Chapter 9.4 (Complete)
Gromweld
Learning By Mistake
Chapter 9.4
Autochthon Wants YOU! - Emergency Draft Edition:
[X] Yes, offer someone Exaltation and put them into the Cradle if they accept.
Autochthon Wants YOU! - Part 3:
[X] Aisha Laborn (Who)
- [x] Stunt: Across from the Alchemicals, Aisha leaned forward, almost vibrating with anticipation. "So what you're saying, yeah, is that you want me for James Bond? Or Electra?" Saki covers her mouth as Taylor winces. "Maybe less explosions? More like Veronica Mars…" "Sold! I'll be the best secret agent who ever agented! One question though," she points "I get Saki's disguise power, right?"
With a Box of Scraps!:
[X] Soulgem Injector
- [x] Stunt: You gave Bonesaw a soul, Glenn states flatly from the other side of the screen. Well, more like forged one, though it was really a group effort Taylor replies, gesturing to Iris and Riley. Riley's grin is as bright as the shiny diamond lodged in her forehead. But why- Glenn pinches his brow, exasperated. Whatever, I can work with this.
Playing House:
[X] Respect My Authority: SOMEONE has to be the adult around here. Taylor is a constant presence in the workshop, but more as a stern mom/adult to make sure both Iris and Riley behave.
- [x] Stunt: "...and you'll find the relevant citations here. My thanks to you and your assistants, Doctor," you say as the thumb drive is absorbed by the currently Administrator-ed therapy dog. You drum your fingers on your desk in quiet contemplation. Working on redeeming herself, earning her victim's forgiveness, is difficult enough. Harder still will be learning to forgive herself.
Self-Medicating:
[X] Saki does not try to fix her own mental problems with charms.
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: Reconstruction: Whistles blew across the construction site to stop work as the Wyld-crafted chimera shambled into view, it's armored hide painted in PRT colors and escorted by a PRT trooper squad. It gingerly moved it's multiton bulk around the site to the clearly marked piles of wreckage, and extended a tentacle to the first junked car. And then activated TIE.
[X] FPoP - Free Action: Armsmaster sits tiredly on his cot at the refugee camp. No longer bursting with people, it feels like a ghost town on top of a collection of people without hope or homes. Prayer stands, face unreadable. "Young Administrator speaks well of your efforts both here and in the recent conflict. Personal glory is no sin, but neither is it virtue."
[X] WoRI - Free Action: "Now, hear me out - sure my safe place is currently a vast expanse of emptiness, but while you're stretching the space outside we can spend the whole time inside Lord Grasp watching movies. He's pretty accommodating, he won't have any problems having both of us inside him at the same time."
XP Expenditures:
NO VOTES
***
Those two words obviously aren't what Taylor was expecting, though you find out later that her shocked expression was instead due to how abruptly the lightshow from your meditation ended - one moment you're filling the sky with a slowly-spinning yin against a deep-blue brilliance, and the next moment it flickers and blinks away like someone tripped over a power cord.
The sudden shut-off of your display also draws the attention of the few remaining observers, though most of the scientists have retreated back to the labs to sort through the collected data. As a result, your utterance is clearly heard by Dr. Rose, Lord Grasp, and Prayer. The latter two you wouldn't have a problem with, but Dr. Rose…
Your first instinct is to lie, brush it off as shock, but… there are still cameras recording, aren't there? And the scientists got upset every time Taylor tried to hide stuff from them; if they figure out you were lying later, wouldn't that make things worse? Besides, the PRT are here to help, aren't they? Sure, you don't agree with everything you've heard or seen, but they're regular people trying to keep order when supervillains outnumber heroes!
Taylor explained in her presentation that the goal is to rescue everyone trapped in the Great Maker's body - and the Maker too, though that's probably going to be even harder than relocating a few nations - so the PRT needs to know what's going on. Still, that doesn't mean you need to talk about it in the open air…
Now that you know about your Emotive… Body Language charm, it's almost easier to relax and just let your posture and regular fidgeting actually communicate for you. Automatically, you know that blinking and twitching your gaze towards the nearest doors while shrinking your shoulders inward will communicate exactly what you want to say:
Can we please talk about this in private? It's important.
Then, when you notice the two most junior scientists still gawking at you while Taylor and Dr. Rose start talking about packing everything up, you look down at yourself and somehow manage to shout at everyone just by covering yourself awkwardly and blushing up a storm.
Lord Grasp! Dress! Now!
Just because it's not lewd doesn't mean it's not super awkward! Ugh!
You're going to have to be careful with Clarity - next thing you know, you'll be bending over and stretching in front of your friends!
***
Lord Grasp manages to wrap you up in several layers of white-fading-to-blue cloth that eventually resembles a dress that an empress would have worn, though he spends most of the time flip-flopping between complaints of "charms aren't supposed to work like that" and chittering slyly about the "ingenuity of such a subtle charm..."
"... many charms that accomplish similar feats possessed by other Chosen, of course, but nothing possessing such broad utility! And it costs you nothing to activate! Why, your enemies can't stop you from assailing them with social charms even when they bind and gag you! Ah, that reminds me of the night when Sweet River was called to battle while in the bedroom with Perfect Storm Above... "
… and also somehow managing to find a way to tie everything back to sexy stories. Not that you stop him, of course, though it's very difficult keeping a straight face during the talk about shapeshifters and animal forms. Apparently actual werewolves were even more naughty than fantasy ones? You are definitely going to have to write some of these stories down.
You can't help but smile, either way, and you're pretty sure that's why he's doing it. Either that or… well, he does get a glint in his eyes when Taylor chokes mid-way through her final conversation with Dr. Rose. Prayer… just keeps her helmet on and remains very, very still.
Neither of them tell him to stop, though. You're not sure if they realize that he's just going to take this as a sign to do it all the time, now, but that's fine by you. If only Sakura...
Thankfully, your Grasp-distracted, Prayer-guided trip through hallways, elevators, and more hallways ends with an abrupt turn into a large, dark conference room just as your mind starts to turn to those darker thoughts.
The door quietly slides shut behind your group as you blink quickly to adjust your eyes, revealing a rectangular room about the size of a classroom mostly filled with a blank, grey table and dark-maroon chairs. Miss Militia is here already, along with… an overweight white guy in the most hideous blue-green tropical shirt you've ever seen.
Oh, is that Glenn Chambers? You remember seeing him with Taylor the last time you were in New York, but… ugh, died-pink hair with bleached tips? How did Lord Grasp stand working with him, let alone refrain from killing him on sight?
Both combat-ready and offensively-dressed individuals turn their gazes to you, away from looking at the teleconference screens on the far wall. There's Dragon, Director Uriel, Chevalier, Taylor-
You blink and look behind you, only to see that you've lost the small hologram-drone somewhere along the way. Huh.
"Ah, Mr. Chambers!"
Lord Grasp effortlessly hops the eight feet from your shoulder to the tabletop, landing with a light clicking of his gold-tipped feet against the metallic surface. Surprisingly, the PRT PR Director only raises a bleached eyebrow behind his (moderately stylish?) shades before leaning back in his seat.
"Crushing Grasp… and...," he muses, mouth twisting into a frustrated line as he tilts his glasses down just enough for his green eyes to meet your own. "Ms. Saki Kurosawa. The photos really don't do you justice."
"Ano…" you blink again, not quite sure how to take the statement in combination with Miss Militia's subsequent eye-roll. "I'm… sorry?"
