Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 21:48:12 GMT -5
END OF ACT 2 INTERMISSION
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 21:52:34 GMT -5
In the Timeless Nowhere, the gods created the world while the demon slept.. They formed planets, timelines, life great and small, and infinite universes across their creation's great breadth. As they formed this world and all the life within, the world awoke and chose a name for itself: Paradox Space. But even the demon's eternal slumber could not last forever. The Timeless One stirred and set upon Paradox Space but moments after its awakening. The gods, in turn, came to its defense--even joined by the dark ones, who opposed Paradox Space's creation, aided the gods in recognition of a mutual foe. Yet just as the great forces of existence prepared to fight, Paradox Space did something none of the immortals could have expected. Paradox Space chose. To protect itself and all the life within it from the war that threatened to tear it apart, Paradox Space banished all actors from directly interfering with it. The Demon was allowed to sate its hunger on universes at Paradox Space's choosing, and was given full rein within those universes. In turn, the gods were granted dominion over the creation of new universes. Finally, to the dark ones were given the dominion of the dreams of all mortals. None were permitted to act directly. Thus began the cosmic stalemate between god, horrorterror, and demon. It is within this grand narrative that all stories are played out--yours, mine, and the one I am about to tell you. This is the tale of a group of children who have yet to realize their destiny... ACT 3: Gods and Dreams One Week Later... It was never a good day to be at the office. As the piles of paperwork forming a nigh-impenetrable wall could attest, the Sangfroid Emissary far preferred to be working in his lab or out in the field to pushing pencils and reading reams of meaningless files and notaries and emails and such. Nevertheless, there was an actual good reason for his presence that day, and further reason to procrastinate on his emissary duties. He brushed the coat of dust away from his desk and plopped five violet folders of varying thickness onto the surface. It would have been better to have the sixth as well, but it was apparently still being compiled. "Damn useless bureaucracy..." SE muttered for the twelfth time, chewing annoyedly on the end of his cigarette hard enough to bite the tip off. Nevertheless, despite his rumblings, five would be enough. He spit the cigarette end into an empty and neglected wastebasket to his side and commenced reading. Name: Lorelei Von Hayek Title: Scion of Hope Tower Location: The Land of Gold and Snow Description: Pale skin, golden eyes, black outgrowth from the head to roughly shoulder length. Often seen wearing glasses and suits or dresses. Abilities: Manipulation of white "magic" in various forms and shapes. Flight (BRING RANGED WEAPONRY IF ATTEMPTING TO ENGAGE). Rudimentary close-combat with a slender drill-like weapon. Capable of swaying the consorts to direct action against Derse forces (Next you know she'll be sending a fleet of paper aircraft after us). Recent Activities: Activities on LOGAS have largely been confined to the large forest the natives call "The Godswood" and her own Tower. Nevertheless, she has made her presence known around LOGAS multiple times, often either aiding the amphibious residents, harassing the Sangfroid Emissary's forces with guerilla tactics, and assaulting poorly defended factories. Of note is an attack on Derse itself where the Scion, taking advantage of the dearth of troops on the home front due to the war, launched an attack on one of our main prison facilities. Dersite political prisoners and captured prisoners of war from the hated Prospitians were released and taken to the enemy's home planet, while the Sangfroid Emissary's hostages from LOGAS were returned to their homeworld (why do we even allow him to use our prisons for that?). Has also been sighted engaging Dersite forces in Skaia, including involvement in the destruction of the flying battleship HMS Conqueror. Also spotted on every other planet, often in the company of that planet's human. Notes: The recent media campaign in the homeworld to vilify her as an agent of Prospit and an avatar of Bilious Slick itself has achieved astounding success amongst the masses. She is to be arrested on sight, and all civilians have been ordered to report her whereabouts if seen. Five prison guards KOed in her break-in have been selected for shadow duty, and their "deaths" have been passed off as the Scion's work to further arouse public opinion. ---------------------------------------------- Name: Page Caldwell Title: Page of Frost (unconfirmed by the natives but highly likely) Tower Location: The Land of Cold and Warmth Description: Pale skin, light blue eyes, brown and curly outgrowth going a few inches beyond the shoulders. Seen wearing glasses and various outfits, but often with the same blue and white scarf. Abilities: Club combat, usage of a strange gun which fires what appear to be paperclips (there's no way this is right, check again). Rudimentary ice-based attacks related to her element. Appears to have some form of stealth training. Recent Activities: Has largely been active on her own planet and in the Land of Canyons and Frogs with its resident human, aiding consorts and fighting monsters. Has also been involved with the Authority Regulator on Derse's moon, aiding in the exaction of the queen's justice. Recently broke up a large gang headquarters with the Regulator and accomplished a record arrest number for regulators on Derse's moon (consider promoting to full authority regulator status). Notes: Has become a folk hero amongst the populace of the moon. Recent propoganda efforts to heighten and expand that to the main planet have proven a success. The Jesuitical Journalist is currently writing a story about a pitched battle between the Page and the Scion (see if we can scare up some "evidence" for this). Potentially a very useful asset. Allow relatively free rein and protect if in danger.[/i] ---------------------------------------------- Name: Dahlia Asher; Subject Delta Title: Bard of Space (Conflicted reports; see attached consort interrogation log for details.) Tower Location: The Land of Canyons and Frogs (Agents attempting to engage are advised to avoid the planet's swamps, and report for reassignment in the event of any thoroughly understandable bouts of ranidaphobia.) Description: Pale skin, very dark blue eyes, spiky light-colored outgrowth atop head. Generally seen wearing black. Easily identified by strange broken spade-like symbol. (Don't tell Noir about that. Also do not mistake for well-dressed Prospitian. I know, it's tough, they all look the same to me too.) Abilities: Substantial agility and knife-fighting ability. (Again, don't let Agent Noir get distracted with this. Waste of his time.) Behavior and reactions indicative of military-level readiness training. No demonstrated supernatural talents. Likely the least or second-least dangerous of the humans, but that's no reason not to exercise caution when engaging. Recent Activities: Elusive, but Dersite diligence wins out in the end. Scouting reports indicate subject has investigated several planned mechafabrication plant sites; as setup of these sites had not yet properly commenced, it is unlikely she has uncovered much of use. (Given this, it is likely her next target will be an operational plant. I know we're spread thin with the war and all, but see if we can get someone to track her this time, please.) Brief visit to LOCAW largely uneventful; see Scion of Hope and Page of Frost reports for other activities. Notes: Seriously, don't let Jack anywhere near her. The last thing we need is one of our top agents wasting time on pointless recreational knife fights. Displays relatively little concern for her fellows; it may be worth seeing if we can use this to our advantage, to set our enemy against each other, even if simply by stirring up suspicion. Intelligence indicates rumors to this effect are already circulating among the Prospitian proletariat, thanks to an article in The Enquiring Carapacian about the potential turncoat. (It pleases me to no end that the enemy can't help but read that thing. Never let it be said that propaganda is not an essential tool of warfare. I am somewhat less sold on the title of it, though; where the heck did they get "The Half-Blood Princess" from, anyway?) ---------------------------------------------- Name: Zach Lombardi Title: Knight of Mind (As he is so fond of reminding us.) Tower Location: The Land of Storm and Solace Description: Tall, pale skin, messy black head-growth (The bodyguard has recently informed me that it is called 'hair'), medium-green eyes, black plates of glass worn to protect them. Abilities: No powers out of the ordinary. Proficient with technology but the extent of this is unknown. Recent Activities: Nothing major to report. Is usually found in his backroom laboratory or performing sidequests for the salamander population of his land. Curiously, has not been active on Derse for quite some time, despite being something of a familiar face previous to arriving in the Medium. (He's been under house arrest, but one would expect to at least hear something out of him now and then. Remind me to have someone check on that.) Notes: All in all, he is completely harmless. Aside from destroying several of our surveillance bugs (and countless underlings), he has shown no hostility towards the kingdom or it's inhabitants. While simply leaving him be is not reccommended, any actions taken against him are of the lowest priority. (Not exactly. The Queen mentioned him having something important. I get the feeling she's going to send me to take care of that soon.) (You read these things?) ---------------------------------------------- Name: Peter McCormac Title: Seer of Time Tower Location: Land of Steam and Towers (That narrows it down.) Description: Curly dark 'hair', one dk. grey eye, one white. Small in stature. (Do not let his size fool you, he has killed three of our agents in the last week alone and destroyed several of Nemisis's AA tanks without employing any of the powers used by others.) Abilities: Time travel, wields a medium-sized halberd and what seems to be some kind of portal device. (Again: While it may not sound like much, if you see him holding that device, leave immediately.) Recent Activities: Unknown. The nature of his powers makes him nigh impossible to track, and that device of his enables him to flee from a scene before it's possible to confirm he was ever there to begin with. We know he was directly involved in the deaths of three of our agents sent to investigate the unprecedented amount of destruction throughout Nemesis's forces on LOSAT, and was likely the cause of said destruction, but can confirm nothing more. Notes: Use of propaganda has been throughly unsuccessful so far, as he has the unsettling tendency to destroy it before it can even be released. Multiple accounts suggest that normally fatal wounds mean nothing to him, as whenever an agent or underling has been able to inflict one he is apparently back on his feet in moments. Is completely capable of being in multiple places at once, coordinating with his dopplegangers is trivial to him at best, and has no reservations about inciting mass destruction and panic. Avoid at all costs.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 21:53:07 GMT -5
>Scion of Hope: Land In a flash of white light, Lorelei Von Hayek alighted onto the ground, stumbling forward for a few moments as she struggled to rein in her momentum. Even after over a week of flight, the art of landing perfectly at relatively high speeds still seemed to allude her, as a few scabs on her knees could attest. Lorelei brushed the dust from her outfit (though, alas, the cute hat that she wore with it had been blasted to pieces during the hit-and-run attacks she had just finished commencing on SE's little army) and took in her surroundings. She had landed in a quaint little village, like most consort villages tended to be, filled with golden houses and golden shops and gold gold gold gold. Heaven only knew how such small creatures had built such things in the first place. Alas, the village had apparently recently been attacked by a horde of monsters, as many of the golden houses (and in particular one large golden temple) were in various states of disrepair. Nevertheless, the little turtles seemed determined not to let it get them down. For what passed as the town square in such a place the turtles were rushing this way and that trying to find every last little doodad for their piles before the day ended and the time limit expired. Even despite the war, the knickknack pile didn't stop from getting taller. It was admirable, Lorelei pondered, in its own little way. "I say, Scion of Hope!" Lorelei almost jumped out of her skin at the metaphorical brick wall that suddenly jumped in front of her train of thought. Nevertheless, playing it off as well as she could, she turned to the speaker--of course, a small turtle--and smiled warmly. " How may I help you, my friend?" "Jolly good, I must say that, as you are no doubt aware, I am currently in a pile duel with the various rapscallions throughout our very land! In my own bid, I've found a particularly shiny and large knickknack I wish to purchase. Could you let me borrow five boondollars?" A normal and well-adjusted human being would have, at this point, simply given the turtle his money without much of a second thought. As previous events have no doubt shown, however, our heroine was neither of those things. Lorelei froze to the spot, mind whirring suddenly into action much like a car suddenly catching its gear. Herrgott, I was worried about this... What am I going to do, what am I going to do? To simply refuse his request would be the height of impoliteness! Not to mention I do not think I could satisfactorily explain to this turtle the reasons I would have for refusing, and therefore would hurt his poor reptilian feelings... But... I cannot!... All of the pecuniary gains I have received have come from simply climbing the ranks of my echeladder! They appeared literally out of nowhere! If I give it to him, I am increasing the supply of money, making each individual boondollar in circulation worth less compared to the goods that could be bought. I am, in effect, shifting the distribution of resources to the turtle I give money to as he shall spend it, of course, before any inflation at all hits. Is that not like stealing? I have certainly not been without polemics against those who practice such inflation on a grander scale, how could I call my philosophy consistent and not arbitrary if I see fit to repeat the action on a smaller scale? I must say no. Unless, that is, these boondollars are commodity money. After all, the prospector searching for gold at the time of a gold standard cannot be called a villain of any sort, as gold has other uses beyond simply currency--uses which, if I am thinking correctly, should act as something of a ceiling against inflation. After all, should a huge increase in the supply of gold occur such as when the Spanish Empire conquered the gold-rich regions of south america, though inflation occurs there should be some point where it becomes more profitable to use the commodity money in its status as commodity than for actual currency, correct? Ergo, if I give him boondollars and they are a type of commodity outside their status as the common currency, I am also potentially adding to the wealth of society. Or am I? It could still be inflation if it is never used in its commodity state. Does that mean that finding sources of commodity money and then using it as currency is a crime? Surely not. But wait, of course, I forget that the supply of goods is also constantly increasing as well. This is why given a relatively stable supply of money the natural tendency is for deflation over time as the supply of goods increases compared to the supply of money, thus making each currency unit able to buy more goods. Even if inflation of the money supply occurs, if the supply of goods rises faster prices fall--as was the case for computer electronics despite the rampant inflation of paper money. Ergo, simply spotting this turtle five boondollars would only take a smallest bit off the potential deflation--and thus not technically "inflate" as defined by rising prices (as common parlance tends to use the term) rather than an increase in the supply of money which is the definition of economics. Taking just a bit of potential in exchange for this turtle's happiness is not bad, right? But wait, is it not true that all theft is, in a sense, taking away the potential of something? After all, theft only takes away items for use in the future, the realm of potential, not the present. Is it wrong to hold back the potential benefits to the turtle population even by the slimmest margin? And I am still not sure about the question of whether it is not a commodity money or or or...augh, I do not know I do not know! Oh, wait, Christus, that turtle has been waiting. Schnell, answer him. What should I tell him, what should I tell him?? I cannot simply explain all of this in-depth I do not think he would get it and then he would be sad maybe I should just ok fine I SHALL GIVE IT TO HIM OK. " Ok ok ok..." Lorelei tried desperately to not let on how flustered she was. " Here is..." He was gone. The turtle was gone. " ...your..." Lorelei turned this way and that, but found no trace of the particular turtle she had been talking to. Correction: the turtle was LONG gone. " ..." " I feel silly..."
