SLATE [IC]

[Giovenith]

It would be a stretch to say that the members of this Agency, and now neighbors, were anything resembling friends yet, but they had fallen into the beginnings of a routine over the past few days. Everyone mostly kept to their own work, occasionally reporting things to the right people. Dar, for her part, had taken to researching the area and its environment by interacting with the locals and asking them all about what they knew. The way to survive, first and foremost, was to understand what you were up against.

She learned about the local habits, customs, tips, tricks, and signs. She learned about the flora and fauna of the area, or at least what little the locals themselves knew about, especially the Bugs — the thing they were up against. Over time, she had begun to diagram everything in the ecosystem that she knew about. What fed on what, what lived where, what contributed to what cycle. As she did, something kept circling back though... at first Dar hadn't been sure about it, but the more she charted and the more she asked around, the more viable it sounded.

"I can do this!" Dar clenched her little fists and stomped around her apartment in a triumphant fashion. "I can do this!" She paused, then let her arms droop. "I can't do this."

"Yes you can," said a voice that was emanating from a small, decorative crystal flower nearby. "All you've got to do is talk to them like you'd talk to yourself."

"I don't think it works like that," Dar scratched her cheek thoughtfully. "And I don't know if you noticed, but they don't seem to have a lot of confidence in me."

"Nobody had a lot of confidence in me either for a long time," said the crystal. "But you've just got to prove your worth with your actions! Contribute what they can't ignore."

"What if I'm wrong though?" asked Dar, rubbing the back of her head. "And I just wasted everyone's time?"

"It's better to do your best and fail than not contribute at all," said the voice. "Though, I guess I could understand why you'd have a hard time feeling that way. You haven't had a lot of room to be able to fail and try again. But hey, that's one of the benefits of safety, it's something new to learn."

"That makes a lot of sense, Zale," Dar admitted. "Alright, I'll try it out. I'll let you know how it goes later, okay?"

"Okay! But wait, Dar!"

"Yes?"

"Would your rather have Reese's Cup bits in your cookies, or Kit Kat's?"

The young woman smiled. "Maybe a bit of both?"

"Good idea, innovation! See, you're already on the right path!"

Slightly encouraged, Dar collected up her folders and headed out the door.



An announcement was made over the speaker system, declaring a meeting in the communal area downstairs: a large domestic lounge with many sofas and tables.

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber had largely kept to itself. It really only did one thing very well, and having so much time available not doing those things left it as perplexed as an emotionless robot could get. To make itself useful, it had just spent most of that time cleaning out most of the common areas and making things livable. The rest had been spent shut off in its cardboard box, usually right in the room it had been working on.

All in all, it had been fairly quiet. No unusual buzzing; in fact, the only real noise had been the call to meet in the lounge on the first floor. It oozed over the top of the open box, pouring itself bit by bit into its usual appearance, and made for the open yet somewhat furniture-cluttered space. Standing there and waiting for the others, it passed its hands over the nearest table. A smooth wood, not polished, slightly warmer where the lamp light hit it in between the gentle whop whop of the ceiling fan.

[Monfrox]

For the last few days, the resident gunsmith had been getting acquainted with the hardware in the armory as much as possible. Much to her chagrin, most of it was old and had been full of cosmoline to prevent rust in long-term storage. She familiarized herself with how to strip the weapons as much as possible before actual machining was required. Unfortunately, that almost meant long nights spent in the shop that was now located in her room that hadn't seen much of a change since its iteration from the Building. There was quite a selection to choose from, and she wondered if her own personal tastes had reflected on it due to a few "projects" she found lying around, like an old M16A1 that looked like someone threw it into the Mei Kong and then came back for it after the war was over, dug it out, smacked it around, and shelved it as is. It was currently occupying its own space on the bench in the back.

Brit, herself, was asleep in one of her chairs with an L1A1 in pieces, the largest ones laying across her lap. The L1A1 SLRs and the SA-58s were some of the more high-powered rifles that were stocked alongside the more intermediate weapons like the AKM and Galil. Subguns included the venerable MP5A4 with SD variants on hand and some even being available in 10mm Auto. Shorter packages like the MP7A1 were also available, but those were special cases for armored targets. But there were also PP-19 Bizons chambered for 9x19mm which she found very curious, but it was all for the sake of standardization. Pistols included the Sig Sauer P229, the Beretta M9A3, the HK45 Compact Tactical with it's bigger brother the Mk. 23 SOCOM, and even a few Walther PPKs with suppressors for some real James Bond adventures. A little bit of everything, with much more behind a locked away in case of emergency.

