Scraped from here.
Last thread was Here.
We need a new Table of Contents.
-------------...
Last thread was Here.
We need a new Table of Contents.
-------------...
Glorious Shotgun Princess, Thread 3
- Thread starter GreggHL
- Start date
- Created
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- Ongoing
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Statistics (71 threadmarks, 59k words)
User Total GreggHL 71 Threadmarks Reader mode
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Scraped from here.
Last thread was Here.
We need a new Table of Contents.
-------------
The shriek is long, high pitched, echoing and full of palpable fear. Then it ends, the iris shutters closed like a camera, and the shrieking is replaced with happy laughter. A pair of long golden arms come out of the sides of the sphere and wrap around the new arrival, as his own white clad arms hug the sphere.
"My dear boy! I had no idea you were still alive!"
Kal blinks. Wuffles tilts their head, as the own perched atop it moves its talons. Kamilla claps her hands with a smile. Standing in front of them, hugging the insane sphere, is a man in white, red lined robes; white hair falls down his back and his silver eyes open with a wide grin. "Speak for yourself, old man," he says, rapping his knuckles on the top of the sphere, "Reasonably sure everyone's following the giant robot and thinking," he purses his lips, folding his arms, "'Hm. Who could that possibly be?'"
With a laugh, the white haired man throws back his head in a bellowing guffaw. "Half the Bureau of Destiny is having a shit fit," he says with a shrug, "Because I don't think they figured out you lot are operating on a different system."
Kal raises a hand. "Okay. What."
Autochthon clears his throat and an arm gestures to the new arrival. Crossing one arm over his stomach, extending the other, he bows like a showman. His beaded, multicolored beard almost touches the hill they stand upon.
"Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Luraname. Master of the Five Fold Luck, Agent of the Bureau of Destiny," a cough, "And one of my finest creations."
He smirks. "You flatter me, old man." Folding his arms behind him, he purses his lips, nods, and points. "Kal'Reegar," he says, "Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth, and..." He strokes his chin, and leans forward to be face to face with Kamilla. "And you are?"
A giggle and she bounces on the balls of her feet. "I'm Kamilla!"
He cocks a white, bushy eyebrow. "Oh, that means you're one of Adorjan's daughters." He blinks. "You don't happen to be made out of arrows, right?"
She shakes her head.
"What about daggers?"
She shakes her head again. "Nope! I don't have any sisters who are a cloud of blades!" She smiles. "Or do I?"
The god of Luck stares at the girl for a long moment. Clearing his throat, Kal walks over and places a hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me, but how do you know who we are?" The quarian gestures to the sphere. "I guess you'd know him, but how do you know about me or Wuffles?"
Luraname gently brushes off the hand, and smiles. "Because we've been looking in on your universe for a while, lad." He shrugs. "The boss'll explain everything, but we've known you came over. Also, I had someone trailing you."
Kal blinks. He glances at Wuffles, then at Kamilla. "Trailing us? Who?"
"Hoo." And then Kal notices the silver spear being held to his throat. Luraname shakes his head, and the spear disappears. "I saw a hut a five minute walk from here. Let's talk there."
-
-
Chapter 4:
Like a Metaphor
-
-
The eyes of the owl are wise, filled with age and experience that surpass all but a few. It stares into Kal'Reegar's eyes, weighing him, judging him. All he is, all he shall be. All he can be. It meets his gaze- or he meets its gaze- for long seconds stretching into eternity.
And then the owl opens its mouth and spits out a ball of hair and bone, bouncing it off of Wuffles' head and letting it roll onto the wood floor.
Autochthon glances at the owl. Floating across the circular table at the center of the hut, he hovers over Kamilla. There is a flash of gold, a burst of motion, and there is now a helmet on top of the girl's head, with a perfectly crafted perch of the finest metal and leather. The owl hoots, and flaps over to the girl. Kamilla claps her hands in glee as Auto floats back over to his stool and glances across to Luraname.
"So," the luck god says, "How do we know about you?" He strokes his beard, back lit by the single fireplace. "Well, that's simple. Two words, in fact!"
Kal shrugs. Wuffles extends their petals. Luraname smiles, leans forward, and speaks. "Garrus. Vakarian."
Wuffles' petals extend fully. Kal's jaw hangs open. The wind makes the door to the hut slam, but neither of them react to it, too busy staring at the god. "Wait wait what." Autochthon flicks over, hovering in Luraname's face. "How exactly-"
"She keeps track of all her Chosen, old man." Luraname gently shoves the ball back. "She's let me in on it, too. She knows about your universe and she's been following what has been happening with interest." He clears his throat. "I...am not sure why you came back, to be honest."
Kal rubs the bridge of his nose. "So, wait." He glances at Auto. "This guy's one of those seven who wouldn't kill you right?"
The ball shakes. "No. No no, the seven who wouldn't kill me are Ignis, the Maidens, and the Emerald Mother." He turns back to Luraname. "I didn't count you because I was sure someone would have melted you down to Starmetal by now."
The luck god shrugs, leaning back in the rickety chair as the owl hoots. "Pretty sure the Solars were aiming to take me apart to screw with the Loom." He puts his feet up on the chair, cradling his head in his hands. "Well, then the Sidereals and their pet Terrestrials went and killed them all, of course. And luckily, someone burned all the notes on me."
A hand grabs Autochthon by the top, and spins the eye around to face Kal. "Okay. We're just talking at this point. What. Why. How?"
"Well, we've had an awful lot of excitement and it might be a good idea to just sit around and relax-"
Kal and Wuffles glare at the sphere. "Yes," Auto says, and turns back to Luraname. "Right! Luraname, we need to get into Yu Shan. I need to talk to the Incarnae. I have found something horrible, and I need their help to fix it."
The luck god nods, folding his arms and tipping back the chair to one leg. Luckily, it does not tip over. "Yeah, we figured as much. Once she gets here she can see what she can do."
Autochthon nods. Silence blankets the room. Slowly, he rotates up to meet Luraname's gaze. "Oh dear. She's coming here."
Luraname nods. A piece of straw has appeared, gripped between his teeth. "Yep. Flagged her down as soon as I figured out it was really you." He shrugs, as Kal begins to shift in his seat. "I had to confirm it was you, and not some crazy construct that you left behind, you know?"
Auto shifts, darting from side to side. Iris opening and shutting, Kal's eyes fallow him as he begins looking out windows, watching the doors, staring at the fireplace. "Auto," Kal says, "What's the problem, and how much of it is your fault?"
Auto ignores the quarian, flying up to Luraname and staring at him behind a narrowed silver iris.
"She knows I'm here?"
Luraname nods. "Yes. She does."
"She knows I'm here!"
Leaning back, Luraname shrugs. "Yes. She does."
Wheezing breaths, iris contracting to a narrow point and plates flattening against the sphere, Autochthon floats back. "She knows I am here."
Luraname nods, looking past Autochthon, as does everyone else as they slowly turn. "Yes," Luraname says.
And then Auto backs up into something. Someone. "I do," the voice behind him purrs.
The five standing men and women, covered in some sort of...antique, she guesses she could call it, antique battle armor which she somehow knows has jade in it stare at her. Two of them with puzzled looks, two with veiled hostility, one with utter surprise, as Jane can tell from the wide eyes staring at her.
Still, these chucklefucks pointed a spear at Jenny. And a lot of other people. So she's gonna whup some asses. "Welcome to the Citadel," she says, cracking her knuckles, "Let me give you the tour."
She stamps her foot against the metal floor. It warps around her, blasting upwards. Golden light pours forth from the keter soul at the center of her being. The disc of the sun spins forth from her forehead. Ribbons of sunlight wrap around her and form into hard light around her, hovering off her blue civvies.
The name of it screams in the back of her mind. Glorious Solar Plate. Almost as loud as the word that one of the intruders screams, pointing a sword as big as him at her.
"ANATHEMA!"
The question of "Wait a what-" dies on Jane Shepard's lips. A man in red plate and wielding a red sword as long as he is tall leaps, swinging it down in an arc towards her head. She kicks off, slamming her fist into the side of the blade. It flies to the side with a room shaking boom, right before she grabs him in mid air, turning and launching him towards his comrades with a punch.
But he doesn't hit his compatriots. Instead, she watches him slam into and bounce off the pale, pointed-eared woman who has just appeared. While she takes some joy in the fact that she just knocked out Pria, she takes less joy in the fact that she can't see where the others are.
Which is when Jane looks up and sees that they are above her. With a yell, they descend upon her, spear, chain, claw and gauntlet bared. "Ah shit," Jane mutters, "I brought a superhero to a Power Rangers fight."
After several minutes of screaming- with Kal covering Kamilla's ears, Wuffles tilting their head and Luraname watching with a smirk, Autochthon went completely silent. Iris open all the way back, plates all shifted back like he was in a strong wind, and several fans extended to make him look like a...what's the animal...a peacock.
Kal tentatively takes his hands off Kamila's ears. The owl tilts its head. Wuffles narrows their iris, and looks up at the new arrival.
"So," Kal says, "Is he...broken or...?"
"No. He's just burnt out his voice box."
Kal lets out a long breath. "Oh praise the ancestors."
Milky white eyes flutter, an immaculate silver eyebrow rising. "I'd say we have a few minutes until he regains self control and starts talking non stop, so..." A faint smile, lips pulled back over white teeth. "Gentlemen. What brings you to this Creation I have sworn to protect?"
Pale white fingers tent in front of their waist. Long, silver hair falls down the back as they walk into the hut, the white and charcoal robes flowing with every motion. Refusing definition, refusing shape. "Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna. Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth."
Milky white eyes meet Kamilla's, and the silver hair falls in waves as they bend down. "And what is your name?"
The girl smiles. "I'm Kamilla."
"Oh. One of Adorjan's? Are going to stab me?"
She shakes her head. "Nope!"
"Excellent." Eyes turn back to Kal as he tilts his head. Tries to get an idea what he is looking at, even as he sits frozen to the stool. "Chosen of Mercury. Speak, please."
He works his jaw. Tries to find the best way to say it, and probably ends up with the worst. "What...are...you?"
This only merits a wider smile. "Oh, that's simple. I'm Luna."
The door swings open on its own accord. "It's stuffy in here. Let's get some fresh air and talk." And Luna takes their hands in eighteen of her own, and pulls them along.
Last thread was Here.
We need a new Table of Contents.
-------------
The shriek is long, high pitched, echoing and full of palpable fear. Then it ends, the iris shutters closed like a camera, and the shrieking is replaced with happy laughter. A pair of long golden arms come out of the sides of the sphere and wrap around the new arrival, as his own white clad arms hug the sphere.
"My dear boy! I had no idea you were still alive!"
Kal blinks. Wuffles tilts their head, as the own perched atop it moves its talons. Kamilla claps her hands with a smile. Standing in front of them, hugging the insane sphere, is a man in white, red lined robes; white hair falls down his back and his silver eyes open with a wide grin. "Speak for yourself, old man," he says, rapping his knuckles on the top of the sphere, "Reasonably sure everyone's following the giant robot and thinking," he purses his lips, folding his arms, "'Hm. Who could that possibly be?'"