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 21:54:21 GMT -5
...At least the turtles are too busy with their festivities to realize what happened... Quick, Von Hayek, find something to do before they notice! Trying desperately (and horribly failing) to hide her frantic embarrassment, Lorelei cast her gaze this way and that for something to do. Wait, of course, the temple! "The temple" had, rather shockingly, sustained far more damage than any of the other statues and buildings around the village. Indeed, the building--which was by no means small--had been plucked from the ground--its underground portions with it much like an onion might be picked from the ground--leaving a rather significant crater at the edge of the village, and tossed aside by some great foe. It took little guesswork to figure that it must have been one of the Sangfroid Emissary's minions to perpetrate the act. The Dersites in general seemed to have a great hatred for all things frog related, and SE was no exception. But where brute strength could destroy, Lorelei could hopefully rebuild. Though it would perhaps be easier for her to see what secrets might await within the temple if she merely continued the destructive process, that would hardly be fair to the poor turtles. This WAS their temple, after all. Thus, Lorelei retrieved her drill-wand and summoned all her will, the white energies forming and wisping around her. With a deep breath, she began the process of something both circumstantially simultaneous to another event in an unknown and unseen timeline yet opposite in every way: opposite in intent, opposite in the force used, opposite in the most literal sense of action, and perhaps also opposite in conversational partner as well. For, as the Scion of Hope raised each piece in the air, she also was looking through pesterchum for someone to talk to. It was good practice, after all, to split her attention such so as to push her limits further and further still. She settled in the end on one Dahlia Asher, snarker extraordinaire, who according to her viewport did not seem terribly involved at all. In fact, she was currently lying on the ground looking somewhat injured. The Scion would have been more worried had she not already seen Dahlia's considerable combat abilities first-hand. She must just be resting or something after a tough battle. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check... --philosopherQueen [PQ] began pestering spiraMirabilis [SM]-- PQ: Greetings, Dahlia. PQ: You are all right, correct? Not in mortal danger? SM: Mom just kicked my ass. Again. SM: That's really all there is to say on the matter. PQ: Ahh. I figured that no mere monster could put you in such a state. My condolences. PQ: I wish I could say that I "know that feel" as they say, but I am afraid that the only thrashings my own patriarch has ever given me are the verbal kind. PQ: Though I suppose I do somewhat know the idea of "endless training from a distant and stern parental figure from a young age", though mine is far different in character...and utterly lacking in danger. PQ: Sorry, I am kind of rambling here. SM: Fortunately my physical and verbal beatings have been discrete events from discrete sources lately. Mostly Gita and Guardian on the latter. SM: Speaking of whom, I just spoke with Mr. Walkthrough himself the other day, and it turns out that the Professor is in fact my actual mother. So it looks like I get to feel inadequate all over again. SM: Sigh. Things were so much easier when I was an alien. I almost wish I really was... PQ: That feel I do know... You may or may not understand what I mean here given your lack of theistic beliefs, but to me my Grandfather has always taken on something of a character of a god. PQ: Distant, stern, strict. Loving, sometimes, but often in that somewhat distant fashion. Something inherently Greater I am meant to hold myself against as a standard and inevitably fail to meet. SM: I take it that means I'm not the only one with some experience in failure lately? PQ: Hehe. Well, you DID see that rather embarrassing tongue-lashing from my own parent I got at Christmas for blowing open the door. PQ: But you said that Guardian claimed that despite the meteoric circumstances of your birth (ha ha ha), you are still Mrs. Asher's daughter? Did he say how he knew? SM: I believe that falls under the purview of what's known as "temporal spoilers", which he was understandably rather less forthcoming with. SM: And by understandably I mean infuriatingly. This game demands I take far too much at face value for my tastes. But the blood test results in the archive were rather harder to argue with, and even I refuse to put on my tinfoil hat and call those doctored. PQ: The empathy party does not stop, it seems, as the game has given me no shortage of answers without questions and questions without answers. PQ: The blood test bit does remind me, however... I have always suspected that my grandfather was my father. After all, there has always been such a dearth of stories regarding my supposed "parents" and only one photograph I have seen which I heavily suspect was photoshopped. Yet I do know from a blood test I myself found that we are related... My current theory is that my grandfather had a child by accident with some random woman and acknowledged me when that woman claimed me as her own, and merely calls himself my grandfather out of embarrassment over his age. PQ: Maybe it was one of my servants? Perhaps Brigitte, rest her soul--it would explain why she was always so motherly to me. While I highly doubt I am some meteor baby like you and Peter, given the latter's father did not recognize me, I must wonder if this game holds the answer to that question as well... PQ: Sorry, I rambled again. SM: The aristocratic princess was an illegitimate child? Scandal! It's alright though, your fellow misfits still accept you. SM: Don't let the Dersite rags get ahold of that information, though. Just... trust me on that one. PQ: Oh, Gott, I have been reading some of those. Of course, there is that nonsense of you being...some "Half-Blood Princess" turcoat, right? And they absolutely despise me. I am sure they would jump with joy to learn that I might be a bastard. "The Half-Blood Princesses"? PQ: ...Assuming they even understand the concept. How do carapaces even reproduce? SM: As much as I would love to spin a lurid tale that would have you reaching for the brain bleach... I've gotta be honest here, I have no freaking clue. SM: Maybe they reproduce asexually. Or maybe they just carve new ones outta wood. I mean, Skaia's a chessboard, and these guys are the black and white pieces... I dunno, maybe I'm taking things too literally here. SM: Y'know, just maybe. PQ: An eternal mystery that I, for one, am not keen to solve. PQ: On the bright side, however, at least I am a legitimized bastard. I am actually descended directly from one such bastard, one Ludwig Von Hayek who- agh, wait wait. Much to the scion's chagrin, her split attention had finally done her quite a disservice as she tried to bring together each of the scattered pieces of the temple into one whole before setting it down. Suddenly, a few stray pieces of rock and gold decided to fly apart in completely other directions. PQ: No, Herrgott come back here! PQ: Not that way! That is towards a house! Nonono, come on, it is like I am suddenly using inverted controls! PQ: Who even uses those?! PQ: This way. THIS WAY. Not-no! Damn it, come o-!... PQ: There. PQ: ... PQ: Uh. PQ: How much of that did you hear? SM: Enough to know you're human, princess. Really, I'm sure you've heard far worse from me over the years, and by some miracle you haven't yet decided you hate me. SM: Does remind me I haven't actually checked in to see how you're doing and what you're up to, though. It's almost like I was raised by a reclusive genius with zero people skills or something. Right now? I am just... Nngh... trying to get this blasted temple back in its little crater. PQ: And some of the different pieces of it are just not playing ball. PQ: I originally contacted you partly just to talk with a friend and partly to simply test my limits to see if I could do this while talking to someone. PQ: I am beginning to wonder if this may in fact have been a terrible idea. SM: I'm afraid you vastly outstrip me in the areas of magical knowledge and experience, so about all I can muster here is a hearty "maybe". SM: What's up with all that, anyway? I mean, video games teleporting us to a pocket universe to save us from the apocalypse and subsequently presenting us with the responsibility of forging a new universe, sure, that makes as much sense as anything else, since it's at least universally applicable. But this magic business seems unique to you. SM: Well, Page had ice, but at least that made sense with her title. And I've got "being a phenomenally useless jack of all trades and master of none", which of course makes perfect sense if you've played any video game with bards in it ever. PQ: Well, perhaps I am the white mage? Or black mage, perhaps, given I have no idea if I can heal with this... PQ: But the way it was explained to me is that this magic is literally my own willpower given physical form. Is that not, in a sense, the very essence of hope? To strive for greater things and to put that will into reality. PQ: Doing things like picking things up and manipulating objects rather than spamming lasers have been a way that the angels have tried to train me this past week. SM: I'd stick with the eye-lasers, myself. PQ: Hmm, eye-lasers... I would love to try that out if it would not in all likelihood destroy my glasses. PQ: But, anyway, it occurs to me that most of us seem to have SOME powers to do with our secondary element, yes? You may be a Bard, but you are the Bard of Space. If Peter can travel through time, maybe you can travel through long distances suddenly? Teleport, perhaps? SM: Thus far, the only "traveling through long distances suddenly" I've managed is getting knocked clear across the roof before I even realized I was getting my ass handed to me. SM: Though Guardian did say something about maybe I need a "focus"... heh, can you imagine that? Dahlia and her lame-ass Dumbo magic feather? Not that I know of anything that'd help me visualize space any better than my own two eyes are right now. PQ: No, CLEARLY you need a nice pair of ruby slippers. MUCH more fashionable. PQ: "There is no place like 30 latitude by negative 20 longitude, there is no place like 30 latitude by negative 20 longitude, there is no place like 30 latitude by negative 20 longitude!" SM: Stylin' red kicks, huh? Not exactly my style, but I could see it. SM: Watch that one blow up in my face when the game decides I'm the witch and not the hero. PQ: Important question: have you ever taken a bath in your life? PQ: Second question: if no, that is why your hair stays like it is, is it not? SM: You caught me; I and my green-skinned ilk would have taken over the land of Oz if not for the unfortunate abundance of a common combination of two hydrogen and one oxygen atoms. I've simply been painting my witchy green skin human-colored to fit in with all of you, and fortunate enough to land on a planet with apparently zero precipitation. PQ: I promise not to throw any snowballs at you from my own land, do not worry. SM: Much appreciated; it accommodates my allergy to camaraderie and other people, too. :P PQ: Oh, no, you see... I only promised that because I am just being sporting. PQ: What fun would it be to destroy a witch with something so easy? No sport at all, and no heroic story worth telling. PQ: I fully intend to exploit your other weakness: the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP PQ: !!!!!!!!!!! (Additional exclamation points for added emphasis) SM: Note to self: if you plan on being the villain, don't let the hero get to know you that well. As entertaining an option as it may seem, it never turns out the way you want it to. SM: If that's not a rule in the Evil Overlord's Handbook, it is now. Mostly because the original author and all subsequent contributors are now flaming craters, so the responsibility for its maintenance quite clearly falls to me, as the least heroic of our number. PQ: I suppose we all have the burdens we must bear from our dead world. PQ: Speaking of burdens, I finally managed to set that temple in the right place, all put together correctly... PQ: Whew... That was like...I do not know, doing a puzzle while trying to weight-lift and do pull-ups at the same time... PQ: Not that I have ever done the latter two, really. PQ: Well, there was the latter in school, but I never could do more than one, and only the first because I jumped a bit from the ground. PQ: The point is: that was tiring. PQ: If the opportunity in your own quest to move a giant temple ever presents itself, politely decline. SM: Words of wisdom if ever I heard any. Particularly given that I would have to do it by hand, brick by boring brick. PQ: And that sounds even more tiring.. I think I need to sit d-WHOA! PQ: ...Ok, nevermind. If you cannot see, I am currently hoisted atop the shoulders of a slew of wotting turtles celebrating the repair of their temple. PQ: It makes a good enough seat. SM: By good fortune or trickery and misdirection (zero points for guessing which), I've thus far managed to evade any shoulder-hoisting. Though I did manage to ensure Page got her fair share a time or three. SM: Once with my consorts, even. That was a sweet dodge if I do say so myself. And I do. PQ: Is "all of the above" a legitimate answer? PQ: I must say, that does sound somewhat fitting for a Bard to be singing the paeans of others. PQ: I doubt you can dodge it forever, though. SM: I'll do it or die trying! Last thing I need is a bunch of braindead lizards fawning over me. PQ: My money is that, much like with the mistletoe last Christmas, it shall in the end be your own fault. :P SM: Mistletoe? I have no idea what you're talking about. There were definitely no mistletoe-related mishaps at Christmas. PQ: So that means it was intentional? Oh my. SM: Wait, what? SM: ...Oh. SM: I SM: uh SM: I mean it obviously wasn't! I don't even much like people in the strictly platonic sense, why would I be SM: I'm going to shut up now, and we're going to never speak of this again. PQ: My, my, it does appear that I have managed to fluster the legendarily unflappable Dahlia Asher! PQ: I should put some sort of trophy up on my wall. Maybe mistletoe itself would be good? I do, of course, need to start my own collection of trophies and oddities as is almost a family tradition of the Von Hayeks. PQ: ...Or I could see about what that is. "What that is" was, in fact, a symbol of hope emblazoned into the sky with white light above what Lorelei knew to be the godswood, the home of the angels. Even from the not insignificant distance the village was from its source, the symbol still loomed large, drawing the attention of all who could see it--which surely included a large portion of the continent, if not all. It was a miracle that the gaping turtles holding her aloft did not dump her unceremoniously onto the ground in their shock and awe. PQ: It appears that there is a very large picture of the Hope symbol--two angels wings--emblazoned in white light just above the godswood. PQ: I believe the angels might be trying to get my attention.SM: ...You have a Bat-Signal? Seriously? SM: Man, I am clearly doing something wrong here. The only signals my planet gives me are splitting headaches.PQ: Perhaps if you did not neglect to tell your consorts your identity as their hero, they would build a cute little steampunk Bardsignal for you?SM: That actually sounds pretty awesome. Especially the steampunk part. SM: Right up until the point where I remember that my consorts' idea of "urgent need" is "oh my goodness I lost my hat whatever will I do?" With a "thip" in there somewhere. I do not want to make that any easier for them.PQ: But the Bard-signal, Dahlia! It would be cool! PQ: Anyway, I am afraid I must leave you to contemplate that so I may heed the summons. PQ: I hope your day henceforth improves from the beatdown your matriarch gave you.SM: Egads! My other weakness: being left alone to my thoughts! SM: :P SM: I'm sure things will pick up. I mean, honestly, how much worse can my day possibly get after something like that? That is pretty much the guaranteed low point. SM: Later!PQ: Farewell, my friend (ahaha, I continue my ruthless campaign against your weaknesses). --philosopherQueen [PQ] ceased pestering spiraMirabilis [SM]-- Lorelei closed pesterchum and hopped down from the turtle throng. They did not really seem to mind, so in the grips of amazement that they seemed frozen to the spot, more little turtle statues than actual living beings. Hoping they could hear her nevertheless, Lorelei said her thanks and farewells before blasting off into the sky towards the godswood.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 21:56:17 GMT -5
When Dahlia woke this morning (okay, actually it was noon), there was nothing out of the ordinary. Another day, like every other day in the past week. The sword stuck in the ground outside the house didn't even faze her; it had been some time since she had faced off against her mother, and the ritual was very nearly comforting in its familiarity, though she would certianly never admit it. She had grown a lot in the past week, and the long elevator ride to the topmost level of her house-tower left her with ample time to ponder that, and hope she didn't disappoint. She left the sword behind again, of course. In the aftermath of yet another thoroughly embarrassing parental trouncing... What, you thought I was going to go through the entire duel again? Boring! If you've seen one duel you've seen 'em all. Well, except maybe the next one. That one might be special. What do you mean, "Why?" Oh, that's easy. It's because... --philosopherQueen [PQ] began pestering spiraMirabilis [SM]-- Whoops, better see to that first. PQ: Greetings, Dahlia. PQ: You are all right, correct? Not in mortal danger? SM: Mom just kicked my ass. Again. SM: That's really all there is to say on the matter. PQ: Ahh. I figured that no mere monster could put you in such a state. My condolences. PQ: I wish I could say that I "know that feel" as they say, but I am afraid that the only thrashings my own patriarch has ever given me are the verbal kind. PQ: Though I suppose I do somewhat know the idea of "endless training from a distant and stern parental figure from a young age", though mine is far different in character...and utterly lacking in danger. PQ: Sorry, I am kind of rambling here. SM: Fortunately my physical and verbal beatings have been discrete events from discrete sources lately. Mostly Gita and Guardian on the latter. SM: Speaking of whom, I just spoke with Mr. Walkthrough himself the other day, and it turns out that the Professor is in fact my actual mother. So it looks like I get to feel inadequate all over again. SM: Sigh. Things were so much easier when I was an alien. I almost wish I really was... And then the two old friends had the conversation which you just read, in which Dahlia lamented her human heritage, snarked about the peculiarities of the Incipisphere (though, really, when isn't she doing that?), totally dropped the ball on any and all matters related to Page, and quite thoroughly and conspicuously avoided following up on the matter of Gita. Yeah, what was up with that, anyway? Well... > Days in the past, but not many... December 26th was an important day in the Asher household. More properly, it was an important day for Dahlia Asher, who was busy wearing as little as she could manage, hair unwashed (not that it wasn't also a mess when clean), sucking on a lollipop and standing in the kitchen frying up a pan of bacon. For December 26th, you see, was Fucksgiving. What's Fucksgiving, you say? Well... The tale of Fucksgiving dates back to an old Germanic king, in the latter days of the Holy Roman Empire. Legend has it that the king held in his heart a special disdain for Christmas, owing to the fact that his first major military failure had occurred on that date many years before, and since then the day itself had seemed cursed, bringing him each year misfortune just as it brought joy to others. But of course, he could hardly decry a holiday held so dear by so many, and so he simply stewed in silence each year