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Perp

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  1. IC: Suzume - Sado, The Yards Detail flooded ever faster into the world around her – the figures before her were no longer blurred shapes, the subtle lines of their faces discernible. To Suzume, it was almost as if she were waking up into a dream, rather than out of one. What little she remembered of her previous waking moments in the street felt equally surreal and fragmented. Had those events really happened, or were they imagined? It was hard to tell at the moment. Beneath the turbulent glow of the world clarifying around her, Suzume could feel that it was all painfully real. Something bad had happened, and it wasn’t a dream she could be rid of by simply waking up. The words spoken to her by the remaining figure in the room registered, but were not fully grasped. Unconsciously, she patted her hands around her person, searching for something that wasn’t there. “My shinobue,” she muttered, cotton-mouthed. “My flute. I need my flute…” Through the stupor, something sparked the faintest echo of a memory in her mind. At once, Suzume realized what had triggered it – the faint smell in the background. Salt and brine, unmistakable. The kind of scent that permeated everywhere when you were in proximity to the ocean shore, near piers or dockyards or other structures that stretched out into the waters, foaming and churning. Hadn’t she been somewhere like this before…? OOC: @Mel
  2. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift For a brief moment, Shavrakk wondered if he had blown it - an instant of nervous fear down his spine as the Lesterin’s tone changed. He really should’ve expected some pushback, considering his appraisal of the other fellow’s motivation for taking a detour through the rift. There was a common thread among the grand majority of Lesterin on the mainland. What greater motivator to run far, far away, and keep running, than that? But he didn’t stop walking. He was still following the Skakdi out of the Rift. The moment of fear had passed, and a quick calculus followed. It was unwise to assume continued compliance. The chance that the Lesterin could simply shake him the moment they passed out of the Rift was suddenly much greater. To refuse the outstretched arm of someone untrustworthy when you were drowning was stubborn, foolish insistence on suicide. This stranger was clearly neither. The situation was still a volatile one, and wouldn’t guarantee success, but there was only one thing Shavrakk could do, and one place they could go, unaccosted. Both his hands shot up, palms out towards the other in the universal “calm down” gesture. “Hey – relax. There’s a hostel on the outskirts I’ve visited from time to time. The owner will look the other way, for a price.” Walking backward was making him uncomfortable. He wasn’t keen on keeping his eyes in one direction for long. He slowed his pace as to walk astride the Lesterin, giving the path ahead a cursory scan, ensuring his newfound travelling companion never left his peripheral vision. OOC: @oncertainty
  3. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro Engineering Department The Po-Matoran nodded as Lenat spoke, absorbing the information laid out for him. “Hmm. I see. Well, I think that this–” he tapped the blueprint on Lenat’s desk again, “–is something the Onu-Koronans would definitely be eager to get their hands on, should it ever be completed. Legally or otherwise. But with this initiative in place, it’s perfect for looping them in. With their industrial base, they’ll be primed for the manufacture of any complex parts… or perhaps even producing finalized parts in numbers, should the opportunity arise.” A critical junction had been reached. Again, Jokaro looked into the Vortixx’ eyes, glancing ever so briefly at the mug perched atop Lenat’s desk as he turned to finally sit in one of the seats across from the Department Head. His next proposition might be a tricky one to propose – the scales were balanced precariously. He cleared his throat. “I think it’s fairly obvious that it can’t be constructed or tested either here or at the Emporium – or really anywhere near a population center. Safety and security concerns, you know how it goes. That would necessitate the implementation of facilities in a remote location. Deep in the Motara would be obvious. It’d require a new station off the Po-Koro-Ostia rail line, too. That’s a whole project in and of itself. Can you swing that? I can forward a brief to the attaché at the Emporium, send him back to Nuparu. If you can get Renaka to talk to him, it might ease the pressure on the Engineering Department. It’d depend on how much Onu-Koro is willing to contribute.” OOC: @Silvan Haven
