Dooftrapped

((Note that the following post came before Hope's symbol was revealed in Homestuck Canon--I, Lorelei's writer, changed the symbol multiple times in a fit of foolish indecision before finally having the issue blessedly settled for me by the canon Hope symbol.))

[o]


[o]


[o]


[Ah, greetings. Do come in. I would say "I have been expecting you" but that is such an expected occurrence for one of my limitless knowledge, saying it aloud would approach the status of "tautology".]

You enter, shutting the green, stately wooden door in your wake. The room is deadly silent, save for the persistent sound of numerous perfectly-synchronized tick-tocking. Your host, before the thought even occurs your head, walks over to six great grandfather clocks, each with a certain Sburb symbol: Hope's mobius, the gear that represents Time, the neuron that represents Mind, the four-pointed star of Soul, the snowflake of Frost, and the halo of Life. All of the clocks are perfectly synchronous in movement and sound, save for the one of Life. It lies still and soundless, with a large crack in the glass frame of in front of the Life symbol.

[o]


[Up until this point you have been following the tale of six particular children as they repeat a tale told time and again throughout the multiverse--though this one, its players shall find, shall be quite different. And while it cannot be stressed enough that paradox space is, ultimately, infallible, there are moments when, due to the fallible nature of the game itself--created by mortal coding as it is--that mistakes happen.]

[o]

Duchess Arc walks up to the broken grandfather clock and runs a single finger along the crack in its glass surface.

[And where Sburb or Sgrub or whatever its name may be in the multitudinous universes that exist in paradox space fails, Paradox Space itself will always be there to rectify the error. There was never meant to be a Priest of Life, I am afraid. How could there be? How could a game continue at all without the all-important Hero of Space?

Thus, when the hammer of death comes down upon the young Priest of Life, it does so with Paradox Space's bidding. It is literally unavoidable.

Sometimes, though, it has the good grace of having a sense of humor about it.]

You are shown a picture of a young light-haired boy facing down an imp in Duchess Arc's glowing head, of all places.

[You see, some of the events we have discussed thus far have not been entirely the truth. It was more a what-if statement, a brief trip into fancy at what might have changed had the young Priest of Life kept his life. You will find that nothing of terrible significance changes with his presence. You will also remember, of course--how could you not?--the pitched yet ultimately futile battle the self-styled "Guardian" fought.

You may ask, "How is it that "Guardian's" fight is futile?" I knew you would ask before the very notion even occurred to you. The answer is that it is, without a doubt, literally unavoidable. "Guardian" is doomed to failure, as he always will be.

It is here, though, in this nigh-deserted room, that we begin to see Paradox Space's humor.]

===>

A young boy stands in his room, weapon drawn, facing down an imp. Though it was only thirteen years ago that he was given life, it is today that that life will be stripped from him. A sharp crackle and a low boom, like thunder and lightning itself crashing down in close proximity, echo behind this young boy. The Priest of Life--such that he is--turns from his enemy to face the commotion.

Two swordsmen of great prowess, locked in mortal combat, much as they were when this scene's twin played out in the Knight of Mind's home. The entity, damaged but unflagging in its assault or in its stamina, facing down a far more run-down Guardian. Before the young Priest can react, the entity charges forward with amazing force, green energy surrounding its great broadsword. With a long swipe it brought the sword down like a giant hammer striking an anvil. Temujin blocked with his own blade but, as soon as the two blades met, green energy burst like a shockwave from his sword. The imp was destroyed, the Priest's various belongings scattered about the room as if a tornado was passing through, and the Priest himself thrown to the ground. Guardian himself stumbled and fell backwards from the force of the assault.

The entity did not allow even the slightest of time to recover. It charged forward, attacking Guardian with great, sweeping blows that Guardian neither had the strength to truly block or, in his weakened state, the speed with which to take advantage of the comparatively long time between swings. He could merely be pushed back and back further, always attempting to dodge and survive--survive, at this point, rather than win. Meanwhile, the Priest struggled to his feet from the fall, his back turned towards the two combatants.

The Priest of Life never saw his death coming.

It was a stab, originally meant for Guardian himself, who had dodged in a roll to the side. The great broadsword kept its course nonetheless, and plunged through the chest of the Priest.

[o]



"N-No!..." Guardian stood up on wobbly legs, his eyes widened with shock and dismay. "NO!"

"What's the matter, 'Guardian'...?" The entity pulled the sword from John and in the same fluid motion, its blade still dripping with John's blood, swung it towards Guardian. "DID YOU FAIL TO GUARD YET ANOTHER PERSON?!"

Guardian, his concentration on the battle broken by the death in front of him, could not dodge in full. Though he leaped backwards and to his left, the entity's great broadsword still dug into the flesh along his lower ribcage. Guardian fell to his knees, one hand covering the now profusely bleeding wound and the other still holding onto his sword. Before the entity could truly begin its attack again, two floating shields with red crosses on their front appeared next to Guardian. In a brief flash, he was gone, and moments after the entity vanished as well in chase.

===>

Your perception is brought back to Duchess' room, where she still stands before the clocks. Now, though, the broken Life clock has vanished without a trace. In its place is a working clock, with the spiral galaxy symbol of Space, ticking in perfect synchronization with others. When she speaks again, you can detect the traces of mirth in her usual serene voice.

[The "Guardian" fails to save another, just as he will always fail. It is the most curious aspect of mortals of all races, how even if they accept this fact they see beauty in struggling to the bitter end. But now, we turn to our attention to a peculiar case in the apocalyptic wasteland that is Earth at the moment these events occur. A young woman with nice taste in clothing, almost alone amongst the world, possesses working internet and electricity.

Of course, this is only peculiar to one such as yourself who does not possess my far-reaching knowledge. One such as myself would know that this, like many other things, was literally unavoidable.

This is our young Bard of Space. A grand title, is it not? This is the young woman who shall take her place in the Medium. Already, upon the Priest's death, Sburb has altered itself slightly. Though the Land of Fruit and Balance as well as the young Priest's prototypings remain, the Prospitian tower where dream John slept now has a new design and a new occupant.

What shall be this young woman's name?]

>Be the vampire philosopher

You cannot be the RAINBOW DRINKER philosopher, because the rainbow drinker philosopher is too busy being the WANTED REVOLUTIONARY. It is currently the middle of the blistering Alternian day and not a troll is around save for one. The revolutionary is clad in all white: boots, gloves, pants, and a hooded shirt. The hood itself is raised in such a manner that view of the eyes of its wearer were not visible. The white, of course, was because she was working in the day. The Alternian sun was too bright for most trolls anyway, entirely thwarting any real possibility of snipers, but just in case the revolutionary liked to dress in white to potentially throw off their ability to focus. The bottom of the revolutionary's face, however, is quite visible and glows white like a light bulb. The build and the lack of noticeable breasts through her clothes lends to a rather androgynous look altogether, and the reason why the Empire had not even pinpointed her gender yet (and uses "he" as a default in their reports).

Her name is Pythia Socrat, aka alethiologyAncress. Philosopher, rainbow drinker, and teacher. She is also known as apotropaicAnarchist, wanted "terrorist", revolutionary, political dissident--whatever the name, the Empire wanted her dead for a very good reason. Today...today she was going to add another to the list of her very long rap sheet.

She knew that since it was daytime, there would be few guards and that the mark would be asleep in his recuperacoon. She knew the perfect entryway to get to her target quickly. Now, standing outside, ducked behind a bush and just about to begin, Pythia was being contacted by a very familiar face.

-- adjutorObedientiary [AO] began pestering apotropaicAnarchist [AA] at 03:18 --

AO: hey ju2t checkiing iin real fa2t ii've been workiing on a new de2iign iin my head and wondered iif you'd liike to 2ee the 2chematiic2??

Ah, Lohqua Dibare. A wide smile reflexively graced Pythia's features. Her matesprit was one of the few people who knew her true identity, and though she didn't have time to look at the schematics she always had time to talk to Lohqua. Well, almost always. She didn't like to outright mention the fact that they shared a heart bucket just in case someone was able to hack her very secure network, but honestly the amount of flirting the two usually couldn't help but doing anyway would probably clue anyone with a think pan in.

AA: Perhaps later, I am afraid, Mademoiselle. I'm currently about to infiltrate a highblood's hive and kill him.
AA: I'm not in yet, though, if you need me for something else.
AO: Oh, alriight then 2parkle2.
AO: Nah II ju2t thought II'd 2ay hii before II went and collap2ed on my new ~bed~ that II had to haul back here =:)

Knowing Lohqua, she definitely wasn't just saying that as idle conversation. Pythia couldn't help but respond with a bit of subtle innuendo of her own.

AA: How is the bed? I may have to visit at some point to see how it holds up.
AO: I dunno I haven't even put the damn thing together yet
AO: I shut the door about five minutes ago
AA: A pity I was not there to sweep you off your feet and carry you there. It's just about dawn over there, is it not?
AO: yep beat it by 10 minutes
AO: i think i might get a tan =:P
AO: Pity indeed, but this is more important c:=
AO: besides this way I can actually get the bed put together first

Pythia almost snorted at that one (and would have if she didn't want to keep absolutely quiet here). While that was definitely some innuendo on Lohqua's part, it also referred to an actual event. Pythia liked to drop by Lohqua's hive to surprise her, often clad in her blackAA garb (because that just seemed to drive her wild), and had come across Lohqua attempting to put together a bed.



-- adjutorObedientiary [AO] ceased pestering apotropaicAnarchist [AA] at 03:37 --

===>

The large, marble-floored hallways is almost deserted, save for two guards standing at the respiteblock door. They seemed bored, and their weapons hang uselessly at their sides while they chatted idly--something about rat lizards, Pythia catches. They would be all too easy.

A flash, as the revolutionary dashes forward. The guards barely have time to react before a dagger is planted in the upper arm of each one. The nonlethal, paralyzing neurotoxin works quickly in their systems and, before they are able to organize any kind of resistance, both fall over to the ground. Pythia does the service of knocking each of them out afterward, then eases the door open.

There the mark is, Pythia can see the long, straight horns poking out from the recuperacoon. The room is largely a cluttered mess, a large axe in one corner and a writing table in another. The walls are covered with depictions of slaughter or anything otherwise related to the religion of the Mirthful Messiahs. One large shelf that almost covers a whole wall in and of itself displays a rather grotesque skull collection.

It was sickening, the way he used that religion as a shield and justification for his villainy. Yet while the empire certainly would not do anything about it, Pythia would. The murder of various trolls of all blood colors was going to stop today.

Pythia wastes no time. She strides over quickly, grabs the highblood's horns, and with one swift movement pulls him out of the recuperacoon and hurls him over her head towards the skull shelf. Upside down, wearing naught but a pair of boxers, and covered in sopor slime, the highblood slams into the shelf with a crash, sending skulls flying every which way. The man stirs with a start, glancing about in confusion.

"Time to wake up, Mr. Arizora... I am a messenger from your slaughtered victims, and I'm afraid the news I bring is most foul..."

The highblood's eyes widened in abject terror and disbelief. "You!... No, NO!" The highblood quickly got up, attempting to scramble for his axe, but was hit in the arm by one of Pythia's expertly placed throwing knives. The toxin would work soon, but for now (realizing he had no chance to make it to his axe) the highblood tore the dagger from his arm and charged with the speed and ferocity of a hoofbeast towards her.