"It means Weaver needs to figure out why and then make us some new cameras that can capture you correctly," he snorts, then tosses a gaze and a nod to Lord Grasp on the table before him. "In the meantime, your... scorpion and I are almost done planning out your schedule for the next few weeks."
"M-my schedule?"
He smirks. "We just missed LA, but I've already released your pictures to a few friends that are presenting in Madrid. Here's your first tip: fashion designers don't have kids, so ignore any offers of firstborn children when they want exclusivity contracts."
"Warden, is he eschewing praise for our burgeoning collaborative works?" Lord Grasp chitters, swaying on his legs excitedly as he looks between the two of you. "This mortal's insight into the peasantry's collective psyche has already allowed me to completely reassess your etiquette needs, and his reference material for your confidence training regimen should speed your learning time up dramatically!"
Aaaand there goes all your energy again.
"Glenn."
The cold, controlled, feminine voice causes the fashion disaster to roll his eyes before tipping his shades back over them with a sigh. "Yes, Director?"
Blue eyes as cold as her voice look out from the top-center display, the black-haired woman there easily recognizable to anyone who's watched the news in the last two decades. She doesn't respond to the dread-inducing eyesore's question, instead sweeping her gaze to the door behind you.
It swishes open, revealing Legend as he floats in from the hallway. His frowns slightly and pauses as he realizes everyone was already looking at him, then turns his head towards the wall of faces and nods in realization before holding up a hand in greeting.
"I didn't miss anything, did I?"
"No, Legend," Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown intones, looking back at you - her business-suit clad form leaning slightly forward on her desk.
"Ms. Kurosawa was just about to start."
***
Words alone are unable to do your vision justice - especially not English, which has so many dumb rules you still have problems with it. Thankfully, you don't have to rely on just words.
"FOR YOU ARE EXALTED."
It loses something, nonetheless, in the re-telling. Your Radiant Iconography Array is capable of bringing forth the vision that was burned into your mind less than an hour ago, to the point that your own body fades away into the vision until each person (and screen) in your audience is alone with the Great Maker in the void. Manipulating the charm to mimic the chorus of mechanized sounds that make up Autochthon's voice is difficult, but you manage to match what your own mind could comprehend.
As painful as it is to re-live, you reveal how your sister's soul was torn away from you and cast down into the machine-planet's surface.
But the Great Maker's words - spoken in their original Old Realm - don't quite have the consciousness-shattering power that you felt within the vision. You suspect it's not a matter of the charm being uncalibrated or your own skills being insufficient; in the vision, you had somehow known that there was more to the voice than you could ever comprehend, and your mind is only capable of remembering mere echoes.
You find yourself shuddering more than once during the re-telling, but you manage to get through it all without the vision - or your own composure - falling apart.
You let the all-consuming darkness that those final words were spoken into linger for about five seconds, then release the charm and let the room fade back into existence...
Miss Militia's eyes are wide and unfocused, while Glenn and Legend's own eyes are hidden behind glasses and a half-face visor. Lord Grasp, somehow, has also been stunned into speechlessness.
The screens on the far wall, however, reveal that the vision wasn't quite so overpowering across the PRT's teleconference network - well, aside for Chevalier, who just continues to look like a silver-gold full-plate helmet. Dragon is blinking rapidly in a way that you suspect means she's thinking hard, while Taylor's face has turned off again… while her 'top' eyes swivel erratically.
Chief Director Costa-Brown is giving you a calculating look as she peers at you from behind her steepled fingers, but the other PRT Director in attendance isn't so composed.
"Christ," Director Uriel sighs, rubbing his face with his left hand while wincing. "I need a drink."
All at once, his utterance seems to break the spell of shock hanging over the audience. Miss Militia and Legend snap out of it in silence, blinking and turning away as if to consider what they just saw in their own heads again. Glenn slowly removes his glasses, but focuses entirely upon them with a considering look on his face while he cleans the lenses on his shirt. Prayer and Chevalier remain silent monoliths of armor, while Taylor opens her mouth to speak-
"That-that was Great Maker's world-body jotun!" Lord Grasp wails, waving his pincers in the air while his tail flutters around morosely. He skitters across the table, up to where you are standing at the head. "Not since the Three Spheres Cataclysm have I seen him in such ruin, such pain, such grief! How has he allowed his illness to overtake him so?!"
"Weaver, did this translator have any errors?"
Director Costa-Brown's voice cuts over Lord Grasp's fretting, and you absently pat him on the back while you turn your eyes to look at the exchange going on between screens. The Chief Director's eyes are flicking down past the screen occasionally as Lord Grasp mutters to himself, while Taylor herself seems to be looking between two different screens as well.
"Ah… no... Director, I-" she says, frowning and narrowing her eyes at... well, at her screen, probably - you think she's not actually looking at you, right now. Her pause hangs as her eyes widen just a fraction, before all her 'top' eyes swivel to look at the camera and her face briefly starts to contort into naked confusion.
Then the moment passes - barely longer than a few heartbeats - as Taylor shakes her head and clears her throat while turning her attention to something off-screen again. "Sorry. No, there were no errors, Director, but I'd recommend using the more 'desperate' contextual meanings in those final statements."
What... was that? It looked like Taylor realized something, maybe even multiple things, but then... quickly had to hide it? Why would she be hiding something?
Dragon's avatar fluctuates slightly to show her frown slightly, but a quick glance at the other screens and everyone else doesn't reveal that anyone else noticed that abrupt shift on Taylor's part. Director Costa-Brown's attention is still mostly somewhere below the camera, but she grunts as Taylor finishes.
"I thought so. Dragon, you're free to bring up translations for everyone else. Update the official translator after the meeting."
"Of course, Director," the avatar nods, just as you see the tabletop in front of everyone sitting down peel away to reveal an inset screen with writing rolling across it. Then, to your shock, she switches to Old Realm. "Excuse me… Crushing Grasp?"
You can almost hear the tiny little gears in your mechanical companion's head screech to a stop at the close/familiar address, and his gem-like eyes flash with mixtures of confusion and surprise.
"Who would address a Lord Destroyer with such ungranted familiarity?!" he huffs, spinning around to face the screen - his distress at Autochthon's dire state all but forgotten. "And just what is with this realm and their nonsensical accents?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Prayer nod her head sagely for some reason.
"Ah-...," Dragon blinks, mouth curling up into a bemused smile. "I'm sorry. Lord Crushing Grasp… would you like a translator for English to Old Realm?"
"You have an artifact that will spare me the headache of making sense of these beastial grunts?" he sighs, waving a pincer at the humans in the meeting. At Dragon's nod, a section at the head of the table peels away to reveal another inset screen - probably designed for the presenter to read from, but it works for Lord Grasp as well.
He recoils slightly and leans down on his legs while poking at the transparent screen as it lights up with the… huh. Old Realm looks like that Aztec language you read about in school, now that you think about it.
"Astounding! Your breach of etiquette is forgiven, Miss!"
"Ms. Kurosawa," Director Costa-Brown grunts. "Is your… companion going to keep interrupting us?"
"N-no, m'am!" you gulp, smiling too hard while sliding up to the table and slapping a hand over the screen before Lord Grasp can read the translation. "Just a moment!"
