1030/A Stoic In The Mud

A Stoic In The Mud
Date of Scene:	02 December 2014
Location:	A Grassland
Synopsis:	Taro and Ineryon's paths cross once again, this time on a muddy riverbank and under threat of a flash flood.
Cast of Characters:	399, 615

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Taro (399) has posed:
    In the perpetual struggle of Machine versus Nature, at this specific moment Nature has the upper hand.
    An unusually strong storm in the mountains in the distance has caused a flash flood in the foothills below. Normally mild, shallow streams have been glutted with the runoff to overflow their banks, creating a muddy quagmire in one of the gentle valleys.
    Normally Taro would not care about trifling things such as changing weather, except that his jeep is now hubcap-deep in the mud caused by all of the above. How irritating. He did at least have the good sense to not try spinning out the wheels, as that would have only gotten it stuck further. Instead, he's walked a short distance away from mud, overflown stream, and vehicle to a stand of trees. There's he's busy snapping small branches from a few of the closest trees. He's in a body-conforming black shirt, his black trousers tucked into boots - he shed his cassock while doing this manual labor (it's folded as neatly as possible over a tree limb so that the muddy hem can dry), though his oval cabochon of a holy symbol remains dangling around his neck as he works.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Ineryon Valos was adept at keeping tabs on some of the meteorological conditions of various parts of the Multiverse, which meant that he'd be inclined to trek around in a fruitful fashion, tapping into the pools and waterholes created by rainy seasons, in order to procure a few fish dinners for himself! One of his primary ambitions in life was to sample different types of seafood, and the lungfish had existed since the time of the dinosaurs, maybe even back in the Triassic when they first emerged. When did they come out of the ground? Typically when small puddles amassed so that they could revive from their peculiar form of hibernation that lasted for months, wherein they'd buried themselves underground.

     Surely not the prettiest of things, to most eyes of humankind, Baron Valos thrived in a realm where half of the dark elves resembled Astos, who was considered the ideal model of aesthetic perfection... complete with tongue-dangling from upper orifice, and posture worse than a sufferer of extreme osteoporosis; perhaps fortuitously for those who were 'graced' by Ineryon's presence, he didn't keep his oral appendage hanging out all day long, allowing saliva to dribble continuously! By the same token, at seven and a half feet, eye-contact rarely ensued, alas.... would his indifferent demeanor have offered much solace to one seeking attention, if the drow in question barely showed much facial emotion, whether or not he did in fact have feelings under a seemingly empty exterior?

     The Valosian clan-member, in his usual way, kept to drier patches by hovering from boulder to boulder by locking onto his stone-made armor, which could be manipulated through geokinetic-like powers. If the armor rose, so did its occupant! Eventually, he reached the jeep, confiscating it momentarily as footing, before he could move on to the next rocky pedestal. He had no qualms about the fact that he was standing right on the hood of the vehicle, and had in effect, put a dent in it thanks to his massive poundage-- a seven foot body comprised of lean-muscle combined with a suit of fossil was not what the hood of a jeep was meant to suffer!

Taro (399) has posed:
    The jeep, while an inanimate thing, appears to have objections to being tred upon so rudely. As its hood begins to sag, it begins to emit an ear-piercing ululating wail.
    * WhoooOOP WhoooOOOP WHoooOOOP *
    Taro's head snaps up, turning in the direction of his temporarily abandoned vehicle. With a mutter of a curse that's probably unbefitting of his station and knife still in hand, he heads back in that direction, leaving the grove of trees at a jog. He's doing nothing whatsoever to disguise his approach, and it may be fair to say he is being especially clear that he is not disguising his approach.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     When the hood buckles, Ineryon gazes downwards at the thing, but thinks nary of import about the matter of leaving an impression in the panel of metal. The resounding echo of the alarm shrieks and causes the dark elf to shudder a touch. A mite unnerved by the sudden arousal of this irritating sound, the dark elf, having no knowledge of who it belonged to, as well as no interest to bother trying to find out, takes the liberty to lock onto the device inside the vehicle that generates the most vibration. On the other hand, his acuity is decentralized via the sounds that throw-off his accuracy, thanks to his weakness to many types of loud sounds.

     When the metal hood caved in, thankfully, those sounds didn't really cause the dark elf much distress, seeing that the powers of drow are grounded primarily in electromagnetism, metal-bending, and the like. On the other hand, some of them were gangly, and physically weak to melee weapons; Baron Valos, even so, wasn't so skinny and misshapen, ergo, he assumed no additional damage from metallic blades than anyone else, really. Nevertheless, with his proficiency in the aiming department being marginalized, he couldn't transfix his attentions to the exact object, resulting in a need for a more 'broad' target.

