SW
Mustardblood
Posts: 106
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Post by SW on Oct 29, 2021 21:17:12 GMT -5
Rain pelted the bustling streets of downtown Horizon, and yet the pulse of the city never once slowed. Even when the storm raged, sending pedestrians scrambling for awnings and umbrellas, the night remained awash with activity, streets as full of people as the stars in the night sky they reflected underfoot. Under the kaleidoscope light of the hunter's moon, Martel Jain coasted to a slow stop at a busy intersection, waiting for the traffic light to change, and lifted her goggles to properly take in the city's glow. Even after all these turns, she still never got tired of it. "Hell of a night, huh?" It was a nari habit to simply strike up a conversation out of the blue, and the busy city streets were no exception -- if anything, the greater concentration of people made it all the more common. A car had pulled up to the intersection alongside her, and its driver dangled an arm out the open window to gesture towards the sky, seeming not to care that his expensive suit was getting wet. " Sure is, dude. Haven't had rain like this since... yesterday," Martel replied with a toothy grin, and they shared a laugh. She took a moment to size him up: a ruddy man in suit one size too large, perhaps five or so turns her senior. Likely an apprentice working in one of the towering office buildings that dominated the skyline of inner Horizon, an up-and-comer on his way home from a day in the shark tank. Likely a successful one, too; if his car didn't give that away, hovering a few inches off the street rather than coasting on wheels, then the silver-filigreed sword and scabbard would have, tucked in next to the driver's seat like some might carry a parasol or cane. "Anything good in the trunk?" This time he waved idly to the tote box fastened to the back of her scooter, feigning a disinterest that did nothing to hide the fact that he clearly hadn't had time to eat since breakfast. Someone in the passenger seat reached across the center console to deliver an admonishing slap to the back of his shaggy head, and Martel laughed again. A telltale chime rang out over the steady rasp of rain, and the traffic light flashed green. " Call us up at Guffy's and find out for yourself!" Martel fished briefly in her inner jacket pocket to produce a business card, and flicked it through the open window as the car began to slowly depart. She regarded the driver with one last broad, languid smile before speeding off into the night. ====>'Guffy', as he was called, was the owner and head chef of a local jam kitchen. It wasn't his name, but he had a fairly dismal opinion of the linguistic prowess of the average Horizon jobber, so he titled his business with the jovial-sounding nickname instead. Guffy wasn't the only chef at the restaurant, playing host to a loose crew of friends and acquaintances with a culinary bent, and the offerings changed daily, as one might expect from a jam kitchen. Martel worked there as a delivery driver, and occasionally helped in the kitchen between deliveries, at first just because it smelled good, and then later because it was an interesting new skill. Her wages afforded her a few meager expenditures, the foremost of which was the upkeep of her scooter. A vintage Vesper 180 Super Sport from before she was even hatched, her noble steed was as gaudy as it was reliable, and she'd have it no other way. She had purchased it with the proceeds from that atrocious commercial, and she still laughed every time she saw the fading Tigersport sticker affixed to the vehicle's front. " Forty-five to fifty miles per awesome in every molecule!" Between that and the prior exchange, one might be forgiven for thinking Martel an advertiser in the making, but the simple truth was that she just did what came naturally, and what came most naturally to Martel Jain was an honest appreciation for seeing the best in others, and seeing them do their best. If this particular endorsement led to Niall -- tonight's conducting chef, an energetic fresh face with a killer recipe for Luentish mixed-grill wraps -- getting a few more orders, and even more confidence as a result, then that's all she could possibly ask for. To answer the earlier question: yes, there is indeed something good in the trunk. Hella good, in fact. She'd have to swing by the kitchen for a quick bite after her shift. For now, though, her cargo awaited delivery, and she pulled up to the grey skyrise apartment building with food still piping hot. Normally one might carry deliveries in their sylladex, but diners valued that fresh-from-the-pan warmth, and the thermalizer tote box mounted on the back of her scooter was a common fixture for delivery drivers, serving the sleepless city with kitchen quality in the comfort of their own homes!See? It's just what comes naturally. A trilling beep from her pocket drew Martel's attention as she drifted through the entry hall like she lived there. Without missing a beat, she retrieved the corded earpiece from her pocket and answered her mystery tweeter through her phone's text-to-speech (and vice versa) interface as she rode the elevator to her destination floor. -- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] began tweeting neverGiveup [NG]--
PU: greetings. PU: would you like to play a game? NG: I hope it doesn't cost anything.. The last one you invited me to was kind of a mess!! PU: you wound me, madam. had i known the creators intended to abandon it from the start, i wouldn't have invested quite so much time. or money. or care. NG: Hey man, you liked it while it was here, and that's what counts, doesn't it?? PU: ...well, anyway. this game, i assure you, holds much more promise than its doomed predecessor. PU: and, it merits note, a much more select playerbase. hand-picked, even. NG: That's a pretty fancy way of saying you're inviting your friends, y'know.. ":P PU: do not misunderstand me, martel. there are forces at play here much larger than this humble gatekeeper. NG: Such a flair for the dramatic!! Have you ever considered a career as a performer?? Perhaps a magician of some sort?? PU: har de har har, miss sports drink spokeswoman. NG: Hey now, that was AWESOME.. Mostly.. NG: Ah, one sec, alright?? NG: Guffy's delivery!! Fresh from our pans to your hands!! PU: awesomely ridiculous, perhaps. NG: Aw nuts, I always forget to hit the button..Martel (belatedly) muted her microphone as the door swung open to reveal a bedraggled young woman in a businessy-looking skirt and hastily donned light sweater. Martel held the paper sack up and read the order off the ticket like she hadn't already committed it to memory. " Wrap combo, extra spice, daur dumpling meal -- large -- two drinks and a house special nutbar?" In lieu of an answer, the customer just hurriedly shoved a small wad of bills into Martel's waiting hand and snatched up her order, turning to head back inside. Initially, Martel was content to shrug and set off down the hallway whence she came -- the woman clearly had, shall we say, pressing business to return to -- but a sudden shout of recognition from behind her stopped her as her finger hovered over her earpiece's mute button. "Heyyyyy! Aren't you--" Preempting the obvious, Martel called back over her shoulder. " You got it: Horizon Central Wolves!" She tugged on her jacket to display the logo patch. " Regional subleague champions three turns and counting!" That clearly wasn't quite the question the woman was about to ask, but it seemed to satisfy her. " We've got a game coming up tomorrow, big event, pregame show with this kickass local band and everything. Maybe I'll see you there?" "Maybe you will, maybe you will~" the woman replied in a distinctive northern singsong, rolling her eyes playfully before vanishing behind her apartment door. She wouldn't. Martel returned her attention to her other conversation as she made her way down the elevator and back to her scooter. PU: ever the charmer, miss 'horizon central wolves'. NG: Hey now!! I'm just out here spreading the good word!! PU: heeheehee. i'm just teasing. it's only right that i should revenge myself upon your misfortune after you so callously mocked mine, after all. NG: Man, I am NEVER gonna live that one down, am I?? PU: to your credit, you were right. it was 'bullshit', as you so eloquently put it. you saw it coming long before i did. it was bullshit and i unilaterally regret my involvement. PU: ...or, i would, were its carcass not such a rich resource of deceased code. NG: Game ghosts?? Ooo, spooky.. PU: mock as you may, o delver of the bones of departed buildings and the graves of wistful history. NG: Alright, fair play, you got me there!! PU: may i take that as confirmation of your participation in the coming delta test? NG: Isn't that just a fancy way of saying 'release'?? PU: i'll take whatever petty linguistic joys i can. PU: yes or no? your storied evasiveness won't keep you from my shadowy talons forever. NG: Can't tonight, sorry.. Coach is already worried I won't get enough sleep before tomorrow's game.. NG: Raincheck?? PU: and miss out on the exclusive opening night festivities? PU: surely he'll be sleeping by the time you return. it's already past dark, and my own keeper has long since retired to his chambers. PU: the stage is set, it merely awaits its players. NG: Coach doesn't sleep.. He waits.. PU: you are infuriating, martel jain. PU: and i mean that with all the affection i am able. PU: will you at least begin the file transfer before you adjourn for the night, so you'll be ready tomorrow? i know how dismal your download speeds are at home. NG: Sure thing!! NG: Just lemme deal with this real quick first..
-- neverGiveup [NG] ceased tweeting pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] --
PU: 'deal with'... what? PU: martel??====>
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Post by ropcord on Nov 3, 2021 5:45:37 GMT -5
You are Latnok Iovis, and every day is the same. ====> ====> Start early. They won't wait and neither will you. ====> ====> ====> ====> They're gone. All they stood for, left to you and you alone. You weren't ready. You still aren't ready. You will never be ready. But you have no choice, this is your life. It's the only one you've ever known, and the importance of the tasks you've inherited is a weight on your shoulders no amount of strength can lift. The entire world is counting on you when the invaders make their move. You are the last hope of Avinia against an extraterrestrial armageddon, and you are no hope at all. At least, that's what you tell yourself. Nobody is around to hold you to this. You're alone, a rare and sorry state for any Nari to be in for long, and you're afraid every waking hour of your life that they could come for you like they did for the rest. Nothing is keeping you here but that hollow inevitability. It's enough. ====> You can't rest. ====> ====> You won't rest. ====> ====> ====> ====> You will never be ready, but you have to try. You hold yourself to this with a death grip. Every day is the same, because if you lapse any day could be your last. You can allow nothing to break this stride. If you do, you may never regain- aw jeez you got a message but you were too busy to answer it how embarrassing oh no >Answer -- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] began tweeting nebulousOutlier [NO] -- PU: greetings. PU: would you like to play a game? NO: yes! NO: maybe! NO: probably! what game NO: sorry i've been busy all day how long have you been waiting? PU: and here i was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me. PU: i only tease. don't trouble yourself overmuch, i've had ample work with which to fill the dead time. PU: i would ask if i've caught you at a bad time, but i suppose that inquiry would have been relevant earlier, while your present responsiveness suggests now is at least a marginally better juncture for contact. PU: do you recall those pictures i asked you to take, of the ruins? NO: aw :( NO: how could i forget? you had me go back in there like nine times. NO: i still don't see why you couldn't just use references from the old documentary, slipper knew way more about lighting than i do NO: is that what you've been working on? PU: a recording is poor substitute for the immediacy of physical presence. i would have asked to view them myself, in person, were the old man not quite so adamant that i still lack the constitution for such a journey. a candid series of on-demand photographs was the next best thing. PU: or perhaps I simply enjoyed our conversations, lamer. ";P PU: but to answer your question in simple terms: yes. those humble seeds of knowledge have paid their dividends in the fruit of entertainment. PU: and here, my lovely assistant, is your portion of that princely sum:
-- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] sent nebulousOutlier [NO] the file "SBIRD.~ARC" --
PU: participation in this early release is limited and exclusive, but i've saved a space just for you. NO: well that and i can't let anyone on the island, you know how it is and all NO: okay maybe you don't, it's like 80% extremely classified stuff so not knowing would make sense :x NO: you made a game though?? nice! is it like, set in an ancient temple and you needed a reference? NO: oh man is erro in on this too? NO: heck i need a new computer mine fell off the desk yesterday :( NO: i'll figure it out! don't worry! PU: you could say that is one of the many settings, yes. by... convenient coincidence, if nothing else. but i'd rather not spoil any more surprises prior to its proper launch. PU: by similar fortune of happenstance, cevalo will indeed be one of your coplayers. in fact, on the subject of players, i have a favor i'd like to ask of you. PU: a small favor. don't worry, no more photoshoots. NO: well that's distressingly vague but sure, sign me up! NO: or, uh, NO: i'll sign me up, when i have something that can run it NO: who else is joining? and what's the photoshoot? i mean favor? PU: heeheehee. it's just my flair for the dramatic, don't overthink it. PU: in order to keep the initial release relatively controlled -- and to spare my poor servers the chaos of the inevitable wider release -- the list of invitees is all friends and friends of friends. you should recognize them all, i think. PU: my request concerns one of them in particular: soris, or as you might more readily recognize him, saturninesoldier. i believe the two of you have had some contact of late? NO: oh yeah i went in to ask about NO: ... NO: Anyway. NO: it's been a little while since we talked but i'm pretty sure he doesn't hate me, why? PU: it seems the proverbial shoe is on the other and equally proverbial foot, mr. 'distressingly vague'. PU: but very well, i'll forgive you your privacy if you'll afford me mine. PU: as it turns out, you're not the only friend i have difficulty contacting. as such, i would consider it a personal favor if you could convey to him the same invitation, and the file along with it. PU: there's no need to worry about recognition; he'll know the signature when he sees it. NO: It's Classified. NO: ... NO: bleh. NO: let's just say i'm glad you asked me to snoop around the ruins instead of doing it yourself NO: but alright, i'll ask. who else is joining? also what kind of game is it? NO: is it an mmo? you know how i get about optimizing, don't do this to me :( NO: (and by that i mean i am IN) ((but i guess i'm in either way at this point as soon as i have a computer again) PU: you've put quite the task to me here, latnok, describing a genre that, for all intents and purposes, doesn't properly exist yet. truly i have begun to understand that first and forgotten writer, penning the first words in a time before the stars. PU: an mmo is a fair approximation. did you ever play any of those 'ar' games that briefly trended a few turns back? PU: or... ah. an immersive simulation, perhaps? NO: do flight simulators count? PU: absolutely. i daresay your experience with such a complex interface may well aid you in acclimating to the controls of the other half of the gameplay. PU: each of the players will assume the role of a remote guide, of sorts, for the previous player, and they will in turn be aided by the next. so it will be until first returns to last, and success will depend at least in part on your ability to coordinate with each other whilst preparing against the unknown. PU: ...which, as a certain dear friend is fond of reminding me, is just a fancy way of saying that client and server will be pairing off sequentially to facilitate these adventures. PU: i believe that will suffice for a basic explanation. there are, of course, other particulars that wait to be discovered, but a magician must keep some secrets, lest the audience fail to be mystified when the show begins, don't you agree? NO: ooooooohhhhh asymmetrical multiplayer NO: got it NO: should i get a controller for this too or what? NO: actually i'll just get one NO: it's well within the scope of our budget out here! NO: my budget NO: the budget NO: how long does a session take? i might need to move my schedule around, it's kind of packed lately. PU: there will be ample opportunity to pause and resume another time, once the initial stage is complete. this will be the first full-scale implementation of the software, but i estimate that once you begin, the entire process should take no more than an hour between the two halves of any given player's role. PU: i'm still putting the finishing touches on the central servers, but they should be operational by dusk, give or take. each of you should take some of the remaining time to familiarize yourselves with your coplayers. PU: which brings our circuitous path back to the answer to your earlier question: PU: joining you in this game are several friends and acquaintances from horizon, plus a few from further afield, and a certain princess of the moon with whom i am certain you're already quite familiar. it would be uncouth of me to intrude further without consent, so i'll leave it to each of them to make their various introductions, but in terms of the logistics of client and server, two of them are your specific concern. PU: your server player will be the aforementioned soris. for your client player, i entrust you with the safety and occasional torment of my dear friend martel, or nevergiveup -- long may that dreadful handle live in infamy. PU: treat her well, but not too well. i still owe her a hefty sum of gentle taunting over that and many other things. NO: great! i can do an hour, it's not like all the broken robots are going anywhere. NO: because they're broken. NO: again. NO: but that's what they're for i guess. NO: your dusk or mine? because mine is ongoing and i know same day delivery is impressive but it's not ten minutes impressive unless someone's started hiring wizards or aliens. NO: If It's The Latter Tell Me. NO: martel, though. do i know her? she sounds a lot less familiar and i would probably remember a handle like that, because it's great, and you're crazy :BPU: she'd appreciate that sentiment, i think. PU: she used to go by abjectgrandeur, but i suspect i may be the only one to remember that anymore. what you may remember, however, is a certain ridiculous advertisement for a sports drink that was all over the place a turn or so ago. television, print, computers, you really couldn't escape it. PU: tigersport? PU: yeah. the wolfish girl from that commercial was her. you would do my petty, childish heart a great favor to tease her about that a bit when you speak to her. PU: which i suppose you should do sooner rather than later. she will likely take some time to set up, for various and incredibly frustrating reasons, and work on the server proceeds apace. by the time the two of you are prepared, it should be ready to go. PU: i do apologize in advance for the relative lack of any substantial documentation. creation is rarely a perfect process. fortunately, the initial setup is automated, and the remainder should be easy enough to figure out via simple experimentation. PU: i will be available for consultation in the direst of circumstances, but it is my hope that none of you will have further need of me.NO: not ringing any bells but i guess island life will do that NO: i know the drink though! i've had like six today and you know i'm starting to think that explains some things. i should realy get a can under an electron microscope, i think they're doing something to the molecular structure of the sugar. NO: i will do my best to bug her with my limited information. o7 NO: and NO: be honest NO: who actually reads tutorials anyway NO: (nobody) NO: does that mean you're not playing though? i mean i get having to watch the servers but you'd catch bugs ingame too if it's about troubleshooting. NO: i think. NO: i'm more of a hardware person though, software is basically arcane to mePU: concerns for another time. i've already tested an earlier version of the software, and i have set aside a place from which to observe everyone's progress. PU: for now, i am merely your humble gatekeeper. PU: a duty to which i should now return. there's always something left, and yours is not the last journey to set sail tonight. PU: good luck, latnok, though i hardly think you'll need it.NO: oh, if you say so! NO: well i'll see you around then, i need to clean this mess up NO: good luck with the rest of whatever you're doing! -- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] ceased tweeting nebulousOutlier [NO] --[/font] Well that was pleasant. Little weird but which of your friends aren't? Anyway you have a robot crater to dig parts out of and a new computer to order. Get to it!
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
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Post by Naevius on Nov 3, 2021 14:14:21 GMT -5
Unfocused... Unfocused! Still you are unfocused! Your fatherbecame victim of the Assassins before your very eyes! Still, you are unfocused and wavering! Who else needs to die before you learn?!The Assassins took your father! The Assassins took your world! How will you make them pay?!WHATWILL YOU TAKEFROM THEM?!"Everything."====> A young man stood in the dojo of Horizon's City's chapter of the Order of Sophia's Knights, the Untouchables. It just so happened that this day was a special one. Though it was three turns ago that he joined the Order, it was only this day that he would be fully inducted and given his Sophic Name. What shall the name of this young man be? "Parakletos." The name came as something of a slight shock to young Soris Saturninus. Every Untouchable knew the language in which he spoke, the language of the founders of the Order so many years ago. One of Soris' first lessons upon being taken to the Order's hideout was not in combat, as he had expected, but in Heleni. It was Order policy to speak only in Heleni, as they were now. So, Soris certainly knew--instantly--the meaning of the sobriquet given to him: " 'Helper', Grandmaster Bythos? ...Are you sure?" It certainly didn't sound like a cool warrior-monk name. Grandmaster Bythos was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Fitting for one bearing the Sophic Name given to all male Grandmasters of the Order, he contained many depths and personas within one person. His specialty was blending in with the Assassins to strike as one they cared for most; even--bizarrely and a little frighteningly to Soris--masquerading perfectly as a woman at times. He did not even dare show his true face within the halls of the Order, and not a man or woman therein knew what that true face might look like or what his original name had been. There was even a rumor floating about that all of the Bythoses and Siges--Sige being the name female Grandmasters were given--of the Order's whole history were simply this one man practicing and honing his craft over time. Such an idea was absurd...until you met him. Today, Bythos was an elder Sargossin man with purple skin, star-shaped eye markings, orange hair pulled back into a ponytail, yellow feathers, a long mustache reaching down to his chin, and a supposedly-blind eye with an eyecatching scar. Yesterday he was a West Lebuktese aristocrat. Tomorrow he might be a Veraisan geriatric or, perhaps, even a damn Vemosa. None who knew could doubt his skills, though all wondered at it. Nevertheless, today was not about Bythos, but about the newly-minted "Parakletos". Soris stood at attention and kept his gaze stolidly forward as Bythos walked circles around him. Bythos did not answer his question for quite some time, and Soris knew better than to prompt. The Grandmaster had his ways, and Soris was far too cognizant of the fortune to be mentored by the best to push his luck. Finally: " Unfocused." Oh, how Grandmaster loved to use that word with Soris. He could never really understand how he was unfocused. Surely his zeal was enough? Had he not sworn, when offered the chance to train under the Grandmaster, to take everything from them? He had every personal interest in seeing the Assassins destroyed root and branch. " How am I unfocused, Grandmaster?" " Unfocused..." he simply repeated. Grandmaster made one more circuit around Soris, scrutinizing every aspect of his form and being, before he came to a halt in front of Soris. "You are not fully focused on the mission. You still hold ties to the world around you. Like with that Martel girl you elope to see." Soris couldn't help but flinch at that. He had thought he had been clever and sneaky with his nighttime escapades. It was a foolish delusion; someone like Bythos could have been any of the people they passed on the streets. Nevertheless, he felt the need to defend Martel's honor, so to speak: " Sh-... She is just a friend, Sir, not what you might be thinking... Is that really...causing me to lack focus...?" " Unfocused..." Bythos repeated again. He paused, mulled it over, and continued: "But Parakletos will be Parakletos. Parakletos can only be Parakletos. So, Parakletos shall be named Parakletos. 'Helper'. You are unfocused, but mayhaps that will be for good. A Holy Order needs all types." Well...that is kind of confusing, but...good, maybe? Soris snapped back to full attention. " Thank you, Grandmaster!" "Mm." Grandmaster replied gruffly. Then, he took a few steps back and barked out, " Show me your forms, Parakletos!" Soris needed no additional prompting. He stepped to his left and into a martial stance, with his arms pointed at a 90 degree angle and with two fingers extended at the end to mimic the dual pistols with which Untouchables often fought. He stood in that stance for half a second before moving to one where he stood up stock-straight and with his arms spread wide, the finger "guns" pointed at a prospective opponent on each side of him while minimizing his profile for return fire. This was called the Stavros form. Each form had been drilled into his muscle memory by rote from his first days in the Order's halls, and Soris accomplished each with mechanical perfection. Grandmaster Bythos, for his part, circled around the young knight like a vulture, looking for any flaw to pick at. Soris offered him none. So, if for no other reason than to give himself something to do, Bythos launched into his usual lecture: "The Gun Forms. To be nari is to be mutual heir of millions of years of accumulated instinct. In battle, when the self is stripped away and only the raw demand of survival remains, no individual nari is all too different in action. Through analysis of thousands of individual gun battles our Order has divined the Battle Archetypes, the statistically most-likely placement of enemies in a battle based on starting position and their most probable vectors of attack. Via mastery of the Gun Forms, the Untouchable shall be able to place themselves to maximize firepower on the maximum amount of enemies and maximize chances of survival. Such is part of how we earned the name by which the masses know us. When battle strips away all but your very core, your muscle memory shall save your life, if you but commit to learning them." His speech over, Grandmaster finally brought his circle to a stop in front of Soris. "Such is Our Way." Soris, now with a freshly-coated sheen of light sweat, returned to his stock-steady ready position. " Such Is Our Way," he mimicked. "Good. You have learned well enough, still remember your fundamentals. Unfocused, but as ready as you are capable of being. Any questions?" Well, Soris did have one little question. It felt rather stupid to ask, but Soris knew that if he didn't it would only bother him for the rest of the day. " Just one, Grandmaster..." He bit his lips, gulped down air, hesitated... There was no really good way to say this, so, in the end, he just said it: " Where is everyone, Grandmaster?" Soris had been to many Naming Ceremonies in his three turns under the wing of the Order of Sophia's Knights. Every one had various members young and old flanking the walls of the dojo during it, in addition to the Master--or Grandmaster, in Horizon City's case--presiding. Here, it was but Soris and the Grandmaster alone. Was it something to do with the fact that he was taught by the Grandmaster himself, or was it perhaps because he was so " unfocused"? The question seemed to provoke a little mirth in the otherwise-grim man. "I was wondering whether you would ask. The answer is simple and has less to do with you than you realize: the Pythia demanded that all but you and I vacate the Order's headquarters for the day of your Naming Ceremony. I know not why, and it is not our place to ask. The Pythia's word is law. Such is Our Way." " Such is Our Way." Soris let out a breath he had not realized he was holding in. Whatever the strange circumstances, at least--hopefully--it was not because he was inadequate or hated. Still, if no one else was here... " And... my pistols, Grandmaster?" Grandmaster nodded. "The Sidirourgos is still here. He waits to make your pistols before he leaves. Hurry, now. Every second he disobeys the Pythia he risks divine retribution." Bythos raised his right leg up and stomped the ground. That was the cue. " DISMISSED!" So was that. ====>
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SW
Mustardblood
Posts: 106
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Post by SW on Nov 6, 2021 2:18:16 GMT -5
> Wake up, child...
Your name is MONORI SATRIA, and you don't have time for this nonsense. " You can tell the Queen that she'll have her blueprints when they're goddamn ready, and not a moment sooner!" The Servitor shuffles nervously. This is the fourth time he's attempted to explain the urgency of the present situation. Due to the evolving warfront and the new battlegrounds afforded by recent advances in technology, it is imperative that he produce results as soon as possible, and if he doesn't, he says the Queen is going to lock him in his office and swallow the key. You know. You knew the last three times, too, and you've met each interruption with increasing vitriol. You don't have time for this. You never do, and you likely never will. You don't have time to-- You're dreaming again, aren't you? You know you don't have time for that. > [S] Wake up, child...
As the sun sets over the western hemisphere of Avinia, the first vestiges of light come streaming in through the vast windows of the Lunarian habisphere. You jolt awake with a start. NX hovers nearby, politely but insistently humming a familiar melody as an alarm. You don't have time to sleep in today. Or any other day. There's still so much left to do, and the clock keeps ticking. " Shit!" You're at the maglock door to your room before the word even leaves your lips. " Language," NX hums in its familiar voice-print tone, firm but kind. Just like mom. It's a bitter reminder, but one you need. Can't have the guest of honor making a scene, after all. You're grateful it chooses to omit that part, but you remember it from last time. " Don't forget your new bodysuit. You said you would need one at least three times more classy for an occasion like this." That part, you may admittedly have forgotten. " What time is it?" Between rubbing the sleep from your eyes and the trail of saliva from your cheek, you busy yourself with checking the fit of your new suit. While the moon's ubiquitous Captchalogue technology makes swapping outfits as easy as the flick of a card, there's nothing wrong with making sure things fit just so, especially when you're expected to make a good impression. " 0545 lunar hours as requested." 0545? It didn't feel that long. How late were you up working last night? ...Probably the same as every other night. " And my schedule?" A meaningless question for a day you've spent the past turn preparing for, but you ask it anyway, just to keep up the rhythm if nothing else. You recite the answer along with NX like a mantra as you make for the door: 0600 Physical training at Fitness Center 0700 Breakfast at Central Cafeteria 0730 Assist with Grand Hall decorations 0945 Neurology exam with Dr. Roston 1200 Lunch with the twins 1230 Final planning session 1400 Grand Hall recheck 1500 B-Day celebration...You steel yourself and muster your brightest smile as you prepare for the longest day of your life. ...God I hate B-Days.====>
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Post by ropcord on Mar 11, 2022 4:14:09 GMT -5
" Do you really think this is enough?" The silent machine shakes his head, but stops. After a moment of reconsidering, it nods. You sigh. " Right. Of course it is. Brilliant." It always is. They'll accept any old garbage you bring back, standards don't apply to you. You are, after all, Erro Cevalo, the precious star child of the Keepers. Wait, sorry, Starchild. It's literal, and figurative! They won't shut up about it, or you, and haven't for twenty turns. " Hello? I brought more trash for everyone to fawn over..." You trail off both as your joke strikes you as a little mean and as you realize nobody is around to hear it. Usually there's more fanfare, or at least a pair of Geddon units besides your own to escort you back to your room. What the heck is going on? Oh right, Starfall is today. Which means B-Day is also today, which means D-Day is also today. Yeah, you'll sit that out. It's not a real holiday, the scribes made it up out of spite because they don't want to admit the Lunari have the cooler fortress. You decide it's a good day to take a detour through the Godhall, mainly because the food court is going to be filled with drunken keepers throwing paper cups at old B-Ball footage. Well, you might as well pay respects as you pass through. While there have been countless interpretations of these figures in the eras that have come and gone in Avinia's history, you feel confident in those of your own. Erro: Press F Petrichor. Time's overseer, offering His guiding hand to walk anyone in need of a final respite to the end. All things born will die eventually, and the Keepers of the Deep have accepted the righteous task of preserving some remains of all Nari ways of life to have met their end. Your entire society has patterned itself after this man. None are more revered in these halls than Him, the patient saint, bound to his oath and his course just as everyone living in the world he helped shape. None, at least, until twenty turns ago the Keepers received a message clear as day. ====> Zariman. The mind from which the chaotic rules of the universe sprang. Creation Himself, and destruction While the Keepers follow the best they can in Petrichor's footsteps, Avinia as a whole seems keen to walk the path of the spiral knight. The pantheon has no true leader, though some will certainly contest that, but it seems to you His influence is most pronounced on the world you live in. You may be biased. No other would think to send a child screaming to the world on the back of a meteor. None could be so sure that child would live but the mind behind the big bang. The Keepers received His message loud and clear, and you've received theirs. They are doing the right thing. And you, Starchild, are special. You don't really feel like it, though. Feel pretty subpar, honestly. There's no living up to that, you can't even manage a fifth of what your mum used to do. You sigh. " I still don't get it. What gives, man?" you ask the statue quietly. It doesn't answer. Your Geddon unit looks confused and points to the path you were walking before god-induced ennui reared its head. You sigh again and keep walking. " Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Guess you're carrying a lot." The mechanoid shakes its head to your annoyance, a reminder that you failed to recover much of anything on your latest mission. The bag it's carrying contains a few newspapers from a port town lost to a tsunami, half a chair from one of their carpenters, and one of the letters from their welcome sign. You don't know what the letter is called, Nari cultures have an unfortunate habit of making up entirely new lettering systems the moment they splinter off from another group. It looks kind of like a ‰. Maybe you should just get home to your room. Yeah, you think you'll do that. Maybe check some messages while you're at it.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Mar 11, 2022 4:56:10 GMT -5
> Earlier that same day...A graphite-black automobile cut through the dying moments before sunrise, spindly talons of light clawing their way across the asphalt as the car blurred towards the unreachable horizon, as if in some vain effort to evade them. Stars danced their last dance before giving way to the uncompromising sun, as the empty streets of Florina soon gave way to its outskirts and then the endless highway beyond. In the back seat, one Caeli Bhaldraithe rested her head against the window in silent repose, eyes closed, a perfectly sculpted portrait of fraudulent serenity. On her lap, like a precious egg, she carried the death of her world. " ...Are you sure I'm doing the right thing?" It took all the strength she could muster to break the morning silence. The reply came with frustrating ease. "I can't say." " Can't? Or won't?" The passenger lifted her head from the window to fix her steel-cold gaze on the back of the driver's head. She wouldn't let him off that easy. "The path ahead is yours and yours alone. I can but bring you to the beginning of each step; it is your decision to follow it to its end." " ...We're not still talking about a video game, are we, old man?" His laugh was airy, but it was a dry wind; the scouring siroc rather than the refreshing breeze of spring. "Of course we are." They rode like that in silence for a long while. Road turned eventually to soil, the path to their destination long untrod. The quiet hum of the car's hover engine engaging was the only sign that anything had changed. Caeli didn't need to look outside to confirm their heading; she had plotted the course herself. "I understand. You worry about the weight of deception." It wasn't an accusation, but it cut like one all the same; laid bare the fundamental, childish selfishness of her concern. The question wasn't about what effect it would have on others, but rather, about whether she could shoulder its burden. Of course she could. It was just a game, after all. " Even if I wanted to explain it all to them..." Caeli trailed off bitterly. The reflection of her own face in the window taunted her; perfect, plum-painted lips pouting petulantly; the sharply pointed curves of black eyeliner a garish mockery of the Unspoken Goddess's thorns. Who are you trying to fool, child?"...they'd ridicule you," her keeper helpfully supplied. She could see the edge of his face in the rear-view mirror: oddly serene despite the creases at the corners of his eyes, his calm, fatherly smile sympathetic and understanding; it was clear he'd been down that road more times than she could even imagine. Where do you carry the weight of your turns, old man? What of all the tales you've never told? Crowley was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. He could read her concerns on her face just as clearly as if she'd spoken them; her continuing silence invited elaboration. "We historians are much the same," he began, with a small sigh she couldn't help but read as wistful, speaking to some ancient past unknown. "From the perspective of the reader, history looks like a clean process: a tale written in perpetuity, from past to present, an unbroken line of the succession of lives and the inheritance of our world's story. But the truth... is about as far from that as you could imagine." " You're talking about lacunae, aren't you? The gaps in history; the dark places, and the half-truths with which we fill them -- to impose, even simply through reflection, a sense of narrative upon our lives and the world around us." Nobody could ever accuse Caeli Bhaldraithe of lacking diligence in her studies. Another laugh, this one much warmer. "Very good. Keep that up and I may well begin to think you've been reading my work." She had, and the subtle quirk of the corners of her lips betrayed her. They were dense, almost impenetrable treatises, packed with historical allegory, theurgic symbolism, and psychological analysis that seemed at times to address both the topic and the reader. They often went over her head, certain references entirely outside her experience, but she prided herself on being able to distill meaning from even half of one of those weighty tomes. Her visible self-satisfaction earned another quiet chuckle from the eternally enigmatic old man. "As ever, you continue to exceed my expectations. Doing things that I had only begun to dream of at twice your age... we were as much mediums and oracles as scientists, back then." The car slowed to a stop in the shadow of a solitary mountain, a lonely spire of grey against the golden blade of sunlight that crested the horizon. Caeli waited a while longer still; she knew from experience that the old man wasn't finished speaking. "Whether history or its prediction, the more you learn, the more you may find that many of the truths you cling to depend greatly upon your own point of view." " 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted?'" This was the legacy to which she was born, though she remained yet ignorant to its full meaning. Her late father, one of the Assassins? It was unthinkable, and yet it filled her with a chilling kind of excitement, a sense of meaning in a life defined by loss. Purpose was purpose, no matter how grim. She raised a hand to draw a finger across the silver chain tight around her neck just above her cravat, its pendant tucked safely beneath, like a good-luck gesture before departing, as some might trace the wind. She wished, for not the first time, that the dead were still around to ask about it, rather than merely making inferences from secondhand accounts. But then, that's precisely the point the old man's making, isn't it?"Something like that." Old Crowley smiled, that damnable smile that promised every secret and revealed none. "Did you remember your medicine, Miss Bhaldraithe?" Caeli paused, halfway out the door. " I... no." There was no sense in lying; she offered a tiny grimace of modest shame and returned to her seat. It had simply slipped her mind. "What is our rule?" He opened the glove compartment and retrieved a capped bottle, turning to look at her for the first time since they departed the city, utterly impassive and unreadable. " Be polite, be professional, and always have a plan to kill everyone you meet?" Caeli flashed a cheeky grin as she quoted one of her favorite video game characters; she knew what he was after, but even her loyal caretaker wasn't exempt from the occasional bit of teasing. That second save file was his, after all. He chuckled, a genuine laugh, sounding for a brief moment like a kindly grandfather rather than a distant, watchful guardian. "The other rule, Caeli." " Always be prepared." She uncapped the bottle and dutifully swallowed its contents. The muted green liquid smelled like death, and tasted worse. She had long since given up on asking what's in it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you, he'd once said, and then never again. Either way, she could hardly argue with results; after a long regimen of the vile stuff, she was finally strong enough to go out on her own, unsupervised, with her keeper merely providing transportation. Caeli departed the vehicle, but stopped before closing the door. " ...this is a silly amount of effort to be going through for just a video game, isn't it?" "Just a video game?" The old man barked a sharp cough of laughter. She could say it a thousand times; he knew she didn't believe it. "That wasn't what you called it when you began this journey." " Still... what if I'm wrong? What if that's all it is?" "I think you should concern yourself with what happens if you're right. If you've played your part as you believe, the world will revere you. You'll have done the impossible. Overcome the unthinkable. Answered a question before we even knew how to speak its name." Ever the writer, even when merely dispensing patronly advice. "And if it really is 'just a video game', then..." Caeli smirked and shrugged theatrically, supplying the end she knew was coming: " Then what's the worst that could happen, right?" ====>
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 11, 2022 18:55:30 GMT -5
A young man stood in the Royal Palace of Derse. It just so happened that this day was a special day. Though he had many names throughout his lifetime, this day he would receive another, and hopefully his final one. What will the name of this young Dersite be? > Adorned RegiguardThe name came with a flush of pride from AR. It sounded like as cool a name for a Royal Guardsman as one could hope for. AR had risen far from walking the beat on the Moon's backalleys, and he had one person and one person alone to thank for it. > AR: ReminisceIt was a day just like most others: dark and very purple. It was a day like none other, for--clad in hood and cloak--the Black Queen herself strode upon the streets of Derse's moon hidden by disguise. Whatever was her motivation--be it a fit of whimsy or a clandestine way to check upon those of her subjects furthest away from her eye--she had never told AR. Whatever the truth of matter, it mattered little for the matter of their meeting. The scene: one of the many dingy back-alleys of the Dersite moon. The cast of characters: one cruel and desperate thief (how oft those two traits came intertwined) and one rather amused Black Queen. Enter, stage right: the Authority Regulator. AUTHORITY REGULATOR Hark, villain! You violate this moon's good laws with your wicked grasping! Unhand thy blade and part with me quietly hence, or my fiddlestick will make you dance and howl in pain! MISCREANT O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Rat-catcher sherife, good king of cats, but spare me one of thy nine lives, to wipe away thy affront! AUTHORITY REGULATOR Drawing. Come, then, sir, your passado. They fight. AUTHORITY REGULATOR soundly disarms the MISCREANT, who attempts to flee. AUTHORITY REGULATOR swiftly subdues and binds the MISCREANT'S hands and legs in rope.BLACK QUEEN Good Sherife! Mine thanks for thy speedy saluation! Mercie, might I have thy name? AUTHORITY REGULATOR Authority Regulator is my name, and the law in this benighted moon my goodly charge. BLACK QUEEN BLACK QUEEN removes her hood and scarf. Behold, Good Sherife! You have saved no monger a'wander, but your fair Queene! I beseech you, Good Sherife, take up arms in my ranks! Thou art worth more than thy current station. > A chance for Authority Regulator, Policeman of Derse's moon, to show his quality.That was almost certainly how it went. Right? Right. Well, no one was around to dispute it with him anyway. After such a brave act of heroism and the subsequent offer, AR had promoted his PARTNER-IN-CRIME-STOPPING to his old position and followed the Queen to the palace. It was huge--huger than he had ever expected. He had gotten lost many times. Now was one of those times. But directional challenges or no, AR was deeply thankful for the chance at such a high honor and duty. All he had ever wished for in his life was a duty to excel at. If he did his duty well and lived his life according to the LAW, surely it would not be a life lived in vain. > AR: Stop letting your mind wander and focus on finding your way back to the Queen.Right, right. Now, from the Royal Kitchens, take your second left and go to the end of the hallway... ====>
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 11, 2022 19:01:56 GMT -5
"What a wreck..."
