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Calvin Nash	Entry to Ossabaw Island is a bit of work for someone not from here, as Khosa would know already given her prior visit a few nights ago. There's no bridge--not because of the war, the locals of nearby Keller say (or maybe it's Richmond Hill; there seems to be some disagreement from person to person). Rather, there never was a bridge. Ossabaw was a wildlife reserve before the bombs fell, with access to the outside world available by invitation only.     These days, it's not nearly so exclusive. There's no Georgia state government nor (to the lament of some of the older locals of Keller/Richmond Hills) elderly caretaker to put it at issue, but getting there still means either a twenty minute boat ride from the marina along the Ogeechee River or using the Terminal System, a teleportation network local to this world.     The river is a deep brackish blue, winding long and serpentine seemingly no matter where you look. When the sun strikes its placid surface just right, it looks like veins of slver cut through the forested islands. The sky is a clear blue-grey, but the air is comfortably cool despite the buzzing of summer insects in the air.     The ferryman, Devonte, an old fisherman with wrinkled umber brown skin, twinkling green eyes and a tightly-clung half-circle of wiry grey-black hair crowning his bald head, drops you off at the same place the Terminal will (give or take a squat cinder-block building to keep the bulky 90s-tech scrapmetal computer console out of the weather in the case of the latter), so it's entirely up to preference. Do you prefer a scenic ride between emerald islets, or a blinking jaunt that briefly inspires a wordless, ephemeral emotion?     Whichever you choose, your destination and the sight that awaits you are largely the same, save for the aforementioned building. Ossabaw Island     A shore of soft gray silt is flanked by a curtain of brown reeds dancing in the gentle rush of the river as it bends around. A thick forest of hardy oaks, evergreen pines, spiny-trunked palmettos and stout wax myrtles extends once the soil is firm enough to hold them. Those of you who took the ferry would have seen the island from a few different angles, along the bend of the river; glistening saltwater marsh takes up two-thirds, with the aforementioned maritime forest taking up the rest--though there do appear to be logging efforts.     Fishers wave to you, living in restored bunk-houses not far from the shore that look old enough to be pre-*civil* war, much less nuclear. A white heron takes wing from the forest, as the unusual whine-rumble of a magnetite-cell conversion truck startles it from its roost. Out from the cover of forest, along a sandy road lined with crushed oyster shells, emerges Calvin's white pickup. It pulls up near the dock, and after dropping into park, Calvin's right arm pumps just below the window, rolling it down.     "How y'all doin'?" he grins, his muscled arm resting casually out the window once it's down. "Just finished a shift at the polling station with PB here."     In the passenger seat, there's an unfamiliar figure; pinprick lanterns of white peer out from the shaded sockets of an olive green, perpetually grinning death's head. 'PB' has no evident hair, but seems to be armored in a kind of chitin from the back of his head down, which forms a natural sort of half-plate. The stinger of a scorpion's tail peeks up over his right shoulder. He waves genially. "Greetings, mortals."      "Hop in the back, I'll take y'all downtown 'n we can talk on the way."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine, of course, opts for the boat ride. She'll take pretty much any chance to get a better lay of the land. She makes a little small talk on the way. "You get any fearsome critters out here, Devonte? You know, wampus cats and the like. They love this kind of terrain, usually."     On arriving to the island the huntress loiters at the water's edge, enjoying the view and the wildlife sounds until Calvin's pickup interrupts the relative peace of a swampy mid-afternoon. She turns, waves a greeting, and her eyes bug out at the sight of the skeletal scorpion-man. Thankfully it's a subtle tell because her eyes don't have whites, and she does her best to hide the excitement of meeting a new (and apparently friendly!) kind of monster.     Madeleine clambers up into the open bed of the pickup, placing her bow (she figured it'd be better for polite company than a spear) on the floor of the bed next to her. "PB!" she calls out to the cab, "A pleasure to meet ya! You got family around here?"
Powerpuff Girls	"I'm going to check out the coast." Buttercup had declared to her 'fellows', and, in a grey baseball cap, black t-shirt, green zipper jacket, faded blue jeans and black sneakers flown off from where others had gathered in a streak of green and 'pkew!'-sound . Her 'fellow', Blossom, is content to wait for the boat. Today, she's dressed in a light white sleeveless top with black neckband and a pink-yellow-orange sunrise image centered, a buttoned pink jacket she wears loose around her shoulders, black and white vertical striped skirt, jacket matching pink socks, and white sneakers with red laces, with bright orange hair in a ponytail tied with a black and white striped ribbon. Idling and flicking through posts with decisive thumb-flicks and taps-to-pause, she pauses her scrolling as others arrive, giving a brief but genuine-enough smile to each person - and to the ferryman, when he arrives. Attending the scening boat trip upon a ferry rail, Blossom gives nature a long listen, having been initially surprised at the rewilding of America rather than its devastation, but particularly in the areas around human habitation. Was there demons about? What strange landscapes were visible from the boat? Blossom, a methodical and thoughtful super-heroine, had not spent much time in 'post apocalyptic' scenarios and situations: she had spent her whole life averting them. To sample the almost Disney-safe (in all senses) boat tour and get off and be greeted rather quickly by a considered local kept a pleased-interested smile and look to her ruby eyes. She waves to fishermen! Calvin rolls up. Blossom sees 'PB'. Her smile flattens, and 'interested' shifts with it. "Hello." She shoots to the death's head, and then shifts pointedly back to Calvin. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking. Mister Nash, was it?" Blossom greets, having inevitably switched to a loose crossed-arms stance and lifting right hand out of cross-tuck to drum fingers in a wave down her bicep. "I'm Blossom. It's pleasant to meet you."Does your car have room for all of us?"