It was with little effort, then, that Pythia countered, flipped him over onto his back, and pried the knife from his hands. The toxin was beginning to work now, and the highblood found that for all he tried he couldn't get up from his position.

"'And thus I clothe my naked villany with odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ, and seem a saint, when most I play the devil.'" Pythia always had a tendency, when about to kill someone, to quote some verse of literature or poetry that she believed fit her mark's actions.

The highblood could only stare, tears welling up in his eyes. "N-no! Please, I don't want to die!"

"Neither did any of those trolls, I'm sure." She gestured over to the collections of skulls, her normally scarily serene voice now turning into a slight snarl. "What of poor Yorick, cut down in the prime of his life? Alas, he may have been a fellow of infinite jest. Those who knew him shall find him sorely missed."

"P-please! Have mercy! I beg of you!..."

Pythia shook her head slowly, raising a dagger in one hand. "Oh, not today, Mr. Arizora... Not today... For your crimes, I hereby sentence you to death."

"N-no! DON-"

The dagger fell, swift and true like the gavel of justice itself, and ended the highblood's life. Pythia left behind, as she always did, a note detailing the list of crimes for which the highblood was punished, reading like a legal order and always ending with "For these crimes, [mark's name] is hereby sentenced to death." As usual, the Empire would attempt to cover it up, but she would insure that word got on the streets. She always did.

Dissent was brewing in the Alternian Empire, and talk of open rebellion was becoming somewhat commonplace--in part, thanks to the actions of the revolutionary herself, who now quickly exited the building from a nearby window. Madam Justice's work was not yet finished, and more trolls would be brought to justice this day before apotropaicAnarchist returned to her hive.

((For the record, since it's come up: that wasn't an actual subjuggulator--just a highblood who used the religion as a cover for his deeds. Obviously, if it was a subjuggulator, the battle would have been much harder.

Oh god this is so terrible. I apologize for my past self.))

[The young Bard of Space's entry into the Medium went as described. Now, you are likely confused on how this all fits into the occurrences previously described. And by "likely" I mean "certainly". The mortal's brain often assumes the most ingratiating posture of surrender imaginable when dealing with the finer aspects of timelines. Pay attention, as I will only say this once.

The Bard's entry occurred relatively shortly after the death of the Priest: shortly after the aforementioned Priest was woken up from his wanderings around Prospit by an imp bashing a mannequin against his bed. After the Scion was contacted by the Bard, she was visited by the Seer in her golden tower as previously described. The Seer's behavior did much to lighten the Scion's mood, as it always would.]

If it was possible for First Guardians to smirk, you could swear that Duchess Arc would have done so. All the same, the intent carried over well in her ethereal voice.

[They make quite a cute couple, do they not?

Now, to continue on. The previously mentioned mourning of The Priest's sprite occurred shortly after his death. Soon, though, the Land of Fruit and Balance would become a dead world--spriteless, consortless. Just a shell of its former self, though it and the Priest's home would remain in Paradox Space.

Events would transpire as mentioned previously, with the exception of anything involving the Priest. The Bard, of course, was distracted with her own Land of Canyons and Frogs, and that information shall be told later. For now, we continue with our story where the we last left off: The Knight and the Duchess--a fine title, I must say--on Derse, the remainder save for the Bard at the home of the Scion. The Knight discovers the Priest's body as mentioned above.

Now, you are going to turn and leave for now, as my services are no longer necessary. And before you think it, no, that is not a threat, it is a statement of fact utterly devoid of any particular emotion.]

Just as she said and as curious you are about the various antiques this place sports, you do exactly as she mentioned. The stately green mahogany door from which you first entered swings open slowly with a soft creak, and you depart.

Dahlia burst through the gate above the Von Hayek residence in a gout of red flame, like some exceptionally well-dressed meteor. She circled the enormous house -- mansion might be more accurate -- twice before setting down on the front steps, announcing her arrival with the steady roar of rocket engines and a streak of red darting past the window. Captchaloguing the rocket pack almost reluctantly, Dahlia hesitated only briefly as she approached the large front doors. Lorelei had visited her before, so this shouldn't feel odd, right?

Right.

The doorbell announced the newcomer's presence, and she stood there waiting, hands in her pockets and attempting to look rather more confident than she felt, suddenly struck by the feeling that she may well be underdressed for the occasion. Oh well, too late now.

If Dahlia was underdressed for something like this, then Lorelei was even moreso. The Scion of the noble Von Hayek lineage answered the door, still wearing pajamas and an apron that was quite conspicuously stained with syrup and some other things besides. Nevertheless, she positively beamed when she saw Dahlia at the door, a warm glow in those bright golden eyes. "Dahlia! I am glad you could make it!" Lorelei embraced Dahlia warmly, and kissed her once on the cheek before remembering she was using the wrong social graces and stopping. "Ah, sorry... I keep forgetting I should not really be doing that anymore, given none of my Swiss friends are here..."

Dahlia grinned at the outfit she found her hostess in, greatly relieved, though the expression became a good deal more awkward at her friend's distinctly European greeting. "Hey now, none of that, I don't wanna smudge anything." She smirked and poked Lorelei's side teasingly, extricating herself from close contact and slipping past her towards the door. "I'm given to understand that there's a hero's feast waiting for me here? Or at least a half-decent breakfast for someone who's way past her bedtime."

Lorelei closed the large, stately mahogany doors behind them, shutting out the chill and snow of her land. "Well, I have done my best to make the breakfast quite well, and hopefully amongst what I cooked there shall be something to your liking." She walked along beside Dahlia, leading the way to the dining table where Guardian (still eating like a starved man who was trying to be polite about his hunger), Page, and Peter sat. "But, yes, help yourself. I do believe some introductions are in order, though." She gestured first to Guardian. "This is Temujin, though he likes to call himself Guardian. He is apparently from another session entirely and wants to help us out in whatever way he can--hence the title, I assume. Temujin, this is a good friend of mine, Dahlia Asher."

Guardian swallowed a bit of sausage and turned to look at Dahlia when she entered. Just as he was about to open his mouth to introduce himself, he stopped. He wore an expression like a man trying to solve some complicated puzzle in his head as he stared at her. It was only after a few moments that he realized that he was quite conspicuously staring. "Ah, sorry. Bein' rude. 'S nice to meet you. If you need any help with anything in this game, just contact me."

Dahlia shrugged off the curious scrutiny, offering a grin that tried and failed to appear bashful. "'salright, really, sometimes I have to puzzle over how I can manage to be this cool all the time too." Blue eyes flashed over to Lorelei for her reaction, before returning to the man called Guardian to make proper introductions. She was sheltered, but certainly no heathen, and nodded to him in place of a bow or some other more formal gesture, moving to offer a hand to shake before deciding to simply leave him to his eating. "If there's time later I think I just might take you up on that offer, mister walkthrough. The best explanations I've gotten thus far came from a floating ball of stars that I had to talk out of burning holes in my wall just to get its message across."

Temujin chuckled softly. "Trust me, Kid, your sprite could be a whole lot worse. I once saw someone who prototyped some kind of puppet, and all it did was just laugh over and over again whenever he asked it questions. 'S lucky I was around to set him straight on some things. My handle's guardianGrognard, though, whenever you wanna contact me."

Lorelei smiled and moved on with the introductions, pointing next to Peter. "This is Peter McCormac. Peter, Dahlia." Normal greetings were exchanged between the two, and then Lorelei turned to the final person here in the dining room with her: Page. "And this is Page Caldwell, an old friend of mine. Page, this is Dahlia."

Page's voice was soft, like the coo of a dove, as she responded with a shy but warm smile. "It is very nice to meet you, Dahlia, really."

Dahlia turned to regard the quiet girl -- and stopped. No. Freaking. Way. Her head tilted ever so slightly, brow quirked curiously. Couldn't be her... right? But... They're all staring at you now, Dahlia. Make with the greetings. "Page?" She hesitated a moment before continuing. "Um... hey." Uncertain of what sort of greeting would be appropriate, she simply offered a hand to shake, and a small smile, though notably sincere. In truth, she had to fight to keep from giddy excitement.

Page couldn't help but notice how odd her own greeting was, and her expression was at first a mix of confusion and shy anxiety--she didn't do something wrong, did she? Nevertheless, she took Dahlia's offered hand and shook it, her grip delicate and soft. "Um, y-yes, hello. I'm sorry, but is something wrong, maybe? You seem distracted, I think..."

She doesn't remember... Or perhaps this simply wasn't the same girl. Though, what cruel trickster god would make two identical girls with identical names? Oh, right, the one that hates me. We've been over this already. Dahlia forced down apprehension and happiness in equal measure, and responded simply with a shake of her head, wry grin revealing nothing more of her thoughts. "Nothing, really. Just a lot to take in, is all. Glad to meet you, Page, and I'm sure the feeling's mutual." She chuckled to herself and hopped into the open seat nearest to Lorelei. Time to change the subject. Fast. "I must admit I'm torn between asking you about all this nonsense about magic and flying, and inquiring about the breakfast menu, so how about we split the difference and do both?"

Lorelei giggled. "As for the breakfast menu, anything here that has not yet been spilt by shenanigans from earlier involving Zach Lombardi--one you have not yet met, but he is currently asleep upstairs--is fair game. I have made waffles, there are some fruits and vegetables, and I have cooked various German and American breakfast foods around. As for the magic, a practical demonstration shall have to wait--it is hardly good manners to float and blast imps at the table, and I am nothing if not a lady--but did you see the bright, glowing blue planetoid with the spirograph symbol on your way here? That is Skaia, and it is to it that I owe my ability to use magic. It seems to be sentient, almost godlike with its ability to show the future in its clouds."

"Godlike? Great, another thing that's gonna hate me." Dahlia grinned sharply, then set about claiming some of the food. Well, at least her mood was somewhat improved.

===>

--inaneFixation [IF] opened memo on board TEAM KOUSEI--
IF: oh god there's blood everywhere
IF: someone tell me this viewport is bullshit
IF: god damn it why isn't anyone answering

Almost as one, Lorelei's and Page's glasses made a small beep, marking the creation of the new memo. Each politely excused themselves from the table and turned their attention to it.

-- unsettledBookworm [UB] responded to the memo --

UB: B-blood? Oh, no, what happened, what's wrong?
IF: page what are you doing right now
IF: hold up fingers or something
IF: don't ask just do it.
UB: Um, ok... I am holding up three fingers now. Can you see it, maybe?
IF: oh god



-- philosopherQueen [PQ] responded to the memo --

PQ: Zach... Do not tell me, is someone hurt? Oh, God, it is not John, is it? He still has not yet arrived!
IF: it's john.
IF: he's dead.
IF: if he's not dead there is a big fucking hole in his chest and he will be dead soon.



No...NonononononNONONO. Not another one, not like this, not like Mom!

It was like suddenly having a tremendous weight fall on their chests. Lorelei could do nothing more than stare into her glasses--appearing to look off into space--trembling slightly, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Page merely brought up her feet into the chair and hugged her knees close to her chest, crying softly with the occasional sharp sob breaking the otherwise soundless weeping. She had known John for a relatively little time, but he had seemed so nice...

