Simulacrum

-IC:- Grin static, I follow Vezok, moving forward and to his side with a burst of speed. My Rahkshi move to protective positions with surgical precision, each taking their allocated role and following the previously ingrained orders. I do not accept the concept of unnecessary preparation; precautionary measures for the solving of possible contingencies should be assumed from all involved in any given scenario. Only by the extremity of my judiciousness can I expect to survive.

-IC:- "I believe the term is duplicity. Few gifts have such lasting value." Before I can continue with the thought, the deformed reverberation of a shout reaches me. Echelon's guards begin to move, and my mouth's heartless stretch returns. Rahkshi around me shift their poses, adjusting slightly in case of violence, ever-cautious. I stand, my gaze void of readable emotion, teeth still clenched in a grin to match Mors', a silent and passive monolith of crimson. ...And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all. note to self: extended periods of inactivity result in direct increase in romanticistic tendencies. file under: understanding vezok's perspective.

also i'm still alive so if anyone needs me for anything, shoot me a pm.

-IC:- "Your faith in and respect of the new management is touching, Mr. Tudor."

-IC:- "Three? Isn't that rather generous?" I glance at Vezok, noting the disinterest and growing impatience in his face. I accordingly rearrange my mental image of the most likely outcome of our visit. "I'm sure that a city that has opened its gates to anyone who can think of a name and an occupation is expecting poorly-disguised saboteurs. Or, at the very least, is counting on such a contingency and plans to use the event to their advantage." The crispness of my speech turns what could be taken as either caustic sarcasm or insipid sincerity into a vague and meaningless mixture of the two, saying nothing at all but meaning anything.

-IC:- Excluding a smile-straightening twitch of the jaw in response to the colloquialism, my face maintains its corpse-esque tranquility. Gaze swivels from the Matoran to the speaking Toa, shifting with calculated lethargy. "If I'm not mistaken," I keep my voice low and level, letting the words slither out on their own accord, dripping with anguine placidity. "This island happens to have a rather high concentration of self-appointed crusaders and puerile champions. Or, at least, that was the impression I received from Ta-Koro." Hopefully Echelon has a wiser solution for dealing with would-be radical paladins than an assumption of honesty when questioned by gatekeepers.

-IC:- "There is nothing quite like infernal pavage," I flicker back into thermographic between breaths, noting each heat signature. Grin now static, gaze empty. "While on the subject, Mr. Tudor, how do you expect manqué heroes to deal with this city? I can't imagine a kingdom of mercenaries and heathens will be well-received in an island where heroes are on every corner and so eager to act."

-IC:- "Idealism is only a word, Vezok. When it concerns their interests, fetishistic beliefs, or illusions of protection, you can consistently rely on any group of persons to use the most brutality possible to resolve the situation." My grin widens slightly. "Have you ever seen the self-righteous protect their property? I'd call it irony, but that would suggest incongruity. Besides, I doubt this island managed to kill a god with piety or conscience."

OOC: ^ -IC:- "I won't disagree, but that wasn't my point. The difference between X and Y in this scenario is that when you enter Y's territory, they won't try to jail you again. They'll execute on sight."

-IC:- "All difference is contextual. I think you know what the context of this situation is. It involves a certain prison."

-IC:- "We did not come for muscle." I straighten my posture, moving my shoulders from the wall. "You are precisely aware of why we came. It is not just security if someone decides to, say, drop a few tons of earth or stone in Mangaia. It isn't merely protection. Anyone could purchase or provide that service." My grin flattens, gaze burrows into Vezok's skull. "Tell me it won't be worth it. You've wasted time before. I'm as disappointed as you. Give them a little more. Listen to the minutes amassing, count the seconds. They're letting your construct your rage. If you're going to snap, at least do it properly."

