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Lilian Rook	'Returning to the scene', so to speak, has its risks. Even if it was two and a half years ago, the Letter Agency has never exacty been known for sloppiness in its work.     As if it had always been siphoning the competence of every sprawling bureau it had taken its pseudonym from, your run-ins with it have revealed nothing encouraging; extensive dossiers about Multiversal Elites, red sting and corkboard theories about things that were supposed to be secret, numerous operatives with planned and practised countermeasures to high profile names, and watchful eyes everywhere. Coming right back to the California border; namely the Urban Center just past it; is a significant gamble, after what happened last time.     But nobody cares what happens at the wall, and, as Lilian reasons, the Letter Agency wouldn't be eager to simply rebuild a research site that was already thoroughly compromised. They'd replace it somewhere else. As it stands, this stretch of desert is the one and only lead they have on any of the Agency's activities or records, so there's no choice but to procure another (two) seven seater jeep(s), tint the windows, inscribe what scan-baffling magic Lilian has on hand, and roll out through the warpgate on some of the only cross-country paved roads left in the entire world.     Once again, Lilian leaves driving to someone else, but as they're approaching from the California East Urban Center by legitimate means, the first thing she does is roll down a window, speak briefly to customs and border patrol, pretend to flash an ID without leaning out, and then have the party drive on through. A real fucking loser might think 'just like Star Wars!', but it's a significant departure from long ago that she'd so openly and directly do that to random normies.     It's weird to think that this could be so secretive, and have such high stakes, when you spend the better part of half an hour driving at smoothly unsafe speeds past small towns, lush holdout suburbs, old world gas stations, and the odd bluegrass lawn, in a lifted, air-conditioned vehicle. But when you get going, As said once before . . .
Lilian Rook	--------------------------------------------------------------------------------     The California/Nevada border. One of the few borders without an ocean that could sincerely be called one, in this day and age. It is both a testament to the tentatively enduring success of the old United States' ambitiously scaled final military operations, and the eternal will of the state of California to never ever assimilate into the rest of the country.     The disproportionately massive size of the US military machine had carried the country well through the early years of the Onslaught, and its nuclear stockpiles through much of the middle, allowing it to ride out a lack of magical backbone until the later stages. With the relative lack of Antegent attacks anywhere around the coasts, most of the country's surviving population repeatedly fled further and further east, west, and south, until only a few states remained meaningfully inhabited.     Rather than consolidate forces into a handful of self-sufficient industrial arcologies like the pattern in Europe, or absorb refugees into the growing power bases of the strongest military leaders and their fortresses as in Japan, the United States had gone and quarantined entire states from the rest of the country, relying on its wealth and scale of resources to maintain access to valuable land.     This is why California turns out to be one of the last green places on Earth. This is also why, as the palms turn to scrub and the scrub turns to desert, what first comes into view isn't the two mountain ranges that flank the passage into Nevada, but the towers atop them, and the walls beneath the towers, and then the barricade across the open flatland that looks like someone built an entire hydroelectric dam on land.     A skyscraper of concrete and metal that stretches as far as the eye can see, the few gates along it comically tiny by comparison, even possessed of its own helipads. Obvservatory domes up top give off eye-stabbing glitter in the high sun, white radar dishes spin on tall masks, radio transceivers blink and crackle, and missile silos point vigilantly eastwards.     There is literally only one 'civilian' checkpoint for miles. Of course, the number of parked GDF vehicles and nested barricades would be sufficient to hold the golden gate bridge from a zombie horde, but comparatively, it's very light compared to the wall itself, staffed with as many border officials in tan vests and hats as it is white-armoured faceless soldiers.     When going through, though, It takes less than a minute to accelerate through the tunnel, and in that brief transition of scorching sun to pitch dark to scorching sun again, the jeep comes out on the other side of the wall, and what feels like the other side of a hundred years of time. What had been a bleak and austere, pristine concrete monolith from one side, is covered in crisscrossing rows of meter deep gouges that utterly dwarf the low vehicle driving away from them, and pockmarked with what must be millions of small craters. Large splotches of ugly brown glass mar its upper reaches, and the bottom floors are burnt the colour of charcoal.     The jeep drives past endless rows of troopers, in fully sealed suits, roving the desert ahead in tight formation, blasting the earth inch by inch with the white hot flames of portable flamethrowers. Flatbed trucks are in the process of hauling back what looks like heaps of misshapen bones, trussed up like lumber, to be dumped into mobile incinerators. Excavation equipment is in the process of starting to fill in the holes it'd dug, whatever it'd removed the ground long gone by this point in the day. The road is so freshly paved that it might have been patched up yesterday. It still smells of hot tar. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------     Absolutely nothing has changed.
Lilian Rook	The long, long road ahead, is not nearly so well kept. Where 'the picket' begins to recede, and only the odd white gleam of forward sensor posts and advanced vanguard batteries can be seen atop worn rocky plateaus and stranded hills, here and there, the landscape changes over dramatically.     The earth becomes like coarse, dark blue sand, soaking up the blazing sun without emitting any of it back, creating a perversey deep chill in any amount of shade. No shrub, cactus, or flower than once lived here can be seen for any number of miles; instead, the drive must pass under the shadows of gigantic growths like failed skeletons half-buried in the dirt, twinkling with eerie living lights on their shaded faces. Translucent ribbons of something like giant kelp form dense groves and create opaque screens of caught and split light, reaching multiple storeys into the air, and waving in the empty air under an ocean current that doesn't exist.     Weird, tortured formations of black obsidian form inexplicable, seemingly meaningless formations along the roadside. Blood red ivy, with an unfortunate extreme resemblance to a living circulatory system, grows all over the old rocks still exposed through darkly iridescent underbrush that flickers its lights as if transmitting and yet rises and falls as if breathing, occasionally spewing white vapour into the air.     Even if she's seen it before, Lilian is, for a length of the drive, captured by the sight once again. Evaluating it with fresh eyes perhaps. She says out loud "It hasn't been pushed back a bit in two years.", but her eyes say that she's thinking something different. After swipe-uploading her marked map to the GPS (not wanting the car computer potentially scanned beforehand), she goes on to explaint he rest.     "What we know so far is that Ash, the last of the four we need to make any of this work, is . . . I don't know if it's because we left them too late, or if it was too late before I even joined the Paladins, but the Letter Agency found them and got them first. They've been working under that organization for some time, so any record we could use to find them is null; just like it was for the rest of us, I suppose. The internal documents we have refer to their asset callsign as 'JORMUNGANDR', so unlike Sakura and Oreshnika, they have a combat assignment, like me."     "As a last ditch effort, we could draw them out via deployment, but I absolutely do not want to fight another Bloom working in tandem with NAZCA's forces. So we're returning to a research base we razed before, to pick through what we can more thoroughly this time, and perhaps catch a trail. It's very likely that Ash was sent there after it went dark, after all. And the locally dominant Catastrophe-type Titan-class Antegent, Cycle of Tears, is . . ."     Lilian glances uneasily at Rita in the mirror.     "We shouldn't have trouble along the way."
Ishirou	Ishirou sits in the driver's seat, doing his best to look natural when they hit the border crossing and keeps his eyes on the road when they are driving.  He doesn't need to keep his eyes turned in any one direction, because he can see in a LOT of different directions at once, and even outside of the vehicle.   He continues driving through the tunnel and out the other end where the blazing sun beats down on them again.  He takes a moment to consider how truly little the land has changed in the two years since they were here.  Truly awe-inspiring.  That... absolutely /nothing/ has changed in all of this time.  No drive to take back more land, no drive to do more... just keeping things exactly how they were before.  Maintaining a status quo that seems to only benefit those who are at the top here.   "No, it hasn't.." Ishirou says to Lilian in her talk about the line not being pushed back.  "I guess it doesn't matter out here, they just want to keep an area livable by making the least effort..?" It reminds him so much of Indus he almost laughs.  It'd be a bitter laugh, and he's less impressed with the technology he discovered they had before.   He listens to the breakdown of the mission from Lilian, and nods along, keeping his eyes on the road.  "Yeah... NAZCA was... bad enough... but..." he shudders to think about one being supported by someone as powerful as Lilian is.  Maybe even stronger.  He takes a breath and knows it'd be a more personal issue too, for Lilian.  Ash probably understands her the best, and how that'd feel to face them.  He couldn't bear to have to be on the opposite side of either Nika or Sakura.  It'd hurt much much more for Lilian.   "If there is anything that happens along the way I'll be able to let you know in advance... though given how open and wide it is out here we likely will all see it coming far ahead of anything," he says, still keeping an eye out as he drives, careful to avoid potholes and bad parts of the road the best that he's able.   "If there is anything at the site, I'm sure we can find it," he says, trying to brighten the mood.
Trudy Grimm	For the entire drive, from verdant Californian countryside to the monolithic Wall to the blasted, warped warzone beyond it, Trudy Grimm remains silent in the middle back seat of her jeep. This puts those glowing green eyes square in the middle of the rearview mirror from the driver's perspective, her face only highlighted slightly in the shadow cast by the jeep's merciful roof.     It's one of the few times anyone has seen her with bare arms or calves; given the desert heat, she has traded her jacket with the big furry sleeves and her furry boots out for more sensible knee-high lace up boots and a black vest. With one leg folded over the other, her hands laced together in her lap, the witch-- complains.     "Goodness, how do people stand this dreadful heat?" Her eyes close, head leaning back, "It's only been an hour and I already long for death." Even with the back seat air conditioner vent pointed right at her, a witch of the frozen North isn't going to adapt to the tropics in an afternoon.     As Lilian explains the situation, Trudy perks up; distracted from the discomfort by something more familiar, "The world serpent? What a curious choice of callsign for our little Ash." With a hum, the witch taps at her chin, "I'm not terribly familiar with the logic behind codename choices. Could it be indicative of anything? Or--" She half-lids her eyes in an amused, catty way, "--is it just because it 'sounds cool'?"     Trudy hums thoughtfully, reaching into her shadow and rummaging. After a moment, she pulls out a handful of ceramic beads, sorting through them with her thumb and picking one out. She raises this up, closing one eye and squinting at it, "If anyone might have perished at this facility we're visiting, I may be of use... Though if not, or if they're uncooperative, between the two of us miss Tamamo's divination will likely be far more helpful, I think."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Keep it quiet     The braggadocious mage and his goofy shenanigans stick to the back. Except for briefly chuckling. "Just like TRUE PSYCHIC TALES!" He laughs for a moment, while playing his DS so it looks like he's just hooting and hollering about some nintendo or another. He does fondly regard the window, but only as much as someone who had been here yesterday. Yes, in fact, he hasn't been seen in about four months, and he *was* there two years ago... Exactly the same as he is now, in fact.     Absolutely nothing has changed.     He thinks back to Jackson and Grant. He thinks back to a modest little nuclear disaster. The ninth floor. The man in the moon. Like it was yesterday. No-- like it was yesterday, exactly. He looks over to Rita, remembering something when Lilian mentions no trouble. >Arthur: Assert your role and get ready.     Then it's back to Lilian. "Not gonna be a ton of HELP on an INVESTIGATION, for real." He jabs a thumb into his chest. "My BLOODTHIRSTY ASS could never be a DETECTIVE." But he nods a few times. "Makes sense, though. Not like we were SUBTLE, and not like this ain't their HUNTING GROUND, it's not like your average SOLDIER-TYPE INVESTIGATOR is gonna be real STEALTH-MODE and COVER TRACKS. You don't do that on YOUR TURF. Gonna be one OLD-ASS TRAIL though, dawg." >Arthur: Get on out there and start looking for a clue!     Not arrived yet. Got an investigative technique to ready up? >Arthur: Wait, actually, yeah, there is one. You can use that elder-god-talk to investigate things, right?     Yeah. That won't help though. >Arthur: Yeah. But it helped them. Ask about how to investigate the site.     "Wait, yeah. Literally all three other Blooms had some super-divine knowledge stuff going on, DREAMS or DIVINATIONS or COMMUNICATIONS or stuff. If I chat up the HORRORTERRORS about how to best INVESTIGATE MY OWN CRIMES, I'll probably get the same WALK-PATHS that THIS FUCKER got, then we GET THAT TRAIL." >Arthur: Start trying that.     Sure, if Lilian doesn't say it's dumb.
Angela	Angela was asked by Petra to bring someone professional who would treat the situation carefully. In Angela's experience, this is the first step that usually tells her that a disaster is bound to happen. The Agents of Disciplinary, usually well behaved in their work in Lobotomy Corp itself, grew attached to Rita's people and Petra and Shajo even picked a fight! So they're out. Cinder's disciplinary track record is well known. Justin Rook is unspecialized and Random is injured that leaves... Yuri. Transfered from another branch. Probably knows too much. Spoke to Father Berislav about Unions. But keeps cool under pressure and is relatively quiet. Aside from meeting Berislav, no known citations. And so... Yuri is looking at a map of Nevada. She has chosen to sit near the front. She has her EGO gear with her because you never known, the Snow Queen Gear also known as 'Frost Splinter'. She listens to Lilian Rook as she describes the situation, periodically checking Ishirou's driving to make sure he's going the right way--up until the landscape changes. She marvels at what she sees for a moment, having never seen anything quite like this. Her instructions from Angela are to A) Don't fuck anything up B) Learn what she can and C) Help if she can in that order so she says, "Got it, Commander!" to Lilian. Knowing why they are gathering Blooms in the first place is above her paygrade but she feels a strange feeling from the idea of it, just from the name. "Wait let's see... I was given a list for this... Titan is the second most dangerous type, and Catastrophe Type means that they can do a lot of widespread damage to the environment... " Yuri says, helpfully doing her job as a newbie to provide a tutorial for the people who skipped the cutscene or info files. "Titans sound like Fourth Trumpet or worse..." She trails off for a bit before asking. "But what's the Letter Agency--actually up to? What's their goal?" What's their goal, not 'what's yours?'. ''My BLOODTHIRSTY ASS could never be a DETECTIVE.'' Yuri looks towards Arthur Lowell as he provides some additional exposition that's new to her! ... And a lot of stuff she doesn't understand at all. "What are you going to do when you catch yourself?" She asks, fascinated.
