Scene Listing

||

Scene Schedule

||

Scene Schedule RSS

Owner	Pose
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	There are technically two Rubi-kas. The one which is more familiar is a dead, mostly barren place, settled and terraformed tens of thousands of years after its death. If that Rubi-ka is a corpse undergoing reanimation, this one, situated within an alternate dimension, are a ghost undergoing decay.     In the time since travel here was made possible roughly ten years ago, there's been a rush to explore, conquer and control the Shadowlands. Every party (even neutral parties) to the ongoing conflict on this world wants something here.      Slowly floating landmasses within a sea of miasmic gas are littered with shattered, towering ruins and artifacts from a bygone civilization, once masters of their galaxy. Their shades, and the shades of storied beasts, gallant heroes and black-hearted villains still roam the land, offering insights into the nature of 'magic.' The land is rich with rare and precious minerals, some of which are found only here. If there is such a thing as a frontier of a frontier world, the Shadowlands are exactly that.     No matter your affiliation, travel to this dimension for those without handy portals is accomplished through the neutral city of Jobe. It rests far, far above the planet's surface, yet still in the atmosphere. Artificial stable wormholes have been established on one of the man-made flying islands comprising the city.      The one you're looking for is Adonis--which comes with warnings about the danger of the water.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The differences between the Shadowlands and the physical Rubi-ka are immediately apparent.      Those arriving from Jobe stand upon a small island of green in a vast sea of shimmering blue. You share this island with a community of squat, hooded, staff-wielding beings, who sing vocoded songs to you in nasal voices, and peer at you with firefly eyes. Some seem to want your business. Above the tops of their simple but sturdy yurts, you can make out numerous islands, a mountain range, and a sunken city of white mushroom-spires in fields of shimmering blue. Beneath the sea, you can make out the shadows of sunken structures and those of fish.     A ferryman with eyes like lanterns presides over a raft at the shore, leaning on a question-mark staff like all the rest. They sing you a vocoded song in a dead language. You piece together that it is about someone who impressed them with their knowledge. They await your choice of destination with an outstretched, inhuman cybernetic hand. If you mention Bercilak, you are taken to the thickly forested island to the west, comprised of burnt skeletons and stubby saplings.     No matter whether you came from Jobe and took the ferry or teleported straight to the party, everyone will notice that it all seems too real. Even though there is motion here, it's as if you're standing inside of a photograph. This is not land, these are not trees, that is not grass; it is not fish that swim through the sunken, massive leavings of a dead civilization. It's all a replica, or perhaps someone's memories of these things. Perhaps the planet's memories of these things, if planets can have memories.     There is no sky. Instead, there is a thick, hazy miasma. Meta-water. The colors of that thick miasma shift in accordance with the position of a faintly visible stars, ur-suns, spiral galaxies, all causing a shift from white to pink to purple to blue and back again, with shades somewhat resembling a 'day' and 'night.' Other, distant landmasses are slowly adrift in this haze. Warnings were given, by natives and the researches in Jobe, about this substance and about the 'ocean' of Adonis.     You can hear music--modern, human music (milennia old, by the standards of Rubi-ka, but far younger than the souls which once lived here), growing louder the closer you approach. The Green Chapel, within this archepelago, is a ruined place of contemplation. The more humble design of what remains, the remote location, the lack of any apparent housings for technology all seem to suggest this. It is a singular, circular building, with a partially collapsed domed roof. What remains of an observation tower has long ago met the ground.      It is overgrown on all sides by dead burnt trees, its mossy walls charred and blackened, with spots where wild vines once clung. It would be imposing... if not for the other guests here.      There's the smell grilling meat, the sight of a cooler. Some picnic tables. A small Frankenstein's monster of futuristic Earth radio equipment and speakers, rigged up to a skeletonized terminal with a bare-bones mechanical keyboard and a cheap monitor. Occasionally one of the guests will approach the terminal and type something in. Bercilak is as easy to see as he is to hear.      "EI!"
Roxas	A WHILE AGO... "We should take some food with us," Roxas says to Xion, "but what?"     NOW A swirling portal of darkness opens up onto pretty much the location of the Chapel, because this whole place is well-suited to generating Corridors of Darkness. He's tugging a wagon behind him -- of the kind that flea market combers sometimes use -- which has been loaded with DOLLAR STORE SNACKS. This mostly involves ever-so-slightly off-brand versions of things everyone knows and loves. The real prominent one, though, is Faygo. About $150 worth of it in fact. This is an absolutely absurd amount of Acceptable Soda. There's also a smattering of street food from what looks to be six different countries, in a basket tucked into the corner. He leaves his Wagon O' Junk Food by the picnic tables and coolers. "Hey! This place is... actually it's not that weird, but it's definitely unique, Roxas calls to Bercilak. He seems to be waiting on somebody else to emerge through the portal, though.
Xion	A WHILE AGO... "I know just the thing." Xion replies, with a glimmer in her eye. The glimmer of madness. The glimmer of making food in picnic consumption quantities.     NOW From the swirling portal also comes a metal push-cart, the sort of rattling catering tool that could be found in the back-of-house area of kitchens everywhere. Simple, metal, black rollers and stainless steel. Atop it are two enormous serving bowls, and on the lower layer are two more. The top is piled high with chunky white garnished in flecks of black and curls of green, and the bottom is a riot of colors - a chunky potato salad with green onions and mysterious fixings above, and an extremely extra set of cole slaw below. The slaw uses red and green cabbage as well as red pepper flakes, white onion, and chopped jalapeno and red pepper flakes with a more vinegar based mingling sauce to open up the sinuses and make the slaw more of a side salad in and of itself. "This place is great! The colors are really pretty." She appreciates, as the portal closes behind her. "Did you make it yourself?" She wonders innocently.