Lorelei stood up, legs wobbly and tears barely held in check, quickly circled the table and sat down next to Page. She pulled the smaller girl into an embrace and finally let the tears start falling, and the two cried into each other's arms.

Dahlia was, at first, rightly confused by the rapidly-unfolding spectacle around her, catching only half (well, two-thirds) of the conversation as she figured this would be a computer-free breakfast. She eventually called a small screen into existence with a flick of her wrist, projecting a few inches in front of her hand from her watchputer, and reviewed the memo where the others' comments found themselves. For a long while she was silent... then closed the screen with the barest hint of a frown, and pushed her nearly-untouched plate of breakfast away. Hard to have much of an appetite with something like this happening. So this is how it was? She was brought in as some sort of predestined replacement for a fallen player? Dahlia shook her head; she should have known that a birthday present like that was no mistake, nor even a turn for the better on the matter of her mother finally understanding her. No, it seemed godlike Skaia, like any other god she might care to name, also hated her. "Like fucking clockwork," she grumbled under her breath.

I skipped watching the apocalypse, for this?

-- absoluteTranquility [AT] responded to the memo --
AT: Well fuck
AT: Know who killed him?

Peter sat up and ran to the bathroom, almost emptying the tissue box
Handing the pile of kleenex to lor and page he stared at his laptops screen

Lorelei gratefully accepted the tissues, offering some to Page, and the two girls desperately attempted to staunch the tears that continued to flow like an open dam. Temujin, meanwhile, stared in abject shock for a few moments until he took out his own computing device--a scouter much like that of Garrus from Mass Effect--and checked the memo.

Realization hit like the force of a load of bricks. Everything clicked into place, and Temujin turned his eyes towards Dahlia, a questioning, worrying look in his eyes. "Dahlia, what's your title?"

Great. From replacement to suspect in sixty seconds flat. Dahlia sighed. And it was such a useless title, too. "Space. Bard of Space. For all the good it's been."

"So that's what's happened..." Temujin muttered to himself, glancing down and to the left. In a flurry of movement, leaving behind his unifinished plate--still piled high with food he had meant to eat--he walked with quick, long strides towards the mansion's foyer. However, just before he left the dining room, he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around and, with much slower steps, walked back over to Dahlia, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I know what you're thinkin'. Seen it before. Dahlia, whatever you do, don't think you're a replacement. Sometimes when being turned into an actual game some problems happen in the code, things like this happen. John... John was never meant to be here. He was supposed to die with the meteors. I know because there's no way this session could survive without its Hero of Space. You're not a replacement, you're the one who was supposed to be here in the first place. This whole mix-up? Just gave the poor kid another day to live. Bit a mercy in that, I think... But paradox space wasn't gonna let 'em live regardless. 'S no one's fault he died."

A chill crept up Dahlia's spine, as much from Guardian's simple proximity as his words. After several hours spent fighting imps and ogres, she felt a million times more confident than she did the day before... but something still told her, with absolute certainty, that he could kill her before she even blinked. And he just plain creeped her out. Best to stay on his good side. "It's-- it's not that." Well, that was a first. Dahlia was not known to stutter, at any point and for any reason. She carried on, though, as if it hadn't happened. "It's just a lot to take in. Meteors, monsters, people dying... I'm still finding my feet here, so to speak." Summoning what courage she possessed, Dahlia turned her chair and herself with it, to face Guardian. "What do we do about it, though?"

Temujin, sensing her nervousness, removed his hand from her shoulder with an apologetic smile and stepped back once. "Gonna have to be more specific. Y'mean the whole game itself?"

"I guess. I mean, after one of them stepped on my laptop, I could spend all day trashing imps and never get tired of it, but from what little I've gathered, we've got a reason to be here above and beyond playing RPG hero." Dahlia's expression turned briefly grim. "And it must be quite some reason, if it means enough to wipe out an entire planet just to make it happen."

Temujin nodded. "Must notta read Lor's memos, eh? They can be pretty wordy, yeah. Lotta important info in there. Paradox space doesn't really give a shit about lives compared to propogating universes, 'n that's what you lot are here to do: make a new universe to live in. And the reason I said Space was so important? The Hero of Space is easily the most important player, 'cause you and whoever helps you are the ones who actually create that new universe. Or rather, create the god that creates the universe. Without you, they'd all be stuck here for the rest of their lives."

Dahlia sighed again, slumping back into her chair. Great, more gods to hate her. She was going to be paying for that joke for the rest of her life at this rate. "Gotta be kidding me. And I'm supposed to do that with, what, this--" A flick of her wrist brought a knife to her hand. "--and the lofty title of 'Cosmic Buckaroo'?" Another flick banished the knife, and she laughed at her own expense.

Temujin, despite the fact that Lorelei and Page were still crying to the side, despite the fact that he had only recently heard of a young boy's death--though death, of course, was something he saw a lot of--snorted in laughter. "Heh, no. I'll tell you more about it when it's time, or your sprite or consorts can. Hope you like frogs, though." With that incredibly cryptic sentence said, Temujin turned and departed from the dining room, and out the mansion door. He flew off into the sky, heading for the dead planet of the Land of Fruit and Balance. Someone had to go find the body, after all. Respect needed to be paid to the dead.

So it goes.

The scene at the dining table was silent for just a moment longer, as both of them tried to ignore the obvious by toying with their food. Eventually, Dahlia sighed and pushed her plate away. "I don't think either of us is fooling anyone, least of all ourselves." She stood and began gathering up her silverware, cleaning as she might. Still afraid of the distraught look she might see if she actually turned to face Page, she continued talking while playing good guest and tidying up after the others who had departed as well. "So this John guy... he was a friend of yours?" It was uncomfortable small talk, but it was the best she could manage until she had a better grasp of the situation.

"Well...sort of." Page stood up herself and began taking care of the silverware right alongside Dahlia. "I just met him yesterday when he brought me into the Medium, but he was really kind and helped me save my Dad. I'm sorry he's gone, really."

"I guess... that makes me your server now?" Well, that was miserable. Everyone else was mourning the loss of a friend, and all Dahlia could think of was what a jerk she felt like for replacing him. Best not to think of her own feelings on the matter. "How about you? I mean, how you're handling this and all. Lorelei's probably bawling her eyes out, not that you should ever tell her I said that, and here we are cleaning up everyone else's mess." No, that was weird too. Goddamn why am I so bad at this. "What I mean is, if you wanna talk... well, nothing better to do." She shrugged. That was terrible too, but there was a measure of sincerity behind it.

Lorelei's various servants, upon seeing guests taking care of their duties, immediately jumped into help. They quickly organized themselves, along with Dahlia and Page, into an efficient and orderly "assembly line" as it were, for washing dishes. The two young girls continued their discussion while absent-mindedly doing their own parts in the job.

"I suppose it does, if you, um, don't mind, maybe..." Page concentrated on her part in the washing job, honestly quite glad to have something to do rather than just sit and think. Her technique, though, was quite terrible--this was never something she had done before, and while her enthusiasm to help was genuine, she often made mistakes. "Well... I don't know. I mean, I didn't know him too long, so I'm not as sad as Lorelei or Zach, I think. I can't stand seeing them sad, though, not at all. They're like siblings I've never really had, maybe. So I guess...I don't know what to do, really."

Dahlia had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, diving into the washing like she belonged there -- despite looking at first glance like a spoiled rich kid, an image which a look at the inside of her residence would do little to dispel, she was surprisingly self-sufficient these days, as a result of being left to take care of everything around the house on her own while her mother was away. She looked over occasionally to Page, but correcting her felt like something of an odd thing to do, so she didn't, for now, simply redoubling her own efforts to ensure it all got done properly. "I'll be honest here, I'm about as far out of my element as Dorothy in Munchkinland, as far as all that goes. Best I've managed so far is making that serious-looking guy laugh at a funeral." She twirled a finger in the air in faux celebratory fashion, trailing soap bubbles as she went. "Go me. But I guess if you asked me, I'd say... let 'em sort it out on their own, and just be there to listen if they want to talk." She chuckled to herself, turning a rueful grin to Page briefly. "Not that I'm any good at this sort of thing anyway, so... make of it what you will."

"Nono, that's probably good advice, I think. It's what you're doing now for me, anyway, so thank you." Page continued in her clumsy attempts to keep up with the others in washing, but was steadily falling behind. Soon after she finished speaking, she accidentally sprayed herself, Dahlia, and a nearby maid with water. Blushing, she stepped away from the counter and timidly remarked, "Sorry... I'm sorry! I, um...probably should stop trying to help though. I'm just making a mess of things, really. Sorry."

Dahlia looked up from her work -- just in time to get quite thoroughly soaked. She stood there frozen for a long moment, one arm raised in a futile defensive gesture, having gone in the blink of an eye from "cool and stylish" to "drenched housecat". She turned her look of wide-eyed shock to Page, her expression looking almost ready to turn to anger... then doubled over laughing, pointing a finger at Page and just how ridiculous she now looked. Never mind that Dahlia had fared no better, of course. "Were you... were you really that bored? ...heehee..." Well, at least she didn't seem bothered by it.

Page's face turned a bright shade of red--unfortunately, despite the fact that Dahlia didn't seem bothered, Page still had a habit of assuming the worst when it came to people's perception of her. Her body posture took on something reminscent of a child being mercilessly scolded. "I...Nonono, I'm sorry, it wasn't- I didn't-! I didn't mean to and I... I'm so sorry, I ruined that incredibly pretty shirt of yours and I'm sorry!"

Page had actually been struck by Dahlia's fashion sense quite a bit when they first met. The formerly homeless young girl had always had a passion for pretty dresses and clothing, something she only was able to indulge by reading magazines that the library kept around. Somewhere on the long list of "things Page admires about Lorelei" was "her sense of fashion". While Dahlia's style was different--more color and intricacy, as opposed to Lorelei's formal, aristocratic style--it was no less visually pleasing. Page had actually been considering changing out of her normal clothes when Lorelei offered to help make her new ones with alchemy, but couldn't bring herself to impose.

Dahlia shook her head, waving her hand as if to ward off Page's concern. "It's not a big deal, really -- now it's halfway to washed, so you've saved me a lot of trouble." Again, that grin -- it wasn't an entirely thorough assessment of the situation, as Dahlia of course wasn't exactly a fan of being soaked nearly to her waist, but what she said was honest, and she simply couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for Page's fearful, contrite expression. And so she laughed as she doffed her jacket, tossing it aside onto the nearby counter with a wet 'splat'. That would need drying, but surely there was a proper laundry room somewhere in this intimidatingly huge mansion.

Relief washed over Page's features, and almost totally out of reflex--though she was glad Dahlia didn't seem angry--grinned widely back at her. "Oh, um...well, that's good, probably."

"Hey Jeeves." Dahlia addressed one of the servants, who were inevitably staring at the both of them by now for the commotion they caused. It wasn't that she didn't care to ask for names, it was just... okay so she didn't really care to ask for names, but she was in a hurry, alright? "Don't suppose I could get you to direct me to the laundry room?" She plucked her wet jacket from the counter, holding it up to illustrate the obvious.