Khosa	Khosa absolutely, one hundred percent took the Terminal System. She wasn't surprised just to see that much water - oh, she might not have seen it at home but she knew it existed and it wasn't going to freak her out. No sir. She'd seen a river once before. She wasn't afraid of it, as she was quick to tell anyone... but she definitely wasn't comfortable going over it, either. Not in something like that boat. (Also, though she won't admit this either, she can't swim.) So, the Terminal. It's fine. She can manage that. "Hey again. Meeting go well?" she calls to Calvin, before her eyes gravitate toward PB. Scorpion tail, chitin... her eyes narrow slightly, but it's more in thought than suspicion. She vaults up into the back of the truck - she's gone this way before, she's used to riding in the back by now. Khosa settles toward the front of the open bed, facing backwards, so she can call to the people inside - at least when the truck's not moving. "Thanks for the lift," she says. "Doing fine here. Just got back in. Polling station, though?" She's not particularly familiar with it; it takes her a moment, and she comes up with, "What do you need to do there? You're not watching ALL of it, are you?" She adds to PB a moment later, "A pleasure. I'm called Khosa." Since they have not been introduced, she's being polite about it. She gives the same attention to the others sharing the cab with her.
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan opts for the boat ride. He's used teleportation before to get from place to place. And without much above ground bodies of water in his world, he's just happy to sit in the boat and savor the passage. Looking down at the water with a pleased comfortable expression. It's a moment where no weights are pressing in on him. Even the beautiful lacing of the sun across the water makes his intrusive thoughts feel the proper amount of pleasant. There is a lot to do in this place, there's a lot to do in The City, but for this 20 minute stretch, he can enjoy wearing his cloth armor and watch. Eager waves are met in return with eager waves. No bother to hide his parculiar body, there are weird ghosts here anyways. Trees are met with Aidan's need to touch everything new, pressing his fingers up along the bark as he looks up. The sight of PB makes Aidan's grin spread wider. "Immortal then? I'm Aidan, pleased to meetcha." he asks eagerly as he grabs the side of the truck and vaults into it with ease. "A wampus cat? Family?" he prompts, hoping to find out more from either PB or Madeleine. Folded legs and a pulled up tail in his lap make room for others. "You're not watching ALL of it, are you?" "Oh yea, hopefully you got a group."
Rita Ma	"Thank you, Mr. Devonte!" Rita, who spent most of the boat ride over leaning against the railing and staring at the littoral scenery in something like awe, now waves the weathered fisherman a cheery goodbye. Even though they didn't trade many words, there's a kind of instinctive kinship there. By contrast with Blossom, she's perfectly home in the 'after-the-end'.      With a comfy-looking slightly-oversized sweater and cute knee-length skirt, Rita continues her trend of being dressed just a little off-temperature. You'd think she's sacrificing comfort for fashion, but she doesn't droop in the least. That's the only outward sign today that she isn't a completely ordinary young lady.      "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Nash! I'm Rita," she says, following in Blossom's lead, and then adds in a less-formal tone as she hops up in the bed of the truck: "I really like your jacket, Ms. Blossom! It's not a little hot?" Hypocrite.      She snuggles herself into the bed's near-cab corner with knees against her chest, eyes "PB" warily through the truck's rear window, and presses her lips in a slightly pouty shape. "What's the relationship between people and monsters here like, Mr. Nash?" she says before the engine kicks up, presuming a little.      Then to Aidan, with a slight intensification of the poutiness: "Is 'mortal' and 'immortal' that big of a deal? All it means is that you don't get old, right?'
Rowdyruff Boys	Had things remained as they were, with Buttercup being the primary motive for his presence, Brick probably would've grabbed a sketchpad, some pencils, and gone floating along the coast with her. As things are however, he's hanging out with Blossom. Today he's actually wearing a short-sleeved version of the characteristic red-and-black-striped shirt that his brothers were known for wearing back in Townsville, with some rather ragged jeans. As a change of pace he's actually wearing his baseball cap, which isn't quite the color of his hair, eyes, or shirt, along with a light belt attachment that hangs at his left hip containing his notebook, sketchpad, and a few other bits and bobs. It resembles a toolbelt, and is probably made out of half of one. One of them looks like a weird little compass, but it's too big for one. His attention is actually oscillating back and forth between the general surroundings and the janky oversized compass, along with an actual normal compass, which he seems to be making notes about. It's only once the boat ride is over that he actually rises up out of the twist of his own thoughts and pays attention. The death's head gets a nod. Brick doesn't seem too put off about having to interact with it, or as if this is an abnormal part of his life. That's because his dad's the devil, so that sort of thing just shows up now and again. "Pretty sure we're going to have to pile in the back. You want to drift alongside, clip on to it, or what?" He asks. When he says 'clip on to', he's referring to a minor gadget they have for attaching themselves to vehicles while flying so they float along with minimal effort with them like balloons.