as the holiday season drew near, his only solace being the fox hunt taking place each year on the day after Christmas. When hunting his quarry, he could forget his troubles, and begin the new year refreshed and cleansed of the prior day's misery. One year, the king's misfortune seemed to linger with him beyond Christmas day, and neither his hunters, nor his harriers, nor even the bow in his own two hands could find purchase on their vulpine targets. So great was his mischance that for an entire year, he found no success whatsoever in any subsequent hunts. The king had had quite enough of this, and turned to his court in search of answers. And when they could be no further help, he turned to his subjects, from great to low, and beseeched any who might break his curse to aid him in his time of need. Many came, but none succeeded, and the king's sadness grew to consume him, as he could find nothing to take his mind off his lingering holiday misfortune. One day in early December, a noblewoman's daughter, perhaps twelve years old, encountered the king and inquired what ailed him, knowing full well the story before he even told it. Despondent, the king once again spun his tale of woe and misfortune around Christmas and all that followed. She too hated Christmas, as her own life around the holiday had hardly been any more joyous of late; the man who sired her had been absent since the earliest days of her life, and her mother was far too busy playing at intrigues to pay her any mind, and so she was left to spend Christmas alone each year. She told the king that, and also this: "I'll break your curse, my lord," said the girl. "I know the only way." The king was skeptical. "I've heard those words more times than there are days in a year, child. Unless you can bring me my fox on the twenty-sixth of December, I fear I may never again taste the royal chef's famous fox meat stew." The girl, as clever as she was timely, simply nodded, a knowing twinkle in her blue eyes. She bowed and departed, and the king thought no more of it. Christmas came and went, and the king grew no happier. No longer looking forward to the fox hunt the next day, the king resolved to simply pull his blanket up over his head in bed, ignore the rising of the sun, and sleep until he felt like waking, and fox hunts be damned. He was awakened at noon by the voice of a page at his door, frantically shouting about some young girl. The king reluctantly rose from bed, pulling on only his royal robe and slippers before going to see what all the racket was about. Much to his surprise, the clever noble girl had returned, and she carried with her a bowl of soup which bore a suspicious resemblance to the royal chef's fox stew. Taken quite aback, the king gasped: "You have brought me my fox!" The girl only smiled and held out the bowl to him. The king hungrily gulped down the soup, full of strips of delicious meat -- but this was not the fox stew that the king had expected. No, this was something better. "Girl," the king inquired, "what is it you have given me? No stringy meat of the fox could compare to this sumptuous meal." The girl then told the king what she had done: for lack of fox, she had spoken with the royal chef, and with him conspired to find a dish that might cure the king of his woes by simple virtue of its taste -- in modern parlance, a 'comfort food'. They settled on the salt-cured, pan-cooked meat of pig, which was called bacon. So delicious was this bacon that the king called for his chefs to prepare him a plate of simply that meat; grinning widely, the girl said that they had already prepared some. The king was overjoyed, and happily devoured several plates of bacon, his mood quickly brightening. He could very nearly feel his misfortune dissipating with every bite. Just then, the king's hunters burst through the door, each carrying a fox, shouting that they had finally broken the curse. The king looked to his hunters, then down to the clever little girl, and again to his hunters, and shouted while laughing: "I don't care, I'm eating bacon!" And thus was born the yearly tradition of 'fox-giving', or fuchsgeben in German, which paradoxically consisted neither of foxes, nor of giving. Over the years of linguistic drift it mutated into the form we know today: our beloved holiday of apathy, disheveled undress, and bacon, Fucksgiving. ...At least, that's how the story went the last time Dahlia told it. The time before that, it was a completely different story, and the time before that, and so on and so forth. The well-known truth of the matter is of course that Dahlia herself invented it, in response to her own equally well-known dislike of Christmas and of giving fucks, and her love of bacon. But that story was a whole lot more interesting, wasn't it? Oh, look, someone else wants to join in on the Fucksgiving festivities. -- jeremiadMalcophony [JM] began pestering spiraMirabilis [SM] -- JM: Asher, I would have words with you. SM: I don't suppose those words involve bacon, partial nudity, and a failure to give fucks? JM: With two out of three covered, I'll pass on not-giving-a-fuck that I'm supposed to be not-giving-a-fuck, for this. Aw, man. Why do I get the feeling I'm about to take a starring role in How The Grinch Stole Fucksgiving? Spoilers: I'm the Whos down in Whoville, here, in case anyone's keeping score at home. { } SM: I'd be lying if I said that didn't sound ominous, but then, what doesn't, these days? SM: So, what's on your mind, fellow baconista? JM: Zach, the inexplicably tolerable and decent, and recent enthusiastic Fucksgiving convert. JM: The hell did you fry his hands for!? SM: Seemed like a good idea at the time? SM: I thought it'd be funny? SM: It's his own fault for listening to bad advice from some random internet troll about experimental transformers. I'm personally surprised he let me talk as long as I did. SM: I mean, frying his hands wasn't explicitly my goal. Sure, it was gonna blow up somewhere, but nothing in the plan said it necessarily had to be on him. It's not like I stuck the phone in his hands. SM: Not directly, anyway. I guess I was talking to him when it happened, so he had to be holding his phone. JM: Easy to hurt someone when they're just a couple lines of text an ocean away, isn't it? SM: I was raised by a woman who treated her daughter as a science experiment, and then trained her for the end of the world which she knew full well was coming, all without saying a thing about that, or providing any sort of actual parenting in the meanwhile. You honestly expect me to have things like 'moral fiber' and 'a conscience'? SM: It was my intent to just blow his stuff up, which is hardly an unusual occurrence. It'd go kaboom and we'd all have a good laugh at the sunglasses-shaped soot outline on his face. I'd like to say I feel bad about what actually happened, but... SM: Well, the way I figure it, we're all gonna die some day. I intend to deserve it. JM: Well, at least you're honest, eh? A pause followed. Dahlia might have taken it as ominous, were she not busy taking it as a perfect opportunity to grab a spatula from nearby and flip the bacon frying in the pan. Can't let good bacon go to waste just because you're getting a well-deserved chewing-out, after all. Catching sight of her reflection in the metal spatula's flat surface, Dahlia scowled half a pout at herself. I am far too pretty for anyone to be this angry at me. Besides, it's not like Zach's shit doesn't randomly blow up all the time, with or without external influence. { } JM: ...Dahlia, if you didn't give a damn about right and wrong you wouldn't care whether or not you get 'what you deserve.' JM: And I know this. And you know this. SM: Man, you are really raining on my Fucksgiving Day Parade here, Gita. SM: Fine, you got me. I was two years younger and at least a little bit dumber than I am now; it was a mistake and I obviously didn't intend that. Shit happened, and I wish it hadn't. Just don't expect me to have a sudden attack of conscience about it or anything. SM: I dunno what's so great about being respectable, anyway. JM: 'Shit happened and I wish it hadn't.' That's good enough, for you. JM: And 'respectable' ain't so much what we're looking for, here. I think I can settle for 'doesn't hurt friends.' SM: If we're being technical about it, he wasn't what you'd call a friend at the time anyway. More a random chump. SM: Alright, alright, fine, I'll take things seriously for a moment here. Yes, I can play nice. Mostly. The six of us apparently have to depend on each other anyway, to win this game and, y'know, not die. Even I wouldn't do something to damage that goal. SM: Besides, I'd have to be pretty stupid to try to hurt him on purpose. He's a child genius inventor whose inventions have a tendency to explode. The last place I'd want to be is on the receiving end of that. JM: Sounds like we're done here, then. JM: How's your bacon? SM: Just about done cooking, conveniently enough. If I have to get chewed out for something, this is definitely the timing I'd prefer -- done in time for bacon. SM: Look, I'm sorry for screwing things up. And I know it won't be the last time. But I can pretty safely guarantee it'll either be accidental or unavoidable, and I'll at least find novel and interesting ways to blow it. SM: Cool? JM: ...yeah, cool. SM: Alright. Enjoy your bacon, Gita, and see you later. -- spiraMirabilis [SM] ceased pestering jeremiadMalcophony [JM] -- Much later, if she could help it. Dahlia sighed; she was still unconvinced that this whole thing wouldn't result in her being stabbed to death. Or, for that matter, that her next contact with Zach wouldn't involve getting blown up. She took her plateful of bacon over to the table and mulled over the matter in festively misanthropic silence. So, what have we learned, Dahlia? New rule: No inappropriate decisions involving explosives. I like that one, write it down. ...Close enough.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 21:56:28 GMT -5
Well, that was embarrassing. You weren't actually supposed to see that. In fact, if Dahlia had her way, nobody would have ever seen that, as it was hardly her proudest moment. Except the Fucksgiving origin story part, that was pretty much 110% awesome and she's all sorts of proud of it. And all its brethren. Maybe she'll tell them some day, if ever she finds herself with a surplus of time. But, sadly, Dahlia is not the Hero of Time. A thousand untold Zelda jokes silently mourned their own demise in her head. Dahlia had decided to take a walk to clear her head after all that nonsense back there -- between parental beatdowns of the physical variety (even just narratively implied but unseen, as they were), and verbal beatdowns from a longtime friend (even just in flashback form, as it was), she was feeling rather out of sorts. Of course, by "take a walk" what we mean is head planetside and start stabbing imps until it stops being fun. When does stabbing imps stop being fun? Trick question, stabbing imps is always fun. Honestly, Dahlia, you really need to be careful or people are going to figure out that all you ever do is stab things and snark about stuff. Or snark about stabbing things. Can't forget the all-important Breaded Eggs in that comic equation. Thank you Dahlia, your input is as edifying and useful as ever. You might think to ask why Dahlia is just out wandering around stabbing things, when she could be helping her consorts, or accomplishing useful things in her land. Actually, if you've paid any attention whatsoever, you wouldn't wonder that for even a moment. But let's assume you did, because otherwise it just throws off the whole thing, and then we're headed for a narrative disaster of biblical proportions. Fire and brimstone coming down from the sky, rivers and seas boiling. Forty years of darkness. Earthquakes, volcanoes, the dead rising from the grave. Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats, living together! Mass hysteria. Man that was such a great movie. Ahem. It's not so much that she hated her consorts -- actually, in the past week, she'd even grown fond of them, in the way one is fond of a slightly retarded puppy. While she maintains a vested interest in avoiding any and all potential shoulder-hoistings, the sense of direction they imposed on her formerly listless existence was a welcome reprieve, even if it came mostly in the form of pointless fetch quests which nobody wants to read about and which she did far too many of in the past week. Boy, we sure are glad we got that out of the way so she can do more interesting things. Her consorts were straightforward, thankful, respectful of her privacy on personal matters, and useful and industrious when given ( precise) directions and a goal. Were she a bit more self-aware, she might be annoyed by the way their simple honesty and unquestioning credulity confounded her ability to lie to them, by making it entirely unentertaining to do so. And so, she told them the truth. Wandering the land, Dahlia had told crowds of curious amphibians about the six heroes, and their purpose here, and the Ultimate Alchemy which would one day birth a new universe, and all manner of other things she had learned about this strange world during her short tenure in it. Of course she exaggerated some -- what good storyteller doesn't? -- but for the most part, she told them simply the bare facts of things, with her own curious linguistic flourish to keep their attention. Because nothing about Paradox Space is any more interesting than the plain truth... and nothing more difficult to discover, too. So it was that the little blue iguanas came to tell of the new muse of the Land of Canyons and Frogs, who sang the songs of distant places and faraway times. Not literally singing, of course. Dahlia had sworn off singing. At least, in public. So, if it wasn't a general dislike of her consorts, and it wasn't their pointless fetch quests, and it wasn't their frustrating simple honesty, and it wasn't even the fact that she found herself fulfilling her Paradox-Space-ordained role without even realizing it, then what was it? Well, you see, they sort of gave her a headache. Not in general, just today specifically. In particular, it came about as she was wandering in a part of her land she hadn't visited before, heading towards a consort village she spotted from a distance. On what she presumed was avoidance instinct, Dahlia circled well wide of the village, but as it turned out, this did nothing to evade the sensation, and in fact only brought it into sharper focus. It wasn't a throbbing, pounding headache; this was an insidious tingle, like the scraping of a thousand nails on a thousand chalkboards at a great distance -- and, tilting her head slightly with what one could only describe as morbid curiosity, Dahlia began following it towards its seeming source, away from the village. Avoidance, it seems, was in fact intentional pursuit. It always was. There was no mountain, like last time, only a narrow crevasse in the cracked earth, but this was certainly the source of the sensation tugging at the edge of senses she still lacked the vocabulary to enumerate. Less concealed meant less protected, and over the years (centuries? millennia? did it even matter?) the barely-visible tunnel entrance at the bottom of the canyon had become covered by various natural collapses, a solid pile of large rocks barring entry. This, of course, would prove no obstacle for someone who just a week before had been handed a set of explosive knives, and possessed the means to replicate them. But wait, didn't Dahlia also express concern a week and one day ago at blowing up things in caves, lest she cause a cave-in? Well, sure, but Zach had assured her the knives had "only" a ten percent failure rate, and after using three of the knives to open the way to three under-construction robot factories she had investigated over the past week, she was reasonably confident that was an acceptable risk -- particularly for someone who lacked the benefits of the others' supernatural powers to provide another solution. When all you have is a hammer... Entry to the small cave went without incident, and what awaited her was precisely what she had anticipated: another glowing green-white symbol. Given Page was unable to see last one, and given what the vision had told her, it seemed likely that Dahlia herself may be the only one who could see them, so it made sense to put them just out of the way, but not in any potentially "interesting" areas in an adventuring sense. There was no reason to hide things any deeper when she was the only one who could find them. Were she not presently distracted by the strange non-sensations clawing at the edges of her mind, emanating from the glyph on the wall, she might have been glad for that. Well, here goes nothing... Dahlia reached out with one hand, braced herself, and pressed her palm to the symbol.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:00:29 GMT -5
I've become so...attuned to the forces of Time that I think... I can feel him. He's coming for me, and I think I can feel him getting ever closer. Or maybe I'm just going mad. Act Two: Driven Away by Lions Was it... Was it 140,000 years ago? Or maybe it was 160,000.... Urgh... What century was it when you left?! Nevermind, it's not important. What's important is what happened. A population bottleneck that was the reason we have a Mitochondrial Eve in the first place. Do you see what's happening?! No...Not yet. Not just yet. But you will. Something like that couldn't happen because of breeding. And with her ability to...to control, she could prune those without the required genetic structure with ease. All it took...was just pointing history in the right directions. I built a pillar over the city gate, and I flayed all the chiefs that had revolted, and I covered the pillar with their skin. Some of them I walled up within the pillar. Some I impaled upon the pillar on stakes. Others I bound to stakes around the pillar, and I cut the limbs of the royal officers who had rebelled. Many captives from among them I burned with fire, and many I took as living captives. From some I cut off their noses, their ears, and their fingers. Of many I put out the eyes. I made one pillar of the living, and another of heads, and I bound their heads to tree trunks around the city. Their young men and maidens I burned in the fire. Twenty men I captured alive, and I put them in the walls of my palace. The rest of their warriors I consumed with thirst in the desert of the Euphrates. -Ashurnasirpal II Genocide. It's a modern word, but it's been happening since before history even began! It's her fault. She controlled them, made them what they were! They never had a chance to be anything else... Nothing but some of history's greatest murderers. For a distance of a month and 25 days journey I devastated the provinces of Elam. Salt and prickly plants I scattered over them. The dust of their cities I gathered together and took to Assyria. The noise of the people, the tread of cattle and sheep, the glad shouts of rejoicing, I banished from its fields. -Ashurbanipal She would manipulate things so that those without the required genetics would go where she wanted! Didn't even need to control, just nudge here and there! They'd gather together in cities and towns, all thinking they had chosen to do it freely! Like...like cows to the slaughterhouse! And then... God, if you had... If you had seen what they did to them like I saw... She didn't care about their suffering. Its presence or lack made no difference. She just...wanted her way. A tale told again and again across the ages, of man's inhumanity to man--all nudged and encouraged by her.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:01:23 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post)) >Sangfroid Emissary: Examine the Seer of Time's file in detail Only if by "examine in detail" one meant "feel a chill of fear run down his spine as he reads it". It took a hell of a lot to spook the Dersite spy network so thoroughly, and if these reports were true... "Note to self:" the Emissary muttered, "leave the Scion alone when her Seer friend's around." "Heeey, good idea!" ===> "If you want my advice though, just leave her alone period. I do know where you live." ===> "You done reading these? Thanks." ===> The PA system clicked on. "Bit of a mess in the emissary's office, someone get a mop in there."