With a laugh, the white haired man throws back his head in a bellowing guffaw. "Half the Bureau of Destiny is having a shit fit," he says with a shrug, "Because I don't think they figured out you lot are operating on a different system."
Kal raises a hand. "Okay. What."
Autochthon clears his throat and an arm gestures to the new arrival. Crossing one arm over his stomach, extending the other, he bows like a showman. His beaded, multicolored beard almost touches the hill they stand upon.
"Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Luraname. Master of the Five Fold Luck, Agent of the Bureau of Destiny," a cough, "And one of my finest creations."
He smirks. "You flatter me, old man." Folding his arms behind him, he purses his lips, nods, and points. "Kal'Reegar," he says, "Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth, and..." He strokes his chin, and leans forward to be face to face with Kamilla. "And you are?"
A giggle and she bounces on the balls of her feet. "I'm Kamilla!"
He cocks a white, bushy eyebrow. "Oh, that means you're one of Adorjan's daughters." He blinks. "You don't happen to be made out of arrows, right?"
She shakes her head.
"What about daggers?"
She shakes her head again. "Nope! I don't have any sisters who are a cloud of blades!" She smiles. "Or do I?"
The god of Luck stares at the girl for a long moment. Clearing his throat, Kal walks over and places a hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me, but how do you know who we are?" The quarian gestures to the sphere. "I guess you'd know him, but how do you know about me or Wuffles?"
Luraname gently brushes off the hand, and smiles. "Because we've been looking in on your universe for a while, lad." He shrugs. "The boss'll explain everything, but we've known you came over. Also, I had someone trailing you."
Kal blinks. He glances at Wuffles, then at Kamilla. "Trailing us? Who?"
"Hoo." And then Kal notices the silver spear being held to his throat. Luraname shakes his head, and the spear disappears. "I saw a hut a five minute walk from here. Let's talk there."
-
-
Chapter 4:
Like a Metaphor
-
-
The eyes of the owl are wise, filled with age and experience that surpass all but a few. It stares into Kal'Reegar's eyes, weighing him, judging him. All he is, all he shall be. All he can be. It meets his gaze- or he meets its gaze- for long seconds stretching into eternity.
And then the owl opens its mouth and spits out a ball of hair and bone, bouncing it off of Wuffles' head and letting it roll onto the wood floor.
Autochthon glances at the owl. Floating across the circular table at the center of the hut, he hovers over Kamilla. There is a flash of gold, a burst of motion, and there is now a helmet on top of the girl's head, with a perfectly crafted perch of the finest metal and leather. The owl hoots, and flaps over to the girl. Kamilla claps her hands in glee as Auto floats back over to his stool and glances across to Luraname.
"So," the luck god says, "How do we know about you?" He strokes his beard, back lit by the single fireplace. "Well, that's simple. Two words, in fact!"
Kal shrugs. Wuffles extends their petals. Luraname smiles, leans forward, and speaks. "Garrus. Vakarian."
Wuffles' petals extend fully. Kal's jaw hangs open. The wind makes the door to the hut slam, but neither of them react to it, too busy staring at the god. "Wait wait what." Autochthon flicks over, hovering in Luraname's face. "How exactly-"
"She keeps track of all her Chosen, old man." Luraname gently shoves the ball back. "She's let me in on it, too. She knows about your universe and she's been following what has been happening with interest." He clears his throat. "I...am not sure why you came back, to be honest."
Kal rubs the bridge of his nose. "So, wait." He glances at Auto. "This guy's one of those seven who wouldn't kill you right?"
The ball shakes. "No. No no, the seven who wouldn't kill me are Ignis, the Maidens, and the Emerald Mother." He turns back to Luraname. "I didn't count you because I was sure someone would have melted you down to Starmetal by now."
The luck god shrugs, leaning back in the rickety chair as the owl hoots. "Pretty sure the Solars were aiming to take me apart to screw with the Loom." He puts his feet up on the chair, cradling his head in his hands. "Well, then the Sidereals and their pet Terrestrials went and killed them all, of course. And luckily, someone burned all the notes on me."
A hand grabs Autochthon by the top, and spins the eye around to face Kal. "Okay. We're just talking at this point. What. Why. How?"
"Well, we've had an awful lot of excitement and it might be a good idea to just sit around and relax-"
Kal and Wuffles glare at the sphere. "Yes," Auto says, and turns back to Luraname. "Right! Luraname, we need to get into Yu Shan. I need to talk to the Incarnae. I have found something horrible, and I need their help to fix it."
The luck god nods, folding his arms and tipping back the chair to one leg. Luckily, it does not tip over. "Yeah, we figured as much. Once she gets here she can see what she can do."
Autochthon nods. Silence blankets the room. Slowly, he rotates up to meet Luraname's gaze. "Oh dear. She's coming here."
Luraname nods. A piece of straw has appeared, gripped between his teeth. "Yep. Flagged her down as soon as I figured out it was really you." He shrugs, as Kal begins to shift in his seat. "I had to confirm it was you, and not some crazy construct that you left behind, you know?"
Auto shifts, darting from side to side. Iris opening and shutting, Kal's eyes fallow him as he begins looking out windows, watching the doors, staring at the fireplace. "Auto," Kal says, "What's the problem, and how much of it is your fault?"
Auto ignores the quarian, flying up to Luraname and staring at him behind a narrowed silver iris.
"She knows I'm here?"
Luraname nods. "Yes. She does."
"She knows I'm here!"
Leaning back, Luraname shrugs. "Yes. She does."
Wheezing breaths, iris contracting to a narrow point and plates flattening against the sphere, Autochthon floats back. "She knows I am here."
Luraname nods, looking past Autochthon, as does everyone else as they slowly turn. "Yes," Luraname says.
And then Auto backs up into something. Someone. "I do," the voice behind him purrs.
The five standing men and women, covered in some sort of...antique, she guesses she could call it, antique battle armor which she somehow knows has jade in it stare at her. Two of them with puzzled looks, two with veiled hostility, one with utter surprise, as Jane can tell from the wide eyes staring at her.
Still, these chucklefucks pointed a spear at Jenny. And a lot of other people. So she's gonna whup some asses. "Welcome to the Citadel," she says, cracking her knuckles, "Let me give you the tour."
She stamps her foot against the metal floor. It warps around her, blasting upwards. Golden light pours forth from the keter soul at the center of her being. The disc of the sun spins forth from her forehead. Ribbons of sunlight wrap around her and form into hard light around her, hovering off her blue civvies.
The name of it screams in the back of her mind. Glorious Solar Plate. Almost as loud as the word that one of the intruders screams, pointing a sword as big as him at her.
"ANATHEMA!"
The question of "Wait a what-" dies on Jane Shepard's lips. A man in red plate and wielding a red sword as long as he is tall leaps, swinging it down in an arc towards her head. She kicks off, slamming her fist into the side of the blade. It flies to the side with a room shaking boom, right before she grabs him in mid air, turning and launching him towards his comrades with a punch.
But he doesn't hit his compatriots. Instead, she watches him slam into and bounce off the pale, pointed-eared woman who has just appeared. While she takes some joy in the fact that she just knocked out Pria, she takes less joy in the fact that she can't see where the others are.
Which is when Jane looks up and sees that they are above her. With a yell, they descend upon her, spear, chain, claw and gauntlet bared. "Ah shit," Jane mutters, "I brought a superhero to a Power Rangers fight."
After several minutes of screaming- with Kal covering Kamilla's ears, Wuffles tilting their head and Luraname watching with a smirk, Autochthon went completely silent. Iris open all the way back, plates all shifted back like he was in a strong wind, and several fans extended to make him look like a...what's the animal...a peacock.
Kal tentatively takes his hands off Kamila's ears. The owl tilts its head. Wuffles narrows their iris, and looks up at the new arrival.
"So," Kal says, "Is he...broken or...?"
"No. He's just burnt out his voice box."
Kal lets out a long breath. "Oh praise the ancestors."
Milky white eyes flutter, an immaculate silver eyebrow rising. "I'd say we have a few minutes until he regains self control and starts talking non stop, so..." A faint smile, lips pulled back over white teeth. "Gentlemen. What brings you to this Creation I have sworn to protect?"
Pale white fingers tent in front of their waist. Long, silver hair falls down the back as they walk into the hut, the white and charcoal robes flowing with every motion. Refusing definition, refusing shape. "Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna. Wuffles, Emissary of the Geth."
Milky white eyes meet Kamilla's, and the silver hair falls in waves as they bend down. "And what is your name?"
The girl smiles. "I'm Kamilla."
"Oh. One of Adorjan's? Are going to stab me?"
She shakes her head. "Nope!"
"Excellent." Eyes turn back to Kal as he tilts his head. Tries to get an idea what he is looking at, even as he sits frozen to the stool. "Chosen of Mercury. Speak, please."
He works his jaw. Tries to find the best way to say it, and probably ends up with the worst. "What...are...you?"
This only merits a wider smile. "Oh, that's simple. I'm Luna."
The door swings open on its own accord. "It's stuffy in here. Let's get some fresh air and talk." And Luna takes their hands in eighteen of her own, and pulls them along.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The chain wraps around Jane's arm. She turns with it, hands clamping down on the length and yanking the wielder forward. The young woman in green plate grins even as Jane sends her flying, twisting in mid air and driving her feet into the Zenith's face.
Jane stumbles back, digs her heels in, and swings her fist into the back of the girl. She twists out of the way, whipping the chain around her like a dancing ribbon, and snaps it out. It burns the air, glowing green, vines and moss covering it- and Shepard head butts it, deflecting it before going with momentum and kicking the armor-wearing woman across the food court.
All of this is distraction- the last of the civilians, the last captives of the intruders, have hurried out of the exits. Leaving her and five superhumans she knows nothing about.
"They're Dragonblooded." Like the answer to the question no one asked, Pria appears, floating next to Shepard. "I honestly have no idea where they came from. But these are Dragonblooded."
Jane grunts, flowing around a spear strike, meeting a gauntlet with her fist. The golden armor floating around her grinds against a sword and sends sunlight sparks flying. "Pria! Info! Now!"
The spirit nods, clearing her throat. She ducks alongside Jane, bobbing side to side dance around spear strikes. "Yes, of course. The Dragonblooded are actually similar to the Ardat Yakshi."
"You mean creepy sex maniacs?"
"Yes. Well, I mean in addition to that." A pair of ethereal glasses appear on the god's face, and she adjusts them, sitting on a floating cushion which appears underneath her. "Their Exaltations are genetic. Descendants of Dragonblooded have a chance to become Dragonblooded, but the purer the bloodline, the greater the chance. Which is more puzzling, because there shouldn't be any Dragonblood-"
The lecture cuts off in the form of Pria's scream. The sword slides through her, glowing and making the spirit flash, gasp, and shriek as loud as she can. The red-plated Dragonblooded yells something, pointing his sword at Pria.
"Oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK," Pria shrieks, "Spirit cutting charms! They have spirit cutting charms!" She flashes and disappears, Jane's omnitool glowing and manifesting Pria's still shaking form. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!"