Well, harsh or not, one certainly could not look at the Sunbreeze Shrine to The Conductor as East Wind with positive appraisal, lest one be searching for ruins. The old holy site, laid down 200 turns ago when Mercia's ancestors had journeyed across the Emerald Sea, had seen many better days. Once a beautiful example of nari religious syncretism, laid down in the Eastern style of the new lands but with old Sarossan touches so as to bind together immigrant and native under faith for the sake of peace--a rare bit of fellow-feeling amongst the interminably parochial nari, which unfortunately did not last--now straddling the border between shrine and ruin. The stepping-stones were buried beneath straggling vines and tufts of tall grass. The northern window was still broken, and the garden would have been perfect if they were trying to grow weeds instead of flowers and herbs.
Mercia took a deep breath--innnnn, then ooooout--that, by the end, had turned into a sigh. She could stand here until the last trickles of sunlight disappeared behind the canopy of trees, but she had to enter at some point. Sometimes, one just had to take the leap of faith and trust the wind to carry you. So, Mercia picked her way through the stepping stones that remained and up to the old-Sarossan style-doors. They were made of thick slabs of solid wood and covered in carvings of religious stories. With a great heave, Mercia parted the apertures--for all of her effort, just a crack--and slipped through the gap.
It was a testament to how long Mercia had been gone, that she had half-expected the old shrine within to be dusty. Of course...the great doors remained open during the day, to let the East Wind enter and rest in its travels. Besides, even with a gimp leg the old man can still sweep... Mercia thought. She imagined, for a moment, that same "old man" of hers dutifully pushing those heavy doors behind her open and closed each day. Something approximating guilt briefly stung her heart, but she quickly left it behind. With a kick this time--the height of sacrilege, but thankfully her father was not around to see it--Mercia sealed the great doors shut behind her, blocking out the last strands of auburn light from the sunset. At least her father had left two torches burning.
For the most part, the shrine looked similar to how the returnee remembered. There was the towering domes, painted with mosaics of religious figures from history and the founding leaders of the Sargossin migration. To her right and left--south and north--the wooden walls still stood, with shoji sliding doors leading to the shrinekeeper family's personal quarters and Mom the morgue respectively. The Nightingale Floors still chirped under her feet; Mercia recalled that as a child she had always thought the noise wind spirits greeting her on her return, and she had always made sure to greet them in turn. (She knew better now: just nails rubbing against the clamps.) At the far end was the main attraction: a beautiful and lifelike sculpture of the Conductor holding the Hawthorn--the ship in which the Sargossi had crossed the Emerald Sea--in his arms as one might a babe. He still--Mercia noted with some surprise--had the two emeralds in his eyes. She had expected that to be the first thing pawned.
The old fool could have funded this place for a century just by parting with those artifacts... Mercia pondered with a shake of her head. It's like the old man wants everything our ancestors have built to fall into dust. The more one looked, the more the shrine's slow death over turns became obvious. Though his eyes still gleamed viridian, the Conductor had lost two of his toes. Old Giovanni Giorno on the first dome was missing an eye, and Father Honorius in the second had been amputated from about the waist down. The floors were yellow, the walls full of cracks, and the tables to the side of the holy sculpture--meant to hold votive offerings of food for the East Wind to sup on when resting within the shrine--were chipped and lopsided.
Death may come more slowly to a building than to a nari, but it is just as inexorable.
Speaking of votive offerings, no doubt that was the "supper" waiting for her behind those Southern doors. For some reason, wind spirits never seemed to be very peckish, leaving stale bread, reheated stew, cold rice, and lukewarm water and wine for the priestly family in the evening. Mercia had always tried to sneak a little from the tables before it got too cold, but not once did she manage to get away with it. Of all of Mercia's many favorite things about moving to Sargoss, eating a hot and luxurious dinner had been one of her very favorites.
Mercia took a deep breath--innnnn, then ooooout--that, by the end, had turned into a sigh. No doubt due to the "wind spirits" lurking in the damn floors, the old man already knew Mercia had come home, and was busy setting the table for her. She could linger here in the shrine, but he would eventually come looking. The last thing Mercia wanted was to potentially give her old man any wrong ideas about her having missed the place. Forward, right, through the shoji doors--there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.
The first room acted as something like an airlock between the sacred and profane. It was a simple, square room with no windows and a single (electric) light hanging from the center of the ceiling. To Mercia's left, a shoe rack. To her right, multiple coat racks. Mercia sighed once more--though this one was something approaching relief. No matter what awaited her on the other side of that door, it was still some comfort to finally arrive at her trip's destination. Mercia took her hat tossed it towards one of the empty coat racks. Just as planned, it landed squarely on the center of the central pole, perfectly balanced. Despite herself, Mercia smiled a bit; her perfect kinesthetic sense was one of her greatest joys in life. Oft she had wondered if another path in life might have lead to her becoming an athlete. Or maybe a dancer? If just to try and back up her delusions of grandeur, Mercia hopped up on one foot to remove her shoe and sock from her left foot. Then, she was going to hop and switch the position of her feet with skillful ea-
Whuuumph!
"Merci?"
Whump!
Well, Mercia's old man had finally seen fit to come looking for her--precisely at the wrong time. And now the first impression Mercia would be giving her father, who she had not seen in three turns, was of her flat on her ass, shoe flung off to the side. That "old man"--Giovanni Issaries--was blue of skin, just like his daughter, with white eye markings that were semi-circles above and below his eyes. Quite unlike Mercia's, though, were his eyes: dark gray, almost black. His hair was now--and had always been, to Mercia's memory--the same white color as his eye markings; and though his style had changed often, he wore then his hair long and beard unshaven in keeping with Sargossin mourning customs. His feathers were also white, though with fuzzy black tips, and pointed backwards from behind his head. Giovanni was a thin man, and short for his sex. Mercia was almost exactly his height. One might even call him somewhat androgynous. Perhaps that was why he took up his favorite hobby: a form of bareknuckle boxing he had excelled at (at least before the accident). He had always been an ocean of calm when Mercia was alive, but to hear mother's stories he had been quite a firebrand with a chip on his shoulder growing up. Whether it was the accident that had crippled his leg and left him tethered to his cane, or the birth of Mercia herself, she had never known him to speak a word in anger. He had always tried to intervene and soothe during Mercia and her mother's many rows.
Father stared at daughter. Daughter stared at father. Father stared at open door. "Ah. Close that, please." And just as quickly as Dad had arrived, he was gone.
Mercia couldn't decide whether she was grateful or not that he had not even bothered to properly greet his daughter. Still, she knew why he had beat such a hasty retreat: the prodigal daughter had, absent-mindedly, left the door to the shrine open. It was one of the many rules that both doors could not be open at the same time, so as to not pollute the sacred with the profane. Just another silly superstition, but Mercia kicked the shrine door closed anyway. There was no sense having a fight over nothing.
Her mood thoroughly deflated once again, Mercia proceeded to divest herself of her extra clothes in as normal a fashion as possible. Off came the one remaining sock, then stuffed into the shoes and put into the shoe cubby. Next her coat, and finally her tie. And just for added measure, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt.
"Well, time to face the music..." Mercia muttered.
The Issaries household walked a fine line between religious austerity and the needs of raising many a generation within its walls. The living room looked normal enough, if a tad diminuitive: a series of couches, pushed close together, facing an outdated but serviceable television sitting on an entertainment center where Mercia's game consoles had once called home. Beside that entertainment center was a small fireplace. To the her right and left were three standard wooden doors on each side, bedrooms meant to be used for the large families common to Nari. Another shoji door at the back of the living room guarded way into the dining room. From there, the kitchen--containing cooking equipment so antiquated Mercia had often wondered if it was brought over from the Old Country--was to the left, while the Master Bedroom was to the right. All in all, a simple living quarters, straddling the line between "cozy" and "cramped". Maybe if Mercia had siblings she would have tossed it squarely in the latter camp, but space had never been much of an issue for her. She spent most of her time outside, anyway.
And so, the long-absent daughter bypassed the phalanx of couches, opened the door to the dining room, and entered. What awaited her was about what she had been expecting, and much to her chagrin: her father had set the table with the votive food remaining from the day: stale bread, lukewarm water, and what appeared to be chicken stew. At least, judging by the muffled crackle of a fire from the kitchen and the smell in the air, Dad had gone through the trouble of warming it up. The butter looked fresh, too. Well, it was as good a welcome-home feast as Mercia was going to get, especially given the circumstances. She pulled up her chair and sat down, across from Dad.
Her father had been sitting passively, eyes closed, without touching the food until Mercia sat down. Praying? He did not call for her to join him in it, as was the usual custom before a meal, when she sat down. Instead, he simply opened his eyes and repeated that same word from before: "Merci."
An old nickname. Her mother had always called her simply "Mercia", or perhaps "Mercia Marsilia Issaries" if she was particularly cross. From what Mercia gathered, the name had been her mother's choice and decided shortly after her birth. But, whatever his reasons, her father preferred that little pet name. "Hello, Dad." "Merci" cast her eyes down and rubbed the back of her head. "Uh, sorry about the door earlier..."
Dad smiled softly, and shook his head. "It's no matter. Come, eat."
Mercia blinked. "You don't want to pray?"
As quickly as it had arrived, that little smile on Dad's lips was gone, replaced by a sad frown. "We will talk plenty with the gods later, given the circumstances. Eat."
Mercia's growling stomach needed no further prompting. Besides, something about the meal in front of her prompted an emotion she couldn't place. It was not the young merchant's nature to dwell, though: she picked up a piece of old bread and began smothering it in butter. Only then, did Dad begin to follow suit--though, of course, with much less butter. The two ate their meal in silence. It was...something. Not something bad. Mercia wondered, for a time, if maybe--despite the circumstances--this trip home could be...
Well, she should have known better.
"Merci..." Something about Dad's tone of voice sparked up Mercia's Fight or Flight Instinct. He had apparently been waiting for her to finish her food--between being famished with the trip and being a natural big eater, the daughter had cleaned her plate and bowl far before the father.
Mercia desperately did not want to be there. She almost tried to excuse herself to go wash her dishes. A younger "Merci" would have certainly tried it. But, if her supraliege had taught her anything, it was to meet a social situation head on. Try to evade and you only get cornered. Mercia took a deep breath--innnnn, then ooooout--that, by the end, had turned into a sigh. "Yes, Dad?"
Dad paused. Had Mercia's "bravery", such as it was, taken him off guard? Or was he simply gathering his thoughts? "...For your mother's funeral..." Oh, no. "It would please her, and the gods as well..." Another pause. Mercia could already tell where this was heading, but the delay was maddening. Was it entirely necessary to beat around the bush? Why not just say it? "Well, in her last days, she made it herself... We're keeping it in your old room, a...miko robe, just your size." And there was the guilt! Couldn't just ask without topping it off with a thick layer of guilt! No, sir! "...As I said, it would make your mother's soul very happy..."
Mercia had heard enough. Mercia had enough. She raised her hand up to preempt any further meandering down this fraught conversational path. "It's not happening." Mercia breathed out something between a sigh and a huff. "Was that why you asked for my measurements a few months ago? By the North Wind, I thought you two had just finally started seeing the world now that your nest was empty! I was expecting a kitschy tourist trap wardrobe--I went to Hellenas and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!--not a damn..." She didn't finish that sentence. She didn't even want to acknowledge what likely lay in wait in her chest of drawers in her old bedroom.
Dad frowned, shuffled in his chair, but did not abate his particular brand of conversational offense: "...You are the only one who can do it, Merci."
"I don't even remember the steps!" Mercia lied as naturally as she breathed.
"I can refresh you."
"You can't even walk!" Mercia fired back, complete with accusatory hand-chop aimed squarely at the cane leaning next to Dad's seat.
That shut him up, but only for a few seconds. "...There is no one else, Merci..." He leaned over his half-eaten stew and fixed her with The Look. She knew The Look, though it was a rare occasion for her to fuck up hard enough to provoke it from her normally-tranquil father. A younger Mercia would have withered instantly beneath it. "Your mother was an only child. You are an only child. Two hundred turns of lineage must not die."
Mercia stood up. She didn't recall deciding to do that, but it happened anyway. A complicated swirl of emotions beat in her chest, hard to unentangle and name. One, at least, she could place: anger. Even more than the words, her father having the gall to bring out The Look on her? She was an adult, over twenty turns in age! Mercia wanted to leap over the table and plant her fist squarely between the eyes that dared to look at her like she was still knee-high to a shryke. She resisted, but had to do something with the energy. She settled on gathering her dishes.
"It's not happening," Mercia repeated. "You'll just have to do without me. Times change. Adapt or die." Just like her supraliege said: a shark that won't eat will only starve. A shark that can't eat deserves to.
Of course, Dad would want a retort after something like that. but Mercia had a proper conversation-ending trump card up her metaphorical sleeves. With a flick of her wrist, she called up her modus and pulled out a fairly large coin purse, stuffed to the brim with currency. The action just about made Dad jump out of his seat, though Mercia could hardly guess whether it was the use of her modus--an unseen and unknown technological marvel here in the sticks--or what it was that Mercia had fetched from it. Mercia placed the bag--complete with satisfying clink--like a wall between the two of them, squarely in the middle of the dining table.
"It's been a while since I've sent anything, hasn't it? Here's the back pay. That should cover my 'service'." It was old Sargossin tradition, that donations to the church and service by labor to it could be substituted for each other. Mercia had her father in checkmate, and judging by his expression they both knew it. So, the victor collected her spoils--her empty dishes--and marched towards the kitchen to clean them.
Funny, it didn't feel like a victory...
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 11, 2022 19:15:30 GMT -5
The trip to the Sidirourgos' blacksmithy was far too quiet. The colored light peeking through the stained glass windows shone on no old masters arguing over theological minutiae. No young trainees played around the towering statues to Sophia, her saints, and great Knights of the past. The halls were silent of the usual Holy Chants played over intercom. No one called out to him or asked him about his initiation. Had Soris not known better, he might have thought the Assassins had attacked. The Knights had, as time went on, stepped more and more into the light, after all; this branch of their Order was not hidden from the eyes of the Assassins or the public, though no outsiders were permitted entry. Soris could not help but flinch at every shadow's movement. What if they were here? What if they realized how empty this base was and picked him off from one of the other halls? As good as his training was, Soris did not think he could handle more than one of the cursed hellspawn by himself, not yet anyway. Once more, he wondered at the Pythia's--or rather, Sophia's--reasoning. Well, it was not like either would answer even if the former was around to ask... It was a blessing and a relief to finally step within the Sidirourgos' blacksmithy. Yet, even here, the fires were quenched, the lathe silent, and the Sidirourgos in repose. He was a stout middle-aged man, red in color, with arms like tree-trunks and eyes that always seemed to look tired. He sat at the fore of his workshop, cross-legged upon the ground--no doubt waiting for Soris himself. "Soris Saturninus," he greeted with a tired smile. "At last, at last... Or, should I call you...?" " Parakletos," Soris offered. He sat down before the Sidirourgos in turn and mirrored his posture. "Parakletos..." The Sidirourgos sounded out, as if to test the word for its taste. "...I think it is fitting." " You as well?" Soris could not keep the slight disappointment from seeping through his tone. The Sidirourgos chuckled softly. "You do not care for it, Parakletos?" Soris hesitated a moment, then bowed his head. " Forgive my youthful foolishness, Master." "Come, now," The Sidirourgos said with a shake of his head. "I am no Master to you from this day forward. You are Parakletos, and we are equals." He studied Soris' face for a moment, then continued: "...What bothers you about it, Parakletos? Speak freely." Soris hesitated for a long moment. To put his feelings into words was difficult, now. He dimly remembered that this had not always been so. Once upon a time, Soris Saturninus was without guile and open to all. If anything, his praises and rebukes might have lost their potency by their common nature. Now, however, Soris found himself glancing this way and that, struggling for the words to speak of his emotions. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Thankfully, the Sidirourgos seemed not hastened at all by the Pythia's decree, and seemed fit to wait for Soris to collect his words. Finally, Soris, aware that he could not speak his thoughts well, deemed that speaking them unwell was preferable to silence: " I...am going to kill all of the Assassins." He clenched his knees with his hands, such that his nails dug through the cloth of his pants and into his skin. The pain did not deter him; it was comforting. " Not just the ones in Horizon. I..." ...am going to take everything from them. All of them. Yet, Grandmaster calls me 'unfocused'..." "And you wonder if this is punishment, or mockery, to be called 'Helper'," the Sidirourgos supplied. His lips curled once more into that tired smile. "To Grandmaster Bythos, we are all 'unfocused'. He has dissolved his personality, his self, into that title, such that no one living knows who he truly is. If such a man cannot kill all of the Assassins, how can you or I?" " But-!" Soris started, but Sidirourgos cut him off at the pass with a raise of the hand. "Calm, Parakletos. Remember why you are here: not for vengeance, but to save others from the pain that you feel. That pain, however...that poison in your veins that burns like fire...its ache will dull with time." With a belabored grunt, Sidirourgos stood to his feet. "When that day comes, you will hope to be both Soris and Parakletos, rather than Parakletos alone." Soris looked down at his hands. He could still feel the blood on them, even now... " ...I can't accept that." A tired sigh. "I thought not. But think on it all the same. Now..." he turned back to his workshop. "I should give you your pistols before Sophia strikes me down herself, shouldn't I?" Soris bowed his head, though he stayed seated as was proper. " Thank you, Sidirourgos." "There is no need to thank me for doing my duty," the Sidirourgos lightly chastised, "but it is appreciated. Truth be told, I quite enjoyed this particular project." As he spoke, the Sidirourgos began looking through a shelf at the back of the workshop, filled with boxes of about the same size. Each looked to have a taped piece of paper with handwriting below it. "The Grandmaster's apprentice joining the fold demands something special." Soris' orange face burned an even brighter shade. He cast his gaze down and mumbled, just loud enough for the Sidirourgos to hear. " ...I wish you wouldn't treat me differently." The Sidirourgos barked a laugh. "Foolish Parakletos! You think this is a gift?" The Sidirourgos finally found the box he was looking for. He tore off the paper taped underneath it, stuffing it in his pocket, then retrieved the box from the shelf with tender care. "If I give you special treatment, it is only because the trials you shall face are harder than your brothers' and sisters'." He returned once more to Soris and delicately placed the box on the ground between them, facing Soris. "As I said, your joining the fold demands something special. There is no choice involved." He took his seat once more across from Soris. "You are the Grandmaster's Apprentice, chosen by the Pythia. Hopes and expectations are heaped upon you by the cartload. You cannot change that fact; you must accept it." Perhaps the Sidirourgos was right. Either way, Soris tabled thought on the matter for later. For now, something far more interesting than his own predicament lay before him: reward for service, tool for grim duty. It was less of a box and more of a case, now that he had a good look at it. It was square in shape, made of mahogany wood, with two bronze latches on the sides and a bronze keyhole in the middle. Soris reached out a hand. He stopped. After this, there was truly no turning back. Soris took in a breath of air. He placed his hand upon the lacquered wood. Soris let out a breath of air. Though his hands shook and shivered, he slowly, meticulously, opened the latches at the sides. Another breath in. Soris raised the lid, and gazed upon what the Sidirourgos had wrought. Two guns lay in the felt-lined case, one white and one black. Strangely, they appeared to be of different models. The white one seemed longer and heavier than the black. Upon the side of its barrels were emblazoned in black the words, "Holy Sophia in Heaven". The smaller black pistol conversely had, emblazoned in white, "Her Knights on Avinia". After allowing a moment for Soris to observe, the Sidirourgos spoke up: "As you've noticed, they're different models. You'll have to do some extra training to get used to reloading different types of ammo mid-battle, but I'm sure you're capable of it. For your dominant hand..." He gestured towards the larger white gun, "...a custom work. .454 Casull Auto, a semi-automatic magnum pistol. Has a magazine capacity of six .454 Casull cartridges, as the name suggests." At this, the Sidirourgos brought out five boxes of such ammunition from his modus and began to set them to his right of the gun case, Soris' left. "It kicks like a mule, but it'll take down just about anything you point at it." Next, he gestured to the black gun. "For your off-hand, a Sig Sauer P226. Twenty-round cartridge, fires 9x 19mm Parabellum bullets." As before, he deposited five cases of such bullets from his modus, this time to Soris' right of the case. "As you know, it's very unusual for the guns given to an Initiate to be different from each other. But...I suppose I had a feeling, you would need to be a bit more adaptable for the challenges to come. I believe you are capable of adapting the Gun Forms to these pistols." Soris bowed his head once again. " I am honored, Sidirourgos." The Sidirourgos waved him off with a laugh. "Yes, yes. Now, take them. Let's see how they fit your hands." Soris did as asked: the Casull in his dominant (left) hand, and the Sig in his nondominant (right). Sure enough, the Casull was much heavier, at least in the relative sense of most guns. Nevertheless, the grip seemed perfect, and the balance too. Soris felt blessed once again to have such a talented Sidirourgos at his Order's headquarters. To hear the griping of some of his brothers and sisters from other cities, such was not necessarily the norm. He deposited the two guns into his empty strife specibus, PISTOLKIND. Next, he collected first the ammo and then finally the case into his Ofuda Modus. Though the Order had long since abandoned keeping their weapons in such containers with the advent of strife specibi, the guns' cases were still treasured keepsakes. His business finished, Soris stood up and bowed to the Sidirourgos. He struggled for a moment to find the words he wanted to say, to thank his elder brother both for his gift and for his council. Once more, though, they escaped him on the wind, and he resolved simply to say it poorly rather than not at all: " ...Thank you. For...everything." The Sidirourgos raised his hand to wave the young man off once again, but something stopped him. For whatever reason, he seemed to think better of it and simply responded: "You are welcome, Parakletos." He stood on his feet with a groan and popping of his joints, which he punctuated with a small laugh. "Now, it seems we both have some free time. I to gallivant 'round the city, and you within these walls. Truth be told, I think I got the better end of the deal." The Sidirourgos walked over to the door and held it open for his younger brother, who gratefully passed through. Once outside, the Sidirourgos locked the foundry and turned back to Soris. "Any plans, I wonder?" The truth of the matter: Soris hadn't gotten that far. Free time was quite a relative rarity for someone in a training regiment as harsh as Grandmaster Bythos', and when he had it he preferred to leave the Monastery anyway. " I...don't know." He scratched the back of his head and pondered. " ...I guess I'll just go to my quarters?" One thing Soris was sure of: he didn't want to keep walking the Order's halls. The silence made him paranoid in the extreme. Better to have familiar four walls around him in case of Assassin ambush. "Well, if you get too stir-crazy and start trashing the place, just make sure to leave my quarters alone. That's how you can repay me for the guns!" The Sidirourgos laughed softly, then patted Soris on the back. "Whatever you do, have fun. I'll see you whenever; probably tomorrow. Be sure to let me know how the guns do." Soris nodded. The Sidirourgos left. Once again, Soris was alone. ====>
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 24, 2022 19:44:43 GMT -5
The battlefield was all silent, with only the creaking of old joints and the wind buffeting the walls to fill the air. Dad had quit the field, leaving Mercia--for the time--in possession of it. The victory hardly assuaged the young woman's dark mood; if anything, it deepened it. If the old man was willing to fight with her, something he had rarely done before, then getting her into that stupid getup and doing those stupid rituals was something deeply important to him. Truth be told, Mercia could understand that. Despite her recalcitrance, she did understand him. Mercia was their only child. Apparently she was the only egg to survive in her clutch, and no other potential brothers or sisters ever hatched from Mother's womb again. Of course Mercia would be viewed as a gift from the gods; of course she would have to bear all of their expectations and hopes all by herself... It was just natural. But what about what I want? If you wanted something, you had to give something up. That was the law of equivalent exchange, and something that her supraliege had impressed upon her from the very first day. Dad wanted Mercia to do something she didn't want to do. In the simplest terms, stripping away all of the layers of emotion and expectation, that was their impasse. Shouldn't he have offered her something? Wasn't that what you were supposed to do when you wanted someone to do something they didn't want to? Wasn't that just polite? Instead he had fallen back on those old tools of guilt and expectation and duty, like she was still a child being told to sweep the shrine and dust the statue. Hadn't she proven that she was an adult? What else could she do to get through his head she wasn't a little girl anymore, if the sweeps of living on her own in the big city weren't enough? If Dad wasn't going to treat her like an adult, then Mom definitely wouldn't have if the situations were reversed. So, maybe she didn't deserve to have Mercia dance at her funeral... Maybe, just maybe, her turns of fighting with Mercia were finally coming home to roost. Maybe she was getting what she deserved. Maybe those thoughts made Mercia a bad person, but she didn't want anyone dancing at her funeral anyway. The dishes were finished and Mercia had the whole house to herself, such as it was. Dad had retreated back to the master bedroom, so she could go anywhere... But, well, where else was there to go than her room? Her only lifeline out of the rural hell she was in laid in the laptop within her modus, and she wasn't about to set that up in the living room so her father could potentially snoop over her shoulder. Not that he had ever done that, but still. So, with heavy steps, Mercia marched her way towards that all-too-familiar doorway. It was just like it had always been, that oak edifice dividing the world between what was Mercia's and what was her parents'. How often had she retreated from her mother to this room? If there was one good thing to be said about Mom, it was that she never chased Mercia into that room with her squabbles--though Mercia always suspected that Dad was behind that sudden grasp of ethics. It wasn't all bad, though... Right next to the doorway were a series of marks on the wall, a chart of Mercia's growth from when she was "knee-high to a shryke" (to use Rossi's term) all the way up to the height she was the eve of her departure to Sargoss. Mom had insisted despite Mercia's objections, and Mercia had eventually allowed it. Despite her dark mood, Mercia couldn't help but check. She stood up straight against the wall and used her finger to mark her new height. Sure enough, it was about an inch or so higher. Mercia smiled briefly before she reminded herself she was supposed to be in a sour mood. " Well, no sense in hesitating..." Mercia turned the knob and entered her old room. The place was still much as she had left it: a spartan little thing. Mercia had never spent much time inside if she could help it, anyway. It was mostly a place to sleep and to socialize with online friends. Her old decorations, posters about various boybands or pictures of family and friends, had gone with her to her apartment in Sargoss, leaving the bright green walls somewhat bare. Ah, yes, the color: as a child, Mercia had insisted that her room's walls match her eye color, so the family had spent a few days painting them that bright green. It foundered against all laws of home design, but Mercia never cared. Speaking of the rest, her rickety wooden computer desk was still there, and so were her drawers and closet (though they were bereft of all clothing now). No, the only container that likely contained anything at all was...the chest. It sat at the foot of her bed, no doubt guarding--promising--the outfit that Dad had made for her. Mercia gave it a rude gesture and then ventured over to her desk. " No, this won't do at all..." she muttered, looking at the rickety old wooden seat that had once been her computer chair. That thing wasn't comfortable at all... So, she quickly stored the damned thing in her sylladex and brought out, instead, a nice and cushioned office chair from her apartment. Next came the laptop itself, then the mouse and mousepad, then the power cable for the laptop. A few minutes of work--and trying to remember where the power outlet was squirrled away--and she was ready. If anything could help her dark moods, it would be talking to friends. -- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] began tweeting mondainMerchant [MM] --PU: greetings. PU: would you like to play a game?And sure enough, someone had already tweeted her! It was hardly a friend she had expected, however. She and Caeli were...well, truth be told, more acquaintances than they were friends. A few days of childhood revelry with the band of three--Soris, Caeli, Pomelo--while her parents were passing through Horizon on pilgrimage had been a cherished childhood memory, given the paucity of people her age in Sunbreeze. But, it was not like they knew each other well. They did not know each other's secrets or anything... Still, Mercia always tried to stay in contact--a friendly acquaintance was never a bad thing to have--but work had piled on recently and... Well, that was neither here nor there. The point was: Caeli was offering a game, something that piqued Mercia's considerable curiosity. Something new and exciting was just what she needed when surrounded by the old and boring. MM: $Oh, ciao, Caeli! $It's been a while since we've talked, hasn't it? MM: $I literally have nothing better to do in this podunk backwater, so I'd very much love to! MM: $As long as it can run on my laptop, of course. $I'm afraid I'm far away from my gaming computer. (-_-)PU: i'm surprised you still remember my name. ever swift of mind, this one. PU: i can assure you you will encounter no particular difficulty in executing the software, as it exists primarily as an interface. PU: the difficulty comes afterward. but i suppose that's the fun of a game, isn't it? (^_^)"MM: $How could I EVER forget your name, Amiche? $It's so pretty! MM: $Ooh, an "interface", huh? $Sounds futuristic. $I'll be bringing this backwater a century ahead in time single-handedly. (ノ ˘_˘)ノ ζ|||ζ ζ|||ζ ζ|||ζ MM: $I'm pretty sure no one here even knows what a modus is.PU: where do they carry all their sharp things? in their hands? how positively barbaric. PU: heeheehee. take care not to put me on a pedestal, though; the gift i bear is simple, but, hopefully... PU: rewarding? PU: yes, that sounds about right.MM: $Now you're speaking my language, Amiche~ MM: $I get to while away the hours until bed AND potentially get some sort of silly and ultimately pointless game reward?? $Sign my easily-addicted booty up! (^_~) MM: $The download might take a little while, though, given the internet around here.PU: though it taxeth my effulgent magnanimity, i believe i can forgive the sin of tardiness... just this once. PU: i only tease. in truth, it should be no issue. you'll be ready in ample time for tonight's festivities, assuming neither of us are accosted by some rogue misfortune.-- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] sent mondainMerchant [MM] the file "SBIRD.~ARC" -- Sbird, eh...? Mercia pondered. Bird-related words were a specialty of just about every nari culture, so that was no surprise. What did the S stand for? Or was it supposed to just be "Sbird", a kind of nonsense word that meant something in the context of the game's lore? Ah, but enough wondering: it would be far more fun to find out herself what the title meant. PU: i won't hold my breath waiting, of course. but in the meanwhile, might i ask of you a small favor?MM: $All right, I'm downloading it! MM: $What's the favor? $Depending on how much of a pain it is I may require a favor from you later, but of course I can do it. ( ̄^ ̄)ゞNever do something for free, that was one of her supraliege's many lessons. It didn't have to be money, though--a favor was worth gold sometimes. PU: i would expect nothing less. consider it an equivalent exchange. PU: i must, i am afraid, preface this with a dreadfully banal inquiry. PU: you consider yourself a merchant, yes? above and beyond the simple textual signifier by which you identify yourself. a mover of the fruit of life and labor, borne aloft on the winds of trade?Boy, did Caeli have a way with words. Consider Mercia's ego inflated. Utterly unconsciously, Mercia preened her feathers a bit. MM: $The very same! $I am subliege of the head of one of Sargoss' oldest mercantile families, so I like to think I know what I am doing. MM: $If you need something bought, sold, or both, I'm your gal, Amiche! (^_-)≡☆PU: i rather lack the cunning mind for business, or the brilliant green eye for opportunity. PU: fortunately, my desire here is far simpler. PU: you do, in your line of work, deal with a... substantial variety of other kinds of merchants, yes?You'd have to be stupid not to see what Caeli was getting at. No wonder she had kissed Mercia's ego so much. The merchant girl leaned forward in her seat. MM: $Hmm. MM: $I can't imagine what you're implying.PU: if i am circumspect it is only out of cruel necessity. i assure you this pains me as much or more.MM: $Is that so? $I didn't take you for the type. $Circumstances must be quite dire. MM: $I must say, I wouldn't call getting those other merchants to work for you a "small" favor. MM: $And I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere. $I'm in contact, but not in business, you understand. $I never have been.And that was the truth of it. While Mercia didn't mind those who used assassins, and she would never hate someone for using or being one, she would never cross that line herself. Maybe it was a bit like being a vegetarian, those weirdos. Green-eyed Mercia kept few ideals, but those she did were kept close to her heart. Yet, she couldn't exactly blame someone if they didn't keep to her qualms. They were only hers, no one else's. PU: let's not be hasty here, mercia issaries. PU: i assured you once already that my request has nothing to do with business. i ask only that you convey a message. or, rather, a file. PU: that one, in fact.Oh, just a message? Mercia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. That was easy, then. MM: $Oh, is that so? $Do our mercantile friends even have time to game, I wonder? MM: $Well, we'll find out. $I can indeed pass it along, though I'd love to know why you want one of them in particular. MM: $Or is that a ~secret~? ┐(︶▽︶)┌PU: i think they'll make a fine addition to our cast of players. they'll recognize the signature, i'm sure. PU: i would elucidate my reasoning, but some things are beyond our control. suffice it to say, no harm will come from extending the invitation. PU: after all, it's merely a game. what's the worst that could happen?MM: $I can certainly do that, then. $And such a little favor needs no concimitant reward, I think. So she said, at least. But, the payment wouldn't come from Caeli, not exactly. The appearance of being beneficent and charitable was often its own reward. That was why so many merchants sunk money into charities, even as they fleeced the poor and stupid for everything they could. MM: $So what IS this Sbird? $I haven't heard about it at all MM: $Wait, no! $Don't tell me! $It'll be a surprise that way.PU: i wouldn't have it any other way. PU: now i had best bid farewell; there's always something left, they say, and my bullet list grows no shorter in idleness. PU: i'll contact you again before dark. until then, be well... and try not to let the bumpkins bore you to death. (^_-)"-- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] ceased tweeting mondainMerchant [MM] --Well, time to do a bit of "charity work". Not that Mercia disliked talking to Nine at all, but she was also--it must be admitted--something of a coward. Even chatting with a member of that elite order of hired killers, the secret supralieges of Avinia, put Mercia a tad on edge. Oh, well, keep a stiff upper lip. Was it much different from the nerves involved with making a high-profit potential sale? Smile and never let them see you sweat, Mercia Issaries. -- mondainMerchant [MM] began tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] --MM: ( ´ ▽ ` )ノVL: ...hello. VL: (´・_・)ノ A curious custom that had somehow sprung from their first meeting, when Mercia tried (and failed) to hire Nine at her supraliege's behest: conversations consisting mostly of kaomoji. It was a little game, in Mercia's eyes, to see how long she could go and what she could communicate without the use of words. Also, all of the cute little faces helped soothe the woman's fear. MM: \(^∀^)メ(^∀^)ノ MM: (⌐■_■) = [+..••] ?VL: a game? .... VL: ...and a mysterious glasses person... VL: ... VL: ...how frightening. ( ´△`) MM: (-‸ლ) MM: (⌐■_■) = ( ・ω・)☞ MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ?VL: (´・_・)つ⌐■_■ VL: (´ ⌐■_■) VL: ...i understand. VL: i think. VL: ... VL: ...i don't wear sunglasses, though. VL: just a second.MM: (・・ ) ? VL: ...sorry. VL: i am back. (´ ⌐■_■) VL: are you asking if i have a game?MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ⊂(・ω・*⊂) MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ?VL: you are... giving me a game? VL: ...you're asking if i want a game.MM: ∑d(°∀°d)VL: why? VL: and... what game is it?Still giggling softly, Mercia had to admit the game was up there. All in all, a good score. She had gotten the basic premise of their conversation across, and even gotten Nine--apparently--to wear sunglasses. Mercia took a bit of silly pride in her silly little achievement. MM: $With that, I do believe I've exceeded my capacity to explain via kaomoji. (⌒_⌒;) MM: Before I begin with more words, I hope you are doing well, Nine.VL: ... VL: ...i don't know how to respond when you wish me well. VL: ...an explanation would be nice. VL: ...of... the game... not the... um. ...yeah.Really, Mercia had expected Assassins to be even more smooth and debonair than the average merchant. Gamma, Nine's supraliege, had been like that, from what Mercia could remember of her. Yet, Nine was more the cool, calm, stoic type. Well...until she gets put off her guard, at least! Mercia thought with a small chuckle. I really have to try and get her to socialize more someday, when work slows down and I'm not trapped in Sunbreeze...{Show Tweetlog}MM: $You respond something like "I'm fine, I hope you're doing well too!" or something like that. MM: $But, yes, business, such as it is. $I can respect that! MM: $As for what the game is, I have absolutely no idea! VL: ... VL: then why message me about it? MM: Isn't it fun to take a leap of faith~♩? VL: its not like you to message me for frivolous reasons... VL: ...or at least... most people don't... VL: ...and to even ask me how i'm doing... VL: all for a game...? MM: $That's pretty sad... $I guess the Assassin life is tougher than I thought. MM: $I'll have to do a better job of getting over my fear and message you more for frivolous reasons! VL: ...it wasn't a plea for you to waste your own time... VL: ...nor to push past your discomfort for "my" sake. VL: do what you want. MM: $I'll be doing whatever I want, then. $You can't kill me in reprisal now, since you gave me permission! Haha... MM: $Ahem. MM: $He-hem. MM: $This is Sbird! I was given it by an old...friend? Acquaintance? MM: $A Caeli. $She wanted--for whatever reason--one of your order to be involved with this game! MM: $Maybe it's one of those RPGs where you can play as an assassin to gank other players and she wanted someone with previous experience for her guild?? MM: $I don't know! $I didn't ask! ┐( ̄∀ ̄)┌ MM: $Like I said, leaps of faith are fun! $Here's one for you!-
-- mondainMerchant [MM] sent veneratedLarceny [VL] the file "SBIRD.~ARC" --
VL: .... VL: .~ARC... VL: i see... VL: ...if it's a game like that... maybe vivian would want to play... she plays a lot of games. VL: give... me a moment to get out of the kitchen... MM: $Ooh, what were you making? $More kebabs? ( ・・)つ-●●● VL: baking... VL: ... i am not good at it... VL: ...but i set a timer... so it should be fine... VL: ...brownies... i'm going to cut them into star shapes for the festival... The idea of a hardened killer making brownies for a festival was...kind of adorable? MM: $I can't cook at all! $I weep for my future husband. (*μ_μ) MM: $Sounds delicious, though. MM: $For the Starfall Festival? $Man, with all that's been going on, I forgot all about it. MM: $I guess it's not that big here in Sargoss, but I've been to places where it's celebrated highly.VL: ...its my first starfall. VL: ...speaking of... i hope you enjoyed your train ride. VL: i'm at a computer. i'll download this now.MM: $Oh holy Ashara how did you know I was on a train??? MM: $Oh gods, is your order stalking me?? $Am I on a list??? ▓▒░(°◡°)░▒▓ MM: $I take back saying I would just do what I want!!! (ಥ﹏ಥ)Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods where did she get off acting so familiar this was a killleeeeeeeEEEEEER! VL: .... VL: ................................ VL: .... VL: you posted a picture from a train on your tweeter... VL: "$Going back home! $Enjoying the crisp winds out here... thank you Conductor! ❤️🌬️"Oh. Yeah, she had done that, huh? ... Oops. MM: $... MM: $Oh. MM: $Uh, sorry. MM: $Haha, wow, that sure was a bald-faced lie I told! $My mood was absolutely SOUR at the time! MM: (*/_\)VL: why?MM: $Why what? $The lie? MM: $Why would anyone want to hear about how angry and depressed I was for going back to my shithole home town 'cause my mom suddenly died without ever telling me that she was sick?? MM: $I certainly wouldn't!VL: ... i'm sorry.MM: $See? MM: $Exactly what I'm talking about. $Now it's all sad and mopey here rather than fun and focusing on the neat game Caeli sent us!Don't dwell on the pain. Put on the mask and get on with your life. That was the Sargossin way. Mercia did her best to try and steer the conversation back to untroubled waters. The whole reason she was online in the first place was to try and leave such tragedies behind for a time... Really, wasn't it strange, anyway, that Nine was so comforting about a loved one's death when she had no doubt created many such tragedies herself? It was just life, that was all. Everyone dies and returns to the sky eventually, so there was no sense in dwelling on it. Mercia supposed that she and the assassin were both odd specimens of their profession, then, given Mercia's qualms and Nine's sensitivity. VL: no, i meant... VL: i'm sorry for your loss. it must be... hard. VL: ...i have to download software so i can decompress this ancient format.MM: $Haha, yeah! $Caeli's such a dweeb, loves her old things. MM: $I guess I should have sent the software I downloaded to decompress it with the file itself, huh? MM: $Silly me! (⌒_⌒;)VL: ...are you okay?MM: $Perfectly fine! MM: $Look, I shouldn't have said anything! $I was just babbling out of embarrassment. MM: $You know me! $Can't keep my mouth shut! (*/▽\*)VL: ... if you say so. VL: ah. the software downloaded. give me a momentMM: $You know, I haven't even run it yet! MM: $I wonder if I should do that too, or wait until everyone else in this group Caeli's making is ready? MM: $Speaking of which, she said you would "recognize her signature". $Whatever that means. MM: $Did you, or do I get to mock her about it? (¬‿¬ )VL: i VL: where did you get this file?MM: $From Caeli, as I said! MM: $Caeli...Bhaldraithe, I think her last name is? MM: $As for where she got it, I don't know! $I didn't ask many questions. ╮(︶▽︶)╭VL: you want me to join some group and PLAY this?MM: $You don't have to if you don't want to. MM: $But like I said: leaps of faith are fun!VL: ..................... MM: (・_・;)VL: no.-- veneratedLarceny [VL] ceased tweeting mondainMerchant [MM] -- MM: $...I hope this isn't why I die! ..・ヾ(。><)シ
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jun 23, 2022 0:59:40 GMT -5
Neon lights painted the way home. They weren't exactly hers, but they might as well be. Coach's modest house, which Martel had shared for the past several turns, sat right next to an arcade. Or rather, the arcade, helpfully labeled as such on its sign: simply, "Arcade". It didn't need anything more specific, as the only arcade for miles around; with the advent of the internet, people cared less and less for the physical artifice of arcade cabinets, and eventually stopped coming altogether.