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Naevius
Mustardblood
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:02:37 GMT -5
The white comet streaked through the sky of the Land of Gold and Snow, and the (fully clothed) Scion of Hope within it pushed herself further and further to greater speeds--partly due to a fear that there may be some legitimate danger that prompted the great beacon in the sky and partly due to a simple desire to push herself further beyond her limits. It was not long into her flight, however, before a message appeared on her glasses and bade her slow down in order to concentrate on it: -- absoluteTranquility [AT] began pestering philosopherQueen [PQ] -- AT: Hey i know you're about to be really busy but you've gotta' hear this AT: We're in the papers! AT: And not the crappy boring ones that everyone reads, i mean the official stuff with thirty signatures and half a dozen stamps that gets pushed around in the agent offices. PQ: Oh, hello, Peter. PQ: What do you mean, like special secret documents on us? Why, I almost feel like I am in a spy movie! AT: Exactly like special secret documents from a spy movie AT: The agents hate you, it's hilarious. XD AT: And everyone knows who you are now too. They've got propaganda and stuff going out to scare the population. AT: Apparently page is like a hero on derse now? Dahlia is just kind of weirding them out i guess and they don't give two shits about zach, it's us they're worried about. PQ: Well, I certainly HOPE (har har har har) that I have warranted their attention after what I have done. Did they mention when I blew up that airship of theirs? PQ: What does it say about you? AT: Yeah the ship's in there. I missed that so you're going to have to tell me everything. :P AT: I haven't actually read mine yet but that chain smoker guy was just getting done when i showed up and took the papers. AT: He literally pissed himself so I bet it's good. PQ: Ahahahaha! Are you SERIOUS? The Sangfroid Emissary wet himself upon the sight of you?? He always seemed so cool and collected! PQ: A trade, then: you read your file aloud for the benefit of the audience, and I shall tell the tale of the airship's destruction AT: I'll skip to the good parts 'cause it starts with descriptions and locations and boring useless junk. AT: ahem AT: "Recent Activities: Unknown. The nature of his powers makes him nigh impossible to track, and that device of his enables him to flee from a scene before it's possible to confirm he was ever there to begin with. We know he was directly involved in the deaths of three of our agents sent to investigate the unprecedented amount of destruction throughout Nemesis's forces on LOSAT, and was likely the cause of said destruction, but can confirm nothing more." AT: huh. AT: For the record those morons basically jumped off buildings. Their training goes like 'move one step forward, or take one step diagonally forward while slashing at your enemy'. That's a quote, i shit you not. :/ AT: (totally blew up the tanks though) PQ: ...I do not suppose I should be surprised given the chess motif that appears to be going on. I just did not expect it to be so...literal. Excellent job on becoming feared by our foes, though! I am sure this could come in handy later. PQ: But as for my own story, there is truthfully relatively little to tell. I was taking time, while awake on Prospit, to go to the battlefield to aid the Prospitians in their war. While flying about I came across a Prospitian unit of soldiers making a rather hasty retreat. It seemed they had managed to elude their groundbound pursuers, and I was almost about to simply go look elsewhere for where I might be needed, when I noticed a great presence above us. PQ: It was a huge battleship that would have blocked out the sun if it actually existed! Its great cannons turned, lowered, and began to fire blasts towards the retreating Prospitians. PQ: Without even thinking I moved to intercept the blast and threw a shield of my own magic up. It blunted the blow, but by no means shrugged it off, and I was sent hurtling to the ground next to the very army I was trying to protect. The ship shot a few more times, and each time I blocked but felt like my whole body had been rammed by an oncoming motorcycle or something. PQ: Then, I had had enough. I summoned all my willpower and shot a concentrated, powerful beam straight through another oncoming blast. It was quite a sight to see the ordinance explode in mid-air and my magic, wreathed in the flames of the explosion, pass through and pierce the hull of the ship. PQ: Whatever it had hit, it must have been something terribly important within the deeper bowels of the ship--perhaps what kept it afloat?--for even though the hole was of relatively little size the great ship began to list in the air. While the prospitians cheered and watched, I flew over to the battleship and saved everyone I could find before it fell to the ground and exploded in a cateclysmic fireball. The retreating Prospitians took the enemy crewmen captive and I went on my way. AT: ... AT: I thought you said there wasn't a lot to tell o___o AT: That is awesome though. I mean you basically glared at an airship until it exploded, so AT: Remind me to stay off of your bad side. :P PQ: The tale grew in the telling, as they say. PQ: Haha, and remind me of the same, Sir Makes Dersites Wet Their Pa-...wait, they do not have pants. PQ: So what do they PEE with... PQ: ............No, I am not going to think about that. No. Nope. No way. No sir. No. No. AT: Don't quote me on this but I think they're internal and that that is all there is to say on the matter. AT: ANYWAY. AT: Yeah you should've seen his face. XD AT: And then I got on the intercom afterwards and told someone to send a janitor. PQ: Ahehehehe... Heeheeheeheeheehaha! PQ: Ahhh, I almost feel bad for him! Then I remember he is an incorrigible.........hmm, my knowledge of English is slipping a bit here. I feel like there is some perfect insult to use that I just cannot remember. Any suggestions? AT: Shithead? AT: Twat satchel? AT: Fuckwad? AT: Turd-scented poultry whore? AT: Doo-doo head? AT: Butt? AT: Some might even go as far as to call him a jerk, but there are children present so I have to watch my language. PQ: A JERK? Heavens to betsy, I am a blushing! How dare you sully a good lady's ears with such profane language? AT: I do apologize, ma'am. I believe this means I must sing the 'i'm sorry' song whenever you're done. :( PQ: Well, you had best hurry with the song before I have an absolutely dreadful case of the vapors! AT: Well i meant like AT: in person AT: because i can actually sing without breaking things. AT: Aaaand I can't fly. :P PQ: Oh, very well, I shall delay my vapors so long as I am assured a proper song next we meet in person! PQ: You had better get the words right, though, or they shall return with a force that is positively...frightful AT: oh no AT: ... AT: Man now I need to call the janitor again :,( PQ: Pffftheehee! PQ: Ohh, I am terribly sorry. To force you into such a state--so unladylike of me! It seems that I shall have to sing the sorry song right back at you next we meet. PQ: Or perhaps a duet would be more expedient? AT: Yes. We must bear our shame together. AT: Other me can do the music and other other me and his friends me, me, and me can be the audience. I do hope they are not also the judging committee! I fear bias. AT: No that's Felett and Evermore. I am not sure whether to be relieved due to the raven's presence or perturbed due to the troll's... AT: >implying he isn't asleep before we even open our mouths PQ: Then it is into the bird's impeccable taste for music that we commit our hopes and dreams. PQ: May the most apologetic singer win. PQ: With that, I am afraid I must cut things off here. I have arrived at my destination, and judging by the giant glowing hope symbol in the sky the angels likely would not care to remain waiting for too long. PQ: Farewell, Peter. Lorelei almost slipped and called Peter some sort of affectionate name. Fortunately, the conversation proceeded (or rather ended) on far less awkward terms than it otherwise would have. AT: Haha, alright. Later. AT: And good luck. -- philosopherQueen [PQ] ceased pestering absoluteTranquility [AT] -- ===> " You are ready." " Prepared." " There is no more we can teach you." As Lorelei stood before the throng of angels who had been her teachers over the past week, she felt a surge of pride and accomplishment at those words. Some part of her even wanted to ask if she had managed to complete their training even more quickly than most other Heroes of Hope--after all, they had said as much about how she finished off the caverns, right? So, she definitely also did much better with the training itself, right? " So, if I am finished training under you, that means that now I get to meet this Mother of Angels, right?" Finally, at least an answer to one question. One very deep, very important question that had hung about her neck--metaphorically and, in a sense, literally thanks to the crucifix she wore--ever since the advent of Sburb. This Mother of Angels could, after all, be the very god(dess) she had worshipped all her life, right? So what Lorelei had been taught from earliest childhood couldn't have been wrong, right? She did, after all, create angels! Hopefully this one would answer straight questions, unlike her creations. " Yes." " The Mother of Angels." " The Mother of Hope." " You shall learn the final lessons" " from the one who created the element." As one, in that creepy and almost robotic fashion that Lorelei still had not gotten used to, every angel before her raised its arm and pointed to the large temple at the far end of the meadow. Beyond that, the angels said nothing. They merely observed her with those white, glowing not-eyes. After a few awkward seconds Lorelei got the idea and flew towards her destination. Her first and natural instinct was, of course, to merely fly to the top of the temple and walk into the darkened room at the top but something stopped her. Some sense of decorum or ceremony, bred into her from the very start of her life due to her training as a proper lady, bid her land in front of the large, Aztec-like steps leading to the top. Then, without the aid of her magic, she took each step one at a time. The Scion's legs ached dully by the end but was accompanied by a strange sense of satisfaction and pride--a feeling that she had done things correctly, in their proper order. Without further ado... >Scion of Hope: Enter No sooner had she set a single foot within the darkened room did four torches--though they were not lit by fire, but by the same white light Lorelei used--spring to life without a sound. No other detail within the plain golden room stood out, save for a symbol of hope emblazoned in white onto the ground. Almost feeling as if she was being driven on auto-pilot, she stepped forward onto the symbol. The world exploded in light and warmth. No sooner had her body come in contact with the symbol on the ground than the four torches each shot white magic at her, trapping her within. Darkness invaded the edges of her sight, and slowly she felt her consciousness slipping away. The last thing she remembered was her body going limp, and yet still remain standing. >Naptime?
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Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:04:52 GMT -5
Dahlia recoiled with an involuntary hiss, jerking her hand away from the wall-inscribed symbol as if burned, stumbling back a step and falling flat on her ass. That was even less pleasant than the last one. Only two of these and I'm already tired of this nonsense. Dahlia grumbled to herself as she hopped up, dusting off her pants. With my luck it probably is Guardian fucking with me -- trying to teach me some inscrutable lesson from his musty centuries of experience. Pretty stupid way to go about it, if you ask me. She flicked her hand and her ringtop computer booted up Trollian Pesterchum. Or I'll ask him, instead. -- spiraMirabilis [SM] began pestering guardianGrognard [GG] -- SM: You know. SM: If you're trying to scare me straight with morality plays about genocide, you're barking up the wrong tree, old man. GG: There we go. I was just about thinkin' as I woke up that this day might be somewhat sane. Thanks for dispelling that foolish belief. GG: 'f YOU think I don't have better things to do than to try and scare straight some retarded kid then ya've got the wrong tree and you're barking backwards. SM: So what you're telling me is you've got some sort of creepy stalker who likes to impersonate you for kicks and mess with SM: Actually, hold on a sec. You've got time powers and you can fly, you take a look at this and tell me what it is. GG: God damn-... Ok, fine, I'm on my way. I guess this is what i get for advertising myself as Mr. Walkthrough Extraordinaire. -- guardianGrodnard [GG] began pestering spiraMirabilis [SM] -- No sooner had those words been sent than Guardian appeared without a sound behind her, arms crossed. " All right, so...what, something about this tunnel you're in? You're not claustrophobic, right?" Dahlia tensed sharply, hands half-raised and fingers curled like claws. Stifling an inarticulate growl of frustration, she lowered her hands slowly to her sides, composing herself before turning to face Guardian. She was, however, still glowering. " You enjoy doing that, don't you?" Guardian's usual slight frown curled up into a smile that was both mischievous and a tad malicious. " It's the only thing an old codger like me can derive joy from anymore." Dahlia couldn't help but snicker at that. " See, I was gonna make fun of you, but you just take all the fun out of it when you beat me to the punch." She turned and pointed to a rock wall at the back of the small tunnel. " So you mean to tell me you can't see this?" To Dahlia, of course, the tunnel was lit as if by a brilliant green-white candle. She stepped over to the wall, stuck a fist directly in front of the symbol, and extended her middle finger. " How many fingers am I holding up?" " I can't see but I'm going to guess one or two, middle fingers, knowin' you." Sure enough, to Guardian, the place remained incredibly dark. Whatever power this other version of him had used, it was apparently beyond his own scope. " Oh come on, like I'd be that predicta--" Dahlia stopped, and frowned slightly. " Oh fine, you got me. So you really can't see 'em... weird, man. Seriously weird." She stepped out of the tunnel into more natural illumination (insofar as one can call the light of Skaia natural), and dropped down to sit on a decently-sized rock left behind after the explosive knife had done its job. " Which means there's someone out there who calls himself by your name -- and a whole lot of others -- and sounds exactly like you, and he's decided I need a history lesson." She groaned, dropping her head into her hands, elbows resting on her knees. " I am so not in the mood for this shit." Guardian followed her out and leaned against a rather precariously-perched boulder nearby. " There's prob'ly more than one Guardian I don't know about out there, either future or from doomed timelines. And I'm startin' to think you really should just explain this from the beginnin' to me." " I don't even know anymore." Dahlia groaned again, fingertips rubbing her temples. At least the weird, headache-but-not, pulling sensations stopped after she touched the symbols each time. That didn't do anything for the strictly mundane headache this whole thing was being, however. " The last one was in a cave too, and it... pulled me towards it, subtly, somehow, just like this one. Like it wanted to be found. I mean, it must have, or its maker must have wanted it, since the message said my name." She held out a hand in the air in front of herself, miming touching a wall, then began drawing in the air with her finger, indistinct traceries of the symbols she half-remembered from the last one. " Green-white symbols, like some krypton bulb set into the stone, with little symbols floating off it. The first one was talking about Mitochondrial Eve, and some nameless 'he' and 'she' -- basically it sounded exactly like you, only twice as crazy." " Green-white...?" Guardian chewed on his lip pensively. " That almost sounds like it might be green sun related, but there's no way you'd be able to access that power... What'd it say 'bout mitochondrial eve and the he's and she's?" Dahlia half-scowled. " If I'd known this was gonna be a quiz..." Sigh. " Saying it was all supposed to be different. Don't ask me what 'it' is -- my best guess, given context, is 'all of human history', or at least all that biblical shit nobody cares about. 'He' leaves a calling card, whatever that means, and 'she' gave Eve a cueball -- like, an actual pool cueball here, I think -- instead of an apple. Said it would let 'her' control people." A pause; a thoughtful frown. " That was in this one too, stuff about controlling people. Population bottlenecks, all those historical mass slaughters you see in history books. 'She' culled the people without the 'required genetics' -- this is like some sick air-quote workout routine or something." Dahlia smirked, realizing she had been doing that gesture every time. The amusement of the realization almost made the whole thing not suck quite so much. Almost. Guardian suddenly looked, for all the world, like he had peered into a bowl of alphabet soup and found something ominous like "You will die today" or "this delicious meal is set to self-destruct in five seconds". He opened his mouth immediately to speak but quickly stopped himself, thought it over, and proceeded ahead in a more methodical fashion: " ........That cueball. It...well, it can basic'ly answer any question that's posed to it, so long as the viewer possesses some means to look through its surface..." Guardian suddenly stood up from leaning against the boulder (sending it careening down the small mound a bit, but Guardian hardly paid attention) and began "pacing" (or rather floating) circles around Dahlia. " The 'he' has gotta be Lord English... That's a really powerful immortal demon that destroys whole universes and fucks with just about everythin'. Of course, of course, I should have NOTICED things weren't different... They weren't different, they shoulda been, shoulda been some visible mark of the First Guardian's influence... Gotta be hidin' something, but what...? Something to do with the genetics... Some kinda mass eugenics program? But for what? It don't affect paradox babies at all--but the other me wouldn'ta mentioned it if it wasn't important or relevant..." He suddenly seemed to remember that he was, in fact, in the presence of another person he was supposed to be explaining things to and stopped in mid-air. " The First Guardian is the 'she' there. Duchess Arc. Real bitch, that one. She's used ta summon English and destroy our universe at the end. She also-..." He shook his head and decided to try another tact: " Ok, so, two versions of the human timeline, you with me so far?" He didn't bother to wait for her answer. " Mine was the original. Me 'n my friends went into the game, got slaughtered, had to scratch and reset time--that led to the timeline you're from, but unbeknownst to us that let English and his first guardian inta YOUR timeline. Follow me?" This time, at least, he ended his long rant to actually let a word in edgewise to Dahlia. Dahlia stared for a moment, brow slightly furrowed. If you listened real close, you just might hear the gears ticking behind her eyes. " So..." She held one finger up, mouth slightly open as she tried to assemble a suitable response. Finger lowered and mouth snapped shut, and she was quiet for a long moment. Then: " The reason I exist is because you fucked up?" Dahlia didn't know whether to laugh or cry; her expression took the middle route of an incredulous grimace. Guardian shrugged. " I dunno, mighta been a version of you who just didn't get into the game pre-scratch. What baffles me, though, 's why it's some new random buncha kids and not all of our guardians. Normally it'll switch like that, parent to child, after a scratch. Never seen just a whole new crop thrown in--but your session's pretty weird anyway." Without further ado, he resumed his orbit around Dahlia. " So, this one's the second one you've seen, right? What'd it talk about?" " That was about it, really. The population bottleneck that resulted in having a Mitochondrial Eve in the first place, and some ancient Assyrian kings, and how she controlled them to prune the human race for the right genetics. I guess not-you was actually there to see it all, the way he talked about it." Dahlia paused, lips arching in a cynical sneer. This was all completely ridiculous. " Which means I guess we get to blame this 'Duchess Arc' and her magical cueball for all the monsters, the murderers, and the garden-variety assholes." She suddenly grinned. " Welp, looks like I'm off the hook, then. Thanks, cueball!" Guardian rolled his eyes, smirking. " There were assholes before the scratch too--how else do you explain me? Nah, she MUST have some reason... I dunno. Look, whatever this is, it probably came from some Guardian from a doomed timeline. Any time traveler from a doomed timeline is destined t'die as well, so that means this other me is risking his life to get you this information. You'd best make it your second-highest priority to track more a' these things down and keep me in the loop on what they say. Highest priority being, of course, frog breeding. How's that been goin', by the way?" " ...Frog breeding?" Dahlia's eyes went wide, as if she'd just found the missing piece of a puzzle. " You mean they're not just for target practice?" She gave that one a long moment to sink in before grinning. " Nah, even I'm not that callous or that stupid." Pause. " Okay, maybe I am that callous." Another pause. " ...Well, anyway, I didn't actually do that, even if it would be pretty funny. I've been hard at work frog breeding this whole week. For certain values of 'hard at work', anyway. Mostly it consists of turning my house and environs into a frog habitat. Fortunately the island's a pretty good pick for that." Her grimace returned. " Er, as long as there aren't any natural predators in the water. I haven't exactly been swimming to check, and I doubt your average dino would pass up a quick snack of frog legs. And frog torso, and frog head..." Guardian nodded. " Good. Just remember that you are operating on a time limit. You have until the King of Derse defeats Prospit and claims the white scepter for himself. Well, you get a day after that happens." " Pff, some lame-o king should be no problem. I'll just beat him with my awesome powers of stabbing and more stabbing." She just straight-up deadpanned that one, no comic exaggeration necessary. A raised eyebrow. " Still haven't made any progress on space powers, eh?" Dahlia gave an overwrought sigh, rolling her shoulders. " Man, I even tried red shoes and everything." She straightened her legs and stuck her feet straight out towards Guardian, tapping her heels together three times. " There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home... nothin'. Alright, fine, they're sneakers, not ruby slippers, but the thought's there." " Not even any involuntary, instinctual use of the power? Hmm. I'm not sure what t' tell ya. It always seems to show up differently in different people. Best idea I've got is something that can act as a focus--not just ruby slippers, but somethin' that epitomizes the concept of space to you. Maybe something of personal relevance too. I dunno. Might wanna try making things bigger or smaller with your mind?" He snapped his fingers with a "eureka!" look in his eyes. " Or hell, alchemize somethin' with that aforementioned object to create a little...space wand. Kinda like how Von Hayek came across her powers." " Just as long as you don't go chucking me off any cliffs to stimulate 'instinctual' use of my so-called powers. I kinda stake my claim to fame on that whole not-being-a-crater thing." Dahlia stretched her arms up, and leaned back until she found a suitable rock to lay back against, hands clasped behind her head. It was a bit further than she intended and quite honestly it looked just plain awkward and uncomfortable, but she faked it like a champ anyway. " Epitomizes the concept of space, and makes things bigger or smaller? About the only thing I can think of is my eyes, and that doesn't help anything. I think I'm just plain screwed." Guardian shrugged. " Eh, give it some thought. One thing you shouldn't do is just give up on it... Anyway, any more questions for Mr. Walkthrough?" There were, quite honestly, a lot of things Dahlia wanted to know, both Sburb-related and otherwise. Much as she was loath to admit it, those 'musty centuries of experience' were clearly worth far more than what she had, and she was quite certain Guardian could shed some light on the one matter that most troubled her -- the one curly-haired, warmly-smiling matter... ...if only she could swallow her pride enough to ask for advice. " Nah, I'm good." Dahlia simply shook her head. " Thanks." " All right. Y'feel like you need the answers to something that this musty, cobweb-filled codger-brain might know about, just lemme know. As much as I might bitch and moan, 's not like I'm short on time." With that, and without goodbyes (for what use were they, really, besides formality?), Guardian disappeared as abruptly and soundlessly as he had arrived, leaving just the blonde-haired girl lying in a pile of rubble and rocks. Probably better that I didn't ask, anyway. The less I think about her, the better...
