agogelogs | all this energy calling me

all this energy calling me

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Freed from the crusty death hand of gay Robocop has him indeed able to work the oven... which he'll do, right after washing his hands. No, he's not overly concerned about hygiene or keeping Midnighter's appliances all too clean but that doesn't mean he can't make an attempt at smelling a little less like death. ]

Where the hell's this "cowboy" thing coming from all of a sudden? [ He had to review his conversation with Hei but yes, the oven's on and it seems to be a success... so far. ] I've got it, I'm just looking for-- Here. [ An actual pan to cook them on. Do they need foil or anything? No, surely not. ]

Ahh, it'll be good to nap on a full stomach... I'm ready for that part.

Just save me a bite, okay, I wanna know what eel tastes like.

[Finished skinning the first one, he rips the spine out in one fluid motion, making, quite fraknly, a slimy, bloody mess. He sets it on the pan and gets to work on the second eel.]

It's because you're cowboying it, y'know. Rough living. Blood in your hair. [He thinks it's funny.] I could come up with something else, if you want.

[ Blood splatters his face as well as his hair, and he takes a moment to lift his gaze to the ceiling. TAKING A DEEP BREATH... ]

Well there's blood in my mouth, too. I was gonna' share some stuff in return for what you said but forget it, now... Yeah, I want you to come up with something else. Do you think I really-- [ He cuts himself off, staring down at the eel.

Then at Midnighter. ] You know you have to take the organs out, right?

[Bloody, colorful knife in hand, Midnighter stares down at the eel corpse.] Isn't that the part you eat?

The phrase is literally "gutted like a fish". Gutting's taking all that extra crap out. We eat the meat.

[ How To Be A Human 101 -- Instructor: Noctis Lucis Caelum ]

Oh.

[He's used that phrase before, he just... never thought about it. He's used tons of phrases and movements and gestures he's seen in films or on the street, consciously aping a population he neither understood nor could completely blend in with.]

[There might be judgement in Noctis' tone (or it might just be Midnighter's pride), but more than anything, he appreciates the lack of mockery or amusement.]

Okay. I'll take those out, too.

[So he begins cutting. Belatedly, he mutters,] Thanks.

[ Noctis's gaze drags back over at that, flickering from his face to his hands, watching the process. ]

Ah... [ A somewhat awkward acknowledgement, though no heavier than the silence that falls afterward as he flips on the faucet to at least encourage rinsing the dinner before it gets cooked. ]

... I've never done laundry. [ Out of nowhere. Solidarity. ]

Me neither, [is Midnighter's immediate, and rather amused, response. He thinks he gets what the kid's going for, we're not so different, and it's honestly kind of... sweet? Yeah, it's sweet. And the sweetness is weird, because there's not a ton of that in Midnighter's life.]

[They're not the same, though.] Andrew handled all of that, and when I moved out, I just threw dirty shit away. [Most of it wasn't really salvageable anyway, too covered in blood or bullet holes.]

[ "Me neither". Well, even if his goal had been diffusing a little tension by admitting one of his faults in return, it still feels good to hear that. Especially considering the absolute shit he's gotten over it. ]

Seriously? It was starting to feel like it was just me... Cooking can be pretty tough too, I guess. I ordered out a lot when I lived on my own.

... who's Andrew?

Hey, I barely know how to order out.

[You, like, call someone? But there's also this app...]

He's my ex.

[He says it pretty casually, and it's not forced. Knowing you're the reason why the relationship fell apart, accepting it fully, makes it a lot easier to process. For him, at least.]

[ He's stealing strips of meat as soon as Midnighter's done with them, rinsing them carefully before laying them out on the pan. Were he a more accomplished chef he'd realize he should be patting them dry and seasoning them, but whatever. All he ever did at his part-time job was follow set instructions. ]

Your ex...?

[ ...

...

... ]

Boyfriend?

[Midnighter gives the kid a very flat look, and it's genuinely difficult to tell if he's joking or not when he says,]

Noctis, sometimes, when two men love each other very much...

[ ... flaps a strip of eel meat at him, stop. ]

I know what a boyfriend is!

[Midnighter puts his greasy, eel-goo covered hands up in mock-surrender.]

I'm just trying to further your cultural education, here.

[He's enjoying this a little too much.]

My education's fine, I've just never dealt with that before. [ And he drops the eel strip onto the pan resolutely, as if punctuating his non-existent point. ]

I've got Luna, so...

With what? Gays? I promise they exist in your planet.

[God, what is this kid, thirteen? It's endearing more than annoying, and if Midnighter were more generally knowledgeable about the world, he'd start to wonder why the kid's so generally ignorant. But he's not, so...]

Your girlfriend? I hope you don't make her do all the cooking and laundry, man.

Yeah, I know, I just haven't ever talked about it with someone who actually was. I didn't expect it, that's all. [ god help him ]

And no, Luna's my-- [ What? Even saying her name makes him feel uncomfortable, guilty, worried about her safety while he himself is standing here doing this. ]

Friend. Fiancée. [ both ]

[You probably have sounds overly cocky, so he just shrugs. Noctis is... awkward, but he doesn't seem, you know, homophobic. So that's... nice?]

[Whatever. He keeps cutting the eel.]

I'm not exactly an expert, but I've heard there's generally a stage between those two.

[ The shrug brings with it a little self-doubt as he looks over at Midnighter, wondering if he said something wrong... but so far it seems okay. ]

... haven't seen her in person in about twelve years. It's arranged.

I don't know if both of these eels are gonna' fit.

[Arranged marriages, he's heard of that before. He thinks on television. It's probably normal to some people, wherever Noctis is from. There's no point in making a big deal about it anyway; the less Midnighter thinks about where this kid sticks his dick, the better.]

[So he just sighs and chops the eel in half with a loud thwack.]

It will now.

[ He looks down at the even more abused eel, only able to hope that this won't somehow affect the cooking as he reaches for one solid half of it to rinse. ]

Yeah, says you... Guess they shrink when they cook, though.

... did you ever actually get married? You seem like that age.

[Midnighter, standing in a kitchen he barely understands, covered in eel guts, holding a bloody knife, looks down at Noctis.]

Not really marriage material.

[He said his ex, Noctis.]

[ Also covered in eel guts, almost equally out of his depth, he looks up at Midnighter, then down in a full once-over. ]

No clue what you're talking about. [ A straight-faced joke he almost gets through without cracking a smirk, but it's just barely there when he turns back to his task. ]

[Midnighter's lip twitches as well. He puts the knife down, and reaches for Noctis, grabbing him to deliver a (very light) noogie, eel guts and all.] You're pretty fucking clueless, huh! [His voice is terribly fond.]

[ He sees that arm coming a second too late to dodge it, guard very much lowered in this particular situation. Is it unwise to trust people here so quickly? Probably, but he's still not used to life without guards around him twenty-four/seven. ]

Get-- off! I take it back, you don't have any redeeming qualities. I completely get it. [ With knuckles moving to dig into Midnighter's side, his voice nearly breaking in its attempt to stay stern and irritated. ]

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