Jane blinks. "Wait, the fuck?" She shakes her head and tacks this onto the long list of Shit Pria and Goto never told her. "Pria, make yourself useful and translate for me! I need to know what they're saying!"
The five Dragonblooded jump back in unison. Hands held out, they cup them and point them at each other. "Right. Rightrightright!" The spirit taps along the length of the omnitool. "Aha!" She looks up, glancing at their opponents, their enemies. "High Realm. Odd. Anyway, translated and you can now understand what they are saying-"
"FIVE ELEMENT BLAST!" The sphere of leaves, lightning, water, and fire wrap around the boulder that appeared out of fucking nowhere, hovering between them and pointed straight at Jane. Pria blinks. Jane takes a step back.
"Adamant Skin, Shepard! Adamantskin adamantskin adamantskin-"
Jane stumbles back, digs her heels in, and swings her fist into the back of the girl. She twists out of the way, whipping the chain around her like a dancing ribbon, and snaps it out. It burns the air, glowing green, vines and moss covering it- and Shepard head butts it, deflecting it before going with momentum and kicking the armor-wearing woman across the food court.
All of this is distraction- the last of the civilians, the last captives of the intruders, have hurried out of the exits. Leaving her and five superhumans she knows nothing about.
"They're Dragonblooded." Like the answer to the question no one asked, Pria appears, floating next to Shepard. "I honestly have no idea where they came from. But these are Dragonblooded."
Jane grunts, flowing around a spear strike, meeting a gauntlet with her fist. The golden armor floating around her grinds against a sword and sends sunlight sparks flying. "Pria! Info! Now!"
The spirit nods, clearing her throat. She ducks alongside Jane, bobbing side to side dance around spear strikes. "Yes, of course. The Dragonblooded are actually similar to the Ardat Yakshi."
"You mean creepy sex maniacs?"
"Yes. Well, I mean in addition to that." A pair of ethereal glasses appear on the god's face, and she adjusts them, sitting on a floating cushion which appears underneath her. "Their Exaltations are genetic. Descendants of Dragonblooded have a chance to become Dragonblooded, but the purer the bloodline, the greater the chance. Which is more puzzling, because there shouldn't be any Dragonblood-"
The lecture cuts off in the form of Pria's scream. The sword slides through her, glowing and making the spirit flash, gasp, and shriek as loud as she can. The red-plated Dragonblooded yells something, pointing his sword at Pria.
"Oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK," Pria shrieks, "Spirit cutting charms! They have spirit cutting charms!" She flashes and disappears, Jane's omnitool glowing and manifesting Pria's still shaking form. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!"
Jane blinks. "Wait, the fuck?" She shakes her head and tacks this onto the long list of Shit Pria and Goto never told her. "Pria, make yourself useful and translate for me! I need to know what they're saying!"
The five Dragonblooded jump back in unison. Hands held out, they cup them and point them at each other. "Right. Rightrightright!" The spirit taps along the length of the omnitool. "Aha!" She looks up, glancing at their opponents, their enemies. "High Realm. Odd. Anyway, translated and you can now understand what they are saying-"
"FIVE ELEMENT BLAST!" The sphere of leaves, lightning, water, and fire wrap around the boulder that appeared out of fucking nowhere, hovering between them and pointed straight at Jane. Pria blinks. Jane takes a step back.
"Adamant Skin, Shepard! Adamantskin adamantskin adamantskin-"
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The moonlight filters through the forest as they are lead by the one in front. Kamilla idly pushes Autochthon in front of her as they walk, passing him between her hands like a large, golden basketball. Wuffles walks beside him, the silver owl still perched upon their head. Kal walks, glancing from side to side. Watching. Anticipating.
"Three." Kal cocks an eyebrow as Luna speaks. The voice, as always, is not...feminine. Not masculine. Something not lacking in either feature, but beyond them. "Two." For a moment, he wonders what she or he is counting down to. "One." Kal raises his hand and opens his mouth, but
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH there voice box repaired!" The iris closes, and the ball shoots up to hover in front of Reegar's face. "Sidereal, I am slightly offended that you consider my being mute something to offer praise to." A beat. The iris shifts open. "I will, however, let this slide as Luna!"
He shoots past, past Kamilla and hovering in front of the silver haired guide. "I will admit I am pleasantly surprised that I am not in immediate danger. A pleasant surprise indeed!"
White teeth shine, and milky white eyes glimmer with promised mischief. "Oh, Maker. You are always in immediate danger around me." A hand taps the top of the sphere. "However, I have been following your journey with interest. Times change, and we change along with them." A light hum, and the forest shifts around them. It becomes lighter, the trees folding outwards.
The clearing folds out into a neat, near-perfect circle illuminated by moonlight and silver candelabras. A table of fine crystal rises from the ground, overstuffed chairs and plush pillows appears in a circle around it. Luna turns in mid step, and in the space of a breath takes the form of a naked, male quarian with silver tattoos covering his-her-its skin.
Reegar, quite sensibly, gags. "I. What?" He takes his eyes off the rather handsome naked silver quarian and asks "Wait what just happened?"
"Look around." He turns, locking eyes with Luraname. Then does so. Then looks around. "Weren't we in a forest?" He turns, spinning as he twists around. He can see something like a forest. In the distance, perhaps, but not exactly.
"You are new." Luna smiles, the silver-lined asari walking to a chair. "We're in a terrestrial court I've borrowed. I don't think we will be disturbed, and I wanted someplace private." She glances to the owl, and it rises before flying off into the distance.
Sliding into the chair, folding several legs and wrapping a tendril around a cup of still hot tea, the silver veined hanar gestures to the other seats. "So. You had my attention, and now you have my interest. Great Maker, what brings you back to Creation after so many millenia?"
The ball floats over. The bottom opens and unfolds a pair of legs and a skeletal ass, easing it down into a chair as a thin arm with a straw on the end dips into the tea. "Ah, yes. Good tea. We're here for a very important reason, Luna. I've detected a flaw in the Exaltations."
The others take their seats. White cloth napkin over his arm, Luraname sets tea in front of Kal and Wuffles, and a cup of colorful juice in front of Kamilla. "A flaw." Luna works her jaw. The silver shelled krogan huffs. "I see. Well, that does explain some of it. And you believe you can fix it?"
"Not by myself. Not as I am now." Autochthon coughs. The owl swoops by, landing on the table and picking up a biscuit in its beak before flying back towards the woods. "I need my tools, Luna. I need the aid of the other Incarnae."
Luna nods. The human male with the stone-like face and buzz cut white hair smirks. "The latter I can guarantee will be tricky. The former even moreso...but that does explain more. You believe your tools would be able to...affect this flaw? Access it?"
Milk white eyes glance to the side. Kal has held his tea in the same position for the past several minutes. "You have a question," the huntress purrs, "And the answer is the same. I'm Luna."
Tapping three index fingers together, the white haired woman nods to the golden sphere. "So, you need to get to Heaven. You need your ancient tools. You need the attention of myself and the other Incarnae." A smile tugs at her lips. "Simple enough. For varied quantities of simple."
"We note you said this explained two things." Petals extend as they sip their tea. Wuffles folds their hands in front of their head, propping their elbows on the armrests of the chair. "We understand the erratic behavior of the Exalted is one thing that is clarified. What is the other?"
Luna smiles, nodding to Luraname. The luck god clears his throat, walking next to his taskmaster. "The god of secrets known to one person has been rather nonplussed, lately." The grin gets just a little wider. "As if some great, world-shaking secret has been found out by someone else, lessening his purview."
"Which means someone else knew about the flaw." Autochthon's iris narrows. "Oh." It shifts, and the legs fold back up into the ball, quickly draining the tea before the arm folds back in. "Then we need to get to Yu Shan immediately! We must speak to the Ignis Divine at once!"
Luna holds up a hand. Luraname circles around the table, placing a fresh glass of juice in front of Kamilla as she giggles a thanks. "That would not be wise," Luna states, shaking his head, "Politics are tricky. Changing, ever so. You must first prepare your case and gather your allies. And, make sure that your tools remain in the hands of someone who does not want to see you dead."
Leaning back in the chair, the smile gets just a bit wider, showing more and more teeth. "I will prepare on my end. Luraname will give you a map to the nearest Gate. Because if you want the tools, you need the one other person in all of Creation and Yu Shan who has seen the flaw. And kept it secret for oh so very long."
The iris shifts. Great gears of thoughts turn. And Autochthon suddenly finds that his quest has become much, much more complicated. "I need Lytek."
The steel gives way first, then the mass effect fields put up as reinforcement for the windows, then finally the decorative, vehicle-rated glass which serves as the reinforced wall of the fish tank. Jane Shepard flies through Ryuusei, a high class sushi restaurant in the cleaned up parts of the Zakera Wards.
This is followed by the ground shaking like there was an earthquake, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor. Then the plants all explode in their pots and stands, wrapping the walls in vines. Then, everything freezes, and finally she notices that the place is on fire.
Groaning, Jane climbs to her feet. The last of the customers have run out. Looking down, Shepard is mildly thankful for that. "And I'm naked. Again."
She grunts, concentrates, and the disc on her head glows. The name bursts into her mind, cracks in the air around her issuing forth white. Hauberk-Lightening Gesture. The blue disc appears, and snaps against her back. The black bodysuit flows out, followed by the plates folding and locking along her. Within three footsteps, she is armored, blue jade and alloy covering her from neck to toe.
"Pria, get your transparent ass into the armor. What did I just get hit by?"
The spirit appears, her head hovering over her shoulder. "Sorry for the delay, Shepard and...yes! Yes, good work!" The spirit smiles, rotating onto her side. "Glad to see you thinking like a Solar. But speaking of which..."
A figure in white appears on Jane's other shoulder. His features, obscured by the light and fire are obscured, but she recognizes it. It is familiar, from her own memories and those impossibly ancient. "Catalyst?"
"Pria contacted me," the God of the Relays says, "And...oddly enough, I know who those Dragonblooded are. The symbols on their armor identify them as House Mnemon."
"House what?"
"Mnemon." The Catalyst folds his arms behind him, cocking his chin up. Great, Shepard thinks. Being lectured by two gods. "One of the Great Houses of the Realm. They would be from where I and the rest of the Circle came from, but..." He taps his fingers, folding his arms across the broad chest. "But what I am confused about is how they got here..."
Shoulders slump. The three glance at each other. "Autochthon?" the Catalyst asks.
"Autochthon," Pria confirms.
"God dammit Autochthon," Shepard groans.
"Three." Kal cocks an eyebrow as Luna speaks. The voice, as always, is not...feminine. Not masculine. Something not lacking in either feature, but beyond them. "Two." For a moment, he wonders what she or he is counting down to. "One." Kal raises his hand and opens his mouth, but
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH there voice box repaired!" The iris closes, and the ball shoots up to hover in front of Reegar's face. "Sidereal, I am slightly offended that you consider my being mute something to offer praise to." A beat. The iris shifts open. "I will, however, let this slide as Luna!"
He shoots past, past Kamilla and hovering in front of the silver haired guide. "I will admit I am pleasantly surprised that I am not in immediate danger. A pleasant surprise indeed!"