Hellwarming Trio	The surface world around Gensokyo was strange enough for Utsuho and Rin, but the Shadowlands are a whole new beast for the pair. Trying to make sense of the floating islands is troublesome enough without any kind of generalized knowledge about how anything works, but they're soon distracted by things like portals and people with funky tech limbs and lantern eyes. The singers even get to hear them trying to badly imitate them in passing, but the duo doesn't stick around any particular 'attraction' for too long. They're on a mission today. They're here to get some FOOD and also learn, presumably. They've even learned of the human custom of not showing up empty handed, both of them hauling Rin's wheelbarrow along with a colorful blanket-turned sack resting atop the suspicious mound that's usually visible in the cart. Utsuho: "Hey! Funny talking guy!" Rin: "We brought stuff!" Utsuho: "Stuff you can eat!" Rin: "Just make sure there's nothin' crawlin' around before you put it in your mouth." Indeed, the food blanket-bag they've brought is packed to the gills with yet more bags of milk chocolate chips, dark chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, and even a few bags of yogurt chips. More likely than not, they saw the colors, saw that they were all called 'chips', and grabbed the whole lot of them. Utsuho: "What's the occasion for all this, anyway? You look like you've been busy preparing all this stuff." Rin: "Ya planning something big, bro?"
Mack	Mack took the urban ferry route. He had a lovely conversation in strange song with the locals. He even came away with some kind of small, faintly glowing trinket, which is now affixed to his chest like a badge (adjacent to the stop sign). He has no idea what it is or does, but it was a pretty reasonable trade for some interesting scrap he'd been accumulating, and souveneirs are always welcome in places like this, right? He arrives at the weirdly super-real chapel, following his ears. His gait is uneven, accompanied by the tap of a makeshift cane and the quiet thrum of hover engines. His little wagon is more like a hover-unicycle, presently laden with clinking sacks draped over either end of a metal rod. "Ahoy, there!" Mack deposits the goods with all the rest. It's glass jars, some partly caked in dirt, of fruit preserves. He probably literally dug it up somewhere, but they're still sealed, so...?!
Liza Grier	Though Liza is absolutely within the camp of people who just teleport to places, it might as well be said that wandering around a bunch of weird looking aliens on quaint space islands to find directions wouldn't exactly have been outside her sphere of experience. At all.     For once, she gets to teleport to a place not wearing a mess of faceless bloodred Syndicate elite operative armour and associated heavy gear. An detached sleeve, trimmed-in athletic top, charcoal grey and amber-lined, with wide bottomed black work slacks, tucked into lace-up boots and fastened with a synthetic gunmetal-clasp belt. The kind of thing you might wear on break at a highly paid job with heavy robotics involved. Without a helmet on, she's letting show genuine, non-anime albinism, and faint smudges of old and faded burns on surprisingly toned arms. The computer bracelet is still mounted.     "Nice place." she says blankly enough to be semi-sarcastic. "Was it always charred like this, or was that all you?" At first, it seems like she's the only person who hasn't brought anything. Then, with a few swift bleeps and taps to her bracelet, cherry red teleporter light blooms into a cubic white flash and solidifies into a pair of heavy, sealed coolers.     One is the size of an entire footlocker, and opens up on three partitioned lids, revealing an assortment of slightly unrecognizable steaks, poultry items, and ribs, each the kind of raw that has obviously just recently been bled in one, tightly bound stacks of familiar potatoes, carrots, asparagus, corn, pineapple, and numerous peppers and the like in another, and a riot of brightly coloured and suspiciously textured melons, tubers, fruits, roots, and stranger things in the last, some of which literally glow, are translucent, resemble precious stones, or even eyeballs. It also contains a number of patties which have to be tied down from floating away.     The other cooler hisses with that dry ice smoke when cracked open, and is filled with weird colas nobody has ever heard of, some managing to radiate off-brand energy even then, and an extensive array of juices, tonics, liquors, and other things that obviously go into mixing drinks. The cooler even ratchets up a little stepladder of mini-counters.     "I'd guess you're on grill. So I'm on drinks."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Bercilak grins at Roxas. "Hel yea, sib," he says, pointing a beefy green finger at the abundance of libations his guest has brought. Helping himself to a churro, "Gate thyself som licoures and make thyself at ese." He says liquors, but by the way he nods at the soda, there's no peer pressure here.      The Green Knight wears a lime green t-shirt stretched by ample pectorals and biceps, with black jeans and matching motorcycle boots. He's been pre-gaming, it's easy to tell, by the can of cheap beer in his hand. There's better stuff on offer, and plenty of it, but he seems to be sticking to the cheap-and-cheerful.      A man with dreads, a futuristic tank top with a Male Boob Window and baggy cargo pants is currently grilling patties of some sort on a simple grill. It's comprised of a pit, coals, stones, and a metal rack. He's got a bottle of something along the lines of Bercilak's cheap beer. "Damn, Bercilak," he notes, looking over his shoulder as Xion comes through. "Your friends don't fuck around. Is that slaw I see? That's gonna pop, with these bronto burgers." oThis place is great! Did you make it yourself?     "What, the Chapel, oth...?" There's a vague 'around' gesture. Either way, the answer is the same: "Nay," he says. Bercilak points in a distant direction--Mack, Utsuho, and Rin would recognize it as the direction where a fucked-up sunken city lies. "Swich was theim, fern, fern ago." oWas it always charred like this, or was that all you? The Green Knight grins, taking a hearty bite of churro. "Al be that I did re-greu the grass and tres," he notes after a sip of beer. Gesturing in a circle with the churro, "A most craftuous adversaunt didst abern it al." There's a chuckle, then, as if remembering a really good time. oWhat's the occasion for all this, anyway?     Bercilak begins unloading the wheelbarrow, placing the spread on the picnic tables. It's not polite to let your guests do all of the work, and where things look like they might fall from Roxas and Xion's cart's, or even where they look hard to get to, he adds them to the spread. As he works, one of his friends answers. Wearing white slacks and a dark green floral print button-up, he looks like he might've hit the club instead. "We're not really sure what Saint Patrick's Day is about, anymore. A lot of the history of Earth is lost to us, and what we have is bits and pieces. We just treat it as an excuse to drink excessively and hit each other for not wearing green." His face looks like something out of Hellraiser: pale, veiny skin, bald, invasive sleek black cybernetics, flesh in place of where his eyes should be, metal frame evidently supporting his facial bones.     When Mack arrives, he's set upon before Bercilak can even greet him again. "Hey," says a scrawny, grey-skinned man with pointed ears, golden eyes, short, spiky black hair and black tattoo-like markings on his face. "Who invited the borg? And why's he got a corrupted nano crystal?" He's wearing a grey-midriff revealing purple sleeveless crop top that reads HACK THE PLANET, black sweatpants, and an orange beanie. His would-be suspicion evaporates immediately upon noticing Liza.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Nevermind that--Liza? From the subway?" She's never seen this man--at least, not in this Hackers (1995) getup. "Remember me? Phreak?" The last time she saw him, Phreak was essentially a holographic wireframe blueman with two SMGs large enough to call the health of his wrists into question. There's the glimmer of Interest in his eye that these types always fail to hide, as he tries to impress.     "I'm on music! See that thing?" He jerks a thumb at the FRANKENSTEIN RADIO. "Whipped it up with a buddy planetside. He made the hardware, I made the programs. Grid don't work in the Shadowlands, but radio does--so type what you want in the terminal there, and the relay scours radio waves from a couple different worlds to find it."