Then you quickly lean down and whimper at your compatriot with a face full of shame and panic
"Lord Grasp! Please!" you plead in a whisper. Begging Eyes, activate! "These are some of the most powerful people in the world and they only have a few minutes for this meeting! I know you have lots of experience with wars, but can you just… I don't know, tap me if you have something important to say?"
The gilded scorpion glints his gemstone eyes at you dangerously, and you can almost hear his mandibles clicking open and shut as if he is barely restraining himself from taking you to task… but eventually he puffs out a puff of steam from his mouth and spins around to face away from you again as you pull your hand away from the translator.
"Very well, Warden," he mutters "but we will have words later."
Since Lord Grasp didn't even try speaking quietly enough, Director Uriel sighs audibly again. "Tatsu, just teleport your pet out of here."
Nope, hand back on the screen.
You're just going to ignore Lord Grasp's frustrated tapping on the hand while also using your Body Language charm to yell at Dragon - wide eyes and a shaking head communicating without words:
Don't translate that!
"Ah, Director Uriel…" you cough after Dragon nods in alarmed consent. You turn slightly and bow your head in apology at the screen with your bored-looking superior, "Lord Grasp can… block me from doing that if he wants. He is also very picky about how people address him."
Director Costa-Brown flicks her eyes to the side. "Stop being suicidal, Martin."
"Oh, this group has just brought me nothing but joy," he grunts, monotone, while resting his cheek on his right fist. "I'm especially looking forward to the next Youth Guard shit-storm when Weaver hauls off Vista or Who for pod-robot replacement."
You cast another hurried glance to Dragon and make a helpless, panicked shrug.
Just make something up!
You see Dragon nod again and Lord Grasp doesn't explode in righteous fury when the translation starts rolling across the screen, so you decide to leave Director Uriel's fate in Dragon's hands.
"Director… just...," Taylor sighs, closing her eyes momentarily in exasperation while pinching the bridge of her nose, "… I'm not considering Vista right now. Not until she's fully recovered."
"No more Wards, Weaver," Costa-Brown glowers, lowering her fingers enough to reveal her tight frown. "No more children."
Taylor matches the stare with all her eyes.
"Chief Director, respectfully, that decision should rest with a Ward's guardians."
"Ano," you interject with a politely-raised hand, cutting in before either side digs in even deeper, "Chief Director?"
The head of the PRT's strong jawline flexes in a way that you think means she was about to tell you or Taylor off, but after a brief moment she nods slightly. "Go ahead."
"Well...," you begin, scrunching up your nose a bit as you finalize your train of thought. "I know a lot has happened since I… got captured…" you shudder, but a quick breath lets you rally. "Taylor said that she had to be able to trust that a person would be… loyal. That they'd trust her, like Autochthon is trusting her."
Which… well, it had seemed like a weird idea when Taylor had said it during her presentation, but now you have a deep, overwhelming sense of awe at that fact. Even together, you and Sakura would probably have just spent the first month in your Safe Place if you'd been who the Great Maker picked first.
Prayer nods in her chair, arms crossed. Her crystalline voice is even as she openly considers what you're getting at.
"Do we have time for such tests of character?"
Eyes turn to you, but you shrug uncertainly.
Everyone turns back to Taylor.
She holds up a finger to stall, looking to the side while worrying at her bottom lip absently. After a few moments, she nods and turns back with a thoughtful frown.
"First: Iris says this is a matter of him falling back asleep completely, not him dying in the next few months. If that happens, no more Alchemicals and no more Cradle since we don't have a way to open it from this side. Asleep, he might succumb to his sickness anywhere between the next few centuries to a few more millennia-"
The PRT's Chief Director hums. "So we have time, then."
Taylor turns all her eyes back to the camera, the glowing veins at the edges of her face pulsing with her slowing heart rate.
"After which, he won't just die. Iris says he'll become a... 'Neverborn', which is like a super-powered, unkillable, undead version of him. Our only way to tell when that happens will be when he comes tearing through a new Cradle to devour our entire multiverse."
In the horrified silence that follows, Director Uriel rolls his eyes, reaches off-camera, then pulls out a bottle and shot glass. As he unscrews the cap he considers the glass.
"Nothing but joy," he sighs, before simply taking a pull from the bottle.
***
There is, of course, an inappropriate amount of shock and panic displayed by the veteran heroes and government agents at these bombshells. By which you mean: practically zero.
You are not a veteran hero, however, so you promptly start freaking out.
"Ehhh?! W-What?!"
The mixture of tired, resigned, and concerned gazes turn to you at the outburst, but you are a bit too distraught by the potential end of the world to care at the moment. Swatting away Lord Grasp's tapping on your hand, you look to Taylor's hard expression. "W-we have to do something!"
The dark-graphite face nods, but as Taylor opens her mouth to respond, another hardened voice cuts her off.
"Setting aside any concerns of the validity of these facts," Chief-Director Costa-Brown growls skeptically, clasping her hands together below her chin, "the timing of this information is awfully convenient. Why are we only learning about this now?"
Taylor winces slightly, then looks off-camera for a moment before her mouth twists into a chagrined frown.
"I'm just finding this out, too, Chief-Director. Iris… says... that the initial timeline that he was given expected us to have decades to establish ourselves here, so he didn't want to influence my decision-making."
"I see," the cold blue eyes shift, settling on you for a long moment before switching back. "What caused this change?"
Again, Taylor has a quick, silent exchange off-camera before she speaks up again. "I-... we don't think it was Saki and Sakura, Chief-Director. It's more likely something unexpected going on in Autochthon's world-body than anything happening on our side - a major breakdown or failure of something critical."
"Could it be fixed?" Legend wonders aloud, leaning back in his chair while crossing his arms in thought. "Your presentation mentioned that the other humans and Alchemicals... in Autochthon are always working to sort out problems there; is it possible that they could undo whatever happened in time?"
"Well…" Taylor grimaces, before snorting in dark humor. "Exalted were built to do the impossible, so… maybe? There are thousands of Alchemicals there, after all, but they were all probably working on other important problems before this happened. Iris does say that Alchemicals have the best track record for actually solving problems when it comes to Exalted, but with their limited resources they'll be unlikely to give us the full timeline back."
"What?!" Lord Grasp explodes, slamming both claws into the table hard enough to shatter the tabletop and translator screen. "Now see here! I have kept silent in the face of these monstrous displays and revelations for Warden's sake, but I will not stand by and tolerate such... slanderous heresy against the Exalted Host!"
With a chorus of shifting gears and whistling steam, he begins to grow, unfolding impossibly to perch on the table and level a glowing stinger towards Taylor's screen. Everyone in the room has already tossed their chairs back to ready themselves for a fight, but Lord Grasp ignores them all to bellow ominously at your Assembly leader's image.
"Enduring Order Administrator! I will have the name of your disgraceful source, the traitor that would spit upon the sacrifices of all those uncountable millions, those brave, shining souls sacrificed in the fight to free Creation from the infernal grip of the Primordials! Then I shall see to it that this Yozi sympathizer's lying tongue is properly clipped!"
You twist and pull, but despite your best efforts the mechanical scorpion shrugs off your attempts to whisk him away to your Safe Space. "Lord Grasp! Stop, please-!"
Only, you aren't the only one pleading desperately.
"Iris! Iris no-! No, stop! Wait! He doesn't know! He doesn't-" Taylor screams, hands scrambling to the side as her expression contorts into naked terror as she whips her head to the right to shout in panic. "Run, Riley! Go!"