Tamamo	Having only driven in retro-retro racing games, and only that due to the influence of Arthur and Nika, it's a good thing that at least two people here other than Tamamo are perfectly capable drivers. She hadn't previously been to this world's California -- and it takes some thought to recall having been to any other -- making it all new sights. In concept, however, the terrain of the Antegent isn't really 'new.' If anything, she's more familiar with it now than she was years ago, a better understanding having been derived from various encounters with those entities that had done anything other than mindless slaughter.     Really, if they were 'mindless,' it would be so much easier.     "I would like not to enter into conflict any sooner than necessary. The discovery of some other path... I hope that that we shall have the time for it. Ah, the Cycle of Tears is...? Well, if you believe it unnecessary to worry for it, then I shall not." Looking out at the dark sands, she's momentarily glad that she hadn't chosen her last American outfit for this foray, but is in her usual blue and black (and white and gold) outfit, the one with detached sleeves. It's more of a 'medium' choice. She's aware that deserts can be cold, or even alternate blistering and freezing, but compared to the Urals, surely, it will be mild at worst.     "I wonder... are they as pressed for space as everywhere else in the world? Would the regaining of a desert be so valuable to them, in the first place? There are those who wish to reclaim land for its own sake, in claiming some ancestral glory, but these are a people with whom I am less familiar." She hasn't spent any time in an urban center on this continent, as yet.     "As Ms. Grimm says... though I expect they shall have taken pains to interfere with all forms of divination. We should expect unusual difficulties, in chasing those who wish not to be found, and are aware that seers may seek them."
Rita Ma	Not even Rita is capable of being anxious and tense for a whole multi-hour road trip. Her fears ebb, not assuaged but worn-through, into a gentle listlessness. Even the checkpoint doesn't make her tense like it did before- the old fear of being 'found out' is starting to feel a tiny bit quaint.      Her cheek rests on the inside of the car door through the tunnel. The sudden light on the other side hits her eyes without a blink. The familiar scenery scrolls past her gaze without ever snagging it.      "the last of the four we need to make any of this work . . ."      "To make what exactly work, Ms. Rook?" she says, straightening up with a polite smile. Ordinarily she'd sound more embarrassed to ask. Maybe she's too tired to.      "If anyone might have perished at this facility we're visiting..."      The next time she pipes up is just then: "You're lucky. A lot of people died there, Ms. Trudy."      "And the locally dominant Catastrophe-type Titan-class Antegent, Cycle of Tears, is . . ."      Rita's gaze catches Lilian's in the mirror. For the last week and change, she's been doing and saying all the things that her gut has screamed at her not to. Right now, her gut is screaming at her not to say:      "I hope we meet them again. That'd be kind of nice." And so she does, before she realizes that she has.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Wait, what are you going to do when you catch yourself?     Arthur flashes a grin to Yuri. "Nah, NAH! I'm gonna walk FOOTSTEPS of a DUDE TRYN'A CATCH ME. If I hit that PATH, then they gotta have TRACES LEFT near it. Stuff they used LETTER AGENCY ACCESS on, right? I'm pullin' those straight fuckin' SPEEDRUN GUIDES so I can find where the EFFICIENCY BASTARD might'a done COMPUTER-TOUCHING. You get it?"     It is unlikely it could be gotten.
James Bond	At the wheel of the other jeep, taking up the rear, James Bond is dressed in fatigues deliberately chosen to suggest he actually belongs at the destination, or at least has passing justification. Dark fatigues contain a fake ID, backed by a carefully crafted paper trail. The man driving the car is, allegedly, a lifer with a lesser sister agency (one of the ones the Letter Agency likes to poach), enticed into service from the ranks of those with the least by the scent of opportunity, delivered from them by impressive test scores.      His blue eyes are cold and determined, when he looks in the rear view mirror at the back seat. Then they sweep to the wristwatch on his hand, several tiny waveforms dancing on its face as a less-tiny transcript rattles off. His eyes diverting back to the seemingly endless road ahead, he takes one hand off the wheel to fiddle with the radio.      Pressing and holding the AUX button, Bond seems to expect console's rotation in place, and its revealing of the controls for a transmitter and receiver.      The conversation from the jeep ahead plays--and when Bond speaks, his voice is transmitted through the speakers of the same. But what's the Letter Agency--actually up to? What's their goal?      "Their goal is the same as anyone else in their line of work," Bond says. "Deciding how the world works. And 'what they're up to' is 'whatever they can get away with.' There's a more complicated explanation, of course. But I don't know how much anyone wants to have a discussion about ideology on a long road trip."
Xion	Xion had no memory of this place, this drive. When she had decided to come along anyway, absorbing the need off of those close to Lilian in her near-lingerings, she had entered the two car convoy early and... Climbed into the back. Dressed in her 'California disguise', her normal outfit, less the coat, plus some bits of flair. A classic black short sleeved T-shirt is a void bridged by loud red Hawaiian shirt with white-edged blue-violet flowers printed on the silk. Her black belt is visible at the silver clasp centering her black shorts, leggings, and grayscale Converse. There's a moment before the group gets underway when Ishirou takes the wheel and starts the automatic transmission that Xion intuits the operation of a key somewhere being used and becomes interested. . . Only long enough to see that the vehicles they will be riding in are the kind that distract her with how loud every part of their operation is. Automatic transmission and Xion doesn't get along. So, she's relegated to a window passenger seat. California, grand and enormous, stretches beyond the window and the Nobody boredly lingers her eyes out the tinted window, dissociating in the AC. With her left hand slid into her pocket, the bored woman continues her gaze with a considering distance, handing over a softly audible chain. It is not until they get past the wall that Xion wakes up, her interest shifting from disaffected youth boredom to specific, engaged interest in the changed landscape. The experience- the sound to Xion, even through glass, is strange, unreal, too real. Donking her forehead against the tinted glass, Xion realizes she practically dozed off the entire drive. Pushing her way out of the door her forehead leaves a mark on the window of, Xion rubs her eyes and glances over the group as if waking for the first time in the day and then smiles faintly at the gathered up group. "Sorry, I didn't come the first time, so you'll have to catch me up..." Xion trails off, looking at Rita, and then looks away. There is already an ID lanyard conveniently around Xion's neck, black with a white id, but it currently just says 'Hi! I'm Nobody.'
Touta Konoe	The Letter Agency and their actions in the prior two and a half years, the Blooms of Humanity, NAZCA. It was a lot of information and very little time to digest it all. Before they knew it they all found themselves within one of the two jeeps. He's definitely been to a few USA's within the Multiverse but this California, and the work of the Antegents...     "I almost forgot those things were the ones that caused all this here..."     Antegent is probably one of the words that rings the most familiar when it comes to Lilian's world, though even now he doesn't recall if he's ever seen one, not even in literature. He's just aware that usually when Hell's been razed it was usually their doing. The view after passing through the tunnel definitely feels like the kind of terrain that would be thought up in a deranged, twisted dream. Yet there it was leaving its marks on the world.     By the time everyone's finally situated, car doors are opening as everyone prepares for the debrief, during which time as he heads out he's already giving Bond a headnod in appreciation for the lift, though not speaking up immediately as the conversation from the first jeep, and his response are still going through. It's a good thing that both Yuri and Bond seem to be filling in some of the holes in this conversation for sure. Still, as the conversation continues on, people slowly starting to pile out there are plenty of faces that come to mind, some fairly recent he's familiar with, and some he hasn't seen in quite some time. Arthur being a key example. His facing lighting up for a moment as he spots the space wiz. "Man, Arty, feels like I haven't seen you in a minute. I'd ask where you've been but..." Touta stops the remark there, his smile lingering like he's certain that it'd be a hell of an answer if he did actually ask.     The other person is the one who ends up arriving in her 'California Disguise'. The last time he remembers seeing her was well...Perhaps back during one of the trips to Arx Zenith... Still, as much as he'd want to try and catch up with people who might barely remember him...Still he finds himself coming up behind her as he adds a follow-up question to the mix.      "Speaking of not having been here the first time...Before this place was razed, How big was this place exactly? We have any ideas on where in the rubble we'd want to sift through? Or...Are we starting from the ground down on where we should be looking?]"
Meika Kirenai	When Meika gets a moment to spot nearby familiar faces as they all initiate the boarding up of the vehicles, she beckons at them with a little wave. Petra, especially, gets one that's more than polite recognition, including a little murmured 'Hi'. Trudy gets one, too, when the magical girl's face lights up in recognition of a voice she's only heard on the radio bands. Meika winds up waiting long enough to figure out which of the paired jeeps she'll pile into that she gets relegated to the furthest back row- not that she wouldn't prefer to be there.     Once on the other side of the warpgates used, it's clear to her that the blistering heat doesn't pair well with the layers of fabric Meika habituatually covers herself in, but at least it's a dry heat. For all that matters. The comforting uncertainty of her first time travelling to anywhere like this extends to the sharpness in which she holds her posture, seated in the car. Internally, though, watching the towns and stations blow past at the speed the entourage is going at makes her want to cheer and holler, or stick her head out of whatever window can be rolled down.     Her favored hockey stick rests awkwardly across her lap, and the lap of anyone sitting next to her. With that, and her semi-constant, oh so quiet humming of the tunes to time-passing songs, she's really not the ideal passenger to sit next to on a road trip.     "O-oh. Hey! Petra, is... this is the sort of place that hates guns, isn't it? Why are there this many soldiers out like this?" Then, with a sheepish look, she remembers she Brought her own gun. Even with the precautions she knows have been taken, and how everyone else seems prepped for possible danger too, there's a nervous fidget with the hunk of metal she's keeping in her messenger bag. It'll be fine if I brought it. None of them will find out, right?     Once they're all through the tunnel, the little gasps that escape Meika, tucked quietly in the far back seat as she is, don't get silenced upon seeing the horrific damage to the border wall's exterior. Evidence of monsters that isn't easy to overlook. Whether or not that's even directly the source- monsters ring more familiar to the magical girl than anything else that can gouge concrete. The burning-and-paving of the ground outside it all, though, is far more worry inducing.     "What're they pushing back stuff for?" She winces, a little, at having more and more questions to blabber on about- but weighs that it'd be worse, probably, to mess up from not knowing something. Curiosity can be good, too, right?     Meika presses both of her palms to the vehicle's window as she stares out at the enormous growths erupting from the alien-feeling desert. "Is this some sort of graveyard..?" Her wide eyes half-reflect in the window her breath is narrowly avoiding fogging up, from ambient dryness alone. "Is... is that dangerous to go out in? More than, um... normal? For a desert?"
Meika Kirenai	"It's kind of like a movie. It's not bad to think it's sort of pretty, right?" She pulls back from the window, and looks around the jeep cabin, hesitantly worried and hoping for permission to like the creepy scenery. "Would it be bad to crack open a window?" She's quite bad at hiding the little bit of excitement in her voice. '...They have a combat assignment, like me.'     "Do you also have a callsign, Chevalier Rook?" Meika silently mouths 'Yorm-un-gand-er'. "Or- would that be secret, anyways, or something? Um. Never mind, actually."     "Would it be, you know... expected that people come looking for a trail? If that stuff's all hidden and brushed up..? Or is this all just kind of..." The magical girl shrugs. 'You're lucky. A lot of people died there, Ms. Trudy.'     "...That's a really mean thing to call lucky, Miss Rita."