Brit hadn't even gone over most of the other stock because she had been using her anal retentiveness ways to her advantage as she scraped out all the cosmoline with a dental pick from every nook and cranny of every rifle she handled. It was mind-numbing and obsessive, but it needed to be done in her eyes. She had been able to get some good sleep in before the announcement woke her up with a slew of muttered obscenities as she tossed the pieces and tools onto the bench in front of her and headed out. She threw on her uniform jacket over her t-shirt and foregone the pants as she hadn't changed out of her jeans that were stained with carbon and cosmoline and gun oil, of which she smelled like. A .45 caliber nickeled 1911A1 was present in an old police duty holster that hung off her hip from her belt, all of which she had found in the shop with some other things to work on. It was old, outdated, but she loved it and swore by it. It never left her side. She walked into the communal room and promptly plopped down onto one of the couches, pulling her hat down over her eyes as she settled in for a few winks before everyone got there.

[Talchyon]

The base
Seamus

Two days after arriving, and finally the hangover headache was fading. Not to say that it wasn't gone quite yet. But the local hooch had an even bigger kick than the leprechaun was used to. Seamus was both annoyed and impressed at the effects of the drink. Annoyed, because it meant he would have to drink less if he was going to be of any effect the next day, and who wants to drink less? Impressed, for mostly the same reasons.

Somehow, he had found himself back at the base. Later, he learned that his drinking companion, Gordon the bureaucrat, had carried his unconscious body back. Which Seamus shrugged off. He never played the game of whether or not he owed anybody. Most times, people approached leprechauns assuming they owed them something anyway: whether it was wishes, or gold, or luck, or whatever. And so, leprechauns had learned to assume they owed no one. Whether it was genetically or by observation, by nature or nurture, leprechauns knew that every single person was a leech, anyway, and so you just take what you get. And if anyone does something nice and then acts like you owe them? You just shrug it off, or play some kind of trick.

As the fog cleared from his mind the next day or so, Seamus came to be more or less confused and astonished at his room at the base. He had woken up in an Irish meadow, sitting up and resting against a mossy tree, with real green grass beneath him! A little brook ran water down the glen, and turned a corner past some rocks. Birds chirped in the background, even! Seamus in his headache state was at peace. Thinking he had returned to a place close to home, Seamus was brought to a level of serenity that even a post-drunken pounding headache couldn't disrupt.

Until...

The door had opened, revealing the hallway outside, and one of his team - Seamus was too mentally messed up to notice - had announced that there was going to be a meeting coming up in a few hours.

It was all indoors. Seamus had no idea how. It was all freaking indoors.

Almost a few hours later, leaving the room and eyeing his room with both curiosity and sadness that it wasn't real, Seamus made his way down to the main level. Popping into the kitchen, he realized he was hungry. So he grabbed some bread and butter, and went heavy on the butter. Water was fine to drink. His throat was practically a desert anyway, so water it was. Rubbing his eyes, Seamus then dragged himself to the meeting place. To everyone there, he said a quiet, "Grndrhrndr," which could have meant "Top o' the mornin'," if he had felt better.

---

'Doc Sawbones' (aka Dr. Jesse Turnbull)

Two days, and Jesse was getting up to speed. But for all that the medlab had in promised, there was one major thing it lacked in delivery.

"How am I supposed to do nuclear surgery without the core!?" The one that the base had, had obviously been in disuse for too long. Everyone knew that if you had to do a nuclear surgery, you needed a proper core for the mini nuclear generator. Radioactive as hell. But absolutely necessary. Nuclear surgeries weren't the most common procedure, granted. But when they were needed, they were damn effective. The only thing was, if you don't regularly use that core, it peters out and it won't function well. Which basically nullifies the effects of the surgery.

And as it just so happened? The medlab's core had long been stagnant. It was practically useless for the thing he needed it for. You could still run things off it, sure. But not to do a nuclear surgery. And that put Jesse Turnbull in a foul mood.