  4. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro Engineering Department “Oh yes, I agree completely,” replied the Po-Matoran, retracting his hands as Lenat took the pages into his own, poring over the contents intensely. “These aren’t even my designs; these prints are exactly what the Commander supplied us with. I can think of several glaring issues without even doing the math. Speaking of…” Delving into his pack once again, Jokaro withdrew his notebook. He had to thumb through a considerable number of pages until he found one that was blank. “Cost is always of utmost concern on projects of this scale,” he sighed, diverting his attention as he began scribbling a few figures in the notebook. “The good Commander did say that he would return soon, and I could direct him to you to make the proper arrangements for funding. I don’t expect him to be able to fund the whole project, but I barely know anything about the man, to be honest. He mentioned having resources at his disposal.” Frown lines creased the Po-Matoran’s brow, coinciding with some rather intense scribbling on the notebook page. “No, no, that wouldn’t do…” he muttered to himself before continuing his previous thought. “And, well, no offense to the Commander, but costs aside… the mechanical, chemical, and metallurgical effects don’t scale proportionally, either. Farzan and I would have to do a lot of legwork with the research and development on that front.” At last, he seemed pleased with his scrawlings, and turned the notebook towards the Vortixx opposite. On it were a dozen different calculations, some scratched out, others circled. “If we’re to design a working prototype, scaling it down roughly ninety to eighty percent would certainly save on material resources, and the values required would remain within the realm of feasibility once scaled back up – if the sun hasn’t baked my brain yet.” Unceremoniously, he dropped the notebook atop the sheaf of blueprints depicting the Conceptual Nightmare. He leant in, tapping the page with a finger, once again looking into Lenat’s weary eyes. “This need not represent the extent of our capabilities, however. There is another avenue to consider. An attaché from Onu-Koro stopped by the shop yesterday. He spoke about a technology-sharing initiative between our two Koro. Sound familiar to you?” OOC: @Silvan Haven
  5. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro Engineering Department This was… not the Lenat he had first met roughly a year ago. It was almost sad to see him in this state, chained by duty to a desk. Bureaucracy really didn’t suit him. Depending on what exactly weighed the most on his mind in recent days, the blueprints that Jokaro had brought him today would either restore some life within the Vortixx, or crush his soul completely. No use in delaying any further. He crept forward, approaching the wide desk with trepidation. “Well, yes, uh… I do have something here for you. See, we were approached yesterday by one, uh, Captain Dehkaz? Commander Dehkaz? At the Emporium. He had a… request.” For the first time since yesterday, almost as if prolonged exposure to them was inadvisable, Jokaro withdrew the documents from his backpack, unfolding them with exaggerated care as he spoke. “Now, I understand why he came to us specifically, and not you – you’ll see why soon enough – but… I told him, straight up, there was no way Farzan and I could possibly build it. At least, not at the Emporium, and not alone.” He set the pages down in front of Lenat, smoothing them against the desk, hands pinning the far edges in place. Only a moment’s worth of admiration was spent on perusing the specifications again; he broke away, staring expectantly at the fellow engineer opposite him, watching his eyes for the tell-tale reaction. “You realize what that is?” OOC: @Silvan Haven
  6. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro Engineering Department Were he a petty man, Jokaro wouldn’t have hurried into Lenat’s office. He would’ve taken his time, dallied, wasting minute after minute just to let the old Vortixx stew, give him just a minuscule taste of the relative eternity he’d been held up for. But Jokaro wasn’t that kinda guy. Irritable as he was at that moment, waiting any longer would’ve been more self-imposed torture than any kind of inconvenience on another. Presently, he almost jogged down the corridor to where Lenat’s office was situated, and nearly fell through the door. The first thing he noticed was that the temperature was a few degrees cooler within the office. Air conditioning? Of course there was. Renaka poured more widgets into this place than any other Department, which the whole Koro was becoming increasingly reliant upon. There was scarcely a construction project, business venture, agricultural initiative or any other number of figurative pies the DREAD had ties to, subsidized, and dipped their fingers into. DREAD was everywhere in Po-Wahi, their reach extending as far as the new railways would take them. Of course they’d set aside a fraction of those widgets for just a little more comfort. Were he a petty man, and a real self-righteous hypocrite, he would’ve made a snide remark about the privileged position that allowed Lenat those comforts. But, of course, Jokaro wasn’t that man. He would’ve done exactly the same thing. And? And, he was gonna need those same widgets. A lot of them. Enough to make that A/C system’s budget look like a popsicle-stick bridge project for schoolchildren; he was going to have to be a little diplomatic. If all went well, by the end of today, the aforementioned far-reaching influence of the Engineering Department, and Po-Koro as a whole, would be marginally longer, but that promise alone was no easy guarantee. Yes, diplomacy, showmanship, good business sense… a whole secondary set of skills the Po-Matoran would have to tap into to accomplish his mission today. “Lenat! Long time no see!” All the same, he could not help but inject a little professional sarcasm into the air between the two engineers, right off the bat. It was bordering on three hours, cut the guy some slack. The snark was well deserved. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of looking Lenat directly in the eyes before committing. “Uh… busy morning?” He wondered if the Vortixx knew exactly how bloodshot they were. His mildly-accusatory query came out a lot more genuine than intended. OOC: @Silvan Haven