     About one-third of the jeep practically implodes as a strange force treats the automobile as would a trash-compactor, compressing things together until the unusual sounds desisted. Rubbing his forehead, Baron Valos now had a headache, yet, from the corner of his eye he could make out Taro's approach, with knife in hand. He'd need a few seconds to collect himself, if circumstances deemed that melee with the robed-figure were imminent...

Taro (399) has posed:
    Currently disrobed - in his haste, he left his cassock where it was hanging to dry - but yes, still clothed and with a throwing knife in hand. Its blade has been dulled by being pressed into service as a bush knife, but still it may be of use if so needed.
    * WHoooOOOP WHooo---SHRIEK-Crrrrrrrunch *
    The jeep's anti-theft deterrent goes silent. Along with its electrical system and engine.
    Taro arrives just in time to see the aftereffects of such, finding the the back two thirds of the vehicle somewhat misshapen but still recognizable, but the front and arguably most important third sreshly compacted. His brow furrows deeply, and his lips curl back just enough to show a flash of teeth. "I was using that." Restrained, but clearly unhappy tones in his voice.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     It was true that Taro wasn't robed, yet, Ineryon could hardly make the distinction with his ears ringing from that infernal siren that had sent a shock through his system, equal to what one single adult human might feel if they had touched an electric-eel(OOC: a misnomer, since electric-eels are actually fish).

     Baron Valos could make out that there was a person and a cassock within one area, and a car right beneath him, as well as a metal knife.... but like an inebriated man who might be akin to seeing double, some things blended together, and Ineryon needed a few extra moments to actually determine that the priestly one was not wearing the robe, even if he /was/ still in black attire. Reclaiming composure, the drow realizes Taro isn't at the breaking-point where he's about to attack, but whom is still armed with a blade and looking displeased, Lord Valos scratches his head, "Hmm... Were you, from all the way over there?..." He points in the 'general' direction where he sensed Taro a minute prior, since his perception had been discombobulated by the alarm.

     Ineryon shrugs, and hovers over to yet another boulder and bows to Taro, "I am done using it, so, you may now resume your usage of this object once more, if you wish, without any interruption on my part. I believe it is composed of very nearly the same amount of matter as it did predating its application as a stepping-stone, therefore... I trust you will have no qualms, since I have stolen nothing, yes?" Ineryon isn't attempting to taunt the man, or sound patronizing, and his voice suggests that he genuinely believes the problem is resolved.

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro knows when and how to exercise restraint. While giving into anger right now might bring some momentary pleasure, it will not solve the problem at hand. Namely that the front end of his vehicle has been flattened, which also did not solve the original problem of it being mired in the mud.
    The android priest just stares at him vor a very long moment at the elf's response. Did he truly and seriously just say that? Yes, yes he did, and it seems to have done absolutely nothing to placate him. "I can hardly use it in -that- condition," he retorts, making an open-handed gesture at the once-jeep-now-potentially-modern-artpiece with his free hand. "Do you even know what a motor vehicle is?"

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Delayed-gratification was a useful tool in maintaining order within society, and had Taro gotten violent, both he and Ineryon would have walked away from the situation either less intact physically as they were before they fought, or even not at all. Whether or not one of them would live or die in the near future, for the time-being, they were able to communicate without conveying their feelings with weaponry, for all words really amounted to, were ideas that relayed information that was relevant to one's impulses! People didn't single out this word or that word without some reason behind it, just as they didn't pick up a glass of orange juice due to utter random chance.

     Compulsions, either through organic or artificial programming caused an entity to decidedly choose this action over that-- when viruses were abound, certain signals were bound to be distorted, which would lead to distorted reactions, obviously! As Taro explains that he can't use the object in its current condition, Ineryon Valos shrugs, "I cannot be held responsible for your lack of resourcefulness. There are countless applications for that object. That thing did not start out looking like it is now when it was dug up from the ground, and so too shall it look different long after you are dead, whether in one part or many." Nodding to Taro, he retorts, "....I know what a motor vehicle is, but that would inevitably become something other than a motor vehicle very soon." His eyes shift upwards and he sticks his finger in the air, "This is the rain season. For the next six weeks there will be much precipitation prior to several months of dryness."

