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]

[Midnighter keeps laughing.]

Kid, I kill people. It's my job. I been told a lot worse.

[fessus]

[ Well, there's a piece of new information. ]

What kind of people? [ Because that'll influence how he feels about this significantly. ]

--where are we going?

[thingpuncher]

The kind that hurt other people. Or are going to.

[But he's not going to pretend he's not a murderer.]

Back to the capsules. I think I saw a stove in mine... You wanna put the eels in there, right?

[fessus]

Ah... Yeah, I guess. I'll see if anyone knows how to cook 'em in one. [ Which means he's tapping his BCE, working it with ease as he continues to speak. Splitting his attention is no problem, and neither is technology. ]

I have to do that sometimes now too.

[thingpuncher]

[Good, somebody who can work a computer. There are too fucking few of those around here.]

[He nods at Noctis with something approaching solemnity.] Shouldn't have to. That's for people like me to deal with. Let me know if you ever need help, I'll be there, kid. Like I said, it's my job.

[fessus]

[ You're not wrong. ]

I wish. Sure would make things easier if I could say yes to that... but it's my job too. Don't worry, I can handle it. [ He's got to. ]

... thanks.

[thingpuncher]

[He can't decide if it sounds like truth or bullshit. In his line of work, a lot of the time, they're basically the same. He sighs.]

Gave me a good laugh and shit to do. [Two things he's terminally short on, loathe as he is to admit it.] You ever need help, lemme know. Least I can do.

[fessus]

[ That's a serious comfort, given how he showed up here alone. Never before in his life has he experienced that, either, always having at least Gladio and Ignis by his side. ]

You sure wanna' be needed. [ He means it as a joke but it still comes out before he can stop it, realizing it might be too far. Time to scramble for a cover. ] I'm... Are you a soldier or police or something?

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter knows what he is. As critiques go, it's not off. He sighs a little at being so easily caught out, but it's not like he was doing a great job hiding it.] I guess.

[But anyway.] I'm... 'superhero' sounds like I run around with a big S on my chest. I just... I try to help people. I have the ability to. It's what I am.

[fessus]

[ There's a brief pause as he responds to another BCE message, but. ]

... Superhero? Like in a manga or a video game?

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter's lip twitches, edging on something like a smile. Yes, send him farther into the land of the unreal. He knows that place; he's lived there for a long time. Not happily, but comfortably enough.]

Yeah, a superhero. Midnighter. Sounds about right, huh?

[fessus]

Yeah. Kind of cool and lame at the same time. [ He pulls zero punches when it comes to these things. ] But we already went over that.

Did you volunteer for it on your own?

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter doesn't like keeping his origins a secret. It's not about who he is anymore. That was Lucas Trent, the shadow he likes to think he's shed.]

I was kidnapped and experimented on. [Said... very calmly. He doesn't want to scare the kid.] Making the best of it.

[fessus]

[ Shit.

Just... holy shit, what is he supposed to say to that? He can't say nothing but he doesn't want to act like he's feeling sorry for him either, especially with how Midnighter tries to approach it dismissively. ]

... that's horrible. [ Finally he goes with his own instinct, though. ] That made you want to help people? You didn't just... I don't know, shut people out?

[thingpuncher]

[Well, that's a question.] I... I used to. I'm getting better.

[Maybe. Maybe he is. Maybe the whole thing with Matt is just proof he's not a real person, he can never be a real person, he's just a thing that kills and likes it too much, and that's all he'll ever be.]

[He looks at the kid walking next to him, trying to express genuine compassion and curiosity. As long as he surrounds himself with good people, it can't really matter, can it? This kid... he's a good kid, he matters, he's a real person. That, more than anything, is worth protecting.]

I wanna make sure what happened to me never happens to anybody else. I'll rip the spines outta any bastards who try.

[fessus]

[ Noctis struggles not only to grasp how to respond to something like that but also to accept what those words really mean. They make him feel... not selfish, maybe, but certainly naïve. Just one more realization that so much goes on outside of the sheltered existence he's known, that his complaints about his own problems are valid but hardly the only ones that exist. ]

...

I thought you seemed like a pretty easy guy to understand but there's a lot more going on. You're... pretty impressive. [ It's hard getting these words out, honestly. ] I'm working on changing too. It's not the same, but... well, you know.

[thingpuncher]

[Midnighter snorts.] You haven't even seen me in a fight yet.

[Talk about impressive.] Working on it's the tough part. Gotta put more effort into it every day. Try not to give up just outta being lazy. Anybody who tries for that's impressive.

[fessus]

[ This would be a bad time to admit to the fact that he's tired again, probably. But he always is, a little. ]

No way, you have to actually make some progress too. You can't just "try". [ Finally there's a hint of a smirk on those normally impassive features, reaching over this time to shove at him instead. ] And yeah, yeah, I get it, you're strong. Good job.

[thingpuncher]

Yeah, well, we can't all be as good at shit as you.

[He says it like a joke, but he means it. He's pretty sure he's been doing nothing but backsliding since Matt. Maybe it's easier to change when you're younger? Midnighter wouldn't know. His memories only really start around eighteen, nineteen, and then it was just corridors and trying to escape.]

[Lovely fucking thought. He turns the corner toward the hallway with all the capsules.] You ready to do some cooking, big guy?

[fessus]

No, guess we can't. It's tough setting the standard. [ It's a good sign, honestly, that he's relaxed enough to slip into his somewhat goofy boasting. Maybe it's just because they've now broached such serious topics; it's easier to indulge in something a little more light-hearted. Weird, he doesn't usually come out of his shell at all this quick. ]

I'm ready to do some eating, but I guess first things first. [ ... ] I need a shower...

[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?