-IC:- "Perhaps. I try to perceive the positive side of it all, you know. Consider this: If you rank tardiness as a peccata mortalia, we are in the lowest level of perdition." This has potential to be disastrous. Perhaps catacylsmic. I shall analyse expressions and reach conclusion. "One might venture so far as to suggest we are awaiting the audience of the Great Cunctator himself, a sort of diabolic Fabian of the greatest magnitude." ...Conclusion: consider seeking cover.

-IC:- "Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim." I shift my shoulders against the cold stone of the wall. My breathing is slow, controlled. I sense the beat of my heart through my crossed arms. I measure the rhythm and count the impacts to abate the silence. To my right and left the Rahkshi stand with perfect stillness, eyes dull and unreflective, their appearance suggesting little more than decoration. I do not meddle with my tools. I do not fidget or show any hint of adgitation. I am content to wait. "...I'm beginning to suspect that sage never waited for audience with a Dark Lord. What do you suppose, Vezok? Administrative difficulties?" Grin grows slightly, gazes blink out of the darkness of infrared. "Or perhaps something more sinister... A conflict in the near future?" I suppose I shouldn't be goading him, but even I have my limits. Vezok's hunger for activity is spreading. For both his sake and mine, Echelon would be wise to return soon. I have had the pleasure of being in the presence of quiet-provoked Vezok before. I find the concept of any resident of Ko-Koro enjoying such an experience more than slightly dubious.

-IC: Mahaki- The bartending Matoran had stayed silent as her two customers chatted, unsure of how or when to contribute. They were lively, energetic; a sharp and vivid contrast. Only when the time neared closing hour did Mahaki finally raise the courage and energy to speak again. "Last call, I'm afraid. We don't really get enough business to justify staying open much later." OOC: Incredibly, unforgivably belated? I don't know what you're talking about. please forgive me

(just a tad late but better that than never) Congrats, Tyler. I'm extremely excited to see both the new things you'll bring to the game and the way you'll handle the current plot. If your leadership has even the smallest fraction of the charm of your posts so far, it's guaranteed to be a great experience. Thank you, Nuju, for the fun times and the great characters. It's always amazed me how much effort and time you put into keeping the BZPRPG a fascinating and enjoyable game for everyone, and I'm extremely glad I got to witness (and even play a very small part in) the world you've helped create.

IC: Mahaki Commander's wedding? ...Note to self, show more respect. "I take it you have some friends in the military?"

IC: Mahaki "So, how exactly did you two meet?"

IC: Mahaki "Wh-" Mahaki paused, stumbling over her tongue as she murmured a quick 'if you don't mind me asking' before regaining her confidence. "What brings you back?"

IC: Mahaki The Po-Matoran paused slightly, gaze tainted with suspicion. "Mahaki, but bartender's fine." The emotion passed as she turned to her work, focusing entirely on the blur of glass. Within moments, the two drinks were complete; another rye and a grenadine-infused and cherry-topped cola (the words Roy Rogers flashed through Mahaki's mind). With a practiced and controlled motion, the drinks slid to directly before the two customers. "So, have you ever been here before?" Silence wasn't the best way to attract customers, but neither was extreme amiability; she was testing for a comfortable middle-ground.

IC: Mahaki A flicker of a smile played on Mahaki's lips, a small but heartfelt sign of appreciation at the compliment. When quiet followed, her one-eyed gaze slowly swivelled between the two customers, something almost predator hidden in the single orb of light. "So, will you be having that virgin drink?" Her gaze moved to the empty glass. "Maybe some more rye?"

IC: Mahaki "I don't mean to interrupt, but as long as you've got something to prove you're old enough to drink, I'll serve you. If that something is a lie and you get thrown in jail for a little while, it's not my problem." Mahaki's expression was in direct contrast with her speech; where her words were harsh and practiced, her eyes held something akin to sympathy (albeit hardened by experience). "Failing that, I think I think I might have a few of the things for something kid friendly. There's cherries somewhere around here, and we're not out of cola yet. It wouldn't be much, but it would be a virgin drink." Mahaki shrugged with a mix of helplessness and friendly understanding, creating an air of easygoing accomodation; inside she was just hoping she wouldn't be losing another paying customer.