Powerpuff Girls	Blossom, considering a little too long to get the most prime seat, gives Calvin and PB a lingering look especially as a pair, and then blinks and flashes a faint smile, and heads for the back of the truck. Brick's arrival and option-offering takes her mind from the weird demon, and since he regularly knew what to do with Realistic Death's Head (on the passenger seat), she followed his lead in playing it casual. "Never mind. I think there's room enough. I'd rather not float through a fishing village on the back of Mister Nash's truck." "It might give the locals the wrong idea." Drilling their local escort because they were a bit 'local' wasn't what the ruby Puff was going to commit to anyway. Instead, Blossom is the one who's asked a slightly awkward question from Rita, with the Puff climbing into the back. "Oh, thank you!" Blindsided by the next question, the Puff regains her wits quickly. "Ah... Hot? Well, if I start to feel it, I can take it off." Red-nailed fingers dip around her side to tuck into the jacket's low-scrunched pocket. "But, pockets."
Rita Ma	Rita, who is increasingly leaving her little brown tote bag at home, considers this wisdom. She looks down at the empty space where it would be by her side. Her lips squiggle.      "But pockets," she finally says, and nods a couple of times. "Thanks." As if this were something totally new to chew on!
Calvin Nash	BEFORE >You get any fearsome critters out here, Devonte?     "Not so much these days," answers the old ferryman. "Nue come in sometimes after a storm. Sneaky," he warns. "Like to hide. You go poking around the old farms that went rotten, ones with the runoff, liable to see a gyuki. Mean as a damn rattler, smell like shit. Both of 'em'll just as soon eat you as make you sick."
Calvin Nash	BEACH >It's nice to meet you, Mr. Nash! I'm Rita. >Mr. Nash, was it? Does your car have room for all of us?     "Yes ma'am, that's me! Nice to meet y'all, too." He flashes a smile, his bright eyes hidden behind aviator shades but his blonde brows raising enthusiastically all the same. Is there enough room for everyone? "Should do!" The truck bed is spacious, built for the days when tools or construction supplies might be carried in it. Since it was chosen for its offroad ability (uncharitably, its intact state), there's not really any supplies or tools competing for space in the bed. The cab is less so--it can hold maybe one more person. >What do you need to do there? You're not watching ALL of it, are you? >Oh yea, hopefully you got a group.     "No ma'am, Ms. Khosa. We take shifts--mine was early morning. One-marshal job, too. Mostly it's just standin' around lookin' serious while people do their thing. Making sure nobody cuts in line or bows up, you know. Really, it's just peace of mind for the older folks." >A pleasure to meet ya! You got family around here?     "A wife and three children! but in the Expanse, not here," says PB. His lipless teeth don't convey a smile well, but his tone picks up the slack. A regal, princely tenor with an accent that isn't American, or generally even 'Western' at all, but is hard to otherwise place.     "How is Ninisina an' 'em?" Calvin asks, taking the truck out of park and pulling back onto the oystershell road once everyone's situated. "You oughta bend her ear about moving down here."     "I have. She prefers the faster pace of Tiphereth."     "Hmh. That's too bad." A little silence follows, the tree canopy filtering sunlight in uneven rivulets as you pass beneath it. Calvin gently brakes to let a bounding deer pass, then sighs as a diminutive black-furred hog darts past, too. "I done told him about that hole in the fence."     "Shall I give chase and subdue it?"     "Nah, they get stressed out when it's not Ronnie doing the handling--I'll let him know one got out. Boy's a pig whisperer."     "Indeed." >What's the relationship between people and monsters here like, Mr. Nash?     "Depends," says Calvin, reaching behind himself to slide open the cab's rear window so as to better hear everyone in the bed. "Out in the wild, there's all kinds. Some of 'em'll kill ya, some'll eat ya. Some're chatty." He pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "Some wanna jump your bones."     PB's lantern-eyes roll, half-amused, half-put-upon.     "What? It's true."     "It is. I only found it amusing to have come from you."     "Anyway." Calvin says the word like a curative or an air freshener. "How things are between us and demons changes from place to place, Ms. Rita In the Assembly, we work and live together. In Libertalia, it's kinda the same. In Canaan, they run things. Or at least, certain ones do. The ones God likes."     Restored bunk houses, and new ones, become more common as the truck makes its leisurely trundle. A larger building, this one with a sign shaded by moss-draped limbs of old oaks, is denoted as 'the Last Resort,' with 'drinks' and 'live music' included on its yellowed signboard. The proprietor, a woman with greying red hair in a well-worn sweater and faded jeans, waves to you. Calvin waves back.
Aidan Proudpick	"Is 'mortal' and 'immortal' that big of a deal? All it means is that you don't get old, right?" The expression combined from Rita puts Aidan on the backfoot, "Oh! Well, yea, but it's just kinda interesting. Sometimes yer immortal because yer a certain kinda person, or you drank an elixir, maybe a magic weapon, or a curse. I was just curious." Aidan, for his part, is in his 'wearing only four different outfits, two of them being armor' stage. Mostly because all of them have been burned or stolen. So he's got his saddle bag. "A wife and three children! but in the Expanse, not here." "Huh," The eyebrows that Aidan raises are a clear indication this is the first time he's even thought about someone that strange even having a bunch of kids, thinking temporarily of PB in a house with a white picket fence, nodding to himself. Aidan's body adjusts subconsciously as the truck stops, leaning away from it to balance the inertia. "Depends," "So about normal, gotcha. Not just one type." He nods, accepting the idea there's the possibility of getting eaten or hit on by a demon with equal measure. That's just the multiverse.