     He points his finger at the jeep, "That is deeply entrenched in the muck. By the time you'd be able to get help moving it, there'd be a very fair chance it would be swept away by a flood, considering that to forcibly wash away automobiles and even some mid-sized trees, the prerequisite is just two feet of water along with some pressurization." The dark elf sits on his boulder comfortably, appearing to be content with his explanation so far, "In fact... if you remain here for another half a day or so, you may be liable to be swept away too; assuming impact against boulders, or lack of oxygen is unhealthy for you, then a flood has potential to be damaging." He bobs his head from side to side, thoughtfully, "...Still, I stand by my original claim. That object can still be used for many things in that condition."

Taro (399) has posed:
    "Yet I can no longer use it for its intended purpose," Taro counters, his voice growing testy. While the long term weather forecast may be useful, possbly even appreciated, this does not change the fact that the elf that's providing him with this information has also just complicated his day. Not to mention the his primary method of egress from the area before it floods.
    The android doesn't bother waiting for his reply before storming forward toward the still relatively intact bed of his vehicle. 'Storming' might not be the right term, though, as while his expression is dark, he is paying at least some attention to where he's placing his feet. Else he may get mired in the mud himself.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Ineryon scratches his chin, "...Your intended purpose; it has almost no consciousness, that I am aware of, if not none entirely." Yawning, the nobleman selects a considerably heavy boulder to sit upon, wherein he'll patiently wait an entire day, if need be, for the waters to settle so that more of the creatures burrowed under the ground can emerge, with the coming of early winter.

     The drow can see Taro's expression, even if he's not stamping his feet, however, had the priest decided to have done so... it would have been appropriate, since some societies referred to 'the wet season' as 'the storm season'! Glancing at a remarkably high tree, Ineryon Valos nods his head towards it, "...If you don't want to end up being caught in the flood, I recommend climbing that tree. The vibrations in the ground I'm receiving through this stone are telling me that things are beginning to move."

     His fanny was on the rock that was firmly anchored down, which meant more than just the three points of his feet's soles were receiving information, thus, the dark elf was predicting accurately that there would be some manner of random stampede, which was improbable, versus another rush of water, which was more probable. "I'd say it's about... hmm.... forty minutes from converging... give or take."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro grunts quietly in answer. The information has been received, and it is not being ignored. In fact, it gives him reason to hurry, but not to make undo haste. There's a squelch of mud, followed by the creaky-screech of protesting metal as he hoists himself onto the rear bumper of the jeep. With one hand clamped firmly to the frame to keep his balance, he reaches within to retrieve a messenger-type bag and some sort of folded metal-and-plastic contraption about the length and width of a large map case. the bag is slung over his shoulder by the strap, and with the device clutched in his previously free hand, he carefully steps back down into the mire. He retraces his steps with care back toward drier ground.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     While Taro starts fumbling around with various supplies, the dark elf pulls out his sharpening stone and begins to prepare it, so that he can give his weapon a finer, more crisp edge to it. It wasn't as though his weapon couldn't pierce whatever it hit thoroughly, yet, there was time to spare, ergo... why not use it wisely? Having positioned himself at a decent elevation, and knowing how much time was allotted predating the arrival of the alleged flood, he changed his mind, and put the sharpening stone down for a spell.

     He drew forth a book, titled "How To Lie With Statistics", which he'd purchased a week or two ago, seeing that he was inclined towards reading materials. Ineryon Valos was no liar, but that didn't mean he had an excuse to leave himself exposed to the practices of those out there who /would/ try to manipulate others, drows included, with arguably predetermined results from the yet undelivered polls!

Taro (399) has posed:
    The choice in reading materials would amuse him if he were close enough to see and less preoccupied. Since that is not the case, Taro makes no comment. Once back near the tree line, he sets both device bag down on a fallen log, moving to loosen the latter's binding straps so as to improvise a way of strapping the former to it. Having to carry it in hand would be slightly inconvenient.
    Since the mysterious elf has already offered some information, he asks, "How wide will the coming flood be?"

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Ineryon wasn't especially for OR against Taro, and if asked, would've been inclined to share details of his text, though, what with the priest having to handle so many chores so that he can scramble to safety, a sensible person would understand why he'd not yet taken the opportunity to ask his 'neighbor' about any of the book's content.