The butler she was speaking to at first raised an eyebrow at the "Jeeves" thing, but quickly recovered. He replied in a thick Swiss-german accent, "Ah, if you'll allow it, I will simply take your coat there myself and dry it. You are a guest of Mistress Von Hayek, after all."

Dahlia shook her head, offering an unexpectedly apologetic smile. "Much as I appreciate the offer, this needs drying too," she tugged at the sleeve of her frilly undershirt to indicate, "and then I'd have to figure out something to wear in the meantime, and... well, you get the idea. Rather just go do it myself so I can wait for it to dry." She also didn't particularly feel like turning over her pretty clothes to someone she didn't know, and on top of that she was in fact rather uncomfortable at having someone else do things for her at all, being entirely unaccustomed to the idea. She at least tried to be polite, though. Tried.

"Well, you could wear something of Lorelei's until then, maybe," Page offered. It was actually somewhat uncanny how similar Dahlia and Lorelei were in some respects, like height, certain aspects of their facial features, etc. While Dahlia didn't have the trademark Von Hayek golden eyes, Page would swear that Dahlia could pass off as Lorelei's sister.

Dahlia quirked a brow at that, considering... then shrugged. "Good enough!" Splat, the wet jacket was tossed again onto the counter so as not to drip all over the floor, and a brief dance of nimble fingers down buttons later, it was joined by her undershirt, and Dahlia flopped down into the nearest chair to wait. Shame? What's that? Accustomed as she was to living alone, Dahlia thought nothing of sitting around in her underwear, and really she was still half-dressed anyway, her pants having been spared from the spray of water aside from a few drops. She nodded then to Page. "Probably ought to get yours off too, no sense in sitting around all wet."

The entire kitchen suddenly got so quiet one could hear a pin drop--save, of course, for those who were still busy cleaning and had not seen what had happened. One maid immediately walked quickly off towards Lorelei's room, to fetch some clothes for the young lady. Page, on the other hand, didn't move at all. Her face was beginning to turn red again and her eyes wandered downward despite herself. Her flustered state was only made worse when Dahlia remarked that Page should do the same, and Page's face turned a color reminiscent of freshly grown beets.

"Jeeves"--whose real name happened to be Florian Lehmann--scooped up Dahlia's shirt and handed it back to her quickly. Despite the snafu he was ever the polite and graceful butler, and no tone of annoyance or anger or exasperation showed in his voice. "I'm sorry, maybe it is different where you come from, but please... We would all appreciate it if you kept your clothes on while around others in this household, thank you."

Dahlia looked around, briefly puzzled, quickly realizing the mistake she made, that she was treating this place as if it was her house -- there were, after all, a very small number of places she'd been lately that weren't her house or its immediate surroundings. Well, that was embarrassing. Time to cover with humor. "Ouch, my poor ego," she grumbled as she slipped her shirt back on, hopping up from the chair as she did so, pacing towards the kitchen door. "I'm gonna... go get some fresh air or something. Just shout for me if you need me." The quicker she could get out of there, the better.

Just as Dahlia was exiting the kitchen, she ran into the maid that had run off to get them spare clothes (herself still wet from the same ordeal). She handed off a pair of some of Lorelei's clothing to both Dahlia and Page, then went off herself to change her own clothes. Page excused herself off to an empty room to change, her face still a tad red from the whole ordeal.

Thoroughly chagrined, Dahlia took the offered shirt and excused herself to a vacant room without so much as another word. Some first impression. Or, second, but... Oh well. No sense in dwelling on the past, right Dahlia?

Right?

Snow.

Snow was not a thing Dahlia did. Ever. Sure, she had an academic understanding of the concept; she had seen pictures of it, and vaguely remembered a winter or two from her early childhood... but as things stood now, snow was not a thing Dahlia did. The short sleeves of her borrowed shirt did little to ward off the cold, and she found herself sorely missing her jacket, and even briefly considering returning to the mansion and the warmth that entailed.

Of course, she couldn't do that. Going inside meant Lorelei, and her tears over a lost friend, and a reminder of Dahlia's continued inability to really sympathize with it, having never known John. Going inside also meant Page, and the confusing endearing confusing conversations that implied, and a reminder of the fact that she didn't even remember Dahlia. It was perhaps telling, that being forgettable was a greater blow to Dahlia than the loss of friends, or family, or the entire planet. No, going inside would not be a thing Dahlia did, either.

And so she stood there, freezing her ass off in a perhaps more literal sense than she was entirely comfortable admitting, staring down at the awkward mound of dirt marking the grave of someone she never knew.

"I don't... really even know why I'm here, to be honest." Dahlia sighed, frustrated with feeling so lacking in control. Yeah, I'm so out of sorts, I'm talking to a dead guy. Great start, really. Of course, she wasn't even really talking to John; again, she didn't know him. But she needed to not be anywhere near anyone else, and the one place that the others would show a guaranteed disinterest in being right now would be the grave.

Yeah, something like that. And the talking out loud to myself? Clearly the first signs of madness.

"I mean, here, in the Medium... here, on this planet, just a few hours after I arrived... here, standing at an unmarked grave, talking to myself." Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Dahlia kicked at the dirt; a chunk of freshly-packed earth flew through the air in a cloud of grey-brown. She considered, briefly, just leaving it like that -- it was just a grave, just a grave for a dead kid, just like the millions and millions of dead kids there were back on Earth now, or surely would be soon. That's what 'apocalypse' implies, you know. If she left it like that, though, Lorelei would be mad at her. With a sigh, halfway between resignment and frustration, Dahlia knelt down to scoop dirt from the surrounding ground to fill in the gap she made. Stupid. Why am I so stupid?

"Don't get me wrong, it's kind of awesome. Being here, that is, in this game. I guess I get 'Space' powers? And whatever this 'Bard' nonsense is about." A sarcastic smile quirked those ice-blue lips. "Not that I've done much of anything but stab imps with knives just yet, though. And make a bunch of people laugh about people dying. Go me." She pushed off the ground, standing up again. A breeze carved a path across the flat ground, and she fought a shiver, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

What a sorry scene I am. Saved from certain doom by a video game, whisked off to some insane fantasy world, and all I can do is wonder why I'm here? Jesus, get over yourself, Dahlia.

"I guess that's part of the problem, really... I don't even know just what I'm supposed to be doing here. Everyone's got these big plans -- Gita's messing around with some crazy dream-monsters, Lorelei's being the big damn hero, and Page--" --is still the same girl she always was, that mousy little thing who has no business being brave, but she is, even if she doesn't know it-- "--Page is Page. Me? I just make people laugh like jackasses when they shouldn't be laughing, and throw knives." Lending truth to action, a demonstration for no one in particular, Dahlia produced a nondescript, flat knife from her strife specibus, snapping her wrist quickly downward and flinging it at the ground. It stuck upright at the head of the grave; she considered retrieving it, but somehow, it just looked right, stuck there like that. She left it. "Bard of Space... more like Bitch of Stabs." She shook her head, grinning despite herself.

She had been standing behind Dahlia for a while, since at least the "I guess that's part of the problem, really..." bit. Page had first exited the mansion in an attempt to decide whether she was going to ask Dahlia if she needed help back on her land--the opposing forces of nigh-crippling shyness and a desire to help others battling over the issue of whether to even ask. Yet Dahlia HAD been rather nice...

Attempts to interrupt Dahlia in the middle of the monologue had failed--her soft voice was like a coo of a dove, drowned out by the maelstrom of Dahlia's own thoughts and words from perception. She waited a few moments when Dahlia ended, wondering if the older girl was lost in her own thoughts again, then spoke up once more. "Um...Dahlia...?"

Shit. Dahlia froze, perfectly still, holding even the grin in place while her mind raced through its available options. She couldn't let on to what she was doing -- then Page would try to comfort her or something, and there were a million different reasons why that just plain couldn't happen -- so she had to think it all through before moving, lest she slip somewhere along the line, and somehow come off as less than one-hundred percent cool and in control. That is what she was, after all. Right? Right.

"Hey." Measured breath, easy turn, shrug. Dahlia rolled her head to one side, then the other, as if stretching her neck. Because she was just that relaxed. Right? Right. "Just getting some air... couldn't stand being stuck in that stuffy mansion any longer." Man I would love to be inside that stuffy mansion right now. Ah, central heating. One of the finest inventions of the modern age. Also, screw snow. Seriously. A few long paces carried her towards Page's general vicinity, to one side, leaving the spot she had been standing by the grave available. "If you've got any business with the stiff, I'm all done now. I'll even be nice and pretend I didn't see you along the way."

Page flinched ever-so-slightly when John was called a "stiff", but otherwise made no response to it. "Um...no, thank you, but not really, I think." She shifted awkwardly, unsure of just how to say what she wanted to--after all, she had heard Dahlia beat herself up and she didn't just want to let that go. "Uh... Well, you mentioned...um, when you were talking...not knowing what to do, possibly." She ran a finger through her curly brown hair, glancing down and to the side. "Well, I think all of us are feeling that way, even Lorelei, though she's kind of our leader, I think... But, um, well, are you planning on going back to your land, maybe?"

Double shit. Well, so much for Plan A. Dahlia rolled her shoulders, half stretch and half shrug, stepping past Page as she did so. She did briefly pause, however, to watch the girl play with her hair -- an interesting fidget. Useful, even. "...huh." A noncommittal grunt, followed by several seconds of silence, as if considering. Instead, she turned her head to regard Page with a lopsided smile, not quite looking at her; perhaps past her, to the side, just a bit. "Has anyone ever told you, you've got really lovely hair?" When in doubt, improvise. Dahlia began pacing towards the mansion, though she was really in no particular hurry. Without turning to direct the comment to Page, she continued. "Probably look amazing if you beat it into shape." The statement was casual, nonchalant... and carefully measured to throw the girl off her balance, to keep her attention away from Dahlia.

Of course, it was also true.

"...Um?!" Page blushed, and she clumsily followed after Dahlia towards the mansion after a brief pause. "W-well, I mean...Gita did, yesterday, possibly. She said it was like a...cloud, I think. But, um, thank you, really." Dahlia's plot to get Page off balance had certainly worked, though Page had not really stopped thinking about Dahlia's possible predicament. Instead, she just followed along, waiting for an answer to her question.

Dahlia didn't dare turn to see if Page was following her. Instead, she waited just a moment at the door to the mansion before opening it, listening for the distinctive sound footsteps made on snow. Yup. Too persistent for your nonsense, clearly. Where are we now? Plan... C? The sound of the mansion door swinging opened covered a heavy sigh -- or at least, she hoped it did. ...Someone wanna remind me what Plan C was again? Oh, right, the same as Plans A and B: improvise. "Depressed mourners, I'm home now!" Alright, that was a bit much even for Dahlia, but she was nothing if not dedicated to the ruse at this point. She kind of made a name for herself by being dedicated to the ruse, in fact. Or something like that. "And also my shirt -- dry?" When no answer came but the echo of her own voice, Dahlia shrugged -- made something of a show of it, even -- and headed for the kitchen. She would find one of the maids, reacquire her shirts, and get back to her ridiculous dinosaur planet, without Page. That was what she wanted, right? Right.