White teeth shine, and milky white eyes glimmer with promised mischief. "Oh, Maker. You are always in immediate danger around me." A hand taps the top of the sphere. "However, I have been following your journey with interest. Times change, and we change along with them." A light hum, and the forest shifts around them. It becomes lighter, the trees folding outwards.
The clearing folds out into a neat, near-perfect circle illuminated by moonlight and silver candelabras. A table of fine crystal rises from the ground, overstuffed chairs and plush pillows appears in a circle around it. Luna turns in mid step, and in the space of a breath takes the form of a naked, male quarian with silver tattoos covering his-her-its skin.
Reegar, quite sensibly, gags. "I. What?" He takes his eyes off the rather handsome naked silver quarian and asks "Wait what just happened?"
"Look around." He turns, locking eyes with Luraname. Then does so. Then looks around. "Weren't we in a forest?" He turns, spinning as he twists around. He can see something like a forest. In the distance, perhaps, but not exactly.
"You are new." Luna smiles, the silver-lined asari walking to a chair. "We're in a terrestrial court I've borrowed. I don't think we will be disturbed, and I wanted someplace private." She glances to the owl, and it rises before flying off into the distance.
Sliding into the chair, folding several legs and wrapping a tendril around a cup of still hot tea, the silver veined hanar gestures to the other seats. "So. You had my attention, and now you have my interest. Great Maker, what brings you back to Creation after so many millenia?"
The ball floats over. The bottom opens and unfolds a pair of legs and a skeletal ass, easing it down into a chair as a thin arm with a straw on the end dips into the tea. "Ah, yes. Good tea. We're here for a very important reason, Luna. I've detected a flaw in the Exaltations."
The others take their seats. White cloth napkin over his arm, Luraname sets tea in front of Kal and Wuffles, and a cup of colorful juice in front of Kamilla. "A flaw." Luna works her jaw. The silver shelled krogan huffs. "I see. Well, that does explain some of it. And you believe you can fix it?"
"Not by myself. Not as I am now." Autochthon coughs. The owl swoops by, landing on the table and picking up a biscuit in its beak before flying back towards the woods. "I need my tools, Luna. I need the aid of the other Incarnae."
Luna nods. The human male with the stone-like face and buzz cut white hair smirks. "The latter I can guarantee will be tricky. The former even moreso...but that does explain more. You believe your tools would be able to...affect this flaw? Access it?"
Milk white eyes glance to the side. Kal has held his tea in the same position for the past several minutes. "You have a question," the huntress purrs, "And the answer is the same. I'm Luna."
Tapping three index fingers together, the white haired woman nods to the golden sphere. "So, you need to get to Heaven. You need your ancient tools. You need the attention of myself and the other Incarnae." A smile tugs at her lips. "Simple enough. For varied quantities of simple."
"We note you said this explained two things." Petals extend as they sip their tea. Wuffles folds their hands in front of their head, propping their elbows on the armrests of the chair. "We understand the erratic behavior of the Exalted is one thing that is clarified. What is the other?"
Luna smiles, nodding to Luraname. The luck god clears his throat, walking next to his taskmaster. "The god of secrets known to one person has been rather nonplussed, lately." The grin gets just a little wider. "As if some great, world-shaking secret has been found out by someone else, lessening his purview."
"Which means someone else knew about the flaw." Autochthon's iris narrows. "Oh." It shifts, and the legs fold back up into the ball, quickly draining the tea before the arm folds back in. "Then we need to get to Yu Shan immediately! We must speak to the Ignis Divine at once!"
Luna holds up a hand. Luraname circles around the table, placing a fresh glass of juice in front of Kamilla as she giggles a thanks. "That would not be wise," Luna states, shaking his head, "Politics are tricky. Changing, ever so. You must first prepare your case and gather your allies. And, make sure that your tools remain in the hands of someone who does not want to see you dead."
Leaning back in the chair, the smile gets just a bit wider, showing more and more teeth. "I will prepare on my end. Luraname will give you a map to the nearest Gate. Because if you want the tools, you need the one other person in all of Creation and Yu Shan who has seen the flaw. And kept it secret for oh so very long."
The iris shifts. Great gears of thoughts turn. And Autochthon suddenly finds that his quest has become much, much more complicated. "I need Lytek."
The steel gives way first, then the mass effect fields put up as reinforcement for the windows, then finally the decorative, vehicle-rated glass which serves as the reinforced wall of the fish tank. Jane Shepard flies through Ryuusei, a high class sushi restaurant in the cleaned up parts of the Zakera Wards.
This is followed by the ground shaking like there was an earthquake, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor. Then the plants all explode in their pots and stands, wrapping the walls in vines. Then, everything freezes, and finally she notices that the place is on fire.
Groaning, Jane climbs to her feet. The last of the customers have run out. Looking down, Shepard is mildly thankful for that. "And I'm naked. Again."
She grunts, concentrates, and the disc on her head glows. The name bursts into her mind, cracks in the air around her issuing forth white. Hauberk-Lightening Gesture. The blue disc appears, and snaps against her back. The black bodysuit flows out, followed by the plates folding and locking along her. Within three footsteps, she is armored, blue jade and alloy covering her from neck to toe.
"Pria, get your transparent ass into the armor. What did I just get hit by?"
The spirit appears, her head hovering over her shoulder. "Sorry for the delay, Shepard and...yes! Yes, good work!" The spirit smiles, rotating onto her side. "Glad to see you thinking like a Solar. But speaking of which..."
A figure in white appears on Jane's other shoulder. His features, obscured by the light and fire are obscured, but she recognizes it. It is familiar, from her own memories and those impossibly ancient. "Catalyst?"
"Pria contacted me," the God of the Relays says, "And...oddly enough, I know who those Dragonblooded are. The symbols on their armor identify them as House Mnemon."
"House what?"
"Mnemon." The Catalyst folds his arms behind him, cocking his chin up. Great, Shepard thinks. Being lectured by two gods. "One of the Great Houses of the Realm. They would be from where I and the rest of the Circle came from, but..." He taps his fingers, folding his arms across the broad chest. "But what I am confused about is how they got here..."
Shoulders slump. The three glance at each other. "Autochthon?" the Catalyst asks.
"Autochthon," Pria confirms.
"God dammit Autochthon," Shepard groans.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The steel gives way first, then the mass effect fields put up as reinforcement for the windows, then finally the decorative, vehicle-rated glass which serves as the reinforced wall of the fish tank. Jane Shepard flies through Ryuusei, a high class sushi restaurant in the cleaned up parts of the Zakera Wards.
This is followed by the ground shaking like there was an earthquake, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor. Then the plants all explode in their pots and stands, wrapping the walls in vines. Then, everything freezes, and finally she notices that the place is on fire.
Groaning, Jane climbs to her feet. The last of the customers have run out. Looking down, Shepard is mildly thankful for that. "And I'm naked. Again."
She grunts, concentrates, and the disc on her head glows. The name bursts into her mind, cracks in the air around her issue forth white. Hauberk-Lightening Gesture. The blue disc appears, and snaps against her back. The black bodysuit flows out, followed by the plates folding and locking along her. Within three footsteps, she is armored, blue jade and alloy covering her from neck to toe.
"Pria, get your transparent ass into the armor. What did I just get hit by?"
The spirit appears, her head hovering over her shoulder. "Sorry for the delay, Shepard and...yes! Yes, good work!" The spirit smiles, rotating onto her side. "Glad to see you thinking like a Solar. But speaking of which..."
A figure in white appears on Jane's other shoulder. His features, obscured by the light and fire are obscured, but she recognizes it. It is familiar, from her own memories and those impossibly ancient. "Catalyst?"
"Pria contacted me," the God of the Relays says, "And...oddly enough, I know who those Dragonblooded are. The symbols on their armor identify them as House Mnemon."
"House what?"
"Mnemon." The Catalyst folds his arms behind him, cocking his chin up. Great, Shepard thinks. Being lectured by two gods. "One of the Great Houses of the Realm. They would be from where I and the rest of the Circle came from, but..." He taps his fingers, folding his arms across the broad chest. "But what I am confused about is how they got here..."
Shoulders slump. The three glance at each other. "Autochthon?" the Catalyst asks.
"Autochthon," Pria confirms.
"God dammit Autochthon," Shepard groans.
The five Dragonblooded drop down from the rafters outside the restaurant. Craning her neck, Shepard walks out. Cracking her knuckles, she wills open the vents along her shoulders, glowing barrels of the suit's Essence cannons powering up. Still, she thinks, she's going to need help.
Help which comes in the form of a high pitched, chipper voice which makes a cold lump drop into Jane's stomach. "WHY HELLO THAR!"
It drops down from on high, landing on the straining wheels of two full-sized Mako tanks. The Makos themselves are warped, bent upwards into the torso of what was once a shuttle, gutted and twisted, its thrusters all pointed back, its cockpit extended and moved downward into an exaggerated mecha-phallus.
One arm, layered in both hard light armor and uncountable stolen, bought, and traded combat hardsuits, ends with seven long and thin fingers. The other arm ends with a cannon that glows with sunlight. On top of the Geth Colossus head that came from somewhere, the eighteen legged cat-spider-girl waves cheerfully.
Absently, one of the dragonblooded- a girl in black armor and with blue hair- waves back.
"Hi there! I'm Entrepreneurial Iridescent Cecay! Take it away, pilot!"
"Oh god dammit Iri," Jane mutters, "Please don't tell me you gave that to-"
The speakers on the mechanical abomination crackle and Jane once more realizes the depths of the universe's hatred for her. It comes in the form of the same cocky, self-assured voice and the pronunciation of;
"It's Jokering time!"
The tall dragonblooded with white, granite skin lifts his arm, forms a spear out of white stone, and hurls it. It flies into the glowing barrel of the warstrider, jams halfway into it, and the arm explodes. The cycloptean head of the mecha turns to the stump, then back to the Dragonblooded.
"That sucked! You guys suck!" Six jets on the back of the giant ignite. "You know what? RAMMING SPEED!"
This is followed by the ground shaking like there was an earthquake, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor. Then the plants all explode in their pots and stands, wrapping the walls in vines. Then, everything freezes, and finally she notices that the place is on fire.
Groaning, Jane climbs to her feet. The last of the customers have run out. Looking down, Shepard is mildly thankful for that. "And I'm naked. Again."
She grunts, concentrates, and the disc on her head glows. The name bursts into her mind, cracks in the air around her issue forth white. Hauberk-Lightening Gesture. The blue disc appears, and snaps against her back. The black bodysuit flows out, followed by the plates folding and locking along her. Within three footsteps, she is armored, blue jade and alloy covering her from neck to toe.
"Pria, get your transparent ass into the armor. What did I just get hit by?"
The spirit appears, her head hovering over her shoulder. "Sorry for the delay, Shepard and...yes! Yes, good work!" The spirit smiles, rotating onto her side. "Glad to see you thinking like a Solar. But speaking of which..."
A figure in white appears on Jane's other shoulder. His features, obscured by the light and fire are obscured, but she recognizes it. It is familiar, from her own memories and those impossibly ancient. "Catalyst?"