He'd have plenty to talk about at the team meeting this morning. Storming his way out to the living room, Jesse stood, not in a mood to sit or relax, containing his frustration, but barely.

[Sylvanstreak]

Things remained quiet in the briefing room for a time, other than Doctor Doc Sawbones' entry and the indistinct mumbling from Mister Seamus. The Barber noted the absence of Minerva and Gordon; not unexpected, probably they'd been tied up elsewhere with the Director or something similar. Or so the Barber estimated, at 71% probability.

Glancing over at the sleeping Miss Gunslinger, it decided to wander over. She was probably the teammate it'd least engaged with, if only because an android capable of producing its own blades and running faster than most two-legged humanoids didn't generally need projectile weapons, but it did finally figure out something she might want. (And any others who wanted practice with their own weapons.) Tapping her politely on the hat, it made a throat-clearing noise.

"Pardon, could I interest you in a regenerating target dummy and oversized stress ball?"

[Monfrox]

There was a lot Brit didn't do, and usually she tended to not get involved with new people right off the bat. She was still a rather quiet person even if she had spent an evening with Dar in her room when they first arrived, just trying to break the ice. And as she laid back on the couch, the last thing she expected was to be touched. She jolted and her hand had instinctively moved towards her pistol on her hip before she realized she wasn't in any actual danger. She pulled her cap up and blinked a few times at the overly lit room and noticed their "barber" standing in front of her and talking about target dummies and stress balls. She was rather perplexed, but also miffed that her catnap had been interrupted. She sighed and blinked, rubbing her eyes as she addressed the...thing.

"Maybe later, man. I didn't sleep much last night and," She paused to yawn as she settled back into her seat. "and I just wanna sit here for a bit more."

[Giovenith]

A door towards the back opened, and out wheeled a tall whiteboard pushed by Dar, who was also carrying a few files in her other arm. She greeted the people who had shown up with a smile, hoping it wasn't too awkward looking. This briefly pushed aside as she had a moment of confusion in counting who was present, but quickly brushed it off.

"Hi!" she greeted, followed by a pause. She had never done a presentation before, and wasn't sure how to start one. Dar did figure, however, that it was best to walk them through the steps that she had walked through. "So, uh, I called you all here because I had an idea about how we can help the people living on this planet protect themselves against the bugs. I asked around to learn more about them, and learned that there are a few types of wild creatures they like to feed on in their natural habitat..."

Dar pulled out several surprisingly detailed drawings of various alien creatures from her files and hung them up on the whiteboard with magnets. They appeared to all be mammalian, furry, medium-sized, as beavers or badgers would be on Earth.

"The bugs are carnivores, which means that they mostly eat meat," she explained, apparently not understanding that most people would already know that. "And they like to go after things that are big enough to be filling, but still small enough that they don't have to struggle to take it down. A lot of these animals reproduce enough that their populations don't dwindle as a result. The only exception to this rule, however, is this little guy."

She pulled down one of the pictures, to show off another furry creature that seemed to be characterized by a long, thing appendage coming from its face. Not a snout or a trunk, but very long and very thing, almost like a tendril.

"This is a squikum," she explained. "And despite meeting all the usual criteria as the perfect prey for bugs, bugs never seem to touch them. People roaming the edges have seen bugs avoid areas where squikums frequent, and sometimes even squikums can drive a bug away, despite how non-threatening they are. Can anyone guess why?"

[Highfort]

Gordon Felton was a man of routine, and the last few days had proven him true to his habits.

The bureaucrat had been doing all the usual middle-management things that got him accused of being a worthless slacker - curating paperwork (both physical and on his computer and dataslate), making sure the base's facilities were in order (at least, to the best of his understanding), and checking up on the local political players: who was on what payroll, who was paying out, and what the big earners were in the area. There didn't seem to be much corruption - the frontier was still a little too unpopulated and personal for that - and all trade appeared to revolve around Bradypus Mining and Slate Agriculture exporting product along the Truman Trade Route. Naturally, local business was stifled by the expense of imports - Morsicant only supported a single general supplies store, one tavern, and a few freight yards flanking the main spaceport.

Not much to work with on the outside, but then again Gordon supposed one didn't get to work the main kitchen when being hired initially as a busboy.

At least his team appeared solid, though he hadn't been in contact with many of them over the past few days due to his information-gathering and sniffing around.

