TDM #2, arc 1.2: as she bends toward the sun

[lamentus]

❝I sing this to be free
I sing for you and me
I sing across the sky
To find a place of life
Where all of this is true
I bring this into you❞

BUFF

For those who are bonded to the Fathomless, they will, one night, wake up from a startling dream in which they remembered a memory they had forgotten, or had glossed over.

DEBUFF

Bonded of the Empty Machine will experience insatiable hunger this month, and will never feel satisfied no matter how much they eat.

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! The other Wayfarers are currently on planet Epsilon-355, you may join them at any time!"

And so, you take a shuttle down to the planet; an orb of a nearly unbroken gold landmass and pale pink clouds scudding across the surface. On the journey, the pilot Host recites for you why this planet was picked: it is a possible match for a planet mentioned in a story about the Last Pilgrim, one of the most enigmatic of the Edicts. If there are scraps of the Song to be found, it may be in the path they traveled there.

PLANET TYPE: arid world
ORBITAL CHARACTERISTICS: close orbit to native sun, no eccentricities in orbit
ROTATION PERIOD: 31 hour days, 405 day year
NATURAL RESOURCES: iron-rich silicate, limonite, titanium oxides, sodium, nickel
BREATHABLILITY INDEX: safe for humanoid respiration
WEATHER PATTERNS: occasional sandstorms, very little rain
LANDMASS: 98% of planet
AVERAGE TEMPERATURE: 31c
SURFACE GRAVITY: average
BIOSIGNATURES: indicates a narrow range of native life
ARTIFICIAL STRUCTURES: none found

REFLECT

On-planet, activity is bustling.

Research & Archives pinpointed a clue in the story that would make finding the Last Pilgrim's trail easier to find: a pathway of bones that the caravan traveled upon. It is unknown how long this pathway is, or even if it still exists, depending on how long ago that story came from.

Science & Engineering, meanwhile, concluded that the golden sand of this planet is wholly unlike the sand of other deserts, made up of not just silicon dioxide and fossilized marine life, but of many inert chemicals and minerals, a scattered rainbow of compositions. Epsilon-355 was, they concluded, at one point the closest planet to its sun, and that has sown a strange field upon it: the golden ash and viscera of a star's fiery tempest and the powdered remains of a destroyed moon. It is, quite literally, made from stardust and moondust. The glass that litters the sands was put there by chaotic lashings of star plasma, whips of heat so intense they penetrated through the atmosphere and raised burned lines of melted sand over its surface. Luckily, the orbit of the planet has since taken it too far away from its star to do such damage again.

After long-range scans, Wayfarers were able to find signs that pointed to a large deposit of inert biological material that lay to the north-west.

As you pack up your camp, the weather is clear, and the sky is bright. For most Wayfarers, adjusting to the 31-hour cycle of Epsilon-355 has been difficult, but midday naps and staggered sleeping schedules have made it easier. The sand has proven to be a constant irritant when the breeze picks up, but the creatures largely prefer to hide, and there have been no more sightings of the barren-racers. It seems they travel only alongside the sand-whales, and the sand-whales only emerge after a storm.

With all of your supplies stocked on people's backs and the hover-sleds the Hosts have brought for easier travel, you set off to the north-west.



After the storm, the glass outcroppings had been scrubbed clear, and they still remain that way. The path north-west takes you through something of a valley, bordered on both sides by sharp juts of the glass, enormous spikes just waiting to impale anybody who sets a foot wrong. As Wayfarers move through this valley, the reflections feel like they are watching you, but you can never quite catch any coherent image in them outside of your own selves.

Until, that is, you happen to glance at another, and see a vision of something you regret. A past action you took, a decision you made, a fate you changed. It's a static image, like a photograph reflected in the glass's surface, and it does not fade when somebody else looks at it.

They all remain like specters lining the path you are taking, watching your every move.

DEBUT

After two days of travel, you find them.

At first, the Wayfarers find the trail of bones mentioned in the scrap of story you're following. It is just as described: a pathway of enormous bones, presumably of the last titans the story refers to. They are neatly laid in a winding pathway over and between the rolling sand dunes, bleached white by sand and time. Most of them are meters long: humerus bones three meters long lining the path like a border, rib bones twice as tall as a person creating elegant fan shapes.

