Scene #8242: Symposium A: Afterlife

Owner	Pose
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Raise the baton. A large brick building sits on the outskirts of an urban center. A bustling college town with a distributed campus, mismatched architecture and tree cover extends out along unplanned streets like capilliaries on a leaf. Neither the name of the city, nor the name of the world, has any relevance. What does, though, is the name of the building: Torneld Hall. It remains on the backswing of the ever-eternal renovation and modernization cycle that all school buildings slowly trudge through; an estimate would place the current fixtures as being from the 80's, though the building itself appears much older. Worn grey carpet, wooden siding, cheery flyers with modern, but amateur, graphic design posted on doors and boards, advertising clubs, financial aid, jobs working for the bus system. It is a place that feels intimately familiar to anyone who has ever taken a university course. It is cold and grey outside, but the old steam radiators keep the building as warm as anything. The passages and classrooms inside are not empty. Students and professors alike wander, embroiled in their own microcosms of struggle and mundanity. The more esoteric-looking Elites arriving would receive lingering glances, though they aren't filled with distrust in the way a newly-integrated world's might be. Only one person's arrival draws none whatsoever. A sheet of paper is taped to a poorly-marked door a few corridors in: Reserved for lecture by Dryclean Sigint 4:00Pm-2:00AM. The empty lecture hall itself isn't massive. It sits about a hundred, terraced seats facing a podium and a projector screen. The height of the ceiling seems to be a bit optimistic, extending an additional story up; reasonable for a larger hall, but slightly liminal in one of this size. The open speaking floor at the bottom has a rack of miscellaneous electronics placed haphazardly and plugged into the wall. If it weren't for a passing similarity to the event's proprietor, it would just be another thing the eyes glaze over, though. Attending to it, in a crimson turtleneck and their ubiquitous black leather overcoat, is DRYCLEAN. As people begin filtering into the room, they finish with whatever adjustments (apparently, arbitrary dial movement and tapping the sides of every device) they were doing and stand up, slowly meandering over to the podium. They procure a cheap plastic folding chair and set it up, though as they casually sit down in it, their monumental stature means they remain at about the right height to use the lectern properly. And there they remain, for a few minutes, legs crossed and hands tapping along the side of the chair.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	They suddenly check a blank wrist, and lean forward. Two taps on the microphone; feedback. They turn it off, and static suddenly washes through the speakers in the room, quiet but persistent. Anyone with an audible device close to their head would notice that the static is mirrored through that as well. Anticipation. They wait for everyone to be seated, or equivalent, and then some. And then, pouring through the speakers despite the disabled microphone and in that awfully discordant overlap of clipped voices - "Greetings, folks. Glad everyone could make it, ha ha." "If y'don't know me, the name's DRYCLEAN-SIGINT. I'm a radio LAUNDROMAT-OPERATIVE operator, fresh t'this whole circuit, been havin' a great time learnin' about you folks and your worlds." "If y'showed up here, y'read the advertisement, but a quick refresher don't hurt nobody. We're talkin' death, today, or more specifically what comes after, ha ha. Ghosts, afterlives, oblivion, all that jazz. You folks were all selected because you either got experience on the whole business or a desire t'learn more about it." "Now, I ain't here t'just stand up here and talk your ears off. Brought all you fine fellas around t'give your own thoughts on the topics at hand, and I ain't denyin' that I'm here mostly t'do nothin' but listen and keep things movin' all smooth-like." At this, they point a clicker at the electronic setup next to them. Switchboards flare to life and tube televisions crackle with static, before the projector in the room also turns on. The image projected is... unintelligible. It morphs, slowly, reminiscent of neural-network produced imagery, never producing a cohesive picture but still implying concepts. Death. Ghosts. A body which retains life when it shouldn't. Experiences, the loss thereof. Division. It makes the eyes hurt, but only slightly. "Now, I got visual aids runnin'. I reckon I'm pretty good at guessin' what you folks want displayed up on the big screen, but if I ain't got a clue I'll pull y'aside to ask." They press another button on the clicker, and the image stops gently moving, before flickering to static. "And that'll conclude my lil' spiel. Let's get into it, ha ha. If any of you want t'take the stage and give a run-down on their cosmology, be my guest, otherwise I got a compiled set of questions to ask the room. Have at em'." With that, they stand, scraping their chair backwards, and wait expectantly with their hands folded on the lectern. The tune begins.
Rita Ma	Rita, huddled against the brisk weather in her red jacket and charcoal skirt, blends right in as a native. She even stops to look at the fliers, carefully examining the clubs as if there's any chance she'll be back here. Her only unusual feature is- most people don't carry a lunchbox on a college campus, do they? "So this is what it's like," she murmurs in gentle awe, to nobody in particular. Arriving a bit early, she gives her host a sunny little wave: "Hi, Operator Dryclean! Thank you for running this!" Then she opens her lunchbox on the table and starts picking at her food with metal chopsticks: it looks a whole lot like sashimi, though if asked, she'd call it hwareo-hoe instead. It's all gone by the time things kick off properly. "I guess I'm mostly here to learn," she admits with a little embarrassment. "I handle these things a little bit-" what does that mean?- "but I don't know anything about the systems. So it's just responsible to find out more, right?" Rita shuts her lunchbox and puts it under her seat, then looks around anxiously, waiting to see who'll be the first to speak up properly. It's easy to tell that classrooms aren't a familiar environment for her.