"Pria contacted me," the God of the Relays says, "And...oddly enough, I know who those Dragonblooded are. The symbols on their armor identify them as House Mnemon."
"House what?"
"Mnemon." The Catalyst folds his arms behind him, cocking his chin up. Great, Shepard thinks. Being lectured by two gods. "One of the Great Houses of the Realm. They would be from where I and the rest of the Circle came from, but..." He taps his fingers, folding his arms across the broad chest. "But what I am confused about is how they got here..."
Shoulders slump. The three glance at each other. "Autochthon?" the Catalyst asks.
"Autochthon," Pria confirms.
"God dammit Autochthon," Shepard groans.
The five Dragonblooded drop down from the rafters outside the restaurant. Craning her neck, Shepard walks out. Cracking her knuckles, she wills open the vents along her shoulders, glowing barrels of the suit's Essence cannons powering up. Still, she thinks, she's going to need help.
Help which comes in the form of a high pitched, chipper voice which makes a cold lump drop into Jane's stomach. "WHY HELLO THAR!"
It drops down from on high, landing on the straining wheels of two full-sized Mako tanks. The Makos themselves are warped, bent upwards into the torso of what was once a shuttle, gutted and twisted, its thrusters all pointed back, its cockpit extended and moved downward into an exaggerated mecha-phallus.
One arm, layered in both hard light armor and uncountable stolen, bought, and traded combat hardsuits, ends with seven long and thin fingers. The other arm ends with a cannon that glows with sunlight. On top of the Geth Colossus head that came from somewhere, the eighteen legged cat-spider-girl waves cheerfully.
Absently, one of the dragonblooded- a girl in black armor and with blue hair- waves back.
"Hi there! I'm Entrepreneurial Iridescent Cecay! Take it away, pilot!"
"Oh god dammit Iri," Jane mutters, "Please don't tell me you gave that to-"
The speakers on the mechanical abomination crackle and Jane once more realizes the depths of the universe's hatred for her. It comes in the form of the same cocky, self-assured voice and the pronunciation of;
"It's Jokering time!"
The tall dragonblooded with white, granite skin lifts his arm, forms a spear out of white stone, and hurls it. It flies into the glowing barrel of the warstrider, jams halfway into it, and the arm explodes. The cycloptean head of the mecha turns to the stump, then back to the Dragonblooded.
"That sucked! You guys suck!" Six jets on the back of the giant ignite. "You know what? RAMMING SPEED!"
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Sweeping her white hip coat back, Liara T'Soni flops down next to Jane Shepard. Looking down, she sees that the seat itself is one of the unconscious humans that had just been thrashed- 'Dragonblooded', Pria referred to them as. "So." Liara glances over to Jane. "Then what happened?"
Wincing, Jane glares at Karen Chakwas as the older woman dabs on disinfectant on the mass of cuts and bruises that currently form Jane's face. "You know, I can just cross my legs, concentrate and heal."
"And if you do that I will sedate you and call it for the utter bullshit it is," Chakwas growls, "You close those wounds as they are and they will be infected, and I will then turn you over to Lawson for whatever ghoulish experiments she originally intended. And besides which, Liara asked you a question."
Leaning back on the groaning dragonblooded, she glances down, balls her fist, and punches him in the face. The groaning stops.
"So, Joker managed to run over one of them, and then they started to take apart his...ah..." She rubs the back of her neck. Tali walks over, holding a bottle of turian brandy in one hand, her helmet under her arm and lavender curls bobbing against her shoulders.
"Warstrider," Jane continues, snapping her fingers, "They took apart his warstrider. Grabbed Joker before it blew up and threw Iri at them."
Liara nods. Tali nods, tapping her left arm and opening her omnitool. "Iri grabs one of them, activates some charm. 'Thousandfold Courtesan Calculations' or something, and now I'm down to three. Still too much for me to handle on my own." Jane punches the unconscious dragonblooded again. Tali taps in the term, opening up a glossary she received from Autochthon. Her eyes go wide and her face green.
"Tali?" Jane asks, "Do I even want to know what Iri-"
"No, Shepard. No you don't." Tali then takes a pull from the bottle and sits down next to Jane.
Liara glances to her side. Looking across the walkways and layered streets of the Citadel Zakera Ward. More particularly, at the small fleet of emergency response skycars, and the restaurant with the neon dancing human on top. Which is currently on fire.
"And then," the asari asks.
"And then I had them chase me into that place." Jane points at the burning restaurant, where green vines have broken through the walls. "Gourmet Earth Meals."
"I always wanted to go there," Tali mutters, "Show my independence, acceptance. Show that I, a quarian, could eat alongside and join society at large." She takes another pull of the bottle. "But then, you set it on fire."
Shepard blinks, staring at Tali. "Can you even eat the food in-"
"Not. The. Point." For emphasis, Tali takes another swing of the bottle.
Jane winces, partially from the accusation, partially from the disinfectant tipped ministrations of Karin Chakwas. "God, Shepard, you're a worse patient than my ex-husband," the gray haired doctor growls, "And I had to fix his missing eye."
Ignoring the dig, Jane mutters and turns back to Liara. "So yeah. They chased me in there, and that's where I ran into Javik-"
"Having lunch with his daughter."
"And the Zakera Ward Kroganball team," Jane says, "Might follow that sport now."
Liara taps her fingertips together, shuffling closer to Shepard. "Have...have we ever determined how Vessae is Javik's daughter?" Clanking footsteps, and the three turn to the sound of the approaching golden prothean. Chakwas does not turn, pressing a wet cloth against a nasty cut on Jane's chin and making the Solar grind her teeth.
"Oh that's simple," Vessae says, flopping down onto one of the unconscious terrestrials, "My core soul is the soul of his daughter. When I was made, it was actually the point, because Deus really needed to get Father on our side."
Tali blinks. Liara tilts her head. "That was a lot less complicated than I thought it was going to beaow!" Jane grumbles. "Doctor, I can heal. They will scar, but they will be sexy scars. At least that's what Goto explained!"
Omnitool chirps. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, wincing as Chakwas dabs her with more rubbing alcohol, she taps it. "Shepard. What is it, Baily?"
"Commander, looks like it was eight, not six. Two more appeared one floor down and make a break for it. Looks like they got intercepted by one of your team, though."
Jane narrows her eyes. "Who?"
It was surprise that hit Mnemon Horak. Surprise at the surroundings. Surprise at the odd environment he walked in. Surprise at the smells, the sights, the sounds. Surprise at the inhabitants, the demons, and the sudden displacement.
Surprise at the mortal who leapt down from the rafters, grabbed him in a choke hold, and proceeded to body slam the fire aspect through a flaming table. The last words he heard before passing out- from both surprise and blunt force- were something about being on the 'Vegatrain'.
While Horak lies unconscious in a pile of kindling and table legs, James Vega has found something else to occupy his time. Still in his hardsuit, elbow against the wall, he grins as the green finger traces down the plates over his pectorals.
"So you are really fine for eighty seven years old-" An omnitool chirps. He brings it up. "Hey, Commander. Get back to you." He closes it, smiling. "So...what you say we sow some roots?"
Wincing, Jane glares at Karen Chakwas as the older woman dabs on disinfectant on the mass of cuts and bruises that currently form Jane's face. "You know, I can just cross my legs, concentrate and heal."
"And if you do that I will sedate you and call it for the utter bullshit it is," Chakwas growls, "You close those wounds as they are and they will be infected, and I will then turn you over to Lawson for whatever ghoulish experiments she originally intended. And besides which, Liara asked you a question."
Leaning back on the groaning dragonblooded, she glances down, balls her fist, and punches him in the face. The groaning stops.
"So, Joker managed to run over one of them, and then they started to take apart his...ah..." She rubs the back of her neck. Tali walks over, holding a bottle of turian brandy in one hand, her helmet under her arm and lavender curls bobbing against her shoulders.
"Warstrider," Jane continues, snapping her fingers, "They took apart his warstrider. Grabbed Joker before it blew up and threw Iri at them."
Liara nods. Tali nods, tapping her left arm and opening her omnitool. "Iri grabs one of them, activates some charm. 'Thousandfold Courtesan Calculations' or something, and now I'm down to three. Still too much for me to handle on my own." Jane punches the unconscious dragonblooded again. Tali taps in the term, opening up a glossary she received from Autochthon. Her eyes go wide and her face green.
"Tali?" Jane asks, "Do I even want to know what Iri-"
"No, Shepard. No you don't." Tali then takes a pull from the bottle and sits down next to Jane.
Liara glances to her side. Looking across the walkways and layered streets of the Citadel Zakera Ward. More particularly, at the small fleet of emergency response skycars, and the restaurant with the neon dancing human on top. Which is currently on fire.
"And then," the asari asks.
"And then I had them chase me into that place." Jane points at the burning restaurant, where green vines have broken through the walls. "Gourmet Earth Meals."
"I always wanted to go there," Tali mutters, "Show my independence, acceptance. Show that I, a quarian, could eat alongside and join society at large." She takes another pull of the bottle. "But then, you set it on fire."
Shepard blinks, staring at Tali. "Can you even eat the food in-"
"Not. The. Point." For emphasis, Tali takes another swing of the bottle.
Jane winces, partially from the accusation, partially from the disinfectant tipped ministrations of Karin Chakwas. "God, Shepard, you're a worse patient than my ex-husband," the gray haired doctor growls, "And I had to fix his missing eye."
Ignoring the dig, Jane mutters and turns back to Liara. "So yeah. They chased me in there, and that's where I ran into Javik-"
"Having lunch with his daughter."
"And the Zakera Ward Kroganball team," Jane says, "Might follow that sport now."
Liara taps her fingertips together, shuffling closer to Shepard. "Have...have we ever determined how Vessae is Javik's daughter?" Clanking footsteps, and the three turn to the sound of the approaching golden prothean. Chakwas does not turn, pressing a wet cloth against a nasty cut on Jane's chin and making the Solar grind her teeth.
"Oh that's simple," Vessae says, flopping down onto one of the unconscious terrestrials, "My core soul is the soul of his daughter. When I was made, it was actually the point, because Deus really needed to get Father on our side."
Tali blinks. Liara tilts her head. "That was a lot less complicated than I thought it was going to beaow!" Jane grumbles. "Doctor, I can heal. They will scar, but they will be sexy scars. At least that's what Goto explained!"
Omnitool chirps. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, wincing as Chakwas dabs her with more rubbing alcohol, she taps it. "Shepard. What is it, Baily?"
"Commander, looks like it was eight, not six. Two more appeared one floor down and make a break for it. Looks like they got intercepted by one of your team, though."
Jane narrows her eyes. "Who?"
It was surprise that hit Mnemon Horak. Surprise at the surroundings. Surprise at the odd environment he walked in. Surprise at the smells, the sights, the sounds. Surprise at the inhabitants, the demons, and the sudden displacement.
Surprise at the mortal who leapt down from the rafters, grabbed him in a choke hold, and proceeded to body slam the fire aspect through a flaming table. The last words he heard before passing out- from both surprise and blunt force- were something about being on the 'Vegatrain'.