Khosa	Khosa takes up a fair amount of room - she's tall and powerful both - and is not the sort of person to seem like she's taking up *less* room, but she at least tries not to accidentally poke or kick anyone when they're all arranged in the bed. It's kind of an awkward way to move a group, she thinks. Like a wagon, but without seats - they're all in the front. She wishes she had something to ride, instead; a mount. But this'll do for short distances. "It makes sense," she agrees with Calvin. If they ever do a mass vote, they'll need something like that, she's sure; maybe she should ask some more questions about it later. The actual mechanics of it - but it's something the templars could organize if they were told to. 'Is mortal and immortal that big a deal?' "A lot of people'll tell you so," Khosa replies to Rita. "I guess it depends how old you are and what you're looking at. I caught your name - it's Rita, yes? Khosa." She sticks out one hand, though it's when the truck catches a bump, so she lets it steady for a moment before she tries again. Then she leans over to watch the pig go. It is the first living hog she has ever seen. "Looks like a kip with hair instead of a shell and four legs," Khosa says, more to herself than anyone else. Which means if it acts the same, someone will catch it when it tries to eat something it's not supposed to and it fails to run away. They don't seem to be stopping to catch it themselves, anyway. 'Out in the wild, there're all kinds...' "Isn't that true of anything?" Khosa asks. "Monsters, people, whatever. Different kinds everywhere you go. And if some of them are smarter than others - no offense," she adds to PB, "I mean things like animals, which you aren't. Then they're definitely going to act different." She's got one part of multiversal travel down - an insect-ish person doesn't bother her at all. The Last Resort - "Hey, I went to a place with that name last week," Khosa says, more amused than anything else. Coincidences happen and it's a pretty good name for a late-stop inn. When Calvin waves, she does also, curious about the music but not willing to interrupt to ask about it.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	ON THE BOAT     "You go poking around the old farms that went rotten, ones with the runoff, liable to see a gyuki."     "Like the sort they get over in Japan, with the head of an ox? I'm surprised they range all the way out here. Although I bet the war's done a number on all sorts of creatures, forcin' them to find new habitats.     "A wampus cat?"     "Oh, yeah! They're these big cats with one telescoping arm, like an accordion almost? Or I think it's called a 'pantograph'. They use the long arm to grab birds outta the air, it's really fascinating to see in action..." Madeleine rambles for the rest of the boat ride about wampus cats, even touching on other fearsome critters like its natural enemy the Whiffenpoof fish and the similarly feline but otherwise unrelated cactus cat of the American southwest.     ON THE TRUCK     Madeleine immediately perks up at the sight of the strange little hog. "Oh, you've got little pigs here! That's so cute. How big do they get?"     "Some wanna jump your bones."     Madeleine laughs, brightly. "I'll take that over the Patriots, for sure," she says with a smirk.     "In Canaan, they run things. Or at least, certain ones do. The ones God likes."     The huntress's tone shifts two notches darker. "You don't mean... angels and suchlike?" She narrows her eyes as she considers the possibility.
Rowdyruff Boys	Brick seems like he's about to object to what Blossom says, but considers the giant skull head and decides that she's probably right, closing his partly-opened mouth with a faint click of teeth. "Yeah, alright. Done enough flying around here that it's probably already in that territory, but whatever." He glances towards Rita as he climbs into the truck bed. "Isn't a sweater pretty hot, here, too?" He sounds more curious than critical. In response to Calvin's run-down on the monster situation, he snorts. "Demons. My experience with them is that they tend to be more about their manias than they are about murder in particular. Getting caught in the manias is the f-- is the problem." Evidently he's watching his language right now. Blossom being right there has something to do with it, probably. //The ones God likes.// A sharp little look meets that statement. He's not a fan of that. Tugging his phone out of his pocket, Brick snaps several passing photos of the pig before replacing it. //I'll take that over the Patriots, for sure// "Depends," he replies to Madeleine, "on how insistent they are. How much of a running process versus a person. My experience with angels is that they're the running process type. We've got enough context to know there's both types of demons around here, though."