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Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:05:05 GMT -5
Of course, it's a well-known fact that the more Dahlia tries to not think about something, the more irresistible it becomes. Laying there atop the decidedly uncomfortable pile of rocks, with nothing but her own thoughts, Dahlia's mind drifted back to a happier, less confusing time -- whether she wanted it to or not. ...Though she did have to admit that thinking about Page was far more pleasant than thinking about headaches and genocide. But that's all she'd admit. > [S] Days in the past, but not many... " Y'know, it's funny. Way out here, a universe away from home -- from Earth -- and yet, home's right here," Dahlia tapped a finger on the roof of the house to indicate the literal meaning, " and here we are, doing exactly what the earliest astronomers did, like we never really left it behind at all." In a brief, thoughtful pause she turned her head to look to Page, lying diagonally opposite her atop the roof of the nth copy of her house (she had long since lost count of how many times Zach had duplicated it to form a tower towards the gates floating above LOCAF), and grinned. " Well, not exactly. I don't think they had to deal with talking lizards, after all." " Hehehe, I guess not. Though it's a lot harder doing this job than I thought it'd be, I guess." she turned her head from Dahlia back towards what she believed to be yet another endless expanse of stars, and pointed to a group. " Like that one, I think. Do you see it, perhaps? It...kind of looks like..." Despite the fact that she was lying on her back anyway, Page tilted her head and studied the sky with a puzzled, thoughtful expression that was almost adorable coming from her. " ...a crab, perhaps?" Dahlia tilted her head one way, then the other. " Oh, yeah, if you look at it like... hah! I guess some things, you just can't get away from." She paused, drumming her fingers on the rooftop, pondering. " Can't very well call it Cancer, though, even if that is the proper Latin. Because it's not, no matter how much it may seem it. But that's okay, it's kind of a depressing name in modern English anyway." She frowned slightly. " Like a... galactic cancer or something. Not something I want in my universe. Got any ideas?" Page chewed the bottom of her lip. " Hmmm... Something crabby, perhaps...?" A devious glint formed in her eye and she stated with all the tone of a "Eureka!" moment: " How about Dahlia Asher, perhaps?" She quickly followed this up with a good-natured smile at her friend, just to let her know she really didn't mean it. " Oh I see how it is!" Dahlia snapped an exaggerated, comical scowl towards Page, sitting halfway up so she could more easily raise her hands, held like pincers with fingers together alternatingly open and closed, first pointed towards Page, then above her own head almost like castanets. " I'll just hafta avenge my people, then! This is for the butter! And this is for the tongs!" Another two quick hand-snaps towards Page was all Dahlia could manage with a straight face, and she eventually gave in to laughter, ending with a grin and a slow shake of her head. Page giggled right along, feigning looks of shock despite her laughter as her friend lunged at her with those deudly wepons at the ends of her wrists. " Enough, enough! I surrender to your crustacean dominance, without a doubt! Have mercy!" Dahlia paused to consider, chewing her lip thoughtfully. " ...Huh. I wonder what crustaceans would even do with dominance. Probably nothing interesting. A whole lot of senseless glubbing, maybe build some giant sand castles... yeah, it's probably a good thing humans ended up being the dominant species on Earth." Pause, brow furrowed briefly. " ...and everywhere else, I guess." Dahlia shifted in place, sitting up properly and turning to face more towards Page, gesturing with her hands as she spoke the next few words, as if grabbing at something she couldn't quite get ahold of. " Y'know, that's the thing that just doesn't sit right with me. With the whole space humans thing. Ever read anything about the Drake equation, and the Fermi paradox?" Page shook her head, eyes bright with curiosity. " No, I don't think so. What are they?" " Well, y'see, the basic idea is... in order for life to exist -- carbon-based life, like us -- a planet needs to develop with certain metals and such in its composition, so the basic building blocks of life can form. And for that to happen, you need metal-rich stars, which only came into existence about five billion years ago -- seems like a long time, but it's only about a third the age of the universe. Thing is, almost as soon as the conditions for life existed on Earth, life happened on Earth." As Dahlia told her story, she became more animated, gesturing subtly at first and more grandly as time went on, clearly enjoying telling it almost as much as Page enjoyed hearing it. " So this professor, Frank Drake, he looks at all this and figures out a rough mathematical model for the number of concurrent civilizations which should exist in a given galaxy, by taking what we know about the formation of stars and planets, and the development of life, and the frequency of the right conditions and all that. Then factor in the expected lifetime of a civilization, assuming they don't blow themselves up -- or get meteored, apparently. Obviously he didn't have all the numbers precisely, but he came up with some good estimates, and according to him, the low estimate for civilizations in our galaxy ought to be around a thousand. And the high estimate?" Dahlia swept her arms out in a grand gesture. " A hundred million of 'em." " I suppose the problem is that we should have met them if that were true by now, perhaps? Maybe we were just the first to evolve to this level, maybe? I mean, as unlikely as it sounds, SOMEONE has to be the first, I think..." " And that's where the Fermi paradox comes from: 'if there are civilizations out there, why haven't we seen any?' I mean, maybe Earth was the first -- but there's tons of metal-rich stars out there, some older than ours, and here's the absolutely mindblowing part." Dahlia leaned forward slightly, resting one elbow on her knee, gesturing with pointed finger as if sharing some great secret of life. " The way population and technology were expanding on Earth, they calculated that if things had continued that way, in just ten thousand years we'd have colonies clear on the other side of the galaxy. It's just simple population metrics. And ten thousand years? The first life appeared on Earth nearly four billion years ago. Ten thousand is the blink of an eye, compared to that. If even one species evolved anywhere, in any galaxy, anywhere in the observable universe, before we did, they'd have filled up their home galaxy, and we'd definitely know about them from radio observation -- or if they appeared in the Milky Way, Earth humans never would've happened. Given a hundred thousand years, even a species from another galaxy might've colonized the Milky Way already. It's like a one in a million chance. It doesn't make any sense." Dahlia sighed deeply, and laid back down on the roof again, as she was before. " And then there's me. Space humans... none of it makes any sense." Page pondered the paradox in silence, trying to figure some way to fit Dahlia's space baby status into it. " Maybe...some other civilization took humans from the planet at the beginning to another planet, I guess...? And...then got...destroyed by something, maybe? Infighting? And...you come from that other planet, sort of...? But then evidence of either of those things would probably exist, I think?" She sighed in resignation. " This is making my brain hurt, without a doubt. I give up, definitely." Dahlia shook her head, chuckling quietly. " Yeah, I give up for now. Maybe I'll check with Guardian sometime, he's been through a lot." A long pause followed, silence broken only tentatively by a rather more subdued Dahlia than moments before. " Hey, Page... about what I did, at that party..." Then, after a moment's pause: " Sorry about that." Now it was Page's turn to sit up, resting on her elbows, and look at Dahlia with a reassuring smile. " You're still worried about that, maybe? Don't worry about it, definitely. It doesn't really bother me, not at all." Dahlia again shook her head, bringing one hand up to her forehead. " No, I mean, it's not like that, I just..." Sigh. " I'm hardly normal. Even ignoring the space baby business, I don't really have the same frame of reference as most people do. It's not about being a jerk for the fact that I pulled that without even warning you -- though that's true too. It's also that, by treating it with my weird, nearly hostile attitude about stuff like that, I kind of cheapened the entire idea. Of a kiss, I mean, given from one person to another." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. There was pretty much no part of this that wasn't completely alien territory to her. " I guess what I'm saying is, I get it, sort of. Even if it's not really a big deal. If I'm gonna kiss someone in the future, I should mean it." And there she went talking with her hands again, though only briefly, before laughing quietly and dropping them to her sides again. " Not that I really foresee that happening. I don't really like people, y'know. But I figure it's best to avoid ambiguity and awkwardness like that." She paused only a moment, suddenly changing gears to distance herself from that stumbling, near-meaningless apology. " Anyway, those constellations aren't gonna name themselves! How 'bout that one there?" She pointed up at a particular cluster of stars in the sky, and waited for Page to retake her position. " All right.. Just promise to stop worrying about it now that you've said all that, ok?" She laid back down followed with her eyes where Dahlia pointed. " I don't know, really... What do you think it looks like? I'm just seeing dots, perhaps." Dahlia chuckled. " All anyone really ever sees is dots. Obviously, modern astronomers don't actually look at Sagittarius and say 'wow, that looks exactly like a centaur archer', though our more imaginative predecessors might have." She shook her head once, gesturing as before in vague demonstrative fashion as she continued. " But even from a scientific perspective, it's useful to be able to group stars as clear, global points of reference. And, of course, it satisfies the human love of structure -- to impose, even simply through reflection, a sense of narrative upon our lives and the world around us. As mythical heroes building a new world, I guess that sort of duty falls to us now." She was silent for a long moment, then coughed quietly. " I think it looks sort of like a dragonfly." Page laughed softly at Dahlia's awkward silence and quick subject change. " Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you have something of a romantic side, surely." She followed Dahlia's gestures, but even then her look was only puzzled. " ...I still don't see it, sorry. Where is it, exactly?" " Ah, it's... up there, see..." A pause; Dahlia sighed. It was so much more difficult to explain to someone else where to find these things than it was simply stargazing on her own. She jabbed a finger skyward to try to point it out -- then stopped and mouthed a quiet 'aha!' " See your crab constellation? Now draw a line from its pincers--" She mimed crab-claws in the air with both hands to demonstrate the proper orientation. " --straight up towards the zenith -- the point directly overhead -- and about halfway there you'll come across it. It's like this, with the..." With her already-raised hands Dahlia drew imaginary lines in the air with her fingertips, outlining the rough shape of an iconic dragonfly. " ...body like that, all long and pointed, and two wings on each side, and those really bright ones there are its two eyes." " Oooooohhhh! Oh, I see it! ...How did I even MISS that...?" " Ah, it's not so bad. It's only that desire for a sense of narrative that even makes people see anything in the first place. Well, that and maybe just a touch of idealistic romanticism, but I trust your discretion on tha--" Dahlia stopped mid-sentence; she had moved to lay her hand back down on the rooftop, only to find the space already occupied by another. She froze briefly, uncertainly, hand just barely touching Page's. Page, for her part, hardly minded and barely noticed the fact that Dahlia's hand touched her own. Instead, she moved her head to again look at Dahlia, slightly worried. " Is something wrong, maybe...?" Dahlia actually seemed to genuinely ponder that question, a very slight thoughtful frown briefly lighting on those distinctive blue lips. After a moment, she shook her head. " No, nothing's wrong." Carefully, gingerly, Dahlia moved to hook her pinkie finger over Page's, and turned her head to smile to her companion -- friend -- whatever Page may be. A real, simple, honest smile. " Everything's... just perfect." Page matched her smile for smile, grinning widely as much for Dahlia's words as the smile on her lips. Completely genuine smiles were somewhat a rarity for Dahlia, and each one had, due to its scarcity, the unique texture of a reward to Page. And though holding one's pinky was something of a weird show of affection--Page almost wanted to ask her if she was trying to pinky-promise her something--Dahlia was weird. But in a good way. Page squeezed Dahlia's finger back just a little, to let her know for sure it was ok. " Good, I am glad to hear it, without a doubt..." And she meant it. Without a doubt.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:13:08 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post)) >Seer: Descend One of you (even you aren't sure which one) has just finished another one of the consort's obnoxious, fractal sidequests with dozens of pointless layers and fetch quests cumulating in another pointless boss fight against a pointless tank. You thought that after that exhausting clusterfuck, you should retire to the Petercave for some rest and relaxation. >Petercave? Hell yes the Petercave. It's exactly what it sounds like. Your personal base of operations/headquarters/barracks/management center/game room. And by personal you do of course mean you share it with no less than three other yous at any given time. But that's fine, you don't mind the companHEY. WHAT HAVE WE HERE??? ===> This moron must have followed a you back from Page's planet. You ask him how long he's been here and he says he doesn't know how to count. He says your wall hole is really nice and warm and fancy and you tell him fine, he can stay for a few more minutes but really has to go soon because this place is supposed to be secret. You don't really think letting him hang out is going to hurt anyone, though. ===> Idiot. >Peter: Examine giant chessboard. Well, it looks like a chessboard anyway. That much is intentional, but it's really only for the sake of organization. The purple pieces represent anyone on the Derse side and the gold ones are anyone fighting for Prospit, and their placement on the board shows both their importance and what they're currently doing. It's not perfect but you think it looks neat and goes with the chess motifs the carapaces have going. You wonder why this idiot warrants a bishop spot, though. He seemed like kind of a wimp when you saw him, and Lorelei's been shrugging off everything he's tried. Ah well, future you knows best. ===> Of course the king of the respective side is going to be the king on the board, but over here you've decided that the actual white queen didn't fit the position quite as well as someone else. >Peter: Examine green pieces This is your rogues gallery, sort of. All of these are neutral 'pieces', not clearly on one side of the conflict but set to be deployed onto the field when they're out and about. Sure they're dangerous, most of them, but you doubt any of them care about Derse or Skaia. Some you know are just there to cause trouble, others are more behind-the-scenes manipulators, and one elusive bastard seems to be both. >Peter: Examine ? guy. This douche. You've seen evidence of his machinations everywhere for years on the timeline, but have never been able to catch him. You don't know anything about this one, not his name, not what he looks like... you don't even know if it's a he! But you're sure they're still out there, planning their next move. You think you understand why the dersites are scared of you now, actually. Heheh. ===> Yep, this thing actually kicks ass now that you think about it. It's certainly better than Guardian's excuse for a management system. ===> " ...Okay what the fuck even is this? Is that a di-" ===> ===> God you are so bored.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:14:39 GMT -5
Well, that didn't work. In perhaps the most spectacularly useless way possible. Not that it was at all unexpected, of course; really, if Dahlia had even a modicum of self-awareness, she would likely marvel at her sick fascination with kicking her own ass. Honestly, it bordered on addiction. And we all know what they say about addiction. > oh god damn it kid just get moving already That is, of course, precisely what Dahlia had in mind. She certainly wasn't planning on sitting there and moping about her sorry lot in life like some emo kid on the internet -- after all, it's not like she was plagued by mommy issues, a total lack of appropriate human levels of empathy (possibly related to her mommy issues), girl troubles (absolutely related to her lack of empathy), and being a boring, powerless, and entirely human mortal while her friends were busy flying around shooting lasers, or throwing kung-fu icicles, or traveling through fucking time, or... whatever it was that Zach and Gita do. ...What? Since it wouldn't be at all like Dahlia to mope about this veritable cornucopia of unforgivable injustices committed upon her by the cruel vagaries of Paradox Space (and certainly not her own doing), she instead continued onward on her mission. Which, in this case, was the investigation of robot factories, the clear (okay, somewhat murky) source of absolutely all of the troubles on LOCAF. All the troubles. All of them. The history of the robot factories, in a nutshell, is thus: fuckall. That's right, in a week's worth of investigation, Dahlia had managed to uncover approximately nothing of use. Okay, that's not precisely true, but insofar as getting to the real answers is concerned, it might as well be. Three things Dahlia did know: Firstly, she knew that the simple blue iguanas of her land claimed to have come from a spaceship, some of the technology of which still lingered in the design of their cities. This was clearly nonsense, because the most impressive things she had seen thus far were some advanced and fairly anachronistic steam devices which mimicked modern technology. Admittedly some of it was pretty cool though, particularly to someone with a (well-concealed) soft spot for steampunk, no matter how silly. And while it seemed unlikely they came from space, both because the technology didn't support it and because she was pretty sure it was literally impossible for anything to enter an Incipisphere from the outside unless they were suicidal, their schizo tech did lend credence to the second point. Second, she knew that the iguanas' technology, plans, and building materials were being periodically stolen. This would form the bulk of the fetch quests that had occupied her for the past week, when she wasn't hunting for frogs. Occasionally it would simply be that a curious dinosaur had run off with something shiny (not that that did anything to change the fact that she still had to go out and retrieve it), but much of the time it was the work of the nefarious agents of her land's Denizen, Nyx. Between conversations with consorts, her sprite, and Guardian, she had gathered that in addition to the standard assortment of underlings, most Denizens had some manner of spawn which they tasked with the day-to-day evildoings and devilry, particularly since those Denizens were generally asleep for most of the game and thus unable to do anything for themselves. In the case of Nyx, called the Mother of Night, it seemed unlikely that her spawn would be anything but formless shadows, but it seemed that role was presently being filled by an assortment of variously-shaped robots. Yeah, robots. Clanky, low-tech, steampunky robots that looked like they shouldn't even be able to run, but somehow they managed. Really fast, much to her chagrin. This brings us to the last point, which was that the robots and the iguana technology ( new entry for the Stupidest Phrases To Ever Cross My Mind list right there) were quite clearly connected. Obviously, some shifting mass of tattered shadow (if the admittedly suspect descriptions given by the iguanas were to be believed) might have a bit of trouble simply birthing beings made of metal and steam and LED lights and statistical improbability. As such, it was easy enough to surmise that the iguana technology ( here we go again...) was being stolen to aid in the production of robots at a series of mechafabrication plants scattered across the planet. Over the course of the past week, Dahlia had discovered the locations of three of these mechafabrication plants -- or MPs, as she'd termed them, as she was keeping a logbook of all the relevant data, and she wasn't about to write (well, type) any more than strictly necessary given that notes often had to be taken on the run. The first plant, arbitrarily designated MP1, was located behind the radio-signaled door that she had encountered the day before Christmas, and investigated the day after Fucksgiving (because obviously nothing useful was accomplished on Fucksgiving; that's sort of the point). A single well-placed explosive knife was enough to take down the unshielded door, though what she found was scarcely more than a haphazard scattering of materials and a few barely-functioning computers. MP2 was located in a similar cave behind a similar (and similarly flimsy) radio door; it was somewhat more organized, with a higher signal-to-noise ratio in terms of clues, but still unfinished. MP3 she discovered alongside Page two days prior, and it contained a substantially greater volume of useful information, packed into yet another cave roughly the size of the prior two. Where previously she had only been able to find points of data, now she could draw an entire map with the knowledge she had. From this she managed to triangulate the location of a central hub of the network of technological banditry. Which brings us to now. -- tenebrousTheurgist [TT] began trolling spiraMirabilis [SM] --
SM: Oh for fuck's sake.