Page simply followed along behind, meekly waiting for the question she posed to be answered. The exact meaning of the joke was lost on her, considering she spent most of her time reading--the internet was largely used for chatting with friends. Is...it a coping mechanism, maybe? I guess we all have ways of trying to deal with what's been happening, possibly. I wonder if she even heard me when I asked the question, though... She spoke up again, her voice quiet but perfectly audible in the absolute quiet of the vast mansion. "Um, Dahlia?"

Dahlia found herself faced now with a conundrum: if she simply told Page to go away, she would tip her hand, and end up revealing her tremendous uncertainty and discomfort, and possibly even the reason she was avoiding Page, and then the girl would do something terrible like pity her, and she couldn't have that. On the other hand, if she didn't, then page would follow her, and that was precisely what she didn't want either. She wanted Page to go away, and leave her alone, and let her figure this game out, and her place in it, and especially never again remind her that Page caught her vulnerable. Right? Right.

No, no it's not. She wanted to grab Page by the shoulders, and shake her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to know why she had been forgotten, and then she wanted to hug Page, and probably do something terrible and undignified like cry.

And of course, that was not a thing Dahlia did. Ever.

"What's up?" Time to face the proverbial music. At the very least, Dahlia managed to keep her back to Page, as she wandered down the hall in the general direction she remembered seeing one of the servants leave with her shirt.

Still that back to her. At this point it was starting to resemble the towering and imposing walls of a castle, blocking all those who sought to enter. Page didn't know what to think at this point--was it normal for Dahlia, or was Page's presence bothering her? She wanted to just apologize and wander off for fear of annoying Dahlia further with her questions. But what if she just didn't hear me, maybe? Or was thinking about it and hasn't decided, I guess? I should at least give the offer of helping her, probably... I just hope she doesn't hate me for bothering her like this, really... "U-um... Well, I asked earlier, were you planning on going back to your land, possibly?"

Looks like there's no helping it. Dahlia shrugged; nodded. "Yeah, that was pretty much the plan. I've probably got important game stuff to do over there... levels to grind, bosses to kill, phat lewt to collect, things like that. Why?" You know damn well why. I guess Plan D is surrender?

"So, um..." Now that her question was finally being addressed, she suddenly had no idea how she wanted to phrase it. She paused for a few moments, before finally just blurting something out. "Do you need any help, maybe? I mean, it's not the exact same, but there are kind of some similarities between the worlds, I think. I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you, though, honestly! I just...well, wanted to know if you...wanted help, I guess. Sorry." Again, she ran a hand through her hair and glanced down and to the left--not that Dahlia could see it.

Dahlia stopped suddenly, wheeling around to face Page, causing the smaller girl to blanch from the shock (and fear of being told off for her trouble). She wasn't quite sure what she was going to do, but... she couldn't just keep walking, with Page prodding at her defenses. Grab and shake? No, we went over that already. Yell at her to leave? Nah, too obvious, too revealing. Just flat-out refuse her? Y'see that thing she just did with her hair? Yeah, that, right there. You try saying no to that face. It's like kicking a goddamn puppy. "I... yeah, sure, I could stand to hear something other than my own voice for a while." See? Dahlia herself seemed surprised at her own answer, her tone unusually hesitant for just a moment, but eventually it faded to that familiar, slightly aloof calm, and her expression to a slight smile. One hand raised to playfully tousle Page's hair. Huh... Gita's right. Hah. Her smile grew just a bit at that. "And uh, don't apologize for that. There's been... stuff. Alright?" Another shrug, this one accompanied by just the briefest moment's laughter. She turned again and continued towards what she hoped was the laundry room, but this time she walked just a bit to the side, no longer presenting Page the forbidding view of her back. No, she probably doesn't get it. But that's alright. I think.

Page couldn't help but smile as Dahlia playfully mussed up her hair--it was an affectionate gesture her own father often used, after all, many times while she was growing up. The sudden change had been...surprising, to say the least, but Page took her at her word: that there had just been "stuff". After all, we've all been having a rather hard time, I think... "Ok, if you say so, I guess. Just let me know if I'm ever bothering you, maybe."

Alright, now I just feel like a jerk. Oh wait, business as usual, carry on. Jerk. "You'll be the first to know. Well, second. You get the idea." Alright, maybe the laundry room's behind this door? Finally! Man, I don't know what I'd even do with a house this big... other than spend a lot of time cursing whoever thought it would be a good idea to make you walk the whole distance. Bad enough it's practically a maze... It wasn't, of course, but to Dahlia, who didn't know what room was what, there was functionally no difference. Either way, she had finally made it to her destination, and the only other place she needed to go was out, which was easy enough. But first, shirts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and--" Dahlia paused briefly, looking to Page, then quickly scanning the room. "--well actually just girls, but you get the picture folks. We are here to pick up my awesome shirts! Shouldn't be too hard to find, they're just the coolest things in the basket." Her grand entry complete, Dahlia's voice took on just a shade more humility, and she gave a short, polite bow to each of the servants passing through or scurrying about doing their jobs. "Seriously though, thanks. I hate to impose, but hey, the washer and dryer probably haven't seen anything but black, white, and gold in ages." She afforded herself a small, sharp grin at that.

That last remark got a small, slightly embarrassed giggle out of her cohort. The servant who Dahlia had earlier referred to as "Jeeves" nodded with a polite smile and retrieved the two girl's clothes, now dried and hung on some coat hangers.

Page accepted her own clothing with a sweet smile. "Um, thank you very much, Sir."

"It's not a problem," the servant replied. He smiled slightly awkwardly. "I'll admit, with what's been going on all around us, just the chance to do some of the old work before....all of this? It's less a hassle than it is a refreshing reminder of much simpler times."

That... actually hit a lot closer to home than one might have expected. After all, Dahlia had just spent a fair amount of time pondering just that sort of thing -- the chaos they all got swept up in, and the "why"s, and perhaps less grimly, the "what now"s. After a brief pause to consider, Dahlia offered her hand to the man to shake, along with a rather less bombastic and more honest smile. "Alright, you're cool in my book. Stuff's kinda crazy right now, sometimes you can't help but wish for..." She trailed off, her gaze settling somewhere in the distance as her mind wandered, however briefly, through her own past. "Heh, yeah... simpler times is right. Thanks again."

The servant returned the handshake, nodding. "It's my pleasure, Miss Asher." A long sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair--pitch black, greying at the temples. "You know... Herr Mises told me about what Lady Lorelei must do, and... Ugh. Why her? Why all of you children? Why not Master Von Hayek--he's a legendary fencer, he could handle all of this. I know Lady Lorelei, I almost raised her... She's an angel and a sweetheart, not a fighter or warrior or soldier. I just..." He shook his head. "I'm reminded of a story my grandfather used to tell, from his days as an officer in Hitler's army. I remember, once, he told me about the siege of Berlin and how the Hitler Youth had been called out to pick up guns and fight. He told me they all looked so scared and confused, and he had to tell them that they were supposed to fight and die for the Fatherland, to save it from 'invading barbarians' and such. Children shouldn't have to do that..." He frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry. But...good luck."

Dahlia was in the midst of liberating her shirt and jacket from their hangers when the man got to the meat of his story -- and she stopped, for just a moment, as she realized something distinctly uncomfortable. I don't even have something -- some clear, definite thing -- to fight for. "Wow, that's... rough." It was as much a reflection on her own thoughts as the story. "I don't think I'll fight and die, though. Too cool to fall for something like that." Whether she meant the dying, or the fighting, was anyone's guess. One thing she did certainly mean, however, was the daring, devil-may-care way in which she said it; whether she really felt it or not, she knew the easiest way to keep at least her friends' morale up was to make them smile, and if she smiled, they tended to smile with her. Curious blue eyes briefly consulted Page's face in hopes that it had worked.

Page had been listening wide-eyed to the story the whole time, not even bothering to begin to take her clothes from the hanger on which they hung. It really was true, wasn't it, what he was saying? They were just like those young soldiers! Panic raced down her spine like a cold chill, and she couldn't think of any way to respond to the story. Fortunately, Dahlia had stepped in for her with what Page was beginning to see as characteristic devil-may-care bravado--not the same kind as Lorelei's courage, but kind of similar. She tentatively glanced up at Dahlia right around the time that her cohort had turned her eyes towards Page. Eyes met--topaz reflecting in sapphire and back again--and Page almost instinctively smiled a bit. It did help her calm down somewhat--at least enough that she wasn't about to panic and could find some way to get her mind off it.

"Sorry, you don't need to hear an old man's tales, especially not right now," the servant shook his head, smiling.

"Um, by the way..." Page muttered before the servant had a chance to leave, turning her gaze away from Dahlia's dark blue eyes towards him. "...What's your name?"

"Florian Lehmann, at your service," the man responded with a practiced bow and flourish.

"Oh, ok. It was very nice to meet you, really."

Dahlia nodded and echoed Page's sentiment. "Florian? Been a pleasure... but I've gotta get back to dinoland before the natives decide to Jurrassic Park my house. You coming, Page?" The question was asked as Dahlia was already on her way to a nearby unoccupied room to get changed. She was actually in something of a hurry to get back now -- despite herself, she was looking forward to having a little company for once. She'd probably come to regret it eventually, but Plan D was 'let the girl come along', not 'think everything through ahead of time'.

In fact, no plan was ever 'think everything through ahead of time'.

...THERE ARE DINOSAURS?! Some part of Page squeaked in absolute terror. Her own crocodillian consorts had been bad enough at first--and they were rather sweet when you really got to know them--but dinosaurs?! She absolutely froze to the spot until her name was called. I...I already offered to come along and she accepted, yes. I...I can't...just...t-t-t-turn that d-d-down... What would Lorelei do, I think? Probably not back down...she's not a coward like I am, really... But I need to try to be like her now, so I don't let people down, I think.

It was less a first step than her falling forward and catching herself. Yet she did uproot herself from where she stood, and headed towards a different changing room. On the way she managed to squeak out in response to Dahlia's question, "U-um, yes!"

===>

"Standing by for liftoff!" Dahlia, now properly attired in her exceptionally stylish shirt and jacket, stood on the stone steps leading up to the door to the Von Hayek mansion. Rocketpack at the ready, Dahlia performed one final check with her fellow flyer. "Third gate, alright? The roof's nice and flat, so it should be an easy landing." She held up three fingers and waved them once, then gave Page a thumbs-up, waiting for acknowledgement to start up her rockets.

Page once again gave a cursory check to her rocket boots that had first brought her there, making sure they were strapped on tightly--the first time she had tried to use them one of the boots weren't attached properly and flew off her foot; the resulting landing had been rather painful. Once she had triple-checked and was quite sure, she returned the thumbs up and started her shoes. Flames belched from the "soles" of them, instantly melting the nearby snow, and she ascended into the air.

A rocket pack, of course, fell a bit more under the 'plain and serviceable' category than rocket shoes, but even then, the device held a certain charm for Dahlia. After all, it was part of the first successful manned moon landing -- okay, just a replica, sure, but still. She began a silent ten-second countdown, watching Page begin her ascent towards the gate that would return them to Dahlia's planet (it was a strange thing, for Dahlia, to think of a thing as "her planet" in a far more personal sense than Earth had been "her planet"), then flicked the ignition switch and began rising up after her newfound companion.