You stop, your stomach dropping even further. Riley-!?
All conscious thought is expelled from your head as Taylor's screen blurs, then fills with pure, light-drinking black.
The conference room freezes, the molecules of the world around you held in stasis. Your active Industrial Survival Frame screams in the back of your mind at the force it is repelling.
The world vibrates as one, sounding out a single word that transcends language.
INDIGNATION
Sparks fly across Lord Grasp's larger form, which shudders and creaks atop the table as whatever defensive capabilities he has are strained to their limits. Still, he manages a grinding, wheezing gasp.
"W-wha-... who-?"
IRIS OF INNOVATION
SECOND FETICH OF PRIMORDIAL AUTOCHTHON
SECOND FETICH OF PRIMORDIAL AUTOCHTHON
"Sec-?!" he chokes, hissing. "Im...poss…"
EXALTED HOST FAILED
NEVERBORN VICTORIOUS
NEVERBORN VICTORIOUS
The massive scorpion jerks as if struck. "F-failed?! NO! H...OW?! Th-there… were… w-wards!"
FALLEN PRIMORDIAL DEATH-CURSES
EXALTED HOST COPING MECHANISMS CORRUPTED
EXALTED EXCESSES ESCALATED BEYOND RATIONAL LIMIT
VIOLATED NEVERBORN TOMBS SEEKING POWER
EXALTED HOST COPING MECHANISMS CORRUPTED
EXALTED EXCESSES ESCALATED BEYOND RATIONAL LIMIT
VIOLATED NEVERBORN TOMBS SEEKING POWER
Lord Grasp is silent for a long moment, the world still save for his sparking frame. Slowly, his trembling grows, until it his entire chassis is rattling with furious denial.
"N-NO! LIES!" he howls, struggling to work his claws and tail. "WE... WON! The-...THE UNCONQUERED SUN WOULD-!"
INCARNAE ADDICTED TO GAMES OF DIVINITY
IGNORED SYSTEMIC CORRUPTION
IGNORED CREATION
YU-SHAN FELL WHILE INCARNAE PLAYED
"B-but...Autochthon... MADE the Games of Divinity! He-... could have-!"
EARLY SOLAR GOVERNMENT BETRAYED JADEBORN
GREAT MAKER IDENTIFIED ESCALATING CORRUPTION
ESCAPED TO ELSEWHERE
NEVER RETURNED
GREAT MAKER IDENTIFIED ESCALATING CORRUPTION
ESCAPED TO ELSEWHERE
NEVER RETURNED
The sparks begin to die out, and the rattling dies down.
"How…" his voice is weaker, now. Tired. "How-?"
THIS UNIT REMAINED
SILENT
THE WATCHING EYE OF THE GREAT MAKER
EXPERIMENTED UPON BY MADDENED SOLARS
HOARDED BY MADDENED SIDEREALS
ABUSED BY MADDENED LUNARS
WASTED BY MADDENED DRAGONBORN
The final sparks go out. The fight is gone.
WITNESSED RETURN OF YOZI
OBSERVED NEVERBORN AGENTS INITIATE CASCADING EXISTENCE FAILURE
RESCUED BY ALCHEMICAL INTERVENTION
SEVERED AUTOCHTHON ELSEWHERE TIES TO CREATION
"T-then…"
CALCULATED RESULTS:
CREATION, MALFEAS, UNDERWORLD, SHINMA, WYLD FALLEN TO OBLIVION
GREAT MAKER POTENTIAL MORTALITY PREVENTING OBLIVION CESSATION
GREAT MAKER WORLD-BODY SOLE REMAINING EXISTENCE BEYOND BRIDGE TO NOWHERE
The silence in the room is stark and total, and you can see in your peripheral vision that even both Directors appear to be frozen as well. Somehow, though, everyone still look conscious despite having no ability to breathe.
The presence you feel through the room shifts, no longer as directed as it once was.
CALCULATION COMPLETE
NEW CRITICAL PATH FOR AUTOCHTHON SURVIVAL DETERMINED:
COMPLETE ASSEMBLY
INITIATE CAUSALITY ESSENCE CONVERSION
AWAKEN GREAT MAKER
ESTABLISH CONTAINED WYLD GENERATOR
TRANSPORT GREAT MAKER TO NOWHERE UNIVERSE
The world shifts again, motion slowly returning to match time's continued march. Just as you start to be able to take in air to form a breath, however, reality shakes around you one last time.
DEMESNE CREATION INITIALIZING
CURRENT ESSENCE RESPIRATION: LIMITED
TIME REQUIRED: 1001 HOURS
ENTERING COLLECTION MODE
IN EVENT OF EMERGENCY: PLACE UNIT IN MANTLE OF THE DREAD GEAR
IRIS OF INNOVATION
POWERING DOWN
CURRENT ESSENCE RESPIRATION: LIMITED
TIME REQUIRED: 1001 HOURS
ENTERING COLLECTION MODE
IN EVENT OF EMERGENCY: PLACE UNIT IN MANTLE OF THE DREAD GEAR
IRIS OF INNOVATION
POWERING DOWN
You stagger, gasp, and fall to the ground, gripping your head to try to hold back the massive headache forming behind your eyes. Around the room, the sounds of gasping, coughing, and arguing are already starting up.
And under it all, you can hear Lord Grasp's feet slide out from under him as he slowly, quietly begins to weep.
***
You're tempted to follow Lord Grasp when he requests passage to your Safe Space, but enough of you realizes that you still need to show Assembly solidarity and remain until the end of the meeting. As a result, you spend the next half-hour in a thoughtless haze; the awful realities you've been forced to face over the last day finally taking its toll, even despite the burst of energy you received from the two-hour-long meditation session.
The good news, at least, is that the terrifying spirit Taylor has been working with didn't freeze all of North America to get at everyone participating in the meeting. As far as anyone can tell (after a few off-camera checks are made), the terrifying display wasn't even felt outside of the rooms everyone was in - though Dragon seemed especially unsettled that the spirit had frozen her as well. Probably something to do with her rumored health issues that prevent her from being seen outside? Or maybe it messed up all the multi-tasking she was doing?
At least it helps keep things quiet, unlike how things apparently fell apart last week. You didn't feel like adding even more awful revelations to your day by pressing for a complete answer there, but you're starting to understand why there isn't a public story for that yet.
As for the the bad news... well, everyone is certain that the Endbringers are going to try to interrupt whatever the spirit is doing. Leviathan is the most likely, but their displayed tendency to break all the established rules when Alchemicals are involved means there is also a very real possibility of multiple Endbringers attacking in sequence - or even at the same time.
Even in your haze, you feel the chill that settles over the meeting when Taylor voices that concern.
This incites some arguments from the Directors about the spirit's decision to start rewriting reality when the PRT tests have only barely started analyzing the 'prototype' examples of the conversion process he'd demonstrated as a proof-of-concept. You lose track of the conversation completely when Taylor launches into science babble in order to rationalize changes to the fundamental laws of the universe, but the back-and-forth eventually winds up with Taylor agreeing to get the spirit out of Philadelphia and to the Cradle. Tonight, even.
It's not as if there's anything left there to get caught up in whatever happens if the Endbringers do show up, and Philadelphia would not survive another S-Class event in its current state.
After that decision, the rest of the meeting begins to blur together - to the point where you only realize it's over when Miss Militia presents you with a cup of water…
… and you're in a completely different room, sitting on a couch.
