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theorememes2025-11-03 08:07 am
TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire
BUFF
Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.
DEBUFF
For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.
At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.
And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.
All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.
As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.
Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"
They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.
"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"
When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.
On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.
"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."
You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.
It's beautiful, except—
The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.
Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.
Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.
Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).
Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.
And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?
Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?
This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.
It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.
Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.
This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.
Eventually, it comes time to launch.
The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.
As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.
Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.
To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.
They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.
"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"
As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.
Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.
As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.
This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.
There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.
If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.
Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.
Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.
aha right?one can only imagine how helpful the earpiece is in picking out useful identifying details
[ Sunday abandons any pretense of eating any more of his own meal to watch in anticipation -- and then covers his mouth with his headwings to muffle his laugh at the carefully worded deferral. Really, he's impressed the man (foxian, Sunday thinks based on appearances, though trait recognition hardly means anything given the infinite universes they may have been drawn from) managed to swallow it at all. Many a dreamchaser has given up before even this first hurdle - or immediately spit it out again. ]
I am, though I haven't had any myself in many years. If they have, and it's not a wild and uncanny coincidence, then I am all the more impressed, as it's only made and served inside a dream.
it's not helpful at all, but that's the funny part lmao
Jiaoqiu takes another bite, this time getting a chunk of the internal fish, and one of the candied globes on top. He chews. He'd hoped against all reason that the trip between universes might sort of... shock his taste buds back online. But, no. He still cannot taste anything. He can feel the texture of the hard candy's outer shell and soft innards, the flaky softness of the fish, the spongy cake. And he can smell that they all smell about correct, the chocolate sweet and the fish more savory. But his foxian senses are largely offline, reduced down to a human's level, just to add to his misery.
So, Jiaoqiu takes a bottle of hot sauce that he'd had stashed near him, and proceeds to drizzle it artfully over the cake. ]
A dream? Is that a twist of poetic phrasing, or are you being quite literal? I suppose the latter would make sense: only a bizarre dream, or a twisted genius, could conceive of this cake.
[ He takes a third, now hot-sauce-laden bite. His earpiece has described his conversational companion as humanoid, of medium height for a humanoid, as unhelpful as it has proven thus far, so there are no clues about this dreamworld there. Luckily, the hot sauce improves the cake: it's not as hot as prefers, but it's hot enough that it hurts, forcing his tastebuds to catch a glimpse of the taste he's trying to experience. ]
This is a work of rebellious art. A scream against standard norms. Genius. Or the product of an utterly demented mind, I cannot quite decide.
im thinking about how birds are immune to capsaicin... not that halovians are actual birds but
Except then out comes the bottle of some sort of sauce, and Sunday finds himself re-evaluating if he truly wishes to know. It is, perhaps, not his place to judge another's tastes - (especially not coming from a world where the most popular ice cream flavors are memory loss, car crash, and terminal illness) - but adding yet another... intense flavor, if the color is anything to go by, to an already intense dish seems...... strange? However, the artistic deftness with which the bottle is handled and the sauce applied suggests an experienced hand. Perhaps there is simply something Sunday is missing; the culinary arts are not his area of expertise, after all.
And so Sunday can only watch on with increasing bemusement. ]
Quite literal, yes. [ He is distracted from elaborating further, watching the third - !!! - bite from fork to mouth. Idly, as he watches his tablemate's process of slowly savoring the bite and listens to the verdict, Sunday has to wonder if he is a food critic by trade, perhaps? Or perhaps a chef, the way he'd wielded the sauce bottle? ]
Perhaps a bit of both. As they say, genius and madness are often two sides of the same coin... [ Recent experiences have only made this adage ring more true... ] In any case, no one knows the true origin of the Stargazer Cake, but the generally settled upon belief is that it dates back to shortly after the war of independence. The story goes that something - a blockade, memoria storms, a rogue Swarm remnant, the specifics vary from telling to telling - had damaged local stores and cut off any chance at importing supplies. But one brave [
smuggler] pilot managed to break through and deliver a ship full of foods and supplies. Everyone celebrated by throwing a feast in reality, and of course the revelry continued throughout the night in the shared dreamscape, where a cake that gazed upon the stars became the centerpiece.((ooc: i am totally ripping off the origins of a certain real life dish that surely inspired the Stargazer Cake for this and no one can stop me))
no subject
You're from Penacony. Or, at least, you're familiar with it, yes?
