Scene #8212: The Future Beckons And Won't Wait

Owner	Pose
Veve Joueur	The air hangs heavy over the fractured city of New Albion, as it always does. Even when the fog isn't diffusing the yellow glow of the scattered streetlamps into a dim brown haze, even when the smog isn't scratching at your throat, even despite the distant ambiance of the city, conversations, shouting, mechanical clanking and industry (your guide assures you that the distance is enforced, for your visit here. "The population still gets skittish around, ah, Multiversal-types, you see."). Even without all of that. There's a weight in the atmosphere, in the way it clings to bullet holes chipped out of walls, in the unknown symbols marking buildings as safe spaces for medicine, or supplies, or more clandestine gatherings. In the mechanical dolls scattered throughout the city, swept casually to the sides of the street, paid no mind. The dolls, life-size faceless mannequins with ball joints as a base--though most have tattered clothes, or pieces of flair--are limply still in the dusty corners they're shoved in, joints helpless to move without muscles. The only sign of life emanating from them is the quiet music of a radio, flicking between channels in the barest suggestion of language. "Yes, ah, pay the dolls no mind. Those archaic models are barely worth the scrap inside them, and, haha, we've not emptied Elysium of the dead yet." Your guide, who introduced himself as "Please, just Callaghan" is a genial-seeming man, dark-skinned, with a broad smile and broad shoulders. Callaghan wears a suit, but seems to dress it down in every way possible, the white jacket unbuttoned over a black shirt, skull-patterned tie hanging down, piercings and rings covering his exposed face and hands. His attitude is similarly professionally casual, cordial and welcoming, but smiling and laughing at every opportunity. Callaghan leads you down the sidewalk with a brisk pace, not trying to appear to be in a hurry, but clearly anxious to get where you're going. For some time, the only other signs of human activity are the occasional passing Model-T (Callaghan watches each one out of the corner of his eye), and shadows passing behind windows in the buildings lining the street. Then, he turns a corner, and suddenly, a whole new city unfolds before you. Beyond a tall metal gate is a network of soaring white buildings, interconnected--no. One single building, arching over the streets, covered with glittering glass windows and domes, clearly exposing, even at this distance, the crowds of people within, and the crisp white halls those crowds are flowing through.
Veve Joueur	Callaghan grins widely, and turns towards the group, throwing his arms open to gesticulate. "Welcome, valued Concord allies, to Arcadia Corp! I am Dr. Callaghan Murphy, head researcher of the Prosthetic Weaponry department, but, please, it's still just Callaghan. And, I see that Dr. Manach is here to greet you as well. His head turns to gesture at a woman who is practically shoving to get through the crowd at the gate. Dr. Manach is tall and proportioned like a model, strikingly beautiful despite her outfit mainly consisting of a white labcoat that flutters out behind her as she strides towards you, excitedly talking even before getting close enough that it would be socially acceptable to. "Hi! You sure are an eclectic bunch, huh? My name is Ezili, and while I will be thrilled to make your acquaintance later, for now, we've got a little problem that needs to be addressed!" Dr. Manach--Ezili--talks rapidly, with a nasally hum in her voice, and just as soon as she's finished talking, she claps her hands, and starts clacking her boots down the street, clearly expecting you to follow.
Flamel Parsons	"Callaghan! Great to meet you. And wow! I've never seen so many dead bodies with such little death. And I've seen entire landscapes of fake corpses, a few times." Flamel's normal fashion works mostly okay around here, though he's got a special set of extra-anachronistic sunglasses to match the local look a bit. And the greeting to Ezili is much the same. "Dr. Manach! Wow, you look like you've been busy with the best type of work. I just love helping out with little problems, it's the best first impression an agent of a vague yet menacing government agency like myself can give." He follows quickly, adjusting his sunglasses. "What needs doing? Give me all the details."
Shadow	Shadow walks in, stepping on one of the discarded doll's hands as he passes through. He pays it no mind. When introductions are made, his facial expression doesn't change. It aggressively doesn't change. This isn't just mere disinterest, this is enhanced disinterest, advanced apathy, one might go so far as to call this a weaponized detachment. Why is he here, again? Something about trying to put in 'the barest minimum of social appearances', according to his partner. That's a whole other thing he's having to deal with, and he's already in a bad mood about that. "Of course you have a problem to be solved," says Shadow, flatly. "One that just happens to coincide with our visit. How coincidental." Secretly, he's thrilled. It's something to do that isn't just a stupid tour of a dour looking city and an academic building. At least Sapient Heuristics had jigsaw puzzles. "Hurry up then, so we can get this over with," he says flatly, as he goes to brusquely push past Dr. Manach and head in the direction she'd been heading.
Ozhira	The Devourer is no stranger to unkempt places. A beast that slithers through tunnels and pipes often finds itself in such locations. The disheveled, cluttered and trash-lined streets do not particularly bother Ozhira, though they keep getting distracted by the discarded dolls. It's only when it becomes clear they won't move on their own that the creature loses interest in them for good. "Callaghan," the Beast intones, "Why discard them-- here?" Before they can get their answer, a new person makes herself known. The rapid, excited way that Manach talks prompts Ozhira into a flinch. They take a half-step to one side, neatly interposing Flamel between the Doctor and themself. A few heartbeats later, the creature leans forward, somehow perfectly aligned to Flamel's own gangley silhouette and only becoming visible from that direction now; "What, shall we hunt for you?" They just assume something needs killing. It's a Monster thing.
Hiromi	Hiromi's presence doesn't so much fade as transform based upon the lighting. Well-lit, she is imposing, capturing attention. In smog and shadow, she inspires the dread of monsters in the night, filling the vague unknown with the potential of danger. A small mercy that her voice is clearly audible, even booming, in both cases, given that she ignores the light or shadow cast over her by the lamps. "'Little problem,' hahaha! Your air, foul. Your people, weak, fearful. Your dead, scattered. Don't you bury?" She stands taller, throwing her head back to laugh, perhaps only incidentally having the expression of a sneer in the process. With her height, 'looking down upon' is (not) merely the most likely physical result. "What more, now? What do you fight? You'll tell me this. I am Hiromi." It's not so much that she's certain that they must be fighting something, as that they'd better be fighting something, or she'll fix it.