Some people cared less, anyway. If anything, all it did was make Martel Jain care more. She brought her shining yellow steed to a stop at the bike hitch just off the street corner, locked it up, and retrieved her belongings from where they were sitting on the back. As she walked past the front of the Arcade, she dragged her fingertips across the dust-grimed glass of its large front windows, leaving clean streaks where she passed. The business had closed hours ago, but its garish, flickering signs continued to announce their presence, calling the wayward home. She smiled as her fingers left the far edge of the last window before Coach's house. You never really know what you have until it's gone, but Martel was determined to appreciate at least this one dying relic before it truly faded away.
The death of arcades in the face of digital distribution, specifically, was a particular irony for the little house next to it. Atop the Arcade sat an enormous antenna, a towering, skeletal spire that called to mind the radio antennas of old, through which its owners downloaded new games to install in the few customizable, newer-model cabinets they purchased, for all the success it gave them in luring people back out of their computer chairs and into the arcade. Which is to say, little to none. What it did do, however, was absolutely ruin Martel's cellular reception by its mere existence -- a fact Caeli had already anticipated when she asked Martel to begin the download earlier that night, to dodge the inevitably dismal download speeds at her home.
Ah, crud. Kinda forgot to do that in all the excitement earlier, didn't I? Oh well, too late now. She'll just have to chew me out for it later, I guess. For the moment, Martel had to steel herself for an entirely different kind of confrontation. She shrugged, chuckled to herself, and headed for the door.
====>
"Well, look what the wolf dragged in." On any other pair of lips, those words would've sounded an accusation, or at least, a passive-aggressive jab. Accompanied by Coach's jovial smile, however, they were just friendly banter -- 'just' that, and also an important segue into an earnest expression of fatherly concern as he set aside his newspaper, rose from his armchair, and crossed the small living room in two long steps, reaching up to ruffle his young charge's hair affectionately. "Y'alright, kiddo?"
Coach always had an easy time talking to people, but when it came to the ones he cared about, he seemed to hold his cards a bit closer to his chest. He wouldn't come right out and say it, but there was always more to a question like that than it seemed. Martel flashed half an embarrassed grin, and ducked past him towards the hall closet to put away her bag... and her bat.
"Guess you already heard, then." On any other pair of lips, those words would've sounded an admission of defeat, or at least, a half-truth unmasked. But they had already discussed the weight of deception, many turns ago, when Martel was yet an unblooded pup. You cannot carry love and a lie at the same time; each requires two hands to grasp. But only one weighs you down. "Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, eh?" No sarcasm there, just a knowing grin.
"Something like that," Coach chuckled, taking a moment to fish something out of his pocket. "A little birdie might've told me a thing or two." He wagged his cell phone towards Martel, one of those big, nearly indestructible bricks that looked like it could've survived an explosion, and, all things considered, probably had on at least one occasion. It was a wonder that the old relic could even handle tweeting, but clearly it did.
"That meddling magpie!" Martel shot back with a clearly forced scowl that quickly dissolved into a smile. "Always looking out for me -- both of you. What kind of story did she tell this time?"
"Another thrilling tale of the mysterious batman, cleaning up the moon-drunk streets of the sleepless city." Coach's previously warm tone cooled a few notches as he served admonishment with a disappointed shake of his head. "You know what I said about fighting, Martel."
"Hey, hey. I didn't hurt anyone. Just made some noise." Martel held up her hands in something halfway to a shrug, palms up, as though their cleanliness would testify to her innocence.
"You could have gotten hurt!" Coach's voice went from a disappointed hum to a furious roar in a moment, and Martel shrank back in momentary deference. Still, she had a good reason, and she wasn't about to back down on one of the few truly iron-clad convictions she held.
"I had to do something! I thought those guys were gonna mug him... but then it turned out that he stole from them... and then they were all fighting and it was this huge mess and..." Okay, so it was sounding like a less and less good reason the more she explained it, and her frantic gesticulations only served to underscore her own point falling apart. "L... Look, he had a sword! Someone could've gotten stabbed if I hadn't acted!"
"Yes! You! 'Someone' could have been you! Don't you get that?" Anger melted into frustration, and eventually boiled away to lay bare the concern beneath it, vulnerable and afraid. "Damn it, Little Red... I know you want to carry the whole world all on your own, but you need to be more responsible. You need to think about yourself every now and then." Coach closed the distance between them in another loping step, and gathered the shaken girl in his burly arms, face buried in her messy hair. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
If she didn't know better, Martel could've sworn he was crying.
"Look, I'm... sorry, alright?" Martel muttered her apology, but when Coach released her and stepped back, she raised her head to look him in the eye. It was a tough thing for an idealist to digest, to admit the flaws inherent to heroism, but even if she couldn't quite stomach the idea of worrying for her own sake, she could accept that others worried about her, and she couldn't stand to let anyone down. "I'll be more careful next time."
"You'll call the Rangers next time. We-- they exist to deal with that sort of thing." He caught himself, but... well, once a Ranger, always a Ranger, and it showed. "They've got the authority, the experience, and most importantly, backup." He wagged his finger admonishingly at Martel. "I know you want to help, but you have to remember that you're just one person. You're not immortal. Do what you can, that's all any nari asks of another, but... leave the heavy stuff to the professionals, or one of these days you're gonna really get hurt. Or worse." After a long, sober silence to let that one properly sink in, Coach returned to his armchair and fell back into its cushiony embrace with a heavy sigh. "Wind keep us both, you are gonna be the death of me, kid." He rubbed his knitted brow with one hand. "Guess that's what I get for thinking I could retire and live out the rest of my life quietly."
"Oh come on, you'd die of boredom first, and old age can't catch you anyway. You're too fast." Martel met her guardian's teasing with more of the same, the storm of mere minutes ago forgotten as quickly as it brewed. "Speaking of, I guess that's the latest project?" She gestured to a flat, unmarked box sitting conspicuously on the middle seat of the nearby sofa.
"Good eye, sniper. I wanted to have it ready in time for your game." Coach leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, not even bothering to hide his excitement, like a father waiting for his child to unwrap a carefully selected birthday present. Which is precisely what she did, with just as much excitement.
"...This isn't the team's symbol." With confusion writ clear on her face, Martel held up her unboxed gift: a black jersey in a modern style, far sharper and more ornate than what she was accustomed to wearing. On its chest, where she expected to see the distinctive yellow 'W' insignia of the Horizon Central Wolves, she instead found...
"Nope." A toothy grin cracked Coach's lips as his errant charge played right into his parental plans. "It's yours."
A sharp arrow, aimed up and to the right, skyward, like it was pointing the way towards the future, ever onward. Or perhaps a decorated blade, given the cross bar at its base and pair of dots that could have been meant to represent decorative gemstones.
"Oh c'mon, I don't need something like this..." Martel bowed her head shyly, folding the shirt to return it to its box. "I'm not..."
Not what? An icon? An arrow to point the way? A gleaming blade to cut a path towards the future?
"And that's exactly why you are." Coach nodded with the weight of experience he rarely spoke on, with all the surety of someone who'd seen exactly that kind of light before. "They all look up to you. You always push yourself, always try your best to help them, to raise them up. You need to rise up too." Putting word to deed, he stood again and clapped a steady hand on Martel's shoulder in a reassuring pat. "A strong team needs a strong leader."
"I'm not-- a baseball team doesn't even have a leader, you corn dog." Martel nudged him with an elbow and a sharp grin. "But they do have a coach."
"Hah! You're not turning this one around on me, I'm way too old to keep up with you spring chickens." For as long as Martel had known him, Coach had overplayed his age as a way of keeping out of the spotlight, even though she knew damn well that he could run circles around the whole team at once if he had to. Were she a bit more self-aware, it might remind her of a bit of spotlight-dodging of her own that she'd done recently... but, surprising no one at all, that particular observation evaded her just as nimbly. "Besides, I'm not just talking about baseball."
"...Oh." Martel's eyes widened, and her heart sank. She wasn't exactly planning on lying about that, but... hey, she's young and full of vigor, she doesn't need nearly as much sleep as Coach thinks she does anyway! "She told you about that too, then."
"Don't worry about it." The response caught Martel off-guard, though the affectionate hair-ruffle that followed didn't, and she smiled up from under her caretaker's large hand and the mess of her already-messy hair. "What, did you think I'd really tell you to miss out on your best friend's big night? Probably would've suggested you take the night off work if I knew about it before, but I probably wouldn't have taken my own advice either, when I was younger." Coach smiled and shrugged, before dismissing Martel with another hearty shoulder-pat, leaving her free to head off to her own room. "Just don't stay up too late, kiddo. Regional finals wait for no nari!"
Martel joined him in a moment's laughter, but rather than leave it at that and scamper off, she waited until they'd both quieted and gave him a simple, serious nod. "I know, and I won't. You can trust me." And this time, she meant it. "See you in the morning!" With a smile and a wave, she headed off down the hall.
...Aw nuts, the download. Caeli's gonna be so disappointed if I'm late, better get that going and hope the game hasn't already started.
-- 23 missed messages --
...Oh boy.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 15, 2022 18:39:26 GMT -5
> Earlier that same day, but slightly later than last time...
The grey spire of the mountain towered overhead like a gravestone. It was fitting, Caeli thought, as it too was a stone edifice marking the end of one journey and the beginning of another. She retrieved a camera from her Encyclopedia Sylladexica and snapped a picture of the rocky tower to begin documenting her journey. It had surely been catalogued by other explorers who came before -- there was little left on the Florinian Peninsula that hadn't been, with so many travelers regularly passing through the area's shipping and transit ports -- but her journey served a different purpose than theirs.
A historian exploring Ruina Octus, as Caeli had taken to calling it in her itinerary (and now her encyclopedia), would likely have recorded the hieroglyphic writing on its walls and attempted to translate them in the context of the other seven as some sort of story, whether a creation myth or a particularly fanciful historical record. To Caeli, however, they were a set of instructions: not the past, but the future, and the coming end. They spoke of apocalyptic renewal, and the circumstances required to both bring it about and survive its coming -- for it was coming, inevitably and unavoidably, whether she chose to act or not. And so, there was no other course but to act.
A historian exploring Ruina Octus would also have had to deal with the plethora of traps littering the ruins, still surprisingly functional after however long they had stood, ranging from the merely inconvenient (a floor where the path ahead would fall away if the tiles before it were traversed in the wrong order) to the injurious and potentially fatal (a hall lined with small openings at various angles through which long, thin spikes would project if triggered). The coppery, dried red-brown streaks on the walls and floor suggested that the latter sort of traps had found their mark more than once. The continually lessening number of those streaks Caeli encountered the deeper she got into the ruins suggested that they had done their job in deterring adventurers from accessing its deeper secrets. Whatever knowledge awaited, someone or something had gone to great lengths to keep it from the wrong hands.
What assurance do I have that mine are even the right hands? Caeli's self-doubt mused inwardly, nearly independent of her, as she deftly evaded a swinging blade that seemed as razor-sharp as the day it was forged. The Old Man's advice drifted back on a memory as clear as if he was standing there by her side, serving her just as well as his turns of grueling training served her in breaching each of these ruins and unearthing their entombed knowledge. You know these secrets are yours, because you have the strength, the skill, and the will to take them.
Seven ruins Caeli had explored thus far, and each of them told a variation on the same story: that the world would die in fire, and be reborn in the same. In the final chamber of each, the stone-carved legends told of a different mythical hero who would lead their people from this world into the next, and each tale was decorated with their iconography. ...At least, that's how she interpreted it. The hieroglyphs were abstract at the best of times, and the way they were written suggested their writer or writers possessed a tenuous grasp of their own language, further complicating translation. Were these writers truly so ancient that they had only just barely developed the gift of communication -- the Conductor's breath, the language of hearts borne aloft from the lips of His children, a gift so sacred that its lack would be unthinkable to any nari?
At the very least, others who had encountered these ruins came to the same general conclusions about the plot of the story, and it was through those sporadic online postings on fringe websites by seemingly lunatic authors that the ruins first came to Caeli's attention. When she spoke to the Old Man about it for the first time, she thought he might dismiss them as yet another childish flight of fancy, but instead he supported her venture wholeheartedly. With his aid she began documenting the known, and venturing into the unknown... or at least, less-known, given the blood stains earlier. Whoever found these last few ruins before her, they either remained silent about them, or never lived to tell their tale.
Where Caeli differed from other fringe historians, however, was in the interpretation of the second layer of meaning behind the pictograms that littered the ruins. Where others mused that the markings that ran along the edge of each row of hieroglyphs and circled each large illustration carved into the wall might have served the purpose of timekeeping or marking other, recurring but less-significant historical events that underscored the grand narrative, a calendar of sorts, Caeli -- a child with a great deal of free time and imagination on her hands, true, but also a gamer with a wealth of experience from all that free time -- saw the rudiments of computer code. Though her lack of experience in programming led her to seek aid from the most unexpected of sources, the effort did eventually bear fruit.
When the translated "code" from the first ruin compiled and executed to display an ominous, ever-shifting spirograph image, she stopped talking about it online.
Caeli pierced the remainder of the ruin's defenses as easily as an Assassin's knife. For all her bookishness, that was her true birthright, and the Old Man honed her innate skills to a fine edge. He told her that her father had been one of them, an Assassin in secret -- and perhaps the finest who had ever lived. His loss was as great a blow to the ancient order as could be imagined, and while Caeli was not pressured into following in his shadowy footsteps, the Old Man refused to let such talent go entirely to waste. Though not an Assassin himself, the wily old archaeologist shared a similar skillset, trained, as he told her, through a lifetime of exploring ancient ruins not entirely unlike those she now ventured through. Between her inborn gifts, his training, and her unique eye for finality, she had been shaped into an ideal successor and more.
"At the end of everything... at the end of everything..." Back in the present, Caeli muttered the words like a mantra to herself. The ruins told a single, continuous story. The tale of the worldly trader led into that of the luminary endsinger, the story of the scattered remnant into that of the desolate revenger, and the details of each were required to navigate the traps and sealing mechanisms barring the way to the next. This last one, however, had her stumped. For a long while, she paced the dusty stone floor, and considered more than once calling upon her friends or her caretaker for aid.
No, this mission is mine, and mine alone. That's what he told me: he can bring me to the beginning of each step, but following it to its end is my decision. She narrowed her eyes at the hieroglyphs on the stone door at the dead-end of the hall, as though willing them to tell their story. They were woven between a series of the slender spike traps that characterized the rest of the ruin, but she already knew their triggers, and so avoiding them was merely a rote action in the process of rereading the message. The end of worlds, the gates, and the birth of everything that came after. You can do this, Caeli. You don't need them. You've come this far alone. Nobody has to bear this burden but you; nobody has to shoulder this lie but you.
The common continental aphorism about the weight of deception leaves out one important detail: It's not the lie that weighs you down. It's the truth that only you know.
"...at the end of... 'everything'! Aha!" Caeli's eyes lit with triumph as she glimpsed the symbol in the center of the door, mid-sentence, a pictogram representing totality, the whole of the universe, in the image of what seemed to be a rotund frog. Just beyond its right edge -- its end, read left to right -- was another small opening in the door, and below that, a groove that led all the way down to the floor. At the seam of door and floor was a small horizontal slit, covered in a fine metal mesh that remained conspicuously free of rust despite the passage of unknown eons. It was too small for even a slender tool -- a knifetip, or even a needle -- to pass through, and its immediate surroundings gave no further clue to its solution, though it was clear enough that the only thing that could pass through the mesh was a liquid.
Caeli once again began examining the message, looking this time not for words, but symbols -- those icons she had come to associate with the mythical heroes of each prior ruin. In addition to their role as recurring decorative motif, they were used in the fictional histories written on the walls of each, to represent those heroes, instead of their names or titles. Sure enough, following the groove back up to the spike-trap opening at its apex, and to the line of hieroglyphic text just above it, she found what she was seeking: this time, it was a stark diagonal line, carved like the stroke of a blade, with three lines drawn downward from it, like trails of blood -- the mark of the hero thereof.
Caeli stared for a long while at the marking, the aperture, the groove, and the inlet below. She knew what it was asking of her; all that remained was to muster the courage to do it.
For each thing in this world there is a Price.
She placed her hand flat against the door, palm against the small circular hole, and braced herself with a grimace.
> And later still...
"Caeli, you're pale as a ghost." On any other pair of lips, those words would've sounded an expression of concern, or at least surprise. Under the weight of the Old Man's eagle gaze, however, they were much more. Without so much as turning his head, he took in her appearance and expression as she returned to her seat in the back of the car, and knew what they meant without ever asking. "Home, then?"
The Old Man always had an easy time reading people, and he read Caeli easiest of all, no matter how close she held her cards to her chest. His comment might've drawn a giggle from her under any other circumstances, being as she was already pale as a ghost to begin with, but there was more to that observation than it seemed -- even without knowing about the bandage wrapped around her hand, which she carefully kept hidden within her jacket's right pocket. That there was any apparent change at all in her typical pallor spoke volumes about what she witnessed in that final, sealed chamber, and Caeli simply nodded numbly in response.
For any other nari, what she saw behind that blood-hungry door -- within that final chamber, where the hieroglyphs spoke of the final, unthinkable price -- would have shaken them to the very core of their beliefs. For one prepared so uniquely as Caeli Bhaldraithe had been, however, it did that and more: the conclusion of the tale and her role in it stripped her down to that core, and then, with nothing left but her one fundamental truth, reinforced it in unbending steel. Her entire life had been built up to this, by tragedy and training, the cruelty of coincidence and the growing certainty that no such thing as "coincidence" ever truly existed at all.
The price was unthinkable. And she would pay it without a second thought.
-- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] began tweeting autonomousDictum [AD] --
PU: satria. PU: the game has changed.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
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Post by Naevius on Aug 20, 2022 23:53:31 GMT -5
The trip from the blacksmithy to his quarters was no less paranoia-inducing than the one from the training hall to the smithy. Indeed, it was perhaps worse. Though the two had bid each other their goodbyes, Soris nevertheless couldn't help but watch the Sidirourgos until he disappeared beyond a distant corner--imagining with each step that a shadow-wreathed blade might claim the stout old man's life. When, exactly, had cheery and guileless Soris Saturninus become such a paranoid person? "Constant vigilance!" Such were Grandmaster Bythos' watch-words. And wise they were indeed for fighting against an enemy that could strike anywhere, unseen and unheard. The order to disperse from the grounds had been given by the Pythia herself, so he should have trusted that all would be well under Sophia's divine eye. Yet, a persistent feeling nagged at him, like a little strand of his soul was tethered to that old man...and that strand was beginning to fray. It was the same feeling that had bidden him wake from a deep sleep one bloody night, just in time to watch his world come to an end. Somehow, Soris feared he would never see that calm, stout-hearted, warm old man again...and it burned his heart. He could only hope that meant his own death was approaching, rather than the Sidirourgos'. Deep breaths. Slowly but surely young Parakletos calmed the beating of his heart, warmed the blood in his veins that had chilled with such thoughts. An emotion was just an emotion, a worry a worry. It was natural to feel anxiety about such a strange turn of events in his home, but there was nothing he could do about it. The Pythia's word was law. He had merely to play his part and trust in Sophia's holy wisdom. Someday... Someday I'll make sure no one else has to feel like this... A naive oath, but a sincere one. ====>There were no regulations on the keeping of a knight's quarters. It was long tradition in Nari polytheism that the priestly class--the nuns, the brothers, the priests and prophets and monks of many kinds and ways--held the keys to holy places under their total jurisdiction. Every earthly power--even the old god-kings of myth, whose like had not been seen in hundreds of turns if they had existed at all--had to accede to the wishes of even a lowly priest of a dying temple should he wish to enter. Such it was down to the minutest detail: even the four little walls of Soris' temple quarters were considered his and his alone, to be done with as he pleased. It was only Soris' own temperament, therefore, that made of them such a spartan and drab thing. The walls were the same unassuming and easily painted-over beige they had been when he arrived, and were equally bereft of all ornamentation. Only a few maps spottily covered the bare space. A simple bed was pushed against the corner as far away as possible from the door and single window. A bookshelf overflowing with various tomes--mostly of practical nature, and largely bereft of anything with entertainment value--stood towering up to the ceiling, and close to it--near the window--was a wooden desk that Soris had built himself (the little slab of wood underneath one of the legs spoke to his level of skill in woodcraft). Upon it lay perhaps the most well taken care of article in that room: a desktop computer that was built with far more skill and care than the wobbling throne upon which it sat. Naturally, of course: the computer was actually important for his work. It was one of the few things that mattered. If there was one object within that carried a piece of the young man's soul, it was the well-treasured acoustic guitar on its stand in the corner, near his closet. Almost all nari played at least one instrument--musicality being a near-universality of their species--even if at an indifferent level. But, for Soris it was something more: rather than a social tool, as most nari used their instruments, Soris' guitar was his way of retreating from the world, of granting himself a single scrap of peace in his fraught life. The red-eyed nari never allowed others to hear him play if he could help it. Not because he was embarrassed of his skill, but because its music was his and his alone. Soris let out a weary sigh. Perhaps it was complacency, but the overwhelming paranoia abated somewhat within his own room. He slung his long dark coat upon the coat-rack near the door, unlaced and set aside his shoes, and crossed the room with a few long strides towards that cherished instrument. With careful hands he retrieved the brown guitar and sat down with it upon his bed. Fingers to string, he began to play. An old song, and Soris' favorite of those he knew. It was a song full of beautiful lies--lies that the young knight wished he could have told his father before his death. Though Soris did not sing the words--he hated his own voice--he could not help but imagine Bill Gates' distinctive voice in his head singing them. A trance came upon him, with nothing separating man and instrument. Emotions too strong to ever give voice to found reprieve and expression for just a few beautiful moments. Tears flecked his eyes. Alas, it was not to be forever. All songs had to come to an end eventually, and soon enough he had strummed away the waning seconds of his peace on Avinia. Perhaps he might have moved onto another song, something just as somber and beautiful and pure--but the world wasted little time dragging himself back to the dirt and mud of reality. Its agent? A ding of message coming from his phone. Someone was trying to contact him. With another sigh, Soris returned his guitar to his home and strode over to the spartan wooden chair before his misshapen desk. After waking up the computer and putting in multiple passwords to unlock it, he found the cause of the interruption. It didn't help his surly mood. -- valoriousssVindicator [VV] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- VV: heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy VV: wait dont block me lmao -- saturnineSoldier [SS] blocked valoriousssVindicator [VV] -- That siren again. Soris scowled as he performed the perfunctory--and pointless--blocking. Why could she not leave him alone? They were enemies, after all--sworn to kill one another on-sight. Yet, for some reason, the stupid harpy oft felt the need to pester him over text. He could understand if she wanted to mock his failure to kill her thus far, or attempt to weasel important information out of him, but it was never anything like that. -- valoriousssVindicatorr [VV] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- VV: SIGH!!!!!!!!!!! "Sigh" indeed. Attempts to elude or swat away the Vivian's attentions had always come to naught--curse Opsec's laziness! Alas, the only way out was to dance until her song ended, then exit stage right before an encore could begin. SS: !What. SS: !What could you possibly want.VV: wanna say hi lol duh VV: hii!!!!! VV: im real bored rn lmao & also i wanted to ask some stff VV: RT: whats ur fav star. ur kinda orgney so i think obero-4 will work for u?SS: ... SS: !Gods. !Something tells me that I'll never be rid of you unless I humor you. SS: !What, is this something to do with that celebration you have around this time? SS: !I don't really give a shit about stars, so I guess that works."Starfall" if Soris remembered correctly--and he almost certainly did. His vague knowledge was only a feigned thing, meant to speed this loathsome conversation further to its conclusion. No, the Untouchable Parakletos knew everything there could be known about his enemy's rituals and inner workings. Know thy enemy. VV: umDUH we r friends now duhhhHHHH thats how friends work also u promised me VV: abt my name <3 <3 <3 ;) u rememb rite? i remembEnemy.SS: !Whatever I "promised", either you hallucinated it or I repressed it. SS: !And we're about as far as one can get from "friends", Assassin.VV: soris saturni..nininini ...saturninininninininininnninn VV: saturninusssssssss VV: p cute name ;) did i tell u it was cute befoer cos like. dam.... cuteSoris' face turned a redder shade of orange. SS: ... SS: !What is the point of this?VV: O SO LIKE, VV: IM SOOOO GLAD U ASKED VV: ur star is obero-4 !!!!!!!!!!!! <3 VV: n i already have some Deets wanna chekc it out lol?SS: !No.VV: coo' that means i get to show u later <3 VV: so likeeeeeee... wyd? X3 lmaoSS: !Why would I tell my enemy what I'm up to? !You could use that to find and try to kill me! SS: !Though honestly I could use the distraction. SS: !But no.VV: awwww distrakshun? from wat? im a gud distrakshun VV: if ur real worried il somehow kill u from u30482 miles away i can tell u what IM doing instead <3 always up fr distracting a bro <3 (and a gal) SS: !What I WANT you to do is L O G O F F ! ! SS: !But that's not an option here, is it? SS: !So do whatever will make you leave me alone quickest!VV: lol ur so lonely its kinda sad tbh VV: wat happen, lose all ur frendz?Not just his friends. SS: !Oh, shut up. !Just because I don't want to be badgered by a dyslexic harpy doesn't mean I'm lonely! SS: !Look, you want to know what I was doing? !Just playing my guitar, that's all! !Then I got bored, decided to go online, and now Y O U are here! SS: !I should have kept playing!VV: omg u play guiatar ????!!!!! VV: i didnt know that tht s so cool!!! AHHH!! im jelus...SS: ... SS: !Why, what do you play?VV: i dont play much of anything tbh liek VV: i wana learn but i keep breakin shit like the only insturmebt i havent broken was a piano n like VV: i mean LOOQUE at me do i look like a piano broad lol VV: im nt even thTHAT good at singing like, honestly it sux VV: so jelus. one of my cowrkser so good at snging and never fkcing SINGS ever like omg if u have taent use it amirtie While Soris could certainly understand insecurity about one's voice, to be a nari was to use music in some way. That wouldn't do at all, if she couldn't find an instrument to play at least. Maybe she'd be less of a nuisance if she had a proper musical hobby, anyway. Still, he couldn't help but feel a stab of empathy for this supposed enemy... Unfocused.SS: !Only thing for it is to keep at one instrument until you stop breaking it, I guess. SS: !Which one is your favorite to listen to?VV: o ummmmmmmmmmmm VV: so elektri c guitar is REALY COOL like gosh ya VV: saxophone is just fune and like obvis SSEXYPHONE so theres that 2 VV: uhhhhhhhhhhhh mmmm fluite n violin r cool igues VV: but i mean is it basik to like gitar? i feel like it kinda is but mayb i should just be cmftbale with bein a baseic bitch VV: not evne tryin 2 hit on u and sae that cos ur hot im just - frreal lots of my fav sonts are just. electrig gutar SS: ........... SS: !Well, sorry to disappoint, but mine's acoustic, not electric. SS: !Who gives a shit if it's basic or not. !If you like it, you didn't choose that. !So just buy a bunch of electric guitars with your murder money and keep going until you stop breaking, I guess.VV: aww... ur a real nice guy u kno that rite? VV: thnx VV: if it helbs acousitc guitar aslo soudns sick and i think its rl cook u wer eable to get good at it even whil ur busy witha ll yoru untouchanle stuff! VV: *cool SS: !T H A T ' S the fucking typo you fix?!VV: ya VV: i dont wan u to thi k i was calling u cook wtf does that mean VV: i wont cal u cook im only gona call u a snack ;))))))))))0 SS: .............................VV: or a tal glas of water i gue s SS: ..........................................................VV: tfw ur utnaouchable friend wont hodl u like hes holdin hsi . key smh :pensive-- saturnineSoldier [SS] blocked valoriousssVindicatorr [VV] -- Soris covered his burning face with both hands and focused on deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It's just a tactic, she's trying to make you hesitate in the future. he reminded himself--somewhat unconvincingly. It certainly was a tactic she was committed to, given the tenor of all of their conversations. Damned siren. Hopefully that final block would get the message through her thick sku- -- nebulousOutlier [NO] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] --NO: hey! NO: you like video games right? NO: i was told you like video games by a mutual friend, apparently? NO: okay she didn't say that specifically but it was kind of implied by the topic, there's a new video game involved and i guess we're putting a party together?? NO: uh, details were light.SS: !FUCKING STAY B L O C K E D ! ! ! ! !Wait, that's not the harpy's charming stupid dyslexic scatter-shot typing style, nor is it her handle. Oh, Sophia, he had just assumed poor Latnok was the siren typing at him again... That was hardly a way to treat a...well, perhaps not quite a comrade, but anyone who had problems with assassins was a good person in Soris' book. Latnok was good people, and certainly didn't deserve his misplaced ire. Besides, when properly reading the text, there was certainly an interesting mystery to be found there. A mutual friend and a new videogame? Well, it was not like he had anything better to do on his Naming Day. SS: !Wait shit SS: !Sorry, I thought you were a troll I was just dealing with. !Hello, Latnok. SS: !Video games are fun enough, I suppose, when I don't have anything else to do. !Who's this "mutual friend" and why didn't they just contact me themselves, though? SS: !Not that it's not nice hearing from you, of course.NO: wow, harsh but fair NO: is there another NO? am i gonna have to change again? NO: but yeah hey! it's been a minute, sorry about that. you know how it is :\ NO: i have no idea, she said you've been hard to contact and also that we're being set up as co-op buddies or something NO: (it's caeli though) NO: (i really hope she isn't the troll you were just caps locking at that would make this very awkward) That name sent a lance of pain straight through Soris' heart. Of course Caeli was no troll--there was hardly a sweeter nari on Avinia. Or so he had assumed, at least--it had been turns since last they had talked. But, even so, the two of them were the only living members left of the Horizon Trio. No matter how long in abeyance their bond was, was it worth so little that she felt the need to go through a third party to reach him?? Had it all been so meaningless to her?! It was not like they didn't have each other's contact information! Unfocused.A deep, dark depression clouded over Soris' thoughts. Anger was not far behind--it never was. He tried not to show it. SS: .................. SS: !Caeli Bhaldraithe. !Right?NO: yeSS: !I see. SS: !No, she is not the troll I was yelling at, if you're curious. SS: ... SS: !All right, just SS: !What's the game about? !How are we going to be co-op partners?NO: i have NO IDEA! NO: but she said she made it herself so obviously we need to get in on this :v NO: i trust her not to hack and/or brick my computer so by extent i trust this file to not do the same thing to you: -- nebulousOutlier [NO] sent saturnineSoldier [SS] the file "SBIRD.~ARC" -- NO: or to tigersport commercial girl i guess, she's playing too NO: apparently?SS: !We can trust her. SS: !Even if that feeling isn't reciprocated, apparently... SS: !Downloading it. .~ARC, huh? !Old format. SS: !As for the "tigersport commercial girl", only two people come to mind about that, but I think they're both fine. !Do you need their handles or did Caeli give it to you?NO: what makes you say that? aside from her just being cagey but that's normal NO: it just seems like she wants it to be a surprise! i'd have started it up by now but my computer is, uh NO: aliven't NO: i just ordered a new one though NO: and no no i got it, it's neverGiveup (10/10) NO: do you know her? and who's the other one?SS: !All due respect. SS: !None of your F U C K I N G business.Shame was alloyed with all of the other emotions swirling about his heart, such that it was hard to bear. In that moment, he felt as if he would willingly lose his own hand to be rid of that storm of emotions. Soris had to resist the urge to simply stand up and walk away from the computer. He had said something terrible to Latnok, after all. The poor man didn't deserve it, any of it. He had to master himself, and properly apologize. SS: .... SS: !No, that was too mean. !I just SS: !It's nothing you need to worry about, so don't. !Sorry. SS: !Right, that's one of 'em, Martel. !The other's the merchant girl she did the stupid commercial with, Mercia Issaries. SS: !I know her too, but not as well as Martel. !She's fine. SS: !Sorry again.NO: jeez dude NO: long day? NO: i get it tho, will not ask again 👍 NO: oh! wait yeah i know her too, gods i forgot she was in those NO: okay i'll stop NO: but yeah, i have no idea what kind of game this is supposed to be. she compared it to an immersive sim? which is more like ten specific games and barely a genre but i digress NO: but co-op, which sounds rad.Latnok truly was a saint, to be so understanding and willing to move away posthaste from the topic that had caused his outburst. Soris didn't deserve a friend like that--if they could be called friends at all. ...No, probably not. He was a fool to assume it. SS: !Yeah, long day. SS: !Immersive sim, though? !What are the odds the first code we'll need is "0451"? SS: ... SS: !I think the fact that I know that proves how much of a fan I am of the fucking genre more than anything else could.... SS: !Blood pact. !Never tell that I'm an immersive sim nerd. !Sign with your blood or perish. NO: i don't get it and i don't need to NO: pact signed! nobody needs to know NOTHING, including where i got this blood NO: if that's an accurate description though i'm pretty sure you'll end up giving it away within like ten minutes when you start climbing on chairs or something. :v NO: wait shoot now i'm doing it NO: Tell Nobody. SS: !The blood pact goes both ways, no worries. SS: !I've never heard of a co-op or multiplayer immersive sim, though. !That'll be interesting. SS: !Despite myself, I'm kind of looking forward to it. NO: that's the spirit! i know erro and martel are playing but like NO: i have no idea how big this party is going to be and i'm sure someone's computer will be on fire by the end of it. NO: really hoping it's not mine i just ate into the budget for it <_< NO: of course this budget is for six people, so NO: eh NO: same SS: !Petrichor it must be a hell of a rig to have burned through six people's worth of budget. SS: !How pissed were they? NO: they haven't been paying attention to it for turns now it's fiiiiine NO: i put it under maintenance costs NO: i even got the same day express delivery 2: turbo edition because apparently the session starts tomorrow! NO: well my tomorrow. NO: i think. NO: i'll be 100% honest i'm not sure when it starts. SS: !And that means I don't know when it starts either. !Sheesh. SS: !I guess it's a good thing I'm locked in here anyway. SS: !The Pythia is infinite in her wisdom, mercy, and bad humor. NO: that's the spirit! NO: do i want to know why you're locked in a room? NO: actually that's probably secret order stuff nevermind NO: Do Not Tell Me SS: !Yeah it's very much Secret Order Stuff. SS: !Suffice it to say, I'm not going any-fuckin'-where any-fuckin'-time soon. !So I've got time to kill. SS: !The Pythia says "!J U M P !" and I say "!How high, ma'am?" !Such is Our Way. SS: !And on the off chance she really DOES speak to Sophia then that's probably for the best. NO: ouch NO: i want to say i know the feeling but i pretty much 100% do it to myself these days so GOOD LUCK WITH THAT NO: at least you have a computer! and probably guns to practice with unless they're being real jerks NO: actually wait no maybe don't practice shooting in an enclosed room NO: disregard SS: !I CAN go to the training grounds, at least... SS: !I've got to test out these new guns- SS: !Uh. SS: !...Is telling you I received guns a breach of secrecy? !Fucking...I don't know. SS: !Well, it's out now. !We'll see if opsec catches it and gives me a drubbing. NO: man i don't know it's all over the place NO: i can tell you i put a new gun on the starwing but i can't say what kind, that's the rules here NO: no rules on personal affects though! new granum sword just came out and it kicks ass NO: big recommend NO: wait no maybe don't get this one it's scaled for combat drones NO: uh, still NO: they put out a bunch this month for starfall SS: !If they've got stuff the size of a knife then I'll have to look into it. SS: !Otherwise I barely know which way to point a damn sword. SS: !Probably end up skewering myself and making every you-know-who in a five mile radius keel over from laughter. SS: !I'm lauded forever as the most effective warrior in the world, eulogized as a saint of the order. SS: !...Kinda talking myself into it?? NO: see that's why i like this one NO: it's literally too massive to stab myself with NO: they do have knives though! very weird rectangular knives, i don't know how that would actually work practically speaking? NO: like they have the monomolecular blade thing so they probably still stab but they made it look so weird NO: at least with a sword you're actually swinging the blade part of the blade at stuff most of the time NO: okay maybe don't get one i've talked myself out of talking you into it NO: their blasters are neat though SS: !But now you've talked me out of listening to you talking yourself out of it, because stabbing someone with a square blade sounds H I L A R I O U S. SS: !Imagine the surprise attack potential! NO: surprise, nerd! you thought it was a ruler! NO: oh they're gonna get sued hard when some kid tries that aren't they NO: (it's you, you're that kid) NO: (you're suing them after accidentally stabbing yourself) SS: !Look, the Order doesn't ask WHERE its funding comes from, just how much. SS: !Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good. !What's a pinky finger compared to it all? SS: !I'll just say it was a cool battle wound. NO: the assassins came for your math class and you were prepared SS: !Nuh-uh, don't use the word. !They monitor that. !Yes, even when you're pretty sure you're safe and behind VPNs or some shit. Nevermind that Soris had used the word when speaking with Vivian. It was probably for the best if opsec took note of that conversation anyway. Maybe they could make her stop pestering him. NO: oh right the, uh, stab fiends NO: (it's okay guys i have beef with them too) NO: (pls no send goons)SS: !Damn it man I didn't mean MY opsec I mean the stab fiends T H E M S E L V E S ! ! ! ! SS: !Opsec's D E F I N I T E L Y going to be on my ass now!NO: i have no idea what you're talking about, i'm referring in this hypothetical circumstance specifically to the fictional assassins from the movie Stab Fiends 2 NO: i really don't like that movie, or any of the characters in it NO: 👍👍SS: !Ah yes Stab Fiends 2: Electric Boogaloo, fuckin' hate that movie too. SS: !Speaking of, I should go before the marks for that horrible trash film start coming after me to call me all sorts of mean names like "Weenie" and "Nickelback." SS: !See you later, man, and thanks for the game.NO: okay yes fair i hear the fans are garbage too NO: i'll keep you posted! assuming caeli keeps me posted but she seemed pretty serious about it NO: o/-- nebulousOutlier [NO] ceased tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] --
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Post by perkunas on Feb 5, 2024 2:39:22 GMT -5
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Three, as he was lovingly dubbed by some of the others, was a charming individual - easy to like and get along with. Nine didn't mind him so much - a quiet personality and a kind demeanor was rare among the assassins, and even rarer among the eclectic mess of individuals that made up this particular assassin cell. If not for the fact Nine knew what Three was capable of, they might wonder how someone like him ended up among the ranks of the assassins. Instead, they're wondering how he managed to be such a good cook.