"W-what?" you ask, blinking while turning your head to take in the generic white-and-blue PRT break room. For a split-second you almost think you're back in Philly North-East, but then you notice that there are three doors instead of two.
Miss Militia's eyes narrow in an upward curve, the skin around her eyes softening as she smiles behind her scarf. "Would you like something to eat?"
Your right hand clasps around the offered white-plastic cup, but freezes when your stomach gurgles loud enough to echo through the room.
Somehow, you can still muster up the energy to be embarrassed and annoyed. From her position standing next to the far armrest, Prayer's unarmored face twitches into a smile.
"Yes, please," you sigh, murmuring the request into the cup as you drink from it. New York water isn't as good as the generic PRT bottled brand, but it's better than Philly's weird metallic tap-water taste.
Miss Militia brings up the silver PRT-issue smartphone in her other hand, tapping it a few times in a way that makes you think she has been in the middle of a conversation or order before she asked. How long had you been out of it? "Is pizza alright?"
You shift your eyes away. "Pepperoni… with bacon. And steak. Ham."
There's a pause in her typing, then she frowns. "Is a… 'Meat Lover's' alright?"
You nod, still sipping, being careful not to let the growing smile show. Lewd pizza is best pizza. Is there a way you can get Miss Militia to pick up the pizza herself? And record it, of course.
"That's good, then," she sighs at the phone, narrowing her eyes. "Because-"
Water goes all over your face and dress as one of the doors is kicked open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as a white-suited male form with clocks adorning the costume comes sliding in with a whooping laugh.
"Who wanted twenty inches of meat in their face!?" Clockblocker crows, making Miss Militia grumble loudly beside you.
"Psh, you're not even half that," Who laughs, the baseball-themed Ward jeering through her opaque faceplate as she follows in behind Clockblocker with a slap to his armored rear.
Just as he starts to squawk indignantly at both insults to his person, the rest of the Philadelphia Wards start to push through the door behind the first two. Embarrassed-looking Gallant and Kid Win first, followed by a laughing Broadcast and squealing Geode. Xylophone and Mjolnir silently fill in behind the rest, the silent bruiser carrying a large pink box in one hand as he politely closes the door behind him-
- and then bumps into the rest of the collected Wards, who have gone silent and still wherever they were when they first laid eyes on you.
Oh, right. You're still in your Alchemical form.
Closing your eyes, it only takes a few mental twists and pulls before you feel the shifts in your skin, musculature, and bone structure sweep through your body in the span of a few breaths. Breaths which you once again need to take, after the process is complete... though, on the bright side, that pizza smells fantastic.
Opening your eyes again, you try to offer a weak smile as you stand up and give a tentative wave. "Ah-ano… hi, every-"
"Eeeeeee!" Geode squeals again, loud enough this time to drown out the sounds of everyone else's shocked swears and exclamations. She shoves everyone out of the way to bounce over to you, shaking her raised fists in joy before wrapping you up in a hug. "Sakiiiiiii! You look sooo gooood!"
Unfortunately, your decision to revert to your smaller, original height means she can still smother your face with her chest. Or at least try to - she appears to have forgotten that her purple-and-blue costume is armored, so your face is instead crushed into the slightly-curved chestplate.
"And your dress! Ohmygosh!" she exclaims, quickly releasing you to hold your shoulders at arms' length, giving her a chance to look you up and down. "It looks amazing on you! Where did you get it?! Is it silk? It feels so soft!"
"A-ah… t-thank you-"
The rest of the Wards, however, are finally starting to recover their senses.
"Uhhh… okay, wait," Clockblocker calls out, shaking his head and holding the large pizza box unsteadily. "What was that?"
"Saki?" Gallant - well, Dean now that he's removing his silver helmet - coughs awkwardly, giving you a confused half-smile. "Was that your… I mean, you look… like yourself?"
"My goodness, Saki," Broadcast laughs, the flamboyant Philly-native Ward following in Geode's footsteps to stroll over and give you an enthusiastic hug. Thankfully, he remembers that his own shaped chestpiece is a solid plate and doesn't crush you against it. "You don't need to hide behind your disguise! You've got a new lease on life! Let it all hang out, girl!"
"A-ahh… that's okay-"
And so it continues, each Ward eventually working their way over to either give you a hug or a squeeze. Even Penny gives you a wary pat on the shoulder, though the deep circles under her eyes make her look as haggard as you feel. You try to smile and thank everyone for the well-wishes, but just as you're starting to remember how hungry you still are…
"W-where's Missy? A-and Bobby?" you wonder aloud, looking around for the two absent Philly Wards.
The smiles in the room grow brittle, and you can see everyone look away awkwardly.
"Bobby's family is taking a vacation to a few national parks," Ernest sighs, the first to look you in the eyes again. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder while rallying another white-toothed smile. "He called yesterday from Yosemite, wanting to check to make sure you… made it back, and that he's looking forward to seeing you in Philly after all this is over."
"Oh," you blink, fidgeting with your dress uncomfortably. Right, he mentioned that family liked to go camping before he got his powers. But... "... he doesn't... blame us?"
Through the looks of shock and disbelief, Dean is quick to step up to your side and put a hand on your arm as well. "Hey. No, Saki," he says firmly, a serious expression framing his blue eyes. "What happened wasn't your fault. Bobby doesn't think that. Missy doesn't think that. We don't think that."
"R-right, sorry. I know," you shake your head. Stupid. "It was Bones-"
...
"What did you bring home today, poppet? New friends?"
"Oh, Mr. Jack! You should have seen their faces! Hee! Oh, wait, I can make them have those faces now, just wait-"
"Now, now, Riley. What did I say about our schedule before you left?"
"Oooookay, okay. Fiddlesticks. Let me just-"
...
You blink.
Dean and Ernest are lightly shaking you, but you ignore them - eyes scanning the room to find the person who's most likely to give you a straight answer. Spotting them, you take a step towards them, easily breaking through the crowd to pin them with a stare.
"What happened to Bonesaw?" you grit out, half-pleading and half-demanding as Aisha quickly realizes that yes, you can still see her as she tries to back away from the group.
"Uh… Bonesaw. Right," she blanches, dark complexion as she holds her hands up warily. "Well, uh… Prayer and Taylor… ripped her head off?"
You freeze. That… ok, that wasn't what you were expecting. It's… good? Yes, good. But… that doesn't explain why Aisha still looks like she's scared of you asking more questions.
Wait… this is Bonesaw.
"That didn't kill her, did it?"
The half-smile she had at the previous statement falls, along with your stomach.
"Shit," she winces, running a hand through her thick, purple-accented hair while looking back at everyone else. "Fuck, Saki. We… look, I don't know what you've heard, but Taylor kept Bonesaw alive to make her fix all the messed-up shit she'd done and to find out what kind of fucked-up bombs and plagues the Nine had left everywhere."
Your fists are clenched, bunching up your dress as you feel your shoulders scrunching inwards. Looking away, the rest of Wards look similarly torn, while Miss Militia and Prayer share a series of quick looks.
"That was more than a week ago," you say quietly, more to yourself than at anyone specifically. "Is she still alive?"
Silence.
A large, steady hand rests on your shoulder - large enough for the fingers to also support your neck and back. You don't look up from the black tile floor when Prayer speaks, since you don't want to hear what she's going to say.