It was almost magical, soaring upward into the sky without anything like a plane needed--and Page had never even been on a plane before, really. She found herself wishing that there had been technology like this back before the whole apocalypse. Then, of course, she remembered that she wouldn't have been able to afford a pair of rocket shoes or jetpack anyway.

Reality could be a bitch.

Speaking of reality's bitchiness, Page was starting to hear some strange noise from her boots as she climbed higher into the air. Sputters and coughs of an engine running on the very last bit of fuel chilled her to the very bone. Her boots sputtered a few more bouts of flame before finally dying out--no more fuel.

It was incredibly terrifying, plummeting downward from the sky without anything like rocket shoes or a net or ANYTHING to stop her descent. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Dahlia's eyes went wide with shock. Suddenly, her world had gone from Apollo 11 to Apollo 13. But the astronauts survived Apollo 13, and despite what seemed like an increasingly likely sudden stop as Page plummeted towards her, she decided in that moment that she and Page would do the same.

She couldn't dart up to meet the girl, of course; physics was still a thing that happened, and the velocity differential would ensure that such a rescue attempt would end with broken arms or broken Page, neither of which was an outcome Dahlia considered acceptable. Instead, she angled herself towards a point between Page and the ground, rocketing at full speed to meet her but not yet intercepting. She turned as she approached, altering her course slowly to a downward trajectory matching Page's, spiraling around her to match her speed and find a suitable vector of approach. All the while, her face was a mask of absolute, resolute calm, the only indication of her intense focus being a slight lowering of her brows and equally minimal narrowing of those alert blue eyes.

"Page!" Dahlia shouted over the roar of rockets, and suddenly Page found Dahlia right next to her. "I want you to hold on tight -- now!" With that she closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping one arm around the girl's slim shoulders, though the other had to remain free to direct her rocket pack. This would only work if Page trusted her.

As soon as Dahlia was close enough, Page threw her arms around the other girl, positively clinging for dear life. She closed her eyes and Dahlia could feel her shiver in panic and fear, but she didn't even need to think about putting her fate completely in Dahlia's hands when the alternative was death.

The instant she felt Page's arms tighten around her, Dahlia began pulling up. With what seemed mere feet to go before the ground, their fall turned to ascent, leveling out briefly above a stretch of low, snow-covered hills. The pressure waves of their passing and the tremendous force output by the rocket pack loosed snow as they passed, a brilliant, sparkling white plume streaking along behind them, drifting towards the ground as they began their ascent. Dahlia couldn't help herself, she shouted with joy. "YES!!!!" Maybe this is what a Hero of Space does! The instant she righted their course and they were safely aimed away from the planet's surface, heading up towards the gates high above, she threw both arms around Page, hugging her tightly despite herself -- she was alive, and Page was alive, and she was a hero.

Sometimes, it's the small victories.

Page had kept her eyes closed the whole way, still scared out of her mind and quaking with fear in Dahlia's grasp, until her savior shouted a loud exultation very close to her ear. Her eyes shot up and she looked down just in time to see Dahlia's rocket pack kick up the snow. Relief, wonder, amazement, gratitude, and embarrassment for the whole debacle flooded her all at once. "I-I...um, thank you..." she said in a voice as soft as a whisper. "S-sorry about that..."

Dahlia loosened her ecstatic hold on Page, and lowered her gaze from the gates overhead. "I told you we wouldn't be dying!" Silhouetted in the white light of Skaia from behind, her blonde hair was a golden halo, deep blue eyes reflecting the light of the stars, a soft smile on her ice-blue lips. "Not today, not any day."

Dahlia turned her eyes once again skyward, rocketing the two of them towards the gate that would take them to the Land of Canyons and Frogs, a smile still on her lips and a feeling of warm contentment in her chest. Maybe there's something to this hero business after all...

((Ripcord's post))

The Guardian stares up at the inky black sky of the Medium, arms crossed and transfixed by what he sees. A thousand--million? billion?--points of light dot the black tapestry of the sky above him. Somewhere in the recesses of the man's millenia-old mind, a half-remembered phrase came to the fore. He could not even remember where it was from, what part of his old human culture spawned the turn of phrase, what significance it had in its original context. He knew not if it was from a movie, book, a show, or something else entirely. All the same, as Guardian stared up at the manifold points of light that reflected in his blood red eyes, he muttered,

"My God, it's full of stars..."

Stars were never something that happened in the Medium. Stars implied, well, stars. Stars and planets and various other physical bodies in the same dimension as one was. Yet there were no other planets in the Medium other than Prospit, Derse, and the various lands. There was no star at all, unless Skaia was involved. The only time one could even see out into the furthest ring was during an eclipse on Derse, and that was only a brief moment to commune with the horrorterrors. So this...this shouldn't even be possible.

These things appeared very recently...right around the time Dahlia entered, actually. Maybe she had something to do with it? All the same, before I go to her, let's see what the other aberration besides these stars is up to, see if he knows. Aberrations tend to breed further aberrations, after all.

And so Guardian took flight, heading straight for a purple planet on the very edge of the Medium: Derse.

===>


"See 'em?"

"Oh, shit."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

The Sangfroid Emissary made wide, sweeping gestures at the points of light above. "Well, what the hell are they?"

===>



The guard took a moment to sling his newly recovered weapon before responding. He was going to have to wash that idiotic writing off later, if he remembered.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you were here when... whatever that was happened."

"You think that's why they showed up?"

"That's what I'm asking you!"

"...Right." He paused, looking into the shining mess that had been empty void for his entire life. "Wait, I've heard of this. I think they're called 'stars'."

SE turned his gaze from the points of light themselves towards BP. If carapaces had eyebrows, one of his would have quirked upward in an inquisitive expression. "What are those and how do you know it?"

"Giant flaming balls of gas. Gita told me they're pretty common where she's from."

"But there shouldn't be anything like that here in the Medium, should there?" a voice from behind them asked in a neutral, almost conversational tone.

===>



Guardian eyed the drawn weapons impassively, his arms still crossed. "Don't try it, I'm out of your league. Besides, I'm just here to talk. I want to know what you know about those 'stars', if you have any idea what they are, any sorta theory about what caused them."

"And just who the hell are you?" SE asked, scowling.

"Guardian."

Craaap. "More questions, I take it?"

"I just asked them, yes. The 'stars'. What do you know about 'em, any ideas or theories? Aberrations tend to have something to do with other aberrations, I've found."

"Even if we did know something, why should we tell you?"

Guardian's hands twitched slightly, and he instinctively kept an eye on the drawn blades as he spoke. Though he outwardly seemed remarkably blase about two people pointing swords at him, in reality he was ready to defend himself immediately if need be. "Because if it's something bad, then it threatens you too. It's in your interest to have me working to help you on this. I have experience and knowledge of the workings of the Medium that you lack."

"If that's true, you should know what the problem is. I have no reason to believe you, and I know you're working directly against Derse. Helping the prince plot a mutiny. In public, too. Why you thought coming here was a good idea is beyond me, and I suggest you leave before we have to take action."

Guardian facepalmed with a long-suffering sigh. "Guh, that's right, the idiot DID open that memo on YOUR computer... What was he THINKING?" He shook his head with a grimace and went back to crossing his arms. "Whatever. You don't understand, though. This is an aberration. Yes, I have experience with the workings of the Medium. That doesn't mean I automatically know what aberrations unique to a session are like. For example, I know what SE here is like, I've met many different SEs. I'm pretty sure if you attack me he's going to make some kind of sarcastic remark about how it's never a good idea to attack the mysterious man with all the information in a story."

"How the fuck-"

"But you, Bodyguard? I know very little about you, and I know very little about these 'stars'. Doesn't mean my experience doesn't come in handy. Regardless of what our objectives in other matters may be, we'll both prosper if we work together on this, if it's a threat. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"I still don't see why you think I would believe you. I won't attack, but if you can't convince me I will have to sound the intruder alarm. Authorities from around the entire planet will be on you in minutes."

Guardian's lips quirked up into an ever-so-slightly cocky smirk. "You say that like it'd actually threaten me. Still, in the end, I can't convince you to trust me. All I'm asking for is sharing of information. I have other sources I can gather information from regarding whatever this is, and if you share yours I'll share mine."

The guard stood firm, unfazed by the human's cocksure attitude. His hand moved slowly toward the pocket of his suit, where his radio sat at the ready. "You and I both know that's not going to happen. You have ten seconds to run."

"As you wish. I have other ways of learning what you may know, and I don't want this going to violence." Two kite shields appeared in mid air in front of Guardian, emblazoned red with a white cross on the front. Operating some function that only he appeared to truly comprehend, he disappeared entirely from their view, traveling to another point in time.

what.

===>

Derse's moon crept slowly onward in its orbit, very near the point it would be closest to the Furthest Ring, which would allow one to commune with the horrorterrors if they were in the right place at the right time. Unseen by the Dersites going about their daily lives below, a brown-skinned man sat on top of the Tower of the Prince of Derse. Guardian waited patiently--patience, indeed, had been something centuries of work as Guardian had taught him very well--for his chance to ask the horrorterrors what they knew of this phenomenon. After all, the Furthest Ring WAS their domain.

He gazed up at the stars that almost seemed to literally twinkle in the sky. They were beautiful, to be sure, but they filled Guardian with a sense of foreboding. Part of him wondered if he should warn the children, who likely viewed these stars as just something pretty and normal in the Medium. Not yet, not unless I think they're a threat and I need their help. They have enough to worry about, after all. I'll try to handle the aberrations, let them handle their normal duties.

Derse's moon swung into a full eclipse of the Furthest Ring, and red eyes gazed into the territory of the alien gods which opposed creation. To Guardian's perception, it was almost like he left his body behind, sitting on that tower, while he himself was transported into the Furthest Ring. Yet when he arrived, as he looked around, it was not the throng of horrorterrors there to meet him that he normally expected. Instead, there was but one, its terrifying and alien geometries filling all his perception, and its multitudinous eyes turning their gaze onto him. A piercing shriek tore through his ears and mind, and the Guardian screamed in absolute agony.

#$^&*TORN@$#**&^%$@asunder
QQQQQQQQQQMAKETTTTTTTTTTTTCOMPLETE
286720984670476DEVOURER1948572946701937UNCHAINED497513489

As soon as it had begun, it had ended, and Guardian was back on Derse, blood pouring from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. His eyesight blurred, darkness took him, and his unconscious form fell from the tower to the ground below.

((Ripcord's post))

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SHOW PESTERLOG


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((Ripcord's post))

It wasn't the heat that would kill you, it was the humidity. But it was also the heat.

The sudden switch between the winter chill of her own world and the oppressive heat of Peter's Land of Steam and Towers had caught Lorelei completely off guard--far more than Peter, who had been expecting it.

===>


Lorelei wiped a hand on her brow, then sat down on the roof of Peter's house where they had landed. "One moment, please. This clothing was worn for much colder weather." She slipped off her shoes and took off the long, thick kneesocks that had been designed to ward off the cold of her own land, and quickly replaced them with some much shorter, thinner socks. Shoes replaced, she stood back up and looked out at Peter's land. "So, this is the Land of...Steam and Towers, is that right?"