  7. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi Where were we, where were we…? Deigning not to sit, the Skakdi stood in the aisle, leaning against the side of the seat across from the Lesterin, crossing his arms. “Ah! Right, yes. See, you’ve got it backwards. He’s doing me the favor in exchange for protection of his person. It’s a noble and just duty that I’ve been charged with.” Grunts of pain and displeasure, mingled with verbal threats and warnings of impending violence emanated from the direction of the engine car, forceful enough to be heard over the howl of rushing wind. The shattered window, as well as the open connector doors, made their current leg of the journey fairly breezy. "Baz, that crazy Toa's trying to kill people." “Hmm. Well, worry not. His manners may be quite rancid, yes, but be assured – I will politely convince him to leave if he misbehaves.” OOC: @Krayzikk
  8. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift Slowly, deliberately, Shavrakk settled the revolver back into its holster. Notably, however, his hand did not leave the grip afterwards. He had plenty of confidence in his quick-draw, for sure – but you took whatever insurance you could in an uncertain situation. With his other hand, in a much less threatening manner, waved casually for the Lesterin to follow. He took his first few steps backwards, not wanting to take his eyes off the other figure. “If camp is not suitable after we make our ascent, then we will trek to Irnakk’s Tooth.” No matter what circumstances presented themselves, Shavrakk would determine that camping for the evening was not going to happen. Camping implied rest, and neither of them were going to get any, suspicious of each other as they were. Both would pretend to sleep, and neither would actually do so. It would be fruitless. In the Tooth, still hours away by foot, at the very least they could find lodging, and were marginally less likely to end up having their throat slit in the early hours of the morning. Either way, there would have to be a lot of questions asked and answered before either of them got any shut-eye. OOC: @oncertainty
  9. IC: Suzume - Sado, The Yards Bundled in a nest the slumbering sparrow wakes she will sing no song Perception returned slowly, and in chunks. Sound was the first to begin rousing her, in bursts of intensity; the bark of orders issued, yelping of the injured as they were attended to, the omnipresent warbling drone of hushed conversations. All of it seemed a dull roar to the waking Daikura Suzume, who was used to solace and quiet. Her eyes fluttered open, and the world was a monochrome blur – colour lagged behind, gradually seeping back into the little she could see. Awareness was even more gradual, the thick fog within her head slow to dissipate. Suzume remained groggy and disoriented. She could feel her tongue now, dry, thick, and heavy. A faint metallic taste; blood, or maybe bile. Her limbs ached, and every inch of her body was cold and on the verge of shivering, despite the warmth of the air. Everything in her vision was dim, but she could just about make out two or maybe three person-shaped blurs before her. It was wrong, something was very wrong. A snap realization sheared through her fugue, as her other senses began functioning again. Little details like the texture of the fabric beneath her fingertips, the scent of a place foreign to her, non-recognition of whatever voices she could pick out – it all painted the suddenly clear picture that Suzume was not where she was supposed to be, if wherever that was was a place she felt safe. This environment was alien. Panic and fear threatened to overwhelm her again, had confusion not been the sensation that had taken root immediately and grown. Pushing against the futon that was not hers, Suzume struggled against her sore muscles to right herself into a sitting position. She immediately regretted it once she succeeded – a new wave of light-headedness almost toppled her again, and she noticed the figures before her stir. “Where…” she rasped, and swallowed. No improvement. “...Where am I?” OOC: @Mel
  10. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi “Mmmm, not really. I’m doing it for a favor. The company’s been appreciated, though. That, and a couple of decent meals for once. Not so bad when you don’t have rabid junki-” At once, the metallic screeching emanating from the aft end of the train began to intensify, sending shudders down the line of cars. It was a struggle to hear Surdo over the din. Baszlin’s head swiveled in the Matoran’s direction, but it made little difference. He simply saw Surdo’s hands clamped over his ears, mouth moving. “What’s that?!” he shouted over the noise. “Want me to tell them to quiet it down?” He spun around without waiting for a reply, heading towards his charge. However, he passed him by, sticking his head through the open doorway of the engine car where there was a ruckus between a Toa and the psycho from earlier. They’d gotten into some sort of fracas, and it was clearly disturbing the peace. The compartment emanated with the sounds of sizzling flesh and electrical discharge. People were floating around and zapping each other with electricity. Total chaos. It was up to Baszlin to sort it out. Player 2 has entered the game. “Hey! Could you keep it down?! We can’t hear ourselves think! Thank you.” His deed done, Baszlin turned back towards the passenger car. Player 2 has left the game. “Now, where were we…?” he muttered as he approached the Lesterin once again. OOC: @Morgan Yu @Krayzikk @Tarn