Lilian Rook	Venturing out to a wildlife reserve is a refreshing change of pace; one that's almost becoming 'pace' itself, lately, but still something Lilian appreciates. She grew up in one of those after all, 'former' and all. She is kind of weird about any teleportation that seems vaguely technological, though, and avoids it until an explanation is forthcoming.     'Saltwater marsh' means no enrichment cloak (a term Lilian has not actually conceived of and would be aghast to hear), but her lace-up leather travelling boots continue to be extremely useful, and so the rest of the green grey and rosebrown summer roads outfit simply has to come with her as a matter of coordination. Sensibly, she should then bring her usual messenger bag, tie up her hair professionally, and present herself unarmed-- but then the whole effect is ruined, so really she just has to show up looking nine tenths the same as in Lycia. It's just the inconvenience of not owning any other pairs of tall waterproof boots.     Caught up in wandering the woods on ~adventure~ and trying to scope out the place after having been occupied when it was introduced, Lilian winds up joining the truck as it drives past, specifically homing in on Rita and treating herself to a seat on a moving vehicle. Even then, there's a lot to go through, though, even as a late arrival. And so,     'In Canaan, they run things. Or at least, certain ones do.'     "Beg pardon? Demons that God likes?" It's enough to raise an eyebrow, but Lilian is perfectly willing to believe just about anything regarding the meaning of rural down-home-isms. "Would you care to explain that?"     'A wife and three children!'     "Oh, congratulations?" Lilian says, brainlessly, to the sort of being that three years ago she'd be incredibly racist about. "How do . . . family units . . . ?" she begins, then swerves to "Tiphereth? Is that a city?" Struggling a little, she adds, "Amusing. I know someone who goes by that name."     'Is 'mortal' and 'immortal' that big of a deal? All it means is that you don't get old, right?'     "I believe it's meant to convey a certain context." Lilian says to Rita. "That mortals come from here, and the others come from there; they live different lives and keep to themselves; that sort of thing. It's not as if it's a distinction you'd typically make in some arbitrary town somewhere. For instance . . ." Lilian's eyes widen with a moment of introspective hesitation, before she falls through the rest of her sentence. "I'm still 'a mortal', correct?"     'Some wanna jump your bones.'     Lilian is normal and thus historical precedent will doubtlessly show that this fact has no relevance to her.
Powerpuff Girls	The wisdom of wearing jackets for 'But Pockets' successfully shared, Blossom is once more surprised by the dialogue. "You're quite close to other planes then, aren't you? Those locations you're talking about - Expanse, Tiphereth - can you visit there from here easily?" The ruby Puff smiles from the back of the truck entirely in the timing of a joke. "Or do you only go back for vacations?" It's a genuine question, but she has to remember to use 'vacation' and not 'holiday', because she is unclear if demons have 'holy days'. At least, PB's kind. "The kind God likes--" Is a sentiment repeated several times, so Blossom is the one who clicks her teeth shut shortly after Brick, but can be caught smiling slyly at the fellow red's diversion of language. She does appreciate it! "Well, if any horny specters accost us on the road, I'll be sure to ask for your tips, Mr. Nash."
Rita Ma	Rita leans forward, practically smushing her face through the open rear window in obliviously innocent fashion. "What does 'jump your bones' mean, Mr. Nash? Do you mean like a vulture?"      Fortunately, just then the car hits that bump, and Rita's head gently bonks the windows edge. "Oww..." she murmurs under her breath, and mercifully breaks off her assault to lean back into her corner-spot.      Slipping right back into cheery mode after dusting off the top of her head: "Mmm! It's nice to meet you, Ms. Khosa! That's right." She down-gears back into a still-bright informality from the greeting. "I mean, all of us here have really dangerous jobs, don't we? Dying of old age seems like something you can worry about later."      Lilian draws her attention over. "I guess that's true, Ms. Rook. It's not all that important on its own, but..." Then she taps her lips with a finger. "Are you 'mortal', Ms. Rook? I don't really know if I am."      "Isn't a sweater pretty hot too?"      Rita blink-blinks, looks down at herself, tugs at the fabric, and then frowns. "Oh. I guess it is," she says, looking a little crestfallen like she's answered a teacher's question wrong. "But that's okay. It's a..."      Petra's not here. It's all over the internet. There's no reason not to cough up the truth when prompted. Why does spitting it out feel so hard anyway?      "It's just sort of a disguise. I don't really look like this," she finally manages, and her smile looks apologetic.      Later, she whirls around not quite in time to see the pig, and looks absolutely delighted (and in a little danger of toppling over the truck's side). Somehow, the Last Resort and its proprietor charm her just as much. This is close enough to home to be warming, but exotic enough to be riveting, and what else do you really need?
Khosa	Khosa laughs pretty suddenly. She's loud; her laugh isn't very restrained. "Ha ha! That's definitely right. We can worry about how long we'll live when it gets close to mattering. Me, I think I'm going to try to keep going a while longer, though. The impression is given that she considered giving Rita a comradely slap on the shoulder. She restrained herself at the last moment, though.
Rowdyruff Boys	"Don't know why it's about God, near as I can tell Heaven is just full of angels," Brick grumbles as the topic of 'demons God likes' continues. This doesn't appear to actually be locally relevant, however-- he's griping about something back home. //Well, if any horny specters accost us on the road, I'll be sure to ask for your tips, Mr. Nash.// Brick shoots Blossom a little look. An I-know-what-you-do-with-weirdos sort of look. Somehow, she's nearly always managed to duck the bulk of it happening while he's physically there, but he definitely knows to respect her ability to handle creeps. He glances back at Rita. "Try a rain coat. People will think you're just quirky at worst." Evidently, it wasn't really a wrong answer to him.
Rita Ma	Rita, beaming, shrugs one shoulder and leans forward as if to offer it up for Khosa's slapping. Being around boisterous women is just her natural habitat! "Mmmm! You're really smart, Ms. Khosa," she says, all aglow. "I'm sure you'll be around for a long time."      When she leans back into her seat, she touches her lips with her thumbnail, simultaneous relief and confusion at Brick. "A rain coat? Why that? I'm not sure I like how those look. Or I guess if you had it in a nice color...?"