Petra Soroka	Last time Petra ventured beyond the walls of civilization in Lilian's world, in the Ural Mountains, Petra's attendance was practically arbitrary; completely unaware of who Oreshnika was or what their goal was with her, Petra was solely there to tag along with Lilian for messy, tangled-up reasons. Now, of course, Petra is ride or die for the Blooms-- which makes her a thousand times more anxious about fucking something up with the mission.     Preparations include, among other things, a brief aside to Angela. Flashing back to her own treatment of Nika at the village, Petra suggests that maybe, probably, it might be best to only let the most trustworthy agents engage with the Blooms, which, to Petra, means the others on Control Team. With what little Petra knows about Ash's personality from Sakura, she can imagine far too easily what would happen if Shajo or Nonon got too worked up around them, repeating the scuffle on the Union Busan with much higher stakes.     Preparations *also* include judging whether she can survive wearing her bomber jacket in the desert. Obviously, she can't, so for once it ends up tied around her waist instead, scarred arms and collarbone exposed under her tank top. Jeans are not so easily parted with in favor of shorts, though, so she's still sweating in the back seat of the jeep despite the air conditioning.     Her shiny new ID from the House of the Seven Worthies sits in her pocket, totally unneeded. Petra sits up from her slouch in the car when approaching the gate, attentive and ready for if any of them are going to be questioned, looked over, or asked for anything, and presses her lips together in a complicated expression when they're waved through. She doesn't regret doing the trials for it-- it still makes her a little happy, to have a physical certification that she can do 'hero work' in Lilian's world. But as the light of the checkpoint fades behind them, going through the tunnel, there's an acute sense of... demanding instead of asking permission. If something's important enough, rules just completely stop mattering, so they're just conditional in the first place, aren't they? "Wait let's see... I was given a list for this... Titan is the second most dangerous type, and Catastrophe Type means that they can do a lot of widespread damage to the environment... "     Leaning her elbow on the window to absorb the scenery and drawing Pillar of Creation out of her compact mirror now that they're past the checkpoint, Petra's about to tutorialize on the Antegent classifications herself before Yuri cuts her off. She closes her mouth again, a bit miffed. That's too reliable. I should've asked for the second-most reliable agent.     She pivots to saying something else on the topic instead, having overcome the inertia necessary to speak but being abruptly robbed of her topic. "Is all this--" The state of the sand and vegetation outside. "From Cycle of Tears?" Rita's comment that it'd be nice to see the Antegent again makes Petra shut her mouth before continuing any further. "As a last ditch effort, we could draw them out via deployment, but I absolutely do not want to fight another Bloom working in tandem with NAZCA's forces."     Petra makes an uncomfortable noise of agreement, though she was shuffled to the back of the jeep alongside Meika so Lilian probably can't hear her until she speaks up. "Yeah... Nika avoids hurting anyone at all and we saw what she could do. And NAZCA alone is--" Petra cuts off, silent for a second, remembering something about what Sakura said. "And it'd probably be way worse for a lot of reasons, if we make them fight along*side* NAZCA."
Petra Soroka	"O-oh. Hey! Petra, is... this is the sort of place that hates guns, isn't it? Why are there this many soldiers out like this?"     "Oh, they had their apocalypse already. So everyone was forced to learn that they needed guns." Is Petra a prepper? "It's harder to justify not having them when most of humanity's been wiped out by monsters." "My BLOODTHIRSTY ASS could never be a DETECTIVE."     Unthinking, Petra nods sagely at this. "Are we expecting to find-- find a trail of *Ash* specifically? Or are we trying to use this to track down another base that's not, like, abandoned, and then go from there. Sakura said something about Ash having a... miasma? Did we ever learn more about that?" "Sorry, I didn't come the first time, so you'll have to catch me up..."     Petra shakes her head at Xion, a little unsteady at her reaction to Rita. "I wasn't either, I--" Belatedly, Petra remembers. "Oh, wait. Of course I wasn't. I wasn't even here two years ago."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: feels like I haven't seen you in a minute     "Man, I been..." Arthur's eyes unfocus a little bit when Touta asks that question. "You know, PLACES. DOING STUFF. S'all good, I'm ALWAYS gonna be here to give the BACKUP for YA GIRL LILY. Man, weren't YOU gone TOO for a bit there? You got, uh, what was it, ZOMBIE BUSINESS?" He resumes playing his DS, his quota of weirdly-incorrect over-familiar joshing and joking finally completed.
Meika Kirenai	'Oh, they had their apocalypse already. So everyone was forced to learn that they needed guns.'     "Is it- That's not how it works, is it? I mean... I know there's all of those American movies..." Meika looks between Petra, and whoever else is nearby to try and get confirmation from. "I- I guess it makes sense, if there aren't enough people not to, but... guns aren't made to fight monsters with. I know that much."     "Well. Maybe if there's a lot of them, I guess?" It's hard not to have thoughts run wild when the damage is right there, scoured into the hulking wall.
Touta Konoe	Man, weren't YOU gone TOO for a bit there? You got, uh, what was it, ZOMBIE BUSINESS?     "...I...That's...Not the entire reason but uh..." Touta's expression when Arthur talks about zombies makes it seem like his quota for weirdly-incorrect over-familiar joshing might not have been met with how weirdly correct it was being made out to be. His hand reaching to the back of his head, scratching there for a moment as his eyes literally look to him as if this guy was reading minds or something.     Still, he watches Arthur going back to his DS which doesn't bother him. He knows that the two weren't buddy-buddy like that, but the strangely correct remark, and just getting to enjoy the vibe that was Arthur Lowell again...There's a reason that from the moment he saw the guy he was finding it hard not to smile. So even if he's face-first back into his game, Touta can't help but speak up again.     "...That's definitely a story for another time if you actually wanna hear it...For now though, it's good seeing ya again, Arty. Been missing that Arthur Lowell energy."
James Bond	It's harder to justify not having them when most of humanity's been wiped out by monsters. ...guns aren't made to fight monsters with. I know that much.     Bond's eyes remain forward, but as Meika's voice pipes in through the jeep's speakers, his thoughts drift elsewhere, and elsewhen. Two years ago, to the outside walls of a social center in California--to another falsified life donned and shed as was convenient.     -That- man, seemingly spun from the cloth of the American Midwest, had come in an aging but well-maintained pickup, a cistern bolted to its bed. More present in Bond's thoughts is the shotgun that hung from the rack in the cab of that that pickup. An older boy, among the kids which excitedly swarmed his truck on that day, had offered to buy the gun from him.     "Some are," Bond says absently. But very few of that kind are in the hands of the average person. His mind is still focused on that day. He'd given an excuse, meant to protect that young man, and turned him away. But the adults, and what elders there were, wore the truth in their tired eyes, even as they were fooled by his disguise. In the hands of the common people, guns weren't for Antegents--but for those without hope of escaping them.     His mind returns to the present, as the memory is banished with a sigh through the nose.
Angela	Yuri nods to Arthur Lowell like she understands everything. "What's a Speedrun Guide?" She asks. She almost ALMOST misses RIta saying that she wishes she'd meet the Catastrophe-type Titan-class Antegent again. She quirks her head in bewilderment. Sure, Rita might be a flsh eating monster but she was a sweet flesh eating monster and she didn't think that she'd be the type to be hopeful to meeting an Antegent that strong and that deadly... Is more going on than meets the eye? Is the Antegent a cutie in disguise? "What did you like about 'em?" She asks of Rita. Yuri doesn't seem to have any major personality disorders but she glances to Petra as she asks about the scenery, missing entirely that she accidentally cut her off. James Bond explains the goal of the Letter Agency. "Are they Official or Syndicate? Or..." She asks. She blinks again as Arthur calls Lilian Rook 'YA GIRL LILY' and she is grateful she hasn't turned on the Angela tablet yet. She doesn't seem to protest leaving Ideology behind for the ride over though.
Lilian Rook	'If there is anything at the site, I'm sure we can find it'     "We'd better, or we really have no other options."     'Goodness, how do people stand this dreadful heat?'     "By staying inside, I'm lead to assume." Lilian rolls her eyes out the window, but not at Trudy. "At least I suppose the greenhouse gases are gone. Not that the climate really improved. But it really would be intolerable living without air conditioning here."     'The world serpent? What a curious choice of callsign for our little Ash.'     "They love names like those. But I suppose they probably chose something Norse for the fact that they discovered Ash after the Tree of Perfection."     'Titan is the second most dangerous type, and Catastrophe Type means that they can do a lot of widespread damage to the environment...'     "Correct." Lilian sounds a little surprised. "Leave it to Angela to enforce the required reading." she says. "A good portion of the desert is solely the terraformed domain of that one in particular. Seeing as the border wall has been repelling it for decades, and its presence prevents anything else from moving in, I imagine they must be happier with the devil they know. If it were closer to the border, they might think differently."     'But what's the Letter Agency--actually up to? What's their goal?'     "That's a very good question." The space is deafening.     'I wonder... are they as pressed for space as everywhere else in the world? Would the regaining of a desert be so valuable to them, in the first place?'     "Less so than most, I suppose. But at the same time, it's not as if everyone behind us lives under superb conditions either. It costs a great deal to maintain 'free roam' areas like this." says Lilian. "I've heard the national supervisory board has an excellent track record with salvaging old world resources, especially from major urban sites. Given how vast the country is, and just how much infrastructure is still out there, I doubt they'll run out of material any time soon. But I imagine most of it must go to G.D.F funding and bonds, and the rest into international trade. So what would they do with useless desert?"     'As Ms. Grimm says... though I expect they shall have taken pains to interfere with all forms of divination.'     Lilian makes a vague, affirmative noise. "Or else I'd take us right to them. But that's how it seems to be. Sakura was hidden well away by the himorogikage, and Nika was occluded by the presence of Mat' Prizrakov's death-site."     'To make what exactly work, Ms. Rook?'     "Good question." says Lilian, who almost sounds as if she's about to repeat that silence. "Preventing something very bad from happening, I think. Maybe the end of the world in some different, stranger form. Maybe just a conflict between humans that might otherwise be unavoidable. But too many people have made too many prophecies and projections about this for it to not matter. Having all of us together, shoulder to shoulder, all on one side, couldn't hurt."     'I hope we meet them again. That'd be kind of nice.'     That's where Lilian delivers her lingering silence. It's not like Rita to just say it out loud.     'Speaking of not having been here the first time...Before this place was razed, How big was this place exactly? We have any ideas on where in the rubble we'd want to sift through?'     "Bond in particular accessed a research archive when we were there. It's certainly been wiped, but we can look. Otherwise, Rita, Arthur, and Ishirou should still have an idea of the layout. They've likely collapsed the lower floors, too, but we can dig it up again."
Lilian Rook	'Is... is that dangerous to go out in? More than, um... normal? For a desert?'     "More than you'd imagine. You shouldn't spend any more time in no-man's land than you absolutely must. I doubt there are any safe houses out here, either. You're gambling with running into something unpredictably nasty every hour, and there are solid odds that you won't see it coming, or won't know what it is. Even I wouldn't get out without directions."     'Do you also have a callsign, Chevalier Rook?'     "I work with the Immunes. It's above board, so there's no real need." Lilian says. "They just call me Commander, or Commander Rook. The Letter Agency has callsigns for several of us, but . . ."     'Would it be, you know... expected that people come looking for a trail?'     "No. Which is why I'd like to bet that they aren't waiting for us."     'Oh, they had their apocalypse already. So everyone was forced to learn that they needed guns.'     "That doesn't mean everyone gets to have one." says Lilian. "Civilians aren't really expected to fight off a home invasion after a wall breach. They're expected to evacuate." she says. "Still, if someone finds you in no-man's land, of course you'd have one."     'Are we expecting to find-- find a trail of *Ash* specifically? Or are we trying to use this to track down another base that's not, like, abandoned, and then go from there.'     "I'd love it if we found theirs. But that's if we're lucky. Another base is more probable, but hope for the best."     'Is all this-- From Cycle of Tears?'     "The damage, yes. It's an infinitely self-reconstituting distributed consciousness type, but its main body is immobile." says Lilian, offhandedly. "The desert, no. All of no-man's land everywhere in the world is some patchwork of dozens or scores of different terraforming Antegent."     '>Arthur: Start trying that.'     Suitably cheeky and impudent for Arthur Lowell, consulting the Noble Horrorterrors on preserving timelines and cosmic pillars almost always puts him exactly on track with a Bloom's movements, or the whirlwind quietly surrounding them. The indication from them is oddly insistent that he save making a gate to the destination he remembers until a certain point a while after they get within range. Their vote is a second, mutual agreement cast on searching the base, but, specifically, that he look for something to talk to.     The reason for the former becomes apparent around the same time Rita's wish comes true.
Rita Ma	In the moment where Xion looks at her (likely from a different row), Rita smiles. It's a smile that says 'oh', and 'I'm sorry' (for what?), and 'I know saying sorry like this isn't enough'.      "Mean" isn't something Rita often gets called. The word electrocutes her a little, and the look in her eyes is rattled. The shy smile she gives around Petra a moment later looks guiltily relieved to be called on it.      "Yeah. I guess that is mean of me," she says, leaning away against the car door once more. Her eyes fix on the horizon. "They were people, after all. But they did terrible things to other people. So I think it'd be even meaner to be sad. That makes sense, doesn't it?"      When she's given a few moments to recuperate from that, her hand finds Petra's- her rowmate- and squeezes gently. She squeezes again when Petra hitches about the Cycle of Tears, to try and reassure. That part's okay.      "The Letter Agency has callsigns for several of us, but . . ."      "I wonder what..." Rita starts to say, gets a little further in her wondering, and stops abruptly.      "What did you like about 'em?"      "Mmmm," Rita says thoughtfully, and shifts around to look up at the car's ceiling. "They're dependable. And pretty, I think. And they're homesick for something, so it's hard not to feel sorry. Like someone's lost pet. Does that makes sense?"