Mack	"Bercilak mentioned the festivities, and I thought it'd be a good time," Mack tells the scrawny... elf? Maybe an elf. Pointy ears are practically a free space as far as D-Bees are concerned, in Mack's experience. He looks down, though. "Is that what this is? Huh!" He seems vaguely pleased at the trinket being identified, and lets the man -- Phreak, apparently -- go make his attempts at a >flert. Mack unloads his bobbing drone, and then deactivates it, letting it drift down to the grass. His faintly-glowing eyes track it, and he crouches to run a hand through. This whole place isn't quite right. A moment later, as if suddenly remembering something from before he was distracted, his head perks up on his overly long neck, and he glances at the man in the floral print as the green-tinted lenses inset into ports along his shoulders and knees brighten fractionally. You know, in the spirit.
Hellwarming Trio	There's a lot of people the two don't recognize! Aside from Bercilak and Xion, Utsuho and Rin find themselves out of their... Actually, they're looking fairly comfortable regardless. How could they possibly not be, considering that there's so much food around? They take some time going around to collect a little bit of everything onto their plates (yes, they're civilized enough to use plates): Dollar store soda (which may or may not be spilling onto the rest of their plates), potato salad with mystery stuff, (probably clean) fruit preserves, eyeball veggies, and of course... MEAT. Booze will have to wait until they clear some space on their plates first. Their plates are a mess of textures and flavors already, but they don't seem to mind one bit as they try everything and anything no matter how weird it looks. Utsuho: "Saint Patrick... Uhh." Rin: "I got nothing. But hey, we're already wearin' the right colors!" Utsuho: "But if you're looking to go a round or two, we won't say no." Indeed, they're as ready to fight as they are to eat, dressed in their festive... Usual outfits, with Utsuho in white and green while Rin's decked out in green and black. They size up the man in the white slacks, Utsuho in particular squinting at his face. "You're kinda... Pale, though. You should spend more time by a fire first." She flaps her wings once before balancing her plates long enough to hold up a finger by her face. A small fire bursts into life right in front of her, and it hovers there while she chows down on another chunk of food. "Check with me later. I'll get you cooked right up, no problem." She sounds serious, but not in a threatening way. She may think her suggestion will actually help him somehow.
Roxas	Being offered the opportunity to Go Drink, Roxas-- actually takes it! He mixes himself the closest thing to a rum and coke (or rum and Faygo Cola) that he can manage. It leans more on the cola than the rum, because while he's plenty old enough to drink a little, he's not really exactly Into it. He glances over towards Xion and what she ended up bringing... he hadn't paid enough attention to it when it on the way here. ""They're not kidding, geez. I guess we did do a lot of street food, though..." Concerning a question aimed at Bercilak about having made this place, he interjects, "Bercilak told me it was, um... some sort of precursor civilization? That this is kind of a ghost-place. It's complicated-- and why the water is supernaturally gross." "And I don't think anyone really knows what Saint Patrick's day is about. I don't. I mean, you assume it's some dead guy people wanted to celebrate once, but I don't know the specifics, and I doubt the average person does either. It's just a good excuse to party. He rubs at the back of his head. "I think people needed that a little more, once." "Anyway, I wear white all the time, so I just don't worry about it. Green is encompassed in white," he says, confidently. This is probably undue confidence.
Liza Grier	"It doesn't look like you're feeling any urgency about them coming back." says Liza to Bercilak. "Unless you think they wouldn't be able to navigate their way here again. Which seems pretty probably honestly." Whether he does or doesn't seems to not bother her much either way, all things considered. She just gives him a half-smile that somehow seems tired and not at the same time. "Or did they just figure they were wasting their time killing you, come to think of it. But you're really not even going to put the roof back up?"     Hitting her bracelet a few more times, Liza makes sure to teleport down a green shamrock pin and fasten it to her top. "There. All covered." she says. Upon sizing up the grill station though, she adds "Don't mind me. Just looks like you could use a little help." and then proceeds to pick up and haul the whole footlocker-sized cooler to an adjoining position, and then on the other end of it, blip bleep bloop whoosh out a grill of her own. Sort of. It's like an extremely sci-fi stand-up bunsen burner, or like a silver campfire on a tripod, flaming with a stable blue-white glow. Putting a pair of grill meshes on top of its empty arms turns the nanostove into a barbecuing station.     This mostly seems to be in service of making use of the suspiciously fresh cuts she'd brought out. Searing stakes a nice medium rare, rolling ribs over in some unrecognizable sauce and powder mix from sealed jars, juicing up things that look adjacent to chicken but probably aren't. It's a lot of experience of making random aliens edible. Unlike a proper mangrill though, one of the meshes is dedicated entirely to chilis, foil-wrapped potatoes, corn cobs, green spears, and a rainbow of sliced or split things that look like fruits and root plants.     The way these are combined is often a little bit bizarre. Utsuho making a pass at 'it really looks like an eyeball' finds skewers of them stuffed with mashed spicy chili and lined up with slices of garlic and honeyed something or ther (the eyeballs have a texture and flavour more or less like sweet lemon). Grilled patties of off-colours are slathered with green sauce, piled with salty teal leafy veggies, slightly glowing mushrooms, translucent peppers, and bright blue tomatos. Bacon is wrapped around things like toasted, eggy-cinnamon baked potatoes with turnip-like stalks still on. Fall off the bone pulled meats go with salsas of savoury, salty, bitter, and slightly oozing vegetable objects, and down the middle of a thing that looks like a piece of split bamboo, but has a buttery bone-marrow taste. She's even able to dish out plates of sides, using that corn, those greens, and weird things like edible coral.     Catering to Mack, the moment she sees him, is especially kind of weird. A flip-open compartment gets her what at first look like blocks of random mechanical junk, all rivets and diodes, but which she also just throws right over the stove, and prepares them like anything else (albeit involving a laser knife). She calls them stupid bullshit like 'stuffed automato' and 'flange wings'. They are both edible and surprisingly tasty for someone made of metal. Even though some of them are still flashing.     "That's me." she replies automatically to Phreak, putting down her tools and wiping some sweat from her face. "Huh. I wouldn't have, if you didn't give me the right name." she says, looking him up and down as if suspicious. "I just assumed you were some kind of hologram person. Were you remoting in that whole time?"