Arcadia	It was important to make good impressions with new allies. So when the request for assistance was made it was almost immeadiately that Argo Alexandrian dispatched their Guardian to assist the Concord in doing so. The humanoid sphinx in crimson red armor arrives amongst the other members, stopping at her usual hover just off the ground. Which doesn't stop her from executing a nice bow from the position, but as often with her it is quickly executed to keep the matters at hand moving. "Yes, agreed. There will be time for more formal introductions later, as you expressed a certain need for haste in dealing with this issue you have trouble with?" That and she's the sort that would rather move on to the action, and let all the hobnobbing be done by formal representatives later.
Flamel Parsons	"Don't you see her coat? She fights the toughest thing on the planet." Flamel says, nodding several times in a serious tone. He says, in a tone of voice reserved for great predators or horrifyingly maiming-prone herbivores: "She fights sleep deprivation." It's important to note that, because of his profession, this might actually be a type of massive monster that Flamel Parsons knows about.
Persephone Kore	"Skittish? Awww. I get it! That's cute. But there's really no reason to be scared of us," says the woman radiating a tangible psychic aura of scary warmth. "Pay them no mind... But it's sad, isn't it? They meant something to somebody once, didn't they? It feels like they deserve a little more. Hiromi's right. Don't you hate to see a stuffed animal in the garbage?" Persephone solemnly fusses over one of the fallen dolls, helping it into a more 'comfortable' position despite its apparent lifelessness. While she does, she feels for a glimmer of intelligence in them: are they still conscious, if they ever were? As she does, every other doll in a very large area shifts into a more comfortable position too. Up ahead, she extends a hand to shake Ezili's. "It's good to meet you, doctor." The tone she slips into around people with labcoats is hard to parse. It's not one that she often shows in public. "What is it you need? I'm sure we can help." It most evokes 'fussing over an elderly but respected family member'.
Metamorph One	This is a Concord thing, so the newly released members of Applied Ontology's old piloting program are out here. And even though they stand out so much, with Elara's long blonde locks and pristine white dress coat, and Dianna's dyed white hair, stark orange eyeshadow and lipstick, and considerable physique, they look at ease on these smoggy and desolate streets. They walk around with the air of a duo unfamiliar with these particular streets, but well-trod across a number of worlds vast enough to absorb newer sights with ease. Both of them are Equipped (well, besides Elara's purse). A semitriangular device, in AO's sharp colour scheme, worn on the body with discrete black straps; Diana's beneath her shoulderblades at her back, Elara's at her hip around her waist, both studded with faintly glowing injection cylinders(?). Neatly arranged cables spread from one end under clothes, ostensibly attached to some sort of trigger grip device, as they both reluctantly withdraw them. "Well shit." says Dianna, screwing up her face and trying not to cough. "What a bust. This place is a total dump." Elara coughs, "Y-yeah, I thought it'd be more like Grand Dorado with that name and those finance records . . ." The both of them absentmindedly finger and click the prop triggers in their grip. A cylinder each depresses into the device and hums. A wash of hexagonal light-tiles adjoins each, and furnishes them with a slightly different half-mask, contoured exactly just to the jaw and nose, that they affix with mild reluctance. Somehow, neither mask muffles their voices. "You just have a revolution here?" Dianna asks Callaghan. "Or is one just about to happen. Don't make up a third answer; it's one or the other, right?" Elara's blue gaze lingers piteously on the dolls, even as Doctor Manach runs up and says 'no time to explain'. "Why make them like that? Without even faces to memorize . . . Poor things."
Veve Joueur	Callaghan laughs loudly at Flamel's comment, a belly laugh that seems to be begging for a shoulder clap that he doesn't give. "Ha! Calling them corpses might be, ah, missing the forest for the trees! After all, they're much less dead than they were before!" Elara and Persephone's concern for the dolls quiets him, however. Hiromi's disdain, too, to some degree. "I, ah, wouldn't think of them either as 'people', or as 'dead'. They're souls, perhaps, but they don't quite experience the world the way you or I do." He kneels down and sharply raps a knuckle on the head of a doll, producing a solid wooden thunk. The radio music emanating from the doll continues smoothly, uninterrupted. "The bodies are, effectively, for show. To decorate, and evoke memory. The dolls--these old ones, at least--don't feel through these mannequins, or think, typically. The spirits do not properly reside inside them, it's, ah, as though they're being continually channeled, instead." "The mess, however, cannot be explained away." He straightens up and nods towards Dianna, brushing off his white suit pants. "New Albion suffered through a revolution, correct, miss. She's been through a lot, this old city, and I'm sorry for you to see this ugly side of it before Arcadia's managed to restore it to the beauty it deserves."
Veve Joueur	Ezili pauses, at everyone's questioning, and tightly pivots to face the group, her brows drawn together in confusion. Looking at her, Flamel, there's not a single sign of sleep deprivation. Her skin in smooth, practically glittering in the light that shines out of Arcadia Corp, her posture is effortlessly drawn upright. Really? I thought I was quite clear with describing my problem." She makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. Bureauocracy, I suppose, that my words didn't reach you all directly. Something to get used to. She spins back around and continues walking, calling out over her shoulder as she does. Those knee-high pink boots with black laces, an oddly pastel goth splash in her scientist aesthetic, keep a fast pace, leading the group towards the edge of the city, Callaghan trailing behind. "A few weeks ago, upon encountering, this Gesticulating at the air, evidently meaning 'the existence of the Multiverse', "Exciting, but not altogether surprising, development, Arcadia Corp swiftly made contact with our now-mutual benefactor. I was told about the particular compensation that comes with, I quote, being "Elite"; we signed contracts, and deliveries began shipping out to that delightful portal that appeared just far enough outside the city to be infuriating." During her monologue, Ezili leads the group outside the city, down a cobblestone trail to a dock jutting into the swamp. The air is especially murky here, almost choking, and lamps swinging on poles provide the only light. Down at the small dock, a handful of airboats sit ready, and drivers for each of them lounge around, evidently waiting. "And, with the seemingly unstable nature of this superplanet we find ourselves on--something I hope is temporary--the shipment with my most treasured offering to the Concord was disrupted, and hasn't yet returned." Ezili stops walking from full speed once she reaches the dock, without slowing down or signaling that she's doing so. "For all of my battle-hungry new companions, you'll be happy to know that the swamps of this wonderful city are infested with fae beings." She turns around again, and waves a hand to the boats. "Their hostility is never guaranteed, but can always be expected. Enjoy, and we will talk again soon." With that, she briskly walks through the group, back the way she came.