  11. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi “Sure. Name’s Baszlin,” the Skakdi remarked casually over the sound of gunfire and shearing metal. He jerked his chin in Surdo’s direction. “Currently in the employ of that fellow over there, as a bodyguard. Is this a formal interview?” OOC: @Krayzikk @Tarn
  12. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi The horrendous metallic screeching, followed momentarily by tinny thumping that slowly wound its way overhead… well, Baszlin didn’t have to be a sonics elemental to tell that the Vortixx Problem was still indeed just that. For now, there was nothing to do about it. The mind of a substance abuser was one whose logic was nigh impossible to fathom, beset by monomania and compulsion. He shrugged. Cross that bridge when they came to it. Besides, the inanimate cardboard had now learned to speak. Bizarre! He whipped around to locate the source of the new voice, scanning for a brief second before resolving the Lesterin in question - and it was indeed a real person now, not some lame facsimile. Her arms, trembling, in the air… A wave of familiarity washed over Baszlin. It wasn’t quite a memory, but he could smell it – the must of sweat, the iron stench of blood so thick you could taste it on your tongue without opening your mouth… He stared at those wrists, raised heavenward. It was like a snapshot out of a history book, something ancient that dredged up the sense of something base and primordial, but for one missing component. Manacles, metal bindings – those were missing from the wrists, accompanied by the reverberating metallic crinkle that could be produced by nothing else but a long length of chain, stretched taut. It was so clear in his mind, the iconography of suffering… and then it was gone. “Hmmm…” All that remained of that image was the pair of trembling arms belonging to the figure before him, terrified and exceedingly real. “Hm? Oh, yes, of course,” he said at last, voice low and soft. He gingerly took one of the arms in his hands, lowering it himself ever so gently. “You’ll get a cramp if you keep them up like that. Very bad on the shoulders.”
  13. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift It wasn’t wise to put blind faith in the certainty of one’s observations in the place that routinely deceived them – making a decision informed by perceived but ultimately illusory stimuli was the leading cause of death in the Rift. Stories of soured water or soiled provisions were commonplace, and countless deaths could be attributed to starvation or dehydration. Perhaps that was the fate of the Lesterin’s own ration of water, though it made little difference. It was the mind that was affected, not the object. At least, that was Shavrakk’s understanding of the way in which the Rift accrued its victims. There was little empirical that could be said about the Rift, and few with the wherewithal to test hypotheses. Despite these caveats, the Skakdi could not help but to trust those senses in the present moment, and thereby his intuition. There was a tangible change in the tension between the two standing figures, like a knot in a rope tethering them to each other had just come undone. It wasn’t so much the Lesterin’s body language that had betrayed him, but it certainly helped cement Shavrakk’s appraisal. Something familiar in his voice… the way he carried his words. There was an anxious energy to them that perhaps hadn’t been there before, or perhaps that he hadn’t noticed until now. When that knot came undone, Shavrakk could see, quite clearly, that the Lesterin was very, very nervous; who wouldn’t be, in an environment such as this? It was rational, natural. But what had pushed him to come here in the first place? That was the Skakdi’s appraisal, the true source of the Lesterin’s anxiety. It was the urge to run very far away, and keep running, no matter where you ended up. The pieces started to fit together. His certainty grew even further - the Lesterin was not the predator that Shavrakk had guessed he might be, initially. He was prey, and that was just as dangerous. Desperation was not conducive to mutual trust. The revolver felt much heavier in his hand now. “No,” he said at last, “but I know the way out. We’ll take it from there.” OOC: @oncertainty
  14. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets Alive, or dead? Alive, or dead? Alive, or dead? In great, audible heaves, Suzume breathed in and out. Her chest felt over-pressured, on the verge of bursting. Her heart pounded in her ears. The stars were out and flitted this way and that, though it was daytime. Toroshu Morie and the band of Menti accompanying her were scarcely present – the words were very far away. Everything was far away. Colourless. She opened her mouth. Her throat was stuffed with cotton. “I’m-” The world faded from view, and a moment later she was on the ground, crumpled in a pile of gangly limbs and cloth. She slept dreamlessly.