Xion	"Oh, it's my special recipe! I use a bit more vinegar than normal, and the spice makes it great. Hey, um..." Xion blinks a few times, checks the table, and heaves a bowl of slaw up to move it towards the grillmaster. "This stuff adds a wild crunch or great flavor to burgers. Try it! We do reubens with it, and it's absolutely amazing. Crunchy-sweet-savory-spicy? Yeah!" "It will definitely pop. Fat needs acid to cut through it." "Oh, so plants made it." Fern-fern ago. "Okay!" Plants make sense. Roxas gets a light elbow as she returns. "We eat a lot of delicious fried garbage, but that doesn't mean I can't cook. Why do you think Mog always wants me to help him start up his franchise stores? I make it all work *and* make lunches." She explains, revealing Mog's cold capitalistic abuse of her innocence... if they weren't really all in things together. She unzips her black coat to reveal a shamrock green shirt. Then she punches Roxas in the arm, again, still light and playful. "Color theory says black is all the colors, but light theory says white is. That means you're..." Xion observes, before squinting. "Wait does that mean you're double all the green? Oh no! How do I un-punch your arm?!?" Xion frets. This is because Roxas is both Black and White. She's made a grave error.
Roxas	Roxas looks mildly perturbed by the mention of Mog's shenanigans. He shrugs broadly and answers, "Because it's too hard for him to get actual slave labor?" He rubs lightly at where he's punched, making a quiet 'ow' noise, but doesn't actually seem bothered enough to retaliate.
Mack	Mack watches Liza's whole grill upgrade and food-deployment process with some kind of low-key mute awe. It's a bit like watching an artist at work, or at least a dangerous obsessive: variety produced by slightly smug focus, and needs answered without needing to really ask what they are. It's impressive, is what he's thinking. But... Mack looks at the presented flashy junk. Then, he looks at Liza and her enormous spread. Then, back at the junk. "Um... thank you, miss, for being so thoughtful and all, but I'm, uh, near-human under all this." He shifts a little, scrap-covered skin scraping and clanking quietly. "I was really hoping for a burger and something green and fresh, if it's not too much trouble."
Hellwarming Trio	The raven and the kasha find themselves weirdly entranced by all the cooking going on, especially with so much strange tech and techniques involved in it. They're actually pretty good about keeping out of the way, too, despite floating and flitting about while they watch Bercilak and then Liza getting to work. Utsuho: "We definitely didn't have anything like that back home..." Rin: "The setup or the eats?" Utsuho: "Yeah." Rin: "Right?!" They'll even try some of that coral, just to know. They can't NOT try it, after all, especially since the eyeball thing seems to be a hit from them. They probably don't eat much fruit. They might also try the mechanical vegetables if Mack's not going to eat it after that reveal of being mostly human. The punching of a Roxas and his white getup has the two baffled, though. "How is white green?" Utsuho asks in her white and green getup. "Black ain't green, is it?" Rin follows up in her black and green getup. It sounds like they've never even heard of color or light theory, so they listen intently when Xion speaks of both of those things in passing. "How?" They ask in unison.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"That's the spirit," says the floral-print guy with a thumbs-up distributed evenly to both Mack and Utsuho. The veins on the back of his hand appear unhealthily prominent. oCheck with me later. I'll get you cooked right up, no problem.      The floral-print man quietly laughs. "Neat trick! But you ought to know I could jump right into it and not see a difference," he says. This fellow helps himself to a plate alongside her, and goes for a craft beer. With a satisfying pss-ch, the can is opened. "Nanomages don't tan. I'm Sir Lamorak, by the way--how'd you meet Bercilak, miss...?" His own spread isn't nearly as plentiful as the raven and cat gremlin tag team. oIs that what it is?     "Yeah," says the GRILL GUY to Mack, plating an array of roughly twelve 'bronto burgers.' Mack can sense a massive psionic presence from him. "Alright y'all, tomatoes, onions, pickles, ketchup, mustard, mayo, lettuce--got the fancy buns and regular, too. I spiced the patties up, so they oughta go with the slaw ol' girl brought." There's an affable finger-gun pointed Xion's way.     As he brings the patties to the table, GRILL GUY shotguns the rest of his beer, looking over his shoulder at Liza. "Ah. Damn, brought your own grill and all," he says, clearly impressed. Heading back to his own, more rugged one to work on an array of brats, he clarifies further for Mack. "...people coming from planetside lose 'em sometimes, they sit out a while, then... well, you see it." The glass casing is dirtied with mineral impurities, metal inside of some manner of injector corroded, the glowing crystal sporting granular, disorderly growths. "Sometimes the locals find 'em, tune 'em up. Might be what you got there. Hit me up later and I can clean that shit for ya."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oGreen is encompassed in white.     Bercilak is double-fisting cheap beers now, by the time Roxas pours his Rum and Croke (we don't have Coke, we have Croke). Crunching both cans against his head and hyping himself up with a whoop, he just straight up chest bumps Roxas with deliberate intent to bowl him over. "Fuck that! Thou'rt queinte of gin, but todai is a dai for actinge dullish bicches!" He at least goes to the trouble of pouring a new one.     As if very accustomed to doing so, Sir Lamorak translates for Roxas. "That was clever, but today's a day for acting like 'stupid bitches.'"     "Ani-wis, thou'rt right, in thy rememoringe of my explanacioun, but Flux is mo ilerned thanne I." The GRILL GUY waves. oIt doesn't look like you're feeling any urgency about them coming back.     "Muchly the contre, Liza! Thei art still presencial--Mack, Utsuho and Rin met som of thire number," he says, helping himself to a burg, some of Xion's slaw, a helping of Roxas' snacks, and a strong mixed drink courtesy of Liza's locker. Sitting with a THUMP at a table with space not occupied by the banquet spread, he digs in and continues. "And if thou'rt fortunate, we might espy som mo." There's a glance towards the roof. Bercilak shrugs and makes an 'iunno' sound. He probably thinks it looks cooler massively fucked up, or something.      "They're around," says Flux, assembling a burg of his own, and indeed sampling Xion's slaw as well. "And they're not whatcha call 'monolithic.' Trying to take this shit back from him, or build it back up... some of 'em would think like that, but none of the ones that stay in this neighborhood." He sniffs the air, and then grins. "Chilis?" He looks over at his neighbor's grill. "Oh, yes Lord, spoil us with the heat." oI just assumed you were some kind of hologram person. Were you remoting in that whole time?     "Hologram's not too far off. Grid Armor's the shit," says Phreak proudly, his chest puffing out a little as he inadvisably tries to keep up with Bercilak in the beers department. "Doesn't work in the Shadowlands, but, it digitizes ninety-nine percent of the meat, stores it in the Grid--shrinks the remaining decimals down to a pinpoint, hides *that* in an opaque semisolid light construct. You run faster than God and you're about as hard to hit." oI make it all work *and* make lunches.     "Yeah?" says Flux, almost protectively, at the sound of someone's Labor Being Exploited. "Maybe me and the partners oughta go see Mog."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Target Info Name:?? 'Flux' ?? Profession:Meta-Physicist Breed:Homo Sapiens Solitus Faction:Clan Organization:Unionists      Turning over a brat which must have been hand-made and stuffed--spiced with some native variety of pepper and evidently with cheese, he continues. "Where's he stay at?"