On the side of the path, greater remains may occasionally be seen. Enormous titanic skeletons half-buried in the sand, watching the pathway, like they simply laid down and died as eternal sentinels.



Astute observers notice that the skulls are all pointed in the same direction, and so, that is the direction you follow, until finally, you find life.

You hear them before you see them; music and laughter carrying through the light breeze. And when the Wayfarers crest a massive dune, you look down upon a valley where there winds a serpentine path, and upon it walks a long caravan of people. You catch up to them, and as you walk alongside them to get to the front of the line in hopes of finding a leader, they all greet you warmly, like old friends that simply have not met yet.

There is a brightly painted wooden wagon with a group of old women in the back, their faces stained with red ochre, their eyes blind, and their mouths laughing. A young boy wearing red pearls leads a metal hover-craft with a pilgrim painted on the side, and a pack of young children in aquatic water-suits run with him, giggling bubbles into the water in their helmets. Young women of dark skin and magnificent wings trail in a line behind a four-legged robot, singing helio-cycle poems and carrying bowls of vivid fruit. You identify what must be the lapho-beasts from the story: huge quadrepeds built like a gorilla with hooked beaks, the size of a three-storey building, plodding along at a sedate pace, their backs lined with rolled up tents, and barrels of grain and water that sloshes with every one of their thumping steps. A small group of tall entities with featureless faces and elegant robes walk along a pair of rock-skinned hexapods. A squat creature with a head shaped like a mushroom dances alongside them all, strumming music on a long instrument that emits color and light with every note. Everywhere you look, there is music, and laughter, and celebration.



It takes a while to get to the front, but there, you meet the ringleaders of this pilgrimage. The first is a tall robotic entity with limbs as thin and straight as sticks, a narrow rectangular face, a bright red woven cloak, and a hat that resembles a dǒulì, wide and conical. Her name is Elegance, and she introduces you to her wife, Rēza, a short woman who resembles an upright moth, with large furred wings and compound eyes, her antenna waving in the breeze. The scarf around her neck and mouth is of many colors, and looks charmingly handmade, a little rough around the edges.

They tell you that this caravan has been traveling for thirty days, and they are not far from their objective. The unknown temple, they believe, lays little more than a week's travel away. Everybody you see has come here from local systems, hoping to find something in the Last Pilgrim's footsteps. Thousands of pilgrimages have been doing the same, one after the other, for eons.

Everybody, they say, finds something different. Something you did not know you needed until that very moment.

If you ask them if the Song is to be found there, Rēza laughs, and says they do not know. But perhaps, if you need it that badly, it will be what you find?

Elegance and Rēza are happy to have you travel with the caravan, and encourage you to meet with everyone. They also think it would only be appropriate for you to help with the caravan's various ventures: the story-tellers are trying to compose an epic poem to mark their trip, and the hunters are catching local flora and fauna to stretch out their rations. Or, you can join the sand skimmers, racing on their boards with brightly colored sails taking them through the dunes, scouting ahead for an oasis to seek more water.



Medical, perhaps, might be asked to help with desert-given injuries, sand rashes or injuries from the bone pathway. Engineers might be approached to help with the sand stuck in the joints of mechanical entities. Research & Archives might be pulled into hearty discussions about the story set on this planet.

FIRESIDE

When dusk begins to fall, the caravan draws to a stop, and they begin to make camp.

The Wayfarers do the same, setting up your tents and supplies. The carvan sets up in a series of circles, some small and contained to family groups, others large to hold dozens of people. Silverthorn is gathered for small fires in the middle of the circles, and many set about making dinner. Soon, the smells of smoke and dried meat fill in the air, stews bubbling with vegetables and foraged Firelight Brush roots, Speckled Runners turning slowly on spits to roast. Grain is pulled from barrels and pounded into powder on wide, flat rocks, mixed with scant water supplies to make a bread that is nonetheless fluffy and pale yellow once its dark crust has been broken open.

The caravan gladly shares their supplies with the Wayfarers with no expectation of the same in return, though it would certainly be polite. The lapho-beasts lay down so that their burdens may be taken off their backs, and slumber noisily next to the circles, curled almost entirely around some smaller ones.



Once dinner is served, the caravan turns to the members of the Theorem's crew, and begs: tell us a story.

