all this energy calling me

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Welcome home, nerds.
WHEN? Outside time and space, in the aether between dimensions.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

TOUCH BASE;

backfill armed services echelon
COST re-appropriated vehicle 854A-5.2

read the base setting infopage

DEPARTING FRANCE

The order comes out the second day after the Tuileries is sacked:

PACK UP, GET READY TO MOVE OUT. WE'VE DONE ALL WE CAN HERE.

DEPLOYMENT: BASE. WE NEED TO RESTOCK. BE PREPARED FOR MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.

STAY SAFE. TIME-STEP EXPECTED TO BEGIN WITHIN THE HOUR. FOR THOSE OF YOU NEW TO COST: FIND A SECLUDED SPOT, AND TRY NOT TO EAT ANYTHING BEFORE THE JUMP.

The Time-Step

The transfer begins, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea as the world blurs out of focus. A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine; the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle. Or maybe it's an illusion brought on by powerful technology grafted into your skin.

One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.

Nausea is commonly accompanied by this shift. One moment, you're in the cold of France. The next, you're in a temperature regulated hallway, looking not unlike a very poorly put together space station. Droids rush up and down the long hallway, fixing broken bits of machinery or just chattering with each other. Crows sit on high ledges, looking down, watching.

(For those of you who just apped in and didn't participate in the TDM, you'll appear alongside your comrades now, standing in this long hallway filled with droids and crows and men and women in clothing from 18th century France. Of course, you'll be wearing the minimal COST athletic issued underwear, and holding whatever one item you were allowed to bring. Surprise!)

At the end of the hall is a long table with heaps of used clothing on it. The sizes and styles vary, along with color and detail (AKA none look exactly like the linked pics, they're just a baseline, use your ~imagination~). One thing's for certain, all the clothing has been used before, with holes darned and worn edges. They're all clean, though, and each bears a single patch with the words 'KNOW YOUR RIGHTS, THE FUTURE IS UNWRITTEN' and 'COST sewn into the side.

They're not exactly high fashion, but they might be more comfortable than the late 18th century digs you're still wearing, if you showed up in France. Or, you know, the underwear.

Meet the Drill Sergeant

There is the echoing sound of hooves, and a strange creature emerges from a nearby room: a centaur. He smiles kindly, happy to see you've arrived. He has a significant limp in his back left leg, causing his hoof-beats to pitch an irregular rhythm as he walks slowly through the hall.

"Hello, all!" His voice is kind, but it's pitched to carry. "You may know me as Sergeant-- I am in technicality a drill sergeant. You may call me Chiron, if you wish, though I'm to understand some may know others with the same name." He laughs, amused. "In any case, welcome home. It is not much, but we have tried to make it hospitable for you in your time here. Your room assignments have been uploaded onto your BCEs, along with some technological upgrades we've been testing out. There are a few prototypes and experiments you may find in your rooms as well. Our agents are..." He looks up at the crows. "We are a curious people."

He looks over to the table stacked with clothing. "Please pick out what suits you, and make adjustments as needed. If you have any complaints, and wish to change your rooming situation, your username, anything of that nature, please send me a request. I am also known in some capacity as a trainer-"

One of the crows caws, and it sounds almost sarcastic.

Sergeant Chiron ignores it. "Hm. If you wish for me to make a training regiment for you, to better your skill in this organization, please let me know. But for now: I am to understand your last mission was... tumultuous. Please, rest and acclimate yourself to BASE."

He turns to leave, before stopping-- "And please be kind to the crows. They remember slights."

The crows' cawing sounds like laughter.

HOTSPOTS

There's been some technical difficulty since the prognosticators had their little meltdown. Coolant is in short supply, and some of the corridors of BASE are a little warmer than others. Pleasantly warm. Comfortably so, like walking through a sunbeam. In these hotspots, it feels comfortable and snug.

Characters walking through them will feel the urge to lie down and rest, maybe take a quick little nap.

Sleeping in these spots will cause unsettling or confusing dreams, but not nightmares. Dreams in these hotspots-- and sleeping in these hotspots will never be dreamless-- will be hard to remember upon waking, but they seemed very... strange. Almost as though you were intruding on something important but private.

Yet you can't quite remember it when you wake.

If you're clever and watchful, you'll notice the crows avoid these areas, so you can avoid them as well before you're seized by the urge to lie down and nap.

Particularly watchful characters may notice the hotspots are growing in size and number as the days wear on.

(More information about these and the forthcoming December plot will be coming in an infopost on the 12th, but if you have any questions now, feel free to ask here!)

read the base setting infopage

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

[thingpuncher]

[He snorts, and turns to hand the eels over to Noctis.] You put 'em on ice. Lemme know when you're done.

[fessus]

Whoa, whoa-- I didn't say I was gonna' do it now! [ Now he's laden with dead eels. Oh, the humanity. ]

Probably would need another one right after this anyway... I usually catch fish, not prepare 'em.

[thingpuncher]

Fish don't generally stay good for long periods of time. Even I fucking know that, [he says it with a roll of his eyes,] and I don't eat food. Fry it up and call me when you're done.