OOC: My Canadian saviour~ IC: Mahaki Mahaki reacted to her new customer with a speed produced by years of training, understanding the intention the moment the first syllable was in the air. Her hands seemed to fuse with the essence of the glass and whiskey, turning the minimalist order's creation into a whirlwind of blurred shapes and sloshing liquid. With the slightest hint of of a smile, she placed the finished product on the counter and slid it slightly forward. "There's been a little bit of a delay with the delivery boy, so we've only got this. Tough Times. Rye whiskey, supposed to be a little fuller than normal. Not sure what the reason for the hold-up is. I think the delivery boy was sick or something; looked kind of skinny, starved-like, last I saw of him." Mahaki blinked in surprise at her own long-winded conversational sprawl. The quiet of the empty minutes had gotten to her more than she realised; every time someone opened the bar's ancient wooden door to peek inside she felt her heart stir up some enthusiasm, but it never had been so abundant as this. In a sort of atonement for the unnecessary conversation, she moved her gaze back to the counter and focused on rubbing away a stain that looked like it was carved into the wood. The end of her little conversation was clipped, controlled. "Point is, I hope you like the rye taste. Only thing we've got."

-IC: Mahaki- "Nervous?" The Ta-Matoran shifted from a slouch into rigid pride, drawing his elbows from the counter with a hint of injured dignity. "Course not. What's there to be nervous about?" "Nothing, nothing. Just funny you decided to come in at this hour, that's all. A lot of people don't like to drink with just a bartender for company. Makes them feel... guilty, I guess." "I'm not guilty." "Hmm?" "I don't have a thing to be guilty about." The Ta-Matoran's vivid burgundy eyes were sad things, full of something between regret and simmering anger at a half-forgotten hurt. Didn't look right on such a young kid; that rough, staring veteran gaze looked wrong in the face of someone barely old enough to join the guard. Not pretentious or comical, but simply misplaced, like some sort of possession. "Never said you did. Just trying to make conversation, that's all." Her voice rasped, full of harsh and gravel. She normally didn't talk so much. After all that inhaling all that ash and dust she felt like she was breathing sin itself whenever she ran her mouth. "What sort of drink will you have? If you're done looking at the menu, of course. I didn't mean to..." Another gravel-rasp sound at the end of the fragment, prematurely ending her apology. She had gestured half-heartedly to the chalk-stained blackboard behind with the glass currently occupying her hand. It hung awkwardly over her shoulde before she placed it back on the counter, tapping it a tad too loudly out of raw nerves. "What would you recommend?" the words came out a little too fast, swelling with eagerness born of successful reciting. A hint of a smile flickered onto Mahaki's face before disappearing back into the professional gray impassion. Four words that told more than a Guard report. The kid had probably never had anything besides some stout or a pale ale. Something a half-drunk friend would given him out of baseless generosity. "It depends. How fast do you want to get drunk? Do you want it to taste fine or are you looking for something harsh, neat? Or maybe a scofflaw," She felt bad about what she said next. No reason to tease the kid. Everyone starts somewhere. "Maybe add an extra shot of grenadine? Something strong, like that?" A glimmer of vague recognition lit up his anxiety-sharpened gaze, but it passed, replaced by his mix of innocence and fear. "Sure, sounds fine. How much?" She didn't feel bad enough to give him a discount, but she didn't crack any more jokes. She even gave some commentary on the ingredients, helping him out a little. She didn't mention the grenadine again. When he had finished and was walking out with exaggerated drunkenness, she moved his glass away, wiped the counter, and cleaned and placed the glass in its proper place with a flurry of movements that only years of muscle memory would allow. The bar's only other inhabitant for the past quarter hour now lost in the sea of faces and heat outside, she placed her elbows on the counter and waited for the next customer, eyes shining with a wordless emotion as she took in the peeling paint and utilitarian seating without judgment or prejudice. OOC: Mahaki open for any and every sort of interaction.