Arcadia	Arcadia shakes her head at the apology from Callaghn. She's slowly getting use to hearing her name used not as her name, at least. "Do not feel so. History must be seen for it's scars as well as it's beauties, its highs and its lows. Maybe even moreso, for it is the mistakes we learn most from. Or so the Scholars tell us. Mayhaps on less fraught days they will come to see for themselves what transpires here, so it can be appropriately documented." follows Ezili's lead, and emits an extremely cat-like hiss of spite at the mention of fae. "Always such infuriating creatures to deal with. When not chaotic allies. Which it sounds as these are not." Battle hungry? Whatever gave you that idea? Just because her combat style is that of a fast paced shoot-em-up bullet hell doesn't mean she's... ahahaha can't finish that with a straight face. Though to be fair Arcadia is more interested in the thrill and the risk than just the bloodshed potential. Airboats are provided. But not what the sphinx needs thanks to her hovering capability. "Use the craft if you need them!" as she cruises out over the murky swamps. As for the thick murky air, she activates her magitek visor, engaging it's alternate perceptions. Certainly the infrared or ultraviolet modes will be able to see through the fog some.
Shadow	"Ah. Glorified delivery boys. I should have guessed." The reveal of the swamps being infested with fae does not seem to please Shadow too much, actually. "I can find things to shoot anywhere. And you expect me to be happy you're providing me with more?" And there she goes. "At least she's leaving," says Shadow, as he heads down the dock... and goes to get into the pilot's seat of one of the airboats, and fires it up.
Ozhira	"Looking for something," the Beast repeats, "We understand." They had been following mostly silently most of this time, while acting cautious but attentive towards the doctor herself. They aren't likely able to articulate just what makes them so visibly uneasy-- it might just be a New Person with more energy than they're accustomed to. But now a more clear goal is presented, or at least, something that Ozhira feels they can actually contribute towards. They turn from where Ezili is departing, back towards the swamp. Their hands hold out slightly and, from deep within their humanoid form, a bone-rattling rumble emits. Not a seismic shuddering; but the growl of some colossal carnivore. It shakes the dock and disturbs the water around the piers as the sound travels through them, disappearing into sediments and water. They then stand still, saying nothing, listening to the soft echoes of their echolocation. A few minutes later, the creature called Ozhira simply...collapses forward into the water. The body dissolves here, taking on a gelatinous, crimson appearance a few inches below the surface, slithering alarmingly fast towards the first point of interest they could hear.
Hiromi	'You just have a revolution here?' 'She's been through a lot, this old city, and I'm sorry for you to see this ugly side of it before Arcadia's managed to restore it to the beauty it deserves.' "I'll grant time," Hiromi says, as if she were pronouncing a judgment of something. 'They meant something to somebody once, didn't they?' "To who?" Hiromi asks, and it's a genuine question. She could track who last held each doll, but it would be a time-consuming process, and she elects otherwise. 'She fights sleep deprivation.' "Sleep took long to conquer," Hiromi says, her tone grave. '...it's, ah, as though they're being continually channeled, instead.' "Called... in constant? Forever-howling? Nuisance to spirits. Don't they complain?" 'For all of my battle-hungry new companions, you'll be happy to know that the swamps of this wonderful city are infested with fae beings.' Hiromi gives a 'good enough' variety of grunt in response. "'Fae,' 'infested.' We'll see this." When they reach swampwater, 'airboats' do not seem to be something Hiromi immediately approves of. Instead, she stalks up to Elara and Dianna. "Your armor. You have it, yes?" If she doesn't have a chance to ride on top of the mecha (mostly to see how well it functions), the worst case scenario is that she'll walk straight to their destination. It's the worst case because she'll carry the deep swamp smell up from the depths for everyone else to experience, and still have it when they get back to the city. Nobody wants that.
Metamorph One	"Yeah. That was my first guess for a reason." Dianna says, casting green eyes around the smog and dirt and debris. "Revolution leaves a different kind of footprint than an invasion or civil war. Once you get familiar enough with battlefields, you can start to tell." she says, drifting a little off the road and running a fingertip over a bullet hole in a wall. Elara is more interested in the dolls, taking a moment to stop by one, crouching down to meet its lack-of-eyes where Persephone has adjusted it to sit up straight. "Hmm. If the bodies are decorations, and they don't even know we're here, then what are these bodies for?" She asks. "The radio. The . . . arrangement? These are precious to someone, aren't they? Souls . . . are they . . . ?" She reaches out to brush dust from the dust from the brow of a decorated doll. Her fingertips drift down to its cheek. The eyes in her solemn face shine liquid blue. The stuff of thought and imagination flows from her into the delicate equipment shielded from her nails, seeping into all the myriad elements of past and future that make up the doll, and extracting the most honest answer to What would it mean to be you?
Flamel Parsons	"Oh, hey, an investigation-recovery sort of deal! Alright, but I'm taking a look at the Treasured Offering, I want to see what a best-in-class scientist is putting in Concord hands." Flamel pipes up, eagerly. He's already stopped by his van that had been not-very-secretly following, grabbing himself a gas mask, an ominously-obscuring biohazard suit, and a large scanner with an attached backpack that makes angry pinging and whining sounds seemingly at everyone and everything. He thuds down into the base of one of the airboats. He plants two fingers on his temple and gently unwinds from within his skull a translucent image of Ezili. Though it's a mental image of her, all energized and achingly tall, with an exaggerated nose and slightly asymmetrically-placed eyes. He plants one end of it in an opening on his scanner and winds it into the device with a hand crank, before turning it on full blast. It is an entirely unnecessary accessory to his natural Clairvoyance, which begins pulsing out in waves, a radar looking for the psychic traces of Dr. Manach. Obviously the woman herself would be the brightest beacon of that, but once he tunes her out, it should give them some leads on where to find her Treasured Offering.