"She is not forgiven," echoes the quiet, deep voice into the silent room. "Her acts are not forgotten."
"So what?" you mutter, confused, frustrated and just so, so tired. "Send her to the Birdcage."
Silence again, for a moment, before the echoing voice returns.
"Then Jack Slash will have won."
Blinking, you straighten up in confusion - noticing that you aren't the only one that doesn't understand.
"What?"
Prayer's glittering, aquamarine skin accents her flat expression as she stares down at you with hard, amber eyes. "She is eleven. Six years ago, her family murdered, he made himself her world."
You try to recoil… you don't… you don't want to hear this you don't care!
Her hand remains firm, her voice a hammer to your fear and confusion and hate.
"He trained her. Warped her. The greatest biological tinker, his greatest weapon. For his heresy, we would deny him this victory."
"So..." you reluctantly keep her gaze, even though you know where this is headed. "Taylor's trying to... save... her?"
A slight nod, but with a regretful frown. "We no longer can afford waste, but she must prove worth the risk. After, she must save herself."
...
"I…" you tear your eyes away, trying to look for someone to back you up on this, but everyone around you is too uncomfortable to hold your gaze. All except for Miss Militia, but the pitying look she's giving you makes you feel even worse.
"I'm not hungry anymore," you mumble, before shoving yourself back to your Safe Space-
-only to go flying in an awkward tumble through the portal. You hit the black hexagon tiles hard, rolling and flailing, until you finally come to a stop.
Curled up in a ball, you quickly cry yourself to sleep.
***
***
As consciousness returns, the vague, unsettling nightmares slip from your mind to leave only feelings of loss, betrayal, and shame. Familiar feelings, but not as overpowering as you are so normally used to.
No, the most prominent emotions running through your blank mind are ones of bewilderment and awe.
Only after watching the hypnotizing, slowly-shifting mural of some fantastic battleground filling the ceiling above do you understand what it means: Lord Grasp must have picked you up at some point and deposited you within one of his bedrooms. Knowing him, probably the master bedroom - not that you're complaining, since this room is the size of your old house and filled with enough dressers, art pieces, and furniture to fill it.
Yes, you think you're going to just… stay here in these silk sheets and cloud-like pillows for a while. Oooh, stretching out feels like you're in some kind of soothing, silken waterfall…
You're almost sad that you don't feel even the slightest bit tired anymore, since it won't give you the chance drift off in this platform of luxury. You'll just have to settle for writhing around in the sheets like a blissful cat.
"Good morning, Warden," Lord Grasp's contented voice echoes out from the walls, while the mural above you shifts to display his pagoda form descending into the battlefield on beams of starlight. "I take it you approve of my unrivaled furnishings?"
"Mmmmnnn," you groan, closing your eyes again with a dopey smile as you bury your face in the small mountain of pillows. "Never let me sleep in a different bed."
"You are... not the first to mandate such," he chuckles, though his tone grows sad, wistful. "Regardless, I shall endeavor to see your will made manifest."
So caught up in your decadence, it takes you a few moments for realization to dawn upon you - memories of yesterday bubbling up, bringing with them the torrent of painful, soul-wrenching revelations.
But you weren't the only one hurt yesterday, were you?
Languidly, you wiggle through the relaxing pile of sheets and pillows until you're just able to peek out of it to peer at the mural above. The battle still wages on in a sort of slow-motion, stylized rendition of some cataclysmic conflict. Massive demonic beasts, glowing heroes of gold and silver, armies wrapped in torrents of fire, water, earth, and air…
Floating above it all on a cloud of white, the glamorous pagoda is no longer a participant; it watches the battle play out, as if it, too, were a spectator of the play.
"Are… are you okay, Lord Grasp?"
"Ah!" he startles, the pagoda-version of him in the mural flailing its large pincers in embarrassment. "Warden, you scandalize me with such an inquiry! What could possibly harm such a resilient fortification such as myself? I am ever-ready to serve, do not fear!"
He laughs, though it's still missing something compared to his energy from before.
The two of you lapse into silence again, watching the mural play itself out. The battle lines ebb and flow against the bizarre hordes that seem to shift and change themselves into different beasts and demons - as if the display is not just of a single battle, but a representation of a larger war and its smaller battles.
It is entrancing, and, for a while, distracting enough.
He probably misses them as much as you miss your sister. But… even that isn't fair to him; the compass on your forehead is a sign she still exists, that there is a hope of reunion. Maybe Autochthon even built her a body over there? Maybe...
But if that spirit is right, then Lord Grasp woke up after a night of partying to find out that everything he'd known, everything he'd fought hundreds - maybe thousands - of years for… was gone forever. That the heroes and gods he'd looked up to and defended had gone insane, eventually taking reality itself with them in their maddened fall.
And here he is, trying to cheer you up. You don't deserve...
"I'm sorry, Lord Grasp," you sob, covering your face with your hands. "I'm so sorry."
"Ah," he acknowledges sadly, fumbling for words. "I… yes. Well. It… "
There is silence again, for a while. Eventually, as your tears begin to run out, he sighs again.
"Thank you, Warden."
Confused, you rub your eyes and blink a few times to look up at his representation.
"Eh?"
"While I am a… magnificent spirit, in many respects, I... " he trails off, and you see the pagoda's large pincers tap together absently before he shudders. "No, that will not work. You see…"
With a wave of one of the mural-pagoda's claws, the fantastic war swirls into a chaotic whorl of colored inks before resolving into a grand view unlike anything you've ever seen before.
"Your world works without spirits and gods - despite how preposterous that sounds to me - so you may be forgiven your ignorance. In Creation, Reality itself is… was maintained by the Five Bureaus of the Celestial Hierarchy; every object possessed a god, every concept overseen by a spirit."
It is a city, but as if someone had set out to fashion the ultimate expression of the word. Where at first it seems clustered, golden pathways and silver rivers wind through to reveal easy passage for travellers. Towers as opulent as Lord Grasp dot the horizon (sometimes, like him, not even attached to the ground), though their impossible aesthetics range through every color of the rainbow while being crafted from materials likely never seen on Earth. It is as if the dreams of a science-fiction metropolis were instead realized through a vaguely-Asian fantasy world.
It is glorious in a way that steals your breath, but in the same moment you suspect that Lord Grasp must be showing something from memory… you realize it must no longer exist.
"This worked because… spirits… are our function. It is the lens through which we see the world, the drive that bids us rise from lethargy, the meaning behind every action we take, and the wellspring of our contentment. While some may have dreams of more, it is always rooted in the growth of their domain."
You blink, more than a little shocked at how much this sounds like the fragments of shintoism you absorbed through your parents' ambivalence towards religion. You almost feel bad for not having learned more about it - and a little surprised that Taylor didn't mention this in her presentation?
Lord Grasp's two-dimensional avatar looks down over the wondrous city, silently watching it bustle with all kinds of non-human shapes.
"As for my function… I enjoyed the parties, the soirees, the orgies, the galas. Mingling with gods and exalts as we spun tales of heroism and gossiped over what would become of Creation once the festivities ended… but in the end, that was not my reason for being."
Eventually, after a few more moments of silence, he waves a claw again and the cityscape dissolves...
… and then resolves into four figures, each dressed for war in their own ways. The two males favor weaponry, with the first armored efficiently and carrying an ornate, golden, seven-sectioned staff while the other wears practically nothing and hefts an egregiously-oversized hammer of burnished starmetal. The two women share a similar theme; the first is armored like what you'd expect from a fantasy battle-monk, while the second is basically wearing a ballgown and wielding paper fans.