Trudy Grimm	> "As Ms. Grimm says... though I expect they shall have taken pains to interfere with all forms of divination. We should expect unusual difficulties, in chasing those who wish not to be found, and are aware that seers may seek them."     "I fully expect NAZCA to make this as frustratingly difficult as possible," the witch replies to Tamamo, "They truly are the most annoying of adversaries." > "You're lucky. A lot of people died there, Ms. Trudy." > "...That's a really mean thing to call lucky, Miss Rita."     Eyes open and the witch glances at Rita, then Meika when the mahou replies, "Oh?" Letting out a breath, she leans back in her seat again, unbothered by Meika's hockey stick across her lap, "If the dead linger, they often want to talk to someone. Part of the frustration of a ghost is that no one hears them. I'd be doing them a favor. As for the number-- well, don't worry about it. It already happened and you didn't have a hand in it, no?" > "Oh, they had their apocalypse already. So everyone was forced to learn that they needed guns."     "Just so, miss Petra," Trudy shrugs with her eyes still closed, "Even without Ragnarök looming, a wise witch always has a fallback, after all. I carry a firearm for emergencies, too. I assume everyone does." It's something she admits to so casually, too. > "By staying inside, I'm lead to assume."     Lilian's deadpan reply pulls a laugh out of the witch, bright and honest. > "They love names like those. But I suppose they probably chose something Norse for the fact that they discovered Ash after the Tree of Perfection."     "Now that is interesting," Trudy's eyes open again and she leans forward, cradling her chin. The beads in her other hand rattle as she shifts her fingers around to jostle them, "So the location of the Tree is known then? If you suppose the codename came from there; it is in the northern lands somewhere, if I were to guess? Scandanavia? No, perhaps Iceland..."     She's not sure if knowing the Tree's location is at all useful information, especially without the relevant Bloom. But Trudy's knowledge of the mechanisms of Lilian's world is far from complete in the first place.
Ishirou	Ishirou responds to Tamamo with a frown, eyes still peeled ahead.  "Maybe not, but it seems like you'd want to push back this kinda land eventually and reclaim something... Maybe the urgency isn't there yet as they have plenty of space for people... or using this land for secret bases is too tempting." 'So what would they do with useless desert?' "They could try dedesertification projects and try making the amount of land arable more plentiful... but you also said that it's about the devil they know than the one they don't.  So... I guess I can't say for certain.  I'm ignorant of specifics in this and would require a lot of time to get to know them all.  So maybe thinking of it like Indus is unfair.  Except for..." he pauses, "NAZCA, that is." Talking about the archive, Ishirou perks up again.  "If they did wipe it, I can try and see if anything is recoverable from it if they didn't directly destroy it.  I'm hoping at least there is something recoverable if it still exists.  Other than that... I can hand out OPTIONs to people and with people spread out we can cast a wide net on finding things."
Lilian Rook	Far along the desert road, where the asphalt has disintegrated into mere trenches of hard-packed sand dug down the landscape sculpted by alien hands, the last forecast tower you saw was fifteen minutes ago. You're ten minutes past the range Arthur (or Xion, given Lilian just hands her the mapping data gladly) could burrow directly to the ruined base on the native Otherside, when some Intended Event happens.     In the middle of absolutely nowhere, coming up on the verge of sunset, Ishirou's sensors ping thirty-odd human life signs near a heavy metal deposit, and twice that many Antegent ones.     The car will come up on them shortly, but the early warning is well enough for the Elites to arrive at the situation more quickly. Immediately, with the use of a gate or a corridor; or both for two vehicles. A minute or so given swift flight. Thirty seconds to see what's going on from above. Ninety from a windshield.     The metal on radar is clear; wrecks aren't uncommon out in the desert, seeing as there are countless G.D.F vehicles strewn about the desert, modern and decades old. This time, it belongs to a trio of pickup trucks; honest to god beaters from the early 21st century, patched up over and over again; and their trailers, two jacknifed in the road and crumples against the rocky sides, and one stuck behind them. The human beings who were ostensibly using them are all on foot, and clearly have no better choice than to run in the direction you came.     You don't see a uniform amongst them. What few weapons they have are those Bond could pick out of a catalogue at home. They're wearing desert wraps of rough white fabric over worn out surplus gear; you can easily tell they aren't military for the lack of a single plate of modern body armour, and no electronic signals but an emergency high-frequency radio ping. Most have abandoned backpacks to run faster. The few that haven't are retreating while shooting behind them.     The sight is eerily familiar for some.     A moving mass is so densely arranged that there's no dead space to judge its movements by. Ten foot tall shapes on six foot legs moving like a sprinting forest. Creatures built like men stretched out in a photograph from the wrong lens width, made head to toe of mottled bone-like pieces, glued together without muscles. It glowsg with tens of thousand collective lights, strobing from flattened hammerheads, the grooves in their limbs, and the sides of their dorsal spines.     They sprint in dead heat on pounding blunt-tipped legs and long-clawed fingers, shrouded by the dark blue dust they churn up with each step. Their bioluminescence strobes in aquamarine waves across the entire mass, like the cascading reactions of a shoal of fish, acting as one.     The gunfire focused on a couple of the monsters in the lead brings down a couple by the leg, and stumbles a few more at the trucks, creating a momentary bottleneck for long enough for a single survivor to hurl an ancient fragmentation grenade over the top. The pack swiftly pours around the sides, leaping and skittering effortlessly around the rugged, alient terrain, and converging on their human targets. Some simply surround and pincer the men still firing. Others break off to pursue the runners, coursing along each side of the road, coordinating without communicating.     They aren't what got the truck, however. Something else is opportunistically flying along, keeping pace such that its shadow almost hovers right over the people fleeing on foot. A separate, unrelated swarm of low-flying, eel-like things; living ribbons of opaline flesh that 'swim' through the air by undulation. Drawing close to them is what causes magnetic crackling to drown out electronic channels, and the car engine to abruptly short out.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Oh shit!! Dudes to save!! TURN ON THE TURBO!!!     "Ah shit! Fuckin' FLOOR IT, I'll JUICE THE CAR." Arthur calls out, as soon as Ishirou calls out what he found. Could he gate there? Sure, but strangely, it would actually be *faster* to do what he does next. Which is slam his palms into the vehicle hard, glow a bright white in the eyes, and roar with enthusiasm. Starlight gushes out of the exhaust, and Arthur's shout rises as the car's potential acceleration and topspeed go past doubling, tripling, or quadrupling straight into what is mathematically known as "fucktupling".     About a half-second later, he realizes he also needs to enhance the brakes with his gravity powers. He gets to that too, of course. Just in time.
Xion	Pulled from just watching the road, Xion drops into an 'idle' loop eventually, drawing her hand out of her pocket to swing a keychain around the palm of her hand, spin it around a few times, and catch it on her palm with her right hand. The keychain, unlike her normal silver-linked watchchains, is made of a smooth shiny black chitin, and it ends in a glass bead filled with a dark and vital red. As she spins it, the rattle sussurates rather than rings, and the smack against her palm at the end has a sound akin to a water droplet striking a still pond. She holds it there, closes her hand around it, then crosses her arms, then uncrosses her arms, then the glass bead of red on its chitin-chain of black drifts back dowm between her fingers to hang, and eventually, spin around again. She notices Rita's look - it's hard not to, even out of the corner of her eye, but Xion stifles an uncomfortable grimace mid idle by materializing a fruit leather (unwrapped) into her left hand and stuffing several inches of pressed dried fruit mash into her face. She chews, wipes off her hand, gives a quarter of a shrug and two nods to Rita, and that's that for now. While she cycles through that, she too has an explanation for Meika. "When my doubles partner," Roxas, but that context is only clear through mind reading -- a checkered black-and-white styled swordsman with a swoop of blonde hair and two keyblades -- so others may not know who in the heck she's talking about. "-and I first were coming through Lilian's world, there was this fight in an urban center the Antegent had struck, I think, and as we moved through we saw these... needle-tipped walking beings like the diagram of a nervous system for... well, not-human, made out of marrow. We kept moving, though, and we found some people who had just been stuck and, well, they tried to shoot at the marrow-birds, but when they got stuck something changed in them. And then their marrow climbed out of them, like a wet butterfly-" of bone marrow. Xion closes her hand around her keychain and the loop stops. Her speech pauses as her tongue hunts bits of sweet fruit smash that had smushed around there as the topic coming out of her were souring. "-and wasn't like the person it came out of. It wasn't like their color wheel inverted. It was like their marrow was what woke up and their heart got swept out of them with all their bonestuff." Solemnly, Xion finishes: "Sometimes guns work, and sometimes you're lucky to not meet the wrong thing. And--" She talks so long that after receiving the map data (to her star-keycharmed smartphone) Xion can't keep expositing on the melancholic beauty of the Antegent because the very real *danger* of the Antegent was threatening folks! And both of the teleporters were in the same car. "Hey, I'm gonna go help out the spy guy, ok?" Xion announces, before she very calmly unbuckles her seatbelt (in a moving vehicle!!), pulls her seatbelt off, and looks behind her. Gauging distance, Xion begins to mantle over the back of the Jeep, leaping towards James Bond's driven vehicle with a tremendous parabolic jump. With a nose-bouncing acrobatic landing, the noirette rolls across the front-hood, catches the top bar of the jeep, and hangs there. Almost-lazily as Bond action drives, Xion leans her head over the window and raps her knuckles on the glass. "I can't see you! Open the doo- oh, wait." Just opening the passengerside door (the lock clicks open in her hand as she does, just like key(less) entry is meant to!), the Nobody rolls inside, points forward, and announces: "Floor it!" Of course, conveniently, there's a sworling-short road of darkness that even American Lifted Shithead Federal Vehicle Highbeams can't pierce, and they're through!
Ishirou	Ishirou gets the early ping, and he alerts the others immediately.  He pulls to the side of the road so that those who can fly can get out, and the rest of them can cut through the people and protect them.  Ishirou's RESCUE immediately appears the moment it stops, but instead of getting out, he pauses when Arthur says he'll 'juice' the jeep.   "That sounds dangerous, but sure..." he says, and immediately floors it towards the monsters, aiming to try and cut them off from the civilians, and wrap around them.  This is boosted thanks to the car going 'fucktupling' fast.  Pushed back in his seat, he is suddenly happy he summoned RESCUE first.   He breaks, sliding the Jeep sideways so it'll block more of the civilians.  He opens his door and is immediately out, firing lasers that home in on various monsters, trying to draw their attention away from the civilian line and more on the team that's now in their way.   Lasers burn away monsters, as he uses the car as cover and keeps his shots going, motioning for the Civilians to keep going.
Trudy Grimm	As Tamamo explains what she knows about Antegent, Trudy grows more thoughtful, mumbling to herself as she works over the ideas forming from the information offered. So enthralled in this that it takes Ishirou's voice to pull her out of it, glancing up towards the dash, "Oh?"     Rita offers a plan, in some vaguery or another, and Trudy opts to trust the girl as she has so often before. So her mission is, thus, to protect the fleeing men. Sitting up in her seat, she focuses on the tiny shadows cast by those who are closest to the shambling mass pursuing them.     His shadow extends, then-- detaches a part of itself, expanding into a void-black puddle on the deep blue sand. A hand covered in corroded black armor reaches out, grasping the edge. Without any vocalization, only the noise of rattling plate armor, the Black Knight emerges and hauls up his enormous sword.     The void closes behind him as he strides forward, a mountainous knight half again the height of a normal man. He braces himself on the deep blue sand, swinging his colossal blade around and driving the point into the desert at his feet, his free hand held back with his gauntlet-clad fingers curled into claws.     If the Black Knight can only slow the pursuing monstrosity down until the Elite-laden convoy can arrive, his mission is a success. It is in this Come At Me Bro posture that the Knight assumes in defiance of the approaching Antegent.     Trudy has not moved from her seat in the jeep, and overall doesn't seem inclined to leave the comfort of the air conditioner.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: STRIFE!!     When Arthur kicks out the door and rushes into battle, it's surrounded by a swarm of starlight blasts. Hooting and hollering, he screams, hopping onto his rocket-broomstick and rising onwards and upwards straight into the eel swarm. At this distance, and with his radio shorting out badly, it's impossible to hear what he's screaming and swearing. Gamer words for eels ("SLIMESKIN SLACKJAWS") might get heard when he's busy rocket-suplexing them or trying to barrage them with starlight.     Depending on how mobile they are, one might hear the doppeler effect warping it when he zooms by with one under his arm, viciously slamming it in the face with his broom, hollering "--FUCK YOUR LIFE, GIMMIE MY SIGNAL--" and then crashing into the rugged terrain, all just to rise up again and start planting the bladed metal bristles of his battle-broom into the bodies of the bone creatures and blending as hard as he safely can.     He's gotta talk to these guys! The humans, specifically, not the eels or bonealoids. Maybe the local Ritance can talk to those guys.
Rita Ma	<J-IC-Scene> Ishirou says, "I got a ping. Something is ahead and it looks like it's stationary on the road. It's metal. I think some people are in danger from the monsters."      A breath catches in Rita's throat, and her whole body stiffens up with one hand balling up her skirt. They're my responsibility. I have to do something, she thinks in one shining electric moment. Adrenaline has turned her eyes to pinpricks when she looks at her row-mate. "Ms. Petra. Don't look."      Rita tears off her seatbelt, wrenches open the passenger door, leaps out in motion, and-      Arthur fucktupling the jeep's speed turns her into a wind-sock clinging to the door's handle.
Angela	The fact that she has heard the answer of 'control' and 'good question' with regards to the Letter Agency, Yuri is suitably nervous of the Letter Agency. Maybe it's all that Union talk flitting through her head, but nothing good comes from putting Letters in charge of things is her experience even if they have a good goal. "I could see some people as considering that it's preventing anyone or anything new coming in as a bonus." She admits. Yuri doesn't mention that Angela quizzed her on the material before sending her out and nor does she mention that there's definitely more she has to learn on the job that the others seem to comprehend all too well She looks to Rita who seems to have some extra answers. "I think the material said that they could be as intelligent as humans..." Not that Yuri feels particular fondness for humans either despite being one. They can be as or more dangerous than any Abnormality. "Pretty, huh... I guess danger can be pretty sometimes. And lost." Once the early warnings start, Yuri hurriedly puts away the map and draws Frost Splinter, spinning it over her shoulder as if she was born to wield it rather than having little fighting experience before receiving it and told to make do. She gets out running. If she keeps fighting well, maybe Cinder will get out of this alive... She charges forward, swinging frost splinter around at the hovering eel-fish monsters, trying to make the most of Frost Splinter's reach!