Veve Joueur	Persephone, reaching out to trace the consciousness of a doll is met with an overwhelming cacophony of noise. o/` Settle downThe place where all the I really hope that you canThe next generations on its way Show me your teeth, girl, show me what What may please does not content, All resolves but love you shared, went day by day You pull me over to the red, red, red line Lay me down just please don't The silent sighed lost I'll always be a prisoner to my ambition, As petals fly, I'll lullaby, Elysian night o/` Every doll, dozens, hundreds, probably, seems to eagerly grasp at her outstretched hand. Overlapping music blares in her head, each new song shouting to be heard over the others. It's impossible pick out a single coherent thought among the din, but there's an undercurrent of intent beneath it. Listening in on them is blindingly painful before too long. Before Persephone severs the connection, she can imagine, maybe, that the overall texture of the music became lighter after she readjusted the dolls.
Metamorph One	When they arrive at the swamp, Dianna audibly scoffs at the doctor. "So it's mercenary work in the end anyways? The Concord must really think you're a precious contact, Doctor, if that's the casual tone you're taking for losing your installation." she says. "Only did fairies twice before, but you know what we'd charge for this, back then?" Dianna sighs. Elara is busy being enraptured by Hiromi, who is Large and Commanding and Hot (and asking a direct question). "O-oh? Armour-- Oh, yes! We're both here, so our unit is on standby, of course!" She glances to Dianna. Dianna offers a backhand thumbs up without looking. "Okay, okay. Let's . . ." Elara flips the trigger into her hand, spinning it like a revolver, and snaps it towards the swampy shore. A brilliant blue laser shines onto the dirt, splaying into a spirograph of fractured light, rotating clockwise and counter-clock to itself. Her voice automatically takes on a smooth, soft, and cooly professional quality. "Advise friendly units stand aside. Metamorph One deploying. ETA, five, four, three . . ." Her focus remains intensely uninterrupted on the same point even up to T-minus zero, where a dome of space goes dark then flashes fiery orange. The crunch of ground giving way beneath metal, and the creak and whirr of automatic suspension. A radial plume of dust and the sound of a down-revving electronic boom. The pop-hiss of the cockpit hatch pulling back, and then the clink-clank of Dianna swinging into the pilot seat from a standstill vault of five feet before the white and orange quadruped machine is even visible. She leans over the edge to help Elara up into the gunship seat directly above and behind hers, and the hatch seals shut. Optics flare green. Hiromi has a few seconds to find a purchase on the hull (just slightly soft, like high-quality grippy plastic from heavy consumer electronics, oddly), before the launchers splay out like feathers, the turret jerks up, and the ball turrets swivel forward, tiny sensor pods casting their sweeping lasers into the swamp fog. Twenty rapid pop-sizzles sound in rapid succession from behind the turret, and sapphire-white flares rocket into the sky. Where they should hang and descend, they instead glitter, split directions, and soar overhead. The machine raises up on its legs, and the bottom heavy foot armour splits and retracts as if sliced. The mechanical 'toes' pull back, and as it steps onto the water, electric blue current ripples from each. The Metamorph fails to sink. Thrusters fire from its rear surfaces, and it skates ahead of the airships at high speed.
Hiromi	'...so our unit is on standby, of course!' Close and unthinkingly intense, "Good." Hiromi watches the appearance of the Metamorph, and steps forward at the same time as Dianna is boarding. She leaps up top in the moment after Elara grabs on, coming to a three-point landing at the highest point of the machine, her weight rocking, prompting more noise from the suspension. She feels the material under her, commenting, "Soft." That does make it easier to hold onto without permanently damaging anything. If it's 'gripping,' she doesn't need much, so long as it's something that will survive "Now, you'll show me, how you move."
Persephone Kore	Contact is made. Persephone breathes in- at first sharply, in surprise, then drawn out into a meditative inhalation. It's held for five seconds, then released. Her eyes drift shut. It hurts to listen, but I feel like it's important, too? That someone should hear them like this. For as long as I can stand to. Eventually, though, she has to turn her attention back to the world of the living. "What do you mean by 'not altogether surprising', doctor?" Persephone's heels clack against the cobblestones, punctuating her words. "I know some worlds were already linked to others, before Unification. Is it like that here?" More of that tone that isn't quite hers. But the doctor is gone, soon, and that voice with it. Persephone's one of the few (maybe the only?) to actually take an airboat as offered, rather than commandeer it or provide her own conveyance. "I've never been on one of these before!" she explains perkily to the driver. Dianna and Elara soon pass her by, and she waves to them in excessive good cheer. It's so nice, getting to see them express themselves through it. Don't you think? En route, she hums a half-heard and quarter-remembered tune to herself, lapsing into words intermittently. "The place where all the love you shared, went day by day... The silent sighed lost... lullaby, Elysian night..." It was probably a pretty song.
Veve Joueur	For Elara's part, she receives an entirely different response. The doll she examines, psychically excavated from the cardboard boxes haphazardly dumped over it, appears to have been well dressed at some point in the past. Around its neck is a necklace, though the pendant is long gone, and it's wearing a dusty Victorian dress. Its head lolls to the side, once Persephone's telekinesis releases it. When probing into the doll's heart, Elara gets flashes of what seem to be the history of the soul that resides inside it. A hand on her daughter's shoulder, looking at her first grandchild. A shouting match with a man, books flying across a refined-looking living room. Quiet moments, of knitting, and talking. Throughout it all, overlaying the visions, is a rhythmic clank of gears, and a faint buzzing. She's in bed, her daughter resting a hand on her shoulder, gripping tightly, watching a doctor speak. The buzzing suddenly escalates, deafeningly loud, buzzing in Elara's head strongly enough that she smells iron, a visceral sense of rejection bearing down on her. If she perseveres, it fades after a few long seconds, quieting to its previous volume. She watches the daughter, and her daughter, pull clothes out of a closet, holding up the dress Elara saw the doll wearing. Fire blooms outside, the granddaughter rushes out of the house, the doll left behind, the daughter nowhere to be seen. She has a favorite song, Elara learns. A soft, classical melody, lyricless. She's playing it now, but Elara can't remember if she was playing it before, too.