     Nonetheless, rather than an eerie silence between the two of them emanating as would two enemies trapped together in a standstill confrontation, waiting for the other one's move, Taro boldly extends a fraction of what might be construed as the olive branch-- or, mayhap it was for survival purposes. Ineryon's eyes turned towards the left as he took visual focus off of his book, as well as the priest, so that he'd be less distracted by a motionless portion of the landscape, giving him an opportunity to 'think' about the answer. Bending forward, he placed his ear to the stone. The pulse was more precise, and intensified, which was something some animals could do to pick up signals. "If it conforms to the shape of this section, the width will be fixed, assuming it's enough to fill it horizontally, which will be the case."

     The dark elf shrugs, "Vertically... The water may be somewhere between two and a half to four feet. On the other hand, I don't want to discourage you from subscribing to Chaos Theory, which could mean that in actuality, it'll be an army of Demonic Flan that are capable of defying solid shapes, in addition to a variable degree of gravity; they can't fly, but they can move up hills...." He assumes this is a good enough explanation, and with luck, it won't be any gelatinous monsters, for... then their problem will be far greater than mere, mindless mud raging maniacally.

Taro (399) has posed:
    "Then to attempt to outrun it would be an exercise in futility." His tone makes it not so much a question as seeking confirmation of his statement.
    Device as secured as he can make it, he shortens the shoulder strap so that it won't swing and bump against him as freely, then loops it over neck and shoulder. Then, he goes to retrieve his cassock from the treebranch he'd draped it over earlier. Rather than take the time to don it again, he instead flings it over his shoulder and tucks the trailing ends through his belt. "I will take my chances that it will water, mud, and debris, though I suppose there's a remote chance there is a flan factory upstream."

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     When Taro asks if trying to outrun the flood would be futile, to which the drow rubs the back of his neck, scrunching up his eyes and wrinkling his nose as an unconscious reaction to the itch where he'd just scratched-- darned gnats.

     He was glad that he hadn't been attacked by mosquitoes as of yet, alas, with the muck sitting there riddled with tiny pools of still water following the former floods, different bug larvae had hatched, and which meant that soon the exsanguination would transpire! That's the part Ineryon disliked about fishing. "I'd say that depends on your goal. If you want to survive, trying to outrun it would be.... ineffectual.... however, if you're in harmony with the notion that all things, all beings, are temporary in their respective shape at any point in time, you'll realize that eventually, you will expire sooner or later, so it might matter less how long you live... but the quality of life you have for the period you've been given."

     Baron Valos displays a toothy-grin, albeit a very faint one, "...Exercise is good for endorphines, or so I've heard. Maybe you'll die happy that way.... If you live a few more years, you could experience a much more agonizing demise."

Taro (399) has posed:
    One advantage of being a machine lifeform is that most insects don't bother with trying to bite him. Taro has none of the proper scents that attract their attention, and may even be a little off-putting to them.
    He spares a moment to check his gloves, tightening the left one slightly, before reaching up to grab the low-hanging tree branch above him. "I am of the perspective that I have already died once, and am reluctant to repeat the experience again so soon." A soft grunt of exertion as he pulls himself up. "Not to mention that my Master would be rather inconvenienced if I were to die at this time."

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Ineryon cocks an eyebrow at Taro, who asserts that he believed he'd already died, which wasn't wholly unheard of, within the Multiverse, but it's enough to catch the dark elf's attention; of the potent knacks within the nexus of worlds, direct reincarnation was a more unique skill. The drow himself didn't plan to discuss what his race were prone towards, at that instant, seeing that there was no reason to discuss what Astos was or was not capable of, and how well others of his race could sometimes(or scarcely) pull off the same parlor trick, in regards to making a big comeback. Not to disregard what Taro had stated, Ineryon put the book down next to himself with a book-mark in it, which made it easily readable, even from Taro's distance; this was done because Ineryon felt that he was receiving useful information, so it was appropriate to give Taro his barely-divided attention.

     "Your master will very assuredly be inconvenienced in one way or another, anyhow." Stretching his legs out, in the foreknowledge that later on he won't have as much room, Baron Valos elaborated on that line of thought, "...Anything that is put together is something that can also be taken apart. That which is located within the expanse of creation is effectively in the jurisdiction of the institution, or entity that oversees all within it. All subsystems are contained within parent systems. If your master values their life, they will be inconvenienced when it comes time for the universe, or 'multiverse' to dismantle them."