Raziel	Raziel has decided to show up, mostly due to curiosity and an interest in what this strange metal person was up to. What is different about Raziel now is that he isn't the blue demon-looking creature he was before. Instead of inhabiting what might be better described as a corpse, he has pale skin, an entire jawline this time, and black hair. His frame is lithe, but muscle is apparent on a body that has long lost its ability to develop itself. He is dressed in a pair of leather pants, and a white shirt with a vest over it. He does not wear a hat, but his hair is cut short and parted down the middle with locks over both sides of his face. He also wears a cloth with an insignia on his right shoulder, sort of like a half cape. His hands are not normal human hands but instead claws with three digits. His feet are only covered around the soles and up the leg itself, leaving the claws that are his feet uncovered as well. His back spouts two bat-like wings, that hang down instead of the tattered wings he bore before. 'Strange surroundings and people swirled around me. A human college was not something I was used to, even when I was a human. Classically trained, but by the church of my home rather than outside of the clergy. It had an energy to it, of learning and discovery that I almost envied.' Entering the classroom he sat down at the front. He did not lean back but instead kept himself in good posture, if not slightly leaned forward. Listening to DRYCLEAN make introductions and also annoying him with that screeching. Raziel did not hide his annoyance at the noise he was forced to hear. 'I do not know if this 'DRYCLEAN' means to intentionally assault our eyes and ears with his setup, but I was half tempted to suggest that he instead allow the Concord to set up any future symposiums of this type. If only to save my ears the trouble.' He stands up when a speaker is called for. "Greetings, I am Raziel, I come from the land and world of Nosgoth. Our life and death cycle is a bit of an insane one compared to others I have heard, so I will do my best to describe it and answer any questions for you." "First, our creator deity is a nameless 'god' that considers himself the hub of the wheel of life and death. To me, he looks more like a giant squid monster. Souls he eats, or fed to him by his 'angels of death' or more accurately called 'Soul Reavers' are sent to him. According to him, this cleanses the soul of its former life, and sends it to its next host." "There are problems with this cycle. Creatures with immortality, even when slain or separated from their body can not be processed in this way unless found and consumed by a soul reaver. Souls that manage to escape recapture in the underworld are slowly corrupted into various forms. Some are but annoying parasites and others are more dangerous creatures. All of them feed off of other souls." "Our said god is also known to control fate as well and is said to know the death of every creature, assuming it is not removed from the cycle of death and rebirth. Vampires in my world are one such creature, immortal and unable to die naturally. Their souls must be devoured to be returned. Older and more powerful vampires are even more dangerous and harder to return. My brothers, for example, took great effort to return, and in return, I was granted the strength of their soul." "Beyond this, the ancient vampire race, to which we are descendants is hard to find in the current era of my home. From what I am led to believe Soul Reavers are not made commonly, and none have survived...but a lack of my ancient kin or their spirits lead me to believe that not all is as is said."
Lilian Rook	Lilian has taken . . . university? Courses. She is in a university? right now. It is abundantly clear that the two establishments must be like Earth and Mars, just going by the faintly bewildered and slightly uncomfortable posture about her; an echo of an echo of a rich person seeing litter on an unfamiliar street and suddenly fearing being mugged. It is also slightly less abundantly clear that she can't really differentiate the facade from the furnishings from the decor, in terms of temporal placement. She remarks on something disatasteful about 'old-world construction' and moves on without a care for the particulars that anything built in the 80s did not use brick and mortar walls and vector graphic decorations. Cold and grey, though, Lilian knows. She's unfortunately spent a lot of time in England. Dressed poshly enough to feel comfortable with attention from the masses, Lilian lingers just slightly on the door tag, wanders up to the middle center row and column by thoughtless automatic habit, very nearly raises her hand, frame cancels the gesture, and leans forward to very intently ask "Beg pardon, but is Sigint actually your surname? I was never quite certain, going by the callsign."
AME	AME is one of the first to arrive, and in her typical style, waves enthusiastically with both arms at every new face. Despite that, she seems atypically subdued in most of her other mannerisms. Her clothing's a lot more subdued and formal than its usual rainbow-vomit excess, though it's still considerably bright, and certainly not as dark as funeralwear.
Trudy Grimm	Cold weather does little to dissuade the Paladins' foremost authority on Dead Things. Some time after the others have arrived, the doors are pushed open fully. Holding her hands out to either side, it is the immutable Trudy Grimm with a broad shark-toothed smile on her face. Her garb is the same as ever, a mix of leathers and furs and suedes with huge collected gatherings of beads and charms dangling from every which way; ceramic, clay, some are clearly even carved bone. From her right arm, hanging by a strap, is Malice, the Grimoire of Despair. Bound shut with a silver buckle and, itself, decorated with beads and charms hanging from leather cords. Lowering her hands, the witch quietly slinks her way to a seat while Raziel speaks his piece. The chair she chooses is approximately 3 rows down and slightly to the left of where Lilian Rook has placed herself. Despite her casual demeanor, this seems deliberate.
Hellwarming Trio	Joining those gathered at Torneld Hall is a single yokai from a distant hell, far from home and floating around the school building to get a better look at the unfamiliar architecture. Keeping her hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket (blue, new and with bits of down sticking out), she does a once around before floating on down to the entrance, greeting AME with a light curtsey and long stare once she's close enough to realize she's not looking at a human. "Thank you for the invitation. You're..." She just stares at AME for several long seconds, as if trying to process all of this new visual info. After a little while, the red eye over her heart blinks once, and then she tries to mimic that double armed wave, albeit somewhat stiffly, before shuffling her way inside while smoothing out the hem of a loose skirt (pink, the usual one). None of this place is familiar to Satori in the slightest. She's taking a bit too long staring at one of those ads for bus system jobs, and she eventually just takes a picture of it on an orange-yellow phone with a weird eye on it before heading further in to the main room where today's event is set to actually start. DRYCLEAN's appearance, naturally, gives her reason to just pause and stare. Can she even read this... This? She'll try, certainly, just to know if she can rather than seeking actual content, but she'll give up before long if/when there's too much noise to bother trying to sift through any of it. Nevertheless, she greets the monitor-headed figure with a polite curtsey and nod when the subject of today's thing comes up. "Thank you for the invitation. I'm curious about how other people around-" She winces slightly at the lights, trying not to show that it's bothering her (and failing). "-the Multiverse see it, especially since so many Elites have closer brushes with it far more than anyone else." Rita, too, gets a courteous nod and curtsey, and then an incredibly hypocritical question: "You seem younger than most humans I've seen around. Are you... Lost?" The look on her face (mostly from glancing around slowly, like she's looking for someone that came with her) suggests she's really hoping Rita isn't lost. Raziel's appearance, meanwhile, has Satori squinting and considering his appearance as well as what he says. It's not a judgmental stare, at least, although she is staring rather intently at him. "Few things spoken of in such a way are exactly as they're said to be, no... Have you met this god before? Or are they the more secretive sort to go with their reputation for controlling and knowing so much?" Lilian is probably the most familiar face to her here, though, and it doesn't take long before Satori just kind of gravitates over that-a-way. It gives her a bit to think about, too, as she ends up following up on that question. "And does SIGINT mean anything in particular? I'm not familiar with that word, so..." Satori trails off as she spots Trudy, taking in her appearance slowly and slowly processing what she's seeing before giving her an intrigued and almost affirming nod without actually saying anything. It's also a reminder for her to pick a seat herself, opting for one on the side of the room. Not quite all the way in the back, but not all the way up front.