Xion	> R&R: How? Xion raises a finger as a double decker bronto burger is assembled from one of the large patties, a whole onion round, cheese, a pile of slaw, another patty, another slice of cheese, two pickles, and... finally, a bun. It is enormous. Xion hovers it in a sphere of sworling Demi-dark, because her hands aren't quite up to the task. "If you're thinking about light, the visible spectrum is actually all the other waveythings? So white light is 'every color of light'. Green's in there! If you're thinking about colors, white is the absence of all other colors, but black is the combination of all other colors to the maximum. So if you're wearing white and black, nobody can say you're 'not wearing a color' because either way you slice it, light or color, you're wearing them all! A complete colorperson." > Slave Labor?? "Huh? Mog's family. He just wants to make places, and making places needs help and money, so I help! And he's got the money. I'm the only person who can fix the ice cream machine. But if you want to visit him, we're setting up an Whataburger..." She pulls out her phone and shows Flux an address in Texas. The picture is taken of a white on white pillar front with black columns and geometric voxels that looks nothing like a Whataburger. Xion lifts her own superburg on a cloud of gravity magic and starts trying -- and largely failing, but having a good time, to consoom it. Even if she's a bit slight, she has the appetite of a college superheroine.
Roxas	"Uh, well... see, there are colors that are entirely made up of other colors, right? Black and White are either all colors or the absence of all colors, depending. So technically I'm wearing any conceivable color there is, and therefore, green," Roxas explains to Utsuho. After a moment he adds, "But I guess that's not in the spirit of the thing, so... There is a shimmer as his jacket is replaced with a dark green hoodie, swapped out of his pocketspace rapidly. When the possibility of Mog getting his knees broken comes up, Roxas raises his free hand, "No, no. We can take care of it if we need to. Mog's sketchy, but he's one of those guys that'll work with anybody. You know what I mean?" He means that Mog is the small business equivalent of a catfish. The difference in Xion and Roxas's perspective on this is probably jarring.
Hellwarming Trio	@LAMORAK Utsuho: "Really? That's better than most humans, then." Rin: "Yeah, the last ones got kinda screamy even before we threw anything." Laughing mirthfully at their allusions to nearly maiming people at some point, the bird and cat smack themselves on the chest almost simultaneously to punctuate their own introductions. "Utsuho!" "Rin!" They even set their plates down somewhere flat enough before striking dramatic poses to accompany their introductions. (Rin's is better by far.) Utsuho: "We met when Bercilak and a bunch of other people came invading our home." Rin: "Yeah, some stuff happened with a geyser after Okuu ate something big and then she almost went to blow up the surface." Utsuho: "But everything settled down after that, so we're cool now." Simple enough. @BERCILAK/FLUX "Meeting who now?" Utsuho asks, caught off-guard and out of sorts at that particular moment. "Is someone coming to start trouble around here? Is it someone we can blow up?" She sounds a little too excited about that. @XION AND ROXAS It's time for a lesson! The pair even go as far as not eating while they watch Xion at work, listening closely to her explanation about how light and color works. They're also watching that burger, but it takes a while for them to realize that it might not actually be part of the demonstration. Rin still claps at the assembly, though. Utsuho: "So if it's super bright or something, that because all the light colors are shoved in at once?" Rin: "That makes sense, yeah! But the color... Colors thing still does't make sense. Isn't black just no colors?" They both stare at Roxas when his jacket gets replaced entirely, clapping lightly at that demonstration as well. Moments later, however, Rin snaps her fingers. "I get it! You're talkin' physical colors! Like... Uh. Like when you smush a bunch of colorful foods together, it just turns weird and brown instead of white and shiny!" Rin demonstrates, of course, by chewing and showing her mouthful of food. Utsuho smacks her jaw shut lightly a moment later.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Bronto burgers are a delightful middle ground between gator and ground beef, with a hint of gamey-ness that doesn't conflict, and in fact, makes it perfect for the heat of Liza's peppers or Xion's slaw. Phreak is a little wimp and is pointedly avoiding any kind of heat. oIf you want to visit him, we're setting up a Whataburger...     Flux's hand outstretches. Into his waiting pam, there coruscates a thin purple screen, putting itself together in billions of little triangles in the course of a few seconds. As his eyes study Xion's phone, the crystal screen's surface shifts to mimic the photo perfectly. "Cool."     "Flux, is that necessary? It's just family," says Lamorak, his eyeless face still able to show concern. He's nursing a vodka martini.     "If he can open burger joints layered over reality, he can afford to share the love. *Especially* if it's family. ...brats're done, y'all." oMog's sketchy, but he's one of those guys that'll work with anybody. You know what I mean?     A dry chuckle escapes him as he begins plating the brats. "Yeah," he says, looking over at Phreak, then back to Roxas. "I know what you mean."             Target Info Name:?? 'Phreak' ?? Profession:Fixer Breed:Homo Sapiens Opifex Faction:Clan Organization:Vanguard      Phreak is currently staggering around, trying to play it off as dancing to some bumping weirdo rap Flux queued up. "Me too," he says, waving a yellow can labeled MINERVA - BERLINWEISS. "If everybody thinksh you're shketchy, then you're aktshually kinda trustworthy..." Glug.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Lamorak claps poltely for Utsuho and Rin. There's a brief glance towards Phreak. "Make sure you stay hydrated, Phreak," he politely advises.      "That's liddle baaaby shit," slurs Phreak, further adding, "This shit's a liquid anyway!" Lamorak sighs. oIs someone coming to start trouble around here? Is it someone we can blow up?     Neither Flux, nor Bercilak, nor Lamorak seem perturbed by the question in and of itself. The pale knight does seem confused by the enthusiasm, but is too polite to say anything. Flux fields this one--by pointing.     The party is being watched, by a being as old as the Chapel itself. Standing at the edge of the forest, peering out from the trees, it doesn't make an effort to hide, but seems hesitant to intrude--almost like some kind of park ranger, or natural philospher; a being which has stumbled upon 'nature' and dares not alter events by intruding.     It is tall, the lines of its physique elegant and subtle in a way which gives it an ethereal kind of beauty. It is hard to say, at this distance, which parts of its glowing blue figure are flesh, and which are armor, but it is very evident that it bears no resemblance to any of the human beings here. Its stature is too tall, its neck too long. Immaterial wings--a faintly shimmering screen at its back--spread out to either side, rising above its luminous head like ghostly regalia, while a cloak of deep blue billows behind it.     "Now you've seen both the friendly types," says Flux softly.