Metamorph One	A minute or two into the drive, the sense of tense operative professionalism fades to the usual level of a squadron on a long distance trip. "I'm pretty good at moving you know." Dianna says to Hiromi from the cockpit. "Got lots of experience with the motions. Plenty of endurance too." Elara is audibly laughing in the raised back seat, and squeaks "Don't!" Phony's wave from the airboat is oddly reciprocated. The thrusters from the Metamorph dim halfway, and it leans its weight and extends one leg to sedately swivel around, coasting on its own momentum like a figure skater, to look at Persephone. One of the feet briefly lifts from the water's surface, tendrils of lightning snapping from the conductive sheen. The shoulder joint rotates backwards, and the foot unit pops and twists, allowing Dianna to be an enormous showoff and wave back with what now looks like a bulky arm, just before the machine skates fully around and resumes its original course. The thrusters smoothly overburn just slightly to restore momentum bled by the wind, and settle into their previous pace. Elara's voice transmits with the rustle of plastic wrap, though she sounds solemnly thoughtful enough. "They're graves, aren't they?" she says. "The dolls. Memorials to people that someone misses. I guess now there might be no one left to dust them off and bring flowers anymore, for those in the street. It's a shame. I thought they were pretty."
Veve Joueur	Arcadia and Ozhira both detect a few of the same things. Buzzing through the air, mosquito-like, clusters of child-sized creatures flock around, most of them ignoring the group and fleeing when the whir of the airboat approaches. The fae, presumably that's what they are, have harsh angles in their bodies, buglike features radiating unpleasantness. Arcadia's search, however, is stopped by something that Ozhira's echolocation is not. Fog, somehow impenetrable to her vision despite seeing through the rest, crawls out between trees deeper within the swamp, eventually becoming a solid wall. Pushing through the fog reveals--the swamp, still. But it feels different, now. For one thing, sunlight streams through the gaps in the canopy, despite it previously being nighttime. The water is clear, and much more reflective than it should be, scattering dancing particles of reflected sunlight back up into the air. Birds can be heard singing, not any song that Arcadia's heard before. The Devourer races beneath the water's surface, shredding hapless fish in their wake. Their destination, an unnaturally cube-shaped object, suspended in the water. They reach it, and emerge from the water, ready to hunt the vile fae that must be defending it--and find themselves in the same pleasant, sunny area as Arcadia. Standing around them, splashed by swamp water, is a gaggle of children, who all shriek and scatter, screaming with laughter instead of fear. There's also a bunch of mice, fleeing alongside the kids, running on two feet. Ozhira sees, reflected in the water, that they look like their human form, despite not actually feeling their body in that shape. Flamel's clairvoyance guides him to much the same location, an enormous psychic pressure matching Ezili's, concentrated in one spot. Barely any fainter than the Doctor herself. Shadow and Phony's airboats are guided there, piercing into that same area--though for them, the fog barrier is indistinguishable from the ambient fog layered over this whole swamp. Shadow's airboat, propelled at a speed that only a hedgehog with full mastery of Chaos Control could manage, passes into the sunny area--and immediately shatters on thin air, totaled from a collision with nothing. The buglike fae give Phony's boat a wide berth, conspicuously watching her with varying expressions. When she enters the fog, she's abruptly surrounded by a swarm of them, buzzing around her like mosquitoes. Although, wait, the sound is the same, but these fae look just like children, with wings, rather than only having childlike proportions. When Elara and Phony arrive, they each realize the same thing simultaneously. The songs the birds are singing (o/` Take your tent and trailer out of town o/`), the ambiance of this new area, it feels just the same as communing with the minds of those dolls. But crisper, like a dream with better clarity than waking.
Arcadia	Arcadia pauses a moment, tapping the side of her visor with a claw as it acts up. Though some of the fog being impenetrable to even augmented sight is in a way a clue, because it's clearly not natural. And she has dealt with many unnatural things. It might be the fae. It might be something else unnatural, or supernatural, about this swamp. But she pushes on, until finally breaching into the sunlight area. That abrupt change in the environment brings her to a hault, soft ripples in the water from her hovering above it, wings remaining spread to maintain her balance, her tail lashing back and forth in that way feline's often do when annoyed or anxious. Her dungoneering senses are on high alert now. She glances up at where the light pierces through the canopy, then back to the environment around them. It's almost peaceful. Too peaceful. Playful forms flee from the open spaces. Arcadia frowns, only farther on edge. Her magitek weapon systems remain at the ready, though no distinct target or aggressor has made themselves seen. Yet. It didn't matter the world. Fae were always a finicky peculiarity to deal with. "Let's just find that missing thing and get out of this place." She remains on guard, even if there are spots her vison enhancements can't see through. It's a natural state of being for her as a Guardian by design. Always be on guard.
Ozhira	C U B E That is not a natural shape and that is the shape that Ozhira draws a straight line towards, slicing through the water as a cluster of eel-like forms. A nest of worms, or snakes, or entrails. It's entirely vague exactly what this shape is, because the creature is not attempting to disguise themself as anything in particular. Upon reaching their destination, the Beast circles around it, evaluating, gauging, plotting, schemeing. It is not, after all, an animal driven only by hunger and instinct. Not anymore. When they reach consensus, the Devourer's component parts gather together and the monstrosity lurches straight up out of the water as a colossal pair of jaws, snapping shut around the Cube that so enamored them. Truly the most monstrous of crocodiles, with so many mismatched teeth and far too many eyes tucked away in writhing flesh made up of ropey crimson cords. Due to the Beast's delay, this breaching chomp occurs perhaps twenty meters directly in front of the approaching Metamorph. Every single eye swivels towards the craft in that instant. There's the familiar scent of blood and salt-- Hiromi, at least, is likely recognize who this is and has seen them do similar things before.