Yeah, what she said. { } TT: DON'T DO IT! SM: ...What? TT: What you're about to do. Seriously, whatever you do, dOn'T dO iT! SM: Oh, good, there's your retarded quirk again. I was getting a bit too comfortable with my sane and sensible life anyway. Thanks for lending a hand there. SM: (That was a lie, just so we're all on the same page here.) TT: Is there ~nothing~ I can do to change your mind? SM: First you creep on me in that memo, then you send me a message out of nowhere half a week later, all weepy and apologetic about how it took so long to get unblocked and it was too late now and how I fucked everything up and how you should have been there to stop it -- of course I really shouldn't have to tell you just how insane all of that sounded, but then, I suppose insane is pretty much modus operandi for you, isn't it, Miss Clownface McCrazypants? SM: No, shut up, don't answer that. I don't care what your name is, and I don't care what you think is an appropriate level of sanity for this conversation. You officially forfeited your right to an opinion on what is and isn't a good idea the moment you started making up batshit idiot stories about things that haven't and aren't going to happen.That's pretty much all there was to say on the matter. Lemina (because Dahlia did of course know her name, despite protestations to the contrary) had messaged her shortly before Page arrived three days ago, and its contents were roughly as described. It was like talking to a completely different person from the Lemina in the memo, and it might even have been refreshing if not for the fact that new Lemina was exactly as crazy as old Lemina, in completely different ways. She had gone from demented Troll Harley Quinn to weeping oracle in the space between conversations, and now it seemed she was back to some weird middle ground, which made it no more tolerable than either extreme. The law of averages quite simply does not exist. { } TT: I did ~what~? Wait... maybe I've got the wRoNg OnE. That could FiX iT aLl! I could still be in time! Which one are you? SM: Oh hell no. SM: We are not doing this again. You are going to take your jokes and your riddles and your fucking tildes and you are going to shove them in whatever excessively-literally-named troll orifice is least comfortable to shove them into, and then you're going to fuck off, and I'm going to ignore you and blow this shit up. TT: I was afraid of that. I guess it's time to take ~desperate measures~. SM: ... SM: Can we just get this over with as quickly as possible? I've got things to do. TT: ~Nothing~ would please me more. TT: Oh... hAhA... a Void pun! SM: I hate you so much right now. TT: What? This is WoNdErFuL! It means all is not lost -- if I'm making jokes now and crying in the future, then it means the future isn't ~here~ yet, and there's still time to ~change~ it! SM: Let me know when you start making sense again. Gonna go explode things now.Dahlia eyed the obvious concealed door in the cave wall, impatiently twirling the explosive kunai between her fingers as she mentally calculated the best angle to safely blow open the door based on the surroundings and her knowledge of the previous doors and their thickness. Of course, she didn't expect to be let off that easily, which is precisely why she held off for a moment -- no sense in fumbling a high explosive device if that annoying message beep came mid-throw. Any second now... TT: WAIT!
Wow, how unexpected. Let's all put on our surprised faces while we count how long it takes Dahlia to begin contemplating interspecies murder. { } TT: If you blow yourself up, that's an uNaLtErAbLe course of action! Once you cross ~that~ point, then EvErYtHiNg ChAnGeS. You can't go back to the way you were! TT: That's ~exactly~ what you're SuPpOsEd to do! And exactly the ~wrong~ thing to do. SM: I swear to all the gods I don't even believe in that if I see one more egregious tilde or capital letter come out of your keyboard, I will personally hunt you down, dimensional barriers be damned, and I will stab you until it stops being fun. TT: If I stop that, will you listen to me? SM: I'll give it a definite maybe. TT: It'll have to do. Here, then. TT: AaHaHaHA SM: I warned you about caps! I told you dog! TT: No no no! That's a captcha code! I don't make careless promises, and what few promises I do make, I keep. SM: So you're a nutcase with a sense of honor. Goddamn, you're like something out of a fucking comic book. SM: Alright, what is it, and why is it going to make me want to stop? TT: What is what? SM: The code, Space Harley. TT: Harley? SM: Earth joke. The code? TT: Oh! Well, that's a secret. You'll have to promise not to blow yourself up, so you can find out! That's my desperate measures. :o) SM: Or I could just make my way to the nearest alchemiter. TT: They don't have alchemiters out there in the inky nothing, Earth Joker. SM: Don't be so dramatic. It's just a cave. TT: That's what you think. SM: Alright, I'm leaving before this turns back into the second most retarded conversation I've ever had. SM: (The first was last time.) TT: Wait! SM: No. TT: But! SM: Out. -- spiraMirabilis [SM] blocked tenebrousTheurgist [TT] --Wow, that wasn't ridiculously annoying or anything. At all. Note to self, though, make sure to check out that code later. Cirque Du Freak really seemed to think it was something valuable.> Dahlia: Finally blow up that door and head into cave " ...whoa." > [S] Dahlia: Enough gawking, get back to adventuring. One sec. Still busy gawking. Seriously, look at that technological marvel up there. I'm pretty sure it goes all the way back. ...Okay, we're good now. Dahlia trudged across the dusty cave floor towards the nearest apparent entrance, taking note of the suspicious footprints leading to it as she left a trail of her own alongside them. The passage of heavy-treaded robot feet was also evident in the dust, but it was less recent than these. The door opened, perhaps surprisingly, without incident -- presumably, the radio door would have taken care of most intruders, so locking every other door in the facility would have been largely a formality. She suspected the whole complex could be placed on lockdown if the proper signal was given, however, which would make further infiltration difficult. Speaking of infiltration, it's kind of hard to sneak around with bright red shoes on, isn't it? Much better. She was starting to get tired of that outfit anyway -- it wasn't quite up to her usual dress code. Sort of lazy. Not that this was entirely unexpected, since it was alchemized from a drawing one of the iguanas gave her for retrieving yet another piece of miscellaneous junk ( worst quest reward ever). She wasn't quite sure why the iguana had a crayon drawing of some strange spider-pirate wannabe girl, but she took it anyway, having exactly zero desire to stick around any longer than necessary. Also she'd developed a habit of collecting interesting random bits she found lying around, after noticing that even the most seemingly-useless objects might be applied to worthwhile alchemy. Not that stuff, though. Really not quite sure what that is -- that weird, green goo on the ground. Probably industrial waste of some variety; a byproduct of mechafabrication, no doubt, and not something that might become relevant later. Also she didn't particularly want to get it on her shoes. Carrying on... Dahlia made her way carefully around the unpleasant green goo, and onward into the facility. She stepped lightly and checked around corners before proceeding, wary of any potential robot interference. Not that she had seen any robots down here thus far -- quite honestly, she was beginning to doubt if this even was a robot factory at all. Oh well, onward and upward, as they say... ...Okay, yeah, that is very definitely a robot factory. It was, however, still quite entirely deserted, all its various production mechanisms inactive. At least, this section was, but that's no reason not to exercise caution when exploring. Not that Dahlia was entirely certain what it was that she was exploring to find -- in theory, since Nyx was the ultimate enemy of her land's story according to the game, Dahlia was to oppose her in every way possible, and eventually overcome her in whatever way reasonable. Of course, the entire idea was a bit mad. What sort of crazy person attacks a huge factory? Particularly the sort that's likely to have a large boss monster in it? But there was no sense in turning around now. After all, she was already here. Oh well. Onward and upward. As they say.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
Identifies as: Male
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:18:38 GMT -5
SCION... Wake up. " Nnngh..." Lorelei stirred from the deepest sleep she had known, peaceful and absent of dreams. Such was her comfort she reached instantly for the covers to tug over her head and demand five more minutes of this whisper that spoke in her mind but none were found. Instead, her fist filled with coarse sand, hot and itching to the touch. She vaulted forward into a sitting position and threw the sand away as if it carried some disease, only to find that there was, in fact, no escape. It surrounded her, pervaded her, this desolated sand. Though on some level she she knew it, like all other sands, was Brown (and always Brown), it at the same time seemed so...colorless. There was nothing there in that flat plane save for a few twisted and gnarled trees, scorched by fire and worn by desert winds that never seemed to come. Lorelei noticed, most of all, the Silence. Nothing moved, no winds whipped as they had during Lorelei's visit to the nation of Egypt the winter before last. It was so complete Lorelei could swear she heard its lack. The SCION stood and dusted the itchy not-sand from her hair and clothes, frowning as it seemed to do its utmost to resist the inevitable. It was then she could see the horizons on the edge of the desert. For they were horizons, each the opposite of the other. To one side lay nothing but the blackest darkness falling like a shroud upon the wastes. It was to this place that instinct Heroism yearned to voyage, to see if there were lost souls. Yet, it was Curiosity and Wonder which settled the issue of direction when Lorelei's eyes fell upon the other horizon. It was a mystical sight, both straight out of a movie and far surpassing anything film or reality itself could bring to bear. It was a City Upon a Hill with beautiful gleaming spires and towers. Even from the distance Lorelei stood, it seemed at once Peaceful and Active, entirely without contradiction. Almost as if pulled by some unknown force--or exactly so--Lorelei began the long walk towards the city. It seemed that Lorelei had barely started before the long journey was over and she stood before the towering city. There were, despite her expectations, no gates or walls surrounding it. Both, Lorelei knew, because ALL were welcome and the borders--grassy and flowery and covered with buildings against the itchy desert--were always expanding in the city's favor. Lorelei knew but did not know how she knew. She continued onward, down the main path and further into the city's heart. The view only grew grander and grander as she continued on, as the city filled with all manner of wonders before her eyes. To attempt to put them into words or pictures would both be a disservice and extraordinarily impossible, so the READER must fill the void with his or her own imagination. Our SCION could only turn her head and stare--this way, that, and this again--at the city and its PEOPLE frozen in time as she made her way deeper. > Deeper The Core Without ever truly meaning to go there, she was there: the very heart of the Peaceful city. All the Good that she had seen since leaving the desert flowed from there. The SCION beheld it, and knew its words. PEACE IN ALL THINGS This Desire, this Hope, took the form of a simple necklace. The necklace. The one that Gita had given her. It was only then that Lorelei realized she had not been wearing it, nor did she still wear her usual crucifix. Hands trembling, the SCION reached out and took the words from their pedestal, returning them to their rightful place by her heart. It was complete. SCION... Wake up.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:20:53 GMT -5
Another door, another small elevator, another deserted floor of the robot factory. Honestly, you'd think someone else had cleared it out before Dahlia even got there, leaving her to-- Just a moment. Something's been bugging me here. > Dahlia: Render yourself in a more appropriate manner. That's better. It was getting a bit jarring. Now, where were we? Well, at least she seems to know where she's going. No, not really. But that's never stopped me before. Besides, it's not like it's hard to figure out. This is just like any RPG: you wander around each floor, following the most obviously-difficult path at each point, and progress to the next one. This was largely true, made moreso because this section of the factory was quite a bit taller than it was wide. It reminded her a bit of her own house-tower, really, though without the convenience of an elevator with a connection straight to the top. Lacking that, she had to fight her way through each floor on the way up. > [S] ..."Fight"? Yeah, fight. After around six floors and some twelve or so computer databases raided for seemingly-useless information, along with an ever-growing noise of heavy mechanical movement somewhere far overhead, Dahlia began encountering isolated robots patrolling the factory floors. She would sneak up on each of them, and dispatch it before it had time to sound the alarm, which would almost certainly lock down the factory, and quite likely summon a large boss robot. ...Kind of like that. Shit.