Tamamo	<J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "Something else, likely, Konoe-san, or -- oh, dear. Well, let us deal with these, first." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "I shall strike the ground."     Conversations are cut off suddenly as a warning is called out for trouble ahead, and Tamamo unbuckles. She has to, to open up a window, three-point bracing herself in the middle of the acceleration, and pulling out a spread of paper talismans to toss out. This will be a lot easier the closer they are, since fluttery paper is particularly vulnerable to high winds over long distances. Throwing anything forward from a high-speed vehicle isn't usually part of her plans, but this is still the best way she has of quickly setting up a barrier.     "Enter the first layer, and remain frozen in the Arbuda." They could be idle words, spoken for the sake of them, with the magic being contained in the talismans, themselves. They could be. They probably aren't.     When the talismans reach their targets, they expand into spiked blocks of ice, catching other creatures that run into them and spreading into a solid wall.     This won't help so much for the ones in the air.
Petra Soroka	"I- I guess it makes sense, if there aren't enough people not to, but... guns aren't made to fight monsters with. I know that much."     The backseats of the Jeep are engaged in a classic road trip conversation, about military powerscaling and violence against your fellow man. Petra props her foot up on the back of the chair in front of her, resting her elbow on it to lounge and gesture at Meika for emphasis.     "So, I mean, you totally *can* fight monsters with guns. It's harder, if they're just normal guns, since a pistol isn't really meant to take down anything much bigger than a human, but there's bigger guns out there; both my revolver and the gunblade I got from Doctor Eggman have a lot more punch than the nine millimeter I gave you. But also," The very real presence of danger and violence left Petra's mind once the topic shifted to movies, so she's not even thinking about the guards at the gate at this point. "You've seen the movies. A lot of the time, the biggest risk is other people, not actually the monsters. Trying to steal from you, or hurt you, because people just get desperate when society breaks down. So it's good to have guns then." "Civilians aren't really expected to fight off a home invasion after a wall breach."     "But, uh--" Her rambling momentum gets stalled when she's brought back to reality. Petra blinks, and her gesticulating hand drops down, limp. "I guess society's not really broken down here. So those are just guards. They've probably got guns that are meant for fighting the lower threat class Antegent. NAZCA used guns, partly, and they kicked our shit in." "But they did terrible things to other people. So I think it'd be even meaner to be sad."     Petra's brain sparks and short-circuits when Rita slips her hand into Petra's, cutting her off from interjecting there. Dimly, two thoughts float across her mind: 'Grier is already coming to kill me, so this is fine' and 'this is, like, the fifth day in a row that I've held hands with a different woman'. It's Meika's voice that snaps her out of it again, and more specifically, remembering what Lilian said about not being too gay around Meika.     "Um. Yeah. No, these people are, like, murderers. They tried to kill us, tried-- *are* trying-- to capture Lilian, and Nika, and probably Sakura." She doesn't let go of Rita's hand prematurely, but she does inconspicuously lay her hand down on the seat beside her, so it's somewhat occluded by her thigh. "And they've been dead for a bit. So it's just about what we need to do now, not actually about them dying." "So the location of the Tree is known then?"     "I think we know that the Tree of Perfection's in America, right? I guess we don't know where; 'America' isn't specific like a European country is. Maybe it's important enough to them that we could get Ash alone by going to it? Rather than-- than them, and NAZCA?" "And then their marrow climbed out of them, like a wet butterfly-"     Petra is envisioning what this would look like, distracted from the rest of the conversation, all the way up until Ishirou alerts them all of the Antegent attack. She only gets as far as "Oh, shit, what--" before being cut off with an uncharacteristically girlish squeal of terror when the car suddenly fucktouples in speed.
Petra Soroka	"Ms. Petra. Don't look."     Petra, eyes already screwed shut from the motion of the car, just rapidly nods in response. Not looking also means not drawing any of her weapons to help, unless she's willing to put bullets in everything present, which she isn't. Instead, she contributes in the least violent way she can think of, fumbling her Silver FullBottle open with her eyes squeezed shut.     The full shining fluid cloud of morphmetal spreads up out of the open cap, then flies out the window of the car. Spreading out into a rough web that, without Petra's conscious direction, connects with strings of sharp, crystalline angles like snow under a microscope, Petra attempts to find the flying eels with nothing but remote tactile sense. If she manages to, the morphmetal globules-- emitting electromagnetic fields of their own, but blissfully nonmagnetic-- bunch up and try to stick to the flying Antegent and weigh them down. Skewering them with flechettes would be too risky, since she can't actually tell if she accidentally bumped into an ally that happened to be flying around up there instead.
Touta Konoe	There's a bit of a smile when he hears Lilian speak up about lower floors.     "Lucky us then maybe. Seriously, it's always lower levels in these places."     He's starting to look towards the window back towards the remains...Though way too far at this point to get a good look at them probably. It's at this point, he'd speak out to Tamamo over the radio as she remarks about the difficulties that even seers and diviners might face.     "Miss Tamamo, even if you can't divine anything right now, if you think you can point me or maybe get Ishirou to spot out where you get any interference from, I /might/ be able to make things a little easier."     He puts a bit of emphasis on that 'might'. For one, they don't technically know if anything's going to impede any divinations and two...Even if there is, there's not a guarantee that he can rectify it. That said, he does feel like he's got a lot more to work with this time around especially when Ishirou talks up recovering items. Though, that all comes quickly to a halt as Ishirou makes mention of the upcoming threat. Everyone's attention diverted from the search to reach the situation as quickly as possible. Catching joyrides, flooring wheels, and hopping up cars on starlight!      Since Touta's not working with a car that's getting supercharged, he's actually one of the few that's jumping out of his vehicle to get running. The use of flash steps is not as cool as a car jumped up on starlight, but it gets him where he needs to go fast, which he'll need to be in order to reach the ones being chased.     "Come on, keep moving!"     As he calls out to them, he bites into his thumb, the smallest trickle of blood seeping out before it slowly turns into a black-smokey substance. It rapidly expands, concealing the path like a wall of smog between the Antegents and the ones they are chasing, intending to obstruct their path in more ways than one. Even the eel-like ones swimming through the air might find their path obstructed as it rises above into the sky.
James Bond	<J-IC-Scene> Ishirou says, "I got a ping. Something is ahead and it looks like it's stationary on the road. It's metal. I think some people are in danger from the monsters." <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "Keep the people safe for a moment. Then I'll fix things." <J-IC-Scene> Xion says, "I've got the spy guy!"     Bond doesn't know Xion--but he knows well enough that Lilian trusts her. That's enough to trust that when she says she's 'got' him, she can back it up. His pace remains perfectly even, foot neither letting up nor pressing down on the gas--until, safely inside, she says the magic words. Floor it!     "Seatbelt," he answers, as he complies, the jeep's engine roaring as his hand rapidly works the stickshift. Alighting off the transmission, he flicks a switch on the radio console, labeled 'ENGINE.' A short electronic whir and a heavy 'clunk' later, and it's as if Xion and Bond are both shoved forcefully against the back of their seats, by a powerful chemical thruster that sees the jeep tearing through her portal at breakneck speed.     ...right towards the 'eels,' and into their electromagnetic interference. Still moving at considerable speed, he changes his mind. "On second thought--" Got to get out of range of those if this is going to be any help. Petra and Touta have the stragglers. "Hang on." With one hand, Bond snatches Xion out of her seat and holds her awkwardly. There's a handle above the window within her reach, at least. With the other hand, Bond intentionally oversteers despite the lack of powered steering, causing the jeep to roll.     Carried clear of the eels, the vehicle rolls along upside-down--until the dash lights flicker to life again. Bond flips another switch, labeled 'SEAT.' The roof opens, briefly a portal to rapidly moving otherworldly earth, before Xion's empty seat ejects with a loud crack. The force of the ejector seat flips the jeep rightside up, and the last of its momentum is used to powerslide, the headlights facing the trucks.     A seat in the back row slides along a track, providing a spot for Xion to sit again, just as Bond opens a hidden pannel ahead of the gear stick. Out rises a backlit red button in a protective transparent case, outlined with yellow-black caution stripes and labeled 'CANNON.'     The jeep's bright headlights retract, sporting two articulated rotary cannons. A HUD projected onto the window displays target locks, red reticles rapidly blinking into place over the spindly Antegent. The cannons fire so quickly that they sound more like loud industrial machinery than guns, their minute adjustments and brief pauses guided by the handling of the jeep as Bond shifts into 4WD. Wheels spin independently of one another as Bond whips the steering wheel around, the engine roaring. The jeep drifts a circle around the jacknifed trucks, its guns constantly shifting for optimal sightlines, constantly start-stopping to thin the horde without endangering the embattled civilians.      "Think you can make another jump like that?" he asks Xion, nodding towards the top of the jacknifed trailer as it rushes sideways past the windshield.
Rita Ma	Arthur's gravity-assisted brakes (or the car's engine failure, whichever happens first) catapult Rita forwards into a thirty-foot-long all-fours skid. Like a cat, she takes it smoothly; also like a cat, she makes it look almost intentional.      When the dust clears, she's hopped up onto one of the broken-down pickup trucks, the better to survey the chaos. Someone's probably bleeding, so she covers her mouth and nose with one hand, the better to stay focused. Her other extends over the crowd of antegent as if she's giving a silent proclamation- and she is.      "I am your Queen," she 'says' in the language of deep nerves, across years-old connections formed when their opalescent gore once dripped down her chin. "Halt."      A wave of familiar blue washes over their bioluminescent spots, radiating out from her. Her eyes flick up to the eel-things, but they don't seem immediately aggressive. Then down to the people they've tried to save. When her hand lowers from her mouth, it shows a wistfully worried little frown, and not just at the likely damage.      ... It's not until a minute later that she seems to remember something.      "Um, Ms. Petra? You can look. It's fine after all."
Meika Kirenai	'But also,' 'A lot of the time, the biggest risk is other people, not actually the monsters.'     "I- I don't watch that kind of thing. But... I think I get what you mean, at least? Sort of." She exhales a small sigh. "I always- always like to think it'd be nicer, if everyone could, you know. See the monsters. That maybe they'd help, too." 'You shouldn't spend any more time in no-man's land than you absolutely must.'     "I- I wouldn't. Won't." She sounds dissapointed. 'But they did terrible things to other people. So I think it'd be even meaner to be sad. That makes sense, doesn't it?'     Meika rolls her eyes. "A lot could be meaner, sure. It'd be meaner to play soccer with a skull, right?" A little exhale. "If- if they're bad, they're already dead. So everything's worked out about them. It's still not- You already said it. They're people." The way she stresses those last two words carries a soft, cutting weight. 'As for the number-- well, don't worry about it. It already happened and you didn't have a hand in it, no?'     "I- I don't kill people. I wouldn't. Of course I didn't do anything to... to somewhere I haven't ever been." She's too defensive, not out of apparent guilt, but just a reaction to something half-close to an accusation.     Activity, mention of warnings, and panicked shouts of action plans are just enough for Meika to get out a "What's-" before acceleration is, quote, 'fucktupled' out the wazoo. The magical girl momentarily feels like she's becoming a magical pancake against the seatrest behind her.     By the time she can reach into her shoulderbag again, Meika is already pulling out her handgun and notebook both. The ripping flash of her transformation comes right before an eerie ringing of her transposing herself right through the wall of the jeep and out to the desert wind, to hang on one-handed with a silent, steel-crunching vicegrip.     The gun, just like her hockey stick is when she transforms, is re-skinned with the same metal filigree patterns as her armor is, as she levels it out towards the threats. Safety's off, magazine is-     In a panicked hurry, Chevalier Vermillion sticks the gun's slide length-wise between her teeth, to free a hand to pull a magazine out and slam it in. She (regretfully) keeps it clamped there to cycle its slide, and grab its grip once more, levied outwards towards the foes. She fights the instinct to close one of her eyes while aiming down the sights at the hordes of closing-in enemies, the same glow that always accompanies her powers building up in the weapon.     Each frantic trigger-squeeze carries a bullet, and in its wake, an even louder percussive noise, funneled into nearly a beam of brightly-colored force following right behind the projectile, effectively a one-two punch. As the jeep skids to a halt closer, and her magazine empties, she starts to just rely on the blasts- it's comical, almost, if they didn't hit with the awful impact they do. Like a child's drawn-out rendition of a firing gun.