  15. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift “Three days is my personal limit. Any longer and you put yourself at a great deal more risk than an unquenchable thirst.” A momentary sideways glance tracked along the trail of viscera leading towards the cave entrance. The speed at which he returned his attention to the Lesterin before him blurred the black opening with the sharp outcroppings around it, leaving the uncanny image of a toothed maw in his mind - even more vivid a conception than when he was staring directly into its depths earlier. It was a bad omen. If the Lesterin had indeed traversed the Rift for three days, he might have already done Shavrakk’s job for him, provided he was coherent and willing under interrogation. Water was a small price to pay. Such are the benefits of outsourcing. Additionally, it would go a ways toward softening the blow when he eventually got stiffed on payment later. Unless the Lesterin could tell him something extraordinary. Something that couldn’t simply be dismissed or ignored out of hand. “We should leave here–” he continued, jerking his chin over his shoulder in the direction he’d come, “–and have a proper conversation where our senses are not under siege.” OOC: @oncertainty
  16. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi Holding his stance as the Vortixx junkie rambled off some half-coherent drivel, Baszlin waited to spring into his tackle when she made a move towards him. Instead, she moved laterally, trampling over some of the seated cardboard and up toward the– The window? She wants to leave? Curious. Did she not pay for a ticket? As the Vortixx scrambled for purchase on the glass-strewn table, Baszlin relaxed his posture and calmly strode over, just as his quarry was pulling herself outside of the train. She might have been expecting him to try to grab her, haul her back into the car. But it was clear that she wanted out. So he pushed her instead. OOC: @Vezok's Friend
  17. IC: Baszlin - Iron Mahi Squirrelly little thing. Frantically hopping up and down on the seats like that – it spoke to the tragic, mind-frying mania of substance abuse. It would be quite sad if it weren’t perplexing in greater measure. Where was she hoping to go? What was she cooking? Baszlin simply continued backing up as the Vortixx scrambled up and down the seats, disturbing the cardboard cutouts emplaced there (a few of them voiced their displeasure at this), moving steadily towards the opposite end of the car. Finally, he’d had enough – there was nowhere for her to go except through him. He splayed his arms, hunching over, ready to pounce. Tackling this Vortixx would be no mean feat if she dared set foot in the aisle again, which she was bound to do. “I’ll show you who’s boss of this train.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend
  18. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift Good. This was a good development. The tension eased off palpably, a thinning of the syrupy dread that the weaker minds of Zakaz often succumbed to when travelling the Rift. With any luck, this Lesterin would not be one of them – at least not before he could make himself useful. He unfastened the canteen and tossed it towards the waiting hands opposite him. Likewise, he let his other hand, still gripping the revolver, drop to his side. If the threat of death still lurked ever closer, that death would come before Shavrakk’s faculties could even register its vector. The Lesterin in front of him was no longer one of those vectors. Even still, his holster remained empty – on Zakaz, trust, like colourful poetry, or good hygiene, or a fair woman, was a scarce commodity. He didn’t wait for the Lesterin to begin drinking to ask his first question. “How long have you been here, in the Rift?” OOC: @oncertainty
  19. IC: Ember - Deck of the Fowadi, Rehu Cove Ah, youth. She continued dancing her eyes across the landscape past the bulwark, though no longer taking any of it in. Her attention was elsewhere.