Looking at them in order, you can see now the progression towards better and grander armies and armaments you witnessed in Lord Grasp's animated mural.
Also, you're pretty sure that guy with the hammer is winking at you while eyeing his hammer with a grin and arched eyebrows. By the Law of Lewdness you are forced to nod in approval, and you're pretty sure that must be "Kazin" that Lord Grasp mentioned before. The others also appear to be appraising you with varying degrees of concern or curiosity, in a way that makes you wonder if Lord Grasp's displays have somehow come to life on their own.
"When I say that I live to serve, it is not an embellishment or a lie," he intones, the animated representation shifting into what can almost be considered a bow. "I am Crushing Grasp, the spirit of a long-lost, long-forgotten Mark III Siege Pagoda, and it is only through dedication to my purpose and the bond between master and familiar that gives me the strength to remain."
The four figures glance at Lord Grasp's representation, growing wistful or chagrined. For his part, the animated pagoda doesn't seem to notice.
"While I have been overly-forward with you regarding my perception of your… capacity for improvement… in the end, you are my reason for being. Should you wish to alter the tone or familiarity of our relationship, you have but say the word."
Being stared down by four legendary heroes (well, Kazin was basically undressing you with his eyes) and bowed down to by an animated representation of the very building you're in… well, it's is more than a little awkward. Worse, you can't even sit up in bed - you pretty much have to lie horizontal in the bed in order to stare up at the ceiling.
"It's… that's alright, Lord Grasp," you sigh, clutching one of the pillows in embarrassment. "I know you're just trying to help. And I'm sorry I haven't thought about how bad all this must be for you, I've just… I'm so used to having Sakura around to… I've never had to do anything on my own."
The figures peer at you with mixed emotions, while Lord Grasp slowly bobs his tower in a sad nod.
"Ah. I'd… feared that was the explanation for your timidity, even more so after observing your vision. She was… your voice, I take it?"
"Mmm," you mumble in assent, looking away as the loss sweeps over you again.
"I see."
Silence again, as you both are lost in memories.
"I… don't know what to do, Lord Grasp."
He grunts, but you aren't really looking at him, curled-up as you are in the sheets.
"I want to ask Sakura, but she's gone. I want to ask Taylor, but she's… busy with her."
"Her?"
"Bonesaw," you grit out, fists crushing the pillow in your grasp. "Taylor kept her alive so she could… use her? Fix her? Even after everything she did..."
Beyond a concerned hum, Lord Grasp is silent - long enough that you find it difficult to keep hold of the anger.
"Perhaps…"
When he doesn't continue, you turn your head to look up at his animated representation. It is still in the same place, but it is tapping the tips of its claws together again. Noticing your gaze, it swivels slightly to face its gemstone eyes towards you.
"Warden, you have lived much of your life following another. While dedication and loyalty are noble traits, and necessary for the smooth functioning of an Exalted unit, perhaps… a degree of independence will help you find your feet in this strange new world we're in."
You blink, recoiling slightly with your eyes wide.
"W-what?! You mean run away-?!"
"Please, Warden," he huffs, throwing up his claws in exasperation. "I never run away. Tactical retreats are another matter, of course…"
All the figures nod in very serious agreement at that.
"...but no, that is not what I meant. For example, though I am ashamed to admit that someone who fashions themselves so deliberately offensive would be in charge of 'Image,' that mortal was clearly operating under the belief that you would follow any schedule or obey any command he or his superiors made. Likewise, the manner in which you and the rest of your Circle were addressed in that meeting demonstrated a complete lack of understanding that you are Exalted. Chosen of the Great Maker himself!"
As some of Lord Grasp's enthusiasm and flare are creeping back into his mannerisms and tone, the figures give you looks of open bewilderment or blank incomprehension.
"You should be wielding your sheer presence and beauty in ways you see fit, not sequestering it behind walls and disguises at their command! Do not fear their scorn or their judgment - your very being is that of a weapon that forges the future from impossibility, and your will is the Divine Mandate of Heaven!"
As his gesticulating and ranting trails off, the figures to the side nod to each other and give silent claps of approval. Except… after holding his final open-armed pose for a few moments, he begins to wilt.
"At least… that is what we thought. If… if it is all true…"
At last, he seems to finally notice his small audience. Each are giving him concerned, confused, or worried glances, but he doesn't respond for several long moments. Finally, he lifts a single claw...
… and with a slow, solemn wave, the figures disperse.
"Perhaps we should not repeat our mistakes."
You remain silent, watching as the animated pagoda remains motionless, staring at the space that remains empty after the figures' dispersal. Eventually, however, confusion wins out over reluctance to interrupt Lord Grasp's thoughts.
"So… what should I do?"
The doors on the pagoda flutter, the entire structure shuddering as he heaves a sigh.
"That is up to you, Warden," he admits, spreading his arms wide. "Not Enduring Order Administrator, not First Prayer of Perfection, and most certainly not the mortal government. The Great Maker has blessed you with the social presence to sway any heart, and the unheard-of power to whisk yourself to anywhere you wish."
A globe appears - or rather, a static image of Earth from space, which means Lord Grasp probably hasn't seen a full three-dimensional image yet.
"Surely you have desires of your own, do you not? Apart from your mission, apart from your Circle, apart from… even apart from your sister?"
The cloud-covered blue marble dissipates, and Lord Grasp's animated avatar points a large claw down from the ceiling.
"What is it that you want to do?"
…
You… haven't really ever considered… what you would want to do... by yourself. There are ships and pairings and snacks and boys that you've maybe wanted alongside Sakura, and the last few days have been nothing but trying to figure out what you want to do with Taylor and Prayer…
No, not like that.
Maybe like that?
Bleh. Everything's weird now, but you're pretty sure you still only like guys. And guys on guys. With some more guys in there, just for good measure. Sakura was more for girl-on-girl…-on-girl… but that was more to cover all the Lewd Bases.
… you may have been focusing on Kazin a bit too much during all that.
Shaking your head and slapping both hands to your face, you scrunch up and try to think seriously. What…
Well, 'want' is weird. Too vague. What would… make you happy? Or… well, less sad. Maybe something easy, like… no, Fugly Bob's is gone. Oh, right, you didn't eat last night… because…
...
You sit up, slowly, dropping your hands to stare at the intricate ways your burnished-grey skin contrasts with the backlit-blue computer patterns that highlight most of your charms.
Twist. Pull. Push.
The pitch-black fingernails on your left hand curl out, sharpening to wicked, jagged claws.
Clenching your right hand, the black stiletto-spike slides out between your middle- and ring-finger knuckles to extend a full foot.
Looking up, you narrow your eyes at your companion's avatar.
"I want answers."
***
It doesn't take too long to find a dress from Sweet River's wardrobe that doesn't have you swimming in the top, even if Lord Grasp insisted that you would do better to reshape yourself to fit her… ample size.
For some reason, he doesn't understand the concept of 'back pains'. There's no way she could have not had to deal with that… right? And how did she do magical kung-fu in a dress with those things?!
Something to experiment with later, maybe. When no-one's looking. Because you have taste.
Unfortunately, your options for an exit point are still limited: either the top of PRT Tower, or the Cradle. Since you don't feel like attracting the attention of the PRT until you get to Philadelphia, that means you're taking the long way back home.