Mack	"Huh," Mack observes, pulling the cluster-turned-badge off with a suction-cup sound to turn it over in one hand, "I'll have to do that. Thanks... Flux?" He hobbles over to offer a gleaming hand. "Mack." The mutant makes his way over to the tables, squinting at the heaps of food and drink until he spots something that is probably beer and probably halfway decent. He makes a grasping gesture, and a bottle lifts itself out of the arrangement of consumables and flies on over into his hand. He settles on a bench after that with a creaking sound that is part him and part furniture. "The colors around here... quite the place, isn't it? Feels like I'm sitting in someone's watercolor."
Liza Grier	Liza wordlessly slaps down that 'automato' on Mack's plate, because she put work into that. She then tosses together a steak sandwich which tastes like salt and peppery brisket, the usual fixings, and then a strangely complementary mix of something like savoury banana and a hint of orange. It works surprisingly well. For something green, there's an item like a very pill-shaped, thick-skinned watermelon chopped in half, and its honeycomb insides stuffed sweet herbs, buttery mushrooms, and pearl-like pea-sized things.     The mechanical food items are given out to Utsuho and Rin without complaint, seeing as Mack is being all human-like. They're pretty rough on the stomach, though a youkai shouldn't have much trouble. 'Delightful battery acid tang' and 'melt-in-your-mouth copper' shouldn't be words that come to mind. But they do.     Liza, of course, makes sure to trade burgs with the extant grillmastery. It'd be stupidly rude to just show up and not try any of the food. "Real brontosaurus?" she asks, examining it from several angles, with a sort of slightly misplaced hopefulness. "I wanted to see one of those as a little kid, until Earth blew up. Then I was only told that they were already extinct way after." She chomps into it like someone who is on a perpetual quest for protein and iron. Her trade burger floats, and drips little bits of sauce menacingly. It is extremely tasty, but somehow feels like eating it might have been bad luck or something. "When you live like me, you eventually spend a lot of time in backwater stations and barely charted planets, and that means eventually needing to throw something edible together out of whatever garbage there is on hand, or whatever you can shoot." Liza says. "I'm ethically opposed to eating soy-based corporate product."     She has SPACE COLA for Roxas if he's still fiending that, but otherwise attempts to upgrade him to a kind of soda that keeps changing colours and flavours whenever he's looking, with some kind of smooth, semi-creamy additive that neutralizes some of the acid, and makes it pretty boozy. This is a fair trade for then slugging back cheap trash. Like a ritual. She only heaps up Xion's 'slaw after making sure she has something suspiciously close to an addictive caffeine nightmare mixed with cider that has little glowing bits in it. She ain't a cop.     She has piles of mislabeled gin, vida, rum, and whiskey for Bercilak to get at, but in honour of the occasion, she has Bercilak try something in a frosted glass that looks like some nightmare of a guinness analogy that had settled into the shape of a mushroom cloud in black bitter, rather than forming a foamy head and amber layers. She calls it an Irish Car Bomb. If the incredibly ill-advised occasion comes up to serve Utsuhuo something though, it somes in a deep punch glass, is bright red, and has little points of light orbiting around each other deep inside somewhere.     "Don't mind if I do." Liza replies lightly to 'bring the heat'. She has a *lot* of spicy stuff, apparently. "I grow some of these 'at home'. I recommend the ghost chilis, if you're really into heat." This is not the Indian one. It is a see-through pepper that may actually be the ghost of a pepper. It is real schnasty.
Liza Grier	"Afraid that doesn't count." Liza says to Roxas, now settling in with her own plate fully loaded, and the dial on the nanostove turned low. "Colours are about specificity. Especially festive or lucky colours. By choosing one or the other, it becomes more important. Not to mention more recognizable. Focus makes it powerful. It's why good design only includes a few. If you try to have every colour at once, you don't get the benefits of any of them. Plus you either look ridiculous or boring. Like a clown or a suit."     On the topic of this 'Mog' guy, Liza, kicked back on a charred stump, chews her bronto meat in measured, contemplative dissatisfaction, only speaking after swallowing. "Slave labour. Wage labour." She leaves it neutrally silent, but does a big sarcastic shrug. "If everyone needs you for something only you're any good at, don't do it for the price they set. If you like them, cut them low until they put something that they're good at into the pot. If you don't, set your own price."     "Fortunate, huh?" she says conversationally back to Bercilak. "That how you see it?" The distant stranger is something her eyes frequently drift back to. "Is that going to be a problem? You haven't invited them out."     And then Phreak gets Liza to look at him, suck a little bit of sauce off the tip of her thumb, push back the slightly overgrown hair that is no longer stuck to her forehead by grill steam, and dead-assed "So if ninety-nine percent of you is just obliterated and turned into data, does that mean you kill yourself every time you use it?" Just a walk up slowly and teleporter problem down smash of a conversational haymaker. He'd get the feeling that she'll be really amused by seeing him try to answer it.