Much to the bureaucrat's pleasure, everyone had been settling into their assigned roles. Everything in its proper place meant Gordon had a higher chance of riding this post out with all his limbs intact - and maybe even a recommendation for a more urban setting.

The survivalist, Dar, was proving her mettle and adapting to her surroundings - scouring the area for local information about culture and the environment. Gordon noted her general propensity for keeping to herself outside of work-related things, but chalked it up to an awkward disposition. It was little matter - she could learn to trust everyone with a few team-building exercises and maybe a low-risk mission or two.

Their gunsmith had taken up her posting in the armory; from what Gordon could gather on his routine walks around the base, Brit was sorely needed to rehabilitate what little weaponry was available to the team. He noted her attentiveness to her work and reminded himself to find her some choice pieces to work on once they got access to requisition forms.

Of course, the good doctor had been grumbling about the dilapidated state of the med bay. His rambling about a nuclear core and nuclear surgery - God forbid he put any radioactive bits in anyone - did give Gordon pause, though he reasoned to himself that the Agency would not be so stupid as to select a doctor without proper qualifications. Another mental note: put in requisitions or bargain for better medical equipment as soon as he got the chance.

The Barber was a curious fellow, but he nevertheless did his part. Gordon supposed that investigations couldn't really begin until everything had been unpacked and sorted through, and to this task the Barber dedicated himself. Gordon noted that the Barber would spend long hours shut off in his box - the first of many clues which indicated he was not human - and noted that he should check if the Barber needed any maintenance supplies or a charging station and to requisition them ASAP.

Yes, everyone was in their proper place.

All except for the peculiar little man, Seamus, who Gordon had to begrudgingly drag to the base after the leprechaun capped off the night's festivities with a few too many drinks. Thankfully, the bartender and the locals who paid any notice found the whole affair amusing if nothing else; Gordon had been worried they'd get banned from the only reliable place to mine information.

Gordon looked up from his desk as the alarm for a general meeting went off. He shut down his computer and made his bedspread, nodding approvingly at the sparse furnishings and general drab greyness of his room. Everything that he needed, he had; and anything he didn't have, he didn't need.

He let himself into the common area just as Dar was setting up her whiteboard. Making himself scarce and quiet against the wall, he observed as she explained the new lead they had. She paused and let the question hang, and he cleared his throat to answer.

"I'm going to guess the... squickums," he suppressed a snort and a laugh, "Enjoy cicadas as a delicious snack."

[Holy Lykos]

The odd hybrid living in the building had so far spent most of his time sorting through what could only be called mechanical chaos. Whoever had been running the garage before had left the entire thing a mess, with half built machines, half fixed vehicles, and tools strewn without a care. A little organizing and cleaning up later, Jor figured that the area was surprisingly expansive. The first basement level was taken up half by garage and half by mechanic's workshop. The former sat primarily in the apparently empty lot beside the building, roughly rectangular in shape and slightly lower in elevation. The latter was U shaped, molded around the rooms with the boiler, transformer, AC/heater unit, maintenance office and other such building essentials, and under the building itself. There was even a dolly up to the armory, though Jor hadn't made sure that it was accessible from that level yet. One of the coolest parts to Jormungand's mind was the elevator to the surface, going to a little out building with a garage door pointed towards the edge of the colony, though they only had one working jeep at the moment. The other was currently strewn about like spare parts thanks to Jor's efforts to figure out just how these vehicles worked compared to the fusion-powered ones of his home.

Technically, all of this floor was in Jormungand's purview while he was their only mechanic. He had yet to really check out the building maintenance, since it'd all kicked on well enough after he'd done a bit of percussive maintenance. No one had even noticed, he was sure. But at least the building had better equipment than Jormungand had seen in a long while, perhaps even since leaving the Big Empty. While the equipment was often old, sometimes rusty, and probably a bit outdated by the colony and earth standards, none of it was all that unfamiliar. Which meant the night stalker was happy and busy most of the time, and he'd yet to really familiarize himself with much else of the building, or even meet up with his technical boss, Gordon.

It did also leave him with a tendency of passing out among the tools in the midst of work. Not super comfortable, but he'd slept among worse company, anyway.