You see, they have been traveling for a month, and they have already told each other all the stories they know. Stories from their own lives, stories that they were once told about others. Here, in this desert, the only currency worth anything is stories, and they are all eager for new ones. Is that not the domain of the Last Pilgrim? Is it not an honor in their name, to share stories of progress, of journeys, and of learning?

Children crowd around you eagerly, old men and women with sparks in their eyes lean in close, and the light-making music-playing creature of before hushes everyone, readying the crowd to listen to whatever story you choose to tell.

Or perhaps you are more content to listen as other circles share the stories they have told already, finding new details to highlight or new questions to ask. Either way, a lot of tales are being told around these fireplaces, and it would be wise to listen to them.

GLIMPSE

You spend the next week traveling.

It's not easy. On one day there is another sandstorm, and the caravan has to hunker down and wait it out. The following day is spent avoid the sand-whales and the barren-skimmers, but luckily, they don't go near the path of bones. You make friends with people in the caravan, you share stories over spiced drinks and good bread. You help where you can, and in return, the caravan shares everything they have with you.

You learn that they are here chasing a story: a rumor that visiting the temple at the end of this pilgrimage will grant them something they want. It does not cure illness or bestow riches, they say, but it gives you something you never knew you needed until that very moment. Some of the caravan have nothing besides the clothes on their backs, and some of them are wealthy, and some of them are seeking meaning. Some of them are from Alliance space, others are not.

A week later, Elegance and Rēza call the Wayfarers to the front of the caravan. You will have first honor of cresting the next row of sand dunes to catch the first glimpse of the temple. And as you scramble up the dune and peak its crest, you see it in the distance:



A long, almost mountain-like range of sand dunes, taller than any you've seen so far. Beyond them, the pale purple sky is lit up with fractal reflections in every color; atmospheric blue and x'enuda pink, the same orange as the optics of a robot family in the caravan, the gentle gold of the Theorem's shield.

Whatever is beyond that dune-range, it is giving up a spectacular light show.

They say it will take another day to get there, but for today, you will stop at an oasis.



The presence of water has allowed tall canyons to form around its exterior, so you must descend downward to find the shady oasis. The water is a perfect aqua blue, so clear you can see the very bottoms of the shallow pools. Here, there is life different from the tough, scrubby plants you encountered among the dunes: plant-life whose roots are able to draw in water from the pools, crowded around the edges of them in small clusters of orange and red leaves, white flowers peeking out among them.

First, the caravan must take enough water to fuel itself. But after that, anybody is free to take a dip, to bathe themselves or merely to enjoy the cool water.

If you do, you'll find yourself curiously refreshed, like you've just gotten the first decent night's sleep in a while. It may even cure minor wounds, and ease the aches of travel.

Tomorrow, you will finally find the temple that the Last Pilgrim visited.

(CODE)

Comments

Ron Anjou ✧ Dragon Raja

[timewarden]

THE ARRIVAL.

[ Anjou quickly ordered a tall glass of moscato at the Paper Lantern Bar, a popular hangout spot among the ship's crew. This fragrant and sweet wine is one of his many vices, aside from bourbon and whiskey. While he dislikes Italy as a country, he reluctantly sips his glass, knowing the Italians have a tight grip on him through their beloved wine. Even so, he would still talk shit about them if given the chance. If there's one thing about Anjou, he is a proficient shit talker.

Fortunately, despite the peculiarity of his present circumstances, he is in a good mood. However, this can differ based on the company here at the bar. So when he sets his sights on the nearest poor bastard at the counter, it's game on. He flashes them one of his charming smiles before asking the following. ]

Why the long face? Surely this isn't your first voyage into the great unknowns.

[ He remarks before taking a generous sip from his glass. Based on the contented sigh that follows, this is a damn nice glass of wine. ]

Despite this place being a bit tacky, the menu is delightful.

DEBUT.

Well, look at that.

[ Anjou couldn't help but let out a long, impressed whistle when he saw the massive bones protruding from the sand. While he has decimated his fair share of mythical animals, he has never seen anything quite this enormous outside of Nidhogg's corpse. Nonetheless, the massive bones these titans left behind leave him somewhat speechless. He wanders aimlessly through the enormous ribcage of one such unfortunate beast, his blue gaze seeking for any answers within the twisting sands.