"...is this how you’re supposed to make it?" Nine asks, a little bit taken aback.
"Yes! If you could just mix ze ingredients togezer, using the eggs as a binding -" Three seems to pick up on the fact that explaining the mechanics of a binding agent in brownies is going to be lost on Nine, and swiftly changes tack - just pushing the bowl of soon-to-be batter into their hands. "Ah, don't vorry about it. Just mix," Then - seeming to realize something, he quickly adds - "Not with your hands. Vis zis!" And hands over a wooden spatula.
Mixing made sense, and so Nine did so, watching vaguely as Three bused from place to place in the luxurious kitchen. There was something to be said for the accommodations they had as a group - the largest accommodations Nine had ever seen. ...they think. They're pondering that trail of a thought when their phone buzzes, and they blink. To say they were in a mood to talk was greatly overstating it, but the phone is hardly able to buzz twice before they remember Gamma's words.
Business is never to be put on hold.
It was a strange edict, considering how little Gamma seemed to engage with her own phone. She'd go off for days and simply show back up, all the people calling having to wait their turn to get her services. It was perhaps the sort of hypocrisy that being such a high ranking assassin afforded her.
Nine reaches into their pocket and brings out their phone.
-- mondainMerchant [MM] began tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] --
MM: ( ´ ▽ ` )ノ VL: ...hello. VL: (´・_・)ノ MM: \(^∀^)メ(^∀^)ノ MM: (⌐■_■) = [+..••] ? VL: a game? .... VL: ...and a mysterious glasses person... VL: ... VL: ...how frightening. ( ´△`) MM: (-‸ლ) MM: (⌐■_■) = ( ・ω・)☞ MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ?
“..and I think zat might be fun! Zough zat might not be ze most comfortable for you… it’s not as if you have to stay ze whole time,” Three was still talking, conversationally, though it petered out as he watched Nine trying to somehow handle both their phone and a bowl of mashed bananas at the same time. "Eh..." Three gives a lopsided smile, and then approaches, coming to take the batter from the other assassin.
"Zat is business?"
"...Not exactly..." Nine blinks again at the phone, wondering what things could possibly mean. They glance to Three, who encourages them with a smile, and then say - "Sorry. An individual. I'm not sure what they want, exactly."
"Vell! No need to leave zem hanging," Three is already heading towards the pan he'd oiled earlier, and begins to pour out the batter into it, looking towards Nine.
VL: (´・_・)つ⌐■_■ VL: (´ ⌐■_■) VL: ...i understand. VL: i think. VL: ... VL: ...i don't wear sunglasses, though. VL: just a second.
Nine puts away their phone, heading to help Three. They're clumsy - after all this time they're still a bit clumsy in the kitchen, but they're much better assisting than anything else. Before long, the two of them have the pan squared away and in the oven, heating up, and Nine steps away, giving their attention to their phone.
MM: (・・ ) ? VL: ...sorry. VL: i am back. (´ ⌐■_■) VL: are you asking if i have a game? MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ⊂(・ω・*⊂) MM: (⌐■_■) [+..••] ? VL: you are... giving me a game? VL: ...you're asking if i want a game. MM: ∑d(°∀°d) VL: why? VL: and... what game is it? MM: $With that, I do believe I've exceeded my capacity to explain via kaomoji. (⌒_⌒; ) MM: Before I begin with more words, I hope you are doing well, Nine. VL: ... VL: ...i don't know how to respond when you wish me well. VL: ...an explanation would be nice. VL: ...of... the game... not the... um. ...yeah. MM: $You respond something like "I'm fine, I hope you're doing well too!" or something like that. MM: $But, yes, business, such as it is. $I can respect that! MM: $As for what the game is, I have absolutely no idea!
To say Nine liked this individual probably would have been an overstatement, but they didn't mind her - even felt somewhat positively towards her, on a good day. Still, as far as Nine was concerned, the woman was damn near impenetrable. Especially when she did needless, frivolous things for absolutely no reason at all. Nine felt their brow furrow ever so slightly before they continued responding.
VL: ... VL: then why message me about it? MM: Isn't it fun to take a leap of faith~♩? VL: its not like you to message me for frivolous reasons... VL: ...or at least... most people don't... VL: ...and to even ask me how i'm doing... VL: all for a game...? MM: $That's pretty sad... $I guess the Assassin life is tougher than I thought. MM: $I'll have to do a better job of getting over my fear and message you more for frivolous reasons! VL: ...it wasn't a plea for you to waste your own time... VL: ...nor to push past your discomfort for "my" sake. VL: do what you want. MM: $I'll be doing whatever I want, then. $You can't kill me in reprisal now, since you gave me permission! Haha... MM: $Ahem. MM: $He-hem. MM: $This is Sbird! I was given it by an old...friend? Acquaintance? MM: $A Caeli. $She wanted--for whatever reason--one of your order to be involved with this game! MM: $Maybe it's one of those RPGs where you can play as an assassin to gank other players and she wanted someone with previous experience for her guild?? MM: $I don't know! $I didn't ask! ┐( ̄∀ ̄)┌ MM: $Like I said, leaps of faith are fun! $Here's one for you!-
-- mondainMerchant [MM] sent veneratedLarceny [VL] the file "SBIRD.~ARC" --
VL: .... VL: .~ARC... VL: i see... VL: ...if it's a game like that... maybe vivian would want to play... she plays a lot of games. VL: give... me a moment to get out of the kitchen... MM: $Ooh, what were you making? $More kebabs? ( ・・)つ-●●●
They leave the kitchen and head up the stairs for their room. It's not a particularly long walk, all things considered. While the mansion their group used as an outpost in this part of the world was labyrinthine at times, it was fairly easy to navigate - presuming you knew where you were going. Not to toot any horns - it could easily be considered a marvel of architecture. "Only the best blood money could buy," Gamma would state, with a glib smile that Nine was never quite sure what to make of.
VL: baking... VL: ... i am not good at it... VL: ...but we set a timer... so it should be fine... VL: ...brownies... i'm going to cut them into star shapes for the festival... MM: $I can't cook at all! $I weep for my future husband. (*μ_μ) MM: $Sounds delicious, though. MM: $For the Starfall Festival? $Man, with all that's been going on, I forgot all about it. MM: $I guess it's not that big here in Sargoss, but I've been to places where it's celebrated highly.
Nine takes a moment to place their phone down before sitting at their desk. Their room was grey, walls bare of much of any personalization - they hadn't felt a need for it, internally, though sometimes Vivian bothered them about it. Their nest was the most notable fixture in the room - piled with too many blankets and a few stuffed animals. Save that, the room was devoid of life and color. Even their desk was a hollow grey. It simply was - neither good, nor bad. They open the chat and begin the download.
VL: ...its my first starfall. VL: ...speaking of... i hope you enjoyed your train ride. VL: i'm at a computer. i'll download this now. MM: $Oh holy Ashara how did you know I was on a train??? MM: $Oh gods, is your order stalking me?? $Am I on a list??? ▓▒░(°◡°)░▒▓ MM: $I take back saying I would just do what I want!!! (ಥ﹏ಥ)
...She wasn't very smart. But considering Nine's first conversation with her involved her talking about how the Untouchables were 'kicking Assassin ass', this shouldn't be surprising.
VL: .... VL: ................................ VL: .... VL: you posted a picture from a train on your tweeter... VL: "$Going back home! $Enjoying the crisp winds out here... thank you Conductor! ❤️🌬️" MM: $... MM: $Oh. MM: $Uh, sorry. MM: $Haha, wow, that sure was a bald-faced lie I told! $My mood was absolutely SOUR at the time! MM: (*/_\) VL: why? MM: $Why what? $The lie? MM: $Why would anyone want to hear about how angry and depressed I was for going back to my shithole home town 'cause my mom suddenly died without ever telling me that she was sick?? MM: $I certainly wouldn't! VL: ... i'm sorry. MM: $See? MM: $Exactly what I'm talking about. $Now it's all sad and mopey here rather than fun and focusing on the neat game Caeli sent us! VL: no, i meant... VL: i'm sorry for your loss. it must be... hard. VL: ...i have to download software so i can decompress this ancient format. MM: $Haha, yeah! $Caeli's such a dweeb, loves her old things. MM: $I guess I should have sent the software I downloaded to decompress it with the file itself, huh? MM: $Silly me! (⌒_⌒; ) VL: ...are you okay? MM: $Perfectly fine! MM: $Look, I shouldn't have said anything! $I was just babbling out of embarrassment. MM: $You know me! $Can't keep my mouth shut! (*/▽\*) VL: ... if you say so. VL: ah. the software downloaded. give me a moment
MM: $You know, I haven't even run it yet!
MM: $I wonder if I should do that too, or wait until everyone else in this group Caeli's making is ready?
MM: $Speaking of which, she said you would "recognize her signature". $Whatever that means.
MM: $Did you, or do I get to mock her about it? (¬‿¬ ) VL: i VL: where did you get this file? MM: $From Caeli, as I said! MM: $Caeli...Bhaldraithe, I think her last name is? MM: $As for where she got it, I don't know! $I didn't ask many questions. ╮(︶▽︶)╭ VL: you want me to join some group and PLAY this? MM: $You don't have to if you don't want to. MM: $But like I said: leaps of faith are fun! VL: ..................... MM: (・_・; ) VL: no.
-- veneratedLarceny [VL] ceased tweeting mondainMerchant [MM] --
Nine slams their fist into the table, and lets out a puff of smoke.
Again, and again, and again, their fist slams into the table, even ignoring another message from Mercia that goes completely unread.
…Who even was Caeli? Nobody they knew. Certainly, nobody that had any business acting like they knew them, sending them a message through someone else. Certainly, nothing that Nine wanted or needed to be thinking about. Who WAS she? They didn’t know. They didn't know someone like that. They didn't know anything. How could they know something like that?
…It had nothing to do with them.
…It really had nothing to do with them.
So then... why... did it feel like their heart was being squeezed? Why... after all of this time...?
Ah. They were angry. That wasn’t good. The anger had come before Nine had really realized it. It dissipated as they stopped and breathed, leaving Nine with a slight headache and a buzzing sensation at the tips of their fingers. It was fine. They really had no reason to be upset, or certainly not this upset. It was a game made by someone they didn’t know, who left a footnote within that didn’t mean anything.
Besides. Being angry was bad, for a myriad of reasons. They had to be in control of themself.
At least they didn’t burn anything this time.
They sat back, looking towards the ceiling.
“Nine?”
“...The alarm’s been going off for a while.”
"Are you okay?"
A little bit in the past, but not by much... ==>
– thundercloudDuelist [TD] has opened a private memo SF ORGANIZATION –
TD: Hello everyone, I hope today has met you well!
– thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited cedarAdoration [CA] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited oracleNone [ON] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited hallowedIntegrity [HI] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited veneratedLarceny [VL] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited relucentOr [RO] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited valoriousVindicator [VV] – – thundercloudDuelist [TD] has invited fictionalAstronomer [FA] –
TD: I think that’s everyone? I hope Gamma hasn’t changed her handle again… TD: Anyways. As always, this is a private board on a secure server but I need to remind everyone not to speak business in specific or actionable terms. There is a distinct ban on business in this memo and all others because, as you well know, logs are kept so that these memos can be reviewed at any time. HI: BLAH blah blah! HI: ANYONE with a brain knows this! TD: Vivian can talk in this memo. HI: OH. FAIR enough. TD: Point being. TD: Has everyone completed their preparations for the Starfall? Does anyone need help selecting a star, or otherwise? Does anyone have any plans? We’re going to head down to the festival itself around early evening, thereabouts. RO: :0 VV: gaksdfklsagskdfsdg lgdfk oof eleven lollollll VV: GRRR GONNA KILL U FOR INSULTING ME RAWRL XDD TD: I’m sorry for the offense, but literally every time I don’t state the obvious, you find a way to do it. VV: ya u rite lollllslslll VV: GUYS u would KNOT believe who i picekd out to b my target this SF lol slglsd HI: IS it that GUY you won’t stop boasting about? THE ONE that’s an untouchable VV: wo4H.… hopy shit … howd u kno HI: UGH TD: I’m happy for you. Please keep fraternization with the literal enemy to a minimum if you can. Anyone else? ON: Can we go early to the festival Eleven I’m hungry and I want to enjoy it about as much as I can until the point where we can’t enjoy it anymore, actually honestly Vivian or Juno you can also take me but really just one of you will be just fine. Also Vivian I like you a bunch but I need to let you know that if you type like that it makes it a lot harder to listen to your text because it’s just me hearing the robotic auto-read go el oh el el el el ess el ess el el el. Though I have to admit its kinda funny because it means every time you send a message there’s a breakdown in communication that can last up to a few minutes at once. I guess I could compare it to talking to you in real life but actually you’re plenty fun and also I think you want to go out on the town so maybe you can come with me? Anyways I want to hear back from you also I tend not to pick targets because its antiquated but I vaguely put forth an effort to learn a little bit about a random person who will be attending the festival so that’s about that for me, thanks for asking Eleven. TD: Yes, we can go early. VV: omggmggg hot skiggidy ill take u oracle bae no prob lol ON: Cool okay I'll be waiting for whoever it is to show up and we can go colon parentheses CA: im cooking with nine! ✿ TD: Oh, are they doing well? I noticed they haven’t responded here yet. VV: big surprise there lollzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz VV: who saw dat comin X3 CA: i zink zeyre ok? Zey went back to zeir room ✿ RO: I will be staying at home, I am needed HI: needed by WHO? RO: Just needed VV: dam so mystiernienenienenne enen ne nene neeneen TD: Vivian, please. Think of Oracle's text to speech. VV: dSOWWI oracle!!!!!! hahahaahaah!!!!!!!!!!!! VV: **sorry FUCK CA: by ze way, do you zink gamma vill return in time for ze festival? ✿ TD: Maybe the tail end. The first day, probably not. She's far away. I've just invited her to the memo so she knows what we're up to. HI: VERY prudent. ANYWAYS I'm gonna head out there also. MEET you there or DON'T. VV: u just wanna catuh ur boytoy HI: SHUT up. I DO NOT HAVE 'BOY TOYS'. VV: rip to u lol HI: EVERY day. EVERY day you test me. EVERY DAY TD: Please quit squabbling. Remember this is a week to honor Ashara and everything she's done for us. VV: loooll ok brb i see oracle!!
...Yeah, seems like they'll be chatting for a while. You have other things to do, don't you?
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Post by perkunas on Feb 12, 2024 5:50:01 GMT -5
==>
“I just… don’t know. Who she is. What this means. How I'm supposed to feel.”
“…There’s things we probably all don’t remember. Things that are important. Like… I don’t remember my parents all that well. I know they didn’t like how soft I was. They didn’t like who I liked, or what I thought about myself, either… but their faces? I don’t remember them. If I had siblings? I don’t remember that either…”
“…”
“What does it feel like, when you remember Caeli?”
“… I was angry. Livid... for a moment.”
“It hurt. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like something I shouldn’t think about.”
“Well… I guess that’s true. That’s what Gamma said about my parents, too… that I shouldn’t think about them. Like… cause it hurts. And we have a new life now... a life that's more important than all of those who came before,"
“But… you know… I don’t think I could ever find them, even if I tried. I think... they're too far gone, wherever they are - and whatever this is, it’s from someone you’ve forgotten, right?... someone who doesn’t matter, but maybe used to? … I mean, Gamma isn’t here right now. It's not like she can tell you not to...”
"…What do you mean?"
“I mean that… there’s nothing wrong in figuring out why you were so upset, right?”
“If it were me… I think I’d be sad to miss the chance. To see what that was like."
"Even if it was bad."
"Even if it was a mistake.”
"…"
“Do you have anyone whose opinion you trust?”
==>
-- veneratedLarceny [VL] began tweeting neverGiveup[NG] --
VL: ...hi. VL: ...you're online. are you busy. NG: Good morning, Sunshine!! Or.. night?? NG: Always got time for a friend.. And I'm about as unbusy as it gets for who knows how long..
Martel. Though she'd always called Nine Sunshine (they couldn't remember why), she was really the ray of sunshine. It was hard to remain dour speaking with her, even though questions and thoughts weighed heavy on Nine's mind. They shift the phone from hand to hand as they consider this, biting their lip somewhat.
VL: ..soon to be night. evening... VL: ...why unbusy? VL: ...this is unlike you. NG: Internet troubles!! As usual, I know.. NG: Usually I'd find something to do, but, you know, got a game tomorrow, can't wear myself out running around.. This is a big one, you should come!! NG: So I'm just taking a breather while this download finishes.. VL: ...starfall celebration this week. VL: don't know if i will make the trip to horizon in time. VL: ... VL: i would like if it was possible, though. VL: ...what download?... baseball training videos...? NG: New video game!! Or.. something like that?? NG: Not important right now though!! How's everything with you?? Excited for Starfall, or nah?? NG: Maybe if we hit it outta the park tomorrow, I'll be out early enough that I can swing by for some sweets and songs with you, instead.. Martel. Who knew why she still wanted to spend time with them. Who knew why she'd sing with all her heart to keep up with Nine, even though song itself lost its meaning to them long ago. Who knew.
VL: ...that might be nice. VL: ...i... am feeling strange. admittedly. it is hard to be excited. VL: three is with me. VL: ... VL: hi martel! ✿ VL: ...that was them. NG: Three!! Hey!! Pass along my thanks for that lembu hand pie recipe, it went over great with the dayjobber sorts when we put it on the menu.. NG: We'll hafta talk shop some other time, I learned a few tricks in the meanwhile!! NG: You alright though, Sunshine?? Just worrying about holiday preparations, or something else?? VL: ...message delivered. ...three seems happy. VL: ...um... VL: ...someone sent me something. actually. VL: ... VL: ...it agitates me. i guess. but it is also on my mind. VL: they wanted me to play a game and i think i said no. NG: Just not interested, or?? NG: I mean, if it's still on your mind, you might wanna think about it.. I think all of you guys could stand a little more R&R than you get!! NG: But if it's bugging you, I'd be glad to let you air things out.. Sometimes it helps just to get it out there, y'know?? NG: And I've still got plenty time to listen before I get distracted with my own game over here.. So, what do you say, you show me yours and I'll show you mine?? VL: ...ha. VL: yeah. i guess. VL: ...do you ever... simply look at something, and feel very upset? NG: What, me?? Nah, tamest nari you ever met.. NG: Just kidding, of course.. ";P NG: You know me.. I don't get mad much, kinda just go with the flow most of the time, but, well.. NG: Most of what gets my feathers in a ruffle is bullshit.. Not like, ordinary day-to-day nonsense, white lies, whatever.. It just bugs me when people just.. accept things.. Like we just see it all so much, we live with it, we live in it, and it's all built on a foundation that just isn't true.. NG: Social bullshit, I guess?? The things nari do to each other, to themselves especially.. We get stuck in the cages we build ourselves, y'know?? NG: ..Man, that got weirdly deep all of a sudden.. Sorry 'bout that, not usually my kind of thing.. But you always had a way of getting me to THINK.. Guess that's why Coach says I'd probably make a good politician, some day, if I keep up in class!! NG: Can you imagine?? Martel Jain, Horizon Consul?? NG: Anyway.. What's eating you, Sunshine?? VL: ...you would be a very tolerable politician. VL: that is a compliment... my experiences with them have been lackluster... VL: ... VL: when i opened the file, i just felt upset. i do not like being so upset... it feels like i am not in control of myself. VL: there was a message within... 'till the stars go dark'... something like this... it feels painful. VL: ...my impulse is to reject it. but i also find myself hesitating. VL: even typing this makes me feel strange. VL: three says that it would be worth it to understand why i had this response. VL: but i do know that my supraliege believes things like this aren't very worthwhile at all. um... 'forgotten' things. 'upsetting' things. that it would be best to focus on the now and the next job. to leave that behind. VL: what do you think. NG: What I think is that this is why I try not to think too much, because when I do, my mouth tends to get me in trouble.. NG: Or.. fingers, in this case?? Anyway.. Point is, I keep this up and I'm gonna end up with a contract on my head.. NG: Kidding, again.. I hope.. ": o NG: I think, for a lot of nari kids, our elders, supralieges and so on, they know a lot and it's good to listen to them, to learn from them.. It's how we work, y'know?? Everyone depends on everyone else.. NG: But I also think they don't know everything, and I think that the things they've learned over their many turns, there's been bad lessons along with the good, and they just hold onto them because they're.. there, not because they're true.. NG: What I think is, if we always did what we "should", if we always stayed away from the places others said we should avoid, if we let the frightening and forgotten stay buried.. then you and I never would've gotten to watch the starshower from the roof of that old crumbling mega-mall, and I don't regret that one bit.. NG: So I guess what I'm saying is, maybe you just need to take some time with it, maybe with a friend?? Everything's better with a friend, y'know.. VL: ...the mega-mall wasn't frightening. exploring it was... VL: fun. VL: ...but i understand your point. VL: ...maybe i will try. VL: ... VL: thank you. VL: ... i would not be inclined to take a contract for you. if it helps. ...if you choose the politician route, however, you would be in danger no matter what you say to who. ...it is a politician thing. NG: Them's the breaks, I guess!! It's cool, by the time I'm a politician they'll probably all have giant robots or nanomachines to make them invincible, like in all those video games.. It'll kick ass.. NG: ..Ugh, duels, I forgot about that part.. Maybe I'll just leave the words and swords to someone else.. NG: Hey, speaking of video games, you never told me what yours is about!! VL: oh. that is right. VL: ...i have no idea. VL: ...i did not read anything about it. VL: my contact called it... a 'leap of faith'... VL: i think... it is some house game? like the whims? ...the icon was like a house. VL: ...it was called sbird. or something. NG: .. NG: Holy SHIT!! NG: You're never gonna believe this but.. I think we're playing the SAME GAME!! NG: Yep, gotta be.. SBIRD.~ARC?? NG: I didn't really get all the details, I was kinda busy at the time, but there's definitely building and houses, if the previous game's anything to go on.. NG: I'd ask if you wanna be on my team but stars only know how long this download's gonna take.. NG: Uh, if you do end up playing, that is.. Might be fun, you never know!! Martel. Somehow, she managed to coincidentally be the one person that Nine felt maybe a little happy about diving into this strange video game with. She always knew how to make Nine feel acutely aware of their hollowness. A smile threatened to break out on their face - threatened, only. The muscles to smile were long underutilized.
VL: wow VL: ...somehow, saying 'you're never gonna believe this' makes me more inclined to believe it. VL: ... VL: interesting. VL: ...i will be on your team. i will see if the game works properly. my internet is very fast. VL: ...if it is bad or poorly optimized i will tell you. VL: acceptable? NG: Hell to the YES that's acceptable!! Dude it's been way too long since we did anything cool together.. NG: I think?? NG: Anyway, that just gives me even more reason to look forward to it.. Best and most capable teammate I could possibly ask for!! NG: Don't suppose you picked up any cool new parkour tricks in the meanwhile?? No spoilers but I know a little about the game it's based on and there was a TON of building and then jumping around on the stuff you built.. VL: ...i have. VL: ...i will show you. is this a 'VR' or 'AR' title? ...i will have to get the vr headset from juno. NG: Heck if I know, man.. I was kinda just gonna dive in face first as usual.. NG: Didn't say anything about needing any special hardware, so I guess "whatever you've got on hand" is the weapon of choice, in this case.. NG: ..Jeez, I hope it runs on whatever, otherwise I might be boned.. Maybe an old laptop isn't the best tool for the job, but you work with what you've got!! VL: ...i will test on a laptop too. and inform you. VL: do not worry. VL: 。.:☆*:・'(*⌒―⌒*))) VL: ...i will go to do that now. maybe practice parkour yourself in the meantime. NG: Aw, you're the best.. Don't ever let anyone tell you any different, yeah?? NG: Catch you later for the game, then, and good luck with the rest!! VL: (@´ー`)ノ゙ -- veneratedLarceny [VL] ceased tweeting neverGiveup[NG] --
Three waited expectantly, searching Nine's face for his answer... but it took no time at all for him to give into his curiosity and ask. “So? What’d she say?”
“...I will... try. And test," The words come out a little awkwardly from Nine's mouth - it isn't a direct answer to the question. They mull over this option in their mind. Were they really okay with doing this? It felt okay. Something to focus on - a clear goal and next step. It made logical sense. "She is going to play the same game, and isn't sure if it will run on her laptop. So I will test with a laptop as well."
"Oh! Do you want mine?" Three brightens a bit, smiling. Nine takes a moment to consider this, before they shake their head.
"No. I need a bad laptop to test on."
"Oooh. Maybe..." Three seems to think about this, rubbing his chin. "Nil's laptop is pretty bad. I don't think she ever really uses it..."
Nine nodded to this - it was about what they were thinking, too. They weren't going to take Oracle's, as their computer had plenty of software to help them engage with the internet. Vivian's computer was too powerful, Juno didn't use a laptop... it left Nil and maybe some odds and ends perhaps left by Gamma in the house. It made sense to try Nil first. Still, they peer at Three, considering...
"Do you want to stay and watch." Though it was a question, the tone was flat - as always. Three wastes no time in shaking his head, though he smiles.
“Oh! No, I’ve got brownies to deliver… but definitely keep me posted! If you need a buddy - I mean, you're going to be asking Nil for her computer anyway, right? I think she's planning on staying behind too, so you could ask if she wants to hang out too.”
“...Maybe so.”
> Nine: Go find Nil.
After Three had taken his leave, Nine took a moment to consider the large group chat they had invited to, and the overwhelming amount of message notifications from it. They shake their head, making a mental note to check in later, as they wind through the halls of the mansion the group called home (or at least, worked out of, while in this part of the world). As far as places for Nil to be... well, since she didn't seem to be going to the festival with the others, they guessed her room first - but finding it and the craft rooms empty, there was one other likely place for her to be.
Nine descended into the basement of the mansion.
'Basement' was an understatement. The first room, when one descended the massive staircase into the heart of Gamma's lair was a dome-shaped room, with a starfield for a ceiling. Pillars lined the room - eight of them - with a centerpiece of a lovingly carved and gently painted bust of Ashara herself. And atop one of the pillars... was Nil.
When she spoke, her words were warm and inviting - but carried the finality of an order, nonetheless.
"Dance with me."
"Okay."
Music flooded the room as she clicked a button to the side of her phone, raising it from a whisper into volume. Then, she slid off the pillar, landing as if on a cushion of air. Nine knew this dance. It was a ritual the two did not infrequently. Whenever Nine approached wanting something - it was as if Nil could feel it from them. Or maybe, she was simply curious about her fellow assassin, and thought up this dance to learn from each other. Nine didn't feel they minded so much.
Playing along was easy. The rules were simple, after all.
> Nine: Dance.
Nil took the first move, as she was wont to do.
"Are you special?"
"No."
"What's the worth of your life?"
"My murderer will decide that."
"What does it mean to be touched?"
"Nightmarish."
"Are you in a nightmare right now?"
"...When is a stone better left unturned?"
"Hmm. I wouldn't turn a stone I couldn't lift."
"...What is the best use of power?"
"Helping others, of course."
"Why do you care about that?"
"What kind of world do you want to create?"
"... I don't care enough to create another world."
"Are you fine if those who hate you make your world?"
"...Is it okay to accept being empty?"
"Does it matter what you feel when you kill someone?"
"Not really."
"If you use love, is it possible to synchronize two distinct souls?"
Their dance ground to a halt, as Nine processed the question. Stuttered over it, more like.
"What... kind of a question is that?"
"It's a question about infinite possibilities! If things like that are possible, doesn't it fill you with hope?"
"..."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Can I have your laptop."
"Wh... I mean... yes you can... wait."
"Was that all you wanted to ask me??"
"...No."
"...Would you like to play a game?"
==>
-- veneratedLarceny [VL] began tweeting mondainMerchant [MM] --
VL: ...hello. VL: ...hello again. MM: $Oh, thank goodness! ε-(´・`) フ MM: $I was worried I'd really insulted you somehow. Welcome back! VL: no... i... VL: ...i'm sorry. VL: i will play this game with you. if that is what you were offering. VL: but i am not interested in playing with anyone else. VL: is this acceptable? MM: $Fine by me! ヽ(・∀・)ノ MM: $Plenty of people play MMOs by themselves or with a few friends only. MM: $...Assuming this IS an MMO. $Like I said, I didn't check! ┐(´∀`)┌ MM: $A little bit more of a social life will do you good, anyway, if I may be so bold~ MM: $Life can't just be work! MM: $... MM: $Don't- MM: $Just ignore how hard I break that rule myself when I say that. $Do as I say, not as I do. (*μ_μ) MM: $This is the first real break I've had in ages, and it's all because...well, you know. VL: i know. VL: 。.:☆*:・'(*⌒―⌒*)) VL: there are... multiple options in here? one is server.... the other is client. which one should i run? VL: in, the... directory. the sbird arc directory. MM: $Weird! $Well, I guess it makes sense for something this jank and off-the-market that you've gotta run your own servers. MM: $I'll tell you one thing: my shitty laptop and rural internet sure ~CAN'T~ handle being a server, so that makes the choice pretty easy! (」°ロ°)」 VL: i was about to say... our facilities here are the best blood money can buy... VL: so i will run the server. i will open the program and see... VL: if we have trouble setting up, there are some others i can ask for advice too... MM: $I can always bother Caeli if we run into any issues, too. $She's old money, she has plenty of time on her hands. MM: $I gotta say, I'm rather excited! $!Oh, I guess I should have asked when the whole thing starts. MM: $Maybe I should do that? Or do we just go ahead now, I wonder? (•ิ_•ิ)? VL: .... VL: ...'whole thing'...? MM: $Like, if it's an MMO or something! $Even if you play alone you have to wait for the whole thing to get ready. MM: $Or is that requirement moot since we act as our own servers? MM: $Undone by my own lack of curiosity! $Just like my teachers said! (×_×) MM: $Eh, we'll try it with just us. $If it doesn't work, we can go from there. VL: ....if we make our own server and you have clients then there's no reason to wait for a group... VL: and i made it clear.... i will not be playing with a group. VL: likely, the arrangement is supposed to be that one player hosts the server... VL: maybe.... the one that gave you the game... VL: and then everyone else connects as clients... VL: that is fine... for now i will host, and you will play, and when the others you want to play with show up... i'll stop hosting, and you can play with them instead... VL: you'll have a 'leg up' on the competition.... VL: an advantage. VL: and i will feel like i haven't left this stone unturned... VL: is this amenable? VL: if it truly was 'against the rules', or not what that person wished, they would have withheld the files until they had everyone available, or simply not sent a server file. VL: it's simple. MM: $Sounds like a plan! MM: $Though it's a shame I can't convince you to stay a bit longer. $You won't even play an MMO--if that's what this is--alone? (⌒▽⌒)ゞ MM: $Ah, well, baby steps! $I'll get you more socialized with time, bit by bit~! $Even if it kills me, which is a non-zero chance! (/ω\) VL: i feel you have a misunderstanding of how why and when others ask for our services. VL: ...in any case. i just have little interest in playing with others i do not know. VL: especially not this. VL: ...i am booting the files. i am testing this game on a terrible laptop. if need be i will switch to something more powerful. please report if you experience glitches. MM: $Then we shall be Terrible Laptop Sisters! (˙ω˙)🎮(˙∀˙)🎮 MM: $Aaaand I'm booting up the client program. MM: $And still booting... MM: $And booting... MM: $Aaaaaaaand... MM: $Iiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttt MM: $Iiiiiiiisssssss? MM: $Maybe...? MM: $Potentially...? MM: $If the stars aliiiiiiign...? MM: $... MM: $Asharaaaaa... $Ashara of the Satellites, if this loads within the next five minutes, I promise I'll offer two nice wheatcaaaakes (シ. .)シ VL: ... VL: .kfh VL: .......
All of the windows went white, and Nine sighed. This computer was horrendous. Nine made an annoyed mental note to replace Nil's computer at some point on principle, even though she didn't seem to mind it. For the hopefully last time, Nine opened up the Task Manager and quit out of Tweeter, waiting for a few moments for the disk usage (?) to go down before before reopening the program. The internet they had was powerful - easily capable of handling the connection - but the laptop... well... if it really became bad, they could just grab a different laptop, they supposed. They hoped to everything under the sun that Martel had a better laptop than this piece of garbage.
They couldn't even rattle it in anger too much. Something about the audio breaking if they did. They watched, at least, as Tweeter loaded - and a dancing spirograph took shape.
VL: ...tweeter froze. VL: both of our computers are ass. VL: great. VL: it says 'waiting for client'. MM: $I guess Ashara of the Satellites doesn't like wheatcakes. $Maybe I should have gone with regular cakes instead...? (ᓀ ᓀ) MM: $I think this is the first time I've seen you curse, though! $And it couldn't be more deserving! (`ー´) MM: $Wait! $There it goes, I think it's connecting! $How's it look on your end?? MM: $(Six minutes, thirty-seven seconds; no wheatcakes for Ashara, it seems!) VL: ...strangely intricate spirograph. VL: ... VL: still loading.
VL: ... VL: oh. VL: ...i see... you?
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SW
Mustardblood
Posts: 106
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Post by SW on Feb 24, 2024 0:42:27 GMT -5
> Be Monori.You are once again Monori Satria. You have, in fact, been Monori Satria for your entire life. Being Monori Satria is your primary occupation, and if you ask you, which you do frequently, you happen to think you're pretty good at it, primarily on account of the fact that there has never been a day of your life where you have not been Monori Satria. Except for B-Day. On B-Day, you're Monori Barkley. Not literally, of course. You've fought that battle already, and the council reluctantly relented, primarily on account of the fact that you are, as established, Monori Barkley, and are thus afforded a bit more latitude than the rest of the Lunari population. You are an icon by virtue of birth alone. You are the golden princess of the moon, the radiant arrow pointing the way to the future. You are the latest (and quite possibly last) descendant of the legendary physicist and baller, Charles Barkley, whose victory over the forces of the grounders' corporate greed secured the freedom of the fledgeling Lunar Republic a hundred turns ago today. And you are so very, very tired of hearing about Space Jam. Anyone else would jump (basketball pun fully intended) at the chance to be such a pivotal part of the most important civilization in nari history -- and, indeed, the universe's history as a whole. And that's not to say you don't appreciate the gravity of your unique position. Being Monori Barkley isn't bad, by any stretch... but it isn't easy, either. Above and beyond the terminal dread of never living up to the golden legacy laid out before you, beyond the growing unease that you may simply not have the time in which to do so, and beyond the weight of the expectations heaped upon you by a lunar populace who only see what they want to see you as, there lies the far more insidious suspicion that you never truly got the chance to establish an identity of your own, and now you never will. Don't get it twisted now. Your great-grandfather was a great man, and you are plenty proud of his legacy, particularly when you can wag it in a grounder's face. Your mother was an absolute angel, and brilliant besides, and the moon is so much lesser for her loss. But your father was a great man too -- is a great man, doubters be burned! -- and seeing him and his name erased by a combination of the others' fervent hero-worship of your mother's Barkley name and their refusal to understand the importance of your father's mission stings especially sharply today. Conflict hangs heavy over your heart, resenting a part of yourself the rest of the moon loves, resenting yourself for feeling that way in the first place; torn between love for your dearly departed mother and anguish over the legacy she left you, between love for a father you fervently insist is still alive fighting vemosa in the distant reaches of the galaxy for the future of all nari and the growing doubts instilled in you by damn near the entire rest of the lunar population, people who idolize you and are disappointed in you in equal measure, people who raised you while asking you to raise them up before you were even ready to lift yourself. People who you fear you'll soon disappoint in the worst way imaginable, and you can't tell even a single one of them the truth, because it would destroy them like it destroys you, and each and every day you pray to gods you don't even believe in to let you live your lie another day. It's hard, being a kid and growing up with the weight of the entire moon on your shoulders. It's hard and nobody understands. A distinctive melodic trill in your cochlear interface shakes you from your reverie. Like so much in your life, you'd be grateful for the interruption, if not for the circumstances surrounding it. More bad news is the last thing you need right now. Unfortunately, bad news is Caeli Bhaldraithe's stock and trade. { } AD: I don't have time for this right now, Bhaldraithe. PU: and you shall continue lacking time for the foreseeable future, and furthermore, consider this imposition upon what little respite this momentous day has afforded you an unforgivable trespass of both good sense and good taste. i am already well aware. AD: Well, at least we're on the same page.