Rita Ma	Rita pats the seat next to her, beaming: "Ms. Rook! Come here!" That's spoken in a stage whisper out of respect for Raziel's lecture. She's learning! "And hi, Ms. AME!" Last time let her put a face to the voice. "You're looking really nice today!" Once she focuses on Raziel's talk, it starts giving her some visible heebie-jeebies. A recurrent half-wince crosses her face every time he mentions eating souls, though she doesn't expound on why. "Is all that... okay?" she finally asks, visibly lost. "I mean, it's not a problem that you have to solve. It's just the way things are?" In the aftermath of the revenant's talk, between the questions and the answers, Rita's able to answer Satori. "I'm twenty-one!" She seems proud, rather than indignant. "No, this is the meeting-hall for the discussion. Are you lost? If you're not human, this is probably where you meant to be, isn't it?"
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Though their monitors don't move in the same way one might move a head, DRYCLEAN gives the impression of nodding along to Raziel's explanation. Perhaps it's conveyed through hand movements in sync with conversation beats; perhaps it's just a feeling you get from the static. Morphic imagery snaps to view on the projector, displaying representations of the squidlike 'god', Nosgoth symbology regarding the cycle, a representation of the only remaining Soul Reaver, a vampire. "Now, that's quite a dynamic system. Appreciate sharin' your thoughts on it; off to a strong start, ha ha. If your, ah, quote unquote god got an inklin' of how folks die, does that make your world mostly predestined? Reckon that's where the immortals come in, though." There's a pause, apparently to think for a moment, their hand quietly tapping on the podium. "You don't seem too certain 'bout a lot of the particulars of the cycle proper. Y'ever seen one of these, ah, laundered souls pass on to another fella? There any reports of folks findin' tidbits about their old lives?" A sharp grin coalesces. "Now, I ain't intendin' these as faith-shakin' questions or tryin' t'say you ain't reliable. Just somethin' to consider, ha ha." "And, pal, I ain't doin' things the way I am because I like watchin' folks grimace in that way you got goin' on. Just how I operate, ha ha. Don't rightly trust the Concord to do it better."
Raziel	Raziel answers Satori first, "Yes. I met him the moment he forced me to resurrect and forced me into the shattered remains of my corpse. Thankfully, Xion has saved me from that fate," he says with some warmth towards the Hero of Hearts. "As for secretive, he is impossibly hard to reach normally, but in his presence all he does is nag. I have known those to love the sound of their own voice, but he is something else." Raziel is more sensitive to Rita's discomfort but smiles at her despite things. "No it is not okay, I believe. I have reason to believe there is more than what he says, but regardless the thing he wants me to do, and the thing I want to do, align. Once that is finished, I think he'd likely show his true nature. I do know he has worshipers among the living." To DRYCLEAN, he shakes his head, "I am certain of those particulars. I know I consume souls, I know they go...somewhere. I am less certain outside of Nosgoth. As for seeing them pass on to another person, I have not. Humans are... incredibly uncommon in Nosgoth, and I doubt any living human would let me come within a mile of their kin." "Not that I am aware of, in regard to past lives. There are parts of the system I am in the dark on because when the system is a god with a large mouth, it's hard to see the entire process as it should be," Though he pauses, noticing that DRYCLEAN is speaking something that he had thought. 'It seems I will have to keep my thoughts closer to my chest.' "We shall have to disagree on that point."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Satori passively reads minds, and would be quite acquainted with the general sound of being in a crowded room full of people. Worse. It's like endless voices entire cities one person something incorrect. It muddles into an overwhelming mental static; it's enough that it might even knock someone untrained unconscious. Satori, though, is competent. Certain trends, and one louder voice, can be picked out from the ocean: GOOD TO HEAR THAT ALL SORTS OF NECROMANCERS ARE HERE. good to hear that all sorts of soul cleaners are here. THIS WILL BE USABLE. this will make things easier.
Hellwarming Trio	"You're doing well, then. You look young age for your age. " Satori replies to Rita with a slow nod, looking somewhat surprised herself when she's asked that return question. Luckily, Rita follows it up with the not-human thing, and it gets easier to assume that the eye on her heart is what gave it away. "I'm not lost, but you're right. I wanted to find out more about other views on death and the afterlife while the girls were out." She forgets to actually explain who 'the girls' are. Instead, she looks up and over at Raziel at his explanation of how he came to be stuck in his corpse, and she furrows her brow after a moment. "What a pain. I guess gods can be fickle like that, though, or... I've heard they can be, indeed." She says with a slow nod, then raises an eyebrow at the name drop. "Ah, you know Xion as well? I didn't know she had that kind of power." As she comments and replies, however, Satori finds her gaze drifting over to DRYCLEAN every now and then as more of relevant thoughts eventually bubble to the surface. Those are certainly some interesting thoughts reaching her, although she doesn't seem worried. In fact, she's even giving them some intrigued and vaguely knowing looks while trying to be subtle about it! It's Satori, though, and her subtlety isn't quite there yet. It might just look like she's staring at DRYCLEAN really, really hard and shifting her eyebrows like she's trying deliberately to catch their attention.
Rita Ma	The idea that it is 'a problem to be solved' mollifies Rita, a little. Even if nothing's changed about the situation, it's nice to hear someone else say that it's messed up, right? She slumps forwards onto her crossed arms and gives Raziel a weak smile. "That's good, I think? Whatever big mission it is that you're on, I hope it goes okay. It sounds like you've been through a lot, but..." She trails off into a sympathetic grimace before finding her verbal footing again. "Thank you for trying to make the world a better place?" Satori gets her to poke up a little. "Huh? 'Other' views... so you know a lot about things like this already, right? Do you think you could give a little talk, too? I'd love to learn. Especially if your world is nicer than Mr. Raziel's." Rita fidgets with a pen- why'd she bring one if she wasn't going to do any note-taking?- and chews the inside of her cheek. A thought occurs to her. "Ms. Rook, don't you have a lot of ghost friends? Were you going to talk, or are you just here to learn too?"
