "I'm okay. We all are." She looked to Marcus and smiled. "I think we're all going to be much moreso from now on."

---

Willow greeted Brit with a smile and looked back at Sterling to solidify that both friends were on board. Three heads, likely soon four, working together to help their community was a great start. Together, they'd do their best to be a well of information for the cause — whatever that may have been. They would be useful and happy to have each other.

He'd be useful and happy.

Selfish bastard, a voice wavering in the layer just above his subconscious spat at him. Haven't you asked enough from them?

"We can start by checking out the ins and outs of your new station, Sterling," Willow said, taking to the air and leading the small group toward the library. "See what we've got to work with so far. Then we can brainstorm a few quick subjects to start pursuing, and afterwards swing by the festival."

It's only a matter of time before they all see through your act, his thoughts continued to hum. You saw for yourself what you really are back in that cavern: somepony willing to throw himself to the nightmares over the pettiest life dramas and leave his friends to find their own way through the mess he put them in. Now after that you want to snake your way back into this community and act like you've got something to offer? You should be ashamed of yourself. You won't be able to put off the truth forever. They'll sneer and huff in frustration and rightly so...

The disparaging intrusions going on in the pegasus' head didn't register in his outward demeanor. He pushed them back down with more determined thoughts: I will help my friends. I'll make up for what I cost us. I won't make anypony feel sorry for me. I'll be strong.

The library seemed largely the same as it had been way back when he had first met Rache there. It was one of the least used rooms in the Building, which meant that it would be easy to claim it as their own space. Willow took a moment to look the place over and find a place to start from. Alright, Day #1 of Research Team...

"Let's use that bigger table over there," he flew over to one of the larger tables that could seat about eight people. "There will be lots of space to put whatever we need! And we can always drag more tables over if it's not enough." What else? "Sterling, you go find that equipment Ms. Blackwater was talking about. Brit, help me find a chalk board or something, we can write our ideas on it for later..."

[Economa Incorporated]

Desmond stared at Chrys. Magic, strange creatures, god knows what else, and now -

"She...dies? Every 12 hours? That's...normal?"

He blinked, mind whirring, adding a new category to how crazy things could get in this strange new place. At least he had a name for her now...or half of one.

The situation as accepted as it was going to be at present, Desmond sighed, then stood, wincing as pain cut through his subsiding adrenaline in several places at once. Moving that fast and getting down so low, without stretching first, while suited up? Yeaaaah, that'll make it flare up. I'll be sore tomorrow.

For a moment, he met that deep stare head on, before blinking slowly and lowering his chin with a heavy exhale.

"...Yes, being shown where I can unsuit, sit, and try to wrap my head around all this would be a great start. You know where it is, or can find someone...with us, who can? Hold these other rooms and the place as a whole until...later. When there's a chance I'll actually be able to process any of it?"

Unsure how to respond to the outstretched hand, Desmond shifted his weight and rubbed his hands together, as a cohesive thought pulled itself together in his scrambled head.

"Oh and, should I, uh...do anything about, uh, the Captain? I feel like it'd be rather rude to, er, leave her on the floor?"

[Tiltjuice]

"For her, yes, that's normal; but for her alone."

Chrys balanced now on her knees as she shifted her weight, breathing out to match the man's. "We have just the place. Perhaps Demens was wiser than most of us give him credit for. Having lived here for so long, we overlook the smallest things. The free coffee. The stacks of newspapers on Volker's desk every morning - you have met Volker, haven't you, stranger?"

She helped Desmond settle Minerva back in her chair, before standing straight again. "And there's two places you can go for some peace and quiet. Three, if you're less inclined to modesty. THe first two would be my Brother's apartment in 3E - he's out and about by himself most of the time, so it stands largely empty - or the one I share with my mate. 2H. That one might be just a bit cleaner. Actually, I hope it is, since I just spent a good amount of Time's favor to clean it properly." A quick, impish smile that was gone as quickly as it arrived.

Or the Thinking Bench in the lobby, if you don't mind the lack of privacy."

The door opened again and she stood on the threshold.

[Economa Incorporated]

"Got it. So no one else dies regularly. At least at present. hm. And I have. Briefly."

Old broken bones and ripped muscles complained with increasing volume as Desmond worked with Chrys to reseat Ms. Blackwater, and as he recovered his helmet from the floor of the room. With it remaining under his arm, and his glasses hopefully with his personal items in his yet-unseen room, the world filtered in plain and almost dull. It struck him then, as it did from time to time, how much he'd grown used to having augmented vision nearly all of the time. Life felt less normal without a HUD than with it. Not that much of anything felt normal about now.

Ooooof, I hope my pills made it with my bags.

Turning again to Chrys and following her out of the room, Desmond replied with exhaustion apparent in his voice. "Thank you for the offers, but really, I'd like to find my own room, if that's an option as well. See, I actually don't know where it is yet - I ended up straight at that meeting after my brief introduction to Mr. Volker, and was rather hoping I'd find some help here. Since that is, erm, apparently not an option at present, perhaps we could swing by him? I'm hoping he knows where he signed me to. I probably should have read it anyways, even after he told me not to bother..."