     He sighs a tad, only mildly entertained at this point, "....Can't fault them. Anything that recognizes itself, or that is aware of itself, ultimately expends some energy towards self-preservation, therefore, to be is to yearn to be. This is true even in the case of suicidal folks, who dispatch themselves reluctantly, ultimately having preference to the possibility of a less painful life, as opposed to having to settle for none at all.... Rocks, clouds... abandoned sea-shells.... these things don't care if their default form is radically modified to the point of what would be considered a state of non-existence of their former selves... Hey, things change, what else can be said?"

Taro (399) has posed:
    Aren't you the philosophical one."
    Taro reaches up for the next branch, then tests to see if it will hold his weight before he pulls himself higher. Though he's not exactly in the habit of climbing trees, it is only the shifting weight of his bag that makes the act so awkward. He's rather graceful, truth be told.
    The act is repeated, testing a branch above him to ensure it will hold his weight, then pulling himself up and over. He reaches above him again, though this time merely to steady himself as he looks down to see how far he's come. No fear of heights in this one, it appears. "Death does tend to be inconvenient for the person experiencing it. Perhaps that is why it is so difficult for any of our caliber to actually die, or to remain dead." There's a hint of wryness in his voice with those words.
    Apparently satisfied that he's high enough to not be in the direct path of the impending flood, he shifts his burden from behind him to in front of him. Then, using the trunk as a backrest, he moves to sit down.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     The dark elf wrinkles his nose a bit more when Taro refers to him as a philosophical type, causing him to wonder if the remark was made in an attempt to insult through sarcasm, or praise through authentic recognition of housing at least one specific talent. Whatever the case, he decided it wasn't something that needed addressing-- he was focused less on who he was, and more on what his actions' outcomes resembled.

     Ineryon finishes stretching his muscles, and then reclaims his sharpening-stone, which he can easily use almost absent-mindedly while still conversing effectively with Taro, "Death is inconvenient for the person who is in the process of experiencing it, I'd say, since... one of the fundamental aspects of death is that one endures both physical and psychological pain simultaneously. Consider, if you will, that when death actually takes root, the odds are that the individual doesn't acknowledge the fact, since neurotransmitters would be inoperable, thereby denying one access to sensations which are usually delivered through filters enabling perception, such as sight... sound... smell..."

     He rolled his eyes, chiding himself for playing the part of the laymen, which his brethren would shame him for-- but not everyone could be a genius like his kin... he was just an average Valosian dark elf. "The physical pain that usually comes with death amounts to accelerated heartbeats of one hundred fifty or more beats per minute, else dizziness from blood loss, nausea.. and a plethora of other things, which doesn't even account for the fact that the victim in question could be suffering from knife-wounds, choking from hemoptysis, or burns.... Secondly, the /anticipation/ of what's oncoming adds an emotional level of distress, which serves to amplify the sensations felt by the body." He pauses for a second, "However, I suspect that being in a comatose state is nearly identical to death in terms of awareness, which is what makes death more unpleasant when one foresees it."

Taro (399) has posed:
    "Is that first-hand account, sir, or are you a member of the medical profession?" It's hard to say whether he's being entirely serious or if he excels in deadpan delivery.
    While waiting for the flood that is in theory coming, he may as well make himself comfortable. Taro folds his gloved hands and rests them overtop the bag that he's cradling. Relatively relaxed, not seeming to be overly tense with anticipation.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Shrugging somewhat indifferently, Ineryon proceeds to respond, "Everyone who has ever read a label on a bottle of medicine and taken a pill in an attempt to improve their health is in the profession of medicine, because they are trying to medicate. Profession comes from profiteri in the common tongue in my own home-world, so, surmising that your definition of 'profession' matches mine to a larger or smaller extent... it means an occupation that one professes to be skilled in, and an occupation is simply an act one applies themselves to that 'occupies' their time... while, skill can vary from being able to read a label, to being an avid reader of the latest medical journals with articles approved by certified experts."

     This is an honest answer, in his opinion, so he feels it is satisfactory. But, just to humor Taro, Ineryon wags his wrist, gesturally demonstrating he thinks nigh barely a thing about what he's about to announce, "I've suffered grievous injuries before. But I've also borne witness to others on the battlefield who have perished... not to mention, I do like to read a book now and again... Presumably, this answers at least /one/ of your queries?"

Taro (399) has posed:
     A small, graceful shrug from him in turn. "I suppose that it does." Taro leaves it at that, saying nothing more for now. He gaze shifts into the distance, in the general direction of upstream, towards the not entirely distant mountains. Silence, not even the sound of breathing from him.