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	The deluge doesn't stop. GIVEN NAME. surname. WONDER WHY THEY DON'T QUESTION HOW I DON'T KNOW THEIR CULTURES. wonder why they don't question why i don't know their cultures. THEY KNOW I'M NOT SAYING EVERYTHING. it's good they know i'm not saying everything. CAN HEAR THAT THE MIND READER KNOWS SOMETHING. can see that the mind reader knows something. HOW'S IT GOING SATORI. how's it going satori. FINE DAY TO BE OUT OF HELL. FINE DAY FOR SOME PLOTTING. At this, their thoughts become... regimented, in a certain sense of the way. The static coalesces into something more legible; dissonance harmonizes. You could almost pretend there's only two voices left, after some time. AME has the feeling of being watched, in a particular way. Not prying, perhaps, but there's a sense of curiosity. There is a more direct visual of attention given, though, as following the comment over using the 'proper name', DRYCLEAN reaches up and manually adjusts their primary monitor, monochrome grin still shifting slightly upon it, to face Lilian (and Rita, due to indistinct gaze) directly. It remains in that position regardless of who they're speaking to. They run a hand across the side of the podium, slowly.
Trudy Grimm	The witch hums thoughtfully, resting the Grimoire on the armrest-desk of the seat she's taken up and placing her hand on top of it-- posessively, almost. Her free hand lifts to acknowledge Satori, though her mind is rather Void-like at a glance. One leg folds over the other, kicking lightly, "The idea that an afterlife is something to be solved isn't... terribly shocking to me. If the legends are to be followed closely enough, I'm quite familiar with a differently hostile time beyond the grave." Her free hand lifts, "Though when a world's myth of creation necessitates that the world itself be crafted from the corpse of a higher being, things are going to get rather grisley either way." Her eyes close, smile broadening, "In a way the world I'm from could itself be classified as an afterlife all its own, though only for the one being. The mortal souls naturally go to other places. Not to be reincarnated, I'll confess. That's a rather interesting difference."
Raziel	Raziel nods once to Rita, having known she is a kind soul. Kinder than he is at least. Though the words 'I hope your mission to kill your vampiric father goes okay' gives him some pause. He sighs, and smiles at her, "Me too, my lady. Me too." He takes a step off the stage and sits down again. It would be difficult to explain to such a young child that my mission...my desire right now was to send the fetid soul of Kain to where it belonged. What came after that was not so important until I achieved this much. To a degree, it would save Nosgoth, but what came next was still nebulous.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN leans forward at Trudy's explanation. "Livin' on slash in an, ah, god's corpse, huh? Sounds like anythin' happenin' there's gonna be rightly messy, ha ha. You folks over there got more end-of-the-line afterlives, then?" "Seems like an easier sorta thing t'uphold, if space ain't a worry. I heard y'got some experience with things along the transport there-n'-back angle. How's that go down with a more bounded place for souls t'end up?"
Lilian Rook	Lilian breaks from her 'center of the teacher's field of vision'-bound reverie only at Rita's whispered voice. She blinks and turns in such a way that indicates she had not been entirely conscious of the direction her feet had chosen, and, also, that she is pretty sure she's never heard Rita whisper before, actually. Thinking about it for just a second, Lilian diverts course and seats herself near Rita. To do otherwise would be an act of rejection. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Surname. You folks got cultures that put a family name front-ways, don't you? Consider it like that, ha ha. More of a given name." <J-IC-Scene> Trudy Grimm says, "Rebirth through consumption, hmm... How positively ghoulish it must be to possess immortality in such a realm." <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "Oh! So does that mean there's other Drycleans?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "So 'Dryclean' is the family name-equivalent?" <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Could take that as a way of seein' it, ha ha." <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Makes for a bit, ah, simpler shorthand." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Oh, good." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I wasn't certain I was using it correctly." <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "Oh! You mean the thing where you only use first names for people you like, Ms. Rook?" <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Ha ha. Ever polite." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Why don't we just focus on the lecture, Rita?" <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "Mmmm! Okay." Lilian is only really familiar with Raziel through having briefly crossed paths at Sapient Heuristics, and incidental contact through the operation in the train graveyard years ago. It's the most she's heard him speak at length. Just the arrangement of being in a seat, viewing a podium, causes her to sit up straighter evince more attention paid than she normally would. Her hand gently slides back and forth over the empty desk space, repeatedly finding nothing there. She's vaguely trying puzzle out whether Raziel is simply being bitter and dismissive with 'squid god with a big mouth', or largely literal, when Rita prods her again. Ms. Rook, don't you have a lot of ghost friends? "Family." she corrects, automatically. "I grew up with ghosts. It's sort of what happens, in a house like that." Lilain finally tilts her cheek against her splayed fingertips. "My first mentor was a ghost. Do you remember her? She's my direct ancestor, from long before people even invented schools like this." Lilian sighs. "I spent more time with them than my living family, honestly. Calling them 'friends' feels a bit . . . reductive?" 'Were you going to talk, or are you just here to learn too?' That question is ringing in her head. Lilian glares misgivingly at the projector, displaying Raziel's internal monologue. "What about you?"