Meika Kirenai	"These- these are people who live out here? Just civilians? They'll- they'll need help after, right? Did anyone bring medical stuff..?" She doesn't have to shout to be easily heard over the din of combat, in between her own actions that demand her focus. The fact that normal guns don't seem to be slowing the horde down much, at least not if the others are running the opposite direction of them, is enough for Vermillion to finaly hop off the stopping jeep and conserve momentum in a nigh-frictionless slide forwards, her skates gouging the road below.     Quickly, her freed hand summons up spike after spike of roaring sound to hurl at the foes- it alone won't kill or hurt, but pin things from moving. Giving them time's the right call, right? They can't fight alone...     Her gut sinks, though, when Rita has taken point. Vermillion stops moving, with that all-too-classic hockey stop shredding ground material up in a faint spray.     She levies the gun again, and reloads it properly, this time, to try and take a single potshot each at the few Antegent she'd managed to pin with her powers, just out of a faint bit of spite. Are you trying to take these monsters too? Can you even be trusted with them?     "Why's the script different with Miss Petra? Why isn't-" From somewhere on Vermillion's person, a tiny, black and white striped creature hops up to the magical girl's shoulder, already echoing the other girl's words in a nails-on-chalkboard screech, even with her cadence. "But even if you hate me, please don't look away." Vermillion flinches at Drop's appearance, and twists to grab the Cherub two-fingered around the neck. "S-shut up! Y-you- I didn't ask you to do that!"     Frantic, she hoists the creature, and tosses it like a projectile at some of the aerial Antegent, a horrifically embarrassed look on her face- even despite her previous word's intent.
Xion	While James Bond maneuvers the chase jeep, Xion is immediately prompted to put on her seatbelt, and while she rolls blue eyes, she complies in the same motion. "I was getting it!" She insists mildly. Clicking it in, her attention remains on the front windshield as they snip distance between the Antegent and themselves, immediately in the action of things at a dead heat vehicular sprint. Flattened to her seat and glad, momentarily, for the seatbelt, the noirette clenches her teeth and resists the rocket force. 'Hang on'. "Are you really going to just--?" Xion asks, having several more annoyed words to lay on James before once again she's not really in a position to argue, snatched from her seat and 'vrr'-ing softly from the belt she latched on due to James' previous command. Looking around for something to Hold at-prompt, the noirette finds the top handlebar, braces, and the jeep rolls. There's just one problem. One teeeensy tiny problem. Even if Xion's seat is empty? Her seatbelt is still on! Her Quartermaster-spec smartcar bulletproof tearproof seatbelt still firmly engaged, when James Bond hits that SEAT EJECT, a certain Nobody goes flying into the ground // isekai'ed into another world. He requests an empty dot outline of Xion if she can make a jump. Thankfully, Xion simply teleports, seat belted onto her and causing her to oddly crouch, out of a flat plane portal of smoking-black and land on the disabled truck. Pressing the seatbelt release, Xion's turtleshell chair spends half a heartbeat falling off of her before Xion pivots atop the top of the truck on a heel and hammerthrows her ejector seat at the floating Antegent's center of mass. As she pivots, a pale purple aura imparts an extra gravity slingshot of projectile punch to her improv 'throwing' ''weapon''. "... Seat-belt, huh, spy guy...??" Xion mutters sour. Mild-sour, but, sour.
Lilian Rook	'I fully expect NAZCA to make this as frustratingly difficult as possible,'     "Whether we fight them or not."     'So the location of the Tree is known then?'     "To them. Not us." says Lilian. "Though it hardly matters. Somehow, some way, Ash has already accessed the tree, and come away . . . still Ash. I can't imagine it even being possible, but I have to accept that it's true."     'I wonder what...'     "It doesn't really matter." says Lilian, a little hastily. "We intercepted a few when listening to their proxy cell's chatter at Caelton. They're just nothing-phrases. Military types do that so it's not totally obvious where they're going and who they're targeting, if their comms are intercepted."     'I think the material said that they could be as intelligent as humans...'     "Don't expect to reason with one." Lilian says, bitterly.     'They've probably got guns that are meant for fighting the lower threat class Antegent. NAZCA used guns, partly, and they kicked our shit in.'     "Weapons technology has come a long way, since the Onslaught, and before. A trooper expected to see active combat is carrying armaments considered 'excessive overkill' for unarmoured human targets. And whatever NAZCA was using, I don't know. Something the Letter Agency is keeping to itself. All of that technology was completely unfamiliar."     'I think we know that the Tree of Perfection's in America, right? I guess we don't know where; 'America' isn't specific like a European country is.'     "If she knows, I have to believe Sakura didn't tell us for a good reason."     'I always- always like to think it'd be nicer, if everyone could, you know. See the monsters. That maybe they'd help, too.'     "In most ways, I think." Lilian says, briefly engaged in what sounds like unexpected thought. "There's . . . a vision of collective fear. I suppose. An othering enemy, repulsive and evil in all ways, that people can look to as an embodiment of everything inhuman. So when you look at your fellow man, I think it's a little bit easier to acknowledge their humanity; more than you sometimes might.     'A lot could be meaner, sure. It'd be meaner to play soccer with a skull, right?'     "Chevalier Vermillion." Lilian says, audibly a little stressed. "Can there please be no tone policing in my car?" She's not driving.     ------     Contact
Lilian Rook	There's something eerily unpleasant about seeing Antegent descend on human beings like that. There are default channels in the brain for recognizing the inherent horror of 'wild animals', or 'vicious strangers', broad enough to accept the concepts of packs of monsters and hordes of zombies as instinctive equivalents. There aren't really any for what you're looking at. A frenetic wave of alien artwork like that doesn't quite register as living. It's as if the surrounded survivors are being set upon by the antipathetic whims of giant, hostile machinery, given only enough organic facade to feel uncanny.     The pack of six, left behind as the rear guard, is already surrounded. Clustered up, they can simply empty their magazines every which way, spraying fire into the encirclement of monsters larger than they are, and hit with almost every bullet. The ring of fire dissuades them for a moment, bringing down one, then two, in still-moving bloody heaps, but only for a few seconds. Ammo runs dry, the time to reload comes all at once, and the Antegent know it. They wait for that instant, and leap and lunge in from every side.     Someone is hurled thirty feet and crashes into the road like a ragdoll, only to be chased down. Someone else spins away and collapses face down from the force of the gash across their front. A third is crushed underfoot, pinned down helplessly and--     You're on them before they even realize, though. For a rare change of pace, you get to blindside something else in no-man's land.     The black knight leaps out of the shadow of the pinned survivor, hurling away the Antegent on top of him and throwing back the several hungrily clustered around, felling one and injuring three more in one stroke. Sweeping laser beams cause charging pursuers to stumble to the ground or flinch back and away, some taken out at the legs immediately. The lead jeep tumbling out of the corridor and slamming on its autocannons causes even the standing survivors to throw themselves down-- no doubt used to the sound of G.D.F sterilization operations-- as the monsters pursuing them flower with aquamarine splatter and fall apart.     The swarm of opalescent ribbons-- eels-- snakes-- unpleasant strips of malicious flesh-- scatters from Petra's morphmetal attack, reacting without eyes to see it, but perhaps a special sense for metal. Given the utterly absurd speed of the car, however, most of they fail to get clear anyways, clumped into one place and slowly swaying down to earth despite their thrashing attempts to fight it.     The stragglers are burned down instantly by blasts of starfire, and the struggling bulk makes an easy target for Yuri, coming apart in tatters of slickly iridescent thread and watery gore. The gravity-propelled ejector seat punches right through the middle, throwing apart the mass that might otherwise ablate the massed attack, and leaving them swiftly whittled down to nothing     In those moments though, charged current runs through the morphmetal strands, and leaps chaotically at the Elites who approach. Yuri, Arthur, Petra, and in a moment, Bond and those in the car with him-- only for it to vanish into Xion's darkness the instant before contact. You'd assume it's electricity. It almost looks like it. The pale bolts fork through the air like branching arteries, squirming towards you at lightning speed, rather than completing an extant circuit. It feels like being struck with a row of syringes, rather than heat, but deals less damage than you'd expect. The way it dislocates and peels apart-- it crackles through magical and energetic barriers with frightening effectiveness, but doesn't cause that much damage to protective wear at all.
Lilian Rook	The survivors fleeing on foot are completely passed by the jeeps, then stop to turn in shellshocked awe at the reinforcing cavalry. When Touta's wall of fog goes up, cutting off their pursuers, the swarm that was chasing them turns back to surround the Elites as well, largely abandoning its original chase. Spines bristle and shake. Bioluminescence flickers and strobes. Calls like harsh, angry static go up. A wave of organic projectiles-- barely visible as thin blue light-trails-- scatter towards the jeep with supersonic pops.     Lilian smoothly vaults out of the open jeep window, catches the window frame with one hand, swings herself up to the roof, and draws Night Mist in the motion of landing. The familiar cacophony of glass-on-steel, ringing and clashing, follows the jeep. Glowing flechettes ricochet into the terrain, bursting and burning away fist-sized chunks of sand where they land. For a moment, you swear you can hear the rev of an engine even after the jeep has ground to a stop.     Meika's gunshots-- her magic blasts-- hurl them away from the sides of the vehicle, launching them back over the road-sides, breaking limbs on the hard landscape beyond. Then Tamamo's talismans reach their targets, her icy wall is cast, and the ranks of Antegent already taking over the first are skewered in place, blocking off the teeming scores of their remaining kin behind them; another twenty seconds bought, another nine lives saved.     The backed up pack is having trouble getting over it. The cursed ice burns them and drives them back for trying. One attempts to leap the wall, and loses a leg for the effort. That engine noise is louder. There may actually be a fourth truck lagging behind.     'I am your Queen'     In those long seconds where the chaos is just barely restrained, Rita's order goes out, and the horde of Antegent falls to order. The dizzying mass of limbs and lights and dancing, clambering bone shards all comes to an eerie halt, as ranks of monster simply fall into docile attention. The survivors caught between them finish reloading, but warily hold their fire.     Given the opportunity, they start extricating themselves from the encirclement, stepping warily around their enemies of ten seconds ago, weapons trained, watching for the slightest sign of aggression. Once they're free, they rush over to the wounded. You can hear the survivors you passed come running back, too, stumbling through Touta's fog to rejoin their comrades at the sound of quiet. You can hear the fourth truck, too, surprisingly close already.     The last of the horrible eels notably do not fall into such obedience too. Lilian drops down from the car to pick off the floating stragglers, ducking a live bolt here and there. The radio transmission starts to clear up as the last few die off, re-opening sensors and communications.     <<---"o you copy?! We"------"ve your location and supp"------"edical attention to"-------"ounded back to the east"--->>
Lilian Rook	It takes only seconds to locate the point of origin. As the dust kicked up behind the Antegent settles down, the fourth vehicle comes into focus-- not an outdated beater like the convoy, but a six-wheeled all-terrain vehicle, G.D.F surplus perhaps, caked in dust from the chase and having to turn sideways to brake in time. You don't see any identifying markings, but the armoured troopers manning a dorsal turret and two door guns make it obvious that it isn't something that belongs to these same survivors.     The doors practically burst open, even in the face of all these motionless antegent, and armed personnel begin dismounting in droves. Not just fully geared soldiers, too, but a significant number of what you can instantly identify as medical staff, with the universal symbol painted onto their gear, if their kits and a folded stretcher weren't obvious enough.     One of them, jogging at the fore, lets their gun hang from its body strap, and removes their helmet with both hands. Fingerless glove for dextrous work reveal numerous cuts and fresh bandages on their fingers. The helmet coming loose, taking the mirrored visor with it, reveals a long red ponytail and bright green eyes.     "Lilian?!"     A moment passes. Katrina's eyes drift up to the crashed trucks instead, and widen with an impulse that nearly drives her a step back.     "That's-- . . . Is that . . . Rita?"
Ishirou	Some dead monsters, but mostly pacified by the work of Rita.  He sighs, leaning against the Jeep, and takes a moment to breathe now that things are controlled.  He starts to get up, but he gets another ping.  He immediately calls to others. "Another ping, it's the source of the radio transmission to these guys..." However, by the time he gets it out it's already arrived, the ATV, and doesn't feel like it's local forces.  After all, why would /they/ be this far out here without a secret base to protect?  These civilians are a long way from civilization as well.   However, he wasn't ready for who was inside.  Almost reeling back from surprise, he takes a moment to steady himself and then speak.  "Wait you're..." he pauses, considering what Lilian has said about what her sister does, which was humanitarian aid.  He had no idea it was something like this.   "I guess I never did ask for specifics about what you did besides taking 'humanitarian aid' at face value.  Uh... nice to see you!" he says cheerfully, and honestly.  It's a lot better than what they could have run into out here!  Though the tenseness in the air from her recognizing Rita's... other appearance.
James Bond	Bond's grip on the steering wheel tightens in expactation of pain--he's known many kinds, in his line of work. A breath escapes him when it doesn't come, nullified inches from impact by Xion's darkness. The jeep straightens out, but not before an apologetic smile and a two-fingered wave are offered to Xion as it passes.     The spy's hand, upon the stick, works in tandem with his foot on the brake, bringing the jeep to a gentle halt. The autocannons wind down with a soft whine, fold neatly into the headlights, and the lamps themselves emerge into their usual place thereafter.     In one smooth motion, he emerges from the vehicle, draws and shoulders a semiautomatic pistol. Taking cover behind the door, Bond assists Lilian in dealing with the straggler eels, squeezing a disciplined three-round shot grouping or two. He lowers it, when the group from the other truck comes hurrying onto the scene.     "You know," says Bond to Katrina, turning the safety on and holstering the pistol (notably what could be expected of an American in one of the oft-plundered lesser letter agencies, rather than his usual Walther). His eyes flit towards the truck. "You're not the Rook sibling I most imagined I'd meet on the job." They'd met, previously, at the graduation.      "But I suppose I'm happier for it." He briefly glances over towards Rita. Katrina looks shocked to see her. Perhaps understandably--Bond doesn't imagine Rita goes around telling everyone what she gets up to and who with. Change the subject. "Glad we could get here in time. Where are all of you headed?"