-- pandaemoniumUnearthed [PU] sent autonomousDictum [AD] the file "SEVER.~ARC" --
AD: Alright, alright, spin down your accelerator and I'll have a look at it when I get the chance. What are you sending me this time? PU: the final piece of our collective puzzle, and the culmination of our collaboration. or, if you prefer, the commencement of its next step. AD: The missing module for the server software? The building blocks for it, anyway. ...Which you're about to ask me to assemble for you. PU: you wound me, satria. what sort of lackadaisical mentee would i have been, to have not emerged from your impromptu programming lessons with at least enough knowledge to compile and execute code that's already written? AD: Compile, execute, and misspell. Sucks to suck, eh? I'll fix that for you before I set things up. PU: i assure you it is named aptly. may i take that as confirmation of your participation tonight? AD: Well that's vaguely distressing but sure, sign me up. AD: "What's the worst that could happen", right? PU: a lack of processing power, by several orders of magnitude. AD: ...That's not a theoretical, is it? PU: unfortunately, no. PU: while i had secured ample hardware for the coming delta test, my assumptions were built upon the parameters of the game as were known at the time. unfortunately, as my greeting asserted, the game has changed. AD: Could you maybe expound upon that for those of us who don't reside 24/7 in the florid chthonic labyrinth that is your brain? PU: in the name of continuing cooperation, i will elect to take that as a compliment. PU: our prior estimates of a simulation radius of approximately fifty meters were woefully short of the program's actual requirements. PU: we are no longer simulating houses. we are simulating a universe. AD: ...Exfuckingscuse me? AD: Did you skip out on your science classes, Bhaldraithe? Right around the part where they explained the Jordan Metric maybe? AD: Not even the Lunar Mainframe has that kind of power. A few star systems, easy enough, but even we're still trying to figure out how to go bigger than that. PU: you are, of course, correct. what i asked for is indeed impossible. pray forgive me this brief theatrical misdirection -- aim for the stars, as they say, and be happy to hit the moon. PU: i am not asking for something on the scale of our universe. not even "a few star systems", which, as you just helpfully supplied, is a simple task for the impressive machinery at your disposal. PU: just one star system, consisting of seven planets. AD: I really hate the fact that I can already tell you're not joking. PU: i would never. AD: Alright we're gonna stick a pin in that one because there are not enough minutes in the day for me to snark about that like it deserves and instead focus on the fact that, for some crazy reason, I'm still listening to you. PU: morbid curiosity. AD: Don't play dumb with me, Bhaldraithe. I am the resident fucking expert on dumb. Especially today. PU: which, i believe, is precisely why you remain receptive to this particular overture despite its obvious ridiculousness, upon which you have repeatedly harped throughout the duration of our partnership? AD: Look, I'm already planning on going down to the Archives anyway, not that I have the slightest goddamn clue how you managed to figure that out when I'm like 90% sure that even the Regulators don't know what I'm up to, and they don't even exist. PU: i have been told i possess something of a talent for reading between the lines. AD: What you possess is a talent for being a pain in my ass. AD: Well, anyway. What I'm doing is a little more important than a video game, but I figure, hey, if I'm gonna fuck my entire day up just to get some answers, I might as well at least have some fun while I do it, right? PU: i could hardly fault your search for truth, particularly when i just concluded my own. your devil-may-care attitude regarding it continues to surprise me, but then, it would not be the first time i have been accused of an abundance of caution bordering on cowardice. PU: whereas you are a veritable dynamo, and there remains much i could learn from you. PU: have you yet concocted a plan for your egress or will i be seeing some of that legendary lunari ingenuity in action today? AD: Alright now you're just sucking up, and unfortunately for both of us, it's working. AD: But you've known me long enough to know that Plan A is always "improvise". Well, maybe Plan A.5 -- I've got a solid outline, at least. AD: Mostly solid. AD: Rougly 87.1223 or so percent solid, anyway. PU: the confidence you inspire is breathtaking, truly. AD: Here's hoping everyone else thinks so. You should know better than most that an audience is much more likely to fall for a trick when it's suitably flashy. PU: it seems the proverbial shoe is on the other and equally proverbial foot, ms. 'vaguely distressing'. PU: i don't suppose you are finally in the mood to expound upon just what, precisely, the 'trick' in question is? PU: my curiosity is killing me. proverbially.
You dismiss the Tweeter window from your optical inlay with a quick mental gesture, neglecting to provide an answer. Any other day, her insatiable curiosity might have been impressive, if irritating -- as Lunari a combination of traits as one could possibly imagine, you chuckle to yourself. Today, however, there are other and far more important things on your mind, and you can spare no further attention for your on-again-off-again friend's melodrama. She'll live. For now.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Feb 25, 2024 11:43:45 GMT -5
MM: $Huh, did it turn on my laptop camera or something? (•ิ_•ิ)?VL: ...i... do not feel this is so. the angle is too wide. i can see the entire room and yourself.That...didn't make sense. No, that didn't make sense at all. Mercia sprung from rickety old wooden chair with a start upon reading Nine's words, sending the old thing scraping across the floor. A variety of bizarre conspiracies and wild suppositions floated through her brain to try and explain things. Nine wouldn't lie, so were there cameras somewhere in her room? Had Mom set them up when she was a kid?? Was THAT why Mom had never taken their arguments into her room, she'd been watching the whole time?? It was an absurd thought, but no less absurd than the reality of Nine being able to see not only her but her entire room. If just to settle her frazzled nerves, Mercia did a quick sweep of her room, looking in all the usual places one might hide a camera: corners, behind or within various knickknacks on the shelf, etc. Never thought I'd put THIS lesson from Signor Di Stefano into practice... Mercia thought to herself, and was finally able to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. That, at least, made her feel better about it. As Mercia had expected, there were no traces of surveillance; it was pure foolishness to think that backwards hicks like her parents would even be capable of surveilling her like that, anyway... And they wouldn't do it even if they could... The better angel of her nature spoke up within. She let its comment pass without comment, and returned to her computer. MM: $You're kidding me! (⊙_⊙) MM: $What sort of tech does this game have, and how is that possible?? $I KNOW this hick-shack of a temple doesn't have any kind of smart cameras it could hack into! $Is it somehow viewing me from space, by satellite?? Mercia looked vaguely upward and waved at her ceiling. She felt like a fool, but, well, the game had already made something of a fool of her... In for a floran, in for a denar, I suppose...MM: Did you see that? (◎ ◎)ゞ VL: yes you looked around and waved VL: ... VL: ...this is awkward. VL: i should inform you i have an associate with me. i am borrowing her laptop and she wanted to watch. MM: $"Awkward" is certainly a word one could use for it! MM: $I don't really mind anyone watching; I'm just confused as to how this game works! $What, does it create a virtual world based on my surroundings...? $Is it like an ARG, an Alternate Reality Game? ┐('~`;)┌ MM: $Well, no tutorials are popping up in front of my eyes! $Or on my computer, for that matter; it's mostly just blank here. $Anything interesting you can find on your end? (・・ ) ?VL: ...there is a menu. let me see. VL: hmm VL: there is a 'cruxtruder', a 'totem lathe', and an 'alchemiter'. they appear to be free. VL: ... VL: but they are large, and i do not want to put them on your bed with the creatures.MM: $Hmm? MM: $Oh! $You mean Hopkins and Nyaalia? $I'd forgotten they were there! (* ^ ω ^) MM: $My little pair of sublieges, the Council as I sometimes called them. $A good supraliege has to take council from their sublieges, after all! (*˘︶˘*).。.:*♡ MM: $Anywaaaaay, I doubt the little AR things you set down for the game will hurt anything, but let me make some room in the middle for you to set something down, at least. $I'm curious whether I'll be able to see it too, or just you! ε=ε=ε=ε=┌(; ̄▽ ̄)┘Mercia turned around in her rickety wooden chair and took a good look at her own room. Alas, the only good place for any new placement in her room was the pillow nest by the window. Fond memories danced through her mind of the many comfortable cat naps in the noonday sun Mercia'd taken there. Just looking at it made it tempting to have a quick sit down, but there was ADVENTURE to be had. She scooped up as many of her pillows as she could in her arms and re-positioned them around her shitty old rotary phone like she was building it a pillow fort. Perhaps it was more apt to say she was building it a prison. The damned thing was pointless, anyway--an artifact of a less enlightened age. Why it was even still there was beyond Mercia's reckoning. Dad had always had a bad habit of holding onto things past their usefulness. Soon enough, she'd cleared the area near the window. Depending on how big whatever a "cruxtruder" was, it might keep her from opening her door completely, but it shouldn't block her in. VL: ... VL: this feels strange. VL: are you ready? which first.MM: $Whichever one's most to the left, I suppose! $I imagine that will be the one we need to start with, right? Or, left?Mercia had been expecting, at most, for the "cruxtruder" to appear in a shimmer of light, like the holograms from science fiction shows. No, it was more like she was a hamster in a cage, and her owners had suddenly decided to add a new toy to her pen. The complicated-looking thing seemed to manifest out of thin air and fall down before her window in an all-too-realistic THUMP. VL: a cruxtruder. ...as ordered. how is it. MM: ▓▒░(°◡°)░▒▓ MM: $Che cosa.Mercia's first thought, when her conscious mind finally spat out anything more than a series of "What"s, was utterly absurd: she worried her father heard the noise and would come investigating. It really was real, right? With trembling hand, Mercia sought to test the theory: she reached out and, with but the daintiest touch, poked the industrial-looking machinery on the corner. It was real. Terrifyingly real. Right? Right? Maybe the bizarre science magic of this game had hacked her sensory perceptions--the alternative was just as absurd, after all. There was one way to test that, at least: Mercia raised her leg and planted her size seven on the flat surface next to the screen. With a little bit of hopping, she concluded: the thing held her weight just fine. It wasn't just her imagination. MM: $It's really real! $Really really real! \(º □ º l|l)/ MM: $How?? $The tech this thing is working on must be TURNS AND TURNS ahead! $We've brought this hick town leaps into the future! $Science fiction territory!Continuing her efforts of muffalo-herder empiricism, Mercia began to poke and prod around the strange device. She tried one of the four little screens first, thinking that perhaps the thing used a touchscreen interface, but to no effect. The next choice was obvious: she fiddled with the little wheel on the thing's...well, to Mercia, it looked like one of the many smokestacks that spewed smog over Sargoss. As she fiddled, it felt like there was something solid in there that was being raised with the turn, but it couldn't quite break through the solid cap on the "smokestack." That noodly little merchant put all of her strength and weight into trying to turn the wheel, but to no avail; the cap too was similarly defiant to her will. With a huff, Mercia stomped back to her computer. MM: $Nothing about this will budge... $Maybe something else? $And as much as I hate to say it, we'll probably have to place anything else out in the living room or maybe in the yard, if they're all this big! |д・) MM: $At least my door's only partially blocked! $I can get through well enough, I think. MM: $...Dad's gonna FREAK. (>_<)VL: ...hm, maybe.She'd thought she'd seen the limits of the sort of techno-wizardry that would have gotten someone burnt at the stake turns ago, but Mercia'd only seen the beginning. With green eyes as wide and round as a full moon, she watched as--seemingly of its own accord and desire--the corner of her room, near her bed, simply expanded out, creating a bit more room where there'd been nothing but the outside world before. VL: oh VL: ...you might have more... room... now... VL: hm VL: i need to look over these controls. brbMM: \(〇_o)/ MM: $I know I shouldn't be surprised at this point, but how on sweet Avinia is a computer program on my shitty laptop able to do that???VL: don't stand near the thingThe show wasn't quite over yet: Mercia then watched--and made sure to huddle near the far wall while doing so, near her phone's pillow-prison--as the heavy cruxtruder floated like the lightest of feathers up, up, over the bed, and down into the new blank space allotted for it. VL: ...ok. there.MM: (□_□) MM: $So, you can move things around too, and manipulate my room... $Does that mean you can pick up and move some of my stuff...?Any good performer needed an encore, after all. Nine obliged, and took little Hopkins--that dirty, filthy rabbit doll who young Mercia had carried with her everywhere until she'd gotten too old for it--on a magic carpet ride, sans carpet. Mercia couldn't help but clap and laugh as Hopkins seemed to fly in a lazy circle around the room, as if all of Mercia's childhood wishes that her sublieges could come to life had finally, in her adulthood, come true. Finally, the intrepid old bunny came to a gentle landing back to his assigned place, at the foot of Mercia's bed. VL: apparently yesMM: $The first rabbit to fly! $I'm so proud of him! (ಡ‸ಡ)VL: ... lol. VL: ...okay. i am going to find places to put these other things. VL: it seems extending the room costs.. "build grist"... and i don't want to haphazardly change the layout of your home...MM: $Yeah, we'll try and keep the Dad-freaking to a minimum. $Just make sure to not set anything in the shrine itself or with MM: $in the room across from our living quarters. $The gods wouldn't like that, I'm sure! (ノωヽ)VL: ... noted Another thing Mercia was curious about: was Nine's area of influence tied to Mercia herself, and if so how large was it? To test the theory, Mercia made sure to stay put in her room, watching her tweeter to see if Nine had any trouble. Apparently not, judging by the two additional, muted thumps Mercia heard throughout the property. If Nine's influence WAS bound to Mercia or to her computer, it was apparently large enough that it encompassed the whole grounds of the temple. Mercia exited her room to investigate the new items. The first was a lathe-looking item, the kind of thing Mercia'd seen in some of the factories she'd done business with, stationed in the kitchen, blocking the fridge. That...was a worry for another time, Mercia decided. For the time being, Mercia tried to fiddle with the thing a little, pulling the lever and trying to spin the wheels, to no effect. Well... a lathe needs something TO lathe in the first place, so we probably don't start HERE. Mercia thought. She continued her exploration, trying to follow where she'd heard the third thump. That lead her back out through the shrine, out the door and past the vine-fouled stepping stones, into the weed garden. There, no doubt to spare the world of having to see the twisted gnarl of misbegotten plant-vermin, Nine had planted instead a strange platform and what appeared to be a robotic arm connected to it. Mercia was content to look at that thing from afar; it had no buttons or screens or wheels, so it couldn't have been where they would start. Besides, she didn't look forward to having to trek through the gnarl of weeds to get to it; best to do that as little as possible, for the sake of her poor shoes. I guess that "cruxtruder" is where to start, then? There was something in there, after all. Mercia thought. Flummoxed, Mercia backtracked through the shrine and returned to her room, and the computer within, to give her report. MM: $Well, I'm stumped! ٩(× ×)۶ MM: $And I know there aren't going to be any walkthroughs or anything... $Hmmm... MM: $Well, like my supraliege says: if you can't find a way, make one! \\٩(๑`^´๑)۶// MM: $I couldn't make the spinny wheel thingy move, but it felt like something's under there. $Maybe I can knock it open, though... $Brb!VL: ... good luck? VL: ... try to avoid hurting yourself. VL: wait VL: not that roomIt was all purely logical, sensible, straight-forward. The tool shed on the other side of the grounds was where anything that could beat open a stubborn bit of magic-machinery would lay, and the quickest way to get there was to pass through the shrine and the morgue, out the door that lead to the outside. (After all, one couldn't bring a dead body into the shrine proper; it would make it ritually unclean.) She knew what was on the other side; indeed, she was keen to face it. Mercia Issaries was a no-nonsense, rational, proud, hard-nosed woman. That's what her supraliege had told her, anyway. She already knew who was behind that shoji door. She already knew that the person within was dead and gone, gone up to rest among the stars with the rest of her priestly line. She'd just pass by, greet her mother perhaps on the way, and pass through as if nothing was wrong. This, too, was vanity and grasping for the wind. Mercia's blood--and feet--froze like ice. There, laying before her eyes, was her mother, her own mother, the very woman who had lain the egg Mercia had hatched from. There was that formidable woman she'd fought with time and again like wild kargashes. There was the open-handed savior of every Sunbreezer's bad fortune. There was Dad's beloved wife. There was the last of the Issaries priestly line, the last priestess of Sunbreeze. She looked much like Mercia. None who gazed upon the two women could doubt their family connection. Her skin was just a few shades different blue from Mercia's own, her eye markings and eyes were the same bright green that Mercia took such pride in. Indeed, even the shape of those markings seemed a variation on a theme that Mercia continued: instead of a fierce streak near the nose, the green color flashed two sloping arcs up her temple close to the hairline, like two pairs of wings. Only the feathers clashed with the play of green and blue: they were a gentle gray-white, two feathers pointing backwards and just above the ears--like a double of Mercia's own. That was not what drew Mercia's attention. No, what froze Mercia's heart was how skinny she was. Mom had never been plump--Mercia's own thin, lithe build was something she had inherited from her mom--but the body before her was nothing but skin and bones, with new lines carved into her face that betrayed a well of suffering that had been endured with saintlike patience. And yet, she looked so still and peaceful in death, with her arms wrapped over her heart, as if at any moment she would rise and--perhaps croaking, perhaps only with a whisper--once again bark her remonstrances to her wayward daughter. In the cold stillness of her mind and heart, only one thought dared break the silence of death: Why didn't you tell me...?Mercia didn't know how long she stood there, limbs frozen and eyes wide like a victim of old Medusa. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes. Finally, though, a sudden impulse made her lurch forward, as though her body was being pulled by puppet strings. She followed along all the same. Mercia Issaries leaned down, cupped the cheek of her dear, annoying, foolish, idiotic, good, selfless mother in a trembling hand, and rubbed her own cheek against the other. She almost ran out of the door, blinking away tears. She couldn't breathe right. She couldn't breathe right. She tried to take deep breaths but she couldn't breathe right. She paced a tight circle in the dead brown grass, chewed on her lip, and she couldn't breathe right. If just to distract herself, Mercia pulled her phone from her pocket and brought up the tweeter and she couldn't breathe right. She had an apology to make, for by her stupid pride subjecting poor Nine to such a scene, even though she couldn't breathe right. MM: $Sorry you had to see that. $Maudlin, huh? (´• ω •`)VL: ... VL: do you need some time.MM: $There'll be time for that when the time comes. $For now, onward and upward! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧VL: ... VL: k.Mercia tried to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. Onward and upward, onward and upward, onward and upward. The rickety old tool shed was one of those with sliding metal doors, the sort that so easily got dirt stuck in the grooves or rusted shut. There was no money for anything better, of course; despite his gimp leg, Dad had built the damned thing himself with both Mercia's and Mom's help. It'd been a whole family adventure, a source of both troubles and laughter... Mercia tried to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. She placed two hands on the handle and pulled with all of her might. That wasn't enough, so she pulled with all of her might and put her weight into it as well. Finally, with a groan as though it was being stabbed through, the metal door slid open suddenly. Mercia herself was cast to the ground, to the mud, onto her butt. Groaning and grumbling, she picked herself up. MM: $Burn it, these are some of my GOOD pants! $That better not have stained! (╬ Ò﹏Ó)It had. VL: ... you're wearing black, it will be okay. try getting dried blood out of white.MM: (⊙_⊙) MM: $We're just going to roll right past that just like we did with MM: $like earlier! MM: $Let's see what treasures the old man has kept cooped up in here... $With his gimp leg and MM: $everything else, I'm sure I'm the first nari these poor tools have seen in turns! MM: $I swear, no one in this hick town appreciates their priest! $They'll hoe and scythe and throw literal SHIT around but the ones who appease the gods and make sure they're even able to do all of that get just SCRAPS! MM: $Ugh. $Sorry you had to hear that. VL: ... time has not lessened your faith, has it...? VL: ... VL: ...you do not need to apologize before i even say i don't want to read your complaints.MM: $Tch. $Doesn't mean I have to put on those stupid robes and act the priest! MM: $I do my part, more than anyone else in this shithole.Not once had Nine come even close to implying such a thing. VL: what robes?MM: $Nothing! $What's it to you, huh? $I don't ask YOU about YOUR jobs! MM: $We're here for ha ha bing bing wahoo game time right??? MM: $Everything to its season time and place!VL: ... you type very fast. VL: are those questions you want answers to. MM: $I don't know! $I'm throwing a hissy fit and taking blatant advantage of your friendship, anyway! $God, I bet I sound like MM: $Fuck!VL: what is it to me... it means i get to learn a little more of you. if you want to share. ... even not wanting to share, i do learn. learning of others builds a connection - that is what nil tells me. it is why she likes to dance. VL: you don't ask about my jobs because i presume you don't want to know. but i do want to know aspects of you i ask about. i dislike asking questions that i am not interested in. VL: it is true that this is a game. it is strange. i am sure you did not really want me looking at your living space like this. i am sorry for that and the position it puts you in when you clearly do not want to share this with me.MM: $Oh, shut the fuck up already! Just reading that endless drivel of kind and supportive calmness only stoked the flames beginning to burn in Mercia's gut to fever pitch. Yet, some part of her--some part that had learned how to control her raging emotions during her adventures in the big city--brought its supraliegic staff down upon the heads of her boiling anger, sadness, frustration, blinding pain, and forced them to at least not point themselves in the wrong direction. With a sigh of many things, Mercia flopped down once again onto her butt in that cramped, dusty, smelly, palace of memories shaped like a run-down tool shed. Her fingers flew over her phone screen, each tap made with purposeful force as if she could take out the storm of emotions onto the device itself. At the very least, she would onto the person behind the screen. Nine'd asked for it, and boy were they going to get it; the whole sad slop of sop. VL: ... MM: $DOT DOT DOT. MM: $Fuck, I'm sorry. $I just MM: $I didn't want to see her like that. $I thought I could breeze by and ignore it, but MM: $She's so skinny now. $Was she not eating? $I just MM: $Ugh. $Look. $My turn for word wall. $Sit down if you're not already. MM: $The robes are my priestess robes. $Or rather, they're new ones for me. $It's tradition that the priestess of this shrine dances at any funerals, and that role is passed down from mother to daughter. MM: $They're in that chest that you saw there, I'm pretty sure. $Mom made them herself, Dad says, even though she was sick. MM: $And that MM: $That fucking hurts so fucking much. VL: ( ⌐■_■)/” (´Д`゜)。 MM: (づ◡﹏◡)づ MM: $I keep wondering, why didn't she show the least bit of that kind of regard while I was around. $Mom and I fought like East and West Lebuktese day in and day out the SECOND I hit puberty. MM: $Maybe she just wanted someone to carry on the tradition. $That's what mattered to her, really: tradition. MM: $Not me or what I wanted. $But, look at this fucking place! MM: $You've SEEN it! $You've seen what a run-down sad sop sight this place is! $And this shrine is better than the rest of this hick hellhole! $Signor Rossi down the road just has a few scraggly undernourished muffalo left out of his whole FLOCK! $He's probably in debt up to his fucking ears, too! MM: $Fuck, I MM: $I skipped meals, Nine. $I skipped meals and showered in cold water and huddled up next to a little heater in winter and shoveled all that money into this fucking PIT, and look what it's got us all! MM: $Sunbreeze is dead. $Let it die. $Things change. $I'm a merchant, not a priestess. $Let it die with its last priestess. $I'd just be throwing my life away here. VL: ( p′︵‵。) つ⌐■_■ MM: $And you know what the worst part is? $When I come home again for Mom's funeral, Dad fucking ambushes me in the middle of our meal--a meal I was really enjoying and feeling great about!--and DEMANDS I dance for Mom's funeral. MM: $I wouldn't even be against it if on principle! $I could get over myself and do one last dance to play out this sad fucking shithole of a town! $But he gave me that fucking LOOK, like I'm still knee-high to a shryke and not the WHOLE REASON HE'S BEEN EATING FOR TURNS! MM: $Because it sure as shit wasn't this sad gaggle of grayheads waiting to die in this stupid fucking town doing it! $And judging by how run-down this place is, even though I've been sending money, none of them will help, even for pay! $All too busy with their own problems, they'll say, fucking INGRATES! MM: $By the holy blood in my veins I call down the darkest curse on their heads! $Ashara Nightbringer, heed the daughter of your servant! VL: (`皿´#) Mercia finally deflated, that curse having taken up to the gods the cruel brew of emotions that had been boiling in her gut fit to make her vomit. In its place was only a sort of emptiness--aching emptiness, to be sure, but at least she could breathe again. In a strange sort of way, she felt a sad sort of relief. It was soothing to leave her troubles to the gods, to place herself in the care of beings higher and greater whom her family had so long served. ...I guess Nine was right about my faith, huh...? Mercia thought. MM: $...I think I feel better now. $Sorry for saying so many mean things, Nine. (*_ _)人 MM: $Consider my request for your shutting up rescinded. $Heh. VL: ... okay. VL: ... VL: to be clear... you don't want me to ask or comment on what you shared. correct...? MM: $Haha! $You're the sweetest killer I know, Nine. MM: $Shoot, go ahead, hit me with whatever you're thinking. VL: ... okay. VL: ... i may be slow to explain. is this also okay? MM: $You don't need to ask permission for something like that, but consider it granted. $Keep this up and I'll start getting antsy, you know! VL: okay. VL: ... i think it is natural to be shaken. it can be harrowing to feel... the delicacy in others. and crushing to feel... the impermanence of those in your life. VL: ... i wish that your efforts had been rewarded. that your home reflected the care you put into it. VL: i wish similarly those in your community cared for each other, worked in ways that uplifted one another. in ways that could be noticed. VL: ... VL: i think it is also natural to wish things would simply die. to no longer have to ache over what will happen. one way or another, it ends... VL: there is security in that... VL: but in your case... that need not be the only option... VL: the options... you are forced into a role... or the role dies... VL: there is a third... change the role for you. VL: make it your own... dance for you and your feelings... not the ideas of those who did not show care for you or to you... but for what it means in you... VL: and do not allow anyone to rush you... in finding out what that means... to dance for yourself. VL: ... VL: or you can kill the role by your own hands... VL: or uphold it by your own hands... VL: or something else entirely... VL: or think nothing of this... and play a game. VL: ... VL: you have choices. VL: ... VL: okay. ... i have said too much. i hope it is understandable. A warm smile, as small as a spark, curled Mercia's lips. MM: $... MM: $Heh, look at me. $That was my Nine impression, how was it? MM: $But...you've given me a lot to think about. $I don't hate that idea, of making it my own somehow... MM: $Thanks, Nine. $You're a good friend. VL: ... i wonder about that. VL: ... VL: i am unsure what to do now. do you want to know something about me in exchange? nil is suggesting this. MM: $Hah! $Sure, why not. $Equivalent exchange, the heart and soul of business. $Let's hear it. MM: $Also, hi, Nil! $I suppose it's too late to hope you didn't read my hissy fit, huh? $I guess I'll need something from her, too. (^_~) VL: ...i didn't let her read. VL: it is your choice to share with her. no matter how she makes a pest of herself. VL: ... VL: ask away. i don't know what to share. MM: $Uhhhhh... $I don't know either! (・_・;) MM: $Ummm... $I don't know, what's your favorite animal? $Or, maybe who's your favorite of your coworkers? $Checked any of your boxes with them? VL: ... i like lizards. nil likes doves. VL: ... i get along best with three. i believe. nil says her favorite is ashara. VL: what do you mean by "checked boxes". MM: $Tell Nil that choosing a goddess is cheating! VL: nil stuck her tongue out and said her new favorite is you. MM: $Oh, the travails of being so popular! $I can't help but win fans everywhere I go! ╮( ̄ω ̄)╭ MM: $As for checking boxes, I'm asking about matehood. $Y'know, the juicy stuff. $Or are we fellow loners with only lieges to hold dear? VL: hbdj VL: Hi nines friend my new favorite! I currently am not "checking boxes" with anyone though vivian has asked me out before :o i said 'to where! outside? i can go outside anytime' VL: Nine is glaring at me but also they aren't seeing anyone i think except for maybe martel? Shes so nice!! VL: hhhhrnndn Okay, Mercia couldn't help but laugh at that. She'd never really talked to Nil, but the girl seemed sweet as a button. A strange character trait for a hired killer, really... It was rather easy to forget that, sometimes. MM: $Oh wow, you know Martel too? $She's a gem, that girl. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ MM; $I think that evens the ledgers, though. $Thank you for shopping at Dark Night of the Soul Incorporated(TM).VL: ... i am back. VL: sorry. VL: i am not dating her anymore. VL: ... want to get back to the game?MM: $Yeah, let's get back to it. $I feel a lot better. $Thanks again, Nine. MM: $Now, time to find Kar's Hammer in here~ The mighty weapon of the god-king Kar the Proud turned out to be a moderately large, one-handed sledgehammer. Mercia picked up the thing and tried its weight; it was definitely even more top-heavy than all of the more normal hammers she'd ever used, but hopefully it'd be tough enough to help break through the cruxtruder's cap. Mercia left the tool shed behind and looped back around to the front door again; only pain lay in the way she came, after all. With a bit of muscle grease, she pushed open the great doors just a crack and then pushed them closed again--with her hands, that time. She would have carried on back towards the southern living quarters, but perhaps something had changed in her, just a little, from her talk with Nine. She came to a stop upon hearing the old "wind spirits" chirp their greetings with her steps. " ...I'm back, Spirits," Mercia said, just like she'd always done as a child. Mercia bowed a stiff and formal bow to the shrine, just like she'd always been taught as a child. She slid the southern shoji door open, slid it closed, then repeated the same process with the other one. She half-expected Dad on the other end, curious and wondering why strange contraptions had been placed in his home, but she found the living quarters as deserted as before. Mercia could only chalk it up to the old man having gone to sleep early. She returned to her room and made her way back to the old cruxtruder, tucked away in its new space in the far corner. MM: $You know, it only now occurs to me that if brute force is needed, I could have just had you drop something heavy on it with your Science Magic. MM: $Oh, well, I came this far. $You ready to either break or break through this game, Nine?? \\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//VL: of course.> Mercia: Hit it really hard
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SW
Mustardblood
Posts: 106
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Post by SW on Feb 27, 2024 23:47:23 GMT -5
> 0700 hoursMonori Satria was a busy nari on even the tamest of days, and B-Days were about as far from tame as days could get. Everywhere she turned, someone wanted her attention for something, whether to discuss plans for the coming celebration (which had already been clearly outlined well in advance), to ask her opinion and/or assistance with decorations (which was already on her schedule twice later today), to wish her either a happy B-Day or a happy birthday (which was as irritating a convergence today as it was every turn prior), or, in this particular case, to interrupt her attempts at conversation with a certain co-conspirator to pester her, yet again, about her plans for her Declaration Day, just as she was bringing up the chat window to begin. He's wearing that fucking turtleneck again, isn't he.Because it wasn't quite bad enough that today was all those other things, every young Lunari was expected, on the 15th turn after their emergence from the Maturation Chambers, to officially declare their area of scientific specialization, around which the remainder of their education and their future career would revolve. Despite relative freedom in their pursuit of science, life on the moon was a closely regulated thing in many ways, and even the science was carefully planned and partitioned, to ensure everyone had everything they needed for both research and personal necessities, walking the razor's edge between the moon's abundance of mineral resources and its complete lack of most of the needs of daily life. Simple things like food and medicine were still supplied in part by trade with the surface, though the work of the Biogenics Division was slowly moving Lunaria away from dependence upon Avinian food products thanks to their research into high-yield-low-footprint hydroponics and protein base synthesis. Kinda gonna miss these shitty burritos, though.Sarl was a junior biogenic engineer, having made his Declaration a few months ago -- not that anyone was at all surprised, given how much time he spent going on (and on, and on...) about the exciting possibilities in the field long before his 15th. Today's developments in algae farms and insect flour would pave the way for tomorrow's uniquely Lunari delicacies, he said. Yeah, insect flour. The seaweed that tastes like bacon is admittedly kinda rad though. He droned on and on in that measured, resonant, pleasantly authoritative tone shared by traveling lecturers and documentary narrators. It was easy to see how he'd so quickly become the darling of the division, and whatever praise he received, he radiated to others around him as encouragement rather than keeping it and letting it swell his ego, like some hypothetical blackbody of vexatious congeniality. Rather than trying to entice Monori to follow in his footsteps, he merely expressed endless curiosity about her leanings, and once she'd given even the slightest hint of her interests, urged her to follow them without hesitation. Every word out of his mouth was energizing, heartening, endearing, and it made Monori want to take a mass driver to the thalamus. He was also the closest thing she had to a friend. "--with Joll Bilte over in the hydroponics lab, and she said it was an absolute wonder that they were still on schedule to meet quota in time for B-Day, what with the drought in Pavania shorting our groundside suppliers this season. When you think about it, we owe today to the mad geniuses in Autonomics; I don't know what we would've done without the contingency matrices they churned out after last turn's near-disaster." Monori rankled at the obvious bait. He was calling out her presumed specialty and appealing to her lingering resentment about last B-Day. Look, it wasn't her fault that things got fucked up the way they did, and her interest in Autonomics most definitely had nothing to do with a desire to fix everyone else's mistakes. Still, she kept her protests to herself, and let her almost-friend continue in exactly the way she knew he would. "Having a plan that's built broad from the ground up is the best way to make sure everything goes right even when there are complications, after all. You know what they say: if you wish to make an apple pie from scratch..." Goddammit he's going to wait for me to finish it, isn't he." ...you must first invent the universe." Monori made no effort whatsoever to avoid rolling her eyes. 'They' don't say that. He came up with it on his own, and it was the stupidest goddamn thing she'd ever heard. They continued that way for a while, Sarl probing and extolling, and Monori continuing to practice her storied evasiveness, tossing out just enough of a reply between bites of burrito that he didn't feel the need to repeat himself. The sooner he lost interest, the sooner she could get back to what she was doing. Not that she was entirely excited to be playing messenger for Caeli either, but at this point, she'd take anything to give her something to think about besides B-Days. Finally left alone, Monori turned her attention back to Soris, muttering to herself in an effort to look busy. What, you thought her chat interface was straight thought-to-text? Great golden gods no, the Lunari tried that early on and it was an unmitigated disaster. If you thought a scientist's transcribed notes contained a lot of "um"s and "uh"s, you've never seen a scientist's thoughts rendered directly, without even the brief filter of speech synthesis. Instead, the moon was now home to roughly three hundred lunatic scientists who spent much of their time mumbling to themselves, which was really just business as usual. That might sound like a serious risk of security and privacy to most people, but the Lunari weren't in the habit of surveilling their populace at large; even the Mnemon Circuit that recorded each Lunari's experiences (primarily to preserve important scientific discoveries in case of sudden catastrophic existence failure) could only be read when removed, and was only removed upon death. It was much better than Untouchables Opsec. Now where could she find an Untouchable to taunt about that? -- autonomousDictum [AD] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] --{ } AD: Heads up, Saturninus. I come bearing good news. AD: ...Goddammit I am starting to sound like her. AD: I hope like hell you're not busy training again, because I kinda need to keep this brief, but I'm sure the Committee will understand taking some time to chat up a fellow ball lover. AD: Not like they really get a choice in the matter. SS: !I could use some good news. SS: !What, did the Phoenixes finally fire their head coach? SS: !I get that going through rebuild is pretty on-brand for the name, but at SOME point they're supposed to SS: !you know SS: !Rise from the A S H E S . SS: !Also, you can't just say "sound like her" and not tell me W H O, damn it. AD: They should be so lucky, but it seems like they're as determined to lose the superleagues as everyone else is to win. Can't fault consistency, I guess. AD: While we're on the topic, though -- Happy B-Day! AD: ...Was that cheery enough? I really need to get in some practice before tonight. SS: !How did SS: !Oh, right, it's T H A T B-day. !Fuckin'...just about gave me a heart attack thinking you lunari have cameras in the monastery. SS: !As you might be able to guess from the confusion, it's also my Naming Day. !I can't tell you what the name I S , but well, hey. SS: !It's a big day today, I guess. !Happy B-day to you too. AD: I mean, I could probably do that. Hack the cameras, that is. Might take a bit, but it's not like I don't have time. AD: Wait no that's exactly what it's like. Why it's almost like that's a recurring theme around here or something. AD: Also assuming I'd even wanna watch whatever boring crap you guys get up to. Guess your secrets are safe for now, Saturninus. AD: I'll just hafta dig up some of your embarrassing baby photos later to make up for it or something. Good thing we Lunari don't have those. 579th rule of war: never take an advantage unless you're sure the enemy can't take it back. SS: !Pfft. !We don't H A V E cameras precisely for that reason. SS: !At least, ones that point inside rather than out. !You wouldn't want to watch us anyway--it's just a lot of praying and training. !We're very hidebound and old-fashioned here, as you might imagine. SS: !...No fuckin' idea if I have any embarrassing baby photos around, though. !I guess let me know if you find them! !It'd be nice to SS: !Well, back to the fucking point. !What's this good news of yours? AD: The good news is, your server player won't be tormenting the everloving shit out of you. Because your server player is me. AD: Not that I wouldn't be at least a little tempted, but I'm kinda busy -- perpetually, but also today in particular -- so you're off the hook. That and that whole "mutual respect" thing. You're half decent, for a grounder. But don't let anyone know I said that. AD: ...Wait, did anyone explain the whole client/server thing to you yet? AD: I really don't wanna be disappointed again but I'm pretty sure I'm about to be disappointed again. SS: !You've arrived at the Grand Central Station of Disappointment, because I don't have a damn clue what you're talking about, Monori. SS: (!Though I guess you're all right for a lunatic too, sort of) SS: !Server player? !Isn't this a kind of mmo-immersive sim deal? !Wouldn't the server just be one person for everyone? SS: ... SS: !Don't tell me that I'm the only person she didn't contact directly. AD: Kesa turaunka, of course she leaves this shit to me. I do not get paid enough to deal with... whatever nonsense is going on between you guys. Walking in circles, if you ask me. AD: In fact I'm pretty sure I don't get paid anything. Which is fine since it wouldn't do me any good up here anyway. Currency exchange is for people whose societies have yet to evolve past the need for currency. AD: ...Anyway. We'll circle back around to that later, I'm sure you'd love to spend a few hours listening to me bitch. AD: That was a joke, for everyone keeping score at home. AD: I guess the glamorous task of explaining literally everything falls to me, as usual. It's cool, I'm great at this. Just ignore that creaking noise; we're taking bets on whether my head or my back goes first under the weight of this. You fuckers are heavy. AD: ...Shit-talking briefly aside, yeah, you got it. Just Bhaldraithe being Bhaldraithe. Sorta. SS: ... SS: !I see. SS: !I had a feeling she was also the "her" you mentioned sounding like. AD: Technically it was kinda my plan, to set everyone up talking to each other down the client-server-client-etc chain, to expedite this so we're not all waiting forever for mission control to tell us what to do. AD: Anyway, you ready for the 411? SS: !As ready as I'll ever be. !What sort of arcane fuckery is SS: !Bhaldraithe about? SS: !What exactly are we doing here, then, if it's not just a new mmo? AD: Alright so, it goes kinda like this. And uh... pardon me if none of it makes any sense, because I keep having to parse it all out of the literary nonsense she speaks like half the time. It's a wonder she doesn't type in purple. AD: Anyway. The rough idea is we're adventurers or heroes or something, on some grand quest to save the universe, along with a whole bunch of story exposition that I paid exactly zero attention to. The game throws challenges at us, and we have to work with the next player in the chain to overcome them. AD: That's where the client/server thing comes in. Player 1 -- say, you -- is down there on ground level, fighting monsters and solving puzzles and all that, and Player 2 -- continuing the example, me -- takes their rightful place as MASTER OF THE WORLD... AD: Ahem. I mean, the server player builds things and otherwise manipulates the environment around you to enable you to get where you need to go, solve the puzzles, etc etc etc. That's where the "Simulated Building in Reality" part comes from. It's esoteric sciencey shit, don't think about it too hard or you might hurt yourself. AD: Once you get through what we're generously calling Stage 1, then the server player becomes the client to another server, who tag-teams their Stage 1 with them, and so on. So in this case, that means you help Latnok out first, then I help you. AD: And once everyone does their first stage, then... that's it I guess? It's sort of a work in progress, so after that point I pretty much know exactly as much as you do. But Bhaldraithe says the first part shouldn't take more than an hour, so if it sucks, at least you didn't waste too much time, and we can all get on with our lives. AD: Now, I say that, but I'm still kinda hoping it'll be cool. Nobody gets any points for guessing I'm a fan of esoteric sciencey shit, so it'd be neat to see it actually work out. Honestly, some of the tech involved is stuff even we haven't figured out yet up here, so if some grounder managed to beat us to it... well, first we're all gonna be pretty mortified for about five minutes, and then we're probably gonna steal it and pretend it was our idea all along. AD: Can I take a moment to reflect on just how great it is to be able to spew bullshit like that and you guys kinda just have to take me at my word because there's no way for you to know otherwise? AD: ...Alright, alright, enough gloating. For now. SS: !...Hmm. !And I suppose the last person in the chain is...uh, "served" by the first person in it? SS: !Lotta fucking potential for trolling with these powers, I'm thinking. !Suddenly reminded of the orouboros. SS: !Latnok's too nice for me to potentially fuck with, though. !So I'm probably just going to be at your tender mercies with no chance to pay the misery ahead. SS: !I'll get over it. SS: !Does sound interesting, though. !Like you said, we've never seen anything like this before. !Why are W E the ones to test out something this major? SS: !I'll have to SS: !Well, I guess I'll find out in time. AD: Yeah, first client is the last server, seven players all around. If the number was even we coulda paired off in twos reciprocally, but that would make too much sense.That should have been that, but Monori had more on her mind today than a game. With the B-Day celebration that evening gathering every single Lunari (and even their B-balls) into the Grand Hall, there would be no one left to guard the Archives besides the maintenance automata, making it her one and only chance to do what she had spent the past three turns planning. She would get her answers today, or... well, probably not "die trying", the worst she'd likely get was a slap on the wrist. But failure would mean she would likely never have another chance, for one reason or another. Monori cast a shifty glance to and fro before consulting her co-conspirator once more. She was definitely going to be late now, but there were things in this world more important than B-Days, even if none of the others would ever believe her. { } AD: ...Hey. Not to get too far off the point here or anything, but, you know a little about espionage, yeah? Like, just a bit. SS: !For the sake of secrecy we'll say that I only know "just a bit", yes. SS: !Whatever rumors you might have heard about me are unfounded, I assure you. SS: !And I suppose I'd be willing to use that meager skill for a fellow Basketball Enjoyer. AD: Man, I sure do have some kinda crazy luck, to have just randomly guessed that you too are a strictly amateur aficionado of espionage. AD: Games. Espionage games. AD: By the same token, if someone who very definitely wasn't me was planning on sneaking into a heavily secured underground facility for which they finally acquired a full schematic after several turns of trying, protected by electronic security for which they have the control codes, and robotic sentries for which they don't... AD: Three questions. AD: Question the First: How would you get in? AD: Question l'Drada: How would you get out? AD: Question ili Duni: What's the best way to distract potential bystanders from the inevitable explosions along the way? AD: I'm not saying that this theoretical espionage hero is planning on blowing up security drones as a last resort. But I'm also not not saying it. SS: !Hmm. !Well, normally I'd say that the first thing to do would be to target electronic means of surveillance and THEN focus on guards, since machines are both more reactive and more easily fooled than a nari. SS: !But robots? !Sounds like they're one-and-the-same. !If there are no cameras to take out, then the sentries are your first mark. !I'd say watch them a while, learn their patterns and method of behavior. !Start a few small disturbances unconnected to you. !Do they all go after it--potentially leaving their own posts--or no? SS: !Either distract, hack, or destroy--in order of what's best for you. !A robot following its orders somewhere away from you is less likely to be noticed by any would-be overseers than one that's been hacked away from their control, and one that's been hacked away from their control is less likely to be noticed than one that's gone completely. SS: !So using the schematics and your code, I'd find a good way in and out--never the same one; don't backtrack during an op if you can at all help it--and move in after taking care of the sentries. SS: !Which, I suppose, answers both questions. !But it's a difficult thing to coordinate eyes away from your movements in both entry and exit. !If you can get confederates--or, I guess, robot helpers if this game will let you--to clear your way out, that's for the best. !If you're on your own, then you've just gotta make sure something is timed for when you need to exfiltrate that'll take away attention from your exit. !Naturally, that means you'll have to hurry to meet your own deadline--or on the other hand stay put and potentially get caught until the timer runs down. SS: !As for the very theoretical explosions, other theoretical explosions work best to mask them, I find. !Either that or something that'll equally keep others' attention off until you're home free. SS: !That about cover your questions, Theoretical Espionage Hero? !Any more? AD: Nope, that'll do nicely. At ease, soldier. AD: In the purely theoretical instance where this proves useful in the future, you have my thanks. AD: Like I said, you're pretty decent for a grounder. AD: And with that, I should probably let you go for now. The last thing I need is the entire Committee staring at me when I walk in late. AD: It's hard, being both the birthday girl and the 100th B-Day guest of honor. It's hard and nobody understands. SS: !Somehow, I think you'll muddle through it. !Keep a stiff upper lip and endure your suffering, you poor beknighted wretch. SS: !Oh, and happy birthday. -- saturnineSoldier [SS] ceased tweeting autonomousDictum [AD] --
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 4, 2024 5:18:58 GMT -5
Mercia Issaries raised up her hammer and, channeling the raw might of Kar the Proud striking down his foes, brought the sledge down right on top of the little green spirograph symbol emblazoned on the cap. In truth, she'd expected it to require more swings, but the whole cruxtruder itself seemed to have been waiting less for any real show of force than for force to merely be shown, so to speak. No sooner had hammer met impromptu anvil, than did a burst of dark blue light shine not just from the place of impact, but the whole cruxtruder itself.