  20. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets Pure thought bounced this way and that all around her, orbiting around the minds of the assembled Menti and slingshotting themselves in myriad directions, forming a criss-crossing web of call-and-response, a miniature cosmos of comets in a graceful dance. Suzume, as the gravitational foci around which these thoughts were redirected, only observed these pseudocosmic impressions as they passed – adding her own mental voice to the cacophony could only produce disharmonic eddies. She was too absorbed listening to the ideatalk, anyway. Notions of familiarity with her mother’s name sparked here and there, but no more than that. No spark of recognition, no memory of having crossed paths, not within the last week. Suzume’s chest grew tighter with every thought that passed between the Menti and herself and ultimately terminated when it reached Toroshu Morie. It took considerable effort not to shed tears. They all knew nothing. Out loud, they said nothing. She said nothing. The numbness began to creep into her limbs, extremities the first to succumb. Soon, she’d feel nothing. OOC: @Mel
  21. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro Streets “In due time, Farzan! All in due time…” In his mind, Jokaro hoped Farzan wouldn’t pry, but he knew the Fa-Matoran would do it all the same – it was just in his nature, inquisitive to a fault. Truthfully, Jokaro would need to bring Farzan into the fold for something of this magnitude. He wouldn’t just need Lenat’s help, nor the help of Wiremu and his connection to Nuparu; not even Renaka’s blessing would suffice, but the combined efforts of all these people, and assuredly more, would be required. You can start to see why this was an ostensible mountain compared to the roadbumps ahead. There were, however, good reasons not to entrust the secret to Farzan at this time. Reason one: shouting at each other in the street was absolutely not the correct venue to be discussing the finer points of something so ludicrous and expensive. It didn’t matter that the avenues were slowly emptying in the waning twilight of the desert – you could never know who might be listening these days. Discretion was key to this project. Reason two: he didn’t know whether or not he could trust Farzan to uphold that discretion. True, he’d been tight-lipped when it came to the exact methodology behind his diskette innovations and volo-lutu enhancements, but this… well, this was a different ballpark entirely. It took considerable effort for Jokaro himself to not exclaim aloud when he looked over the provided blueprints, even if it was simply a string of expletives. Telling the Fa-Matoran would likely be… overstimulating. Farzan was quite fond of talking as it was. Reason three: Jokaro liked being solely responsible for something this significant. Was that selfish of him? Probably yes, especially since this “Captain Dehkaz” had given it to the Emporium to work on, not Jokaro specifically. However, there had seldom been a single project both he and Farzan had not worked on together in his time at the Emporium. There was something special, exciting, and terrifying about taking the full weight of if on his shoulders, at least initially. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” An exhausted, half-hearted wave to the other Matoran and the final hundred-eighty-degree turn of the evening put him on the path towards his abode, where his long-neglected bed called for him. It was only now he began to notice the ache in his limbs again, much more intense than it had been this morning. If he collapsed and passed out on the sidewalk before he got home, he wasn’t sure he’d mind. * * * You know, Po-Koro’s “Engineering Department” wasn’t the full name of either the establishment nor the bureau that operated it. It was shorthand. The full name was the Po-Koro “Department of Research, Engineering, and Development.” Or, in other words, DREAD. Which was exactly what was seeping into Jokaro’s soul the longer he sat in the building’s lobby. It was a massive complex smack-dab in the middle of Kirikiri Boulevard, sandwiched between a Papa Podu’s and a Hatmaster’s Haberdashery. Down the street, the equally-massive squat ziggurat that was to be the new headquarters of the Sentinels was still under construction. Traffic on Kirikiri had been nightmarish for months, or so he’d heard. Today, he experienced it firsthand trying to get to the building in the first place. Worming his way through a thickening crowd as the mid-morning sun overhead char-broiled him alive was pretty dаmn bad, for sure. Having the DREAD(ed) receptionist tell him that Lenat would be with him in five minutes approximately two and a half hours ago was worse. He’d given the receptionist “the tirade” about forty minutes in, making it absolutely clear that he was “an old friend of Lenat’s” (not patently false) and that he “had important business that would be of interest to the Koro’s government” (absolutely true). Of course, her response was simply to smile and nod helpfully, reassuring him that Lenat would be with him “soon”. He could do nothing but sit and wait, defeated by the receptionist, the immovable object triumphing over the unstoppable force after all. At least he was out of the sun. Maybe he should stop at the Hatmaster’s on the way back to the Emporium later. Where the hеll was Lenat? OOC: @Geardirector @Silvan Haven