Aidan Proudpick	"What does 'jump your bones' mean, Mr. Nash? Do you mean like a vulture?" Aidan will jump on this landmine, "Demons are attracted to... non-demons, I guess? I guess they are gonna have all sorts of preferences, and some of them might be any of us." A pause. "And maybe a pink raincoat?" "I'm still 'a mortal', correct?" He glances at Lilian, wondering that himself. "Are you?" He takes a glance around the truck, realizing he is the significantly most killable person here.
Calvin Nash	>Oh, you've got little pigs here! That's so cute. How big do they get?     "Just short of knee-high, if you let 'em," says Calvin. "They'll eat up just about anything, but they love acorns. And turtle eggs. So we try to keep 'em away from the beach." >You don't mean... angels and suchlike?     "Yeah," Calvin says. "I do." The solitary road opens up into a large field, full of simple wooden buildings, mingled in with deliberately packed middens that create passageways for water in times of heavy rain, directing them to neatly spaced plots of farmland at the periphery. It's still mostly residential, but the roads are beginning to branch off. >Beg pardon? Demons that God likes? Would you care to explain that?     "Canaan believes in a 'Thousand Year Kingdom--' some kinda perfect society that God'll come in and establish once they've proven we're worthy of it by gettin' a solid first few steps in, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders. "I got my own opinions on that, 'course, but... It's not just 'angels' that're in them cities. Yeah, there's a few, but it's also God's allies. They might not work for him, or even be from his neck of the woods, but they're for that big idea."     "Ganesha, Hresvelgr, and Amaterasu come to mind as high-profile allies of Yehovah, if those names ring any bells," PB chimes in. "Satan, too, of course."     "Mmhm. Which of course takes us to the ones he don't like--everybody else, but especially the ones in Lucifer's camp." He pauses, looking over his shoulder at Lilian. "Which'd be the ones hangin' around over in Libertalia." >Isn't a sweater pretty hot, here, too?     "Used to be," he says. "Before my time. Bombs put a lot of shit in the air, they say. Cooled things down." >My experience with angels is that they're the running process type.     "I've met two. Moroni and the Trumpeter. The one's okay, I guess. Acts real suspicious of strangers, but I reckon he's got a lot on his plate. The other one's an asshole I hope y'all don't never run into."
Calvin Nash	>Those locations you're talking about - Expanse, Tiphereth - can you visit there from here easily?     "Much more easily than I can visit here from there," answers PB. "I'm contracted with Marshal Nash, so that I can exist here without undue strain."     "To walk around with us," Calvin explains, "They need emotional energy. They have some of their own, and the strong ones have lots of it--but even those ones would rather not have to worry about it. The purest source of that energy is magnetite--not the regular kind. An offshoot that started showing up, 'round the time of the war. We generate it naturally; some a little, some a lot, but we don't use it for nothing like demons do." >What does 'jump your bones' mean, Mr. Nash? Do you mean like a vulture? >Well, if any horny specters accost us on the road, I'll be sure to ask for your tips, Mr. Nash.     Calvin laughs raucously at Blossom's comment, slapping the steering wheel. "Uh, no, Ms. Rita, I mean like..." Bump.     "Like Gandharva and Apsaras have been towards Marshal Nash since he came into town."     "You need to get your damn eyes checked, boy," Calvin says matter of factly.     "What's the expression your people use, again? 'If it were a snake, it would have bitten you.'"     "Hush."     Past the farmlands, next, and into 'downtown' proper. A proper city has been erected, one wood building at a time. This part of town is evidently more swampy, as more of those mounds from before are present--and the buildings here seem designed that they might easily be dissembled for the maintenacne of those mounds every few years.     Kids chase Calvin's truck yelling hellos to him, to PB, and to all of you. Adults peek curiously at new faces, up from their work. Carts pulled by donkeys, horses and even one pulled by a horse with two curled horns and a leering grin are common sights. Crude power poles stretch a perimeter around the downtown area, trailing from a fenced-in area with multiple generators running, making that same whining-rumble as Calvin's truck.     Old folks watch from windows and front porches, shaded by the boughs of old oaks heavy with green-grey moss. Towards the center of town, a long line of people winds outwards, while a Demon Marshal and his companion (a wolf large enough to look Calvin or Aidan in the eye on all fours) largely just stand around 'supervising.' In the hands of each person in line is a wooden strip, cut to be breakable evenly at three places along its length. Each one bears a unique, intricate carving on the back; a kind of signature specific to each person. Khosa, Brick and anyone else with magical or occult knowhow can tell these are created somehow at the instant the recipient touches them--this is a ballot, the vote Calvin mentioned.     The truck pulls to a stop in front of a place titled, funnily enough, 'The Place.' Delicious, savory smells waft from the front door of the establishment, and the picnic tables outside are packed with satisfied faces. "Y'all hungry?" he asks. A chalkboard out front advertises today's special.