Thus, when the notice went out to meet, Jormungand was fast asleep, holding a wrench to his chest and marked with grease and oil. The tinny voice certainly woke him up though, prompting him to roll over and reach for some sort of pillow, grumbling about needing more sleep to the no one who was in the garage with him. His searching hand felt out something softer than the concrete and metal, and promptly grabbed it to yank under his head.

Turned out, practically throwing a tire at your own head was not the best idea. But it certainly woke Jormungand up in time to stumble his way upstairs and into the communal area, only clonking his head on one doorway in the process and halfway through Dar's presentation.

"Son of-" He mumbled, blinking sleep out of his eyes and immediately shutting up when he heard Dar's voice already lecturing. "Oop. Just gonna... take a seat here," He mumbled to himself as he found one of the more solid chairs in the room rather than a couch, settling in to listen. His outfit, jean overalls and heavy work boots and shirt, was splattered with oil stains, one of his eyes half shut from grogginess and being smacked by a tire, and his hair was quite frankly a mess. Quite a sight, all said.

Carnivorous bugs, not that unusual to his mind. Not like there weren't plenty of dangerous ones back home. Those... wiggly mammals though were odd, thought the genetic hybrid. But the question about how the bugs left them alone so readily was a good one at least. After Gordon's response, Jor offered, "They stink? I'd not eat a stinky critter, might be rotten."

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber zoomed in on each of Dar's sketches, cataloging them to memory. It, for one, hadn't known what carnivore meant; that information was completely irrelevant to what it did. All the same, it stored the word and it's meaning away as well, just in case those had any use later on. A Series 1027 never knew...

It blinked once, visibly processing as its code began to churn out best guesses about what the squikum's tendril was for. Altogether, some of this was rather familiar, but on this new world, the Barber calculated the likelihood of Earth's rules applying to be - rather low. Too, the android also found it unlikely that the squikum was mechanical.

All the same, it made its best guess. Being a modified, reprogrammed Series 1027, that guess was most likely outlandish in the extreme, and yet stated as if it were fact.

"It is a drill for mining, and the sound it makes when being used drives off these bugs that can normally eat them."

[Giovenith]

Dar listened to each of her teammates' answers, as well as the tones they took when answering. Some of them seemed amused, which concerned her. Did they think she was stupid? If they did, would that be dangerous? She pushed aside the anxiety and marched on.

"Well, you're all a little right," she said. From her files, she pulled out another chart which showed a series of Venn diagrams. "I thought about it for a long time, narrowing down everything that the squikums have in common with other species, to see what makes them different. And the number one thing that isn't attributable to any other species is their ability to eat from this plant- oh!"

Dar scrambled a bit as she dropped some of her papers to the floor while trying to shift them around. She did her best to not look embarrassed as she quickly picked them up and found the right picture, which was a close-up sketch of an odd-looking flower.

"This plant," she repeated. "Is called a red cauldron. It's notable feature is that its seeds grow between the base of its bloom and its hard, woody stem, so they're very hard for creatures to eat. Except, of course, the squikums with their long straw-noses." Dar pointed to her own nose illustratively. "The more I looked into it, the more I found that the bugs were less likely to congregate around areas with red cauldrons too. They don't mind being around them, but they won't if they don't have to. I believe that it's possible that these plants have a repellent effect against the bugs, and that if we can acquire some samples, maybe we can figure out how to use that repellent to help defend the settlements!"

She lifted her arms slightly in what was meant to be a triumphant flourish. It only resulted in more papers spilling out of her folders.

[Holy Lykos]

"Gardenin' ain't a strong suit of mine, but if'n you're right, that's be quite the boon we got so soon after settin' out." Jor's ears twitched, looking utterly serious even if still half asleep with one eye half closed.
He stood himself back up out of his chair, pushing down on his knees as he did. While he kept talling, the hybrid joined Dar up front and kneeling down to help gather up papers.

"We ain't got a botanist, do we? I imagine if we'd prove the efficacy of these flowers at keepin' bugs out, local farmers could help set up perimeters, displays in town, et cetera." He paused for a second, "Unless they repellent to us all, too. I'd rather not stink up the town and make it right unlivable."