[ Not that Jiaoqiu didn't appreciate the story about the cake's origins. He very much did, and catalogues it away as something to ask his current conversational companion more about later. But shared universes take priority, probably. So he pauses before he takes a fourth bite of the cake, fork frozen in the air, mouth set in a contemplative slant. ]
My name is Jiaoqiu; I'm from the Xianzhou Yaoqing. And you're not the first person here from our universe, which is bizarre.
no subject
Yes. [ He confirms his familiarity at least, hesitant though he is to elaborate on his full connection to the place; there are much more pressing things going on in the universe that have far eclipsed his own crimes, but even so he'd rather not start off on too wrong a foot. ]
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jiaoqiu - and to know that I am, in some sense, somewhat less alone here. [ That Jiaoqiu cannot see does not stop Sunday from offering a polite smile, though it is quick to fade into thoughtfulness. ] My name is Sunday, and at present I am - or was, rather - just a passenger of the Astral Express. But -- what do you mean? You've met others?
no subject
[ Jiaoqiu's eyebrows shoot up above his blindfold at this. ]
You must be new-- they were on the Luofu only recently for the Wardance ceremony, and I don't recall you among them.
[ Unless he was terribly agoraphobic and had stayed on the train, but, that's not a particularly likely option. Maybe they just never ran into each other? No, March 7th especially likes to talk at length, and if there had been a new passenger, Jiaoqiu is certain he would have heard of it as he helped her win that bet with Skott. So, likely a very new passenger, then. Interesting.
Jiaoqiu can only conclude that Sunday must be special in some way. It is no small thing to be invited aboard the Astral Express and the path of the Trailblaze. They are all... vital in a way that is hard to define, so determined to help, so taken with exploring other cultures. ]
Ah-- yes, I have met a couple of others from our universe, here. A Svarog, from Belobog. And a Phainon, of Aedes Elysiae.
[ He's careful not to state from Amphoreus, because he has no idea how much Sunday knows, and it's something of a delicate topic. ]
no subject
No, I am -- [ But then he stops abruptly, as he fully processes the second place Jiaoqiu mentions. The only Aedes Elysiae he knows of is the one in Amphoreus, though he has only really glimpsed the memory of it, and the implications of someone from there being here are -- well... potentially a lot. The exact nature of the apparent wormhole and so-called quantum accident that brought them here is still unclear, and there's no way of knowing if time is passing at an equal rate back home. Until this point, Sunday has been trying not to think too hard about it, but now it's impossible to keep his racing thoughts away.
He takes a breath and lets it out. One step at a time. He should correct the misconception first and then find out what Jiaoqiu knows. ] I am not one of the Nameless. As I said, I am just a passenger, whom they graciously allowed to board after I left my former home of Penacony. But never mind about that. Did you say 'Aedes Elysiae'...?
slight amphoreus spoilers!
Yes, that's what I said. And given your reaction, subtle though it was, you must know exactly how shocking it is for someone from there to be here.
[ Jiaoqiu had practically needed a fainting couch when he'd figured out that Phainon was from Amphoreus. The man hadn't said it straigh out, he'd only introduced himself as being from Aedes Elysiae, and Jiaoqiu had had to remember a scrap of a report that had crossed his desk about the leaders of a world that the Nameless were entangled in -- the very same one that he's been seeing Feixiao attend meetings about, forming a cosmic alliance to try to kill the emerging Lord Ravager there.