AME	AME's mind is projected in quite different of a tone than her voice is. Though she's largely quiet, primarily only fussing with the cuff of one of her sleeves and listening intentfully, her thoughts are loud. It feels like a deluge of commentary from thousands of the faceless, but the voices are all the same. xxxxxx: Composition is key. They can see you. xxxxxx: whats dryclean doign? xxxxxx: ur not pushing hard enough make sure u have a little bit of spotlite even if its drycleans thing xxxxxx: x3 gosh there really are so many strange types here! sooo hard to guess what they want though 3: xxxxxx: Wouldn't it be messed up if they could hear you? xxxxxx: No, really, what's DRYCLEAN's actual plan? xxxxxx: frustrating 2 figure them out but u have 2 know dont u
Trudy Grimm	"Oh, no, it's not such as that," Trudy's eyes open but turn upward in thought as she recites a rhyme that some in this room had heard her speak before: Three were the brothers; three were the gods In a world of giants conspiring how to turn the odds. They slayed the very oldest. The one who was the first Within the flowing blood every giant was submerged These waters of decay would never cease to flow Creating every sea and every river that we know And while the giants drowned the gods got the idea To take the corpse of Ymir and make the earth appear Her eyes close here and she leaves off the rest of the stanza, shifting out of her sweet-like singing voice back to her regular speaking tone, "The world is as you'd expect it to be. Stone and soil, sea and sky. Ymir was a living aspect of primordial chaos, crafting his remains into other things, I imagine, was an easy thing to do." Her fingers shift, tracing across the markings embossed into the Grimoire's leather binding, "As for your other question~..." The witch shrugs, "I primarily work with lingering spirits. Ghosts who have yet to move on. They lurk in the places they've died in. Some seek revenge, some seek closure, some seek peace, some feel bound by duty or loyalty. Some don't even realize they've died. Those are the souls I talk to." She lifts her free hand again, gesturing, "Those who've been chosen as Einherjar by the Allfather are taken from the place of their death to his Great Hall. Those who have moved on but remain unchosen are seized by the Mistress of Decay. Each is building their army, destined to clash at the dawn of the End of the World."
N'Raha	Dressed in warm Ishgardian leathers and furs, a certain Berserker Catman has found himself at a symposium on the afterlife as well. N'raha is set over near one of the radiators, as one would expect a cat to do, he's found the warmest place in the room and Occupied It. His good ear flicks as people talk about their experiences, and he certainly perks up at Trudy's mentions of the Einherjar and the All-Father. He's been told more than once his form of battle mirrors those old sea-borne warriors, and he looks slightly happy to hear Miss Grimm mention the old stories. A look to Rita and Lilian, conferring together, to Raziel being the literal Reaper, and.... AME and DRYCLEAN up in the front. He tosses a quiet salute to the pair of constructs and settles in to gather warms, and information.
Rita Ma	Rita returns Raziel's smile, oblivious to the troubled thoughts behind it. When Lilian talks, it drops to an apologetic little frown. "Oh. You're right. Of course I remember Ms. Aobheil! She was really..." 'Nice' doesn't quite work. "... She's kind, and she cares about you a lot. I thought that was really nice." "What about you?" "I don't really know anything about the afterlife. I'm just here to learn," Rita says, a tiny bit embarrassed again. "Though, I think I might just to ask a question. If nobody else is taking the stage right now, then..." Rita slips around Lilian to walk up to the lectern. When she turns around to face the 'class', she's still fidgeting with her skirt- just a droplet of anxiety. "Where you're from, do ghosts ever talk to people in dreams?" Her lips press together as she weighs whether to elaborate. "A couple of times, when things have been really bad for me, I'd see my mom in a dream, and she'd comfort me. She died when I was born, so I never knew what she looked like, but... in the dream, I saw her face." Her back is turned to the screen. She doesn't see her thoughts forming a projection of an indistinct, almost angelic blonde figure, leaning towards the viewer. The edges of the shifting screen are tinted inexplicably glistening red. "Is that something that can happen, or is it just a dream? And how would I know?"
Hellwarming Trio	"Somewhat. I know about my own world's hells, although everything above that is the domain of everyone else that works there." Satori explains briefly at first, getting a slight hitch in her breathing when Rita actually asks her to give a talk. "Ah, you're... Interested? O-of course you would be." She's trying to sound aloof, but she totally isn't. She's visibly holding in her excitement, but she's also straining a bit as more of those thoughts keep coming at her. "Once there's a chance to, I'll explain what I can." It's too hard to ignore, even with her experience in just filtering things out. It becomes impossible when she hears her name in the back of her head, but she actually seems to calm down once it's all but spelled out to her in those thoughts. She actually even manages to crack the slightest of smiles, although she quickly hides it with a light throat-clearing. DRYCLEAN can easily tell, though, that she's glad to finally hear someone else that can hear things like this, lack of plotting on her end notwithstanding. It's just a nice change of pace. AME gets a slight smile, too, although Satori doesn't say anything in regard to what she's hearing in the back of her head. When she thinks nobody's looking, though, she flashes AME a quick thumbs up, almost as if she's trying to encourage her to do something! Raziel's inner monologue being on display, though, means Satori doesn't even have to resort to mind-reading to try and figure out what he means, instead just using the power of regular reading to do exactly that. She looks uncertain on how to proceed at first, then takes a page out of her pets' book and states bluntly "Strengthen your resolve by preparing first. Then you won't need to worry about what comes afterwards." Trudy's up next to speak, and Satori once again focuses on listening to all of it even if the names prove to be a little harder to follow. "The dead are doomed to fight in their war? Do they... If they perish in that war, are they once again brought back to their gods' sides to rejoin the fight?"
Raziel	'Some who seek revenge.' Raziel's gaze turns towards Trudy for a moment, but the comment wasn't pointed. So she is a necromancer..? Only a few have held that title in their own world. He did not know the last, only that he created his sire, Kain. The projection on the screen from Rita's projection get's Raziel attention. 'The figure before me was strangely beautiful, despite its indistinctness. Strange, though, that the color of blood tints the edges of the screen. Is this more than a dream, or does it speak of a deeper connection between the two..?' Raziel's concentration was broken by Satori's words. He gives her a not-kind look, "If resolve was all I needed, Ma'am, I would have been able to deal with Kain an age ago. It is, as they say, so easy a thing to just think very hard and have happy thoughts about. I assure you, it is not a lack of will that prevents his death."
AME	The faceless thoughts, at Satori's sudden gesture, unite in a sudden gesture of fear- a wordless symbol, repeated on end by the same voice over and over. Externally, there's nothing but a cute wave and head-tilt of confusion. AME turns her attention back to the active speakers. Just listening and learning, for now. For later.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	At the deflection over speaking and the grimace, the grin sharpens. "If you're speakin', Miss Rook, y'oughta give me a heads-up on what y'what displayed. I reckon it'd be a bit outta my field of knowledge." There is not a comment given on why, for whatever reason, the extraordinarily esoteric stories Raziel and Trudy provided had visuals, and Lilian's would not. There is a thought, though: SHE MOVES IN A WAY I CAN'T CONSIDER. she moves in a way that's frustrating to consider. N'Raha receives a two-fingered gesture of greetings as he sits, before DRYCLEAN's hands shift to adjust their antennae. Something flashes through standard communications, with an intended recipient, though Satori would notice as well: "Askin' that question ain't a bad idea, seein' how all these folk are here face-to-face, y'know?" FREAKED HER OUT WITH THE READING. keep things subtle around her.