While Horak lies unconscious in a pile of kindling and table legs, James Vega has found something else to occupy his time. Still in his hardsuit, elbow against the wall, he grins as the green finger traces down the plates over his pectorals.
"So you are really fine for eighty seven years old-" An omnitool chirps. He brings it up. "Hey, Commander. Get back to you." He closes it, smiling. "So...what you say we sow some roots?"
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
"...and so the war ends and they take out and kill her." A sigh, and the shadow serpent clasps its paws with a wistful smile. "Ah, Ruvelia. How I loved her. Once every week night, twice on Saturnday, three times on Sunday. From behind, no lubricant. While choking her." The smokey, ethereal black serpent rubs its palms with glee, wrapped around the man's neck and elbows on his head.
Footsteps in the sand lead back to the horizon. Muttering under his breath, cloak tight against his shoulders, Jack Harper once again wonders if everyone hates this asshole as much as he does. "How are you even here?"
The dragon shrugs, twirling a tendril. Sand whips about them, passing through its ethereal form and pelting the former Illusive Man in the face. "Oh, some soul surgery on one of my lesser aspects. If you look carefully, you can see the tentacle I'm puppeting this one with. While he is a crippled, sick retard who runs away like the simpering little bitch he is, Auto-kun does have some wonderful ideas."
The dragon smiles, a jagged maw of teeth that would be ivory in a normal being. But on him, they are gnawed and weathered marble. "Although, these puppets are oh so fragile. But I always have reserves." Jack shakes his head, continuing his trek.
Two days of walking. He should find this harder than he does, traveling through a desert which resembles a moon more than anything. Which is better than a dessert that resembles a moon, as he never had much of a sweet tooth.
The dragon continues rambling. On and on, on and on again. A mix of jeers, perversions, tall tales. It is like the voice he had in his head before his transformation, the slow murmur of Indoctrination. Only, instead of the slow and steady voice of the Reapers, it is a voice describing in detail how a pious monk can be turned into a suicidal hedonist.
And then the voice stops. It goes silent, retreats. Jack glances from side to side, walking forward and finding himself still under a night sky, but now walking among wet grass and fruit trees. An Oasis, in the middle of an infinite desert. Or dessert. He wouldn't put it past this insane hellhole to reveal itself to be a gigantic cheesecake.
"A traveller."
He blinks, and there is a woman in front of him. He would guess that she had been formed fully from the silver sands, but that would be less ridiculous than the other options. Green eyes shine behind the silver and brown wraps that are pulled from her face, revealing a timeless, stubborn beauty framed by sandy blonde hair.
The ash robes and white skirts sparkle in the moonless, starless night, against the light of the silver sands. The pail held in her hands shifts from side to side, water splashing over the edges. With every step of worn, once pristine and beautiful shoes, she comes more into focus. More into reality, as does the oasis around her.
Slender hands and long fingers, hardened by the infinite sands but still smooth pull down the wrappings around her head. The long strands of ash and gold frame her face and flow around the broken and varnished remains of a tiara, a crown, that still sits stubbornly upon her brow.
The oasis flows around him. Jack feels the pack he carried become lighter, and turns to see a young man in leathers and cloth lift it from his shoulders, carrying it towards the huts and cabin he sees at the water's edge. Which, like everything else her, was not there a moment ago.
Children gather by the largest of the huts, a dome of wood and cloth. Some barely older than toddlers, some with gray in their hair. A mixture of young men and young women, and he sees them beyond the tent and setting a massive, long table. A quick switch of his sight to another spectrum, and he confirms that, yes, this is exactly what he thinks it is.
"Interesting," the former Illusive Man says, "Where am I?"
"A place of rest and respite," the woman says, her face neutral, her eyes glancing up and down, walking with a practiced gate towards him, "You have been traveling. You don't have the look of someone freshly arrived in the desert."
He nods. Glances, looking her over. Especially as she turns, slightly, so he can get a better idea of...dimensions. The Illusive Man has figured out what this is. Who this is. Where most people would attempt to flee upon realizing the identity of the woman, he simply thinks,
I haven't done one of those, yet.
"My name's Jack," he says with a bow, measured and respectful, "May I ask yours?"
She smiles. Controlled, but polite. A faint quirk in the corner of her lip tells him all he needs to know. "I've had many titles," she says, "But I've been trapped in these wastes so long that none of them matter. Please. Call me Sessi."
She wraps her hand around his wrist. "Won't you join us for our repast?" she asks, "And perhaps, listen to our story?"
He smiles. "Of course. Lead the way."
Footsteps in the sand lead back to the horizon. Muttering under his breath, cloak tight against his shoulders, Jack Harper once again wonders if everyone hates this asshole as much as he does. "How are you even here?"
The dragon shrugs, twirling a tendril. Sand whips about them, passing through its ethereal form and pelting the former Illusive Man in the face. "Oh, some soul surgery on one of my lesser aspects. If you look carefully, you can see the tentacle I'm puppeting this one with. While he is a crippled, sick retard who runs away like the simpering little bitch he is, Auto-kun does have some wonderful ideas."
The dragon smiles, a jagged maw of teeth that would be ivory in a normal being. But on him, they are gnawed and weathered marble. "Although, these puppets are oh so fragile. But I always have reserves." Jack shakes his head, continuing his trek.
Two days of walking. He should find this harder than he does, traveling through a desert which resembles a moon more than anything. Which is better than a dessert that resembles a moon, as he never had much of a sweet tooth.
The dragon continues rambling. On and on, on and on again. A mix of jeers, perversions, tall tales. It is like the voice he had in his head before his transformation, the slow murmur of Indoctrination. Only, instead of the slow and steady voice of the Reapers, it is a voice describing in detail how a pious monk can be turned into a suicidal hedonist.
And then the voice stops. It goes silent, retreats. Jack glances from side to side, walking forward and finding himself still under a night sky, but now walking among wet grass and fruit trees. An Oasis, in the middle of an infinite desert. Or dessert. He wouldn't put it past this insane hellhole to reveal itself to be a gigantic cheesecake.
"A traveller."
He blinks, and there is a woman in front of him. He would guess that she had been formed fully from the silver sands, but that would be less ridiculous than the other options. Green eyes shine behind the silver and brown wraps that are pulled from her face, revealing a timeless, stubborn beauty framed by sandy blonde hair.
The ash robes and white skirts sparkle in the moonless, starless night, against the light of the silver sands. The pail held in her hands shifts from side to side, water splashing over the edges. With every step of worn, once pristine and beautiful shoes, she comes more into focus. More into reality, as does the oasis around her.
Slender hands and long fingers, hardened by the infinite sands but still smooth pull down the wrappings around her head. The long strands of ash and gold frame her face and flow around the broken and varnished remains of a tiara, a crown, that still sits stubbornly upon her brow.
The oasis flows around him. Jack feels the pack he carried become lighter, and turns to see a young man in leathers and cloth lift it from his shoulders, carrying it towards the huts and cabin he sees at the water's edge. Which, like everything else her, was not there a moment ago.
Children gather by the largest of the huts, a dome of wood and cloth. Some barely older than toddlers, some with gray in their hair. A mixture of young men and young women, and he sees them beyond the tent and setting a massive, long table. A quick switch of his sight to another spectrum, and he confirms that, yes, this is exactly what he thinks it is.
"Interesting," the former Illusive Man says, "Where am I?"
"A place of rest and respite," the woman says, her face neutral, her eyes glancing up and down, walking with a practiced gate towards him, "You have been traveling. You don't have the look of someone freshly arrived in the desert."
He nods. Glances, looking her over. Especially as she turns, slightly, so he can get a better idea of...dimensions. The Illusive Man has figured out what this is. Who this is. Where most people would attempt to flee upon realizing the identity of the woman, he simply thinks,
I haven't done one of those, yet.
"My name's Jack," he says with a bow, measured and respectful, "May I ask yours?"
She smiles. Controlled, but polite. A faint quirk in the corner of her lip tells him all he needs to know. "I've had many titles," she says, "But I've been trapped in these wastes so long that none of them matter. Please. Call me Sessi."
She wraps her hand around his wrist. "Won't you join us for our repast?" she asks, "And perhaps, listen to our story?"
He smiles. "Of course. Lead the way."
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Five days after the attack, she found herself in a field in the middle of nowhere. Unhurt. Disoriented, yes. Alone, yes. But such things are rarely such an obstacle for her. For ones such as her. A simple spell located the mortals of this land, and she flew over the grassy fields, soaring over the treetops, the rolling hills, and the farmlands attended to by the odd magitech of this place.
A day of steady travel, her hunger and her thirst abated by her own inner magicks, and she comes across the steady hum of blue walls. Green eyes glance from side to side. Walking forward, the red and black armor creaking with every step, well-kept boots streaked with mud and silt from that unfortunately placed river she passed over, she passes the blue wall.
Before her, a collection of...boxes...are arranged. Large boxes, with windows and open doors, in which there are mortals tending to their business, talking to glowing plates, sitting in idle chatter. Children run along, a girl with blonde pigtails running past her, followed by a small, red haired boy with some sort of bright colored wand that shoots water.
She walks past the boxes, into a city of low houses, spires glowing with blue lightning, and mounted...things...with many barrels pointed past the blue walls of light. She walks, observing, feeling eyes on her, but not eyes of suspicion, not gazes of fear.
Awe. She senses awe. She senses that they admire her- even though she does not know where she is, she is certain that they have a measure of respect for-
"Commander Shepard!"
Green eyes narrow. The woman with red hair and marble skin turns to the sound of the voice. The voice saying the name those intruders, those interlopers said. The name they believed belonged to her.
"Yes." It is not a question. It is not a statement. It is the tone of grinding rocks and weathered stone. A man, a mortal man in dark blue armor, his face concealed by a helmet that reveals only the eyes, swings his open hand to his brow.
"Welcome to Elysium, Commander! If you need anything, just ask!" He points to his right- to the center of this town. City. Place. "Are you here to see the statue?"
She nods. He walks, and she follows, hands balled into fists. Listening to chatter about 'Eden Prime', and 'Reapers,' and 'Illium', as if such words are supposed to have meaning to her. She nods, but does not speak. Does not betray her ignorance of this place.
Lead past storefronts with glass made of blue light, lead down streets paved with steel, she is lead to an open pagoda, at the center of which is a circle of blue light and water streaming upwards in short bursts. At the center of all this, though, there is a statue. Of her. Standing atop a hill of stone, foot atop the destroyed helmet of an invader.
Holding one of those wands above her head in one hand, other hand covered in some sort of construct of light. Shouting in triumphant victory at some hard won-battle. "We also got some news from Eden Prime, so we added the last bit just recently."
Her eyes wander to the forehead of the statue of her-but-not-her. To the garish, glowing, golden circle upon her effigy's brow.
Green eyes flash and become glowing coals. A white stone appears in her right hand, and she clenches her fist to reduce it to powder. The soldier tilts his head, even as the vermillion aura wafts off of her, and rather than run he simply taps something on the construct appearing around his arm.