However, he abandons his mission when he notices a massive white-gray boulder emerging from the sand. It takes him a while to realize what he's looking at, but upon closer examination, Anjou is pleasantly delighted by his gruesome find.

An intact skull.

From this viewpoint, it almost seems human, save for the titan's teeth and horns that remain. Anjou studies it for a bit before leaping from the sand to the top of the skull. While he may not have all of his skills, Anjou isn't truly human. Then again, the majority of this motley bunch appears to be made up of genetically altered humans already. ]

The view is fantastic from up here!

GLIMPSE.

[ Heatstroke is no joke. After almost losing five members to heatstroke, Anjou began to take this small excursion more seriously. While he managed to avoid heatstroke, Anjou was becoming a little winded. As the crew of the Theorem continues their trek alongside the caravan, Anjou begins to trail behind. He's not far behind, but he appears to have lost some momentum.

He takes a few moments to gather his breath before sprinting forward to catch up. However, Anjou eventually falls further and further behind. Anjou has had enough of the oppressive heat, harsh gusts, and scorching sands. Everyone is surprised when the spry old man finally collapses.

Thankfully, he's still alive. Just a tad woozy at best, and definitely a bit exhausted. While Anjou has seen better days, he at least see some humor in this. ]

It seems I'm a Londoner through and through; this is too much sun for me.

Wildcard.

(have something else in mind? feel free to make your own prompt or hit me up on devillady.)

GLIMPSE.

[mikoshi]

[ Vincent holds out a bottle of water. Some sort of salt seems to be suspended inside the liquid. ] Oh, wait. [ Shakes it vigorously until the particles dissolve completely. ] Yeah, old timer, last thing I recommend out here is tea and crumpets. Well, maybe at nights. Gets cold as a corpo's bookkeepin'.

[timewarden]

[ Old-timer? Anjou couldn't help but scoff. Would it hurt anyone to actually learn his name? Not that he really cares or anything. He just finds it amusing, to be honest. At least getting dubbed as "old timer" is preferable to being nicknamed "gramps." He actually kicked someone in the balls for that before. ]

Please, call me Anjou. [ He chuckles as he takes the bottle of water. Honestly, he should have stayed hydrated the entire time. However, Anjou deceived himself into believing that he could make the journey with little water. After all, he was more concerned with the well-being of their younger comrades than himself and supplies are limited. ]

But you're right. Hot tea and crumpets damn sure wouldn't go well with this desert heat. [ He sits up and takes another generous gulp of water. ] If anything, I would settle for munching on ice at this point.

[ Finishing the bottle, he seals the top and looks over at the sandy-looking fellow. The man in front of him appears Asian, but his command of the English language suggests he's most likely American. ]

A little far from the States, are we? And here I thought I was the only Earthling.

Arrival

[fisitronism]

[The giant robot at the bar takes a sip of a glowing substance.]

I died. I'd known it was coming for months. Nothing I could stop, nothing I could fix.

[Ironfist rubs at the spot on his helm where a bullet hole no longer was.]

And now I'm not. And I'm still coming to grips with that.

[timewarden]

[Well, this is a fascinating first meeting.

Forgive Anjou for staring, but this is his first encounter with the equivalent of a sentient war machine. He slowly sips his glass, his eyes widening in disbelief and then narrowing in mischief. Yes, there is mischief afoot. Just give Anjou some time. Until then, Anjou adopts a more somber expression in response to the current discussion.]

What are you, clairvoyant? [ He asks with an arched brow. ] If you knew something was going to go horribly wrong, why didn't you try to stop it?

[ Maybe they simply couldn't? That could be the case but then again, look at them. They're over twenty tons worth of steel and bolts! How could anything defeat this mechanical monstrosity here? ]

[fisitronism]

It was a bullet in my head. Cerebro-sensitive, so it was slowly pushing its way straight towards my brain.

Second or third worst idea of my life. Never should have made the them.

[The other two being inventing the substance that would become known as Gideon's Glue and befriending Skyfall. The glue was ahead of the bullets by far but he didn't quite know where to place all of Skyfall's betrayals.

Either way, it was an academic question that wasn't really worth pondering.]

