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

[ryuji]

[The problem with that statement is that Ryuji isn't Prompto- he's not the type to back down out of a fight, no matter how bad the odds are, and almost always prefers the frontlines even when he's completely and utterly mismatched. Their brands of loyalties are so different from one another, and Ryuji is ready to literally shoot a god down from his throne on high.

At least, until Noctis pushes him to the backline and takes the forefront in one sweeping motion, forcing Ryuji to take a step back to keep steady- his body forced in a way that doesn't give him enough stable ground to hold his own. The ground below him continues to shift, and split, and he finds himself standing on ground that's caving between his own feet. A short roll to the side-]

Noct! Be careful!

[He depletes a usage of Piercer, an ability that he shouldn't know how to use, but somehow makes sense in this situation. One, two, three armor breaking shots pile into Titan's fist, trying his hardest to get Noctis free of an incoming swipe. Ryuji gets back up, backs up a few paces. This thing has way too much health.]

[fessus]

[ In this dream he hasn't left Lucis or seen other worlds, hasn't met Ryuji, hasn't been away from his friends... so why is it that the sound of gunfire feels almost nostalgic? It causes his heart to swell and sink in equal measure, hearing him land hits that normally would cause him to compliment him -- because Prompto needs that; he's always needed that and deserved it as a newer addition to the more combat-oriented life that Ignis, himself, and Gladio have always lived -- but which now just make him worried.

He's drawing Titan's attention.

The astral raises a monstrous foot in a sharp stomp down against the crown prince, nearly sending him to his knees with the force behind it and it requires a two-handed grip on his sword to repel... which is why he can't help his friend when he watches a gnarled hand reach for him. ]

No! Fuck, get... off of me! What the fuck is your problem?!

Pr-- Ryuji, move! [ Too little too late as that massive palm collides hard with his friend's body, fingers wrapping tightly around the slighter boy with a slow lift of him up into the air. Titan again stumbles back as Noctis forces his full strength against him, panting with a wild gaze upward. ]

Ryuji!

[ryuji]

[Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- the only thing in Ryuji's head as he starts to get picked up by Titan's massive hand. Arms constrained, he can't seem to reach for the weapon he just wielded a few moments ago, as he starts to feel everything in his body constrict, a stone cage against just flesh and blood, and even the ability to breathe properly is being kept away from him.

He tries to move his shoulders, to get some leeway here, but it's absolutely useless- the giant has him, firmly, and as he looks down at Noctis, a scared, panicked look overtakes his features.

C'mon dude, beat this asshole up!

And like glass shattering, he hears his own name instead of the one that's been gifted to him in this dream, and he coughs as he lets out:]

Noct!!!

[fessus]

[ Sweat runs down his brow and streaks a face twisted in both anger and panic as he lurches forward in an immediate move after him, forced to stare up at that huge fist that's now constricting the only person he has left to protect here. ]

Hold on! [ Another frenzied shout as he looks around for a better angle, higher ground, purchase for a better attack, anything... and as his options slowly dwindle, he knows what he has to do. A deep inhale and a short exhale precede a sudden shock of light as a series of weapons crystallize into formations of pure energy around him -- the full realization of his Armiger. It's a flick of his hand and a steely gaze that has them all flying straight for Titan's glowing left eye, disappearing after them in a blink of movement before the true assault begins. Each strike is so fast that it's hard to even discern that each and every weapon is being utilized, taking brutal advantage of one of Titan's few weak points just to spur him to fight back instead of hurting Ryuji.

A vicious yell punctuates a simultaneous strike of all of those arms at once, phasing backward to avoid the mighty beast as he unsteadily falls forward onto knees that dent earth and all he can hope is that his grip has loosened. ]

[ryuji]

[Amazement. Yes, there's amazement, and still a little bit of fear- being inside someone's dream as a monster as large as this can take root at the center of everything, threatening to twist and turn the environs into something perverted, unsafe, unholy. And Noctis is here, summoning light, bringing forth weapons where weapons shouldn't be, masterfully flinging them with a magic that he couldn't possibly comprehend properly. Ryuji feels waves of tightness against his chest as Titan takes the initial pummel to his weak points, until finally it relents and he feels a gap in his grip, just large enough for a body to slide up through. For once, Ryuji is complacent with his impossibly small frame as he pulls himself up to a giant index finger and makes a leap of faith.

He's scared of the impact, but more scared that the both of them won't make it out alive, and as he tumbles to the ground a ways away from Titan, he sees Noctis standing somewhat victorious. The moment is short lived- as the mighty giant comes down, so does his hand, and Ryuji finds himself watching a trajectory that could be the end of his friend- so he dashes forward, putting everything into his spring like he know how to do from his days in track, and grabs the prince around the waist, pushing the both of them in an unhealthy tumble as the thing makes one last attempt to inflict its terror upon the ground.

The world seems to be shattering at that very strike, and it's real, all too real, as he looks up at Noct from his dive bombed position, sweat and mud and grime all over his face, and smirks.]

Shit, you really know how to pack a punch. [Hopefully it's not too late for the celebratory jubilee, but god, let him have his one-liners.]

[fessus]

[ The drain of using the Armiger is like a buzzing at the base of his skull, a brief, potent magic-induced hangover that he usually waits out with an extended final strike or a dust-off of hands when an enemy lies defeated before him. Instead now he has the discomfort of unstable hard ground beneath his boots as he shakes himself out of it, chin lifting when a heavy shadow falls over him that forces his gaze to turn skyward. He has one of two beautiful daggers summoned and raised within an instant, just about to throw himself to safety when arms suddenly lock around him and he's collided with at the side. ]

Oi--! [ He hits the ground hard but is immediately pushing back with straightened elbows, hovering half over Ryuji with a confused glance downward. ]

Did you... [ Wait. He shakes himself out of it, Ryuji's wit completely and totally ignored. I'm so sorry... ]

Are you okay? Lemme help you up, come on... [ Already he's moving to stand, grabbing for his hands. ]

[ryuji]

[Strategy is relatively blown out of the window when it comes to dumb heroics, and Ryuji is full of the bravado it takes to try and perform it. He should've probably put more consideration into the fact that Noctis can just warp strike out of danger, and it becomes painfully apparent to him as sees the aetherial glow of the daggers he was planning to use spirit away from the location. Oh, right.

Listen, this was the kid who nearly killed himself trying to save his friends from a sinking ship. He doesn't think about things as much as feel them, and when he sensed danger, it was pretty much the only thing he could do to avert crisis. He looks up at Noctis and gives a stalwart smile, looking mucked up as hell from the upturned earth and the blank canvas it had on Ryuji's clothing. Well, not his clothing, but, whatever.

He takes the hand up and blows out a hefty breath.]

The fuck was that thing.

[fessus]

[ Noctis heaves him up with what to him is little effort, muscles burning in a steady reminder of his own previous exertion of them as he exhales a ragged breath. ]

Ah... [ A moment as he swallows hard, pulling himself together with a hurried glance over his shoulder to make sure he doesn't need to keep fighting yet. ]

--wait what? [ As it hits him again that this isn't Prompto, that he requires a full explanation. ]

The... the Archaean. Titan. He's one of the astrals, and if we're smart then we'll move before he's getting back up again.