Mack	"Nah, it just means ninety-nine percent of you is vulnerable to coming back with corporate branding instead of a skin texture," Mack asides, before starting in on the automato out of courtesy and morbid curiosity.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Flux's handshake is firm, when Mack offers. There's no revulsion or suspicion in him, unlike with Phreak's (easily discarded though it was.) oFeels like I'm sitting in someone's watercolor.     "You kind of are," says Sir Lamorak, who's helping himself to a philly from Roxas' street food exploits, and a Rum and Croke. "The Shadowlands are a snapshot of what happened to Rubi-ka right when it 'died.' That is, became a desert planet. I'm not sure why, though..." A veiny thumb is stroked across sheer, polished black metal chin-cybernetics. "I mean, it's fairly obvious it had to do with notum. That city you saw on your way in here used to be the nerve center of their whole civilization."     "Fucked around," says Flux, finally taking a break from grilling to sit beside Mack. "Found out. Notum isn't just the juice for nanites. It's... more like the juice for creative thought, and the nanites are how we contextualize and manipulate that, 'cause we're limited to four dimensional thinking. I think they tried to create something that ended up destroying them--and that paradox is what caused this."
Roxas	"Yeah... yeah, I guess they do eventually," Roxas cedes to Phreak. He clearly hadn't really thought of that before, but it might be because his entire Organization is only just barely not a cult-- and that can be argued. "Yeah! Only, you usually want to be pretty specific. You want to mix colors to get the color you want. If you just sort of toss things together, you get that brownish color. Because brown is a lot of colors, too," he says to Rin and Utsuho. Regarding his suit-swap, he grins, "Just a little trick. I guess it's another compensation for just sort of 'being'. Technically, I was born wearing an outfit. I'm told this is weird." He doesn't observe the mouthful of chewed food. That's just gross. Grabbing himself a Bronto burger and swapping his shitty cola for the offered color-changing soda from Liza. Roxas makes a bit of a face at how strong it is, but doesn't actually stop drinking it. "This is... really weird, geez! Did you say your Earth blew up? Is everything..." He shakes the flavor changing soda illustratively. "I guess not... I'm just a little too attached to the black-and-white look, I guess," he cedes to Liza. Though, having already changed his jacket, the point is a bit moot. He squints at Mack. "Are you... being serious?" He seriously can't tell.
Liza Grier	"Oh, I wasn't there when it happened." Liza says to Roxas, as if that were the concern. "'Blew up' isn't quite the right word, but no, nobody's there anymore. If you're asking if things are okay, then no, not really, but they were already like that well before Earth bit it."     "All the money had moved out into space already. Earth was a symbol. An important one. *The* most credible attempt ever made at a real, enlightened, socially conscious multi-culture. Home of the wannabe galactic heroes supreme. All universities and research centers and restoration projects and embassies and shipyards and monuments and the like. Very pretty. Very photogenic. Nice, in that kind of way where you know it's naively misguided but still helping in spite of itself."     "So a lot of people died and pretty much zero companies saw losses. All the mining, manufacturing, energy, entertainment; It was already long gone. Out to places with less strict standards. Or no laws." Insert thoughtful burger break. "Everything except ecology, sustainable sciences, philosophy, and trying to be less racist, anyways." she adds, sagely. "The Protectorate weren't exactly bright, but it's really rare you can say that an organization over a thousand people has its heart in the right place."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oFortunate, huh? Is that how you see it? Is that going to be a problem? You haven't invited them out.     "Verily! Lanhure... 'tis fortunat, so long as it is theim," he says, pointing at the elegant blue cryptid at the treeline. "*Thei* art god ifolke, in the curiouse place of espying thire own undoing, and knoueing hit to be folly."     Stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth, simultaneously being the horse and the farmer feeding it, he continues. "Opinioun is muchly differenced, aboute that Creacioun of Flux's supposinge. Thei," he says, with a nod towards their observer, "Wish to kepe it from misuse. Others, as theim that Mack, Utsuho and Rin bimet, art instede croniclers."     Lamorak nods. "The ones you want to watch out for--the ones it'd be a Problem to have here, don't come by this way. You'll know a mean one when you see one, trust me." oSo if ninety-nine percent of you is just obliterated and turned into data, does that mean you kill yourself every time you use it?     "THAT WOULD BE SO FUCKING SICK!" cries Phreak, drunk enough not only to indulge the hypothetical, but to attempt a backflip. To his credit, he does land, properly, but his inebriation causes him to fall over. "Oof. Yeah, I mean... I dunno. The Grid digitizes you, and people completely digitize themselves if they've got the know-how. It's faster and more convenient than Whom-Pahs... but even those disassemble you. Hey, Flux--"     "Fuck no."
Mack	"I have no idea," says Mack, leaning slightly towards Roxas, "but, if you were a hacker with a prank-streak, and you got wind of a data-cluster like that, wouldn't you give it a shot?" He spends some time working on that weirdly-assembled sandwich, making appreciative noises alongside some slightly more rude gnashing ones. He is not a quiet nor clean eater, though he does his level best to make up for it with napkins, in the latter case. "Good food," he says, between bites. "Thanks a lot." Amber optics slide between Lamorak and Flux. "Lots of cultures talk about the spirit of the Earth. Nothing says there can't be a sort of genius loci on a planetary scale that leaves a ghost when it goes badly. Sounds like we've all got our own strange and different apocalyptic remnants to deal with, though, eh?" He takes a noisy drink. "Pretty interesting that you can still use it, though. Someone will always find a way to make do."
Xion	'If everyone thinks you're sketchy, then you're actually kinda trustworthy'. Xion has been processing this for a while. Without a drink of her own, a D A N G E R Syndicate Cider is placed into her hand, which she sips on without thinking. "Oo! Fizzy, and sorta burny. Neat!" She goes back in on the burger. "I think I finally got it!" She exclaims, burg and cider pumped in victory. "If everyone agrees someone is a certain way, then you can be pretty sure they're consistently that way. Unless everyone's wrong. That's possible too. People are really wrong, really consistently. Just because everyone agrees doesn't mean it's right -- it just means there's a consistent reaction." She nods firmly. "Glad I noodled that one out. Are these real bronto? Or is that just a trade name?"