[fessus]

O... oi! [ ANOTHER SHOUT AT THIS INJUSTICE, eel tails flapping as he takes a hurried step forward and just raises them in his arms. Helplessly. ]

I caught them, now I have to cook them? I didn't even-- Why?

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter's lip twitches.]

You want the guy who doesn't eat food to cook them?

[fessus]

No, but I expect you to at least pretend that you feel obligated to help even if you're just standing around watching 'cause I've done everything else so far. [ Maybe... he's too honest when he gets going. ]

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter just about cracks up.] So I'll sit and wait in the kitchen while you shower? Do I look like your butler?

[fessus]

[ ... he thinks backs on the butlers he's had and wisely does not answer. ]

I said I could wait on the shower. [ Not really, but he thought it. ] Geeze, some people...

[thingpuncher]

Yeah, some people. [But there's an edge of fondness to his mocking.] C'mon, let's roast the thing. I'll help, I guess, but I barely know how to order fast food.

1/2

[fessus]

2/2

[fessus]

[ . . . SHOVES BOTH EELS BACK AT HIM, starting to walk again towards the capsules. ]

Ahh, which one's yours? I don't want mine to smell.

[thingpuncher]

[What a weird kid. Which means, of course, that he's the best kid. Like those dogs with missing legs that everyone thinks are so cute, except this one's missing a part of his fucking brain.]

They're both yours. [But he carries both eels behind Noctis anyway, not really sure what's socially accepted of him in this, uh, unique situation.] And they're both gonna smell if you don't ice 'em or roast 'em.

[fessus]

[ What do you know, he seems very at ease with someone holding his possessions while he marches in front of them. At the response, however, he halts, pinning him with a more casual look over his shoulder. ]

Not that. Which capsule? I don't want mine to smell from the cooking. [ rude ass bitch ]

[thingpuncher]

Oh, right. [Because that's a thing that normal people worry about, right, right.] I don't care. It'll smell to me either way. Enhanced senses.

[fessus]

Ah. [ He's already (finally) starting to pick eel bits from his hair, trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral. Gross... ]

So you agree with me. Saves time. Which one?

[thingpuncher]

I don't know. [He sounds genuinely confused, which would probably be weird or unique if they knew each other better. But he's talking to a kid, so he can let his guard down a little. It's nice, weirdly.] Why am I making the cooking decisions? You're the one who wanted to eat it! I was gonna put it back in the water.

[fessus]

Midnighter.

[ And here now he turns fully to face him, yet again reaching out with the intent of harmlessly but still a bit roughly shoving at his shoulder. ]

Which of these capsules is yours? [ He is absolutely slowing the question down, to make it that much worse. ] Not which one are we using. We're using yours. But which one is it?

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter just]

[stares]

[Goddammit, he was so caught up in the food and not eating and not knowing how to cook thing he completely...]

[Shit.]

Uh. Nine.

[fessus]

[ Noctis sizes up his new friend compatriot guy and has to approach the strange feeling of catching someone slipping up that badly and it not being Prompto. ]

... yeah, you're definitely human. [ That was the most human thing he's done yet. ] Are you gonna' lead the way? I want to get a nap after this too... [ Already. ]

[thingpuncher]

[That gets his hopes up in an absurdly stupid way, and he leans forward a little on his toes. It makes him say something even dumber-] That was human?

[Because it felt very unhuman to him. But whatever, maybe this kid's an automaton freak too. You never know, especially lately. (The stab wound from Matt is still healing.)]

[Eels back over his shoulder, Midnighter tapps his BCE and pulls up the capsule interface. Capsule 9 begins slowly to lurch itself out of the wall, just far enough that the door can be breached. Midnighter opens it without fanfare.] If you're really that fucking tired, you can take my bed. Haven't touched it yet, not... not really likely to.

[fessus]

[ The smile that tugs at his lips is one he'll deny if it happens to be spotted, immediately turning away to watch the capsule's movement. ]

Yeah, that was human. You thinking about it so much kind of is too. You think animals or machines or daemons worry about their identity or whatever?

--and I get tired a lot. If you're saying I can use it whenever, though, I'll keep that in mind. Might be nice having a second bed to use.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter knows better to go on for more, asking after that little victory. So it was human, but was it a normal human thing? A real person thing? Everyone says he thinks too much because of the computer-- is that okay, now?]

[He just grins, and follows the kid in, feeling a little warmer and not knowing why.]

Sure, if you want it. Like I said, I don't sleep much. When I do, it'll be on the floor anyway, so just don't fucking step on me.

[fessus]

Nice. I'll step on you every single time.

[ As he breezes inside without an ounce of shame, making a beeline for the kitchen. It's a good thing all the layouts are the same. ] Do you have the room in the front or the back? Ah... who's your roommate?

[thingpuncher]

The programmed response for something touching me when I'm unconscious is murder. I'll be sure to mention that at your funeral. [Not strictly 100% true, but close enough to joke about.]

Haven't met them yet. The list said... Wynnona Earp. But I'll barely be here, so they can't complain.

[fessus]

Wynnona... Nope, don't know 'em. [ As if that's somehow actually an important revelation when he just got here. Still. ]

And maybe you should reprogram then. Obviously you're adaptable. Look where we are.