[Monfrox]

"Can't be that hard. Think we got some CBRN stuff if you're squeamish about that shit, though." Brit said, still having her hat over her head. "But we should run some localized tests first and see what works and what doesn't. Also, it'd be a good idea to ask the folks what they think of the flowers, too. And if we're setting out-" She paused and hefted herself up off the couch, pulling her hat up. "We'll need to gear up in case of trouble. Everyone here has fired an automatic weapon before, right? Lemme see a show of hands." She asked, walking over and taking a place beside Dar.

Brit wasn't sure where Minerva went but she must be busy working things out with their boss. Well, that was fine. They had jobs to do and they couldn't sit around with their thumbs up their asses waiting for her to give the green light. She picked the team carefully, and perhaps this was a test to see if they could take the initiative. And for now, things were going somewhat smoothly. But Dar seemed like she needed a bit of help, and Brit had more than enough leadership experience to give her some. A commanding voice, the conquering of her fear of public speaking, and an ability to bullshit her way out of almost anything to keep things focused. She wondered if their token bureaucrat might try to see through her but she didn't want to worry about that until the time came.

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber shrugged and raised a hand. Its combat programming with automatic weapons wasn't the best, most likely not up to Brit's or Dar's standards as gunsmith or survivalist. At least it wouldn't accidentally friendly fire one of its teammates. Maybe that was what Brit's next question would be?

It made a bet with itself that that was so. Added training before the actual mission could help, if that were the case.

"Once or twice," it expanded. "Where I come from, it's more like a shot a second, bigger booms. Or blades, for myself."

As for these red cauldrons....the Barber heaved a sigh. It was a little frustrated by that.

"I wish I could say I can check out these plants," it admitted. "That is I can, but I can't tell if there's any stink to them. No sense of smell."

[Talchyon]

The meeting
Seamus

As the hungover leprechaun was trying to make sense of the conversation while at the same time, trying to massage his pounding headache, he wondered if he were still drunk. The lass 'us talkin' 'bout bugs and things. And as she got on and his headache reminded him of its subtle presence as gently as it could, such as like what happens when all the banshees of the forest get really ticked off and let everyone know they hate everything, Seamus wondered what the big fuss was. Bugs? That was the mission? He tried to say as much but the only thing that came out of his dry mouth that tasted like sand was a groan.

But then, Dar showed a picture. A picture of a flower. And Seamus' bleary eyes recognized it and he nodded.

"This plant," she repeated. "Is called a red cauldron. It's notable feature is that its seeds grow between the base of its bloom and its hard, woody stem, so they're very hard for creatures to eat. Except, of course, the squikums with their long straw-noses." Dar pointed to her own nose illustratively. "The more I looked into it, the more I found that the bugs were less likely to congregate around areas with red cauldrons too. They don't mind being around them, but they won't if they don't have to. I believe that it's possible that these plants have a repellent effect against the bugs, and that if we can acquire some samples, maybe we can figure out how to use that repellent to help defend the settlements!"

Though others much taller and more clear-headed piped up, Seamus let his little voice be heard, forcing the words out through the sand that his mouth felt like. "That plant. Ah know it. From me homeworld. We got lots of 'em. Normally you want the ones in the shade... the ones in direct sunlight get a little feisty, if you catch me meaning."

But all the volume from his own mouth magnified even more in his head, and he put his hand up to his head to massage it again.

---

'Doc Sawbones' (aka Dr. Jesse Turnbull)

As the grumpy doctor heard the mission plan, his anger at the medlab's missing a nuclear core was shelved. A bit. Raising his voice, he said, "I had to do some work with medicinal extracts from plants in some of my residency years. If we have to, I can try my hand at the botany. If I can't do it on my own, I can probably figure it out with resources in the medlab.

"But there's a big problem we also have." And with that, Jesse unfolded the difficulties of the existing nuclear core in the medlab. "So, while it runs, it's been so stale and underused that if we need a nuclear surgery, we're going to be in trouble. I think it would be helpful to look for one of those newer cores. I think there are a few radiation suits in the medlab."

Of course, getting a nuclear core itself would be its own set of problems. And if they didn't get it, well, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Not technically speaking. Not unless someone needed a nuclear surgery...

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber stepped up close to Seamus and lowered its volume control. "I'll play my recording back later if you miss anything. It's OK."

Dar's presentation seemed over, at least for the moment. Just in case she had anything more to say, the Barber gave her a slight smile and squatted next to Jor. Balling up its fists, the android concentrated for a few moments. When it opened them again, they were full of the black, triangular-style folding paper clips.