So, this Sunday is not one of the Nameless, merely a passenger. It's not uncommon, from what Jiaoqiu knows of the Astral Express; letting kindred souls or useful entities stay for a stop or two. He is indeed from Penacony, he confirms, which explains the indepth knowledge of the food--
--which Jiaoqiu is going to have to talk to him about later. He's always wanted to visit Penacony for the weird and wonderful food. ]
His name is Phainon. Last I saw, he was watching the nebula outside. [ Jiaoqiu idly rolls one of the candied cake decorations around his plate, thoughtful. ] Did you set foot in Amphoreus, or did you stay outside?
still more amphoreus spoilers!
He doesn't actually know how much Jiaoqiu knows about Amphoreus in turn other than that he clearly knows something - more than Sunday would expect an average citizen to know. Sunday doesn't know how much information has been publicly disseminated yet, but he doubts that details about locations within would get out ahead of, say, warnings about Irontomb and disaster preparedness plans. So clearly he must be someone of some rank or connections... which is also something to consider later and not really any of Sunday's business save that he prefers Knowing things.
And none of his racing thoughts matter because he has been asked a question -- and... it's one Sunday is not, in fact, entirely sure how to answer. Is saying 'It's complicated' an acceptable response? He brings a hand up to rub his eyes. ]
Outside, for now, but I have caught some glimpses by way of tuning as I have lent my support. [ Sitting up straighter, Sunday clasps his hands on the edge of the table and regards Jiaoqiu thoughtfully. His knuckles whiten under his gloves as his grip on own fingers gradually tightens; anxiety would have him fiddling with his rings or drumming his fingers or repeatedly adjusting his dishes if he didn't keep his hands otherwise occupied. ]
If you are familiar enough with Amphoreus to know 'Aedes Elysiae,' then you must know about Irontomb and the imminent danger it poses, so there is no need for me to be anything less than frank. Shortly before I was pulled here, the scepter had just initiated its final extrapolation cycle, so there isn't much time left. [He lets out his breath in a sharp sigh.] Not that there is anything we can do about it from here, of course.
[And Sunday has no idea what any of this means for the state of affairs back home. It could mean nothing - who knows if time is even passing on the other side of this so-called quantum anomaly? - or it could mean everything. Deprived of some key portion of its extrapolations, perhaps Irontomb might go haywire in a new unpredictable way or collapse in on itself or -- who knows?]
no subject
[ Jiaoqiu doesn't sound too worried about it, though. He's not important at all in the plans to stop Irontomb after it emerges; he's certain Feixiao has the Yaoqing's part well under control. ]
I'll tell you the same thing I told Phainon; I don't know much about the plans to stop Irontomb, but there are plans. A galactic alliance is currently being formed. The Xianzhou Alliance, the Genius Society, the Galaxy Rangers, the Astral Express, even Planet Screwllum-- they're formulating plans for Irontomb's emergence. A strike, and a vaccine to protect the nearby systems against its disruption.
[ Jiaoqiu has not personally seen a Lord Ravager with his own eyes, but he knows well enough the level of destruction they're capable of. Just recently, the Yaoqing had been following Celenova's movements and the armies of Destruction she commanded. If yet another one emerges, it would mean countless deaths.
He sighs, and puts his fork down. The topic has made him lose his appetite. ]
All we can do is hope that the plans continue, and all ends well. If I know anything about the Nameless, it's that they usually prevail, no matter how much they have to sacrifice to do so.
no subject
Yes... that does seem to be the way of it. [He thinks about March 7th's apparent choice to awaken that dark reflection to help her friends, about the way the entire crew is putting all their effort in -- the strength of their convictions, and the way they, with their allies, had so relentlessly resisted Ena's Dream. The Nameless past, too - endlessly determined to prevail in the things they set their minds to. But... he will have to hope that in the end the cost is not too dire.] And so we must take solace in that hope: that the will of the Trailblaze and all the rest of the universe that has gathered to help will find a way.
[A ridiculous thought strikes him, and Sunday can't help but smile faintly. This is not an appropriate time for a joke, really, however dry, but it is nevertheless one of the first things that comes to mind when he considers the indefatigable spirit of the Trailblaze.] Perhaps they will run Irontomb over with the train, too.