The medical officer said it couldn't be removed without killing me. I'm still not sure he was right but it wasn't like I could get a second opinion with the war running.

[timewarden]

[ 'A slowly moving bullet?' Even that catches Anjou by some surprise. He glances over at the cybernetic fellow with a look of uncertainty. ] Surely there was a way to back up your data and memories at least.

You are mostly...cybernetic, yes?

[ Or perhaps surgically remove the slow-moving killer? According to the previous medical officer, that was impossible for this metric-ton tank. Nonetheless, Anjou seemed to be taken in by this entire story. ]

A war, hm? Well, from one veteran to another—you were very lucky to still have a few months left.

[fisitronism]

Doesn't work that way. Trust me, if it did there'd be a lot less Cybertronians.

And I'd probably be handling it better if it had been because of the war.

[Pit, he even signed up for what should have been a suicide mission to try and make sure the bullet wasn't killed him.]

No, I was a weapons designer. Way behind the frontlines in one of the most secure bases we had. Someone I thought was a friend heard me tell him he could have my lab space if anything happened to me and decided to make sure something would by sabotaging one of my prototypes.

[timewarden]

[ Anjou isn't sure what to say here. It appears that his new colleague was completely boned one way or another. The poor guy had limited options and was fatally injured during a full-fledged war. However, this raises the following question: how is he alive and well now? Anjou is quite perplexed.

Can the dead come back to life...? ]

So this was an inside job? I see. [ A traitor, no less. Anjou can't help but frown. ]

Here's hoping this traitor of yours died a horrible death before you did.

debut

[flavourtown]

[ The problem with the road of bones is that it's fairly perilous footing, and one needs working eyes to navigate it -- a thing that Jiaoqiu is currently without, made obvious by the white blindfold tucked carefully over his eyes. Instead, he's been walking slightly outside of the path on the sand, relying on a white cane to monitor the ground ahead of him, and a pinhole camera clipped to a vulpine ear that feeds him verbal descriptions of what's in his line of sight.

The latter had been a disability aid given to him by the Hosts, but so far, he's found it somewhat lacking in decent description ability. Still, it has been busily telling him about the various skeletons on the side of the path -- things like unidentified skull, five meters in height and ribcage, seven meters in height. When it tells him about a skull with a person standing on top of it, followed by an enthusiastic call coming from up high, Jiaoqiu frowns.

He's not in the Medical Division. He's retired. But old habits die hard, and he has been a medical doctor and professional worrier for centuries. ]

If you fall and break your neck, emergency medical care is going to be very difficult while we're on the move.

[ He frets, and attempts to guess just how high up the man is based on the direction of his voice. ]

[timewarden]

[ To be honest, there is a method to his madness. While some may believe he's just showing off, Anjou is actually keeping a watch for potential threats. Despite his limited talents, he can still detect things. Although the wandering sky whale pods are easy to avoid, Anjou is skeptical that the other wildlife here is friendly to humans. However, he acquiesces to the young foxman's concern and comes down from his perch after a moment or two.

He hops down from the massive skull and slides along what remains of its spine. While Anjou was never a skateboarder, his impeccable balance would have given some of the most well-known greats a run for their money. Unfortunately, he was born shortly before World War I. ]

Who's going to break their neck? [ He asks with a cheeky grin. ] Me?

[ Scoffs as if it's the most ridiculous joke he's ever heard. ]

I might be old but I'm not feeble.

[flavourtown]

[ Jiaoqiu hears a scuffle, a skid, and then the unmistakeable sound of what can only be the man sliding down the side of whatever bone or skull he's on. Jiaoqiu braces himself for the sound of a pained yell, but fortunately, that doesn't happen.

He relaxes. At least a little. This bone path is prime injury territory, and while he might be a former medical doctor, he's no longer practicing, and they've only got one Medical personnel.

The man's cheek is met with a reflexive, wry smile. ]

Well, I am both old and feeble, so maybe I was simply projecting.

[ He turns an ear in the direction of the titan's bones, trying to guess the size of them from how high up the man's voice had come, by the sound of the breeze whistling past them. His senses have been dulled awfully since coming here, and he's left without a good mental picture. ]

Out of curiosity, what were you standing on?

[timewarden]

[ Wait, what?