"Here, take some," the Barber said, holding one hand flat out to Jor to pick the clips off of. While it waited, it thought some more.

"I didn't find any protective gear when I was tidying up, but it could help if we do find out these plants have a stink. Since you've been out and about, Dar, is there a remote place we could work with the red cauldrons? That way we don't track anything unpleasant back here."

[Giovenith]

There were many questions that Dar hadn't considered when it came to the flowers. Some idea was better than none, sure, but what good was it if they didn't have a full plan?

She was taken by a bit of surprise as some of the other Agency members physically approached her, but she resisted the urge to step backwards. She blinked as Jor picked up the papers for her and the strange mechanical Barber produced paper clips, before smiling bashfully and nodding while rearranging the papers.

"There are lots of old sheds and stuff on the outskirts of the settlement," said Dar, answering the Barber. "We could test them in one of those. And if Seamus has seen them before, he might know the best way to pick and contain them, assuming they're difficult to get." She turned to Brit. "I've never had to fire a firearm before, no. My uh, mom kept those go herself. I've seen it in movies though."

The young woman nodded, as if this counted for something, before slowly slipping aside to look at what the Doctor had brought up.

"Do, many people wind up needing nuclear surgery here?" she asked, putting her wristband-covered hands on her hips worriedly. "How is it different from regular surgery?"

[Monfrox]

The number of people who answered her was...not surprising to say the least. Given everyone's background, she was sure that she'd generally be the only one besides maybe Dar to be experienced. And then Dar said she never touched a gun, so that went out the window. She looked to Jesse as he talked about nuclear surgery, which was something she had never heard of of knew existed until now. Brit put her arms crossed over her chest.

"First things last, Doc. Let's take care to get started on the big problem first. Once we get some plant samples, we can come back and talk about what and where to find this core of yours while we have other people work on the plant applications."

She paused and looked around.

"And as for the rest of you, we'll be going over mandatory firearms training. I at least want everyone trained on how to operate a rifle should they need to, and if you want to go from there I can give you some personal sessions afterward. But the basics are gonna be mandatory. We never know what'll happen and we should all be prepared." She looked to Dar and smiled a little tiredly. "After that, we can go get your plants and be back before dinner. How's that?"

[Holy Lykos]

Jormungand

Jor certainly was surprised by Barber just... magicking up paper clips. This synth certainly had some oddness to him. But with the papers cleaned up Jor tipped his head to Dar and took his seat again. "Sorry for the intrusion ma'am, just seemed you needed a bit of help," He nodded before turning his gaze to Brit

"Actually, Miss Brit? I do happen t'have some experience with auto-guns an' rifles myself. Big Empty had plenty of both, though me and my siblings weren't technically allowed them some of the Docs did let us practice on ol' beat up bots they had no use for. I do prefer my handguns myself, though, Ma'am." He tapped the holster on his belt, before continuing. "Good plan though. I should go first, see if'n you think my aim's up to snuff. So I can get the jeep ready. I'd bet y'all'd want a quicker trip than a trudgin' one."

This doctor's obsession with 'nuclear surgery' certainly worried Jor though, "I also second Dar's question, Doc,what good could radiation do for a body if they ain't a ghoul, anyway?"

[Highfort]

Gordon offered a nod as the team seemed to come together on the topics of discussion: the squikums' dietary plant which may deter the cicadas, the team's firearms experience (or lack thereof), and the need for proper supplies to conduct botany research and restore the medbay to working order.

He noted that both Dar and Brit seemed to have taken control of the meeting. Leadership skills from the survivalist and gunsmith were a welcome sight, though the bureaucrat remembered his own place and interjected helpfully, "If it would please everyone, I think we should bring the focus of the meeting back to a single topic. I'll draw up an agenda and take meeting notes, so we can make sure we don't forget anything important."

Turning to Brit, he nodded at her mention of firearms training, "I propose we deal with weapons' training first. I don't think it's a good idea for us to go venturing to any less-inhabited portions of the settlement without adequate fire support; likewise, acquiring a working nuclear core will proceed smoother if the locals know we're working on dealing with their problem."

Typing away at his dataslate, the bureaucrat continued, "Feel free, anyone, to jump in at any time if you think agenda should be rearranged or have topics to add. As for weapons training, I myself only have handgun training, and I think even with all our combat-ready personnel here it would be prudent to ask for support."