"Uh, I think so? To be honest I, uh, wasn't really paying attention yesterday..." Peter offered his friend a sheepish grin. For some reason, he'd been embarassed to admit that to her. "But, uh, I did manage to make a map." After several seconds of rummaging through his satchel (modus), he was able to pull out a folded up piece of paper.

>Peter: Examine map.

Wow.

That is absolutely the shittiest looking map you have ever seen. You feel like you should be ashamed of yourself. You kind of are.

===>


Lorelei walked up behind him, golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Do you mind if I see it, Peter?" she asked, trying to look over his shoulder at it.

"NO. Wait I mean yes. No peeking it's a, uh, secret... adventure... map. Yeah."
ALL OF THE SMOOTH.

Lorelei quirked a quizzical eyebrow, but did not seem too put off, at least. She even seemed slightly amused. "Comme vous voulez, mon cheri. Where to next, then?"

Peter looked down at the 'map', searching for anything that seemed vaguely recognizable. "Well, there's a, uh..."
What is that I don't even...
"...refinery? Somewhere around the giant clock and the squiggly lines I mean snakes."

Lorelei giggled softly. "Well, lead the way, then, fearless adventurer~"

Zach: Enter


xxx|:::::>I


THE FFF-

In perfect time with the THUNK of the knives embedding into the wall, Page--who was walking beside Zach the whole way--let out a frightened yelp and leapt away from the door. She glanced at Zach, who was busy taking cover behind the corner he had walked out of, then back to Dahlia, fear and confusion in those bright blue eyes of hers.

...Oh, crap. "Whoops, didn't recognize the new guy there." Dahlia rubbed the back of her neck, feigning contrition. She wasn't. "Heard some shuffling in the hall, saw black, figured the imps were back or something." She gestured aimlessly as she explained, ending with a finger pointed to Page, or behind her. Instead of beckoning the newcomer over, though, Dahlia paced over to the doorway, first plucking her knives from the wall and returning them to her strife specibus... then leaned around the corner, appraising her guests with a needlessly wry grin.

"Why, Page, I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

Page's face lit up bright red, and she made a frantic, negating gesture by waving her hands quickly in front of herself. "N-n-no, it's, um, nothing like that, not really! H-He's more like a brother to me, honest! ...His, um...name is Zach, actually." She turned to her cohort, face still a tad red, and remarked, "So, this is Dahlia, Zach." Not the most deftly handled introductions, but Page was by no stretch of the imagination a socialite anyway.

Zach removed his singed palm from his face (which was now a bright shade of red.) and held it out reflexively to shake Dahlia's hand. Probably not necessary, but it was the only thing he could think to do here. "...what she said."

Zach... For a moment, Dahlia's expression seemed distant, distracted... and then suddenly came right back to that grin, foregoing the handshake for an elaborate bow, complete with thoroughly overdone hand flourish.

JM: [That would be inaneFixation, by the way. When we're not busy keeping you from dying you should troll his ass unmercifully because Lorelei yells at me when I do it now.]
SM: Oh man really? He's here too? This day just gets better and better.

It was all Dahlia could do to keep from laughing hysterically. So this was her longtime victim, nemesis, and all-around buttmonkey. And here he was, on her home turf. Oh, this is going to be fun... "Zach, is it, then? Dahlia Asher at your service, and welcome to my humble abode. I do hope you didn't get too lost along the way... I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you." While her tone suggested politeness, her expression was rather like a shark circling its next meal.

The insult soared over Zach's head, but he couldn't help but pick up a hint of malice in her expressions. He warily returned his hand to his pocket, glancing around at the photographs surrounding them as he made his response. "It wasn't too bad. I'd say getting in was the hard part." An awkward pause. "Sorry about that."

Dahlia quirked a brow. So that's what the crash she heard was. Some part of her suspected the burn marks on his hands might also be related to this... but nobody would be dumb enough to make a flying machine that puts a rocket next to their hand, right? Yes, that must be right. "Whatever novel means of entry you managed to invent, I'm sure it's no worse than Gita already accomplished." She shrugged, offering a rather more sincere grin of actual, genuine amusement. It was rather difficult to maintain malice when he seemed so well-meaning and apologetic, a fact Dahlia silently cursed, as she was so looking forward to this... but there would be no harm in playing the part of the excellent host, for now. "In any case, consider yourself my guest as of this moment. Feel free to make yourself welcome to the bowl of candy on the--"

Oshit. The table full of awkward, embarrassing photos of your younger self, you were about to say? Dahlia quickly hopped over to the table and began shuffling the cut-up leftover photo bits into a pile and/or cramming them into the photo albums sitting on the edge of the table. "Never mind my mess, I'll have this cleaned up in just a moment... as I was saying, though, make yourself right at home." Anything to keep them busy while she got everything back where it was and avoided the embarrassment of showing a new (old) friend and a (sort of) total stranger her baby photos.

Well, not baby photos.

Dahlia didn't have baby photos.

"O-Oh, um, I'm s-!" Page's apology cut off abruptly, as she managed to catch herself from doing the very thing she had been yelled at for doing earlier. Nevertheless, she still turned her head until Dahlia was done, not wanting to snoop or pry.

Whew. Crisis: averted. Dahlia finished returning what remained of the cut-up photos, along with the stacks of unused ones that didn't have a useful view of the wall-writing in her room, to the albums she had taken them from, then returned those albums to an empty place on a tall bookshelf. It wasn't where they came from, but, well, out of sight, out of mind. That done, she returned her attention to Page's new companion (and her own new guest-slash-victim). "What brings you here, Zach? Aside from exceptionally bad luck. That seems to be something of a running theme today."

"Exceptionally bad luck" was one way to describe the events of the last couple of days. Zach shrugged and suppressed a sigh. "I wanted to use your alchemiter. Make some flight gear that didn't hurt to use before I went home." When he said they'd hurt to use, he was referring not to the old burns on his hands, but the strain the thrusters put on his weak arms. As it was, he didn't have the upper-body strength to keep using them. Of course, he assumed they knew that was what he'd meant. "What about you? How'd you get into the medium?"

Dahlia plucked another lollipop from the neglected bowl on the table and stuffed it into her mouth, responding with a noncommittal shrug. "Shenanigans." Could she have answered in a more thorough and less infuriatingly vague fashion? Yes. Did she want to, particularly given all that had happened, and the rather unpleasant implications of the Professor actually having her best interests in mind, and in fact saving her life indirectly? Hell no. "Feel free to use whatever of the facilities you need, including the Sburb ones. Try not to fall through the hole in the roof though." She meant the one Gita inadvertently made with the cruxtruder, of course, but...

Page gazed longingly over to the candy bowl. Moreso than most people, for her candy was a rare treat, given her financial situation for all her life. Most of the time she got any it was because some nice person took pity on her and gave her, say, a bit of chocolate or something. She glanced back at Dahlia, gesturing towards the candy bowl. "Um, do you mind if I...?"

While Dahlia didn't know all the particular circumstances behind it, she guessed at least some of them, knowing what she knew of Page thus far, and her earlier wry grin was replaced by a broad smile as she nodded in response to the girl's question. "By all means! You're a guest too, after all, so you should definitely feel free to make yourself welcome to anything I've got -- if you're hungry later we can come back here for lunch, or bring something along, or..." Realizing she was rambling (in and of itself not specifically an unusual thing, given her stream-of-consciousness manner of typing, but falling over herself trying to be nice to someone else was unusual), Dahlia just trailed off and ended with an embarrassed grin.

"Oh, uh..." She wasn't mad anymore? Page could hardly believe it, and couldn't hide her relief as a wide, matching grin graced her features. "Thank you very much!" Page promptly wandered off to the candy bowl, digging through it and examining the names of the various confections within. She eventually settled on a few pieces of dark chocolate, which she unwrapped and munched delicately on as the conversation went elsewhere.

Zach scratched his head, an instinctive gesture that did nothing but telegraph how nervous he was. "Uh, no thanks." he muttered. "That bread's pretty filling and I really should get going soon..." As he started for the door, he realized he was still lost, and that the only surefire way he knew to get out was up. No that is not a way out don't be an idiot. "Which way to the door?"

Dahlia sighed and slapped her forehead. Jesus is it really that hard? It's not like this is the Von Hayek mansion or something. That's what Dahlia told herself, anyway. It helped her, not feeling like a spoiled rich kid, when she had an actual spoiled rich kid to compare herself against. The simple fact of the matter, of course, is that while she was not particularly spoiled, the house was previously a large research complex, and substantially larger than the average house, more than enough to get lost in if one had a poor sense of direction. "Alright, pay attention, 'cause I'm only gonna do this once." Though her words would have been harsh under normal circumstances, Dahlia was far too busy smiling and chuckling to herself to be mean. She gestured to indicate directions as she explained. "Out that way, around the corner, you'll hit the stairs... on past the crazy tiki mask on the wall, turn there, turn again after the bookshelf with the antique astrolabe, stairs up... on past my room, down the hall, rooftop stairs are on your left. All the crazy Sburb stuff is up there, cruxtruder aside -- feel free to grab some of that weird blue stuff from my room, I think it's got an infinite supply or something."

<===>?



"Okay. Sure." This would be so much easier if you weren't directionally challenged.

Zach left through the door he'd come through and had made it all of two steps toward the exit before catching himself. "OH, almost forgot to ask. Do you have a chumhandle?" He wasn't sure what to think of her at this point, but it wouldn't hurt to stay in contact with everyone he could.

A-ha! Finally the plan comes full circle! Dahlia couldn't help the devious grin that crept onto her lips. "It's spiraMirabilis, spelled exactly like the phrase." And then she waited for realization to hit him like the inevitable ton of bricks it was.

And she waited.

And waited.

"'Kay. Can you write that down?"

"...What?" Surely he couldn't be serious.

"I lost my phone in my inventory, could you write that down so I don't forget it?"

Lost... his phone. In his inventory. ...He really has no idea, does he? Dahlia sighed and shook her head, struggling to muster a grin of apparent amusement. She wasn't. "Oh, yeah... just a sec." A nearby desk provided pen and paper, and she handed a torn-off piece thereof to Zach containing her chumhandle. She smiled, but inwardly she was kicking herself. Really? Am I honestly that forgettable? This is just not my day...

Zach smiled politely and took the paper, stuffing it into his pocket so that it wouldn't be sucked into the black hole that was his inventory management system. "Thanks. See you two later, I guess." With that he was off, returning through the hallway that had led him there. Dahlia seemed... alright. Bit weird, though. Some of those grins had looked outright malicious and Zach had had no idea why.

Oh well. It probably didn't concern him.

This was illegal.

This was so COMPLETELY illegal.

An AUTHORITY REGULATOR, clad in smart suit and sporting a pair of fake bird wings on his back, hovered over the form of this unconscious human being, like a vulture over its prey. His first efforts had been directed to figuring out whether this strange brown person was even alive, for the man looked almost as if he had been tortured. His pulse and breathing were regular, at least, so he was merely unconscious. Compassion's duty complete, it was now time to serve Madam Justice.