Mercia stumbled back, shielding her eyes as best she could while still maintaining sight on the thing. A few stray, mad thoughts passed through her mind as the cruxtruder seemed to warp and flex like something from a cartoon--had she set off a bomb, perhaps?--but with one last kaleidoscopic light show, the cruxtruder gave up in the face of coercion: the spirograph-cap popped off, flying over to land on top of her bed, and a strange...thing arose from within the bit of machinery.
It was the sort of thing one could only describe by a litany of adjectives, nouns, and adverbs: a blue, pulsing, floating, spirograph orb thingy. Mercia was suddenly glad she wasn't prone to seizures, because she couldn't look away from the strange thing, even as she took out her phone to touch base with her comrade-in-science-fiction.
MM: $I know I should be immune by this point but I must express with all of my mind, all of my heart, and all of my soul MM: $Che cosa. VL: ... i wonder what to do next. VL: hmm VL: there is a countdown too.
That finally dragged Mercia's eyes back down to earth: specifically to the cruxtruder itself rather than the floating seizure bubble. Sure enough, there on the little screens that Mercia had tried to poke earlier was a countdown: 12 minutes, 23 seconds and counting. It was a fair amount of time, but even so, Mercia couldn't help but grow nervous. She'd always hated timed missions...
MM: $Che cazzo?! \(º □ º l|l)/ MM: $Only twelve minutes?? $Quick, we gotta think, what do we do with this weird orb?! VL: ... don't know. VL: ...it doesn't appear to be hostile. ...can you speak with it?
She felt like an utter fool, staring at that twisted disco ball and trying to put on her best winning smile. She gave it a half-hearted wave and said, "Hello... Can you understand me?"
It seemed it could to a certain extent, or at least it was programmed to try and talk some way. Alas, Mercia could only chalk it up to the cobbled-together nature of the game: what filled Mercia's ears was a noise she couldn't quite explain. It almost felt like it was trying to explain shapes with static, or maybe it was trying to paint the wall a certain pattern with a series of shrieking nonsense syllables.
It was the sort of thing that might give one a migraine. Enough of that, then.
MM: $Yesn't. $It's all nonsense that hurts my ears. MM; $Normally I'd try to figure it out myself, but that countdown's making me antsy. $Time to phone a Caeli! ε=ε=┌( >_<)┘
-- mondainMerchant [MM] began tweeting pandamoniumUnearthed [PU] --
MM: $Caeli! $VERY quick question, since I'm on a time limit now! MM: $What do I do with the glowy spirograph-orb thingy that just came out of the cruxtruder?? PU: under the vast array of all normal circumstances, i would delight in nothing more than to regale you with the full extent of the sprawling tale that brought us to this point, and perhaps teased your curiosity a few minutes longer before releasing the fruits of knowledge to your overeager, grasping claws. PU: this time, however, i will dispense with both formality and triviality and cut straight to the chase. shocking, i know. PU: "behold you now the shape of futures, of nascent kingdoms yet to come, PU: this offering we make to build the first stair, by second step to be undone." PU: apologies for the sloppy meter; even the best translation makes mediocre prose. PU: to be clear, i believe it should be given something. perhaps something... novel. PU: nobody likes a boring game, after all. (︶ω︶)" MM: $Grazie!
-- mondainMerchant [MM] ceased tweeting pandamoniumUnearthed [PU] --
That was refreshingly straightforward for Caeli-talk... Mercia thought. Though, it still left her in somewhat of a bind: she needed to give something novel, but what exactly constituted as novel? Well, there was only one thing to do when unsure: a supraliege should seek the advice and counsel of their sublieges when unsure, after all.
> Mercia: Seek counsel with The Council
After a quick glance at the timer to make sure she had enough time for such a frivolity, Mercia spun her rickety old computer chair around to face her bed: there at the end of it, though a little jostled by the cruxtruder cap falling on the bed, were Mercia's two "sublieges": Hopkins the Rabbit and Nyalia the cat.
Mercia'd thought them clever names as a child.
Still, even though they were among the things left behind for her journey into adulthood, Mercia couldn't deny the residual affection she held for the two "creatures" as Nine had called them. Hopkins had been first, her brave partner in her youthful adventures who had been sewn by her mother's own hands back in better days. Mercia, as one of the few children of Sunbreeze of her generation, had spent much of her time traipsing hither and yon over the wild country surrounding her home. She'd dragged the little rabbit everywhere, and had never cared much about getting him dirty. Though cleaned of dirt, the little creature still bore the signs of his many adventures: he was a patchwork, stained thing; a Ship of Theseus in rabbit form.
But, there was no rabbit in all Avinia braver than Hopkins.
Nyalia had come later, a store-bought friend. Mercia'd picked her up during their family pilgrimage, which had among other things taken them to places like Horizon and Saross. Mercia'd quickly realized when actually interacting with other children her age, and even some below it, that it wasn't very cool of her to still be carrying around a stuffed animal everywhere. She'd resolved to give Hopkins up, let him stay a fixture in her room, but guilt had overcome her. She'd begged her parents for a friend for Hopkins, and they'd thankfully obliged--again, those were better days. Nyalia was a little gray cat in a pink dress and bow, clearly the product of some poor matron trying to scrounge a few extra florans, and had been picked up from a mall stall at a cheap price. She'd never seen much of the outside world, having been largely kept inside with Hopkins in his retirement.
Still, she was treasured, both as Mercia's and as Hopkin's friend, in that lonely, dying little world of Sunbreeze.
Together, they made The Council, two sides of any discussion. Hopkins favored boldness and daring, while Nyalia favored caution and sense. Mercia took her seat before them, leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and called the Council to Order.
"The issue at question," she began in an official tone, "is what to give to the seizure fairy floating above us. Miss Bhaldraithe spoke me a poem saying, 'Behold you now the shape of futures, of nascent kingdoms yet to come, this offering we make to build the first stair, by second step to be undone.' Furthermore, she said that it should be something novel. What do we have around here that we can give it?"
Mercia wasn't so silly as to speak The Council's thoughts aloud in any voice, much less a silly kind of voice, and any rumors that she used to do so as a child were pure slander. Really, that I'm still doing this at all is rather silly...but, well, I suppose Nine has already seen a very silly part of me. Mercia thought ruefully. No, she simply imagined their responses in her head, and used them to way and measure the competing values of caution and boldness.
Nyalia spoke up first, citing the fact that they had no idea what would happen to whatever would be given to the kaleidoscopic basketball. It should then be something Mercia wouldn't mind giving up forever. Maybe whatever was given would be destroyed, or vanish, or changed forever?
Hopkins was quick to retort, saying that Caeli had said that that nobody likes a boring game. Whatever they give by definition couldn't be easily-disposable, because then it would be boring.
"Wait, how did you know Caeli said that? I didn't mention it."
Hopkins said because he's a part of her subconscious.
"...Right."
Nyalia said that it was just a game in the end, even if things were a little more boring than they'd otherwise be, it didn't make sense to give up something cherished for the sake of a temporary thrill.
Hopkins said that the item would be the first stair, and the shape of a kingdom to come. Maybe it was just poetic language, but that sounded pretty permanent. Maybe it was a permanent game.
Nyalia replied that nothing was really permanent, even if it said it was.
Mercia cast a wary eye over to the counter. "We're getting into the weeds here," she lightly reprimanded. "If we dance around general ideas, we'll never make any progress. I need specifics: what, exactly, would fit your definitions?"
Hopkins said to send him.
Mercia's eyebrows flew up into her dark hair. "What??"
Hopkins said that he was tired of sitting on his laurels here in Mercia's room, that though he liked hanging out with Nyalia all the time he yearned for adventure again. He said he wanted to feel the wind, to get in the mud, to splash in the creeks once again, just like old times. He knew Mercia was too old for that now, but maybe that he could get something like it with this game. Then, with a grimmer tone, he said that an old adventurer like him wasn't made for retirement, that it was better if he went out in one last blaze of glory even if it destroyed him.
Nyalia said nothing.
Mercia placed her fist over her heart in an old salute, and nodded her assent. "As your lord and supraliege, I give you leave to follow your heart. May you find the adventure you seek, Hopkins. And...thanks for everything."
Hopkins said not to worry about it, that it was just as much fun for him as for Mercia. He said he'd see Mercia on the other side, wherever or whenever that was.
So, tears flecking her eyes, Mercia stood and picked up little Hopkins by his little paw, just as she had time and time again when about to go onto adventure. That right paw of his had so many stitches, and even then was only hanging on by a combination of thread and sheer will to the main body. Mercia gazed into his little button-eyes, gave him one last parting hug, and tossed him upward into the seizure fairy.
Another blinding flash of light bid Mercia hide behind her hands, and what remained was both Hopkins and not. He had been transformed, or perhaps one might say decapitated: the spirograph in the middle of the orb had been replaced with Hopkins' smiling face, now a pleasing shade of darker blue, and nothing else besides.
MM: $Well... $That's certainly something... (@_@) VL: oh VL: you put a creature in VL: ... hm. okay VL: i am going to see if there's anything else i can do. you should look at the other machines i think. MM: $No, the others seemed like they needed something to even get started. $The lathe-looking thing needs something to lathe, and I didn't even see a way I could interact with the big pedestal-thingy! ( ̄_ ̄)・・・ MM: $Maybe Hopkins has some advice.
"Well, Hopkins, are you still...there? Any advice?" Mercia ventured.
Before the inner Hopkins within her mind could respond, the outer Hopkins began to spew another strange litany of static-sounds and nonsense-syllables. They seemed a little different, this time: like he was trying to paint a landscape with syllables unheard of in any nari tongue Mercia knew, or to form a carrot out of noise. Alas, it was no more helpful.
MM: $Eloquent as always! (ᓀ ᓀ) MM: $Let's see... $Maybe something more with the cruxtruder...? (•ิ_•ิ)?
Mercia hopped up on top of the cruxtruder and peered down its little "smokestack." There, just as she hoped, was something else besides the sprite which hadn't popped out along with it. Mercia turned the little wheel again and, sure enough, a dark blue cylinder of sorts popped out of it, joining the cruxtruder cap on her poor benighted bed.
MM: $Oh! $That looks lathe-able, don't you think?? ( ̄▽ ̄) VL: aha. VL: ...i have found a card.
What appeared to be a sort of punch card apparated out of the air and slowly, gently, floated downward. As was Mercia's wont, she made sure to catch it in the air rather than let it finish its descent. She captchalogued both it and the dowel into her Vending Machine modus.
MM: $Grazie! $Now, to the lathe!
Mercia walked double-quick out of her bedroom and towards the kitchen, eager not to waste any more of her limited time. Alas, she wouldn't be o lucky: the swift tap-thump of her father and his trusty cane against the living room carpet. Mercia took a deep breath and braced herself for a lecture as she turned his way, but the sight before her eyes stole away the breath from her lungs.
The doors to the shrine were all open. That alone would have sent any member of the Issaries family into a panic. What confirmed that something was terribly wrong was the worry and fear creasing the lines of Giovanni Issaries' usually impassive, calm mien.
"Merci, follow me!" he demanded.
"Merci" didn't ask any questions; she followed as her father hobble-thumped as fast as his cane and gimp leg could take him back out into the shrine, then out the wide open front doors. That fact, too, settled a heavy weight into Mercia's gut. A growing panic was seizing them both, feeding off of each other. Its source was plain to see once they'd made it outside.
There, in the sky above, outshining all of its kin, was what appeared to be a baleful red star. More worrying of all, it was growing: visibly so, though only by the tiniest of fractions every second. Even a normal family would be shaken by such a sight, but to a family who had long read the stars for signs and portents of dangers ahead...
"...What does it mean??" Mercia half-yelped.
"I don't know..." Dad responded, his voice calmer but still carrying a thick undercoat of worry. "I wish I knew... If only your Mother-" he sighed and shook his head. "...I don't know."
So, they were lost and adrift without even a guess. Mercia bowed her head, tried to ignore the rising panic, and let her mind make free associations. A star was in the sky. Judging by its growth, it was either growing in size--unlikely, given how rapid it was--or, far more worryingly, was headed closer to Avinia at speed. If it was a large star, perhaps that would do no harm for many turns, but if it was something else...
Falling stars... What does that remind me of...? Mercia bit her lip as she thought. Then, all at once, it came to her. She quickly pulled her phone from her pocket and fired off a quick tweet to Nine.
MM: $Uhhhh Nine! 〣( ºΔº )〣 MM: $You know the Starfall Celebration you're about to celebrate, right? How...literal is it...? VL: how literal...? VL: ...do you mean a specific part? VL: ... to my knowledge it's somewhat frowned upon to kill your star target, but some still do. ... part of the usual discussion around ancient traditions versus modern sensibilities.
"Merci, go get the telescope," Dad ordered in his calmest (and therefore most counterfeit) tone. "Maybe with it we can see what we're dealing with here."
Mercia obliged, and ran off as swiftly as her feet could take her to the old "junk closet" in the living room, where various miscellanea had always been stored.
MM: (;;;*_*) MM: $That's pretty terrifying to think about, actually, but I'm talking about the name! MM: $Look outside, can you see that new star that's growing bigger and bigger, or is only visible over here in Sunbreeze?? \(º □ º l|l)/
A long, agonizing pause. Mercia tried to ignore it, figuring that Nine was going somewhere to get a good look at the sky. She tried to put it out of her mind and dig through the various junk in the closet to look for the old telescope she and Mom had always used for star readings and amateur astronomy.
VL: no i can't see any new stars. VL: ...is it night over there? it is night here. MM: $The sun just recently set here! The new star is big, red, and it keeps getting bigger! MM: $The fact that you can't see it is MM: $Well, I don't know what it is! {{ (>_<) }}
Finally, she had her prize: a little folded telescope, an old hand-me-down from generations past, long past its use-by date in Mercia's eyes. Still, it would do for the task set before it. Mercia gathered the thing up in her arms and sprinted back outside, heedless of the usual ritual rules for passing through the shrine. Once there, she set the thing down and began to set it up, pointed towards the star that had--horrifyingly--grown even larger in her absence.
Time, it occurred to her, was of the essence. She made sure to quickly switch over to text-to-speech lest precious seconds be lost tapping away on her phone.
VL: ...hm VL: ...well, it's not unusual to see shooting stars during starfall. it aligns with the triturnnual meteor shower. it's why the celebration is called that... VL: ... but i am guessing it's not really a shooting star. VL: what concerns me is... VL: ... nevermind. VL: do you want to keep playing the game? there's also a countdown. or you could spend time with your dad. sounds like a good idea. MM: $...
What could you even say to that? Mercia wasn't stupid when it came to veiled speech and hidden meanings. Indeed, her supraliege had oh-so-kindly opined that her emotional intelligence was her one good point. So, she could read betwen the lines, particularly that last line.
The text-to-speech had helpfully interpreted her shaky intake of breath as an ellipsis.
Mercia peered through the old telescope, and after a bit of readjustment had locked it onto the growing star. The sight before her turned her blood to ice and her skin to a pale, icy blue. There was no doubting it: there, far into the heavens, flew a great hunk of space rock. Destination: Sunbreeze, Shrine to the Conductor as East Wind. Mercia stumbled back away from the looking glass, almost tripped over own feet as she struggled to stay standing. She couldn't stop shaking. Hopkinssprite filled the air with more of his inane chatter, and appeared particularly agitated. She couldn't stop shaking.
Dad took her place at the telescope, but Mercia's trembling words spilling from her mouth gave the game away before he got a good look.
MM: $Oh... MM: $...It's a meteor. MM: $Headed here. VL: ... that seems like a very logical conclusion. VL: what do you want to do? MM: $What CAN I do...? MM: $There's no way we can get out of the blast radius in time... $So...we're just going to MM: $...Oh, sweet gods, this is my fault, isn't it? $I brought this curse down upon us all... $It's my fault! VL: ...do you trust me? MM; $I MM: $... MM: $If we hadn't had that talk earlier, I probably would have said 'no,' but MM: $...I'll try. $Why? VL: i want you to try... VL: putting your faith in the conductor's wind. can you do this? VL: ...where does it tell you to go?
Tick... Tick... Tick... Time was running down.
Mercia closed her eyes. What was most important in a time of stress and danger was one's breath: Mom had taught her that, long ago. Mercia breathed deeply, from her lower diaphragm, and the surge of energy began to settle her nerves into a low buzz that could be ignored.
Tock... Tock... Tock... Time was running short.
It wasn't the only thing she'd been taught by Mom. No, Mercia'd forgotten more from her mother than many children were ever told. But, one thing she'd never forgotten was how to listen--not with one's ears, but with one's whole self. The gods would speak to those who sought, in a language that felt both within and without. She simply had to open herself to it. A cooling night breeze blew past father and daughter.
Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... The flashing numbers on the cruxtruder appeared once again before Mercia's mind's eye.
That little night breeze twisted, turned off of its path, and journeyed into the shrine that had so often given it sustenance and home. It found no bread and wine for it that night, but it was there to serve, not to be served. Mercia could feel its movement as it twisted to the right in the shrine, went through the double set of doors that marked off the living quarters, slipped under her own bedroom door, and came to a stop near the...
Mercia opens her eyes. She saw her father before her, who was staring at her with no one emotion, but what felt like pure and simple meaning in his dark gray eyes. He was silent, waiting on her word--her word as heiress to Sunbreeze's one and only shrine, the center around which that dying community had been built in turns past.
"It's..." She swallowed what felt like an iron weight. "...It's stupid, but I'm...currently playing a new game. Somehow, I feel like it's connected, that if we complete it before time's up...maybe it'll do something good."
Dad nodded. "...You have your mother's instincts, Merci. It took me turns to learn to listen to them; I always thought she was insane, yet she always was right. Even you-..." Dad caught himself up and shook his head. "No, another time. For now: trust those instincts of yours, even if they feel absurd. Especially if they do. And, tell me how I can help."
Mercia nodded. "Do you see that pedestal thing in the garden? See if you can make as much a path as you can through the weeds, so I don't get tripped up."
> [S] Mercia: Get to work
VL: good. ...use the pre punched card. MM: $I really hope this hunch is right! MM: $Holy Sophia, Our Lady of Holy Heart, shield my hopes and I will sacrifice a great beast in your honor! MM: $Eastern Winds, you who my family has long supped and sheltered, grant my feet winged swiftness! VL: "Setarh mesar asha." VL: ...may the stars light your path.
Mercia sprinted back into her home, almost knocking over the coat-stand which still carried her coat in her haste, but managed to make it to the totem lathe as quickly as nari feet could take one--or maybe even a little quicker. After fishing in her pockets for a few spare coins--it didn't really matter what kind, thankfully--she slotted them in quick succession into her modus to bring out both the prepunched card and the cruxite dowel.
It took a frustratingly long time simply to figure out how to operate the thing. Mercia'd seen lathes before, but her knowledge of how to operating them was utterly nil. Every little thing--from finding the card slot, to figuring out how tightly to adjust the clamps, to getting the dowel between said clamps, to finding the start button--bled away more of her precious time. Only an act of will kept her from kicking the damned thing for its stubbornness, but eventually she figured it all out. As the bit of machinery began to spin the dowel around, she leapt backwards--expecting sparks--but none came. Indeed, as if in mockery for her own slowdowns, the process was almost instant. Where once a solid cylinder block of dark blue had been, a more elaborate sloping totem remained.
MM: $Excellent, now to make it to the pedestal thingy! VL: two minutes left. MM: $Cazzo!
Fool that she was, Mercia had overly-tightened the clamps, fearful of the dowel falling out during the process. She had to bleed more of her precious two minutes loosening the clamps, which then caused the damned totem to fall onto the floor and roll away. Cursing again and again in her native tongue, Mercia chased the thing down and captured it.
She sprinted with all haste back the way she had came, through the shrine and out the door, but the sight awaiting her outside froze her in her tracks. The "star" had grown greater still in the time she had been inside, easily equal to the moon. Its red light matched the pure, cool white of the full moon, fused with it, tainted it. Mercia could feel the sin of it crawling on her back.
MM: $Cazzo... $Cazzo! #Cagacazzo! MM: $I really did this! $All of these people are going to die because of MY curse!! MM: $Damn it, I almost feel like I shouldn't even TRY to save us with this game, that I should die with the rest of them! VL: choose to live or die and follow through. VL: ...you're wasting time. MM: $Shit... $You're right, I know you're right! $I shouldn't get cold feet now! MM: $Even if I'm rotten, Dad doesn't deserve this! VL: one minute left.
It was exactly the sort of swift kick in the ass that Mercia had needed: there was no time for maudlin self-loathing, only for action. Quicker than the fleetest runner, Mercia tore off down the steps and across the yard, towards the alchemiter in the garden. Dad had done as well a job as one could in a mere minute to clear the way, but a long patch of weeds and brambles still lay between her and her goal, with no time to spare.
And yet, Mercia could feel it... The winds were with her. They hadn't forsaken the little girl who had greeted them every time she came home, the little cherub who had tried to sneak bits of their food off but had never once succeeded, the grown woman who had sent their shrine so much hard-earned money. She could feel those winds at her back, on her heels, below her like a bird in flight. Mercia ran. Mercia leapt--leapt high over the last patch of brambles, longer than the longest long-jumper amongst her kind. She could feel them buoy her up, up, and over.
With but thirty seconds remaining, Mercia slammed the totem onto its small pedestal and waited with bated breath as the robotic arm read its information. What sprung fully-formed from the pedestal was perhaps the last thing Mercia had ever expected: a simple mailbox, clearly old and weather-worn, yet fashioned with care of wood that would last the generations--though, of course, it was that same dark blue color as everything else this game created was. It didn't overstay its welcome, thank the gods: its little door flapped open, and out fluttered a dark blue envelope.
Mercia snatched it from the air and took a look at the thing: it was just like the very letter that had started this all, with the same crease on the corner from a clumsy mailman's grasp. The only strange thing was that the addresses were mixed up: the receiving address was the Sunbreeze shrine, and the mailing address her apartment in Sargoss.
Fool that she was, even despite the imminent danger, Mercia couldn't withstand the wave of grief, memory, and regret that suddenly overwhelmed her.
MM: $...Hah. MM: $Just like the letter I got about Mom, then... MM: $It's funny, I procrastinated for days on opening that thing... $If I hadn't, then MM: $...Maybe I could have arrived in time, seen her off... VL: riveting. VL: 10 seconds.
The meteor grew closer and closer, blazing red thing that devoured the whole sky. Its baleful red light had utterly devoured the moon's gifts, had blocked out every last star from the sky. She could feel its heat, she could feel the death it promised. Mercia wiped away one last tear on her sleeve and opened up the letter.
The world disappeared in a flash of light. Whatever remained, the meteor claimed as its own.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Mar 7, 2024 6:09:21 GMT -5
> [S] 0730 hours, or: LUNARIA, CITY OF PROGRESSA hundred turns ago today, a golden god stood alone in defense of a dream. Of course, no Lunari alive would tell you their freedom was won by just one man. It took the work of a team, and of all the Lunari who stood behind them, to pave the way towards the future. But each and every Lunari would also tell you the same, that though they stood as equals back then just as much as they do today, one man stood out among the rest, first among equals, a true titan of science and champion of his people: Doctor Charles Barkley. Monori heaved a monumental sigh as she looked over the Grand Hall, already festooned with decoration, leering over the statue of her illustrious ancestor like some garish aurora. Holobanners were strung, balloons floated, lights lit and screens scrolled messages of glory and progress, celebrating how far they'd all come, and how much further they could go so long as everyone stays the course. It was clear that they really didn't need her; the others were doing a perfectly fine job of idolizing their glorious past in an effort to inspire themselves to an equally glorious future. But they needed the idea of her. B-Day was a celebration of an ideal as much as an event. This showed in its name as much as anything else: it was named simultaneously for Basketball (or B-Ball, but that would be redundant), Birth (as in the birth of Lunaria as a nation, though it now had another meaning too), and Barkley, the man who lit the way when the future was at its darkest. Every turn, the latest inheritor of his legacy would be asked to give a speech commemorating the event, as a way of inspiring the people of Lunaria to ever greater heights of bravery and innovation. The scion in question would consult with the Lunar Symposium, the meritocratic council in charge of making large-scale decisions that affect the moon as a whole, but in the end, the final decision for the speech's contents lay with the Barkley heir, just as Barkley himself stood alone and of his own will when nobody else would step forward to volunteer to fight for the moon's freedom. It was all so tiresome. Monori was tired of it long before she was asked to make her first speech a turn ago, and the pressure of it being her first speech only made things worse. Fresh off the sting of her mother's death (a tragedy known well in advance is still no less tragic when it arrives), still awaiting her father's return (and he is returning, doubters be burned!), left adrift with nothing but the crushing weight of a family legacy that had long since passed from history to legend, she used her platform to lash out at the world. She excoriated the Symposium, the Lunari fetishization of their own history, and each and every member of her audience, many of them by name. Even with the intervention of the High Sophons, it took months for her to live that down. And the thing was, she didn't hate them. She was angry, to be sure, as any child suddenly thrust into circumstances beyond their control would be. But more than anything, Monori was proud of them, each and every one. She grew up among the wonders of Lunaria, wonders that only existed because of the constant hard work and innovation of its people, and every single day she was filled with awe at what they continued to accomplish, at every thrilling new discovery, every seemingly unsolvable problem solved. The Lunari were a thing of beauty, brilliant and radiant, and it galled her to see them lessen themselves in deference to some long-dead icon -- she would never cast doubt on his greatness, but he was a great man they had long since surpassed. How could she speak great things of those who refused to live up to their own greatness? They were a proud people, to be sure, but their pride always came with an asterisk, a damning mark placed by themselves and upon themselves. They were the Lunari, Titans of Progress! They were the future, living and breathing, the cutting edge, the new extreme! They casually wielded wonders that grounders could only dream of! And yet they insisted on living in the shadow of a man who was now chronologically as far behind them as the the first motor vehicles were behind the Lunar Ark. It was time to emerge from the shadows. It was time to take their rightful place. It was time to stop worshipping ghosts. Monori glared up at the statue of her great-grandfather, and through its impassive features, it seemed to glare back. Pathetic.What the hell do you want, old man.One of your philosophers once said "good artists borrow, great artists steal". Nobody ever said this about scientists, because they didn't need to. It was simply assumed. This is truer even on Avinia than it is on Earth; even though the nari are a famously collaborative people, from their waysongs to their jam kitchens to the systems of allegiance that form the filaments connecting every aspect of society at every level, they are also pathologically mercantile, and the clash between these twin truths of nari life is most clearly illustrated in the various fields of science. When a nari has a good idea, they will find a way to monetize it, and when the idea is complex enough, the potential profit justifies the effort in guarding its secrets. Recipes aren't worth keeping secret, because somewhere, someone will figure out the same recipe, or close enough that it doesn't matter, and then all the effort spent in keeping it secret was wasted. Likewise alphabets, or basic carpentry, or the many other things the nari freely and readily share, most often codified in song. However, when the secret in question is chemical formulae refined through a series of laborious steps, complicated schematics developed over the course of many turns, or esoteric equations derived from isolated experiments in personal laboratories, the balance begins to tip in the other direction. The business of nari science, then, is as much the business of espionage as it is experimentation. Rival teams of scientists will steal secrets from each other, will watch for careless laboratory assistants or those who could be plied with coin or favor, or even conduct covert paramilitary operations to infiltrate poorly-guarded facilities and exfiltrate their ill-gotten discoveries. Many a desperate scientist has called upon the services of the Assassins (their beleaguered scientific rivals then just as often beseeching the Untouchables for aid), and many others, particularly the larger collectives, maintain their own covert armed groups, membership often overlapping with the scientist teams themselves (because who better to know which secret documents were the important ones to steal than the very people who would be using them?). The collective who would one day call themselves the first Lunari began as one such group. By day they practiced science, and when they weren't doing that, they were practicing their footwork and collaboration with a little sport you might've heard of a few times. By night, they were academic raiders, a unit of covert soldiers calling themselves the Removal Department for their proficiency in removing secrets of science from rival labs, and one day they set their sights on the juiciest target of them all: a small enclave on the Logorian coast, the momentary home of the stranded, extraterrestrial vemosa. Did you know that some Earth birds will put their eggs in other birds' nests, as a form of parasitism? I just find that interesting. The arrival of the vemosa came as an unwelcome surprise to much of Avinia, but in certain dark corners of its scientific community, they represented an opportunity too good to ignore. Flight had long been a dream of the nari, and while they had developed terrestrial flight decades prior and it was now a semi-regular part of nari life, the stars (or even the substantially closer destination of Avinia's sparkling moon) remained ever beyond their reach. Though the vessel of the vemosa's arrival was presumably rendered inoperable in its crash, they were still technologically advanced beyond the nari's wildest dreams, and in the first few months they drove out nearby nari settlements in a wide radius around their crashed ship (and the base which sprung up around it seemingly overnight) in a series of lightning-fast attacks that left no opportunity for retaliation, effortlessly proving their overwhelming technological superiority time and again. Despite widespread fears, the vemosa never pushed their offensive beyond the borders they established in those early days, though it would clearly have been a simple matter for them to win any open battle. Their numbers were simply too few to hold any territory they might conquer, reasoned military theorists, and so they withdrew into seclusion in their strange alien facility, and neighboring nari societies drew up zones of exclusion and quickly shuffled their borders back a few crowflies to avoid any unwanted (and invariably fatal) contact. So it went for several turns; though a few examples of vemosa technology made their way into the outside world (whether from scavengers braving the now-ruined surroundings, or secretive trade conducted in the black of night by merchants who knew better than to admit to consorting with the enemies of the entire world, no one could be entirely certain), the complex as a whole remained locked tight, and eventually, the vemosa's remoteness and lack of contact with the outside world left them to fade largely into living myth, a fanciful "here be lions" that lingered barely on the edge of reality for any but those unfortunate few who lived on the fringes of that war-torn landscape. To this day, the precise means by which the soon-to-be Lunari liberated categorical knowledge of vemosa technology from the guarded aliens' clutches remains an unspoken secret, but liberate it they did, and with it, set their sights upon Avinia's shining moon, colorfully studded with functionally inexhaustible troves of mineral wealth. Many a nari scientist had dreamed of freedom from the cutthroat world of scholarly shadow war, free to pursue their wildest dreams of research and development unfettered by worldly concerns, but none were so deluded as to believe it possible with the world as it was. The moon offered the promise of safety, seclusion, and limitless exotic resources with which to do precisely that, and their stolen vemosa technology provided a springboard that would propel their science into realms previously regarded as pure fiction. It was little wonder that well over a hundred scientists volunteered for the ambitious project, even though it was made clear from the beginning that there would be no going back after they began. Construction of the grand Lunar Ark began immediately. Though tiny in comparison to the vemosan cruiser it was patterned after, it dwarfed all Avinian aircraft, drawing readier comparison to seafaring vessels with its hundred-strong crew quarters and cavernous cargo deck. If the scientists -- now finally calling themselves Lunari, in honor of their heavenly destination -- were to succeed, they would need every advantage they could take, and they would have to move all at once, and never look back. If others caught wind of the project, it would be subject to sabotage efforts from across the globe, as scientists and businesses alike would turn their eyes to the moon with greed, and the lunar dream would be dead before it had even been born. They would have to stake their claim all at once, in a way that could not be ignored. The Lunari labored in swiftness and secrecy, and one chilly autumn night, a gleaming sliver pierced the sky under the kaleidoscope light of the hunter's moon. The next few turns passed in a blur. The Lunari quickly established a tiny outpost on the moon's surface using a combination of materials brought from Avinia, the abundant precious metals and volatile chemicals that dotted the moon's surface and extended beneath its crust in deep caverns, and a staggering array of fanciful inventions based on and incorporating stolen vemosa technology. They built a small, tightly knit society both like and unlike their groundbound cousins on the planet below. Against all odds, they flourished. And on the planet below, those they left behind sought to claim what they believed was rightfully theirs. The Tellus Group was a media and manufacturing giant, a towering centimane with its fingers in more pies than it could even count anymore, from theme parks and theme restaurants to strip malls and strip mines, and among its ranks stood more than a few scientists of note, including a small handful who once worked with the celestial luminaries now calling themselves the Lunari. The Ark could only hold a hundred people, and while many of those who stayed behind worked as planetside liaisons for the export of lunar resources and the import of planetary goods, that bit about rival nari scientists always looking to bribe or cajole wayward lab assistants hadn't suddenly stopped being a thing in the last page or so. The megacorp contracted the services of a small cadre of mercenaries and, using their own modified vemosa maturation chambers, transformed soldiers into super-soldiers in preparation for what they believed would be a brief but bloody battle. They dubbed this elite force "the Monstars". What followed is a series of events every Lunari knows by heart. The Monstars set forth for the moon in a small spacecraft, armed to the teeth, and the Lunari raised the Ark from the ceremonial drydock where they had expected it to rest eternal, a symbol of ingenuity, unity, and triumph. Even mercenaries were still nari, and since time immemorial it was tradition among nari that all matters could be settled through a duel. Tellus expected this, and further expected the Monstars to handily defeat any duelist the Lunari could field -- for while the scientist-soldiers were indeed fleet of fist and foot, and brilliant besides, the Monstars had been transformed by mad science into beasts whose sole purpose was victory in battle. Traditionally, it is the aggressed party who determines the form of the duel, and it was this formality that secured the Monstars' defeat. For you see, they had been trained for battle, but they never expected to ball. The Lunari had a tradition of celebrating major events and holidays with a ceremonial game of B-ball -- a variant of the sport they all played together on Avinia as members of the Removal Department, now played using the hovering spherical robot helpers employed in labs throughout Lunaria, their resilient rubberized exteriors (to prevent damage to lab equipment or personnel in the event of collision) giving them a bounce similar to the basketballs with which they were all familiar. These games were, in a manner reminiscent of similar events on Avinia, called "jams", with each taking the name of the event it commemorated: the First Inaugural Jam, the Semiannual Eclipse Jam, so on and so forth. Lacking an event to commemorate -- and indeed, not knowing if there would be anything to commemorate at all, with the fate of Lunaria as a whole hanging in the balance -- this particular event was named instead for its unique venue. Thus it was dubbed Space Jam. At the L1 point between Avinia and its moon, the Lunar Ark awaited its guests. The Lunari knew that if they met the Monstars on the moon's surface, they could just as easily decide to ignore the rules of the duel and slaughter the lunar population, and so they quickly converted the ship's cargo hold into a B-ball court. To protect the rest of the Lunari population in the event of Monstar treachery, the stands were left empty, the event broadcast to the moon's surface via secure transmission. All that remained was to select a handful of brave Lunari to meet the Monstars on the court of battle. Doctor Charles Barkley was not the founder of the Lunari mission. Nor was he a member of the council of directors that guided the Lunari in their early days or the turns leading up to their departure, those scholarly dignitaries who knew they would shape the future in some way or form even before they set out on this journey. He was a junior member of the team at their departure, his spot aboard the Ark secured only after being vouched for by his trimate, herself a more accomplished and well-connected scientist with family and allegiance ties to several senior members. While his fledgeling research on bound-state superradiant field accelerators showed promise, he had yet to truly make a name for himself, and his close associates were well aware of his internal struggles over standing shoulder-to-shoulder with truly legendary visionaries and innovators. But that day aboard the Ark, at the head of his hand-picked team of Lunari ballers, he stood as a deity incarnate. Archive footage of Space Jam is incomplete, the result of a last-ditch effort by Tellus to interfere with its result by scrambling the signal and giving their monstrous soldiers the order to attack just before the game's conclusion. They cared nothing for the accusations of cheating that would inevitably follow; history is written by the victors, so they could tell whatever story they wanted, and within a few generations, the lie would be as good as true. The Monstars, however, were still nari above all else, and accepted their defeat by the Lunari team with a grace and composure that shocked both their masters at Tellus and their Lunari opponents. The two teams shook hands, and the Lunari, knowing the Monstars would find no friends upon their return to their Tellus Group associates on Avinia, offered them a place among the eccentric peoples of the moon, which they accepted gladly. Even today, there are Lunari who bear the family names of those noble Monstars, descendants of those who arrived on the Ark as enemies, but left it as friends. The Ark was decommissioned following the Lunari victory. Whatever was to come, they had made their home, and they had defended it; it was well and truly theirs. There could be no turning back now. The ceremonial drydock was repurposed, and as the tiny lunar outpost expanded into the lunar habisphere we know today, the dock became the Grand Hall, where Lunari would gather for special occasions henceforth under the eagle gaze of their hero. Doctor Barkley himself passed away not long after his victory, to the great sadness of the entire lunar population, and especially the Monstars he had befriended; the strain of battle was simply too great, and he departed this mortal coil for a place of honor among the stars and in the hearts of his people. He left behind twin legacies: the continued and eternal freedom of the moon from all aggressors, and his genetic line which carries on his work to this day. Or, put another way: the great golden statue towering immortal over the Grand Hall, and the very mortal girl seething in its shadow. Pull yourself together, Satria. The worst is yet to come.> 0945 hours, or: The Worst So Far...No, I don't think so. Go satisfy your misery fetish somewhere else. I'm sure one of the others would be happy to indulge you.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 7, 2024 7:52:01 GMT -5
[S] ====>I've been having these weird thoughts lately...Unfocused. What Soris feared most about that word was the possibility that it was true. He'd hidden it from everyone he knew, everyone he cared about, those moments where he felt he was losing his grip on reality. There, as he sat at his computer, the gray rain curtain of the earth around Soris seemed to slip away, and he seemed to rise--or fall?--into a world of resplendent and royal purple. ...Is any of this real, or not...? Down, down, down, then up, up, up. Crowds of people with their faces cast in shadow walk the streets below. His own path is set, predetermined; he has walked--floated, flown?--this path a thousand and one times, and will do so a thousand and one times more. The shadows blend, the purple swirls in on itself, the world fades away once more. Soris' eyes droop closed. I'm still outside, she's still within... I only catch glimpses, when the sun is just right, or when she chances a glance outside of her window... The Princess' Tower stood tall and proud above the sweep of the city, like an imperious guardian and ruler of its lessers below. He'd passed it a thousand and one times in his aimless wandering through the purple streets, or was it in his explorations of Horizon city as a child? Either way, on the thousand and second time he'd passed by, he'd chanced a glimpse of the princess trapped within. I thought she was the most beautiful and sad thing I'd ever seen... Just looking at her makes my heart hurt, and yet I keep searching... I want to cry out to her, but...But, fear gripped his heart and constricted his throat. A thousand and one times he had opened his mouth, taken a breath, and faltered at the very last moment. His cry would come out as naught but a sleepy mumble, or utter silence. I can see, as though it's really there before my eyes, a red thread, a bond that used to exist and can exist and always existed, if I just reach out, and...But, his fingers passed through the thread as if he was touching a trick of the light, or a ghost. How, then, did he feel its pull still? It lead into the Princess' Tower, through rock and stone that he could not pass through. A thousand and one times he had circled that high Tower, searching high and low for any weakness or point of entry. He knew, in a way he knew his memories, that it was what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to enter a back way, to climb to the top of the tower, to reach out his hand to her... Why, then, was there no way in? It wasn't how things were supposed to be. What changed, what was lacking, what was missing? Soris circled the tower for the thousand and second time, searching, searching, searching... And on the thousand and second look on the thousand and second search, a missing puzzle piece was found... Another ghostly thread lead the way, which seemed to be dripping with red dye as though newly made. Soris turned and followed its tug, to find... -- sanguineScamp [SS] began tweeting vaultingLibretto [VL] -- SS: !Agent Fruit. SS: !Step into my office. SS: !Are you ready for your mission briefing? VL: ♪ agent ringwraith ~♪ VL: ♪ is the area secure~ ♪ VL: ♪ i am aware this operation is of the ~utmost~ secrecy~ ♪
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Post by perkunas on Mar 20, 2024 16:59:52 GMT -5
>Nine: Follow up.