Veve Joueur	From the Metamorph's perspective, and, in fact, everyone's, Ozhira bursts out of the water--in a small, controlled splash, in their humanoid form. They can feel the CUBE contained inside them, expanding beyond the outlines of where their body appears to be, but to all visual inspection, they appear humanoid.
Hiromi	'And obviously it's soft. Skin should be.' "Not 'armor'? Even 'scales'? 'Skin.' I see and feel." Hiromi's interest in the surface of the Metamoprh increases a notch, though no more than one, as she continues to avoid damaging it. 'I didn't think you'd like cramped space anyways. You seem like someone who has to flex her musces.' "'Space.' There are needs for vastness, air and freedom, stretches of green between mountains. There are needs, too, for closeness, spaces small, for bodies to fill. But, enough. Now is time for fae to speak. I'll call the ground, first." And that's what Hiromi does, leaping out into the swamp, not far from Ozhira, and calling the ground beneath the swamp up to meet her. It rises as a mound of muck, but breaks apart in the middle like an erupting volcano, stone and barely-wet undersoil spilling over and covering the muddy swamp-bottom. To say that Hiromi 'alights' is not to say that she arrives without the due heaviness of gravity. There is nothing wrong about Ozhira snapping up the cube. Hiromi pays the event no mind. Spreading the ground around her another ten feet or so, she sits cross-legged, and directs her attention to the scattering fae, speaking a simple, clearly understandable word-that-isn't, corresponding most closely to a simple sentence. Come here. Passively, Hiromi carries the impression, teasing at the edges of the mind, of holding some vague position of authority. Someone else's leader, someone else's tyrant, someone's boss fight (and perhaps yours), but this understanding is only enforced as a definite truth by active will. This is what she does to the fae-children in her awareness, overriding thought and memory within whatever spirit they possess that she is their leader, their guardian, their parent, the one that sits at the top of the internalized list of 'fear and obey.' She awaits answers and excuses.
Flamel Parsons	"Hey! Hey!!" Flamel calls out, waving to the children as his airboat splits the fog. "I need to see your haunting registration! Make sure you come back here with your licenses and paperwork!" To be the fun-ruining authority figure evaded by guile can usually buy him some time and defuse any residual hostility, for those who Hiromi doesn't take absolute command over. After they're all managed, he turns to focus on the cube... It's just Ozhira. He feels the urge to say something for a moment, before not exactly knowing what he was about to say. He instead examines the clairvoyant impression of the cube. That one feels almost as brightly burning as the doctor, and in almost exactly the same way. "Oh! Ozhira! Did you already get it? Do we need to bring it back to Dr. Manach, or do we just take it to the destination? Which Concord location is it marked for?" He holds a hand out to the illusory Ozhira, clearly not yet given any reason to be suspicious of the warped perception.
Metamorph One	After a surprisingly cozy ride (the sub-guns track the flying critters only briefly) to their destination, watched over by the nearly forgettable twinkling lights far overhead, Metamorph glides into the foggy glad on inertia, cutting the engine and skimming much like an airboat would in this situation. "Threat probability is zero tone. Ambient?" "I'm checking now . . ." It could almost be taken for part of the illusion, when the star-lights descend from above, and when examined from up close, look like birds or dragonflies made of finely laced threads of glowing glass, with a single metal core. They split up around the glade, carefully combing the trees with their watchful lights; half-following the scattering shapes, but mainly feeding the direct impression of the area back to Elara through the psychic link she controls them with. Surrounded by summoned screens, Elara watches almost none of them, unreflected images flashing in her eyes with sparks of blue. Her expression twitches, faintly, as she focuses on absorbing less the sight and more the psychonarrative residue left by the beings, and radiating from that cube, trying to learn more about where they are. Dianna is currently deadly still, without an imminent threat, though her fingers hover over her sticks like a ronin ready to draw. "So this is what she meant by fae." she murmurs out loud. "Creepy. But if she'd called them something else, would the back of my neck still be prickling?" She glances to one of the panoramic interior monitors showing the outside. At Ozhira. "Oh come on. Don't . . . absorb? The payload. We're retrieving that materiel. I'm not touching it if it's covered in stomach slime."
Persephone Kore	Persephone normally isn't the sharpest, but the transition from 'unpleasant-looking bugs' to 'little winged cherubs' past the fog wall does strike her as odd. It'd be just like fairies to change their appearance, but did they really just multiply like that too? "Hey," she says to the driver, unhurriedly. "You see them too, don't you? The cute little guys." Phony disembarks from the boat onto the swampy water, and her heels clack against its surface as crisply as a marble floor. She takes a step or two towards the swarm and tries to pick out 'one that wasn't there before', using her psychic senses if those could help. Her hand outstretches towards it, inviting it to land on her fingers. But that isn't quite the focal point of her curiosity. That familiar-unfamiliar song, instead, enraptures her a moment later- and she scrutinizes it for its origin. Why are you the way you are?
Ozhira	It's Just Ozhira. The monstrosity's numerous eyes swivel from the Metamorph to Flamel when he addresses them directly. There's even an eye at just the right level for him to be making direct eye contact. The colossal mouth smiles-- translated on the illusion as a Regular Ozhira Smile-- and they declare in their usual voice, "We hunted, successfully." It manages to sound exactly the way a smug cat looks while presenting a mouse it had captured. Fully ignorant to the illusion surrounding them, Ozhira re-arranges their insides and ejects the cube out through their side. The entire crocomaw compresses itself into the Beast's usual human shape, holding the cube out to Flamel in both hands, "We do not know. Can you, find it?" It's not stomach-slimey, but it is covered in a mixture of regular swamp goo and Devourer saliva, which has a vaguely alarming red tinge to it. Ozhira themself, however, has become distracted by Many Small Things Running About, and has already swiveled their attention away from Flamel while still offering the object to him, staring wide-eyed at Things That Scurry.