Trudy Grimm	The creature Raziel is a curiosity, and as he steps down Trudy's eyes follow him for a moment. What a fascinating revenant, positively dripping with alien energies. Whatever animates him is something she hasn't seen before. It must be the God he mentioned. Satori asks her about the war at the Dawn of the End of the World. Trudy's attention leaves Raziel, eyes closing as she simply offers, "Who knows? It hasn't happened yet. But if it's truly the end of the world, what happens to them isn't likely to matter either way." Eyes open again, lifting up to the ephemeral dream cast on screen by Rita's memory. She hums thoughtfully, cradling her chin, "The idea of ghosts haunting people they care about... I haven't come across it myself but I don't see why it couldn't happen. Spirits lurk in all kinds of places, attached to all kinds of things they felt strongly about in life. Their own child isn't out of the question, no?"
N'Raha	A huff of breath behind the group, and then N'raha slips to his feet, his repaired tail swishing a bit from under the heavy coat, as he moves to the front of the group. "Hey, I'm N'Raha, I know.... a few of you." A look to Lilian. "A lot of you I don't, so. Hi." As N'Raha gets up to the lectern, though. instead of faded hazy images in color... his images are in a Sepia Overshade... He works at that good ear, and sighs. "I'm not really sure what I should be saying up here, but I know that DRYCLEAN and others were vaguely interested in my take, so... I do talk with my Creator, on occasion, but She also likes to... provide me..." bludgeon me crosses his mind, loudly. Satori's having a really hard time reading N'raha's brain, there are bits and smidges, but it's all behind a big old wall of that sepia tone and some crystal blue overshades. She can see surface level cat-like thoughts. Nya. Raha breathes. "I've got something called The Echo. It's a.... gift... from my creator, Hydaelyn." THIS at least gets an image on the screen. A massive, world-sized blue shard of pure crystal, pure aether, and pure essence towers over the room, with N'raha and the other Warriors of Light slowly floating in a circle around it. "And we get to see people's... pasts, their thoughts, their dreams. But she also speaks to us, directly. On occasion." A sepia tone image of a cute blonde woman with a kind face. "One of our number is Her Speaker. And she's the one I got to hear about the Lifestream from, though we hear stories and myths about it from... really all of the cultures have similar stories." Raha's shoulders slumps a bit, as he leans on the lectern. "But what I do know is that we are not the first time the Warriors Of Light have been called up by Her, and this will probably not be the last. And I know that there are others who have... shared my soul in the past. She likes certain ones, for some reason, I can't fathom." Glimpses in the sepia of other Warriors, other Paladins, other Adventurers facing great challenges. "...And I can feel them. Hear them, like edges of my being sometimes." He rakes a hand through that salt and pepper hair. "Gods, I don't know. This feels like story time with some of my little sisters." A look to the crowd. "No offense to you all. I mean... I feel a little lost talkin' about me sometimes."
Lilian Rook	Lilian half-smiles at Rita in a way that indicates she is very much surprised, in a faintly pleased way, at her choice of the word 'kind'. "I'm glad that you could have that sort of interaction. That sort of relationship? I wasn't terribly certain of how it would go. It could have been very dangerous." Given the classrom-esque nature of her surroundings (an actual classroom), Lilian refrains from administering headpats, but she does warmly lay her hand on Rita's arm to say "I think of that as more proof that it's easy to like a girl who tries so hard.", releasing only when Rita gets up to talk. An itty bitty orphaned young woman getting up on stage and asking the consortium of professors if her dreams about her dead mother prove that she was loved is usually something so awkwardly heartbreaking that Lilian would find an excuse to be somewhere else. Anyone would, really, or make up a comforting white lie with soulful tears in their eyes. So why does Lilian, even just for an instant, look as if overwhelmed with nauseous unease, right before she clears her throat. "It's atypical for ghosts to do so. The word implies some sort of embodiment, however faint, still remaining attached to earth. It's possible for ghosts that are proximally close to someone to enter their dreams, such as when sleeping in a house that's been haunted, or in rare cases, a person might be the anchor that binds a ghost, and the spirit lingers around them . . ." Lilian contemplates her next words with evident effort. "But it's more common that auspicious dreams of the dead, especially blood relatives or those with a strong connection, don't originate from 'ghosts', but from beyond. A deceased soul that has already passed on, reaching through the veil at the right time, is actually far more likely than being persistently haunted for one's entire life." "Does that help?" asks Lilian, sweet as she can be, telling half-truths as naturally as breathing.