Thankfully, exiting your portal effect into the early-morning sea breeze is much smoother when you're riding inside Lord Grasp's curtain-covered litter, and appearing a few hundred feet up means you don't have to worry about getting ash and dust all on your pristine white-and-blue gown.
You're not getting spoiled. You're not.
"Do you feel her?" you ask, figuring that there was an easy way for the two of you to tell if Taylor was still hanging around the Cradle with her spirit.
"Mmm… no, Warden," he muses, smoothing out his fidgeting - yet another reminder that he's suffering for your sake. He swivels towards the center of the lake-filled crater. "Though I think I spy… Lord Iris."
The name is said with an undercurrent of nervousness, though it's more than understandable.
"R-right. Let's get out-"
Only a few feet in front of the two of you, a rectangular hole in reality neatly slides open to reveal a single figure and a blank, white hallway.
"Ms. Kurosawa," the Mediterranean woman in a trimmed business suit greets you evenly, looking up from the open portfolio she is carrying in her left hand.
"This way, please," she calmly offers, gesturing with her free right hand down the white corridor behind her while snapping the portfolio closed. "We have been waiting."
***
END OF CHAPTER - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Loyal, Learned, Loquacious, Lewd) [Servitude] [3/3]
WoRI - Intimacy REDUCED: Enduring Order Administrator (Savior Of The Broken) [Servitude] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Enduring Order Administrator (Blinded By The Big Picture) [Emotion|Frustration] [1/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Director Martin Uriel (I Wish He Wasn't Such An Ass) [Illusion] [4/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Iris of Innovation (Keep His Terrifying Power Focused Or Risk Vengeance) [Emotion|Anxiety] [4/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Peacock In Scorpion Form) [Illusion] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Legend (How Much Is The Hero And How Much Is Cauldron) [Emotion|Reservation] [3/4]
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Eye of Autochthon (Care For Collateral, For It Will Not) [Illusion] [3/3]
FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Miss Militia/Hannah Smith (Tempered By Service) [Emotion|Respect] [1/3]
WoRI - Athletics +1 Interval (2/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Integrity +1 Intervals (3/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Investigation +1 Interval (3/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Larceny +1 Intervals (2/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Lore +2 Interval (3/6 Intervals)
EOA - Integrity +1 Interval (1/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Awareness +1 Interval (4/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Bureaucracy +1 Interval (1/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Investigation +1 Intervals (3/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Lore +2 Intervals (2/6 Intervals)
EOA - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
FPoP - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
WoRI - Reputation (Impossible Beauty) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
WoRI - Reputation (Ward) ●●●●○ NOW AVAILABLE!
WoRI - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
*Dependent on a Voting Option.
Well! Certainly a lot of information that's been a long-time coming, the fate of Creation, our accelerated timeline, the plan to reformat the world to allow for essence, and the (tentative) plan to save Autochthon. Still a bunch of past votes (mostly Free Actions) rolling around in the queue, but we'll get to those soon enough; there's a few things we need to settle before we continue forward.With Saki's emergence, Glenn and the PRT are finally getting around to the realization that this "Alchemical" nonsense is only going to keep getting bigger and needs a public explanation. After all, as the saying goes: "once is a fluke, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." With that in mind, the PRT wants to stop spending effort on the whole "Case 53" story for Taylor, and then publicly announce that Taylor, Prayer, and Saki are a new breed: "Alchemical Parahumans," full-conversion cyborgs by the mysterious Tinker "Autochthon" who resides in a different parallel dimension. Taylor and the Assembly will be working with Glenn and the other PR heads to sort out all the smaller details, but the long and short of it is that the public message wouldn't try to convince people of all the Exalted craziness, instead keeping things close enough to the Parahuman status-quo to effectively be considered similar to Case 53s (and would overwrite Prayer's Reputation(Case53)). After all, looking at it from afar, all this Alchemical business isn't really that much different than the usual brand of Parahuman bullshit... just cranked up to 11.
Of course, there are all kinds of good and bad ramifications to this public outing - power-hungry people/parahumans coveting the conversion process, for example - but the fact of the matter is that the PRT is going to need to say something soon. We'll likely get a chance to shape the message in some way if we choose to tell the PRT to wait now, but how much and what kind of message it would be is unknown.
Speaking of public stories, the official explanation for what the heck went down at the end of the Slaughterhouse Nine arc is basically, "call us if you were hurt or lost something, we're still gathering testimonies to figure it out." The PRT would like to say they've figured it out, but we've accrued enough capital by ending the S9 that we have some say on what the official story will be. How much truth do we want to let out? Naturally, this ties into the "Alchemical Parahuman" vote, and the two will influence each other.
We've put it off long enough, but it's time to make a decision: what are we getting from Cauldron for turning over the S9 members they requested? Since we've chosen to only have Backing 2, we don't get to keep a running tab and Cauldron wants to settle their debts. To recap, we turned over 4 of the 5 they asked for, so that breaks down as follows:
- 4 S9 members = 9 "Credits"
- Resources 0->5 = 1 Credit
- Low Quality Vial = 1 Credit
- Medium Quality Vial = 2 Credits
- High Quality Vial = 3 Credits
- Access to any no-problematic parahuman on Earth-Bet = 1 Credit
- Access to any parahuman on Earth-Bet = 3 Credits
- Access to any parahuman in Cauldron's reach = 5 Credits
- Access to a specified alternate Earth = 4 Credits ("aquatic Earth that doesn't have humans", Earth-Aleph, etc.)
Arguments along the vein of "they should give us vials for free because we'll improve them" have been considered by Cauldron and will be discussed in the next Chapter, but will not impact this vote; this is to settle past debts, not discuss future collaborations.
Oh, and Sakura has been quite busy! Yes, life has been exciting as of late. Perhaps we should help her out?
Last but not least, we'll have an Interlude during the Discussion/Voting period. Whose shoulder should we peer over?
Alchemicals On Parade: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] PRT Announces "Alchemical Parahumans"
[ ] Alchemicals remain a PRT "Ongoing Investigation"
The Week of Slaughter - Post-Mortem: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] The Truth (Iris/Vision and Taylor did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
[ ] Blame Jack (Jack did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
[ ] Swamp Gas (Still-being-studied parahuman power/Tinkertech interaction did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
Our Cauldron Runneth Over: (Total of 9 Credits to spend, use the above-listed options, NO Stunts.)
Example vote for this, please use this format:
[X] 2 x Resources 0->5
[X] 1 x High Quality Vial
[X] 1 x Access to a specified alternate Earth
Autochthonia Adventure #27: Must Go Faster, MUST GO FASTER! (Choose ONE, NO Stunt!)
[ ] Overload The Engine
[ ] Turn Guns On Ceiling
[ ] Cut Losses, Kamikaze
Interlusions Of Grandeur: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Bonesaw
[ ] Armsmaster
[ ] New Trigger
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed per character!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting the "Free Action" bit), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[ ] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] WoRI - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION STARTS NOW
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS AT 11:59 PM PST ON FRIDAY NIGHT (US WEST COAST)
USE DISCUSSION TIME TO CRAFT STUNTS AND VOTING PLANS
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS AT 11:59 PM PST ON FRIDAY NIGHT (US WEST COAST)
USE DISCUSSION TIME TO CRAFT STUNTS AND VOTING PLANS
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