Petra Soroka	"Um, Ms. Petra? You can look. It's fine after all."     Petra finally unbuckles her seatbelt, wrenching her eyes back open and squinting at the light. Tension from bracing against the speed of the car, and then emphatically shutting her already-closed eyes further, aches in her facial muscles, and she tears up a bit, gingerly hopping out of the Jeep. She glances at the Antegent that went still at Rita's command, then quickly away.     She's just about to address the survivors, turned away from the Antegent, when she flinches from the eels' attack before it even hits her. She doesn't have nerves connecting her to the morphmetal, so there's no pain when the not-electricity crackles through the web she made, but the displaced sense of being passed through as an electrical circuit triggers some buried reflex anyways, despite not being anything her body could react to. Somewhat like the sensation of wincing in pain when a stick you're holding snaps: tools extend the proprioreceptive expectations of your brain, with the limits of what your 'body' is defined as being malleable by what it's doing.     Then, of course, she's also hit by the jolt herself. She stiffens up and makes a choked noise in the back of her throat, bracing for the electricity to lock up her limbs, and locking them up herself out of that expectation. As an attempt to cut the circuit short, each segment of morphmetal arcs together into a series of discrete pillars that slam down into the sand in sync, trying to direct it to be dispersed into the sand instead. Being stung and rigidly clenched again only makes her damp eyes tear up again, and she coughs and wipes her face with her forearm, forgetting there's no sleeve there.     Now untying her jacket from her waist to use as a makeshift hankerchief for her face, Petra is thankfully distracted by all the noise, fighting, and sensory aversion, from noticing Meika's words to Rita. Flechettes flake off of the grounding pillars of metal, launching up to shred through the last of the eels to assist Lilian, before the whole mass of it returns to the bottle in Petra's hand.     When she pulls the jacket away from her face, Petra blinks to see Katrina in front of her, immediately forgetting about the survivors she was going to talk to in favor of a person who actually has a face and name to her. "Huh? Katrina? You're-- what are you--" Petra noticed the gun before noticing the medical symbols, and cuts off when it finally clicks in her brain. "Oh! You're here for these guys? Because, right, doctor."     Petra glances uncertainly back at Rita-- she *had* been told it's okay to look, so that has to still be true-- then forwards to Katrina again. "That's a, wild coincidence. That we'd just bump into you here. We're...." Petra trails off before making up any explanation for why she's here. There are many responsibilities and expectations that are thrust onto Lilian unfairly. Deciding, in her world, on her mission, to her sister, how much truth to reveal, is definitely not one of them.
Trudy Grimm	Following his first sweeping cleave, the Black Knight swings his great blade in the opposite direction, driving the surrounding Antegent further back while flinging viscera off from the first crescent slash. The faint green points that suggest eyes behind his helmet's visor remain steady, no indication of breathing, his posture stock still-- staring the monstrosities down as the backslash is brought around and the greatsword comes to a stop across his steel-clad shoulders.     This is, for the brief moment the clash lasts, a duel of wills between hostile predators; monuments of hate and spite. Like a prowling tiger, the Knight turns slightly and steps to the left-- turns-- steps to the right. His sword lowers, dragging in the sand, creating a line. When he brings it up, he slams the tip back into the sand and rests his hands on the pommel as if daring the Antegent to cross it.     This is about when Rita does her thing. The bioluminescent coloring flickers and changes. The creatures become noticeably more docile. The Black Knight notices this, tilting his helmet forward. Uprooting his blade, he steps across his own line, approaching the creatures. When they don't attack-- he gives the closest docile Antegent a solid, spiteful punch.     Only then does the Knight turn his back on them, lift his sword to his shoulder, and stalk back towards the jeeps. The colossal Knight stops when a military APC arrives, his head swiveling towards it. When no one else reacts with hostility or suspicion though, he simply turns towards it and remains still. In black armor under the desert sun, one can almost hear the corpse inside simmering, but he doesn't seem to care.     Spying a familiar shock of red hair and hearing a familiar voice is enough to pry Trudy out of the comfort of the jeep, though. She scowls at the sun, shielding her eyes from it as she disembarks. From her shadow she produces a black lace-lined parasol and unfurls it as she approaches.     "As I unfortunately still live and breathe, miss Katrina Rook." The smile Trudy puts on has a tough time hiding how uncomfortable the heat is for her, "Imagine running into you in this Allfather-forsaken wasteland. It truly is a small world." Head tilting, she casts a look towards Lilian, "My apologies I hadn't spoken to you at your sister's ceremony, but I did overhear--" Her eyes return to Katrina, "So this is 'doctors without borders'. Seems exciting~."
Tamamo	Everything more or less works out as intended, even if they weren't so lightning fast as to prevent anyone more from being battered. When the vehicle breaks, Tamamo ducks back in, and finds herself, for all her bracing, pushed up against the airbag -- which deploys directly into her chest -- and from there, doesn't reach the windshield.     She's stunned for a little bit, and groaning something pained while collecting herself and sitting back, but her curses continue without direct involvement, and all the time necessary for Rita to handle the grounded threat and others to wipe out the aerial threat was bought, as it needed to be.     There's still enough time for her to get out of the vehicle and brush herself off before the next truck arrives, though not enough time for her to go and see to the wounded, as she'd immediately planned. Her ears perk up at the sight of a familiar face, though it's more of concern transformed, rather than allayed. Geta leave little clouds of terraformed Nevada dust in the wake of quick steps up to Katrina's side, where the bunrei can greet her in a style to which only Lilian is usually treated.     "Oh, Ms. Katrina! And so, this is why you were in such a state, after all? Have you had the chance to heal since then? Had I known you were going to such a dangerous place, I would have insisted in seeing to your hands, myself." She's practically ignoring the equipped soldiers. "I had the suspicion that you shared your younger sister's, ah, preferences ever since that night, and yet, still! I had not expected to see you here. Are you quite alright...? Oh, and come to that, do you know anything of these people who were here attacked?"     Her fussing will, if not rebuffed or sufficiently reassured, result in applying healing charms to the doctor, herself.
Angela	Yuri fights furiously like her life depends on it and she is winded by the time it's over, reaching for the Angela pad that has been off all this time because she figured she'd turn it on once they reached where they were aiming to go. She manages to get it on eventually. She holds her hand up. Angela frowns, "This is early--" She begins. "Ah, we ran into an Event." Yuri says-- --The doors burst open and medical staff (and soldiers) are rushing out. Yuri guides her pad along so she can get a look at who is running forward and-- "Wait." Angela is held before Katrina whom she remembers from the Graduation Ceremony, even though she was mostly talking to another important lady in Lilian's life entirely. Angela's expression becomes more frown-like as she realizes she has likely just missed the context once again. "Greetings once again, Katrina." Angela says. "Since you are working, is there an official title I should be using?" Yuri uses her free hand to dust herself off and pat off Frost Splinter (Armor), eventually strapping it back to her side. Neither mention the true aim of their visit just yet.
Xion	Even if he's going to nonconsentually Isekai United Kingdom her, Xion still said she was going to help the 'spy guy', and she had looked good doing it, so, maybe it was fine. Atop the truck, Xion is blanketed in fog, and kept in the safe mist. That suits her fine - it would be disgusting of her to do all that showing off and then forget to keep people protected. Converse sneaker soles make rubbery-soft rolling steps as Xion walks down the front of the disabled truck, rolling her chitin-black keychain around her hand once more. Ksha-ksha-ksha-pdoin. Ksha-ksha-ksha-pdoin. Taking a long step off the truck and hopping to the desert ground, Xion makes her way through the survivors, calling out 'is everyone okay?' out reassuringly, hoping to start the chorus of relief and need. Piercing Touta's mist with a dismissing sweep of her hand to sweep aside a curtain and walk through, Xion returns to James Bond's side, rolling her keychain around her hand to punch the agent in the arm with a dap to his sleeve. "Jerk." Then, she turns glowingly to Katarina, the picture of an out of place questing hero in a grish Hawaiian shirt. "Katarina! Hey, fancy seeing you here. Did you install a questing app on your phone? Sometimes you get these cries-for-help and you have to just drive into action, right?" "Except *this* jerk ejected me! He did!" She laments, aiming another annoyed look and winking at him as she turns her head to look, punching his bicep a second time. "Unbuckle me next time. Or I'm not going to listen to your *driving* instructions. And the California Highway Patrol--" Xion winks at Katarina, now, entirely a joke. But it's very plausible. And Bond was very needy for a moment. "--will just have to issue you a click-it ticket."
Rita Ma	"Why's the script different with Miss Petra?"      Rita's mouth opens, and her eyes track down to Meika, but the words don't come out. In the moments after asserting control, she always seems a little dazed. Maybe that's why the best she can find is: "Because I trust her, Ms. Meika." And it's not the whole truth, but perverse as it sounds, it's true.      Each of the finishing gunshots makes her cheek twitch just below her eye, but she doesn't move to defend the monsters. When the cherub echoes her words back at her, though, she flinches just as badly as Meika does.      Rita is just swallowing her blood-induced drool, stepping off the top of the crashed pickup truck onto its hood, and starting to rummage in her messenger bag for bandages and medicine when the unmarked ATV swerves up ahead of her. She looks up- tensely first, and then with soft awe when she realizes they can't be Letter Agency- and picks her way through the crowd of antegent, and around the wounded, towards them.      "Make way for me" is a simple command. She's unaware of how it makes her look: flanked on either side by the horde, gracefully allowed to pass where everyone else has to squeeze through. Like parting the Red Sea, for monsters twice her height.      Why do those eyes look familiar? And that accent. And why does she know Lilian? Bond mentions her name and connects the dots; Rita bows politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Katrina! That's right. I'm--"      Only then does she parse that Katrina took a step back.      Rita turns and makes eye contact, through the crowd of tall monsters, with Lilian. Her face is softly anguished, just-as-softly desperate. Mind-reading isn't necessary to glean the thought in her eyes: Ms. Rook, what did you tell her to be scared of me?
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Finish up     Arthur's getting out of all of this with plenty of fucked up needle-jabs, but a little bleeding never hurt anyone. A little unraveling? A little skewering? It never hurt him, anyway, except for the times it killed him. It's definitely gotten through his personal barrier, but a bloody arm looks good on him. And he'd better look good! One of Lilian's family is here!! >Arthur: Greet the new face     "'AYYYY!" Arthur hollers, gliding over the rough terrain and the various corpses or prostrating monsters or what have you. He glides straight up to her, and immediately does his traditional greeting: A barrage of daps, pounds, bumps, low-fives, high-fives, mid-fives, slides, slips, grips, grabs, shakes, twists, turns, and funny little wiggles that constitute the bespoke special secret handshake that has been hash-generated for this particular person. It actually includes an entire segment where sanitizing supplies on Katrina's person get used to make sure nothing medically bad happens about her cuts and the transmissable risks of blood and open wounds.     And then, of course, reveals how little sense he has. "How ya know LILIAN, homie?" A big, incredibly *stupid* fucking grin plasters across his face as he (deliberately?) fails to make the simplest and easiest connections or draw any common-sense conclusions. "Thanks for the CAVALRY WORK, YO. Hey," He looks around. "You know much about OPS RUNNING OUT IN THIS AREA?" He hasn't forgotten his *job* here, and specifically what he was told to do. "I'm looking to learn about some OLD OPS gone on up in this shit."
Touta Konoe	It's never been a better time to choose to walk over a ride apparently as Touta watches in what feels like slow motion as the jeep goes into that roll nearly caught by the currents running through morphmetal. It's only when they pass through the darkness...And then come out safe is there a sense of relief that escapes his lips.     The following assault on the Antegents prevent another such incident from arising. The combination of cursed ice, magical bullets, drawn Night Mist, and so much more seem to lead to more time bought, and the saving of more lives. An opportune time to deal with the rest of the Antegents as they're left staggered one way or another. Only...In that time do they seem to calm themselves. It's...Definitely not something you expect to see, even with the strangest they were all involved in.      "That was..." He shakes his head, there wasn't time to focus on that, he looks to the rest of the survivors. "Get through the fog, they won't follow through!"     That's something he'd intend to make certain of should any of them had intended to break through. Though the need never comes thankfully.     Another casual sigh escapes his lips.     BUT then there's apparently another ping, only this time not as threatening. In fact, as the source of that ping arrives, that truck, the ones who come out begin to check for those in need of medical attention. It's the best possible surprise one could ask for in the middle of nowhere like this. "Man...You guys have no idea how incredible your timing is- - Katrina...Rook?"     One after another, it seems everyone begins to greet the unfamiliar face. Well, not entirely unfamiliar. Admittedly her eyes seemed rather similar to Lilian's, albeit her hair in the red pony-tail was definitely a throw off. Still, it definitely throws him for a loop. Still, was he the only one that hadn't met her yet...?     A part of him is almost reluctant to introduce himself. Not because he isn't curious or doesn't want to, it's just...He imagines the worst.     "Sorry, didn't mean to trail off...Name's Touta, and seriously...You guys have great timing. Seriously like..."     Before he can even finish he can feel Xion cutting through the fog and there's a little bit of a shiver for a moment. "R-Right...Sorry, one second."     He was saying sorry a lot all of a sudden..Still, he can at least hope that his fog wasn't causing potential trouble pulling anyone through to their vehicle for aid as it was.