Hellwarming Trio	@LIZA/GENERALLY Somehow, Utsuho and Rin make sure they get all that offered food down. Whether it's their youkai biology, some kind of weird disciplinary thing, or even just them being gluttons for anything is unclear, but they eat it all without complaint. They don't, however, ask for seconds. Actually, they haven't asked for seconds of anything. It really does seem as though they're deliberately looking to try a little of EVERYTHING. Unfortunately for probably everyone, this does include a little of every single dollar store, separately at first, and then all in one mixture likely recognizable to many as the Devil's Piss. Double unfortunately, this also leads to them looking to sample the alcoholic drinks. They start with the deep red thing from Liza, the raven sampling it first and imitating that fancypants mouth swishing thing she saw once in a video while peering at the little lights on the inside. It takes a while for her to finally relinquish the drink to Rin, who just drinks it down with a satisfied noise before actually paying attention to what it tastes like. At least they're not getting rowdy (yet). @ROXAS AND XION Rin seems quite pleased with her gross guess actually being correct. It's a lesson they can bring home, perhaps! "Cool stuff... I wonder what colors would happen if me and Okuu mixed our fires together, then. Probably more white, I guess, but if we don't make it too hot..." The kasha is already getting ideas. Before she can get too entranced in that, though, her and Utsuho's attention are drawn towards Roxas' clothes portal. "It looks like a useful trick. Me and Orin need to get more clothes, but we'd have to go home whenever we wanted to change unless we start buying a room or whatever." Utsuho replies, eventually starting to boggle mentally over the idea of being 'born' in an outfit. "Or maybe I could learn how to do that transforming thing like those Kamen riders..." She'll be stuck on that for a bit until she gets distracted by something else. @BERCILAK/BIG THINGY Rin: "Whoa. That's a tall thing right there." Utsuho: "Eh? Oh, yeah, that thing. Doesn't sound like it wants to start anything, though... Too bad." Rin: "It looks pretty cool, though. If it's not one of the mean ones, then does it do anything?" Out of sheer, almost childlike curiosity, Utsuho raises her free hand as she watches that ethereal blue thing. Thankfully, she doesn't fire anything at it, instead just keeping her hand held out while her wings flap once. Her cape goes up with that deliberate flap, as though Utsuho wants it to see the inside of her cape with its strange galaxy-motif that doesn't seem to actually move with the garment, but independently of everything around it from a visual standpoint. Rin, meanwhile, looks on in mild to moderate anxiety.
Roxas	"Sounds like the mundane world, in some places. But that's a world I only exist on the peripheries of," Roxas says to Liza, shifting uncomfortably. "If it's going in that direction, I guess that's for the best. Or maybe there's a way to steer in a different direction. I don't know." He wonders if the Council could be the same sort of 'well-intended but doomed and unwieldy' analogue, and doubts it. Their practices start too cut-throat and just escalate from there. On the subject of the local cryptids, he nods at Lamorak, "Different color? Less... coherent structure?" To Utsuho, he says, "I guess it IS pretty convenient. Still, it's not like I never change manually I can't store every outfit ever in there. Just a lot. The thing that's always in there is this--" He summons his Keyblade with a ringing noise, and in nearly the same breath banishes it back to where it came. "I used to think I'd happily trade some of this stuff for... I don't know, more normality. But I've kind of come around on it."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oPretty interesting that you can still use it, though.     "For now," Flux says. "But it's kinda the reverse of Rubi-ka. Every day, little bits and pieces get eaten up." There's a grave tone in his voice when he says, "If you go the edge, be real careful." oIf it's not one of the mean ones, then does it do anything?     It does indeed do something. The music stops. It is replaced by a single, quiet tone that slowly dwindles into nothing.     Mirroring Utsuho's movement with the utmost care, it, too, lifts its hand. Where there is a static galaxy in Utsuho's cape, this being's cape has no such quality. But its palm does glow brightly, in a brief, wordless greeting. Five curved shapes in brilliant white, nested atop each other over the blue of its palm. A glyph of waves. It makes a sound like the cry of an elk, majestic, benign, and yet plaintive--and then fades, leaving only the trees.     On the table before each of you, there is a token, where previously there wasn't. You understand, intuitively, that this token is some sort of invitation. A way of offering thanks, for being allowed to watch, for a time. Utsuho received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Rin received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Liza received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Roxas received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Xion received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Mack received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary. Phreak received Key to Gilthar's Sanctuary.      "See?" says Lamorak, to Liza and Rin alike. "They're a little spooky, but they're nice. Like me!"     Phreak is fucked out of his head and says something incoherent, waving the Key around and whooping. Bercilak parrots it back to him in mocking, sufficiently Middle-Englished up. It draws a snort from Flux, who nonetheless can't help noticing Roxas's Keyblade.      With a lopsided grin, he hopes off of his seat. "You, her and me, I think we're on the same block," he says, with a nod to Xion. "Weirdo shit makes you feel like you're on your own, but you're not. Hit me up sometime. I'm sure gonna hit y'all up."     A staff, blue, with a crooked head, and veins of black, appears in his hand. His style of dress, which might be described as 'the intersection of roughneck and the Fifth Element' seems to complement this weapon. It isn't materialized, like Bercilak's axe. It's... created, or perhaps manifested.     Bercilak will host the festivities for as long as you all care to stay, and for as drunk as you all care to get. His healing cloud can protect from the worst of consequences, as can Lamorak's. There will be plenty of music, song, stupid stories, swearing, drunk attempts to impress Liza, and in general, raucous, boorish behavior. No matter how rowdy things get, there is a sense that your enjoyment is being guaranteed by some almost parental, invisible force; tumbles don't result in injuries, fights, if they happen, are harmless stumble-fests.      Before you leave, when that time finally comes, be it in the wee hours of morning or just a short time from now, Flux makes good on his clean Mack's prize for him, allowing the cyborg to upload the program (it's a quite user-friendly injection system). Phreak, (much as last year, according to Lamorak) ends up unable to get home himself, but Flux is able to help there, too.      Happy Saint Patty's!