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]

Who was giving you shit? [Do I have to beat them up wait no probably it's best he gets the dragged, that's what the internet is for. Midnighter shakes his head.] Yeah, I'll throw out these fucking clothes. And there's always somebody in there, it's communal.

[He's snuck into enough gym bathrooms in his time not to give a shit. At least these showers have individual privacy pods.]

[fessus]

Don't attack anybody that still told me how to cook an eel. [ Yeah. You're transparent. Noctis's eyes narrow as he peers within the oven, taking a moment to realize that it has a light. Oh. Helpful. ]

Watch out for that Rider guy, then. He's the one I'd justify hitting again... Guy doesn't understand personal boundaries.

[thingpuncher]

Deal.

[Whatever, dude.]

You wanna give me more identifying characteristics?

[Who else is going to end up on his shitlist today?]

[fessus]

You don't know him? Green hair. Tallish. [ Surely this on its own is enough. ]

He's pushing for a fight with me soon because I accidentally punched him off of a roof; maybe it'll calm him down. [ ... ] It's stupid.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter squints. Green hair is hard to forget, and Midnighter has an excellent memory (thanks computer).] I think I met him, yeah. Back in fucking Jerusalem.

[He shakes his head.] Think you can take him? [He's offering to be backup, or a second, whatever. He's pretty sure there isn't a threat out there he can't take.]

[fessus]

[ Noctis folds his arms as he checks a hip against the counter, eyes still focused on the oven but it's clear he's distracted now. ]

... Yeah. [ Finally. ] I think I'm a hell of a lot stronger than he thinks I am. As long as he doesn't say or do anything weird to throw me off... but I don't think he's looking for a fight to the death anyway. [ A pause. ]

Why, you worried?

[thingpuncher]

Say anything weird...? [Suspicion mounting...] If you need backup, lemme know. Kicking in prick's faces is kinda my thing. If you say you can handle it, you can, whatever.

[Shrug, like he doesn't care.]

[fessus]

[ what is this tsundere bullshit ]

He makes jokes that he thinks are funny but they're not. That's what's "weird". But if I lose to him then I've got a long way to go towards where I need to be anyway. Ahh... I'd get yelled at back home... [ Joy of joys. ]

Besides, he said something about only certain people being able to hurt him. [ You're welcome, Achilles, don't tell him your secrets. ]

[thingpuncher]

[HE'S TRYING TO GIVE YOU SPACE!!!!]

One of those people is me. [He sure knows how to boast.] Fighting for people who can't is what I do at home. Not saying you can't, but I don't mind lending a hand.

[fessus]

[ GIVE UP, I'M ALL IN THIS CR ]

Ah.

... wait, you have divine powers? [ Just... pressing pause on the rest of that. ]

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter cracks up.]

No, that was my ex. [Now he's just making jokes at Andrew's expense. Not that Andrew would have minded that one, he thinks. But anyway-] Look, [he taps his temple,] computer in the brain, right? I'm made for fights. I see the outcome of everything. Every fight. Every weak point. I know the end before it starts.

I don't lose.

[Aside from that whole Afterthought thing, but he's still pointedly not thinking about that, shh.]

[fessus]

Yeah, I got that part. As much as I can, anyway. [ He'll allow that there's a hell of a lot about Midnighter that he doesn't understand yet and probably never will, not about to assume otherwise. ]

But if someone's invulnerable to what you can do, how does knowing that help you win? Did you take him down before? I don't think he's my enemy, I just have a bone to pick... and I don't care if that means knowing more of his weaknesses ahead of time. [ no shame ]

[thingpuncher]

Everybody's got an Achilles' Heel. [Midnighter grins, because he's a cocky, oblivious idiot.] Except me. So if you need backup, hey, might as well, right?

[fessus]

Ah. So you do know him after all. I heard his name but couldn't remember how to say it... "Achilles". [ jesus christ ]

I think a part of you just wants to be around a fight.

[thingpuncher]

I thought his name was Rider? Whatever. [Midnighter doesn't assume the clues to the riddles of his life can be found in Greek mythology.]

[He's not Andrew.]

[But:] I said I was made for it. Fish wanna be in water, right?

[fessus]

... if you thought his name was "Rider" then how do you know his real name? He told me to call him Rider after the fact but I figured since you already knew it was actually Achilles then it didn't matter. [ He doesn't know that phrase, okay, that is not his world of references. ]

You're a lot smarter than a fish, too, so you get to choose. [ And as if on cue he's tugging open the oven door, suddenly, getting a better look at the color he was after for the eels. ] Quick-- I need a towel or something.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter snorts.] It's- a saying. 'Achilles heel' means a weakness. [Andrew never told him why-- he was always more interested into the mythology of gods, not heroes, and Midnighter only knows a shadow of Andrew's knowledge.]

[But, wow, deep, Noctis.]

[Midnighter grabs a towel, and hands them over to Noctis, vaguely guessing at what sort of food-related shit he's going to get up to with it.]

[fessus]

Oh. Hit him in the heel then, I guess. Probably wouldn't hurt to try. [ ??? This has been an accidental revelation.

But it's time for his chef skills to be put to the test, folding that towel over and looping it over his hand so he can reach into the oven and safely grab at the pan. ]

Che-- hot, hot... [ Immediately he's depositing it onto the stovetop, exhaling while shaking out his hand. ] Smells good.

[ And he's... honestly way prouder of himself than he should be. Assuming it doesn't taste like garbage this'll be his first actual cooking success mostly on his own. ]

[thingpuncher]

Not every guy named Achilles is- he was probably named after him. [Eyeroll, Noctis.] I'm pretty sure the real guy was blond. [And looked like Brad Pitt. Midnighter remembers the important things from that film.]

[Midnighter looks over it, cautiously interested. He feels like they missed a step-- shouldn't they have seasoned it? Too late now. He pulls some utensils out of the cabinets, and hands a fork to Noctis.] Dig in?

[You try it first.]

1/3

[fessus]

[ Did he also have a glaringly American accent while everyone around him had a British accent for no discernible reason? ]

You got a better idea for a tactic? [ Ask the computer.

But now he's staring down at the strips of meat, cautiously poking one and flipping it with an air of steam, then segmenting a small piece off... Okay, moment of truth. He pops it into his mouth. ]

[fessus]

[ ... ]

[fessus]

It's so bland... [ cry ]

[thingpuncher]

Lemme see him; I'll tell you what the computer finds. Didn't really get enough data last time.

[Midnighter watches Noctis' expression drop, and feels an unexpected rush of... sympathy? Fuck.]

[He pokes at it, slipping some into his mouth.] Not burnt though, right?

[fessus]

Maa... You don't have to eat it. [ He almost thinks to stop him, even, but Midnighter's already moved and stolen a bite. Probably not a good first impression. ]

Guess now I get why people were getting upset about spices over the network. Ignis would've-- [ The name slips out without him thinking and he regrets it immediately for what it makes him feel, shaking his head. ] Well, I got a new goal out of it.

I'll make a better one next time. [ As he just... picks at it... ]

[thingpuncher]

I said I would. [Should he not have? More subtle social clues he's missing, most likely. Whatever; it's too late, now.]

[He scratches his head.] We can find something to fix it. Tastes fine to me, though.

[Because he eats, you know, so frequently. (He catches the name Ignis, of course, and the way Noctis stops himself, but... well, there isn't much for that. It's Noctis' business, not his. He remembers it for later, in the off chance it becomes relevant.)]