[Metaphysically. He means metaphysically. Actually running the Astral Express into Irontomb would probably not go very well.]
no subject
He is not one of those people. He sacrificed for a time to help others, and he came away so emotionally deadened that he was useless for decades afterwards. He sacrificed recently in order to defeat an enemy, and look at him now: unable to go back to being a healer, unable to even see who he's speaking to.
Luckily, his swerve into self-loathing is quickly derailed (pun intended) by Sunday... talking about running Irontomb over with the train.
Jiaoqiu's eyebrows wing upward, polite bafflement writ clear across his expression. ]
Is that... something it can do?
no subject
Perhaps not in the way you are imagining. Not physically, at least not without incurring substantial damage to the train itself, I expect.
[ And incurring even more substantial emotional damage to poor Conductor Pompom from stress! Simply unthinkable. ]
However, Amphoreus itself is, in essence, a projection of a world made of data into its surrounding memory zone. Accessing the core of Irontomb for the purpose of unmaking it will therefore most easily be done via the memory zone, and in spaces made of memoria, it's quite a different story.
[ A pause for a breath and to consider his phrasing. ]
In another such place, I once witnessed them manifest and, yes, use the Astral Express itself as a weapon.
[ 'Witnessed' is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. ]
no subject
Really? And here I am, having only helped March 7th win a bet against an odious little IPC middle manager. Your experiences with the Express sound much more adventurous than mine.
[ He can only assume Sunday must have witnessed said manifestation in Penacony. Of their adventure there, Jiaoqiu doesn't know much. He does know of the absolute media circus that resulted afterward: the scandal of the head of one of Pencacony's families trying to force the entire population into essentially an unending coma had been on the news for weeks afterward, though Jiaoqiu hadn't paid it much attention at the time.
He picks up his fork again, and this time, takes a bite that contains largely only cake. It is an excellent cake. ]
Well, if running Irontomb over with a train helps defeat it, then I can only hope they do exactly that. The alliance will carry a lot of firepower, but... against a Lord Ravager, more than just ship's guns are necessary.
whoops was closing open tabs and realized i uh.... never actually hit post comment........
Sunday looks over at Jiaoqiu again to see him once again eating the cake, and he can't help but smile faintly, shaking his head. It remains impressive to him that the foxian can continue to eat it. Perhaps he should follow the other's example and actually make more of an effort to finish his own meal... Easier said than done with the current topic of conversation, but Jiaoqiu's mention of his own encounter with March 7th caught Sunday's attention. ]
If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear more about this bet? Miss March and the others have told me about a number of their prior adventures, but I haven't heard about this one yet.
[ It's all "just business" with the IPC, in the end, for better and worse, and Sunday's feelings about the organization on the whole are ........ complicated but hearing about unpleasant middle management getting a bit of comeuppance sounds like a nice palate cleanser after such a heavy topic. ]
no subject
[ Jiaoqiu proceeds to tell the story of exactly what happened, with some of it from second-hand recollections. First, as March, Yunli, and Yanqing had encountered an IPC middle manager, Skott, causing a fuss at a local tea shop. Skott had insulted Xianzhou swordplay in favor of IPC mechs, and a gauntlet had been thrown down: March only had fifteen days to learn swordplay to beat Skott in a duel.
Jiaoqiu had really only popped his head in here and there in curiosity, until the final day before the duel, in which he had offered a solution. ]
And then I fed the IPC goons a particular brew which made them shit themselves, thus vastly shortening the fight.
[ He concludes with the same polite smile as ever, chasing a candied ball around his plate with his fork. ]
I don't think March was very happy with the underhanded tactic, but it certainly worked.
no subject
No, I don't imagine she would be, but one can't argue with results, and it's not like the IPC is known for always being entirely above board themselves. Had you not sabotaged Mr. Skott's team first, it's not hard to imagine him pulling out some trick of his own.