"Oh yes," Mnemon of House Mnemon growls, sparks flying from her grinding teeth, "It's just going to be one of those decades."
A day of steady travel, her hunger and her thirst abated by her own inner magicks, and she comes across the steady hum of blue walls. Green eyes glance from side to side. Walking forward, the red and black armor creaking with every step, well-kept boots streaked with mud and silt from that unfortunately placed river she passed over, she passes the blue wall.
Before her, a collection of...boxes...are arranged. Large boxes, with windows and open doors, in which there are mortals tending to their business, talking to glowing plates, sitting in idle chatter. Children run along, a girl with blonde pigtails running past her, followed by a small, red haired boy with some sort of bright colored wand that shoots water.
She walks past the boxes, into a city of low houses, spires glowing with blue lightning, and mounted...things...with many barrels pointed past the blue walls of light. She walks, observing, feeling eyes on her, but not eyes of suspicion, not gazes of fear.
Awe. She senses awe. She senses that they admire her- even though she does not know where she is, she is certain that they have a measure of respect for-
"Commander Shepard!"
Green eyes narrow. The woman with red hair and marble skin turns to the sound of the voice. The voice saying the name those intruders, those interlopers said. The name they believed belonged to her.
"Yes." It is not a question. It is not a statement. It is the tone of grinding rocks and weathered stone. A man, a mortal man in dark blue armor, his face concealed by a helmet that reveals only the eyes, swings his open hand to his brow.
"Welcome to Elysium, Commander! If you need anything, just ask!" He points to his right- to the center of this town. City. Place. "Are you here to see the statue?"
She nods. He walks, and she follows, hands balled into fists. Listening to chatter about 'Eden Prime', and 'Reapers,' and 'Illium', as if such words are supposed to have meaning to her. She nods, but does not speak. Does not betray her ignorance of this place.
Lead past storefronts with glass made of blue light, lead down streets paved with steel, she is lead to an open pagoda, at the center of which is a circle of blue light and water streaming upwards in short bursts. At the center of all this, though, there is a statue. Of her. Standing atop a hill of stone, foot atop the destroyed helmet of an invader.
Holding one of those wands above her head in one hand, other hand covered in some sort of construct of light. Shouting in triumphant victory at some hard won-battle. "We also got some news from Eden Prime, so we added the last bit just recently."
Her eyes wander to the forehead of the statue of her-but-not-her. To the garish, glowing, golden circle upon her effigy's brow.
Green eyes flash and become glowing coals. A white stone appears in her right hand, and she clenches her fist to reduce it to powder. The soldier tilts his head, even as the vermillion aura wafts off of her, and rather than run he simply taps something on the construct appearing around his arm.
"Oh yes," Mnemon of House Mnemon growls, sparks flying from her grinding teeth, "It's just going to be one of those decades."
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
A good Quarian navigator knows how to tell certain things. Speed, distance, size. Navigating in three dimensions for most of your life makes these things important. When you're in two dimensions, it becomes easier.
Frames of reference are steadier. Stationary. He can judge the motion of the liquid silver against the walls of the canal. The trees against the wind. Mental math combined with the rangefinger in his helmet. This tells him the boat speeding towards him is clocking one hundred miles per hour.
"Fuck."
He blinks out of existence the moment the boat hits, appearing behind the driver- a squat, bobble-headed white creature in pink robes. It turns its head completely around, empty black eyes staring at Kal before shaking.
Kal turns, and stares at the passenger of the boat- a black furred, cat faced woman in blue and gold silk robes, reclining on a set of pillows. Her ears perk and the tail straightens. "Service," she says, and wags her eyebrows.
On the walkways overlooking the canals, Wuffles runs, Kamilla hanging from their back. They run as fast as synthetic limbs will carry them, watching Kal leap from boat to boat, running against the flow of speeding boat traffic and weaving between amorous deities and angry drivers.
Kamilla urges them on with her cries, pointing to the leaping, dodging sidereal. Which is when Wuffles sees a figure approaching from the distance. Petals extend, and the synthetic- well, more a pile of gods than a synthetic here- makes a careful decision with both the data it does have, and the data it does not.
In essence, Wuffles decides to take a leap of faith. Grabbing Kamilla, they tuck her under one arm. Leaping, the Geth hops first off the head of a stone lion, then through the air and off of one, two, three metal birds. Weaving between flying discs, between insects with man faces, Wuffles dives down towards their friend, currently running down a long dingy and pursued by an angry, spear wielding goat.
Kamilla closes her eyes. Wuffles extends a hand and spreads their feet. They catch, as they hoped, on the rungs of a ladder that was not there a moment ago. "Creator Kal'Reegar!"
Kal leaps, swinging his hand into the Geth's own. Wuffles pulls, swings, and sends them both towards solid ground. Kal hits first, rolling to a crouch. Wuffles swings through the air and lands on both feet, before extending their arms. Floating above them, Kamilla nods and drops into their arms.
Followed by a figure skipping along the runs of the ladder, tapping a sandal-covered foot on solid ground before clapping her hands. The ladder, stretched across the city, disappears. Straw hair tied back and hidden in a white hankerchief, she fixes them with amber eyes.
"You've come on quite a journey," she says, in a voice that makes Kal's eyes go wide with recognition, "I know Kal, of course. But I don't know you."
Kal falls to one knee, head bowed. Kamilla blinks, tilts her head, and then straightens up and smiles. "I'm Kamilla!"
Wuffles extends their head petals. "And we are Wuffles. Emissary of the Geth."
The woman blinks. "Wuffles." Mercury, Maiden of Journeys, tilts her head and blinks again. "What."
Frames of reference are steadier. Stationary. He can judge the motion of the liquid silver against the walls of the canal. The trees against the wind. Mental math combined with the rangefinger in his helmet. This tells him the boat speeding towards him is clocking one hundred miles per hour.
"Fuck."
He blinks out of existence the moment the boat hits, appearing behind the driver- a squat, bobble-headed white creature in pink robes. It turns its head completely around, empty black eyes staring at Kal before shaking.
Kal turns, and stares at the passenger of the boat- a black furred, cat faced woman in blue and gold silk robes, reclining on a set of pillows. Her ears perk and the tail straightens. "Service," she says, and wags her eyebrows.
On the walkways overlooking the canals, Wuffles runs, Kamilla hanging from their back. They run as fast as synthetic limbs will carry them, watching Kal leap from boat to boat, running against the flow of speeding boat traffic and weaving between amorous deities and angry drivers.
Kamilla urges them on with her cries, pointing to the leaping, dodging sidereal. Which is when Wuffles sees a figure approaching from the distance. Petals extend, and the synthetic- well, more a pile of gods than a synthetic here- makes a careful decision with both the data it does have, and the data it does not.
In essence, Wuffles decides to take a leap of faith. Grabbing Kamilla, they tuck her under one arm. Leaping, the Geth hops first off the head of a stone lion, then through the air and off of one, two, three metal birds. Weaving between flying discs, between insects with man faces, Wuffles dives down towards their friend, currently running down a long dingy and pursued by an angry, spear wielding goat.
Kamilla closes her eyes. Wuffles extends a hand and spreads their feet. They catch, as they hoped, on the rungs of a ladder that was not there a moment ago. "Creator Kal'Reegar!"
Kal leaps, swinging his hand into the Geth's own. Wuffles pulls, swings, and sends them both towards solid ground. Kal hits first, rolling to a crouch. Wuffles swings through the air and lands on both feet, before extending their arms. Floating above them, Kamilla nods and drops into their arms.
Followed by a figure skipping along the runs of the ladder, tapping a sandal-covered foot on solid ground before clapping her hands. The ladder, stretched across the city, disappears. Straw hair tied back and hidden in a white hankerchief, she fixes them with amber eyes.
"You've come on quite a journey," she says, in a voice that makes Kal's eyes go wide with recognition, "I know Kal, of course. But I don't know you."
Kal falls to one knee, head bowed. Kamilla blinks, tilts her head, and then straightens up and smiles. "I'm Kamilla!"
Wuffles extends their head petals. "And we are Wuffles. Emissary of the Geth."
The woman blinks. "Wuffles." Mercury, Maiden of Journeys, tilts her head and blinks again. "What."
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
A promise to help lead to...sweeter...things. A night of joyous feasting, celebration. Shouts against the desert, followed by drinks to eventual freedom. He ended up back in the main hut, where Sessi, the mother, the queen, walked him into her private chambers. What followed was something...impressive, even by his standards.
It's a shame the Dragon showed up halfway through it and began offering color commentary. When Jack made it a point to ignore him, he just kept going on and on about anything. Meaningless tripe and filthy jokes, shadow puppets and horrible, off key songs.
"...and so a noble warrior with an artifact sword set forth to oppose me! But before the final blow could be struck, I tore open a portal in time, and flung him into the future, where my evil is law! And that's what happened to my Fetich soul."
A crystalline eye opens, peering past the bare shoulder of the woman in the bed with him. Even in the dim light of the moonless sky, his own senses, his own sight-beyond-sight, lets him see the coiled black serpent hovering over a hookah next to the bed and puffing out smoke rings.
Head on the pillow, sheets of red and silver splayed about them both, one of the two humans in the room is awake. The other continues sleeping, her back to him, gold and silver hair fallen around her like streams of sand. Floating next to the bed, the serpent places the pipe back into the hookah. Winds blow, fluttering through the curtained windows.
The Dragon sets itself down on a mat across from them, framed in the dim light and lips parted in a smile of worn, ugly teeth.
"Oh hello, Jack. You've decided to stop pretending I'm not there. Would you like to know the true identity of the woman you had been performing the 69 with, or as I like to call it, Nature's Most Delicious Sandwich?"
Green eyes open and illuminate the room with a soft glow. They narrow, and Sessi glares, her lips turned downwards. "You," she breathes.
A trilling, wet gurgle escapes the mouth of the shadow-creature. Tendrils of blackest pitch wrap around it and snap out. A table from the corner of the room is pulled over for it to prop its elbow on. It pulls the pipe out of the hookah and puffs again.
"Me," the dragon purrs, "So. What aspect of you is this, dear sister? I'm going to guess the part that likes being spanked and told that she's a good girl."
Eyes narrow more, emerald slits playing off the silver and gray light that slowly permeates the room. Sand creeps in through the stone floor, the starlight of the windows wavering and shifting. Thick tension hangs in the room, the grin on the face of the serpent going wider and wider in response to the slow, simmering anger of the woman.
Jack, despite the conclusions his companions and his patrons have come to, is better educated on the realities of what is around him than they know. Hence, he leans forward, pressing his lips against her bare shoulder, then against the side of her neck. Her eyes soften, closing, her hand meeting his and intertwining with his fingers.
"Oh here we go," the Dragon sing songs, "I wonder if she realizes who your patron is, Jack." A giggle, followed by a purr. "Ah, Mind Hand Manipulation. Bet she knows now~"
Her hand reaches out and she snaps her fingers. The Dragon freezes in mid swear, calcifying and shattering upon dropping to the ground. Sessi smiles, turning around, pressing herself up against Jack and running one hand up his bare chest. "I hoped he was just some dehydration-brought delusion of yours, but I can already sense it." Her lips quirk in a faint, trilling purr. "So, where were we?"