Rowdyruff Boys	"They're usually lighter than a sweater or an ordinary jacket. It's also not really weird for them to be in bright colors. So it winds up being more 'quirky' than suspicious, most of the time," Brick explains to Rita, gesticulating vaguely with his left hand as he does so. //Which'd be the ones hangin' around over in Libertalia.// Brick has to try not to laugh at that. He succeeds, but he couldn't possibly hide the fact that he finds this entertaining as all hell. Naturally, it gets better. //Moroni// "Are you being -- serious right now? Not The Metatron, or one of the other big -- names. The mormonism guy," he manages to get his way through without laughing or swearing, but it's a close thing. It's still important enough that Brick fishes his notebook out and writes this down. //Y'all hungry?// "Against my will," he answers.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Without realizing it, Madeleine has a smile on her face. This sort of community, this sort of *life*, sets her at ease whether she knows so or not. A focus on practicality, on living to see tomorrow in comfort, absent the high-minded philosophies which apparently dominate the Southern Assembly's rivals, strikes a chord with her own world-view. She marvels quietly at the enormous wolf, wondering to herself if she could make an ice construct rivaling its scale.     The sounds and smells of an eatery, and Calvin's invitation, stir the huntress from her pastoral reverie. "I could eat. What's on the menu?"
Khosa	Khosa has been trying to turn the levels of boisterousness down (with mixed success) because she's professionally representing the Free City of Tyr to a whole new world - indeed, every new world, since nobody here has been to Athas as far as she knows. They don't invite many visitors, though she expects that to change sooner or later. It does mean that Rita is safe from shoulder-smacks, if not volume, as Khosa defaults to 'fairly loud' and has not bothered to throttle that back as much. Into the town and Khosa feels more comfortable with the methods of transportation. Horses don't really live on Athas (or at least not in the Tablelands) but she is more familiar with the donkey-and-horse level of technology than the truck she's riding. (Not the generators though. Those are still new.) The whole attitude of building what you can for today, regardless of the future, is refreshing, like a nice breeze. She is perfectly happy to wave back at kids. She seems to like kids, and Khosa herself is different enough to be clearly nonhuman, but familiar enough that she probably doesn't register as a demon... or at least not a weird demon, as Khosa is somewhat underpredicting how monstrous they look based on PB and descriptions. She glances at the ballots again, seems to get a sense of it - and the fact that it's 'safe' magic - and nods to herself, just once. "Eh?" she asks, not being familiar with angels and demons, certainly not recognizing any of the ones listed by name. Or Lucifer. But: "I know some people like that," Khosa volunteers. "Tyrants, usually, who want to control their perfect city." She doesn't sound like she's a fan. "We got rid of our tyrant; I hope they're not just getting ready to install one." 'Cooled things down...' "I did notice it was kind of cool, but I wasn't sure if that was the way it usually was around here. I'm from a desert." Which explains a couple things, ranging from parts of her outfit to her omnipresent tan (though she's fairly dark to begin with) to her discomfort with boats and enough water to swim (or sink) in. "Half the Multiverse is cold, it feels like, ha!" Food seems to be possible. "Always eat when you get a chance," Khosa says, like something drilled into her. "You never know when you won't be able."
Ivy Carrow	But, they weren't the only ones at The Place.     "Well, if it isn't Marshal Nash!"     The Warprunners were here in full force--at least in personell. No one had been able to pry Ivy's sword from her side, but they carried no firearms here. Their uniforms--something between an old-fashioned aviator's outfit and a park ranger's--Most of them had red scarves curled around their necks, but Ivy still wore her cloak, too dark to distinquish texture of shape.     The Warprunners were camped about The Place, standing up as the elites piled out of the car. "I saved some spots for everyone. Hope you don't mind~" She took permission and forgiveness without waiting for it to be given to her. "Should be room for everyone. I love this place." She looked out over the settlement, hand propped up on her hips. "It's so charming."
Lilian Rook	'Are you 'mortal', Ms. Rook? I don't really know if I am.'     "Strictly speaking . . . that's . . . likely? I suppose." Lilian says. "Of course, you know how it goes with people like 'us'. I have ancestors who've lived a terribly long time already. And with recent advances in several fields, it's entirely possible that we've already reached the point at which the growth of longevity might outspeed human ageing. But fundamentally, that's sort of a compensatory process for 'being mortal', isn't it? If you think about . . ." Despite winding up to a more full-blown explanation, Lilian revs back down surprisingly soberly. "As for . . . the other thing . . . I don't know. There are a few I share a theory with. Perhaps I'll turn out like you, one day."     'Canaan believes in a 'Thousand Year Kingdom--' some kinda perfect society that God'll come in and establish once they've proven we're worthy of it by gettin' a solid first few steps in, I guess.'     "What a wonderful thing to imagine. I can imagine it's quite effective." Lilian says, with something equivalent to cutting sarcasm. "That all you have to do is put in a little bit of work, indicate that you're willing and wanting, show off to everyone how hard you're trying, and then have the rewards waiting at the end of the long path suddenly given to you all at once; I can name people right here who adore that comfortable delusion." Lilian sighs.     "No, hold the phone; how are angels, demons? Those words mean literally the opposite thing. Are we speaking of some sort of tyrannical demon god?"     'Ganesha, Hresvelgr, and Amaterasu come to mind as high-profile allies of Yehovah, if those names ring any bells'     "Well, one of them." she says, distracted and a tiny bit daze. "In that one is sort-of-kind-of it's-complicated my . . . I'm . . . Hm." No. This is America.     But when it comes to town, Lilian looks out with keen, if barely journeyman interest, at the process of colony-building. Though the joint Ural-Hazel and Dragon's Garden communities are doing perfectly well at managing the process themselves, with Lilian's occasional materiel support moving things along, the 'pure, unadulterated' process of how other people approach the same thing in different worlds, different cultures, under different circumstances, feels inherently valuable to absorb. Nevada hasn't left her mind. And she may have developed something of a fixation on 'building one's own home' lately, too. For reasons.     'Y'all hungry?'     "I could try." says Lilian, then corrects herself to "Eat." The voting process ongoing at the central township isn't immedaitely intutive to her, though, prompting her to ask "If there are establishments like this, though, why is there a welfare line as well? If everyone is working, then shouldn't--"     Lilian then glances at Rita, sharply remembers she is right there, and clams up. "Everyone having 'demons' around at least makes us rather ordinary." she mumbles instead, putting her fingers on her sword with a vaguely sulky aura.