Well, Anjou didn't quite expect that. This "alleged" old man with the fluffy fox ears doesn't look a day over twenty, and yet he's old? Old and feeble? Anjou leans in a little closer to get a better look at them.

Surely they're joking, right? ]

The enormous skull over there. [He gives a small shrug before realizing that this man is blind. At the very least, he believes they may be blind. Anjou isn't certain, but it appears that way.]

It's a titan skull, or at least what I assume is the skull of a rather large beast. Remnants of what was, surely.

[flavourtown]

A skull? And you were standing that high up?

[ Goodness.

Jiaoqiu turns his head in the direction of said skull, wishing he could see it. He's no archeologist, but these titan skeletons do sound fascinating. Do they resemble the sand-whales at all? Or are they wholly different, a relic of a different time? What does it mean that they all died here, facing this path? How long ago did they die? ]

Well. [ Jiaoqiu almost seems at a loss for words, before he rallies himself, clearing his throat. ] In any case, I'm glad we've got people here athletic enough to climb all over them with ease. You'll be well-suited for this long trek, I suppose.

[ Unlike Jiaoqiu. Oh, how he loathes exercise.

He smiles, wry and smoothly polite. ]

Forgive my fussing; I'm a retired doctor, you see, and the instinct to nag never goes away. I'm Jiaoqiu, of the Xianzhou Yaoqing. You must be new⸻ I hadn't heard your voice before.

DEBUT >>

[justamobster]

[ The first time Ladon sees one of the massive skeletons, he can’t quite put his finger on why it unsettles him. Death, on its own, isn’t new territory—by now it’s practically familiar. He’s left bodies in shallow graves, in the trunks of cars, and fed a few to the dark mouth of the ocean off Nieve’s docks without losing a wink of sleep. So he isn’t prepared for the way this one gets under his skin. But by the time he reaches this skeleton—the one the older gentleman is scaling, pausing to admire the view like it’s a scenic overlook—understanding finally clicks into place.

It’s the size of it.

More precisely, it’s what the size suggests. The long sweep of bone, the scale of the thing laid out against the sand, lines up too neatly with an image he tries not to linger on. About the size Draig would be, if he ever went “scales out,” as his best friend likes to say. That realization settles heavy in his chest, sour and unwelcome. Ladon huffs out an annoyed sigh, sharp enough to pass for impatience, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. ] Realize we got a buncha kids here, but it'd be real nice if you acted your damn age, old timer. How 'bout respectin' the dead, huh?

[timewarden]

[ Hear that scoff? That's just Anjou grumbling at this unpleasant little man. He looks down from his perch with a bored expression, plainly not amused. While it appears that Anjou is desecrating the dead, he is actually keeping a lookout for potential predators. After all, this is a hostile alien environment, right? ]

142. [He initially declares without explanation, much to the chagrin of those listening.] I'm 142 years old, so acting my age would make me as dull as dirt.

[ Anjou gives the grumpy fellow a playful glance before looking for an easy way down. The best way off this massive skull is by sliding down the remnant of the spine attached and hopping onto the sandy ground with ease. Of course, this may encourage the children to follow suit but Anjou doesn't endorse it. ]

So lighten up already.

[justamobster]

[ Ladon harrumphs audibly at that. ] More'n old 'nough.

[ He's in a foul mood, and interacting with people who loudly proclaim their inhuman lifespans is not, in his experience, going to make the irritation fade any time soon. He knows plenty of others this man's inordinate 142 years of age and older. And they conduct themselves with a bit more grace.

Okay. Maybe not the 'buses and inkies. But they're sex demons. They're going to be a little on the weird side. ] Don't go breakin' a hip, Gramps. We can't afford t'stop for you.

[timewarden]

[Who says he’s not conducting himself with grace? Anjou does that plenty but sometimes even he wants to let loose. Besides, who cares this old corpse here?

The titans who once walked the earth are long dead and gone, along with those who grieved them. Anjou is just glad nothing big and vicious is following them. The last thing their little caravan needs is something hunting them.]

My good sir, are you always this much of a wet blanket?

[Anjou asks with a mean little smirk as he approaches his new personal critic. Sorry but he finds this interaction too amusing to pass up.]

The only one going to break anything is “you” if you call me “gramps” again.