Veve Joueur	Hiromi crashes into the swamp, the mere fact of her presence demanding submission from the fae. When she calls out, however, the fae only stutter in place for a moment, before continuing to flee. Everyone but Hiromi watches as the childlike fey freeze and cower, slinking back to the Archwolf. One of the fae shouts at Flamel, while running away. "Go back to LAME-O TOWN with your LAME-O paperwork, nerd!" They stick their tongue out and thrust out a hand, in a clear wind up to a middle finger--but then lower it again, and keep running. The source of strong psychic impression is not this box, actually, though it does bear Ezili's imprint. The signal Flamel was following is still deeper in the swamp, approaching by its own will as he stops pursuing. Elara's grasping for psychic residue of the faeries is muddled. It feels like walking through water, as though the entire area is hazy with some sort of distortion, words written over words to obscure them, rather than scribbling. Picking out a single voice in a murmured conversation. What she manages to pick up from them, though, is happiness, the mischievous, playful kind. The driver responds to Persephone lackadaisically, with a casual "Yep.", cutting the engine low to spin the airboat around, retreating behind Phony after she disembarks. The fae buzz around her hands, and reaching out for 'one that wasn't there before' has none of them respond, then all of them respond, pushing against each other to be the first to get to her. The fae don't speak, clicking frantically between each other, occasionally bursting into very human laughter, before one reaches her first, and... snuggles into her hand. o/` We're coming in from the cold, o/` The song is echoed through every bird in the swamp, staggered between them, distorted into chirps, pitched up and down. But still, recognizable. Persephone listens harder, and hears the air itself resonate with the music, the skin of the faerie that she's touching, the water beneath her heels, the sun on her face. o/` Have a look around you there's no-one there, o/`
Veve Joueur	The signal that Flamel is tracing approaches, and the party, poised for an attack, watches as a woman walks out from a tangle of trees and vines, a cloud of fae buzzing around her. She wears a ragged, punk outfit of pink and blue, her long braided hair held back by a pink headband, black combat boots sloshing through the water with steps that would scrape against the ground on land. Most strikingly, her arms and legs are grey, gleaming material, ball-jointed, strongly reminiscent of the dolls scattered around the city. Her torso and face, however, are still deep brown, and she clearly moves of her own volition. The woman stands, frozen for a moment, eyes widened with something, maybe fear. She opens her mouth to speak, and one of the faeries circling her sticks their hand inside, and she chokes. She splutters for a moment, then leans down in a big bow, exposing a large clockwork key on her back. "My sincerest apologies! I am truly, deeply, so sorry for the trouble I've caused you all!" Before she straightens back up, the key on her back begins to spin, and a thin whistling noise emanates from her like a teapot. "You all must be representatives of the Concord, correct? And you came out all the way to find me." Whir, whir, the key keeps spinning. Her voice has a pleasant buzz to it, even when tight with apology; not the sensuality of a purr, or the harsh drone of a chainsaw, but the smooth, reliable buzz of a car you're intimately familiar with. "I am ashamed, but I ask that you allow me to explain my delay. You see, when my airboat was overturned by the quake, I was at first nervous about the fae harrassment that so often plagues this swamp. However, upon meeting them, I realized that they just needed a space to vent their energy, without harming anyone." She waves a hand, and more of that impenetrable fog wisps out of a vent on her arm. The clear water, sparkling with sunlight at her feet, clouds and dims, becoming a spot of night in the swamp. "And... without any excuse, I no longer have a sleep cycle by which to track time. I am sorry." She ducks her head. "I am the Elite Dr. Ezili Manach's contribution to the Concord, Veve Joueur, and I hope to work alongside you all and repair your opinion of me."
Arcadia	That would explain both why things felt off, and why her visor had trouble dealing with the fog. It really was unnatural, in the sense that it was produced by someone rather than the environment. Arcadia shrugs it off, not being one to dwell on less important things for very long. "Pfff. Preventing fae from becoming a problem is a fairly acceptable reason for delay." Tail flick. "Now can we leave?" She's just glad she can hover and not having to stand in the swamp muck directly. "And take her home with us, of course. After letting Dr. Manach know we found her." With the missing 'weapon' found Arcadia is all for leaving, spreading her wings and engaging her magitek thrusters to take off cruising back in the direction they came from New Albion.
Ozhira	Wide, round eyes with tiny pinprick pupils rapidly dart from Fairy to Fairy. Small, skittering things. Thins that run like prey. Things that dart about. Things that must be-- Sloshing and noise. Ozhira's attention snaps towards Veve when she appears. For an alarming moment, it very much has the same energy as looking up and noticing a bear or mountain lion is right there. This intense, predatory stare. It isn't until the newcomer bows that Ozhira's expression returns to what a human might consider normal. They leave the cube with Flamel and approach, circling this new girl. It takes a while for the Beast to cease, propping their hands on their hips, "We see. We understand. We are Ozhira. This name was, the first gift given to us." The Devourer raises one hand, then, wiggling their fingers in a little wave. Their tone is polite, if somewhat disharmonic. The true disaster is the attempt at a smile, which just winds up looking uneasy and nervous while also showing far too many sharp, triangular teeth, "We welcome you."
Hiromi	For those unwilling to challenge the Archwolf, the remaining choice is obedience. This is a result so natural as to go without saying. Contrary to what the doctor had suggested, Hiromi has no interest in fighting the fey. That potential future was contingent on them resisting her establishment of Authority. With them approaching, however reluctantly, they've proven beneath her, and thus, saved from destruction. It's convenient that no one is likely to try destroying them before she leaves and releases them. Explain yourselves. But they may not have to, as Veve arrives and provides her own explanation for being waylaid. The nervous compulsion to satisfy Hiromi's demands will subside so long as the listener believes they have nothing to add. "Veve Joueur." Hiromi's pronunciation is a near-perfect but distorted mimicry, not limited by a native phonology, but still somehow just slightly off, when put into words that can be understood solely as sounds. "I am Hiromi." That issue contrasts with the supernatural clarity of her self-introduction. Layers of overlapping meaning, as of a higher-dimensional space, that can be roughly disassembled into every title, every epithet to describe her. It is a complete image, the three-dimensional object transferred through a two-dimensional medium without losing any of itself. There is no need to ask whether she is the Archwolf, and barely a need to ask what an Archwolf is. "'The quake.' I see. Here, your mistake, 'distraction.' You don't tire? Good. You don't bore? No remembering interrupts you. Thoughts to move." Hiromi stands, returning to her full height, and takes several digitigrade steps forward, coming to take a closer look -- no, definitely 'a scent,' not 'a look.' She's sensitive enough to filter out the swamp smell. "'Weapon.' You were called this. Strange. Not weapon-seeming. 'Offering,' also called. This, you are." The latter presents no feeling of oddity to her. Making offerings of young woman is perfectly normal in many worlds, especially to allegedly powerful and distantly unknowable forces.