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Naevius
Mustardblood
Posts: 201
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:21:15 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post)) >Be Zach? Sure, why not? We haven't seen him in a while. It looks like he's on just a regular sidequest, though. It might not be so interes- Oh, hold on. Looks like he's pestering someone. And, uh, someone's trolling him. I mean you. ===> -- inaneFixation [ IF] started pestering jeremiadMalacophony[ JM] -- IF: hey are you busy? JM: course im busy JM: so incredibly busy with this complex and detailled task IF: aw IF: everyone's busy today. :/ IF: i think. that or they might just be claustrophobic. how do you feel about plundering ancient ruins? JM: So much more interesting than whatever I'm busy with that I'll be right over. IF: awesome! IF: ... IF: i can't tell if- JM: That was bullshit if you couldn't tell. IF: dammit IF: are you sure? i think i could really use some help but everyone else is busy IF: (well maybe not everyone. i didn't ask page or dahlia and i'm pretty sure peter just doesn't like caves because he really can't be busy?) JM: Eh, keep me posted. Maybe I can extricate myself from this aggressively feline predicament at some later point. IF: can do! -- adjutorObedientiary [ AO] began trolling inaneFixation [IF] -- AO: Hey fucknut2, what are you doiing?? IF: holy shit you guys are still alive? AO: Duh? AO: II2 there 2ome rea2on we w001dn't be? AO: Wow you really are a2 dumb a2 bold te%t dude 2aiid you were. IF: yeah no, nice try :I IF: seriously though i swear i saw felett in a dead guy bubble like a week ago, and none of you have said jack to me since i blew up marcus's computer AO: wut AO: What are you on and where can II get 2ome?? AO: ... Better not be 2opor, that 2hiit wiill fuck you up. IF: felett's apple juice IF: i looked at it again and it is in fact neither juice nor lukewarm piss IF: so what the fuck. IF: but seriously it's a long story that i don't understand any of. AO: Riight... AO: Have you made out wiith the 2tabby chiick wiith the weiird quiirk yet? AO: Or am II talkiing to the really dumb boriing you? IF: goddamnit IF: aside from the part where that basically describes like five different people i know, i don't see why people keep saying things like that. AO: Becau2e the viid ii2 really good?? AO: All kiind2 of chee2y but iif you [2ee what II diid there??] 2kiip the dumb biit2 where you can't piick a quadrant iit'2 a%001ly kiinda hot. AO: 2tabby chiick ii2, at lea2t. AO: You're 2tiill a dumb boriing 1002er. IF: yeah yeah. if you want to talk to non-loser zach he's busy right now so that idea can just go fuck right off. IF: ... IF: wait, what? AO: ?? IF: that thing about the video. IF: what was that? IF: i thought we all blacked out. AO: duh that'2 the la2t thiing II po2ted iin 'future blackmaiil bull2hiit man2e'. AO: well. la2t viid. AO: lot2 more te%ty thiing2. IF: what AO: your bulge-bump buddy told me to troll you 'cau2e you're a boriing 2tupiid 1002er who doe2n't do anythiing wiithout promptiing AO: or 2omethiing liike that IF: ... IF: okay normally i wouldn't ask, IF: but i am seriously kind of concerned here. IF: how drunk are you right now? AO: ummmmmm AO: II fiigured out the captcha code for 2opoquiila AO: that'2 the good 2hiit for you hornle22 monkiies AO: 2o pretty drunk?? AO: liike don't rememeber what day iit ii2 drunk AO: II 2h001d piing Pythiia AO: but 2he'd yell at me AO: =:C IF: i see IF: so you're saying i should probably tell her IF: at least that's what i'm getting out of this IF: (does trollian come with a 'do not operate while inebriated' warning label?) AO: only iif you want me not to tell you how to forge a horrorterror'2 dyiing criie2 iinto the weapon whiich wiil 2lay the 2layer of the dreamiing dead AO: al2o nah, that'2 my forge AO: after that wiine bottle that got away from me IF: i don't know what you're talking about but it almost sounds like i can relate :/ AO: what you get drunk and make thiing2 everyone el2e call2 mon2tro2iitiie2?? IF: without the drunk yeah pretty much. AO: c001 AO: maybe you're not such a liimp-bulged 1002er IF: maybe not! IF: i'm still telling pythia. :T AO: nooooooooooo IF: yesssss AO: bulge-biitiing ba2tard 1002u2-fucker -- inaneFixation [ IF] started pestering alethiologyAncress [ AA] -- IF: hey is lohqua normally this shitfaced? AA: The fuck- AA: Oh for Hell's sake Is she off her face agaIn? AA: I swear to God -ALL of them-, one day I'm gonna torch her stash myself and shove the bloody remaIns down her lIquor-pIckled protIen chute. AA: DrIvIng me fuckIng barmy Is what she Is. IF: ... IF: well at least you're not dead, right? IF: where's pythia? IF: also IF: barmy? AA: ShIte. AA: I mean shIt. AA: The accent happens when I'm pIssed, alrIght? IF: so always AA: NO, not always, you twat. AA: Hold on. ===> -- alethiologyAncress changed handle to overtlyRhetorical -- OR: Last tIme I borrow a phone. OR: So what the fuck gIves, you're whInIng to PythIa about somethIng I should probably deal wIth and sayIng you thought I was dead? OR: It's always somethIng wIth you humans and apparently now's no bloody exceptIon. IF: uh IF: well that's a long story but now i have to ask... IF: are you like IF: space australian or something? OR: Short answer: No. OR: Long answer: No, you acrId, wrIthIng shIt heap. OR: Now. The dead thIng. OR: That's not a thIng I am, nor Is It somethIng I plan to be for a good damn long whIle. And before you ask, my dream self Is stIll out cold and probably wIll be for-fuckIng-ever, because In no way do I plan to wake up every nIght to go prancIng around a purple spIky ball In my pajamas whIle wads of solId tentacle straIght out of your human sIster's most lurId erotIc fanfIctIon peep me up. That may do It for you and your gIrlfrIend but I sure as shIt aIn't havIng any of it. IF: uh OR: Now bugger off, I've got shIt to do. -- overtlyRhetorical [OR] blocked inaneFIxation [IF]-- IF: hoo boy IF: you might want to hold on to something. AO: what?? IF: i might have just -- overtlyRhetorical [OR] began trolling adjutorObedientiary [AO]-- OR: ShItfaced? AO: Lii'l biit. OR: That's too bad. AO: IIt'2 deliiciiou2, a%001ly. OR: Worth the headache you're about to have? AO: W001d II be driinkiing iif iit wa2n't?? OR: Probably not. OR: Turn around. AO: 2hiit. [AO] is preparing to send a message! IF: kind of misdialed. AO: PUT ME DOWN YOU 001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001% 21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002 %001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%00 1%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%210 02%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%001%21002%[etc] IF: oh my.
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SW
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:22:48 GMT -5
> run you stupid girl > RUN The stupid girl cannot run. She is trapped, in an exceedingly predictable fashion which she really should have seen coming. The door behind her had sealed in a manner similar to the one ahead -- not that she would want to go for that one, as the hallway was now entirely occupied by what could only be described as the most ridiculously fuckhuge deathmachine of a robot I have ever encountered and oh shit I'm going to die oh shit oh shit. Fortunately for what little remained of her self-respect, that observation was silent, and nobody was around to hear the distinctly undignified yelp of terror as the titanic warmachine floated towards her, its girth scraping the hallway and tearing long troughs in the walls, surface bristling with laser apertures which glowed ominously as the central eye locked on its target. The stupid girl cannot run. She can, however, explode. Oh, no, not herself. That would be phenomenally stupid, and precisely the sort of thing Lemina had attempted to warn her about in their conversation four posts ago. Not that her actual escape plan wasn't also phenomenally stupid, but hey, you take what you can get. And this one was at least reasonably unlikely to end with her getting blown up. Zach's Christmas present, the exploding kunai, weren't exactly the safest devices imaginable, but they were also her only way out. She was familiar enough with them by now to know the average length of their timers, and their expected blast radius. She knew she was fast enough, and precise enough. There was a chance this could work, and she could escape an untimely demise. All that stood between her and survival was one quick throw. Like that. Dahlia was running before the dust even began to settle. Countless pulses of searing heat tore through the space she had occupied a fraction of a second before. She could swear she felt one of them graze her. This was no time to stand around and ponder yet another narrow miss on death, of course, and Dahlia gave it only a moment's thought mid-stride as she began frantically retracing her steps through the factory. Every door she had passed on the way up was sealed, demanding yet another exploding knife in place of a keycard she didn't possess -- it was fortunate that she had taken note of their code and alchemized a prodigious supply, knowing that there were very few situations which could not be solved by proper application of high explosives. Case in point, thusly. The factory rocked as Dahlia tore through it in her mad flight to escape. She scarcely even noticed when more of the large hoverbots joined the chase, coming from corridors on each floor that she had previously known to be empty -- it only further served to solidify her plan. After all, if one of these robots seemed more than a match for her, then the veritable army soon following in her tracks would spell a quick and messy end. And if they could fly, then there was no sense in blowing out a wall and flying away on her rocket pack (you didn't think we'd forgotten about that, did you?), as they would simply give chase similarly, and the tremendous thrusters propelling them would be more than enough to keep up with her. It was only in the confines of the factory that the various corners and narrow passages gave the smaller, more agile girl an advantage over her mechanical pursuers. She couldn't fight them, and she couldn't flee. There was only one option: She would bring the entire building down, and her pursuers with it. It was an unpleasant sacrifice, but an easy enough decision to make. Though she was hardly finished with her investigation, with an estimated twenty floors remaining in this building alone, she had already collected data from several terminals, and more relevantly, was rather less interested in the remaining data than her own survival. Mysteries could be solved when she wasn't busy trying not to die. As Dahlia sped through the corridors, searing red bolts tearing through the air around her whenever the robots sighted her around a corner (she was absolutely certain they were singing the edges of her jacket now -- a pity, she was fond of that one), she began flinging her exploding knives down various hallways of the factory, and planting them on support beams she passed. If her sense of direction held true, she was aiming for supports on the south side of the building -- there were other buildings to the east and west, and a cave wall to the north, so the only reliable way to bring down the building in its entirety would be to send it crashing down onto the open cave floor where she stood when she first entered. Every hallway was a new target, a knife stabbed into every southward support in her frantic flight to flee the factory. Each one demanded mental calculations for density, gravity, friction, tensile strength... But the Professor had made sure Dahlia could do those things in her sleep. All she really had to do, was run. Run, stab, run. Dahlia burst through the front door of the factory and kept on running, angling sharply to the right as she heard the building begin to crack and creak and slowly tip... YES. FUCK YES. HELL FUCKING YES.
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SW
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:25:27 GMT -5
> [S] Bard: Reap spoils. Wow, that was a lot of rungs. We're really not quite sure how much experience Dahlia just gained there, but if we had to guess, we'd probably say it was approximately a fuckton. Not bad for a battle that consisted primarily of running the hell away at maximum speed. I guess Paradox Space appreciates practical solutions to practical problems. Dahlia herself, however, hardly even noticed. She was far too busy being glad to be alive. That. Was. Insane. Why did I even let me talk myself into that? Oh well don't care, I survived! Eat it, Paradox Space! You're not getting me today! That's really not a wise thing to say. But as usual, Dahlia didn't care; she collapsed to a seated position amidst the piles of rubble, finally finding a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. Sighing a deep, relaxed sigh, she took the opportunity to glance around the cave. Nothing moved in the other buildings (at least, no moreso than it did when she arrived). She was safe, for now. I'm gonna-- I don't know-- celebrate or something. I'm going to ping everyone I know, and tell them all how awesome that was -- how awesome I was. I'm sure Lorelei's done being busy with her Bat-Signal or whatever it was, and Gita can't still be mad at me, right? I mean, that was a week ago. I'm sure she's over it by now. We're kids, nobody holds a grudge for more than fifteen minutes anyway. Page! I'm gonna tell Page! I'm gonna-- wait, no, I'm going to go visit Page, and I'm going to tell her in person, because that was amazing. I'm going to tell Page, and she's going to be amazed, and then she-- Dahlia paused, a slight pensive frown forming on still-blue lips. And then she's going to hug me and... hm. She pondered a moment longer, then shrugged. And then she's going to hug me and I think I'm okay with that. You can't spend forever being terrified of human physical contact just because you're a standoffish bitch and mommy never hugged you. She chuckled quietly, lips curving to a wry smirk. Yes, lecturing yourself, that's a great idea, people totally won't think you're crazy for that.She paused again, and shook her head. No, y'know what? I'm going to hug Page. A nod, and a smile. Yes, that's what I'm going to do, I'm going to go, and I'm going to tell Page, and I'm going to be the one to hug her, because I'm a totally normal human person too, and I can hug people and be friendly too. Sometimes. She looked down at her upturned hands, resting on her legs. Dusty and streaked with dirt and mechanical grease. She laughed and shrugged again. I'll wash my hands, and otherwise clean up, and then go hug Page. And it'll be great and happy and I can briefly forget the fact that literally every still-living acquaintance I have is now aware of what a terrible person I am -- thanks a lot for dredging that one up, Gita. In fact, maybe I'll even apologize to Zach about that. I figure I've left him hanging long enough. ... ...Nah. Dahlia hopped up, still shaking her head and laughing quietly to herself. All things considered, this had gone far better than she ever could have anticipated. She looked back briefly to the rubble, then turned to depart the cave. The roof of the collapsed building had, perhaps predictably, landed on the tunnel entrance she had used to get there in the first place -- but as she had repeatedly demonstrated thus far, that was nothing a good explosion couldn't fix. All that stood between her and getting the heck out of here and leaving all this behind was one quick throw. ...Wait. 'Click'?
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Naevius
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:27:52 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post)) > [S]Zach: Descend Wait, now you're doing this? Okay, whatever. I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for rendering yourself in this particular manner. Anyway, you believe one of your friends wasn't currently being attacked by a wild douchebag so let's get back to talking to her. IF: either they lost something down here or it's a legendary knight guy artifact that i'm supposed to retrieve, i forget which IF: ...it was probably both. IF: i think it might actually be excalibur though? JM: Wow, most boring choice of legendary sword name possible. IF: well technically it's caledfwlch but same thing, right? JM: ...I can't believe you even knew those were the same thing JM: where'd you learn that IF: sis used to be obsessed with that aurthurian stuff. XD IF: she went out and got a few books on it and may or my not have picked up some replicas at some point IF: anyway i read some 'cause they were kind of interesting. IF: and now i get to go pull a sword from a stone so the lizards name me king of the boulder or whatever. JM: have fun, pendragon. ===> Oh look, some underlings. ha. ha ha ha. They last two minutes. JM: So. IF: ? JM: s'how was yer fucksgiving IF: best holiday ever IF: i think that's the longest i've ever worn those bedsheets IF: and the smart bacon didn't even taste that bad! IF: usually it's pretty weird but it's like the not-giving-a-shit extends to what you're eating IF: what about you? JM: pretty good, i guess. JM: Chewed out Dahlia about your hands. IF: oh IF: uh... IF: how'd she take that? JM: I got what I wanted.[/color] IF: that well, huh? IF: seriously though... IF: thanks. JM: yeah, yeah. ===> JM: So..... JM: You been sleepin' all right lately? IF: ? JM: On the moons and shit. IF: oh IF: yes and no. IF: i haven't exactly gone to sleep and woken up on derse in a while, if that's what you mean. JM: what, really? JM: Im there every time I pass out IF: yeah i keep getting these weird blackouts. just a bunch of empty space and i haven't seen anyone like the first time since that. IF: but, uh IF: well be ready on derse tonight, i'm going to break my dreamself out so i can figure out what's up with that. IF: sort of JM: ...shit, are you *still* passed out or asleep or something? IF: no i'm pretty awake right now. :P JM: dreaming-you, moron. JM: I suppose you want me to hit the hay all synched up so I can bail you out IF: i wouldn't worry about it. there's a pretty good chance i'll be there the same time you are, though. JM: makes you so sure? IF: shenanigans is what JM: shenanigans IF: yes. :| JM: righty-o, then IF: jolly good JM: good show ol' boy IF: i do say it will be quite smashing JM: why, you'll be the talk of the town IF: those hooligans will not know what hit them JM: okay if we keep this up any longer i'm going to vomit crumpets and tea IF: righto, we shall cease this tomfoolery posthaste! ===> IF: fancy underground hotsprings? IF: ... IF: this cave is nicer than my house. :/ JM: glowing rocks make you feel inadequate? IF: a creeper blew up my bathtub. IF: (and my fuse box and my tv) JM: a lot of things are nicer than an exploded house. JM: mm yes indeed IF: quite IF: oh man a vendor! ===> IF: dungeon vendors always have the best stuff. JM: sure they do. JM: what's this one got IF: lessee >Zach: Buy something IF: ... IF: .................. JM: how many different flavors of shit IF: sand, gravel, bugs. IF: the glass of water isn't for sale. JM: oooh IF: on the bright side, the sand was hilariously overpriced. JM: How much we talking here? IF: 4,000,000 for about a shovelfull. IF: you are my witness. JM: Do it faggot. IF: shit, why not IF: i'm making money for it anyway. XD JM: :I JM: Seriously there isn't anything interesting like a skull? IF: i'll ask IF: ... IF: he keeps those by his fireplace. JM: Little salamander dude has a fireplace? JM: Classy. JM: Or morbid. IF: the answer is yes.
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SW
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:28:43 GMT -5
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Naevius
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:28:57 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post)) ===> IF: but who gives a shit about that, i just won a million bucks! IF: dollars? IF: boondollars IF: (who came up with this bs?) JM: Somebody got out a thesaurus and stuck it to a wall by throwing darts, I figure. JM: While drunk. IF: hah IF: that or it's the most extensive practical joke in the history of paradox space. IF: one sec. -- inaneFixation [ IF] started pestering philosopherQueen [ PQ] -- IF: hey so i'm rich now thanks for the free money -- inaneFixation attached document cash4sand.jpg -- IF: ... IF: you there? IF: guess not. IF: any idea what lorelei's up to? she's not answering. JM: Mysterious and omnious angel things. IF: i'll check IF: aaaand IF: how the fuck do you use this thing? >Zach: Flail around with invention. Sure you built the MULTITOOL yourself, but that doesn't mean you've had a whole lot of time to work out the bugs. It can do a lot of things, you think, but apparently accepting commands isn't one of them! Instead of displaying Lorelei's viewport like you want, it just kind of flips through all of- Wait, what was that? "Huh-? No! Go back!" ===> IF: SHIT!! -- inaneFixation [ IF] ceased pestering jeremiadMalacophony [ JM] -- -- inaneFixation [ IF] ceased pestering philosopherQueen [ PQ] -- ===> Lorelei can wait, you are not letting another teammate die! >Zach: Blast off PCHOOOOOOOO
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SW
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:35:49 GMT -5
> Bard: Dream. But she doesn't. She never does. Demons aren't allowed to have dreams. Of course, that's just what she tells herself, in moments like these. Instead of dreaming, she seethes. Being left alone to her thoughts was always the worst torture. In the hazy space between sleep and awake, between dead and alive, Dahlia's mind seized on the only thing that occupied it in that moment between the bright flash and the searing pain: her failures. The things she didn't do, or couldn't. The things she did, that she hated herself for, even if she could never show it. Her past, her dirty laundry being aired for all to see. Why did you have to bring that up, Gita? And just then, just when-- Wait. He did this on purpose! The timing... there are no coincidences in Paradox Space. 'Zach's junk randomly blows up all the time' -- ha! Just keep telling yourself that, Dahlia. He had your number. You fried his hands, and thought it was a good joke. He just needed an opportunity. But how? How did he know? What did he do? In the infinite null of dreamless space, the Bard tried to conjure up an image of the Knight's face. She would choke the life out of him for this! She-- no, she couldn't do that. But oh how she wanted to. If she ever woke up, she would-- Dahlia couldn't even see his face. It was hazy, indistinct, a blur. She couldn't even form a coherent plan of what she would do. She would grab him, and there would certainly be screaming. He would see her eyes and he would know terror. Time passed, and the Bard's anger burned in the nuclear furnace of her heart. How much time? Minutes, hours, days? Time passed, and the hazy face grew clear. > Bard: Wake. She stirred with barely a sound -- a choked cry, a half-dead rasp. Pushing herself up on shaky arms, weakened by pain and unconsciousness-- Wait. Arms. Plural. She spoke again, the dry rattle of her voice stoked through repetition, through recollection of the fire that drove her to wakefulness-- " What did you do..." --and lunged. " What did you do???" " WHAT DID YOU DO??????"