There is energy in this room, in this hut. In this entire oasis, which he can tell just from glances is nothing more than this cabin. He can't hear any activity outside of it- even the wind that causes the curtains to flutter only starts at the windows itself. "So," he says, "I am talking with an aspect of the Infinite Desert. Should I call you Sessi, or Cecelyne?"
"My full title would be Cessi-Yll-Nylaine, the Oasis and the Queen." Her eyes meet his, glowing brighter than any other source in the room, "I am one of the chorus that makes up the personification of what you call The Principle of Law. But I prefer Sessi."
It's a shame the Dragon showed up halfway through it and began offering color commentary. When Jack made it a point to ignore him, he just kept going on and on about anything. Meaningless tripe and filthy jokes, shadow puppets and horrible, off key songs.
"...and so a noble warrior with an artifact sword set forth to oppose me! But before the final blow could be struck, I tore open a portal in time, and flung him into the future, where my evil is law! And that's what happened to my Fetich soul."
A crystalline eye opens, peering past the bare shoulder of the woman in the bed with him. Even in the dim light of the moonless sky, his own senses, his own sight-beyond-sight, lets him see the coiled black serpent hovering over a hookah next to the bed and puffing out smoke rings.
Head on the pillow, sheets of red and silver splayed about them both, one of the two humans in the room is awake. The other continues sleeping, her back to him, gold and silver hair fallen around her like streams of sand. Floating next to the bed, the serpent places the pipe back into the hookah. Winds blow, fluttering through the curtained windows.
The Dragon sets itself down on a mat across from them, framed in the dim light and lips parted in a smile of worn, ugly teeth.
"Oh hello, Jack. You've decided to stop pretending I'm not there. Would you like to know the true identity of the woman you had been performing the 69 with, or as I like to call it, Nature's Most Delicious Sandwich?"
Green eyes open and illuminate the room with a soft glow. They narrow, and Sessi glares, her lips turned downwards. "You," she breathes.
A trilling, wet gurgle escapes the mouth of the shadow-creature. Tendrils of blackest pitch wrap around it and snap out. A table from the corner of the room is pulled over for it to prop its elbow on. It pulls the pipe out of the hookah and puffs again.
"Me," the dragon purrs, "So. What aspect of you is this, dear sister? I'm going to guess the part that likes being spanked and told that she's a good girl."
Eyes narrow more, emerald slits playing off the silver and gray light that slowly permeates the room. Sand creeps in through the stone floor, the starlight of the windows wavering and shifting. Thick tension hangs in the room, the grin on the face of the serpent going wider and wider in response to the slow, simmering anger of the woman.
Jack, despite the conclusions his companions and his patrons have come to, is better educated on the realities of what is around him than they know. Hence, he leans forward, pressing his lips against her bare shoulder, then against the side of her neck. Her eyes soften, closing, her hand meeting his and intertwining with his fingers.
"Oh here we go," the Dragon sing songs, "I wonder if she realizes who your patron is, Jack." A giggle, followed by a purr. "Ah, Mind Hand Manipulation. Bet she knows now~"
Her hand reaches out and she snaps her fingers. The Dragon freezes in mid swear, calcifying and shattering upon dropping to the ground. Sessi smiles, turning around, pressing herself up against Jack and running one hand up his bare chest. "I hoped he was just some dehydration-brought delusion of yours, but I can already sense it." Her lips quirk in a faint, trilling purr. "So, where were we?"
There is energy in this room, in this hut. In this entire oasis, which he can tell just from glances is nothing more than this cabin. He can't hear any activity outside of it- even the wind that causes the curtains to flutter only starts at the windows itself. "So," he says, "I am talking with an aspect of the Infinite Desert. Should I call you Sessi, or Cecelyne?"
"My full title would be Cessi-Yll-Nylaine, the Oasis and the Queen." Her eyes meet his, glowing brighter than any other source in the room, "I am one of the chorus that makes up the personification of what you call The Principle of Law. But I prefer Sessi."
10
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The lovely, black haired woman in the red skirts and black tunic tilts her head. She cocks an eyebrow, the gold chopsticks keeping her hair in a bun bouncing. A quirk of her lips and the fake wax mustache on her lips goes slightly crooked. "Who are you?"
Lightly sparked sweat drops roll down the side of the golden sphere. The iris goes wide, then cycles almost shut. "I am the God of Bad Disguises," he declares.
The fake mustache bristles. She folds her arms, propping up her chest. "No you're not," she says, "I know the God of Bad Disguises and you aren't her." She thrusts her shoulders back, and the mustache tilts. "Oh! I know what this is!"
"I know exactly what this is!" Marching down the street, pushing past rikshaws, past shuffling porcelain cats, another woman with a fake wax goatee marches up and grabs the mustachio'ed woman by the shoulder. "Another fucking power play, is that it?"
The mustachio'ed woman slaps the hand away. "I had nothing to do with this!"
"You've been trying to get me fired since you fucking started," the goate'ed woman yells, poking her counterpart- who Autochthon notices is identical to her save for the different fake facial hair- in the chest, "This another one of your fucking patsies? What'd you give him to get him to play along, huh?" Then the goate'ed woman makes a sudden jerking motion with her hand, as if sliding it along some sort of long rod.
The mustachio'ed woman's face turns beat red. Next to them, a canal boat slows down to watch, several dog-faced monks staring at the argument before speeding past. "Oh, that's rich," she cries out, arms folded and turning from her counterpart with a huff "At least I don't get called the 'God of Bad Disguises and Quickies with the Subdirector!'"
During this, Autochthon glances between the two, iris narrowing, opening, lightning sparks playing over gaps between his plates. A single thought runs through the peerless, transcendent architecture that is his mind;
The fuck is this?
The Maker turns, just in time to see a naked man with skin the color of layered brick step away from the layered brick wall of the building they were next to. "Excuse me," the God of Camouflage says, "But do you need me to call the Department of Nature to mediate?"
The iris of the golden sphere narrows, lightning playing behind the silver plates. A high pitched choking sound emits from Autochthon, followed by a warble when a stick insect twice the size of a man walks over and joins the argument.
Two more gods- identical gods, who introduce themselves as the God of Badly Disguising Yourself, Bureau of Humanity, and The God of Badly Disguising, Bureau of Heaven, charge into the argument while insisting that they are, in fact, the other person. Which is when Autochthon banishes the cloak and scarecrow to Elsewhere and eases himself into the entry socket of his bipedal golden Encounter Suit.
A jade and metal bench folds inward, and becomes the cloak of a distinguished older man with a long white, braided beard. "God of Inelegant Facades," he introduces himself, "Bureau of Heaven, Department of Secrets." He strides over in long steps, stepping between the two women with fake facial hair. "What is the cause of this commotion?"
The woman with the goatee pokes the woman with the mustache in the chest. There is a bit of a bounce. "She's trying to get me fired and is passing off another of her fuck buddies as the God of Bad Disguises!"
The mustache-wearing woman snorts. Her mustache bristles. "I did no such thing! I just ran into him!"
The God of Inelegant Facades turns, as do the other assembled deities, to the three meter tall golden giant standing in front of them. "Are you responsible for this?" the senior god asks, "And..." He blinks. "Who are you?"
The facet cut eyes flash. "I!" Thunder booms overhead. "Am Autochthon!"
In truth, the addled and confused mind of the Great Maker did not entirely plan on how the gods would react to him announcing that he was, in fact, the returned Autochthon. Perhaps he expected polite apologies. Perhaps he expected supplication and prayer. Perhaps he expected an explanation for what, in fact, he just witnessed.
He certainly did not, in fact, expect them to all start screaming.
Lightly sparked sweat drops roll down the side of the golden sphere. The iris goes wide, then cycles almost shut. "I am the God of Bad Disguises," he declares.
The fake mustache bristles. She folds her arms, propping up her chest. "No you're not," she says, "I know the God of Bad Disguises and you aren't her." She thrusts her shoulders back, and the mustache tilts. "Oh! I know what this is!"
"I know exactly what this is!" Marching down the street, pushing past rikshaws, past shuffling porcelain cats, another woman with a fake wax goatee marches up and grabs the mustachio'ed woman by the shoulder. "Another fucking power play, is that it?"
The mustachio'ed woman slaps the hand away. "I had nothing to do with this!"
"You've been trying to get me fired since you fucking started," the goate'ed woman yells, poking her counterpart- who Autochthon notices is identical to her save for the different fake facial hair- in the chest, "This another one of your fucking patsies? What'd you give him to get him to play along, huh?" Then the goate'ed woman makes a sudden jerking motion with her hand, as if sliding it along some sort of long rod.
The mustachio'ed woman's face turns beat red. Next to them, a canal boat slows down to watch, several dog-faced monks staring at the argument before speeding past. "Oh, that's rich," she cries out, arms folded and turning from her counterpart with a huff "At least I don't get called the 'God of Bad Disguises and Quickies with the Subdirector!'"
During this, Autochthon glances between the two, iris narrowing, opening, lightning sparks playing over gaps between his plates. A single thought runs through the peerless, transcendent architecture that is his mind;
The fuck is this?
The Maker turns, just in time to see a naked man with skin the color of layered brick step away from the layered brick wall of the building they were next to. "Excuse me," the God of Camouflage says, "But do you need me to call the Department of Nature to mediate?"
The iris of the golden sphere narrows, lightning playing behind the silver plates. A high pitched choking sound emits from Autochthon, followed by a warble when a stick insect twice the size of a man walks over and joins the argument.
Two more gods- identical gods, who introduce themselves as the God of Badly Disguising Yourself, Bureau of Humanity, and The God of Badly Disguising, Bureau of Heaven, charge into the argument while insisting that they are, in fact, the other person. Which is when Autochthon banishes the cloak and scarecrow to Elsewhere and eases himself into the entry socket of his bipedal golden Encounter Suit.
A jade and metal bench folds inward, and becomes the cloak of a distinguished older man with a long white, braided beard. "God of Inelegant Facades," he introduces himself, "Bureau of Heaven, Department of Secrets." He strides over in long steps, stepping between the two women with fake facial hair. "What is the cause of this commotion?"
The woman with the goatee pokes the woman with the mustache in the chest. There is a bit of a bounce. "She's trying to get me fired and is passing off another of her fuck buddies as the God of Bad Disguises!"
The mustache-wearing woman snorts. Her mustache bristles. "I did no such thing! I just ran into him!"
The God of Inelegant Facades turns, as do the other assembled deities, to the three meter tall golden giant standing in front of them. "Are you responsible for this?" the senior god asks, "And..." He blinks. "Who are you?"
The facet cut eyes flash. "I!" Thunder booms overhead. "Am Autochthon!"
In truth, the addled and confused mind of the Great Maker did not entirely plan on how the gods would react to him announcing that he was, in fact, the returned Autochthon. Perhaps he expected polite apologies. Perhaps he expected supplication and prayer. Perhaps he expected an explanation for what, in fact, he just witnessed.
He certainly did not, in fact, expect them to all start screaming.