[justamobster]

[ Ladon has High Expectations about nonhumans. And he's not entirely sure this guy is one of them-- maybe humans just live to be two hundred or more where he is from. Still, after a century or so, Ladon expects people to have settled. To be a little set in their ways. Basically as much of a fuddy-duddy as he is.

Ladon Ceto likes to think of himself as a badass rebel, but the truth is he is just a stick in the mud with a different moral compass. ]

Yeah, sure, that's me. The fuckin' killjoy.

[ Such a Lawful Neutral thinking he's Chaotic Evil.

Still, there is something he appreciates about finally having someone who will throw it right back at him. It shows in the way he turns instead of disengaging. He could walk away, he probably would with Phainon. But when it comes to Sunshine, it's like barking at a puppy. Here is a little conflict he can actually sink his teeth into. ]

Careful there, old-timer. Another reach like that and you'll pull somethin' important.

[timewarden]

[ Anjou, whether you have high aspirations or not, is a threat. A born threat who disregards caution at the first opportunity. That's presumably why the Theorem decided it'd be best if this veteran soldier joined the security division. After all, Anjou can compete with the best of them and still have energy for more.

He's a monster, Cassell University's very own human-shaped tactical nuke. ]

If you keep talking down to me, I'll pull that stick out of your ass.

[ Yeah, that's definitely not a threat. It's a promise. ]

ARRIVAL 🍒

[citizenid_null]

[ Cerise is stirring her fruity martini with the cherry, using the stem to swirl the fruit around in her glass. Honestly, this isn't too different from the bars back in Arc City-- no one wants to pay a human bartender when a robot can make whatever you want to your specifications without needing to shout over the music. About all that's missing is the blacklight, neon accessories, and pulsing synth music. Odds are Cerise would be dressed as someone ten years younger, short skirt and knee socks in fluorescent shades but here she is in her stupid penguin pajama bottoms and no bra, hair in a messy ponytail.

But that is not going to keep her from hitting on the smoke show at the bar. She's got her priorities. And did she mention the lack of a brasierre? ]

Oh I'm not against adventure. I just wish I could have gotten my full beauty rest first. I clean up much nicer on a full six hours.

What about you, handsome? First time kidnapped by extradimensional entities?

[timewarden]

[ No brassiere? How scandalous! Thankfully, Anjou is a gentleman and a strong proponent of women doing whatever the fuck they want. He shall do his best not to stare at her in her cute pajamas. Nevertheless, he's oddly amused with her nightly attire. Especially since he's dressed in full formal wear and she's...just whatever was left from the dresser. ]

Well, from my point of view—you don't need much in the way of 'beauty rest.'

[ Yes, yes. He's flirting already. This is what happens whenever he starts drinking. This old tiger is a horrible flirt. ]

First time, indeed. I can't say I recall anyone ever successfully kidnapping me before.

[citizenid_null]

You're sweet. [ She winks at him, then plucks the cherry out of her martini and pops the fruit into her mouth, pulling the stem free.

She appreciates the flirt back. Lately her score has been pathetic in terms of people who pick up her vibe and "yes and." Who knew, all she needed was to get swept off to another dimension-- like an anime protagonist, minus the truck.

So she grins and gives his shoulder a nudge with hers. Her pajama tank has a penguin on it, too, and is imploring her to "chill out." She's obviously not listening to the little guy's advice. ] Does 'successfully' imply an attempt? Because I can understand wanting to collect the handsome professor type. I've read a dark academia romance or two.

[timewarden]

[ Oh, she's adorable! Anjou can't help but smile more as he watches her devour the cherry. It's a rather tantalizing scene, one that Anjou won't forget too easily. Even though she's dressed like some penguin-loving gremlin, he finds her oddly charming.

Although, that messy hair could use some work, lady. ]

That, and the fact I have many enemies keen on killing me as of late.

[ He concedes it with a shrug, then takes another sip. ]

Let's just say I'm a little too popular these days.

[citizenid_null]

[ Did she just walk into a Dos Equis ad? Because this is The Most Interesting Man. She props her chin in her hands as he talks, looking intrigued. ] A man of danger and mystery? Now you've really got my attention, handsome. Next you're going to tell me you like your drinks shaken, not stirred.