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Naevius
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Post by Naevius on Jul 9, 2015 22:38:01 GMT -5
((Ripcord's post))
> Bard: Wake. Dahlia again opened eyes on the world, this time from floor-level, vision clouded from another recent blackout, rising gingerly to a sitting position. ...No, only half-clouded. One eye was slowly adjusting to light and sight again, but the other was perfectly clear -- perhaps more than it had ever been. The back of her head hurt. "...th'fuck'ja do that for...?" she slurred, her usual eloquence dulled for the moment by the haze of unconsciousness, a dry mouth, and a sore jaw. "Force of habit." The gruff voice belonged not to Zach, but his sprite. "You kinda' flipped out there." Dahlia twisted in place, directing a baleful glare at the floating jackass. "I'll 'force of habit' you." She pushed off the ground to stand, and immediately stumbled sideways, crashing into the metal table nearby. Sluggish reflexes were still enough to catch her, and she grabbed onto the edge of the table -- and, without even realizing, crushed and crumpled the spot she had grabbed, a harsh metallic creak startling her to stop. "My hand..." She released the table, still leaning back against it, and lifted her left hand to stare down at it, upturned. Her voice was less fury, now, and more awe -- and, perhaps, fear. "My arm... what did you do? What happened?" Another voice (actually Zach this time) spoke up from another part of the room. He seemed to be rinsing something in a bowl of water."Something blew up... well, a lot of you, and..." He had a feeling that he knew what that 'something' was, and already felt like kicking himself. "Well, I saw it and fixed you. Or tried, anyway. Lots of your bones are, uh... gone. Or at least made of metal now. You should be able to do everything you could before, though." Dahlia wouldn't have to listen carefully to hear the concern in his voice, misaimed as it may or may not be. "Your arm, your eye, some ribs, most of your spine, part of your skull..." "My--" Arm, eye, ribs, spine, skull. Dahlia checked everything as he said it, eyes wide with abject shock. It all felt normal enough beneath her skin, though a firm tap with metal fingers showed it was clearly reinforced -- and then there was the matter of her arm and her eye, the latter of which she hadn't even seen yet. To rectify that she turned around, looking down at an unclear reflection of herself in the table's metal surface. In the scattered reflection from the table, her new red eye glared back like some hateful otherworldly sun. "...I think I'm gonna be sick." On cue, a glowing, green bowl was beamed onto the table next to her. Zach shot his sprite an admonishing glare, and got a shrug back. Dahlia stared down at the bowl, shaking her head slowly. She groaned the next question, almost afraid of the answer. "How long was I out?" "A few hours... I'm sorry about all this, really, but it was kind of short-notice. You were dying, I had to do something..." "I was dying?" Dahlia glared back over her shoulder, snarling misplaced rage as she turned to face Zach. "What you mean is, you almost killed--" And then she stopped, sneer melting to a look of slack-jawed astonishment as she remembered something that she herself had said to Gita, over a week before. [indent][indent]SM: Zach? Fuck if I know, really. I have dedicated at least two years of my life to trolling him within an inch of his miserable cortex, and then he shows up at my place earlier today like it was nothing -- like he doesn't even remember, being all friendly and personable. It's like he's trying to be a decent fucking human being or something, and it is outright baffling. Anyone who does that is either being completely disingenuous, or completely honest, and honestly I don't think he's devious enough for the former. Sad truth there? Means he's probably a good guy -- a good person. A lot more in common with Lorelei than with me.[/indent][/indent]
"...It really was an accident..." Her voice was barely a whisper. This was a fundamental change in perspective -- from an act of vengeance driven by her own wrongs two years prior, to a simple mistake and the genuine attempt to fix it afterward, or at least repair the damage done. There was no calculated malice here. He didn't 'have her number'. Zach's junk really does just randomly blow up sometimes. There are coincidences in Paradox Space. "Oh god. It really was an accident. You really are sorry. And all along I thought you did it on purpose, to get back at me, and..." Dahlia slid down, until she was sitting with her back to the metal table leg, head in her hands. "...I really am gonna be sick." > skip to the end Several minutes, one bowl, a couple towels, and a glass of water later... "...and it's already synced all the data from my other computers?" Dahlia blinked several times; computer overlays flashed past her vision, inside her red, robotic eye. "I don't say this often, but... I gotta admit, I am impressed." She paused, a pensive frown briefly arching her lips. "Hey, you got any of those to spare?" She tapped Zach's sunglasses to indicate. "I don't want anyone to-- er, well, anyway, do you have any?" Zach frowned. If it had been anything else, he would have been able to give her a copy, but these shades were probably the only thing he owned that he hadn't already duplicated via alchemy. They were a gift from Lorelei; the sunglasses Keanu Reeves had worn for most of the Matrix movies (hell yes), and copying them would just cheapen the feel. "Er- actually, no. I have some other pairs but they're kind of... You know what, here." Zach decided Dahlia would just have to see the other pairs to know just how utterly terrible they were. He withdrew both the DUMB POINTY ANIME SHADES and the long-forgotten GLaSSES from his wallet. The marginally useful OMNISHADES were, unfortunately, long gone. "I... uh... eugh." Dahlia grimaced. "I'll figure something else out. I'm sure there's some crap sitting around the house I can use as an alchemy base. And besides," she stuck her left arm out, and tugged at what little remained of the sleeve, "I need to make a new outfit or two anyway." A long pause followed, in which Dahlia paced a few steps away, vaguely doorward. "Hey, uh, thanks, for all this." She mumbled the rest. "...and I'm sorry." On any other day he might've been glad to hear it. Now, though? "Yeah... Me, too." Completely awkward exchange, or touching display of honesty? You decide. Dahlia, of course, just kept on walking. She was never any good at honest anyway.
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SW
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:42:41 GMT -5
> Some time later... The Bard returns to her abode. My god, that is just a preposterous number of frogs. (And yes, that is a literal Sierpinski carpet. Never let it be said that the Ashers do not have their own snark-derived sense of humor.) > Dahlia: Retrieve arms. Because that joke's never gonna stop being funny or anything. Ha ha, look at her, she lost an arm and an eye and also her self-respect. Like some kinda goddamn mismatched weirdo harlequin doll. Here's a better idea: how about I stab you until you cut that shit out? That's what I thought. > Dahlia: Alchemy montage (for real this time). That actually happens. And then Dahlia tries things on to decide what she likes best, because why limit ourselves? Under normal circumstances, Dahlia would be more than happy to play fashion designer for herself, and get to prance around trying out outfits. But these were hardly normal circumstances; she had to figure out how to keep her arm and eye hidden, because there was no way she was going to let someone else pity her if they happened to viewport her and see those things. Every outfit that didn't do that was consigned to the depths of her sylladex, unlikely to ever again see the light of day. She was still trying on outfits, which would normally have been fun, but-- Oh who are we kidding she's fucking ecstatic.
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SW
Mustardblood
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Post by SW on Jul 9, 2015 22:43:12 GMT -5
Of course, an outfit, even with gloves, was only half the equation. She still needed to cover up her proverbial red right hand -- which, in this case, was rather more of a red left eye, and substantially less proverbial than it was literal. Digressions aside, that meant a pair of suitably dark sunglasses. While Dahlia was not normally the sort for sunglasses, much preferring to view the sky with uncovered eyes (or, in various cases, a telescope), one must on occasion defer sentiment to practicality, and this was definitely one of those occasions. Fortunately, the Professor's vast glut of useless crap that filled the house contained at least one not-entirely-terrible pair of shades to use as a base, and so Dahlia set about alchemizing until she found something that suited her. > Dahlia: Do that. No... no... maybe... maybe... no... no... ew hell no. Let's go back to those nice oval ones. Yeah. I kinda dig the red ones though. Gotta keep those in mind for a special occasion maybe. Heart-Shaped Glasses, heheheh... No sooner had Dahlia settled on a suitable pair of shades, her eye began messaging her. > Dahlia: Answer eye. Okay, so it was a bit less "her eye" and a bit more "Page Caldwell". When one has a supercomputer for an eyeball, one can be forgiven a bit of confusion on the matter. This, of course, would provide a fine opportunity to see if her ruse worked. She would answer casually, remark on her latest outfit creations, and invite the girl to viewport her if she hadn't already. She would then be able to gauge if she had adequately covered up, and if she hadn't... well, she'd figure that out if it happened, which it obviously wouldn't. This was clearly an excellent plan. -- unsettledBookworm [UB] began pestering spiraMirabilis [SM] -- { } UB: Um, hey, Dahlia. UB: Are you busy...perhaps? SM: Doesn't get much less busy than I am right now. UB: Oh, ok... Well, um, what are you up to, I guess? SM: A bit of alchemy. It's surprising how often one finds oneself overburdened by the spoils of victory, when one is as awesome as I am. UB: Oh, well, I don't doubt that in the slightest, not at all... UB: So, um... UB: I'm sorry for just changing the subject like this, I guess, but... UB: Well UB: Zach told me about your arm...I suppose... UB: And all that. UB: Are you ok, maybe? Do you want to talk about it, perhaps? UB: I mean, it's all right if you don't, of course, I just...thought I'd...well, I didn't know what to... UB: Yeah. UB: Sort of. So much for that ruse, eh? Dahlia groaned, rubbing her temples. (With the hand that wouldn't accidentally crush her face if she was careless with it, of course.) { } SM: ... SM: Well, shit. SM: This is not how I wanted you finding out about this. Actually ideally you'd have never found out about it at all. UB: Well...I don't see how you could hide this forever, really... UB: Sorry, though... SM: Good sunglasses, long sleeves, and gloves, mostly. I never said it was a good idea. In fact I'm reasonably certain I have repeatedly laid claim to the title of Worst Ideas In The Incipisphere, and if I haven't done it out loud prior to this point I would like to publicly affirm my candidacy. SM: Dahlia Asher for President of the United States of Moron, 2011. SM: Asher: A Name You Can't Trust. SM: I probably shouldn't trust it either. I mean seriously what sort of idiot wanders alone into a huge robot factory complex and starts flinging around exploding knives and expects for such a brillaint plan not to blow up in her face? SM: Bonus points for the double entendre there, me. SM: But enough about me! I hope you're doing well -- all arms, eyeballs, and various pieces of key internal organs intact and otherwise unharmed? UB: Well, I just got done helping AR take out some criminal gang that was behind a murder being passed off as a death caused by the horrorterror's influence, I guess. UB: But...well, are you doing all right? I mean, if you want to talk about it, how are you feeling, perhaps? UB: If you don't just say so, though. I don't want to bother you, not at all... SM: I'm... well, fuck, I might as well be honest, since fate's seen fit to circumvent all my carefully planned evasiveness and secret-keeping on this whole thing. SM: I'm not great. I've got a red eye that's a computer, an arm that crushed a metal table because I didn't know my own strength, and I think my blood might be part oil now. SM: Don't quote me on that last one. Sure feels like it though. Or it feels like I just got exploded by the equivalent of who-the-fuck-knows-how-many kilograms of TNT, which I suppose is true in the purely objective sense. I don't even know how he managed to get something that small to explode like that. But what I'm getting at is it feels like-- SM: Actually, do me a favor here real quick. UB: What do you need? SM: Imagine two people making love on top of a unicorn. Flying through the sky with rainbows and the aurora borealis behind them. Yes, at the same time, let's ignore physical impossibility for a moment here. SM: You got that? UB: ...R-r-right... SM: Now imagine the precise fucking polar opposite of that. SM: That second one is my life. UB: Oh... UB: Well... UB: I'm sorry, really. UB: I wish I could make it all better or say something really great, but I can't, not at all... SM: It's alright. I'm not much for mushy feel-good nonsense anyway. SM: Which would probably go a long way towards explaining why I'm such a misanthropic demon of cutting sarcasm and shallow witticisms, but this is hardly the time or place to wax self-flagellantly poetic. That ship has long since sailed, kid. { } SM: Honestly, your concern is the best thing you could offer on that note, right now. I mean, Zach was concerned too -- apologetic, even, understandably -- but... SM: Fuck, I'm the reason he wears those stupid gloves all the time. I misled him and his crap blew up, and it fried his hands. It was a stupid juvenile prank... and I thought it was hilarious at the time. SM: I told you all I ever do is hurt people. You didn't listen, for reasons which are entirely beyond my knowing, but I told you. SM: *sigh* SM: I fucking deserve this. UB: No you don't, without a doubt! UB: I mean, you don't just hurt people, definitely. You saved my life, remember? UB: And you're sorry about what you did, right? I mean, you may have been wrongly amused by it back then, but you've changed, even if you don't think so, surely. UB: No one deserves this, Dahlia, especially not you, definitely! UB: Please don't just beat yourself up over it, ok...? SM: If I beat myself up now, I'd probably end up accidentally knocking myself out. SM: C'mon, that's a good one right there. UB: Heh...kinda... UB: Just don't knock yourself out, then, ok? SM: I shall endeavor to keep all of my self-inflicted ass-kickings to the strictly verbal. Probably not even that, since that'd just be talking to myself, and that would make people think I'm crazy. SM: Oh wait everyone already does. Crisis averted! UB: Hehe, no more insane than we all are, maybe. UB: I hope you do feel better about things, though, definitely... Sorry if I've bothered you. SM: Maybe eventually. Right now I'm still... well, I'd say I'm adjusting to it, but I've been adjusting to things ever since I got here and I'm still not all the way there yet. So it's more like adding more crazy on top of the crazy that pretty much defines things around here. Will it sort itself out, given enough time? Probably. Or maybe I'll snap and decide to kill you all. Y'know, boring red-eyed psycho robot cliche. SM: Except I'm not a robot. Well, only partly. SM: Man, from alien science baby to robot in the space of a week. I'm like some sort of horrible melange of bad teen-identity-crisis cliches. Check out that mean rebellious chick listening to the, I don't know, shitty gothy music or something! Oh but look she's secretly a sensitive, inquisitive girl who's just trying to figure out who she is, after being stepped on one too many times! Cue important life lessons, and possibly Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap for the inevitable tragedy. And then change the channel because Lifetime fucking sucks. UB: Uh, was Lifetime a show or something, perhaps? SM: Page. SM: Stop what you're doing, strap on your rocket shoes, get to a gate, and get to my house right now. I don't care that Earth's networks are no longer broadcasting. I will alchemize preposterous numbers of DVDs, or, hell, a television that can reach back in time and catch those broadcasts before they vanished. SM: And I will teach you TV. And you will be enlightened. SM: ...Or you'll kill a few brain cells. Probably the latter. Actually never mind that's a terrible idea. UB: Hehehe, no that does sound kind of fun, I think! If you want to bother, I'll go over there, perhaps? SM: That was a joke. Don't take me so seriously all the time, that only ever ends in disaster. SM: ...Alright, it wasn't entirely a joke. I can't say it doesn't sound like fun, and I guess I did mean it. I'm getting a little better at that lately -- meaning it, that is. SM: But I don't think I've earned a break just yet, and certainly not the kind of break that'd be required to properly do what I want to do. I've got some stuff to take care of, my to-do list before I can really sit down and pat myself on the back and call myself accomplished. Once I've got that out of the way, though, I'm all yours -- me, and whatever magical television set I can manage to alchemize between now and then. So, rain check? UB: What kind of things, perhaps? If you don't mind me asking, I guess. SM: Combat testing, and dealing with mechanical bandits, mostly. It's just land quest stuff, but it's unfinished business and I probably left my consorts in a bit of a lurch when I blew myself up like an idiot. SM: ...Man, when did I get all responsible? SM: Don't answer that. I've got an image to maintain, y'know. UB: Hehe, all right, I won't. I probably need to go and see if my consorts need anything myself, perhaps. SM: There's certainly no dearth of things for us Heroes to do, it seems. Check in with me when you're done with that, then? SM: Or just sometime later. I'm sure I'll be begging to talk to another human after the thousandth "thip" I hear. UB: Sure, I will, certainly. You don't have to wait for me to contact you if you want to talk, though, not at all. SM: I'll keep that in mind. I know I haven't been very good at... SM: Well, anyway, I'll be in touch. See you later, Page. UB: Bye, Dahlia! -- spiraMirabilis [SM] ceased pestering unsettledBookworm [UB] --Whew, dodged that particular bullet. I mean, I wasn't actually serious there, right?
...Fuck, maybe I was.
I need to be not thinking about this for a while. Like, starting right now.And so Dahlia set off to the LOCAF mainland, and proceeded to not think about Page for a while. Probably.
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