Nine felt the question Nil was about to ask before she even opened her mouth - which prepared them to be irritated. True to form, they were.
"Do you believe in acts of the divine?" And already, Nine could feel her logic, as she shimmied in closer and the warmth that constantly radiated from her became a little harder to ignore. The logic they wanted nothing to do with.
“...I already danced with you.”
"No, no! It’s a normal question. A legitimate question! You never acted like you believed in that before," Her tone was lightly innocent as always, as she leaned forward, peering at Nine’s face, expectantly.
Preemptively, they allow their expression (what little they were wearing) to fall away to blankness, hoping that and their silence would make her lose interest in the thread –
"Heehee. It’s nice you care about your friend," Nil says with a smile. She doesn’t bump shoulders with Nine, knowing they can be touchy about that, but ... she gets close. Nine looks back at their computer, at the screen - where Mercia can thankfully be seen, speaking with her father. Then, she gets her phone, and they (extremely figuratively) leap to answer.
MM: $Nine? MM: $If you're still there and can still read me, I'm alive! (@´ー`)ノ゙ VL: ...oh. good. VL: ...and i can see you.
...Relief. It shouldn’t have been relieving. Yet it was. The relief shot through the dark clouds of - something - that hung over Nine at the moment. With a breath out, they glance towards Nil, and change the subject.
“She’s fine.” Then - an escape hatch. “Please help her with whatever she needs. I am going to go back to my own computer.”
"Oooh! Yay!" Nil doesn’t even hesitate, picking up her trash garbage laptop and plopping it on her lap. Whether she knew or cared that doing so broke the audio on her computer, it was impossible to tell. Nine didn’t devote her a single backwards glance as they hop from the shingled rooftop onto the roof space area, and scurry past the pool, back into the building proper.
====>
Nine couldn’t wait to get away from that. ‘That’... being... Nil. Being Mercia. Being everything surrounding everything that had just happened.
It was odd: they’d seen plenty of people die. More than what most would consider their ‘fair share’. All the same, it was... they felt rattled. There was something about it: or maybe something about this entire day, that had them feeling erratic. Unstable, in a sense. Not in control, like they should be. They wanted to do anything but just ruminate on how they’d pushed Mercia to play a game for her apparent last few moments, and somehow it seemed to have saved her. They really did want to have nothing to do with Nil’s intrinsically nosy questions - and luckily for them, there was a distraction in their tweetlist, and a task Nine needed to report on.
This was much better than being pestered about abstract morality and even more abstract religion. And far, far better than considering what it meant to try to save someone’s life from a meteor.
They fidgeted with their phone, and suppressed the urge to bite something.
-- veneratedLarceny [VL] began tweeting neverGiveup [NG] --
VL: ...the game works on the atrocious laptop i found. VL: ... VL: strange things are happening today. NG: Strange?? You mean the game, or something else?? NG: I mean, I guess the whole situation around the game is strange, maybe, I never really gave it much thought.. Speaking of, I hope that all went well!! VL: hmm... i doubt it is the game's fault strange things are happening. VL: though the game itself is strange, i will admit this. VL: ...the individual i played with simply has the worst luck i have ever experienced. VL: ...the triturnnual meteor shower isn't supposed to bring down actual large meteors... to my knowledge... VL: ...there's outliers in every case. i suppose. VL: ...she is fine, by the way. VL: ...so i would say it went well enough. NG: Sounds exciting!! So does that mean you guys won, or I guess beat the stage, or what?? NG: Ooo, did you get a score at the end?? I could go for a little friendly competition, and I just KNOW the two of us could blow away the competition if we really put our minds to it..
Perhaps the barest hint of embarrassment flashed through Nine as they considered this. They had essentially ran away from Mercia and Nil - so they honestly had no idea how to answer effectively. They wrack their mind, trying to piece it together.
VL: ...umm VL: ... VL: i... don't know exactly if we won or if we beat the stage. VL: ...there was a countdown and then she opened a letter and everything went white. then she walked around a bit. seemed to be somewhere new. so i think maybe... we beat the stage? VL: ...there is probably a score hidden in the menu. maybe it can be spent to buy things. i was able to extend her house using 'build grist'. VL: ...
...The answer was as best as they could give - but something caught their attention. Martel made a good point. They... could totally blow away the competition. For how quiet Nine was, their competitive streak occasionally flared to life, and here it jumped at the excuse to do something with someone they enjoyed more than ruminating on whatever just happened. They considered this, as they made their way back to their room.
VL: we probably could blow away the competition. ヾ(・ω・`)ノヾ(´・ω・)ノ゛ VL: ...if you play as server i could tell you what needs doing. we could go very fast. NG: I've heard I'm pretty good at going fast!! Sort of a local expert, if you can believe it.. NG: Local, AND regional, come tomorrow!! Which means tonight's sort of a "preview" for the real thing, I guess?? NG: ..Which means I better get going on this whole "server" thing before I slow us down.. VL: ...we can start the speedrun timer when you're connected. VL: ...did your download go alright. should i wait.
A smattering of loud pings made Nine jump, almost out of their skin. And the pings just keep going, and going... even worse: their phone matched each ping from their computer. One or the other, then - they capatchalogue their phone for the time being.
NG: I'll be the first to admit I'm not exactly the best at computers, mostly just use it for gaming when the arcade's closed, so I'm not 100% sure but.. NG: I THINK I got it set up right?? It finished maybe 15 minutes ago, figured I'd boot it up to make sure it works.. NG: It's, uh.. not DOING a whole lot, though.. NG: Kinda just.. sitting there?? Just one of those oldschool black-and-white terminal screens like you see in movies, with that cool chunky font.. NG: It wants me to connect to a client, which I guess means the ball's in your court?? VL: ... sorry. a moment.
>Nine: Answer Vivian
-– valoriousVindicator [VV] began tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] –-
VV: lmaooooo oohhhh VV: LMAOooo!!! VV: u thought u were so sliy ghuh VV: havinn smone else check in fro u VV: VEWI sly VV: how3eber: VV: u forgor VV: da most important thinkg ;3 VV: vivain always knows <3 VV: & also VV: viavin is the be st at saying thins until u responb VV: ur makin oracle sad u kno VV: and oracles extra cute t2day if i wasnt in a publci place th THINGS id do to their face VV: hay ewbtw rememb when we had that pARt ay ? VV: nnd you let me . u know ;;;;;;;)0 VL: why are you making a pest of yourself VL: ...i am busy. VV: LMAOOo HAIIII I KNEW ud respond. it WOULD WURK LMAOOOo VV: > w < VV: also lik fuk all ur busy ur playin some knndba game huh VL: ...
Confusion passed over their face first - then a scowl. They switched over to a different chat.
>Nine: Answer Eleven.
-– thunderboltDuelist [TD] began tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] –-
TD: Nine. I’d like you to know that while it is entirely fine for you to do what you like right now, the Starfall Celebration only happens once every three years. It will be a long time and a lot of trials before you’re able to experience it again - so I do hope you take at least one of the days to enjoy yourself and see what there is to see. TD: Also, it would be appreciated if you were to actually check memos when they’re made. I understand this isn’t Dispatch, but organization is still important so we can keep tabs on each other, especially while Gamma isn’t around. And yes, I am fully aware of the irony of mentioning Gamma when it comes to responding to these memos, but please: Do as I say and not as she does. TD: Or, well... consider, what I say, anyways? It’s not really an order, but… TD: Are you doing okay? Feeling well? Anything you want from the festival? I could bring back some fruit or something. VL: ... fruit is nice. VL: ...can’t talk. im setting up a game. VL: ...but ill check the memo. TD: Please do. When you're able, of course.
>Nine: Check the memo.
The moment Nine opens the memo, their window is awash with purple text.
And so I said to Vivian quote haha that’s really funny but we should do all of our gift shopping now and put it into our modus because striking while the iron is hot is the best way about things and also even though the crowds are big we’re going to be holding hands anyways so we won’t get lost end quote. I think that’s a really good idea whoever invented holding hands was an actual genius right up there with whoever invented hands, followed by whoever invented churros and also I just today learned they were called churros. I do have a lot of them stored in my modus now because when is this going to happen again parantheses don’t say three years from now parantheses. Anyways I think everyone should have churros and there will be some for Martel when we get to speak with her which is hopefully soon dash ish maybe hopefully. ON: Also while it is very funny and very jarring to hear you typing under Nine’s name because of how different your tone quote feels end quote I do hope they check in soon because I would like to hear what they are up to too. I think Vivian is messaging them right now she keeps giggling and mashing her phone furiously so maybe she will manage to do this. We let go of our hands together but I think that’s fine because we aren’t moving comma we're just sitting near the food at the moment. ON: Its really nice we live so close to the festival grounds like this it’s a luxury few can afford especially how we’re set up on a hill so we have some privacy from the city itself but its really not far to get into it proper. I think about that sometimes like if this really was the best location but I think its a good enough location even if it is remote from some very large population centers. What does everyone else think about it question mark I guess wherever we are we remain ourselves do it doesn’t matter that much.
...oracleNone is typing... ...thunderboltDuelist is typing... ...hallowedIntegrity is typing... ...veneratedLarceny is typing...
...Nine... decides to give Oracle a moment. There's still other messages to answer, after all.
>Nine: Answer the other one.
-– salsipotentDecree [SD] began trolling veneratedLarceny [VL] –-
The fact that Tweeter helpfully labeled the conversation as 'trolling' in and of itself wasn't a good start. Nine weighed for a moment whether or not they really wanted to answer this one - though they'd spoken before, right now... well. It wasn't exactly like Nine was available. They cut the difference.
SD: today iss the day. VL: … i don’t have time for you. SD: thought u’d ssay that. SD: i’ll keep this sshort then: SD: ur about to make a misstake. SD: truth iss SD: i don’t think you could do anything different SD: but it iss a misstake, and ssomeone will pay for it VL: ...sure. anything else. SD: glhf.
-– salsipotentDecree [SD] ceased trolling veneratedLarceny [VL]–-
... They had no idea how to take that. So they don't, closing out the window and putting it out of their mind. They had more important things to do, like... like...
Ugh, what is Vivian saying now?
>Nine: Answer Vivian... again.
VV: GOteeeeeeem im RIGHT fukko VL: ...i could block you. VV: nOOOO ooo dont b like that > w < VV: i mean i’m rly good at block evadin but C’mon u wouldn’t do that to Me . VV: what if Ive agot somth osuuper imbortante 2say VL: doubtful. VV: YWS it is OKKkk? VV: ok liiikeeee ~ ur hangn w Martle right? VL: how do you know that. VV: UMMmm memo duhHHHHhh. VV: n y WAY. tell martel if she vr wnats someone to krrp he r nest warm ill do it VL: what. VV: LOOQUE. VV: you SAI D u werent dating anymore righ??? VV: so shez FREE game? VV: cmon who woubldnt want to d8 hr like lwkey . o r at least a fling ma o VL: ... VL: ... VV: cMON shes a cool baseball playr 2 VV: u think i can get her to get me a signed jersey ?????? VL: ........................... VL: ...can you go back to lusting after an untouchable. VV: LMAOOo oka but also i dont think i rly have a chance. . even tho hes SO cute... u//w//u VL: ok. then just lust after literally anyone else please. VV: COOL so when are UR cheeks available?
-– veneratedLarceny [VL] ceased tweeting valoriousVindicator [VV] –-
>Nine: Pay attention to literally anything else.
Never had a window been closed so fast. They turn their attention back to the rest of the currently open programs - and finally noticed the game was sitting there, waiting for a singular enter press to start. Who knew how long the program had been left waiting before Nine actually noticed. Right. Yes. Game they were playing. They type a few messages.
VL: ...okay. i have my side running too now. i see... VL: oh. yes. it says you're trying to establish a connection.
And of course: Enter.
VL: is it working? VL: ...the ball is in the outfield. i think. NG: Should.. NG: uh.. NG: Am I SUPPOSED to be seeing your room?? NG: I mean I assume that's your room since you're the one in it.. I don't wanna intrude, I could close my eyes if you want.. NG: It's pretty hard to type with my eyes closed though..
A small feeling of discomfort rose within them, and they force it down, ignoring it. It's fine. All the others like Martel anyway - honestly, maybe they like her a little TOO much. Surely it's fine as long as she doesn't say anything - and despite the conspicuous way she tended to speak about it, Nine did trust her to keep secrets.
VL: oh... VL: yes that is a part of why this game is strange. VL: for some reason it gives a view of the player's room. VL: i suppose for ease of play. ...but as far as i can tell, there's no cameras. VL: ...just keep this between us. NG: Nothing to worry about there, I am the BEST at keeping secrets!! NG: ..Y'know, I'm not actually sure if that's a thing to be proud of or not.. I'll hafta think about that later.. NG: Right now, we've got a game to win!! Or.. something like that, anyway.. NG: Anything I should keep an eye out for?? There's a buncha menus and some gem stuff that my Gamer Senses™ are telling me is probably currency.. NG: What's an Atheneum?? Sounds literary.. VL: um... i forget. VL: ... there's some items that are free. a cruxtruder, i think... VL: a... totem lathe?... and an alchemiter... VL: oh, we are going to need to find places to put these. VL: um... the alchemiter i remember is very big. maybe best to put... somewhere with a lot of space. VL: ...and the cruxtruder can likely fit in my room. i will need it first i think... VL: so then ... perhaps the totem lathe somewhere along the way... VL: ...oracle is much better at speed runs than i am. NG: Nonsense, we have the power of teamwork on our side!! We'll SMASH those records!! NG: ..I guess there aren't actually any records yet, aside from the one you just set last round.. NG: But if having one of us is good, then having BOTH of us is gonna be AWESOME!! NG: Uh, right, Cruxtruder..
The entire house rattled as Nine saw a cruxtruder appear out of nowhere and land right in front of the singular window of the room. They take a moment to process this - it seemed so natural while they were the server, but having it actually happen before their very eyes - they could see a little bit why Mercia freaked out so much. Not entirely, mind (she was as impenetrable as she was flighty). But a little bit. They stood, considering the cruxtruder, before looking back towards their computer. It was fine to just leave this running, probably? Their own window wasn't displaying much of anything. Just maintaining a connection.
NG: Right there by the window, just in case you want a nice view while.. doing.. Cruxtruder things?? VL: ...that shook the entire room. VL: ...i am glad the others aren't here. save for nil. VL: ...i hope it doesn't trip the defense systems. or any alarms. VL: i'm switching to mobile.
Nine stands, letting out a little breath and then singing a singular note, retrieving their phone from their card. It was all they ever did with their Singer's modus. Perhaps once it was meant to reward good singing - they couldn't really remember why they had it, exactly. It was easy enough to hold a note long enough for it to foist over whatever item they wanted - and so they did. Once again, their modus begrudgingly cooperates, dropping a phone into their hand as they walk towards the Cruxtruder, examining it. Maybe they should be considered lucky that whatever mysterious 'high tech' defense system their supraliege had been working on was currently in a work in progress state - had it been running at full capacity, it probably would have freaked out at this game they were playing, just in general. Let alone physical interactive objects being placed in folks' rooms and hallways.
First, they poke it - then, reach and jiggle the handle, testing its resistance.
Should be easy enough to break.
VL: ...there's a timer that starts... i think once i open this? we could speedrun that. NG: Hell to the yeah I do!! And if you know what you're doing ahead of time, I can set it all out like you said and give you the best, fastest speedrun path this game's ever seen!! NG: ..Never mind that it's only seen one so far.. NG: Totem Lathe next.. it's kinda longish, so.. NG: How about right across the hall?? Quick, easy path from point A to point B.. NG: Now, somewhere with a lot of space..
>Nine: Be messaged.
-– valoriousVindicator [VV] began tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] –-
VV: NIIIIIINE VV: niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine VV: I'M soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i dint mean 2 make u uncofmry yyy VV: cmON nineeeeee VV: CMon i was playin :( VV: imean u are v cute in that like shorter than me soft pastelly rainbowey way but can u balme a gurl VV: bein 'tat ho over ther'e is mlike my BRAND ok i gtota shoot my shot @ 3VERY availabe juncture VL: sigh
Nine really didn't hate Vivian or anything of the like. She had high energy - and at times, Nine felt appreciative of that. Just because now wasn't the time didn't mean they didn't care for her - just that she was currently being annoying, and they had little in the way of patience for her at the moment. Still, they knew she would take it hard if they just started pure ignoring her. Or if they just blocked her. For all of her brashness, she didn't seem to actually want to hurt them. Emotionally, anyway.
VL: you're fine. VV: kkk... u sure? VL: yes. ...you're just being annoying. VV: OK LIKE tru but also sis this abt the martel thing are u mad at me. cos i can tlay loff?? im like 85% jokin kinda tot u wre ovr her my B VL: s VL: i VL: g VL: h. VL: ... i don't care what you do with her. just don't tell me about it. VL: she is her own nari. VV: so wat im herarin is. i gots a chanc e LMAO VL: ugh. VV: sOORRY lmaOOO ok ILL QUIT IT but also dont forget to check the mameo eleven said u said u woulb! VL: fine.
-– veneratedLarceny [VL] ceased tweeting valoriousVindicator [VV] –-
>Nine: See if Oracle is done in the memo.
Nine moves onto the memo, as promised, looking over it once more.
ON: (Blah blah blah something Nine is skimming blah blah skim skim game Vivian blah blah might as well be loreum ipsum for how much Oracle talks, someone should really tell them to stop just letting the text to speech run while they blabber on about random things, but also they're literally blind so who can really blame them, either way Nine has to be in a specific mood to read the entirety of their rambles and that is not the mood they're in at the moment. Very unfortunate but that's life. Blah blah blah.) VL: Yes it's a very interesting game! i think theres also creatures to fight :o VL: At least i think you are supposed to be fighting them even though my new favorite mercia is not doing that (she is running around like a lizard with its tail cut off) VL: I would give her advice but she dropped her phone! CA: wow, do you zink she is going to be ok? ✿ VL: Oh i have faith in her :o she dodged a meteor somehow so i think she will be fine with a bunny friend n_n HI: I DUNNO, this game sounds kind of LAME? HI: LIKE rabbit enemies? AM i the only one that thinks that sounds LAME? VV: lmaoooO dont fuck wirabbtis man theyll fuck you up. moon rabbits are on that sh*t TD: Moon rabbits...? VV: man HAVENT u hearb about the rlegnedary moon rabbid, Bogs Bubby??????? who fought dsiguised among st the loonari forc control of da moon HI: NOT this shit AGAIN. VV: ok U explin how a buncha SCIENCE NERBS deefeabed tha tellus corp w/out DIVINE HELp. HERALD OF DA MOOn itself. RABIT man. HI: 1. I THINK THAT'S PROBABLY OFFENSIVE TO SOMEONE HI: 2. THEY WON bc basketball is a CHEATER GAME FOR LOSERS. TD: Okay, let's not be hasty now. HI: OK but we're all THINKING it. BASEBALL is just BETTER. HI: NO bullshit HI: NO 'three pointers'. HI: NO CHEATER MOVES. HI: IT'S pure. HI: JUST a bat, a BALL, and BASES. TD: Okay, not that I care that much, but literally how is a bat, a ball, and bases "more pure" than a ball and a hoop? TD: ...Is it seriously just the alliteration?? HI: THERE'S actually a lot of elegant nuance to baseball basketball just doesn't have but i wouldn't expect a basketball apologist like you to understand. TD: Oh my god. CA: hehe. ✿ HI: WHAT. CA: you changed your tune, zat is all. ✿ HI: NO i always liked BASEBALL. I JUST didn't always trust that one person. VV: omfg now hez doin tha thing where he proetebnds 2 not kno martles name lolllll cute HI: WOW shut up. Nine takes this in... sighs... and then takes the dive.
VL: ...i am here. VL: Hi nine! :o ive been telling everyone about the game we're playing! CA: it sounds like you're having fun! i am glad for zat. ✿ VV: hi nine LMAOOoo wow it sure is weird 2 have nil undr ur name VL: ...yes. i didn't expect her to start talking to all of you about what i was doing. VL: Oh oopsies :x TD: There's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm glad to hear you are having fun during Starfall - even if it isn't out at the Festival. Like I said though, I think it would be nice if you did at least take some time to see the falling stars, or enjoy the festivities one of the later days. CA: youre playing vis martel right? will you ask her if she vants anyzing to eat from ze festival? ✿ VV: lmao dont geta ny churros though oracles got da t on lock HI: SURPRISED you didnt take the chance to say 'LOL GET ME' VV: wow thDATS FCKIN LEWD JUNO put that away no1 wants 2 see that HI: THE FUCK?? you CAN'T act like youre just a PRUDE NOW TD: Break it up. HI: CAN'T believe you're telling me to stop arguing with your whole chest when you pick fights all the damn time. ANYWAY HI: TELL martel to join us sometime for STARFALL stuff. TD: We'll have to ask Gamma for permission, remember. HI: CMON, like she'll say NO. ON: Hahahaha she probably won't need to haha ahhhh dot dot dot. VL: Wait im confused nine is it okay for me to talk about the game or not? :o @veneratedlarceny VL: Wait that just pinged me!! CA: tehee ✿ VL: ...you already did it. its fine. but maybe don't to random others you don't trust. VL: Oooh ok :o TD: Well, keep us updated on the whole game front, will you? VL: Ok!! :> VL: ...fine. but i am going to speedrun it. and you're all distracting. so stop messaging me. VL: But it's okay to message me! HI: REALLY brilliant idea to have those two under the same name. NOT confusing at all. CA: feeheehee. ✿ VL: Im going to go back to watching mercia too also! TD: Wait. TD: That didn't click for me until just now. The game lets you watch people?
Nine peels themself away from the memo, and with a decisive action - mutes it, and the rest of their notifications off their phone and computer. It meant checking the chat with Martel manually, but that was an easy price to pay in exchange for not being hassled for the time being.
>Nine: Devote your attention to Martel. Again.
VL: across the hall is fine VL: ...sorry. i am being messaged. VL: ...always when i am busy with a game...! NG: Anything important?? No rush on it yet, so say hi for me if it's one of the others, but once that timer starts, it's time to put our GAME FACES on!! NG: Speaking of game, I think I'm getting the hang of these controls.. You want me to build a stairway down into this big basement room to make it quicker to get to?? It's nice and open, like you said.. VL: ...the basement? no, i think... VL: ...that will probably upset nil. and also probably eleven. ...maybe gamma. ...definitely juno. VL: stairs sound useful though. ...we could use more stairs in this labyrinthine house. VL: speaking of those individuals they say hi. cedar wants to know if you want him to pick up snacks for you at the festival. juno says to join us next starfall. oracle wrote a lot. ...and i'm not going to repeat what vivian typed. VL: ... i wouldn't say it's important. NG: Hell yeah, festival snacks sounds great, we can share them when I see you all tomorrow after the big game!! NG: ..I think "not the basement" is the right call, yeah.. I'm pretty sure that bird thing was glaring at me every time I moved the cursor near its tube.. NG: So, how about we don't do that!! It's a lot less creepy upstairs anyway!! NG: Man, if I had more of this build grist stuff, I could probably make you a totally sick elevator that'd shoot straight up to the roof!! NG: Wouldn't be the safest, but it would DEFINITELY be the coolest..
'Bird thing' only meant one place. Which meant it was Nine's duty once again to change subjects as quickly as possible.
VL: ...that's... VL: maybe not in there, yes. VL: ...let's not talk about there again. VL: anyways. VL: ...i don't know where to put something that big. you could throw it on the roof or something. nobody will care if it is up there. NG: Talk about where?? I wasn't talking about anything, or anywhere.. Nope!! NG: See, I am the BEST at keeping secrets.. ";) NG: ..Okay, so an elevator is definitely out of the question.. I hope you like stairs!! They're not nearly as cool, but they ARE efficient!!
As promised, a large but distant thud rattled the house once more, and Nine looked up towards the ceiling (even though there was no chance of them seeing where exactly the alchemiter ended up.) Wherever it was, it was simple enough to get up to the rooftop, so... probably wasn't a problem, right? It was definitely preferrable up there than in the shrine.
NG: ..That's.. not QUITE where I meant to put that.. NG: But there you go!! VL: haha. VL: ...should i be scoping them out. or is that cheating? VL: ...i guess it's cheating. VL: ...what do you normally do to begin a speedrun? NG: Prepare!! NG: I know, me and plans go together about as well as matches and gunpowder, but even if you're planning on winging it like I usually do, you need to know your tools, your goals, and the fastest path from each step to the next.. NG: It's sorta like running the bases, y'know?? You know where they are and how to get there, and you use what you know about the other team to figure out how to do it all quickly and safely.. NG: The bases, in this case, are the steps to the first stage of this game, which you've already seen once, and.. the other team is.. also the game, I guess?? Sorry, that one sorta went off into the weeds a lot quicker than it was supposed to.. NG: Tell you what, you give me a rundown of how it went when you were server, and I'll walk you through the BEST, and most FOOLPROOF route this game has ever seen!! We'll be running our victory lap before the others have even gotten started!!
VL: ... well. VL: it starts... with this cruxtruder.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Mar 22, 2024 18:15:10 GMT -5
====>All was still. Silent as the grave, that was Mercia's first thought. Slowly, fearfully, her eyes which had been shut in preparation for the oncoming meteor blow opened; first one, then the other. Much was changed, yet much also was the same. It was as if her beloved, decaying shrine, her home of most of her 21 turns, had been plucked up by the very hand of a god and taken...somewhere. It had clearly been a quick effort, likely due to Mercia's own procrastination at the final moment: the garden and yard was partially mauled, with a jagged line carved through like a massive earthquake had split the earth and consumed once-solid ground. The tool shed, too, was perilously close to the edge of a newly-formed abyss. Mercia gazed further out, out into that abyss. It seemed that she and her home were perched above a sea of blue-gray clouds. Those clouds offered no break, save where they were forced to: a few pagoda towers, crumbling and half-rotten things much like her own shrine, just pierced the mantle of clouds with their final floors and their roofs. Once, it seemed to Mercia's eyes, they had been painted with splendorous color, with shades of blue and accents of red, green, or yellow. Alas, time had taken its toll: what was once full of color and life had been rendered dull, nearly gray. A sudden, strange noise called her attention back: as Mercia looked on in wonder, the opened envelope in her hands seemed to be flowing into the round Hopkins orb. Then, with a sudden flash of light, Hopkins seemed to divide into three: a black orb carrying his face, which departed downward in a winding circle pattern, breaking a small hole in the wall of clouds below; a white orb that traced an opposite spiral upward, before disappearing into the blackness of night with a flash of light, but not without leaving behind some sort of floating spirograph pattern in the sky. What remained suddenly grew, attained a form as large as Mercia herself, as if Hopkins the Rabbit had suddenly become a ghost haunting her. " Hopkins...?" Mercia prompted. Fortunately: he did not reply with verbal static. Unfortunately: that was because he simply remained silent. "We're alive..." That, for better or worse, was not Hopkins, but her redoubtable father who had been standing nearby to watch the whole dramatic playact with wide saucer-eyes. "...I knew your mother's visions would come true, but to think it would be anything like this..." Mercia retraced her path back through the bramble of weeds--not with a leap, this time, but with careful steps. " You can't be telling me Mom knew something like this would happen," she exclaimed, every word positively dripping with sarcastic doubt. " I bet she just had a 'bad feeling' about my return, but that's either because she knew she was going to die or knew we were going to fight like garls and nashes!" Dad shook his head, firmly but slowly. "No, Merci, don't you see? You share that gift, the gift which saved us and brought us here. Your mother knew many things she couldn't explain or rationalize. I thought she was insane, when we were young, but they were always right-- she was always right. Even about you..." He shook his head again, a little faster this time, enough to make the black-tipped feathers on his head wiggle in the air. "But, I say too much." " You can't just say something as enigmatic as that and not elaborate!" "I can and will," Dad replied, with a rare smile of crooked mischief on his lips. "You should let your friends know you're okay... I'm going to go search the shrine for any damage." With that, he hobbled off, leaving Mercia grumbling to herself. There was nothing really to do but follow his sound advice, much as she hated to admit it. Mercia turned off her text-to-speech function and went back to poking at her phone. {Spoiler}{ } MM: $Nine? MM: $If you're still there and can still read me, I'm alive! (@´ー`)ノ゙VL: ...oh. good. VL: ...and i can see you.MM: $Good to know that wherever I am, at least I still have internet connection of a sort. MM: $Meno male, I can't believe I'm alive... I hope the rest of Sunbreeze is okay, but I worry it's not. That was a huge meteor! (″ロ゛) MM: $If it's not too late, Ashara, I take back my curse! $I'm sorry I ever said it! $I didn't mean it!VL: Oh, ashara doesn't like servants who waffle around! VL: Im sure she likes you a lot though and will forgive the transgression n_n MM: $Nine?? MM: $I know it's my fault but could you please not mock me like that? (╯︵╰,)VL: :o VL: Mocking means im not serious right? but i am serious! VL: Also its me remember me? VL: Oh wait VL: I see!! VL: I forgot to introduce myself hi im nil again its me :>MM: $OHHHH ( ̄▽ ̄*)ゞ MM: $I thought it was Nine being sarcastic with the change-up in tone, but I'm glad it's just you, Nil! MM: $As much as I hate to say it, you're probably right, though. $Ashara is very... MM: $Final. MM: $...I guess all I can do is carry on and learn from this to not abuse my privileges. $I just wish that people hadn't died because of it...VL: Okay i will hold that hope too but also i am hoping if lives were lost it is according to the gods plans, and those dead are honored in the ways they deserve to be VL: What will you do now? nine said to help you if you needed anything but also theyre going downstairs VL: I think i embarassed them they were very worried about you i thought it was nice! :oMM: $Aww, che bello! (─‿‿─) MM: $Nine really is a sweetheart under that gruff exterior, yes? MM: $As for where I am...well, your guess is as good as mine. $And, unless I feel like falling to my death, it doesn't look like can immediately find out... MM: $Maybe those spirograph things in the air are important...? $My instincts say yes, and Dad told me to trust those. ( ̄ω ̄;)VL: Instincts are good :> VL: They are the culmination of many lives lived VL: Do you believe in reincarnation?MM: $Hmmmm... ( ̄~ ̄) MM: $I don't suppose I've ever thought about it in depth. $My mother always taught me that we rise up to become stars after death, but that's rather silly when you really think about it, right? $Unless we somehow join the burning plasma out there with our souls, which I guess is a possibility. MM: $Reincarnation seems possible. $But, on the other hand, I don't see the cosmic point of it if you don't keep your memories. $At that point, the gods might was well just fashion a new soul with similar traits rather than placing the old one back. $And what about the growth in population over time? $That would mean they've had to make more souls, and if they can do it once there's no reason they can't do it for every new birth.VL: I think it would be very fun if reincarnation was real VL: Thoughts and ideas wither away then are birthed again and again VL: Like when one grand design comes to an end another somewhat changed but also very similar rises into its place VL: Mixed and matched and remixed and full of things others care about and also some things nobody cared about which is a big surprise! VL: I dont think everything is gone of the past lives of our world we just dont know how to look for it VL: Maybe some of those past lives live on in things like instincts or impulses VL: Maybe some of the past souls walk among us now!! VL: Isnt that exciting? VL: Also i dont think everyones souls joining the stars is silly at all :p MM: $Yeah, I guess you're right. MM: $And besides, Dad said that my mom's instincts were always right. $Even if he was just talking up his bodymate's intuition, that intuition had to be connected to SOMETHING to be right more than it was wrong, right? MM: $At least, I think so.VL: I think so now too! :o VL: Oh you have a cute bunny friend!MM: $Oh, that's HopkinsdfadfNil's concept of "cute" needed some work. Mercia turned around, expecting to see the silent, ghost-like form of Hopkins the bunny hovering nearby as he had been since her arrival. Alas, he had vanished--off to explore the new world they'd landed in, no doubt--and a small, gray monster with wicked, sharp teeth was instead behind her. Perhaps by "cute bunny friend" Nil had meant the bunny headband and little puff tail the midnight creature was wearing. Mercia screamed, jumped, yelped, dropped her phone, squawked, and ran away. -- mondainMerchant [MM] ceased tweeting veneratedLarceny [VL] --VL: Oh no you dropped your phone! you should pick that back up VL: Oh that's the opposite direction of picking it up :o Helter-skelter, pell-mell, call it what you like: Mercia ran, and ran with all of her might, from a three-foot little pipsqueak. It was by no means her finest moment. The chase crissed and crossed the yard, through weeds and over stepping stones. The little mongrel was slower than his prey, but always seemed to know where Mercia was at any moment. She would hide in, say, the tool shed--but then a few seconds later the cackling thing would be there, brandishing what appeared to be one of the couch throw pillows in a menacing matter. Mercia's shame was doubled; yet she ran away again. She sought refuge, finally, in the one place any fugitive sought it in Sunbreeze: the holy shrine, where by ancient custom and law the priestesses could bar anyone entry or grant anyone asylum. Nevertheless, only seconds after coming to a halt near the votive statue to The Conductor as Eastern Wind, Mercia spotted a pair of gleaming white eyes by the flickering torchlight. Mercia's shame was tripled; she ran, again, into the living quarters, slamming doors behind her in vain effort to hold the monster back. If the gods would not protect her, then Mercia Issaries sought sanctuary in the one place that was truly her own: her own room. She slammed her door shut hard enough to make the whole shrine rumble, and for good measure pushed her dresser to block the door. She had scheduled a bit of hyperventilation afterwards, perhaps a bit of panicked pacing around her room, or perhaps cowering under her bed. Alas, such actions were brutally shoved off of the schedule by a persistent little noise: her laptop was pinging out the chirrup of a new tweeter message with regular consistency, every ten seconds or so. Her first instinct, of course, was that Nil was spamming messages, perhaps lamely trying to help Mercia run away, having not realized that she dropped her phone. Well, she was half-right in two different ways: she did have messages from Nil trying to help, and she did have someone trying to coach her during her escape attempts, but the second was a new name she'd never heard... -- zeteticAscetic [ZA] began trolling mondainMerchant [MM] --ZA: GIRL ZA: You there, Girl! ZA: What in all of the four-thousand realms of nightmare are you DOING?! ZA: Are you really ZA: You're running away from that THING?? ZA: From that three-foot hop-beast-eared THING?! ZA: You even dropped your phone!! ZA: No, don't ZA: Can't you tell it knows where you are?? ZA: Don't hide THERE, Fool, it saw you go in! ZA: SEE?? ZA: This is pathetic, disgraceful, utterly contemptuous! You dare call yourself a hero of Breath?? ZA: YOU EVEN ALLOWED IT INTO YOUR SHRINE???? ZA: By the holy blood in my veins, I call down the darkest curse upon your head if you do not stand and face your foe! Cegorach the Laughing Nightbringer, heed your servant! ZA: Oh, and now you've locked yourself into your room like a mewling little grub running from her irate custodian!!! ZA: Pathetic, this is just pathetic! I wasn't expecting much from you, but you've managed to crater the floor beneath my expectations and dig down into the darkest caves!Mercia would have been angry if she wasn't just...flummoxed. Too many questions flooded into her meager mind, too many to dissociate from the mass and present individually. Instead, they melded together into a single all-encompassing question: MM: $What the hell?! MM: $Which turnip truck did YOU just tumble out of, you freak?? (≖、≖╬)A very good question. > Years in the past, but also in the futureTwirl, swish, swing. That old sound of wood cutting through the air sung in Pythia Socrat's ears, and she hated it. The old forms came just as quickly to her body's call as they had back during her FLARP days. Not even death, it seemed, nor sweeps of neglect could fully excise muscle memory so hard-won and long-trained. Or, perhaps the truth was that Pythia had never fully given up the staff, despite her statements to the contrary. It was bittersweet, a tainted draft of life-giving water. The staff was a supreme defensive weapon, one meant both for utility and defense against multiple attackers. It could not kill quickly, it could not kill silently--such were the many reasons why she had given it up. It had failed her at the final hour, and proven worthless for her revenge. That gang of specterminators in training, who had used her as a live-fire practice for how to quash a dissident, none of THEM had used a staff. No, the weapon that had pierced Pythia's heart had been cold steel, with a wicked gleaming edge. It had hurt to pull out. Thrust, swipe, spin. That old sound of wood cutting through the air sung in Pythia Socrat's ears, and she disliked it. But, she bore that dislike with patience. Her many quests upon the Land of Towers and Frogs had not been without good fruit. Patience, that was the key of a hero of Space. To bear even pain, even hatred, even suffering with good heart and careful thought; to never be what she had risen from the dead as again; that was what it meant to be a hero of Space. To know one's aspect, to turn it in one's hands and look even where one's nose wrinkled with disgust; that was what it meant to be a Seer thereof. It had hurt to learn. Sweep, flip, and one final flourish. The old sound of wood cutting through the air sung in Pythia Socrat's ears, and she didn't dislike it. Perhaps that was as much as she could push herself towards in one session. After all, there was a little secret that Pythia didn't like to admit: her reasons for rejecting the staff weren't just the grandly personal, but also the more pettily personal. To take it up again as her chosen weapon would mean admitting that a certain other troll had been always right about her, and she simply hated the idea of ever admitting such. Wielding her staff always made her think of Zara, and she hated it. " If she's given me such annoyance even when she's not here, then I should probably repay such a kind gift..." Pythia muttered to herself with a cruel smirk. As soon as the impulse had entered her mind, she instinctively began to look around, searching for a particular face to show itself: the one auspisticizing her and Zara. If Pythia's plan to annoy Zara was destined to lead to violence, he'd quickly show up to nip the whole thing in the bud using his time powers--most of the time, at least. Far more than one doomed timeline back in the Sgrub days laid at the hands of either Zara or Pythia killing the other in a flash of rage, or so Zhihao had claimed during one of his timely (heh) interventions. So, she looked. There was no sign of a dragon's tail or a permanently dour expression (save for when around Marcus); in all likelihood, she was safe to pester that rotten woman without worry of it escalating into too much violence. They'd gotten a lot better about that as time went on, in truth. Neither wished to admit it outright, but both Pythia and Zara respected their auspistice and his wishes for peace between them. ...Not enough to stop her from badgering Zara just a bit, mind. > Pythia: Troll ZaraIt seemed she was beaten to the punch, so to speak. Zara was already staring at a computer as if she was trying to blue screen it with her mind. A pity she was Breath, instead. " What are you doing?" Pythia asked. Zara jolted as if she'd been shocked. Even after all of the events of Sgrub, it seemed that the hermitess had still not gotten used to being around other people. A FLIGHTY BROAD to the core, literally and figuratively, was Zara the Page of Breath. " Oh, it's you," Zara sneered, her disgust and anger redoubled. " Do you really want to chance another doomed timeline, Corpse? Far be it for me to deny any man his labor, but Zhihao has earned his rest by harsh trials." " Well, he would have stopped me by now if we WERE going to make one, right~?" Pythia lilted in faux-innocence. " Tch. Time travel hurts my brain." Zara huffed and turned back to her computer, tapping out a few more message with key strokes so vicious it was as if the keyboard itself had angered her. " Yes, I know you're very stupid," Pythia replied. " But, you didn't answer my question, you know." " You and your questions." " You're one to talk! Who badgered every last troll with some vague woo-woo question as soon as we were all in the game? Because, it certainly wasn't me." " Shut up!" Zara growled. " Your voice is nauseating, Corpse. I think your lungs decomposed while you were dead." She glanced back at Pythia, relishing for a moment the look of darkest loathing Pythia shot her for that comment. " If you MUST know, I am monitoring the new Breath hero from the bird people we're putting all of our foolish hopes in--and I must reiterate how utterly foolish this plan is, by the way! Mine was far superior." " What, your plan for us to become multiversal nomads, living on this asteroid forever?" Pythia scoffed. " I know you're fine with this dingy pit, but some of us want more out of life than terrible coffee and cramped living quarters." " Then you are all weak and coddled. The gods dealt us this hand for a reason, why would we run from it to seek the mercy of other beings?" " The gods don't exist, Idiot. Well, except for the horrorterrors, but they don't really count; they're barely sapient." Zara shot her a perfect mirror of that perfect hatred from before. " I'd kill anyone else for such a comment, Corpse. You're lucky Zhihao protects you from me; you know I am far stronger than you now! I am the Strongest Troll, after all." Pythia snorted. " You're not the strongest troll, Zara." " I welcome anyone to try and dispute it by arms! Until they do, I will claim it, as I am the awakened Page. You of all people, Seer, know the true power of such a class." " Just because no one bothers to contest that stupid title of yours doesn't mean you're right. We all just have better things to do than try and check your rampant megalomania, Fool," Pythia said with a cruel smirk. " Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, Corpse," Zara snarled, turning away from her once again. Well, Pythia'd certainly gotten her fill of bothering Zara. The mission's objective was complete, and she could safely extract at her leisure. Yet, curiosity held her there still. She moved closer and looked over Zara's shoulder at the scene which had soured Zara's mood. The sight almost made her laugh out loud: the poor thing was busy fleeing helter-skelter, hither and yon, from a single imp wearing what appeared to be bunny ears and a tail. " She's running from that?? Pythia said, laughing. " Oh, that poor dear!" " 'Poor dear'??" Zara barked. " She's a disgrace! I'd been looking forward to mentoring a Breath hero since the apes didn't have one, but what have the gods handed me but this mewling little grub of a coward?? What vessel to honor the gods can be shaped of such faulty clay??" " Oh, settle down," Pythia replied. " She's not a troll. Maybe she's not as used to having to fight as we were. The humans weren't so different, like that other Page. And, look at her now!" Zara clicked her tongue. " Even if I allowed that, she let that thing into her shrine, her holy place! I can think of no higher failure of a religious figure than that! There is no curse in the tongues of troll, ape, or even these bird people for such an offense!" " Oh, come off it, it's just a building." Snap. Zara wheeled on Pythia with supernatural speed, hand pulled back to backhand-slap the ability to speak out of the one who would say such blasphemous words. In the second before impact, Pythia could only cross her arms before her in defense--and it was not an overreaction. Zara had developed a capacity to speed up her strikes with her breath arts, such that even a slap was a potential death-blow. She brought that hand down with the force of a gale storm--but stopped, mere inches from Pythia's raised arms, at the very same moment that a certain someone happened to appear in the transporter. A tired looking, young seadweller of about six and a half sweeps old (or... some age, who even knew at this point?) stared at the would be fight - the blow stopped awkwardly short of a blocking Pythia. Unlike Zara, perpetually in her skimpy pajamas, this seadweller was wearing a close approximation to his old outfit - only changed to allow room for his ridiculous dragon tail. Coffee in hand and time machine nowhere to be seen, he looked all in all like he hadn't been prepared to run face first into a would be fight. As such, the expression on his face wavered first from confusion, to annoyance, then a tired, resigned frown as his shoulders sag and finally, finally, he says: "Really?" " Hmph!" both trolls huffed, though they dutifully obeyed the implied order and disengaged. " Leave." " Fine." ====>
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Post by perkunas on Apr 22, 2024 4:34:57 GMT -5
>Nine: Execute.