James Bond	This jerk ejected me!      Bond smiles and rubs the spot where Xion punched, tongue-in-cheek. "My hand must have slipped," comes an excuse so absurd it has to be a joke, too.      But, no amount of joking can take enough tension from the air between Rita, Lilian and Katrina. Damn it. Another tack, then.      Clearing his throat, "Rita's an ally of ours. As you can see, she was instrumental in saving these people," he says, professionally and matter-of-factly. "Something that can be said of her quite often. Is something the matter?" He asks, knowing the question implies rather firmly, given the tone of the preceding statements, that nothing should be.
Lilian Rook	Katrina stares in numb recognition for long enough that the team dismounting behind her has already passed. Only the driver and one technician remain in the rugged armoured vehicle; the passenger side door is still open from where she disembarked. Behind you, you hear the sounds of people talking, the noise of relief that come from being reunited, quick, professional chatter assessing the wounded, and the clank and rattle of equipment being brought to bear; but right now, the entire world to Katrina is a handful of people in the most unlikely place.     No, she's definitely fixated on Rita. The monsters parting in front of her; even if she somehow hadn't caught that part, the way they frame her is too obvious. It says more about the family than Rita that even then, she finds Katrina's stare hard to read. All she can pick up is the clouded expression of someone trying very to forcefully believe two things at once. She can see the woman's teeth squeeze together. The way her fingers curl into her palms. Katrina takes a bracing breath, and--     "Um. Hi. Ishirou?" Katrina replies on autopilot. Blinking several times, the words being said to her finally register. "Oh. Oh gosh, it's you, and, Trudy, and Tamamo--! Oh! It's-- the Paladins sent you here, right? Or were you called?" At first, it's a genuine distraction from Rita, but then that thought gives her a momentary handhold of comprehension in the vortex of colliding feelings inside of her. "There's Petra, and Angela! I remember you from the commencement ceremony! You're all coworkers too?" Audibly relieved, she rolls her helmet down into the crook of her arm, and lightly springsteps towards the group.     "Hah? What does that mean, Mister Bond~" Katrina laughs. "You figured it out already? Sly~ Bryce isn't actually here, but it's his commissioned survey corps back at the town. I could get you in touch if you need something, maybe?" Petra and Trudy both make her laugh. Lacing her fingers behind her back, she leans over at a jaunty angle to peer past them at Lilian. "It's only a little coincidence! If you knew what I do, then you wouldn't expect to see me around some Urban Center, right? Who needs someone like me at a big city full of hospitals?"     Lilian is momentarily occupied helping Tamamo out of the car; nervously examining her, airbag or not. Her own sister has hardly escaped her notice, however. Those words in that order makes her hang in mid-motion, forgetting to blink as she starts putting two and two together. Her mouth opens halfway to a soft 'oh' shape, and then she stops to rub her face. "What? Paladins-- Oh. I suppose that's true, yes." says Lilian, the half-truth slipping out before she even has her head together. "When you say it like that I-- . . . Well it seems . . ." She breaks out into uneasy laughter, wiping at her face again, as if she expects her hand to come away wet. "Did we really never have the time to talk about this? How? If only we had, I . . ."     Catching that betrayed look from Rita makes her trail off. Lilian's lips still completely. Her gaze locks with Rita's, for once clearly and genuinely not understanding. Worrying. Struggling to catch up. "You know I . . ."     "Haha, no, no, no titles! You're family friends!" Katrina replies to Angela, twenty feet away. "Tamamo! Don't worry; these are all new!" she laughs, wiggling her fingers menacingly* as she scoots around to meet her halfway. "Just perfect, thanks to you! I never expected this at all; not in a million years! But I'm so happy to hear this is finally making it to the eyes and ears of people we can all depend on!"
Meika Kirenai	'There's . . . a vision of collective fear. I suppose. An othering enemy, repulsive and evil in all ways, that people can look to as an embodiment of everything inhuman.'     "...Monsters aren't all that-" Meika cuts off, a bitter feeling welling up in her. "Yeah. I guess it's a little futile to think about, though. Sometimes they just- You know. Can't know what's there. So what's the point in hoping they'd be there alongside?"     For all the relation she has with the Holy Refulgence, Meika was never the half of the magical girl pair that eagerly sought to work with them. 'Can there please be no tone policing in my car?'     Immediately, Meika stiffens up, and goes silent. A breath later, and she stops suppressing even the ambient shuffling of sitting in a car. "Right. Sorry, Chevalier Rook."     - - - - - 'Because I trust her, Ms. Meika.'     There's another quiet flinch from Chevalier Vermillion, in bright gleaming costume as she is, when she's addressed like that. It's not on purpose. I can't explain it to everyone. It's fine. The rest of it takes a second to think on, as the magical girl stares just to the left of Rita- never at.     "Trust. Sure. And that's why you wanted everyone to see you as just a liar." Not 'monster'. It's perhaps an odd choice to not fall back on that, with the acrid bitterness Vermillion has been levying about and towards Rita, ever since Dysnomia's mission. She mutters, loud enough to hear, still, "You really could have tried harder."     Vermillion's breath hitches, as the Antegent part like waves for Rita, and the rumbling other truck approaches. Military-like, it's scarier to see rolling down than a normal-ish car is. Are we in trouble..? But as it stops, as people pile out, her heart skips a beat.     "Ah! Medics!" Not that it looks like any ambulance she's ever seen. It's just heartening, to see other people able to help. That's the part of emergencies that's often frighteningly out of her control- fixing what's been hurt, and getting civilians to where they need to be. It always is a relief when that's not solely left to chance. She even fist-pumps into the desert air, on adrenaline instinct.     She stands there, staring out at them, quite blatantly wearing on her face that she thinks they're all cool, until-     "..Ah..? Is- do these people know you, Chevalier Rook..?" The magical girl shifts weight foot to foot, on ringing metal skates. Her voice goes much quieter. "That's- good? Bad..?" People's reactions seem to indicate the former, at the very least, especially as the phrase 'sister' gets thrown out.     Chevalier Vermillion gives an awkward little wave to the newcomer, once it's clear that apparently she is Someone Important. "It's- it's cool that they let EMT's use guns, here." An awkward statement instead of a greeting, quickly followed up with a faint 'Hello' to Katrina.
Trudy Grimm	With Lilian trotting over to catch up and exchange words, all the witch does is smile that shark-toothed smile of hers when the elder Rook expounds on her work a bit. Mostly, Trudy's interested in being silent while the sisters catch up. A flustered Lilian is oddly refreshing the rare times she gets to witness it.     The Black Knight approaches at the back of the party. When he comes to a stop, the closest person to him is Meika just by coincidence, somewhat in front and several feet to the side. He brings his greatsword down and plants it, resting one hand on the hilt while the other fusses with his helmet. He twists his headpiece from side to side with faint metallic creaks and squeaks. A moment later, his noonday shadow deepens and expands; the warrior sinks silently into the void and out of sight.     Trudy's gaze settles on Meika, noting that awkward, restless behavior, tilting her head away with a finger to her chin. Inwardly, she makes a note to speak with the girl more privately later about something she'd overheard a few days prior; a conversation for another time. To the outside observer, she may just be looking at where the Knight was standing.     After a moment, her eyes return to watching Katrina and Lilian; just, basking in a warmth far more pleasant than what the desert has to offer.
Lilian Rook	Converging with Tamamo gets her into prime position to sneak attack Lilian, arms under hers to lift her onto her tiptoes and squeeze her against her breastplate. Lilian looks a little more red than actually uncomfortable, on the verge of whining about being embarrassed in front of all her cool friends, but probably resolved not to for the fact she'd graduated just recently. An awkward, unpractised hug finds the small of Katrina's back in return. It leaves Katrina's hands conveniently free for Tamamo too.     "Oh! That's-- Xion, right? I've seen her around! Is she in the Paladins too? I thought she was . . ." Katrina asks. "Wh--? Oh, no. It's-- Xion is here on a private basis. Besides just being a close, you could say that she's a kind of private contractor I can trust? A couple of people here are." says Lilian. "Wow. 'Private contractor' huh? I know I went to your graduation, but that's still so weird to hear you say!" Katrina pulls back just enough to hold Lilian's shoulders and reexamine her from arm's length.     "It kind of suits you though. I thought I'd be more shocked to see my lil' Lil out here, but now that I get a good look, I'm shocked that you don't look out of place at all actually. Gosh, we're nearly the same height now." Lilian exhales, a sigh of relief turning into a nervous laugh. "Somehow, it's . . . refreshing? To hear you say that. But, what was that about a town and--" "Oh my goodness, when did you get . . . ?" Katrina has distracted herself with squeezing Lilian's arm with a look of faint awe. She's instantly double-distracted by Xion directly addressing her.     "Questing app? Is that a thing now?" she asks, somehow actually seriously. "That sounds really handy, actually." The idea of Xion being ejected from a speeding vehicle makes a raspberry-snort slip from her lips, even as she claps her hand over them. "No way, no way!" she waggles her hand at Xion. "Do you have any idea how many unpaid tickets I have? Hahaha~ I couldn't even pretend with a straight face!"     The joy that radiates off every silly little word she has to say is the genuine article. The excitement of seeing you all here seems to cause layers of weight to slide from her shoulders, until she reactively bubbles up with a kind of ecstatic relief she can't suppress. That garbled radio message is the most serious you've ever heard her sound. One might imagine that they've only ever met her on occasions where she might be able to decompress. And those are rare.     "Hi Touta! Are you an outside contractor too? Lilian gushes all about her friends, but I think it's been a really long time since I heard about you? Haha, or I just forgot!" She even sticks out the tip of her tongue. "Obviously. Everyone in this family has either the best possible timing or the worst. It's a curse! Like, actually it kind of is one."     The exact opposite of Lilian, Katrina seems to find Arthur's handshake absolutely hilarious, though there's a moment where she reaches for her medkit first; leave it to a medic. "Well aren't you funny~ Let me guess; you're going to say we look like we could be twins, right?" says Katrina, absolutely not getting it, and also pulling the middle aged lady bit despite looking twenty eight. "A couple of colleagues and I are on retainer with the G.D.F International Special Survey initiative! It's kind of shady to call it 'ops', right? Even though it totally is. We're the only party in town around here, though! And we'll only be around for a couple of months!"
Lilian Rook	Meika's awkward comment makes her crack up a second time. On this occasion, her held-in laugh turns into a round of coughing, then a round of 'sorry!'s. "No, no, I'm-- These are all combat medic personnel, don't worry! And you know, I might not look it, but worked as one during the Onslaught, so I'm certified! No rule-breaking here! And no EMTs with guns!" She waves her arms in an X to make it extra child friendly. "Are you one of my sister's understudies? She always seems to end up training the most adorable girls."     The haze of overjoyed babble and relieving distraction can only last so long. Bond reintroducing Rita is what brings Katrina back down to Earth. The smile slowly falls off of her face, then drains out of her eyes. Letting her hands fall from Lilian, Katrina takes a deep breath in an uncanny-familiar way, and takes on another tone, just the same.     "I see. Yes." says Katrina. Shared habit. "I've heard . . . Lilian really likes Rita. So I've heard things have been . . . rough lately. At least, that's the impression I've gotten." Closing her eyes and breathing out, Katrina stiffly rotates towards Rita without opening them, and says "Thank you very much, Miss Rita. Because of you, people who might have died can return home safely. There's nothing more I could ask, and nothing else could make me happier." She doesn't open them again until she can look back at Lilian.     "Katrina. Can we . . . Let's talk about it. Like we used to. If we're here anyways, then there's no point mutually holding infosec from one another. There's more than enough I . . . feel I should warn you about." says Lilian. "You said there's . . . a town? You came from somewhere, didn't you? You definitely haven't been driving for days." Katrina nods, but still sounds stiff, if weary about having to be so with her sister.     "And you'll tell me about Rita too, right?" ". . . Beg pardon?" "You know exactly what I mean. Come on Lil." "I do. So . . ." "Thank you. I trust you, and I trust your friends. But I need--" She looks to Rita again, then back, pained. "You can come. But the rest of your friends have to go back. I'm sorry. Once we've talked, I can set-- there's an artificial warpgate; private, that we have under G.D.F codes. You have your Immunes commander clearance now, so you can bring them through next time without the drive, but . . . You know why, right?" "Yeah. I know. It's not me. It's not her. It's . . ." "I knew I could count on you to understand."     Katrina's hand lingers on Lilian's cheek for a moment, and then she turns back to the APC, looking over her shoulder. Lilian looks back at the group, and manages to force out the words; "You'll be fine driving back, won't you? Nothing happened on the way here. I swear I'll tell you the instant I can. Xion, Petra, please look after Tamamo, and take care of Rita. I'll phone as soon as I get there."     A weak smile catches Katrina's lips. "I'm really sorry. Tamamo, can we talk about it over tea later? And Xion, too, seeing as you alread come around. And . . . Rita . . . We'll . . ." She looks away again. She can't hold eye contact. "Yeah. Soon."     As Katrina steps aboard again, she gestures thrice sharply over her shoulder, and says the words, "Clean them up. Let their people work, then check for stragglers."