Hellwarming Trio	Raziel's reply startles Satori slightly, and there's a brief hardening of her expression before she starts to see and hear things. It takes her a short while to really process all of it, but once she does finally speak up again, it's with a slightly more somber tone. "My apologies. You have quite a bit of work ahead of you, in that case. If you ever need extra firepower when the time comes..." She pauses, stroking her chin lightly in thought. "I'm sure you have willing allies already, but it couldn't hurt to work out agreements with others for extra firepower." She chuckles lightly, almost as though she thinks she's being slick. AME's expressive response, meanwhile, gets another curious eyebrow raise from the yokai. She's really not sure what to make of all that, but she's still amused nonetheless. Upon hearing that message from DRYCLEAN, though, she abruptly looks away from AME, perhaps mistaking the act of turning her head away entirely with being subtle. I really didn't mean to freak her out. It's just rare to find other people like us. Trudy explains further about the impending war, and Satori nods slowly as it clicks together a bit more. "I see. Unfortunate, but if that's how it works..." There's a slight sag of her shoulders there, and then she perks up again when Trudy mentions hauntings. "Are you able to speak to them? I wonder if any of the dead in your world might even remember if they've died as..." Oh. That's what she was looking at. Following Trudy's gaze to the screen, she sees that figure behind Rita, and that red tint only raises more questions in Satori's mind. With the context of who that's supposed to be, Satori finally speaks up again. "... Yes, it's certainly possible. Rin's mentioned finding lost spirits near their families before, although the odds of any of them making contact after the fact is..." She doesn't finish that thought, but the screen shows what Satori is thinking about easily enough: A red-haired girl with cat and human ears, chattering about something excitedly, then shaking a covered wheelbarrow around and showing the viewer what's underneath. It's hard to see clearly, but whatever's in there definitely isn't pleasant to look at. N'raha steps up, and he explains things about his world as well! Satori raises an eyebrow slightly as she notices that lack of clarity for once, and she quickly filters out what she can't read just in case she gets caught again. It wouldn't be the first time tonight, and she's not about to make things awkward again. Besides, it's cat thoughts. The more interesting stuff is what's being said, anyway. "The dead in your world reincarnate as well, then? It's comforting to know, actually, that so many different places seem to share that..." She makes a vague hand gesture. "... System? Although not all, it seems, if-" She turns to Lilian next, trying to reorganize her thoughts regarding ghosts and those that have already passed on in regards to Rita's mother. "-there are those that have left the cycle already, yet can still influence those in it. Miss Rita, have you ever been told to do anything in those dreams?"
Raziel	Raziel holds Satori's gaze for a moment, but when she apologizes...well he accepts it at that. "It is alright, Lady Satori. I was, perhaps, too harsh in my retort," he says earnestly. "I will overlook this if you will." Raziel considers what she says. 'Others who could help me? In the Concord, I would find powerful allies. In another world, I have a promise of aid when the moment comes. I can not help but overcome this challenge, and see what comes beyond it that I will need allies beyond that. Though her own aid will likely come with strings...' "We can discuss it later, at your convenience. I have all the time in the world."
Rita Ma	"Their own child isn't out of the question, no?" Rita's smile becomes more confident as she absorbs Trudy's answer. The skirt-fidgeting stops; instead she clasps her hands together over her chest. "Thanks, Ms. Grimm. You must be right. It's silly of me to ask a question if there's an answer I wouldn't like, but... it makes me happy to think she's looking out for me." The figure on the screen keeps leaning closer. "... don't originate from 'ghosts', but from beyond." "So you mean..." Rita taps her lower lip, chewing on Lilian's words. "It isn't like she's still here on Earth, but like she's looking down on us from heaven?" A bittersweet smile follows, but more sweet than bitter. "That's what dad said too, now that you remind me. It's nice to think he was right after all." The red glistening border spreads inwards by slow degrees. "... have you ever been told to do anything in those dreams?" Rita's face scrunches up with thought. "No? I don't think..." Then recognition. "Wait, sort of. When I was really really sick once, and I felt like I was fading away... she reminded me of my name, and told me to hold on." Dredging up that memory leaves her with a serene look. Up close, the angelic figure's skin is shot through with dark veins. Then Rita steps away from the lectern, and it fades without her seeing it. By the time she's hopped back up into her chair, rocking her legs with residual giddiness, all trace of it is gone. "That helped a lot, Ms. Rook. Thank you."
N'Raha	Raha takes a breath, and scruffles at his hair again, before putting his cap back on to cover up the busted ear. "I dunno, Miss Satori. I'd call... yeah, there's an effect they can have. Soul memories and stuff like that, but... ugh. There's also lingering grudges and nasties that haven't passed, or get stuck on the way and get hateful about it, or... again, those things from the Void who just plain want to take the aether of the living for their own." A look. "Though I'm guessing you know all about that too. As you said. Similar stories of similar worlds."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	PROCESSED IS A FASCINATING TERM TO USE. processed is a useful term to use. I RECKON IT'S PROBABLY MORE IN THE PAPERWORK WAY. i reckon it's disappointingly more in the paperwork way. RAZIEL MAY BE A GOOD PERSON TO CONSULT. trudy may be a good person to consult. There's a tap on a coat, then a second, and then a brief set of applause. DRYCLEAN's voice once more projects through the whole room. "Folks, I am truly glad all you feel comfortable talkin' about all this business. This has been a fantastic experience, ha ha. I do got an, ah, more general question for the room, though: "When someone dies, out here in th'multiverse, where does their soul end up? Y'think it adheres t'the systems of the place they died, or more along the lines of where they came from? Y'think it could be influenced by some bad actor? Been wonderin' about this for a spell, ha ha. Would like t'hear thoughts." The cabling that comprises their (neck?) pulses slightly as they state this. The projector quickly flashes over to... something. A circle, multicolored spokes extending out, tangling as they grow distant. Some are larger than others, forming loops of their own. Others just end. The circle pulses slowly, the spokes shift - and then it clicks back to static. Probably just normal pan-afterlife symbology. Right?
N'Raha	And Raha is barely stepping away from the lectern, when he turns to point at DRYCLEAN. "That is a very good question and one that irks at me." He huffs and finds a seat somewhere warm again, tucking at his coat a bit more. "I know back home... souls can be waylaid. Captured. Taken out of the cycle deliberately." Thoughts linger on the Tam-Tara Deepcroft... "But I'd like to think that eventually all will be reborn."
Raziel	'The woman on the screen continued to get closer. And closer. That...oddly wasn't something that should be happening? Curiosity gripped me, what could cause this..? Was it a spirit that hung around her..? Then why could I not see or hear it..? Something else was at hand.' Raziel's train of thought was cut off by the screen turning off. Instead, his attention was grabbed by the awful voice of Dryclean again. He stares at it, tilting his head slightly. What a very specific question. 'What a specific question it asked.' "I believe so, there is nothing to say something that is outside the cycle...including another underworld couldn't try to take over another. I imagine such things would be very bad for everyone involved...as for the General Multiverse, I can not say. I just know they go...somewhere. That's it. It is not like I can find out by dying, when I do that I go back to where I died."