  22. another episode of the podcast? not what I had my money on. not in this plane of existence. no sir
  23. IC: Suzume - Sado Streets The psionic abilities of Menti warriors meant that they didn’t need to physically strike their targets in order to cause damage. Each Discipline could accomplish this feat in their own unique ways. Soulswords could conjure weapons out of thin air; Mindarms could deliver a blow with a thought. Sighteyes could even trick people into hurting themselves. For just a moment, Suzume wondered if Toroshu Morie was a Willhammer. It was a single one of her words that did the trick, finally driving that stake of fear all the way into Suzume’s gut. A single word that pierced through the fog of her swirling thoughts, bowling through her confusion beneath, and shattering whatever was left beyond that. The word in question? ‘Was.’ Not ‘is.’ Was. Her mother’s name? She could barely get the words out. “D-daikura Hi-hi-hiromi…” Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue. People mixed up their words all the time. Was she reading into it incorrectly? Didn’t matter. It was the seed crystal for panic, growing and growing and growing deep in her chest, threatening to overwhelm. If she didn’t get the words out now, it might be too late. That fear would travel up to her throat and stop up anything coherent. “S-s-she… she’s an instructor at A-arohi…” The small band of Menti accompanying Toroshu Morie seemed to grow in number, their ranks closing around her. Suzume could not help but feel trapped. Something was very, very wrong here. The primal instincts of fight or flight were becoming too strong to ignore, the animal part of her mind bidding her to act, despite the violent shivering that wracked her limbs and body. As if it was a real choice between fight or flight. Could she even lift her arms? Probably not, and even if she could, there was no desire for confrontation, no minuscule mark of violent impulse etched into her soul. She could only do the one thing she had done her whole life – escape, and preferably before her knees buckled beneath her.
  24. IC: Shavrakk - The Rift This certainly wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever seen while scouting the Rift – not by a long shot. Nor was it among the most harrowing of his experiences. In fact, this encounter had all the hallmarks of being perfectly normal and reasonable, if one were accounting for strange coincidences being a merely mundane component of an otherwise benign existence. If it were a setup, and this Lesterin was simply bait, with an accomplice elsewhere that would deliver the killing shot, there wasn’t any reason for him to have his weapon out in the first place. Of course, you need only assume that this was one of those hits that was thought-out beforehand, planned meticulously, and that was the logical conclusion you’d come to. If incompetence was the main deciding factor here, that theory could go right out the window. However, this was a Lesterin, not a Skakdi. They usually had something between their ears, as opposed to his kin who often seemed to possess nothing but a hollow cavity there instead. That, and his detailed accounting of Shavrakk’s movements over the last few days betrayed that he was no moron. So, what’s the verdict? This guy is alone. There is no accomplice. He has his gun down because he doesn’t want to die, but it’s still out because he’s only about sixty percent sure he won’t be shot, give or take. All very reasonable actions of a competent mind. Did that mean Shavrakk could trust him at his word? No, probably not for the moment. His answer was vague and unconvincing, and, for whatever reason, he had believed Shavrakk wished to kill him. That was still a point to consider, and the Skakdi definitely wanted an answer. Which was fortunate, since the Lesterin was offering up his favourite treat: information, which, of course, was the reason he was even here in the Rift to begin with. The scales were tipped just right, so Shavrakk decided to believe the Lesterin. “Fine.” Ever so slowly, the fingers of his left hand unfurled from the revolver’s grip. The weapon itself did not waver, his right hand still keeping it aimed in the same direction. His gaze did not waver, either, and it would remain locked on the Lesterin. To look away for just a moment in a standoff spelled instant death. Finally, his left hand found the canteen on his belt after momentarily groping around for its familiar shape. He gripped it, but did not pluck it from where it sat. “Put the gun away, first.” OOC: @oncertainty I live
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