Flamel Parsons	"Miss Joueur! Lovely meeting, lovely knowing. The name's Flamel Parsons, agent of a vague yet menacing government agency!" Flamel continues his levitation to approach her. "We've been looking for you! Seems like you got out of the box alright, I was worried. Wow, is that really a winding key?" He gestures back. "We've got airboats! We should get you out of that horrible water. And don't worry about opinions!" Flamel Parsons smiles and gives a thumbs up. "You're definitely the nicest thing I've ever pulled out of a swamp!" He offers a big, partially translucent telekinetic hand to hoist Veve up onto his boat to join him, once he leads it here or leads her back. "Top five at least. And I pull lots of things out of swamps. These are some good-looking prosthetics! What can you do?" He keeps looking her over like he wants to see every part disassembled and reassembled but he's just being so polite and friendly. It's fine. It's fine. "What's Dr. Manach like? What all did she put in you, you think? How do you feel, as a contribution like this? She seems to care about you a lot, or at least she seems to think you're very important. What's a good type of place for you to rest at? Just a standard residence? Dorado should have some great digs, we even have the kind where there aren't so many surfaces to get pinched in joints. And I have a lab there! Say, if you want, you could stop by, and..." He continues rambling the entire ride back, unless she stops him.
Persephone Kore	Persephone beams and covers her mouth for a laugh when the fairy snuggles into her hand. She holds it as gently as she holds everything else; her thumb carefully strokes over its head, and her telekinesis mirrors the sensation onto all the others that crowded around her for affection. She very likely still has a small crowd of them about her when Veve reveals herself. "Oh, you've been taking care of them? Ahaha, don't be sorry at all!! You're doing amazing! Aren't they so sweet?" Phony holds out the one in her palm, showing it off like it's an award. Again, her heels clack-clack over the marshy ground. "Contribution to the Concord? So we get to keep you?" The glimmer in her eye is a little dangerous. She could hardly sound happier. "Thank you so much, Veve. From one lab-made girl to another, I think you'll like it here a whole whole lot." "Although..." Persephone comes up a few paces short, but holds out her arm-warmer-clad hand to shake. "Is that even right, 'lab-made'? You're sort of alive too, aren't you? But maybe also sort of a ghost? And you said you don't sleep 'anymore'."
Metamorph One	After a brief talk on the radio, and some careful double checking, Elara leans back in her seat and sighs with relief. She keys the radio motionlessly. "I think it's fine. Dianna, you're not sensing anything, correct?" "Yeah. No impending." "All I'm picking up is . . . They just think the payload is interesting. I don't read any particular malicious intent." An uncomfortable pause. "But . . ." "This isn't what it looks like. Maybe be glad of that." The both of them are able to breathe a little easier when their missing 'materiel' reveals herself. "Oh, well, scratch that. Payload upgraded to VIP." "Aww, she's so cute too!" For politeness' sake, this is where the hatch finally pops, so that the two can greet her visibly. "Quake? We didn't hear anything mentioned about that. We're glad to know that you're okay! You aren't damaged in any way, are you? If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Dianna looks at Hiromi, however. "Yeah, that's on my mind too. Considering what we've seen already." She trails off to stare at Phony instead. "I think you're giving the lab too much credit. Or at least, if you're lab made, I need to ask them for one for me."
Persephone Kore	Phony looks back over her shoulder at Dianna, wearing a warm but bittersweet smile. "Maybe. But I didn't even know who I was until they taught me. That child was raw material. Isn't that almost the same?" Her smile sharpens. "Hey, why do you want one of me, though? Doesn't Elara tease you enough?"
Veve Joueur	Veve nods to and greets Arcadia and Ozhira in turn, the worry on her face crinkling up into a smile to match Ozhira's. It doesn't make her look any less worried. The Archwolf towers over Veve, and she staggers back a step in alarm, steam squealing out of her arms. "Pleasure to meet you, Hiromi. Miss Archwolf." Despite her eyes being wide open in fear, her voice is steady when responding. "I am indeed a weapon, though here I have no appropriate target to demonstrate such. It is, however, what I am made for." The name's Flamel Parsons, agent of a vague yet menacing government agency! This comment cracks Veve's anxious face into a lopsided smile, and the buzz in her voice becomes more prounounced with amusement. "I believe we may find common ground there, Mr. Parsons." His following flurry of questions catches her off guard, and she dazedly responds to a few of them, absolutely never denying him the ability to ask. "I can do many things, though Ezili--Dr. Manach--switches them around too often for me to ever remember what, exactly. Ah, uh, she is a kind person. The kindest, and smartest, and greatest, that I have ever known." Veve turns to Persephone next, taking the offered hand and softening at the aura. "She is also the person responsible for my ability to meet you all here today. She saved my life, and built me back up, though I would never reduce her accomplishments to just that. In that sense, you could call me "lab-grown", then." When Veve boards the airboat with Flamel, the illusory scenery around her begins to evaporate, fading back to reality in fuzzy patches. The night is blinding, compared to the midnight sun that your eyes had adjusted to, and the fae all become insectoid again, buzzing away. "They didn't mind either way, but I thought it was cute." She giggles to herself. Veve turns to Elara and Dianna, holding a ball-jointed hand up to her mouth. "You're all giving me such a warm welcome, and after I caused you so much trouble. Thank you all, really! I'm very much looking forwards to getting to know you and fighting along side you, as a weapon of the Concord!"