Lilian Rook	At some point in the low tension downtime in this sequence of events, Lilian turns to look at AME, folds her fingers to lean her cheek against her knuckles, and watches her with an inscrutable sense of unblinking contemplation. It continues until it's long enough for AME to look directly in her direction, whereupon Lilian gives her a coy little finger-wiggling wave and a smug little telegenic smile, elegantly brushes her hair back over her shoulder, and turns her attention back to the speaker, lacing her fingers under her chin so that she can angle her hairpin and neat scar towards AME's PoV. She practically sparkles. It's so fucking obnoxious. "I'm considering it." she says, evenly, to DRYCLEAN. "If I'd known the format, I would have prepared a presentation ahead of time." Still a perfectly social and well-presented nothing. Micromovements and behavioural links that don't quite go together. Millionths of volts skipping links and popping in and out of neural existence. Later on, she is rapidly starting to think about it, when Rita responds to her. That bittersweet smile makes Lilian want to smile back, but her unwavering fixation on the woman on the screen with the creeping borders makes it difficult to do easily. She confidently states "I'm absolutely certain your mother is looking out for you right now, in whatever form, wherever she is." thus telling the most legendary partial truth of her lifetime. Lilianly silently exhales in relief when the chair switches over. With DRYCLEAN taking point on topic again, she finds it easy to reply. "It's largely impossible to falsify the idea of a central Multiversal process whilst various worlds --most, really-- have no idea what goes on after death. The fact that the rare sorts of experts who make souls and death their business are able to ply their trade in some functional form regardless would indicate that worlds with no knowledge of spiritual mechanics must have previously possessed them in invisible or unveriable form prior to unification." "One would presume that the nature of the circumstances that forged the soul in the first place hold sway over its final resting place. Given that individual worlds often followed separate rules prior to unification, and verifiably continue those patterns without interference --such as the formation of ghosts or reincarnated selves-- and yet allow for external interference, without the place of death within the Multiverse having much effect, I'd conjecture that a 'soul' shouldn't be considered a discretely universal pattern, like a--" Lilian stops and struggles with the dawning recognition that there is no one comparison everyone in the room will understand. "--specific shade or brand of foundation, but rather, but as a narrow class of existence that serves the same specialist purpose, akin to the word 'makeup' instead. If a soul is designed or encoded or formed without any inherent process that propels it to a specific end within its own paradigm, the outcome would be that the Multiverse would fill with functionally inert souls when such worlds unify, and thus theory would lead us to believe that it must have some mechanism for organizing and processing them, as the act of Unification does with everything from land mass to orbital dynamics to language."
AME	xxxxxx: Everyone can hear it. xxxxxx: can hear what? xxxxxx: They love you. Don't worry. xxxxxx: mind readers o-o xxxxxx: Theyre just being friendly ?? xxxxxx: Soooo many interesting powers out here wow. xxxxxx: DW about it only dryclean rly knows xxxxxx: What's wrong with you? She waves back. Aw, her paw has a little heart for a pawpad.
Hellwarming Trio	"Please, rest assured. I've overlooked far worse than a few words." Satori nods lightly at Raziel, and she actually seems to be slightly more at ease than before. "I will be looking forward to that time, then. I can't rule out the possibility of him coming to my Former Hell, after all, and I'd rather be prepared than caught off guard if that ever does happen." Rita reveals a bit more about her past sightings of her mother's something or another, and the image of the angelic figure changes. Satori is trying really hard not to look at it, but it's just so jarring compared to Rita standing right there! Thankfully, it fades once Rita steps away, so she doesn't have to try for too much longer. "Is there significance in your name? N'raha's talk of grudges gets another nod from Satori. "That can happen often as well. Those that died with leftover grudges, those who committed crimes while alive and found their way back to the surface... They're troublesome for the living as well as us, although even they have their uses sometimes. If not for them, I might still be staying at home quietly right now." Eventually, it's Satori's turn to speak! She bows formally to the group, and then she clears her throat before starting. Her projected images mostly involve a taller version of herself directing a black raven with a big yellow eye on its chest and a black cat with two tails. "In my world, those that perish must cross the Sanzu River to be judged. The specifics of that would be better covered by experts in that field, and reincarnation is it's own matter entirely, but in short..." She certainly sounds like she doesn't care to explain it that much, but she's going to do it a little anyway! "People are judged to be sinners or not, and that determines whether they'll be reincarnated or sent to the Netherworld or Hell." Helpfully, an image appears showing that there's three tiers of sinners (NONE, LIGHT, and VERY) corresponding with those three categories (and Satori, the cat, and the bird in that same order). "Should someone be sent to Hell, their soul is imprisoned and tortured for a time until they're released. Or... They should be, but I've heard there's been changes due to budgetary constraints, so it may be a little different from other Hells you might have seen." The image is hazy, but it looks like there's vague outlines of street carts and concession stands. "A long time ago, though, all sinners used to come to Former Hell. My pets and I still work there now, but Hell's operations had to move closer to the river due to..." The screen depicts various yokai, oni, and even spirits just partying it up. "... Overcrowding." Helpfully, though, neither her nor the raven and cat are shown in that image. "Still, we process the worst sinners there even today, and their corpses are what we use to ensure that the fires are always burning in the reactor." The raven takes center stage there, showing up with a funky stone-covered leg and a big bronze-y looking rod that might be familiar to anyone that knows stuff about nuclear energy. "It's all quite fascinating to watch if you can withstand the heat, and I'd recommend it if you ever happen to come by. Some of our more enterprising residents even have human goods and merchandise for sale, if that's to your liking."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN checks their wrist again. Still no watch. They stand, and shift over to their setup next to the podium - not moving anyone off, but giving that ubiquitous implication of "we're wrapping things up" as they start adjusting things and the projector dims slightly. They point up at a wall clock - it's that late already? "Well, folks, I hate to cut things short, but we do gotta be out of here before th'janitors lock the place. Time's a shackle, for most, ha ha." The static through the speakers quiets as they completely turn off the machine. The projector changes back to projecting a blank, no-signal screen. A pointed clicker flicks it off. "Once again, thanks for speakin', today, all of you. Glad I could meet or get t'know all of you better. If you got any questions, just give a shout - I'll hear, ha ha." As people file out, they procure a moving dolly and start strapping down components of the rack to it. Upon exiting the building, it's dark; winter past midnight. The cloud cover means there's not even a moon to provide any light past the streetlamps. A vessel hovers in the parking lot, cargo door open. It's quiet, for the first time in hours. The performers stand.