VL: mercia had to walk all the way to her shed, and back, to start the countdown. VL: but i can just kick it. that will be a time save. NG: Okay so as much as it would be HELLA cool to see you do that.. NG: I kinda feel like I might be missing a step here?? That is, WHY exactly are we kicking the magic science tube?? NG: Gotta have all the intel before we can make a solid battle plan, y'know!! VL: ...kicking is very necessary.
VL: ...to explain. there's a 'cruxite' that you can get from the cruxtruder once you open it up, as well as a 'kernelsprite'. VL: the cruxite needs to go to the lathe.
VL: you put it in the lathe and it makes a weird shape. NG: Aha, I knew that thing looked familiar!! I probably already told you about it before, but baseball bats are made with a lathe too.. That one's a little fancier than I'm used to seeing, but.. not a lot fancier, really.. Some people are REALLY particular about their bats!!
NG: Coach still has his old bat from his semi-pro days, hung up on the wall.. Won't even THINK about getting a new one, says it was "sanded a thousand times by an ancient master Jihonese batsmith" even though I'm pretty sure he just got it at some local junk shop ages ago.. NG: I'm more of a "whatever works" type myself, but.. oh, right, the plan!!
NG: So, she opened the Cruxtruder, started the timer, took this "cruxite" thing to get lathed, and then?? VL: mercia also sat down and had a conversation with her stuffed animals before throwing one into the kernelsprite. VL: i think i can probably also save time on this. vivian's room is on the way and she has a lot of stuffed animals. NG: Ritual sacrifice of stuffed animals to the "kernelsprite", kinda weird but hey, whatever.. VL: yes. ...it is weird. (″ロ゛) NG: Gonna be honest, I don't exactly have any stuffed animals hanging out around here.. I hope that's not the only thing it accepts!! VL: ...unsure. ...it probably accepts anything. ...i am having difficulty understanding why it would not. VL: i simply know stuffed animals work. so that will be the simplest solution.
VL: either way. ....i'm not sure the kernelsprite sacrifice ritual is necessary in any case, but she did it so i will try. VL: ...the more important thing seems to be taking the lathe to the alchemiter.
NG: Uh.. sorry about the placement on that, by the way.. You might have to do a bit of climbing to get to it.. But what's life without a little adventure?? NG: At least that's the last step!! ..Right??
VL: ...almost. with the alchemiter, she made a letter. and all she had to do after that was open it. VL: ...the easiest part. even if my alchemiter is further away, i am guaranteed to be faster, as long as i don't stop to talk. NG: Got it!! No distractions, all action!! NG: So, let's run down the bullet list once more, and we'll have you rounding home base in no time!! VL: (((o(*⌒v⌒*)o))) VL: ...good idea. we will not overlook anything with a bullet list, you are correct. VL: so, to begin...
...Wait, what?
>Nine: Appreciate the beauty of the bottle.
...No, this looks like a piece of shit. Nine can barely hold it, it's so shitty.
Nine knew they were on world record pace - easily. And here, a curveball of all curveballs.
It all came down to one, pressing question.
How... do I open a four dimensional object...?
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on May 5, 2024 0:13:19 GMT -5
With trembling hand, Soris reached out... Unfocused....and snapped awake. Gone was that world of royal purple, or was it that world of days gone by? As he blearily looked around his room, the young initiate found that his memories were as fleeting as the wind. No sooner had he blinked away the fog than did the whole strange dream meld together into a vague feeling of floating, and a bittersweet tang of reunion promised and denied. Soris groaned and stood up from his computer chair. Why am I dozing off...? Damn it, I made sure to get enough sleep last night... Unfocused... He needed some air, or maybe a walk, or maybe to do anything other than just sit in his chair and drift off into dreams at the very last moment it was appropriate. He was the last defense of the monastery, after all--or, at least, one of the last. Grandmaster Bythos could be anywhere in the city, and the Pythia was, while not without training, not a warrior of sufficient caliber to stand against a trained assassin. A walk around the whole grounds would help soothe his paranoia, or so he hoped. Of course, it was a fool's hope. The last thing one should do to an anxiety is to indulge it. As Soris stalked down the empty halls, his paranoia only grew with every glance and step. Every banner, white emblazoned with the golden Jerusalem cross of their order, which didn't hide an assassin behind it only proved that he was unobservant, unfocused. Every empty training room, shrine, mess hall was only proof that he was being tailed by a true master, a prodigy of the arts of stealth in which he was but a journeyman. His body almost vibrated with restless energy, and he summoned his pistols into his hands just to be able to do something with his hands besides fidget. Well...sometimes you are just paranoid, and sometimes they really are after you. It wasn't just assassins that Soris was on the lookout for. No, he'd only been ambushed once or twice by one of them, and then only out on missions. The specter that haunted Soris' steps within the monastery itself wore many faces, but only had one soul: a soul he knew as well as anyone alive could save perhaps the man's supraliege, the Pythia. Constriction. With a sudden blinding flash of panic, Soris felt a deadly, painful, wire-thin pressure on his esophagus and carotid artery: he was being choked. Only ten seconds remained before his death, and he had to act quickly: One, two. Soris spun with all of his might to his left, trying his best to take the strain off of his neck. Alas, his unknown assailant was a master: they had wrapped the garrote wire around Soris' neck, turned their back to him, and crouched downward to keep him from slipping underneath. His twist had little effect, but it did have a little effect. He'd bought himself a few more seconds. Three, four. Soris and his assailant struggled to alter the position to their own advantage. Already he was feeling a little light-headed, and the burst of adrenaline from fear gave a new ferocity to Soris' movements. Soris turned the smaller black gun in his offhand, the Sig Sauer, towards his opponent. Five, six. Gunshots. With a sudden breath of life-giving air, Soris was free: his opponent had decided that the risk of being shot in the side wasn't worth seeing Soris' death through. Bythos would have called that a rotten lack of focus. Soris leapt back and spun to face his assailant. The face before him was unknown, a dark-haired woman with purple skin, whose features were hidden behind a carnival mask. He'd seen such masks before, worn by the local guild of assassins, but that too could still mean anything. Either way, he didn't dwell on it; his course of action was the same whether his master or his foe was before him: a flurry of bullets. The woman before him disappeared, as if she had been naught but a hologram. Soris knew better, of course: he was already dodging as soon as she was out of sight, based on his instinctive knowledge of the Gun Forms. It proved a wise choice; a gleaming silver spear thrust right beside his head, long before he had spotted its wielder. And so the dance began: a whirling tornado of spear strikes and bullets as debris. She was faster than Soris, far faster. It was only by acting before he even had a reason to act that Soris was able to waylay the cruel bite of death. "PARAKLETOS!" the woman cried out in a surprisingly delicate voice for a trained killer. "What is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?" Soris couldn't help but grimace. That riddle spoken in the middle of battle--a test of his ability to think on his feet--only meant one thing: he was fighting his supraliege, Bythos, and not an assassin. One might be tempted to feel relieved at that revelation, and Soris had certainly made that mistake in his early days. No, if anything, that made it worse. If he was fighting Bythos, that meant his chances of defeat were 100%. He'd struggled much in his early days with just such riddles. Soris Saturninus had been many things before coming to the Knights of Sophia, but smart was certainly not one of them. Only such constant tests had taken him to the height of his natural abilities, meager as they perhaps were in the grand scheme of things. Soris knew how to think, while letting his body act. " A choice, Grandmaster!" There were no praises, no well-dones or good-jobs, not even a revelation of whether he was right or wrong--though, if he was too far off the mark, then Bythos would instantly beat him to a pulp rather than continue the dance. So, at the very least, the fact that Bythos only stepped up the pace a little meant he was in the ballpark. The dance carried on: Soris tried to trap the spear after one thrust under his arm so as to give him breathing room to take a straight shot with his other hand. Bythos repaid him with a fierce headbutt and a knee to the groin until he could do nothing but stumble back and go back on the defensive. "There are two sisters; one gives birth to the other, who in turn gives birth to the first. Who are they?" That one was more difficult; Soris was stunned for a moment, pondering with a blank potential answers. The crack of the spear shaft against his head didn't help either. Blood poured from his bruised scalp. He could only backpedal, defend, and think. The roar of gunfire fell silent as he simply focused on survival alone. Nothing but the sound of wood and steel cutting through the air sung in Soris' ears over the beating of his own heart. " A-..." but Soris stopped himself at the last moment, and changed his answer: " Day and night, Grandmaster!" He wasn't immediately struck down, so at the very least Bythos had found his answer interesting. He didn't let up, either in his attacks or in his riddles. "The wave, over the wave, a strange thing I saw. Thoroughly wrought, and wonderfully ornate: a wonder on the wave: water became bone!" Oh, he couldn't help but smirk. He knew this one, and not because he was particularly smart. No, he recognized this from one of Caeli's old books, the Exeter Book. As a child, he had surreptitiously tried to read a few of her weighty tomes without her knowledge (though, naturally, the overwhelming majority of it had flown right over his empty head). It was for the very same childish reason he had investigated Qiuju's native culture and learned how to pronounce his name, yet never once had used it: that porcupine heart of Soris', which simultaneously desired to get closer and shrunk in fear of being so close to another. To think that he'd spare himself an ass-beating thanks to it all. " Ice, Grandmaster!" he declared with a victorious cry. And indeed, Bythos faltered, slackened the pace, just a little--he had evidently expected that one to be beyond Soris' grasp. The sudden slack of pace allowed Soris a moment to take a breath and reposition: he'd fired off the last round of his larger, white, Casul. Rather than try to reload mid-fight, he instead flipped it around to hold it by the barrel, and pressed a small button there which caused spikes to protrude from the bottom of the grip. This he wielded as a melee weapon in his dominant hand both to strike and block Bythos' spear, while continuing to threaten a gunshot with his Sig Sauer in the opposite hand. For a brief moment, as he used the threat of a bullet wound to maneuver Bythos into striking range of his ersatz club, the tide had shifted in his favor; Bythos was on the defensive, a rare feat. Soris was not so foolish as to think he was seeing the peak of the old Grandmaster's abilities, but the mere fact that he was allowing Soris to set the pace a moment was proof of just how far his subliege and student had come. And when that manic rictus grin split the lips of that sharp, feminine mask Bythos was wearing--which looked so utterly out of place on it--Soris knew he had pleased his master, for the first time in a very long time. " PARAKLETOS, WHAT DID THE ASSASSINS TAKE FROM YOU?!" " EVERYTHING!" One, two. Bythos brought his spear underneath Soris' arms, horizontal, and raised it to deflect both of Soris' weapons up into the air and leave him open. But, Soris acted first: he shot out a kick like a cannon aimed at Bythos' heart before he could do the same. His master could only leap away. " HOW WILL YOU MAKE THEM PAY?!" " EVERYTHING!" Three, four. As Bythos leapt away, he spun his spear in a wide, swirling arc, destined straight for Soris' left hand, in an attempt to knock the more deadly of his weapons from his grasp. Soris only had a moment to make a choice: he decided to "allow" the disarmament on his own terms, to take the hit with his hand but to stash the pistol in his modus just before it. The pain burned from his hand like a shot of adrenaline, focusing his will: the wide swing had left Bythos open, and he still had one weapon left in his hand. He rushed forward, faux-club held high, eager to end the fight and claim his first victory against the Grandmaster of the Order himself. " WHAT WILL YOU TAKE FROM THEM?!" " EVERYTHING!" Five, six. In the rush of potential victory, he'd forgotten that a similar trick could work against him: rather than try to defend against the strike from Soris' club, Bythos simply took it on the shoulder and pressed forward with a knee to his stomach. Soris felt the air brutally driven from his lungs, and panic began to burn alongside the omnipresent pain... His concentration slipped, for but a miniscule fraction of a second, but against Grandmaster Bythos that was enough: the rest of the "spar" was more of a beatdown, as Bythos unleashed a series of cuts, bashes, and strikes against Soris' undefended body. Thankfully, at least, no bone was broken this time... Seven, eight, nine, ten. Soris was a dazed, bleeding, aching sack of flesh on the cold ground, staring blearily and blinking up at the arched ceiling above his head. The victor stood over the vanquished, testing a sore shoulder with rotating stretches but otherwise unharmed. He glanced down at his student with a fae mixture of appreciation and disappointment burning in those unfamiliar amber eyes. "Better...but still unfocused." With that last judgment, Bythos disappeared as quickly and quietly as he had appeared, leaving his student alone to his burning pain and burning pride. -- saturnineSoldier [SS] began tweeting nebulousOutlier [NO] --SS: !Grandmaster just kicked my ass. SS: !That's really all there is to say on the matter.An answering beep on Soris' phone was quick on the message's heels. Unfortunately, it was quite possibly the last person Soris wanted to hear from, then or at any moment. -- valorriousVindicator [VV] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- VV: haaiaiiiuuauauuauuauauuhuuuyauuuujauiiiiiuu VV: HIIIIIIIIIIII VV: HIIII HEWWOOOOoooo heeeyyy what's up HOT STUFF SS: !Oh, holy and sacred heart SS: !Your timing is H O R R I D ! ! ! ! ! ! SS: !Consistently so! !What are you, in my fucking W A L L S ? ? ?-- saturnineSoldier [SS] blocked valorriousVindicator [VV] -- -- valorriousVinndicator [VV] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- VV: awwwww cmmmmmonnn CMOOOON VV: im not in ur walz but iwwioao thatd be SOOF Unny VV: actuallg brpoba not???? ur waslsk are probab lame and ur d be all freain out liek VV: OMGGNUUUHRHHRH Ttheres an ASSASSYSYYSYSYYSY in my WALZZIES VV: SECURITY BREACH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EEEEEJKKK > 2< VV: when aktualy im just here 2 hang out like YO take a chil pil idn tcare abt ur Untouchendabeld Seekereteds!! VV: anwaisy hHiiii <33 whats uppp?SS: !I can't even summon energy to be angry at you, you burned freak. SS: !Just dial back the dyslexia, harpy, reading this isn't helping this headache.VV: okay! can do Well. That was far easier than he'd expected. Soris didn't really know how to feel about that. SS: !Turns out Dad was right about getting more flies with honey than vinegar, I guess. SS: !Though in this case I'm trying to get a fly AWAY from me and SS: !The metaphor's breaking down. SS: !What do you want out of this? !Let's get this song and dance over with.VV: welllllll VV: shit sorry *well VV: i wanted to check in and like? talk?? VV: and share what i found out about u! caue of starfall ofc. VV: *cause VV: *because of starfall of courseHe didn't really know how to feel about any of this. SS: !Don't hurt yourself before I do.VV: SORRY OK IM IN THE HABIT OF TYPIN BAD OK VV: imt rying really hard rn!!! VV: **trying FUCK VV: BUT VV: if u wanna talk abt something else that's ok with me too! VV: tbh im waiting for oracle's giant order of churros to come through & im p bored VV: wait are shortenings ok like should i be *to be honest *and *pretty bored???SS: !Like I said: don't hurt yourself before I do. !Just do whatever, so long as it's not that scrawl of migraine-inducing letter vomit. SS: !You've figured something out about me, huh? !I guess I should hear it, just to be safe, just in case it's something OPSEC needs to know about.VV: okok. drumroll PLOX.................... VV: (that's please) VV: ....................!!!!!!!!!! VV: u like the color oragne amirite. VV: **ORANGE HOLY FUCK VV: that ruined the whole viebe see this is why i dont even try1!!!SS: !SURVEY S A Y S ! ! ! ! SS: !X SS: !I fucking hate orange.In truth, that wasn't entirely true. Soris' feelings on his Particular Color had varied wildly over his life; from pride as a child, to disgust some turns back, to now something like resigned acceptance. No, really, the man was just in a bad, rotten, no-good mood. In such a mood, he always claimed the glass half-full was fully empty. VV: yo wat? VV: then y do you type in it...SS: !Because it's my skin color jackass SS: !Besides, I didn't used to hate it, I guess. SS: !Now it just reminds me of bad things.VV: aw man im sry, i didnt mean 2 bring up bad vibes VV: u wanna talk abt it? i get it if u dont i mean i get its kinda weirb In such a mood, Soris Saturninus was just as likely to fling the glass against a wall. He was old enough, by then, to recognize this facet of himself--but by no means mature enough to stop himself. Despite some beseiged redoubt of his mind screaming at him to stop and calm down, he continued pecking away at his phone like a particularly Angry Bird. SS: !Y O U have got a lot of nerve saying you didn't mean to bring bad vibes SS: !You're an assassin! !You leave trauma and destruction in your wake! !""""Bad vibes""""""" is all you give to this fucking hellworld SS: !You want to know why I don't like that color?? !Take a fucking guess, and here's a hint: SS: !My father had the same skin color.VV: umm VV: quick Q VV: if its like .. truanmatuiz holy fuck what is that word VV: *traumatizing , VV: y do you look at the color every time u send a message VV: u can like... help urself u kno???? by doing a diff color!!! you can take mine for a while if u want. just try it out!SS: !Unfocused.VV: ??SS: !Besides, it's not like it's "traumatizing." !It's my own burned skin color. !I can't escape it. SS: !I just don't particularly like it, that's all. SS: !Well, hey, you got much more information than you expected out of this line of questioning, huh? SS: !Hope your little Starfall Report gets high fucking marks.His own emotional incontinence was exhausting. In Soris' eyes, it would have been more honorable, more forthright, if he could keep that anger going. Maybe then he could have tricked himself into thinking he had legitimate reasons to be angry, that he wasn't just being a moody tweenager. But, no, there he went: immediately and directly contradicting the previous statement said in anger. It was like a flash in a cooking pan, there and gone--just like with Latnok, earlier. VV: hahahaha nooooo, it doesnt work liket hat!!! VV: but i do appreciate knowin more . its just kind of like... wow that sucks!! VV: i mean if im readin between the laines correctly qhich. i am not KNOWN for, VV: *lines *which VV: i mean prob meaningess for me 2 say 'sorry that sucks' but like i kinda was hopin to trade like cutesy info like what kinda girls u like. faborite color. if ur dtk VV: *down to k*** VV: OMG did u kno my assassin friend LEGIT told me. 'can u go back to lusting after an untuochanble' VV: *untouchable VV: RLY funnySS: !Then I can take some solace in having foiled your stupid scheme. SS: !Once I walk off this beatdown of mine and this headache goes away, I'm sure I'm going to be REALLY fucking angry at myself for yapping at you like this, Harpy, so maybe that fact will help.VV: oh! uhhhhh VV: YEA ur actually. ruining a lot of my plan z rn VV: like im tryin 2 angle to like VV: take down da head honcho of the untouchables . and destabilize the market and ACTUALySS: !Stop.And she actually stopped. He didn't know what to feel about that, either. Vivian was quickly becoming a snarl of contradicting emotions in his heart. He hated her, yet he also found her amusing, yet he also feared her, yet yet yet... SS: !Blazing sun, this whole conversation is a mess. !I should have kept blocking you. SS: !Here, you learned a lot about me, so return the favor. !Maybe I can salvage a bit from this so OPSEC doesn't kick my ass.VV: omg ok! what do u wanna kno . hit me <3 VV: you arleady know my name <3 VV: *already VV: *know (the first 1 ) SS: !I'd L I K E to know about your cell's future plans, weaknesses, the layout and location of your base, traps within, etc. etc. SS: !But something tells me even you aren't stupid enough to tell me T H A T.VV: HA HA yea im DEF not stupid enough 2 tell you that & wasnt gona ever. def. VV: (def means definitely)_ VV: hmmmm VV: i got nice boobies! do u like those ;) VV: (ok but fr idk what to tell u since u said itd be dumb 2 say those things) SS: !All right, then tell me one of your personal little dark secrets, since I told you mine. SS: !That seems fair.VV: hrm dark secret... darkkk sekret... VV: hM... VV: HMM!! VV: welll... i told u my best freind is a stufed dragon named stanley! hes really nice mayb one day u'll meet him! VV: i guess i dont tell ppl this cause. ppl think it's kinda crazy when i say i talk to him & he talks back but like it's not crazy. he's just shy. VV: ok what else leme think...That was weirdly cute. She wasn't supposed to be cute. SS: !I can't decide if you're crazy or the thing's possessed by some spirit, good or bad. SS: !Leaning towards the former.VV: i'm not crazy!! VV: well ok mayb i am but not for that reason VV: stanley's nice u'd get along with him VV: ANYWAY... VV: did you know! i didn't choose to be an assassin? VV: idk not much of a dark secret ii dnt think any of us in our cell 'chose it' lmao VV: excpet mayb gamma? VV: prob gamma VV: *don't *maybe * proabbly *way too many typozSS: !Hmm. !How'd that happen, then?VV: oh! well 4me, VV: ...omg this is SO embarassing 2 talk abt VV: um... VV: can i trust u not to repeat this 2 like... someone who matters???/ VV: u can repeat it to ur opsec untouchy buddies if u need 2 or something but like dnt rpeat it to someone who wont kill me on sight plox? plss?SS: !Yeah, sure, those "untouchy buddies" are gonna read this whole log anyway, nothing that can be done about that. SS: !But I'm not going to ruin your reputation before I kill you. !That's just salt on the wound.VV: wow, ur rly kidna honorable huh? <3 VV: thanks ur such a babe VV: umm so the thing is that uh VV: when i was yunrgr.. VV: * younger VV: i ummm maybe had like.. certain interests... that were kidna frowned upon VV: also hi untouchy buddies who r reading my main handle is valoriousVindicator if u wanna hmu (he blocked it) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 VV: anyway my parents tried a LOT OF STUFF 2 FIX ME. A pitiful creature of a man covered in bruises with swollen lips, speaking his life's sad story between gasps of stale chemical air. A hundred names on a long list next to atrocities written with clinical coldness, and One Name in particular. Rain-slick muddy ground and a noose hanging from a tree. The monster cried like they did, and didn't even see the irony of it. Soris' blood ran cold. SS: ... SS: !I see.VV: YAAA VV: but if it makes u feel better i like boys & girls not just girls :)) VV: cos ur a boy and BOY I LIKE U <3 VV: anyways long story short lots of TERRIBLE awful days and WOA. the director shows up and si liek 'that one.' and yanno! VV: the rest i history (but not rly its now) VV: dont get me wrong i love my seeker buddies bute also ig et what u mean when ur like 'fuck all assassins' we do kinda suck VV: except for ME. i suck RLY good 0 w 0 SS: !OH MY G O D S ! ! ! ! SS: !CAN YOU KEEP YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER FOR FIVE FUCKING S E C O N D S ? ? ?And to think, he'd almost said something nice there. Unfocused.VV: cmooon u gotta admibt, VV: the flristing is my BRAND VV: **admit VV: ****flirting ********thirsting too kinda?? VV: i wouldnt be me without bein that ho over ther e & ownin it VV: BUT ALSO VV: ur so cute cmon who wouldnt shoot their shot VV: i want u to shoot ur shot (while moanin my name optimally??) VV: (its exta funny cos ube shot me befoer LOL hahahah)-- saturnineSoldier [SS] blocked valorriousVinndicator [VV] -- -- valoriousSindicator [VS] began tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- VS: OK U HAD TO KNO THAT WOULDNT WORK VS: promy ill leave u alone but 1 last thing VS: thanks for tallkin w me ! !i know ull be mad at u later but i really liked getting to talk & good luck VS: also: VS: our director said no planz 4 now we dont have any contracts atm. suposed 2 just enjoy the festivities & thats what im doin w my buddy oracle! oracles blind is taht a weakness? hers a pic o f my room from my phones (im out and a bt cant get u a layout but my room!) --valoriousSindicator sent file myroom.png -- VS: gammas workin gon a defesne system but idnt think its up rn VS: uuuuuuH HHHHHHHH IM TRYING TO BE FAST BUT IM BLAKNING SO THATS ALL U GET FOR NOW VS: guess i am that dumb huh :)))) VS: ok bye! -- valoriousSindicator [VS] ceased tweeting saturnineSoldier [SS] -- Burned Siren... He didn't know how to feel about any of it. At the very least, he wasn't as depressed as he'd been before... Thankfully, another tweet came through and saved him from having to introspect--and this time it wasn't the siren. {Spoiler} NO: again?? NO: man rough month huh :/ NO: how'd it go this time? SS: !Have you ever gotten better at something, but afterwards you're even more depressed because you can better see how far you have to go? SS: !That's how I'm feeling right now. SS: !I know I should be feeling a bit proud. !I got told I was doing better, even if I'm still unfocused. SS: !But SS: !Burn it all, how LONG am I going to be unfocused?? !I really thought I'd managed to impress him that time, but I still got beat into the floor! SS: !It's been turns, and yet I'm still such a fuckup. !It's SS: !F R U S T R A T I N G ! ! NO: dude that is the story of my life :( NO: it sounds like you did pretty good this time though? if you're getting feedback like that it's a good sign i think. NO: i bet the old man got his butt kicked for tuuuurns before he got good too NO: but i know the feeling. NO: i don't really get feedback anymore NO: but i have a bunch of old training videos and recordings from the compound so i know exactly how far i have to go and it's like NO: "aw crud" SS: !Right? SS: !I've been out on mission with Bythos before, so I know what he can do when he's really trying, and it's not what he shows me during spars. SS: !Just seeing the way he moves, the way he always knows exactly where to fire, how it seems like he knows exactly where to dodge before the enemy even attacks... SS: !I always wonder, is it even possible for someone like me to reach that level, to become that sort of person? !Aren't I in front of one of the old god-kings in the flesh, rather than a mortal? SS: !I'm sure you're right, that he used to be like me, but it's hard to feel that way when you see him at the peak... NO: i'm like 90% sure he's mortal at least so you can probably get there eventually. NO: if i'm wrong feel free to send hatemail i will deserve it NO: at least you're getting feedback though? i'm just out here fighting my robots and they aren't helpful at all lmbo NO: like i just have to hope my form is good and i'm not undertuning them because they don't know squat NO: i think i might have to crank them up again but even on that front i'm running into walls :( NO: maybe he could come kick my butt one day i could really use the variety and you sound like you need a break SS: !I'll definitely mention it to him, but he never seems to enjoy anything besides fighting assassins. !I sometimes get the feeling that he considers training me a chore. !I wasn't chosen, after all. SS: !Well, at least not by him. !It was his supraliege's order. SS: !As for feedback... !Blazing sun, I keep getting told I'm "unfocused" but I can't seem to understand what that means. SS: !And today, he said I probably always WOULD be unfocused. SS: !What am I supposed to do with that? !I'm so worried that means I'll never be on his level, so when I got my hopes up today and then dashed, SS: !I dunno, I'm just lying here, depressed, is all. NO: darn NO: well worth a shot :v NO: i dunno, maybe meditate on it a bit when you feel a little better? NO: and in the meantime, uh NO: video games i guess SS: !Yeah, at least I've got that to look forward to. SS: !In fact, let's use that as motivation to peel myself off of the canvas.
With a heavy groan, Soris slowly, achingly sat up. First things first, he had to take care of his wounds. The bruises he'd just have to live with and put some ice on later, but the cuts needed disinfecting and bandaging. Well, if there was one good thing about constantly getting his ass beat by his master, it was that first aid was as natural to him as breathing. He could simultaneously take care of his wounds and continue the conversation with Latnok. SS: !You know, I wonder if I could just ask the Pythia what Bythos means by "unfocused"... SS: !Normally she's so busy that I feel bad for interrupting, but she's actually free today. SS: !Can't tell you why, though, 'cause OPSEC would literally roast me and eat me if I did, and I'm already on their naughty list.Thanks in particular to one particular Harpy and/or Siren. NO: maybe it's time to consider a new career because it sounds like you're working for cannibals NO: we might have openings here! at least five! NO: ... NO: ok i made myself sad NO: go ask her though what's the worst that could happen? you get beat up again? more practice! NO: and i really doubt they would just actually kill you for trying to improveSS: !... SS: !Well, I can't do that, but I definitely need to visit someday--unless that's verbotten on your end, obviously. !I'll have more freedom to move around from here on out, I think. SS: !Call me maudlin, which I fucking am mind you as much as I hate it, but I've got this bad feeling today, like I'm about to lose some people I care about, and both times I've felt this before I was right. !So, just in case you're one of them, I don't say it enough: you're a good friend.NO: man honestly i don't know how they haven't shuttered this place :/ NO: i'm the only one running any security anymore, there's barely any of the top secret tech left and apparently everyone and their mom knows about the temple anyway??? NO: so yeah come on by, as long as you're nari i'm pretty sure the gates will just let you in. NO: but thanks NO: i think i'll be fine out here so, uh, hopefully so is everyone else?SS: !I hope you're right. !Maybe third time is the charm. SS: !...And for whatever it's worth, I think there's honor in carrying on old memories. !The world too quickly forgets its heroes, anyway.NO: yeah NO: command could honor them by Actually Doing Something but i guess that's too much to ask for the permanent trainee. NO: maaan when's my new pc getting here i want to play whatever this thing is and not think about how we're disappointing for a little bitSS: !Yeah. !If Caeli's vouching for it, it's bound to be good. SS: !Well, either good or, at least, somewhat addicting.NO: same thing! NO: i've never actually played anything with her honestly, just helped her with a project a while ago. NO: you two know each other though apparently? news to me!Shit, he'd slipped up. Did he know Caeli? Yes, he used to know just about everything there was to know about her. Just like with his friend Pomelo, he'd always paid every bit of attention he could to their likes, dislikes, pasts, relationships... Indeed, that very tendency was what had lead to him temporarily gaining the upper hand in his spar with Bythos. But, did he know Caeli now? People changed. He'd changed most of all. Part of him wanted to try and deny all of these tempestuous feelings in his heart, but he managed to master it. Latnok was too good a friend, and he'd already been mean to him once that day. Indeed, Soris had learned very well how precious his friends truly were... SS: !We used to be rather close, but that was turns ago. SS: !She always appreciated games with rather complex and interwoven systems, since she kind of tripped into gaming by the back door, so to speak, due to finding programming fascinating. SS: !I guess that's probably behind why I ended up finding immersive sims interesting, by following her trail through the back door as well. !I usually spent more time outside as a kid than inside playing games.NO: aw man :( NO: well she'll probably want feedback on this thing so i hope it's not too awkward! NO: i don't play a lot of games so i might be a little out of my depth here. most of the time i end up breaking my controllers NO: or my setup NO: it's, uh NO: a serious problem NO: command stopped budgeting for recreation after most of the stuff they paid for ended up busted <.<SS: !Do you L I T E R A L L Y not know your own strength?? SS: !Suns, have you ever managed to find a machine strong enough to test it?Soris couldn't help but laugh, and the mere act of chuckling to himself seemed to lift his spirits further. If there was one good thing about his mercurial emotions, it was that depression never overstayed its welcome. NO: uh NO: i mean i've been trying but it's considered low priority because i'm supposed to be a pilot NO: the best i have are my robots, so... NO: no and no?SS: !I'm just glad you're on our side rather than an assassin.NO: i have standards! NO: and somehow i doubt i'd pass all their subtlety checksSS: !Heh. !No, I guess not. !Only reason why I don't try and recruit you for the Untouchables, either. SS: !Speaking of which, I should get going. !I want to talk to the Pythia before she's busy. SS: !Thanks for talking with me, Latnok.NO: any time! i'll let you know when the new pc gets here, it should be some time tomorrow. probably later in the day, i'm kind of out of the way NO: hope she doesn't kill you! (she won't)SS: !I'm not sure she'd kill A N Y O N E honestly SS: !See you.-- saturnineSoldier [SS] ceased tweeting nebulousOutlier [NO] --
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