"This is so ridiculously illegal..." the Regulator muttered to himself, drubbing the man on the head with his nightstick. "Bleeding on public property like this? If you don't get up and cease this action at once I'm going to have to take you in!"

The man, of course, said nothing, nor did he move.

Lousy recalcitrant criminal scum.

Soon enough, the man was locked away in the slammer (the slammer is what you call "prison" when you're mad at crooks)--one of the really lower level ones by the request of the Queen herself--and his specibus and modus taken.

>Guardian: Dream.

Dahlia landed in a tight crouch, sweeping around in her compact pose to prepare for any potential retaliation. The gesture was largely pointless, as the last ogre had burst into a shower of grist the instant her knife cleared the final wound, but Dahlia was of the belief that there would be no such thing as too careful in this game.

Ogres! That is, plural. Traveling in groups. Dahlia shook her head, rising to her feet and brushing the dust from the knees of her pants, and returned her knives to their specibus with a quick flick of her wrists. She had trouble believing she would ever get used to this. The sudden jump in difficulty, she told herself, was most likely due to Page's presence, having been in the game longer than Dahlia had and thus being a bit more experienced at the whole thing. It was probably a terrible idea, in retrospect -- but then, there had been something of a dearth of ideas that were not terrible in Dahlia's life lately. She called over her shoulder to her companion.

"You alright back there, kid?" Page wasn't even a year younger than her, of course, but calling her that helped Dahlia to distance herself. It was important to keep a certain distance.

"Y-Yes!" came the timid response from behind Dahlia. Not a few moments earlier, the shorter girl had finished off an ogre with the weapon Guardian had given her the code for, SPEAK SOFTLY AND CARRY A BIG STICK, and the loud CRUNCH sound things always made when Page ended their virtual lives still had a way of unnerving her. She still quivered lightly in fear, but to her credit had not turned and ran away like she had in many of her first battles.

Page sent her own weapon back to her specibus and set about gathering the grist from the fallen foes. Much as she had all the other times she had destroyed a game construct, she muttered to herself "I'm sorry about this, really..." as she did so.

It was an odd habit, to be sure, but Dahlia simply shrugged and moved on. They were game constructs, existing to provide obstacles between the players and their goals, and to facilitate the goals of alchemy. Anything beyond that, Dahlia simply didn't bother thinking about. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and set off across the dusty terrain, heading towards what appeared to be a village somewhere in the distance. "That's four more ogres than I'd like to have to deal with again, so we should probably keep moving." She glanced back over her shoulder, grinning to Page, as well as checking to make sure she was following and slowing her pace just enough for the shorter girl to catch up. "I thought monsters were supposed to be less common the closer you got to towns in games like this, not more."

Page jogged back to Dahlia's side, whereupon she slowed down back to a walk matching that of her companion's. "Are they? I've never actually played any game like this, I guess." A beat. "Well, obviously not any game like this, but, well, RPG games like you're referencing, maybe."

Dahlia was quiet for a long moment. Suddenly she felt really bad about the implications of that statement. Page was homeless, after all. Video games were obviously not a luxury she could take for granted, the way Dahlia could. "...Huh. I guess so," she muttered, and resolved to put it out of her mind. For a while she just walked, listening to the distant sounds of the planet's other residents and trying desperately not to crack any Jurassic Park jokes. At some point a frog hopped across their path, stopping in front of them. Dahlia nudged the little amphibian with her toe and it went bounding off in the direction of the village they were approaching. "Man, all these frogs. It's almost like they should've named this place after them... oh wait." Dahlia shot Page a wry look, grinning.

It was a silly joke, but Page found herself grinning right back. "I wonder what they're for? I don't think they're your consorts, maybe, since mine and Lorelei's could talk and stood on two legs, sort of... I guess they might just be part of the world like the..." Page's face grew ever so slightly pale, "um, dinosaurs...perhaps."

Well, that's going to be... inconvenient. As the pair approached the outskirts of the village, it became rapidly apparent that there was some manner of commotion taking place inside the village itself. Several small (perhaps four feet tall) blue lizards scurried through the streets between ramshackle Victorian-style buildings, looking rather like something out of a particularly surreal Tim Burton movie. Dahlia's mind, however, was still too preoccupied with Page's comment about the dinosaurs to really take note. It wasn't the first time she'd balked at the prospect. If she's gonna go running the other way every time something large and reptilian makes some noise in the distance, this is going to be a very long journey... or a very short one.

As if on cue, a chorus of howling roars sounded from the far side of the village.

Page's face only grew even whiter and the young girl balked, instinctively taking a single step backwards. The smaller girl shivered like a single leaf, still clutching to its tree, blown in the autumn wind. She said nothing, she was too scared, but neither did she outright turn and run. At least, not yet.

Dahlia seemed rather remarkably blasé about the whole thing -- though as would soon become apparent, this was due more to morbid curiosity than any particular fearlessness on her part. As she approached the village for a better look, a trio of the small blue lizards came scurrying around the corner of a nearby house, followed closely by a pair of mounted imps.

Dinosaur-mounted imps, that is.

They were, of course, not alone; several other imps darted erratically through the village atop their reptilian steeds (looking rather like the small theropod she had seen on the mountain near her house several hours before -- though they looked rather less small up close), crashing through what appeared to be a central market, overturning carts of fruit, and just generally menacing the amphibian populace. These were accompanied by a pair of ogres who were presently playing catch with a spare chunk of wall dislodged from one of the houses the dinosaur-riding imps had crashed into, strolling along as they scouted for a better target for their debris-tossing skills.

Dahlia stopped dead in her tracks. "...Nope screw this."

Page hesitated, glancing back and forth between the chaos and destruction of the village and Dahlia herself. Fear and compassion waged a fierce battle within her, every cry of a dinosaur bolstering Fear's forces and every panicked wail of a consort reinforcing Compassion.

"...Sh-shouldn't we...we h-help them...maybe?" she almost-whispered, just barely audible to her traveling companion.

>this is illegal.

"I mean...th-this is....it's illegal, sort of?"

Dahlia quirked a brow at the curious non sequitur. "...Illegal?" She chuckled and shook her head. "What it is, is none of my business. I don't know about you, but lunch is currently on my to-do list, not my to-be list. And with my luck this is one of those stupid unwinnable boss fights. Nope, not touchin' it." And with that, she turned and began strolling in a non-dinosaurward direction. "They always put one of those near the beginning of games like this... I think it's like a law of video games or something."

Page, nevertheless, remained rooted to the spot. One hand clutching her temple, grimacing from what appeared to be a sudden headache. "I..."

>this is so completely illegal.

"It's just...illegal, how they're causing so much destruction, kind of..."

>Don't you remember what I taught you? Out there, cops don't just enforce the law, they ARE the law.

Page was almost doubled over now, clutching her head with both hands. "Aaugh, my head..." she moaned.

"And I'm sure they'll be more than glad to sort out all those sticky legalities while pondering just how delicious you are. Come on now, I'm really not interested in having to sit through yet another boring fune--" Dahlia paused, glancing back over her shoulder, though she remained adamant in her opinion that approaching the village was nothing even remotely resembling a good idea. "...Page?"

>i didn't write that, it was on some asshole's website. i wish i'd written it. it's a good line! they...ARE...the law...

Almost as if controlled by some puppet master pulling invisbile strings attached to her body, Page took one step forward towards the village, still doubled over and cluchtcing her head. "I-I..."

>you are the law, Page.

"I-I..am..."

>out there, you are the law!

"There's no one else out here! I...I..."

>BE THE LAW!

All of a sudden, like a single switch being casually flipped, the meek, doubled-over in pain, scared little girl felt a fire blaze in her heart. Fear fled the battlefield in a mass rout and Compassion, bolstered by Courage and Duty, gave chase, erasing the last vestiges of their enemy. The same flame kindled in her heart seemed to blaze in her ice-blue eyes, and without any further hesitation, she ran towards the village as fast as she could, screaming one sentence as a fierce battle cry.

"I AM THE LAW!"

Dahlia had, by this point, fully turned around to see just what on earth had gotten into Page, and as her younger companion darted towards the village, Dahlia went against all reason and good sense and started walking after her. This is probably the worst and stupidest idea I have engaged in all day, and that's saying something. At least I could keep up with timid Page. She sighed, shaking her head. Alright, fine. Let her go yell at the dinosaurs or give them a citation for disturbing the peace or whatever -- what the hell's that all about anyway? -- and then once she's got that out of her system we can resume the previous plan of not being eaten. I like that idea.

Seeming to spring from naught but the void itself, dark storm clouds began to form above the village as Page raced in. With just as much forewarning as the clouds themselves had appeared with--none--it began lightly hailing. Consorts ran for shelter, but the enemies seemed, at most, to be lightly peeved. The young Page of Frost confronted, first a group of menacing ogres who had just finished wrecking what appeared to be a cabbage cart (a nearby consort's despairing wail of "MY CABBAGES!" pointed to the precise identity of its owner). The ogres approached the lone Page, nearby dinosaur cavalry moving to her flanks to prevent escape.

With a single hand, palm upward, Page started from her waist and made a quick lifting motion in the air until her arm was high above her head. In time with the movement, a great spire of ice burst from the ground and impaled one of the ogres, lifting it high above the tallest tower in the village before the ogre disappeared in a shower of grist, falling to the ground. The enemies wasted no more time and quickly charged her from all sides.

It was half martial art, half dance. As the Page of Frost gracefully moved across the battlefield, wherever her hands directed side followed. Sometimes forming the hail in the air above them into a large block of ice used to crush an ogre by sheer force (hands above in a cup position, bring the hands together, then bring both clenching hands downward like the hammer of justice itself). For another ogre, it was sharp icicles, as thin and razor-sharp as needles, formed from the moisture in the air around them and sent flying towards it (hands spread outward, a graceful twirl, then push both hands, palms extended, towards the enemy).

Soon the foes realized that they could not win (certainly not in the midst of this hailstorm which provided her with such an advantage). The dinosaur cavalry quickly took to its heels in an organized retreat. They even believed that they were safe when they had cleared the village limits while the Page of Frost had been involved with creating a prison of ice around the final living ogre. They failed to make good on their escape, however, as the Page saw their attempts to flee. Both hands by her waist, palms up, quickly raise both hands above her. A thick, formidable sheer wall of ice as tall as the spire that still stood, towering over the rest of the village, rose up to block their path. Wave both hands in a circular motion towards herself, clasping the hands when they meet but an inch from her own face. The wall formed a circle around them, trapping them. Hands out, fingers extended apart, leap forward and bring the hands down to the ground as she lands. Tiny lines in the wall of the ice turned to water, thus creating something more akin to the bars of a prison cell than a sheer wall of ice.

The Page of Frost whirled on the ogre trapped in a cage nearby, yet still yelled plenty loud enough for the cavalry to hear. "AND NEVER BOTHER ANY OF THESE LIZARDS EVER AGAIN!"

Dahlia's cautious walk had slowed to a bewildered stumble as she watched, wide-eyed, her newest acquaintance decimate the attacking forces in a show of raw elemental might. Ever the master of wit and turns of phrase, Dahlia straightened her slack jaw and exercised her considerable grasp of eloquence: "Holy shi--"

Page's eyes rolled back in her head and, without warning, she collapsed flat on her face.