Turning the dataslate for everyone to observe, he produced a few emails from some of the more noteworthy Slate inhabitants, "I discussed planetary defense with the bartender we met on landing day. There's a local militia that drills once every two weeks, with regular rotations of staff every three months, and their next muster should be coming up shortly. I've already gotten the OK for us to drop in on their next muster; Miss Brit, I think they would appreciate a bit of training from yourself, and I'm sure they'll have plenty to teach us about the local terrain and threats."

[Monfrox]

Brit's cheeks went a bit red as Jor and Gordon addressed her, and she went modest again.

"H-Hang on, guys. "Miss"? I'm in my early twenties, don't go makin' me feel that old, now. I used to be a Lieutenant in a paramilitary outfit so "ma'am" doesn't phase me, though. But yes, i think I can give the militia guys some pointers. I ain't no spec ops type through and through, but I've seen and read more than a fair share of accounts and tutorials. We'll start everyone off on the AKM. If we can't handle that, then we're all gonna be in trouble is all I'll say. I'll go over field-stripping, operation, and remedial action drills before we set them loose on the range. These militia, though. What kind of arms do they have? Bolt guns? Semi-autos? Am I looking at an AR/AK pattern or something from early 20th century?"

[Giovenith]

Dar crossed her arms and tilted her head, considering the proposed firearms training. It seemed dangerous, but then, it was probably necessary. She nodded.

"What ever they have, we should meet somewhere wide and open so that we can exchange everything we know," said Dar. "There are plenty of fields around here, we could meet in one of them." She felt a like sensation in her center. "Um, maybe after lunch, though? We can all grab some... oh!"

At the side of the white board, she grabbed her small backpack and unzipped it, digging around. Brightening, she pulled out a plate of hot, freshly baked chocolate pastries — a feat that should have been impossible from the size of the back.

"Want some?"

[Sylvanstreak]

The Barber tilted its own head and furrowed its brows in confusion and a touch of curiosity at the sight. It ran a diagnostic on its vision software.

There was no error.

It began rubbing its chin in thought for a second or two, then filed the unusual happening away to ask Dar about later. The android reached out and took one from the top of the pile, waving it under its "nose" and then taking a bite.

It paused again.

"However you made these, they're quite good," the Barber said unblinkingly, in its same singsongy accent.

[Holy Lykos]

"Ma'am, did y'all just pull pastries out of a backpack? Why did you have..." Jor looked rather confused, slit-pupil eyes darting around and trying to figure the logistics. He hissed in confusion, frowned, before shrugging and taking his own pastry. "Wait, is there chocolate in this? I'm not sure if I can eat this..."

He frowned again, nose twitching and tongue flicking in the air near the pastry. "It looks so good, too," The disappointment in Jormungand's voice was almost palpable, his ears drooping backwards and tail touching against the floor.. The night stalker quickly made sure no fur had been left on the pastry before he gently offered the pastry back to Dar.

"I think seeking out the militiamen after lunch is a good idea, myself. We gotta meet the locals if'n we're working with them."

[Highfort]

Gordon flashed a polite smile and took a pastry, chewing it evenly and sloshing it around in his mouth as he was prone to do with new dishes. He noted the deceptive compactness of her pack; it would come in handy for scavenging and for small away teams.

Offering a sideways glance at the Barber, whose strange verbal cadence and reaction to the baked goods made the bureaucrat suspicious, he shrugged and enjoyed the offered treat.

He nodded approvingly as he continued to chew and began to swallow: crispy and flaky, with just the right amount of gooey creaminess from the chocolate.

"Thank you, Dar, these are delectable; when we get time, I'd like to fully outfit the base kitchen and cater a few team meals myself," he moved to take another, and then thought better of it. The team should have a chance to bond over small moments like this.

Responding to Dar's question, he added, "Agreed; I was actually going to head to the bar later tonight after closing to confirm the muster time and location with Max. They usually meet in a pretty open field - a good spot to set up targets and exercise platforms. I think there's an abandoned old house they use out there for drilling room-clearing or some such. I was gonna ask if any of y'all wanted to tag along; I'm sure the current militia captain - I think his name was Jim? - would love to meet all of you."