Powerpuff Girls	The red Powerpuff is a woman used to gently making innocent comments about the propensity of several specters, spooks, or tres hombres de demonios to creep in her general direction. This is because - as her Rowdy companion silently observes - she is not the sort to coddle creepers. The illusion is easy - she is not actually threatened by the hombres de demonios outside of the spicy versions, and so a little gabbing with their host was an easy bit of diplomacy. She was, after all, a woman interested in the local way of dealing with horny spooks - until the honest answer is 'they're horny spooks', and with a bright bit of laughter from the back, Blossom lets the topic drop with a raise of her hand to shield her broader smile. Khosa commenting on being from a desert gets a pop of mildest surprise. "Oh! Me too. And I've been dressing for summer, myself, so..." A beat. "Though, we didn't throw our tyrants over so directly. A few pointed conversations aboutt facts were had, instead." Blossom characterizes lightly, shifts her legs to be a little more comfortable crammed into the back, and reaches into her jacket pocket to check her phone alerts. Then, something occurs to her. "These cities based around demons - 'God's favorites', and Satan-" The Puff winces saying it out loud, but when her hand drops it's light topic-smoothing humor-tone again. "-'of course', how do they power that many outsiders? Are there forced contract programmes, or have the discovered a way to source this 'magnetite' in quantity?" Then, the truck rolls to a stop and there's more to do than wave back at locals. "I could eat. I'll text Buttercup and she'll come zipping back if there's a meal waiting for her." Blossom declares, around lightly elbowing Brick for his answer. "If you're not hungry, just say so. Otherwise, what's the harm in a little local charm?" Pulling phone out, Blossom returns Ivy's attention by hopping out and trotting over. "Thanks for grabbing a spot. Buttercup told me about you - Captain Carrow, isn't it?" The Powerpuff offers a hand out for a formal handshake, though keeps her grip normal-style to not sweat Ivy. "I'm Blossom. As an expert in first contact, you'll have to share:" Blossom turns to the sign out front of The Place. "The special, or something off the menu? I wouldn't want to ruin my first impression."
Rita Ma	Rita finally absorbs some version of what people are trying to put down: "Oh! Not like vultures, like getting attached to you! I get it. I've never heard of monsters wanting to..." She trails off, letting the noises of the car in motion hang, and looks between PB and Calvin in the cab with a deeply contemplative expression.      When they pass by the kids, Rita twists around to lean her upper body out of the truck's bed and wave again, with the same kind of irrepressible joy that these places always give her. "Ms. Rook! Look!!" she says, as if the pursuing gaggle of kids were a rare and gorgeous bird she might just miss.      A little ways later, as the car passes the people with the wooden ballots, she looks back to Calvin and tap-taps the rear window gently for attention. "What are you polling them for anyway, Mr. Nash? Is it like an election?"      She seriously weighs Brick's suggestion, but she still looks both confused and vaguely happy when he elaborates. "You're really determined to be helpful, aren't you? It's not that kind of disguise. It doesn't need to be bulky or anything. I just like to be pretty. And I'm usually n--" The put-down catches in her throat. Her smile wobbles with the course-correct. "--not, that kind of pretty."      Even so, when she hops out to head to the diner, she circles around the truck the long way. People lose sight of her for a second, and when she re-emerges, she's wearing a simpler white top and a cute open raincoat. Eyeing herself in the restaurant's windows, she considers it, but finally takes it off and folds it over her arm.      "Everyone having 'demons' around at least makes us rather ordinary."      "Does it? I guess maybe, Ms. Rook," Rita says on their way in through the door, with an interstitial stare at Ivy and a little 'oh, thank you!'. "I don't feel very ordinary anywhere. But if you do end up like me..."      "... that isn't so bad these days, Ms. Rook. So don't worry."
Aidan Proudpick	"I've never heard of monsters wanting to..." Aidan scrabbles for the words, wanting to say something, but usually remaining passive that he might say the wrong thing. "Monsters are people too. Just about everyone wants love and to be touched." "Before my time. Bombs put a lot of shit in the air, they say. Cooled things down." "Bombs can do that?" Aidan still hasn't seen destruction on a mass scale. There was the moon that destroyed a world, but that was an external threat. And simplified. He takes a while to look around, "Who dropped..." Does it matter? "Is the whole world like this?" That seems like the better question. "They need emotional energy." "Oh! That would explain the jumping bones part. I guess. Not the eating part..." "You need to get your damn eyes checked, boy." Aidan rolls his eyes. "You can be as obvious as a shot in the leg and some guys wouldn't notice." Animals aren't weird to Aidan. Large domesticated animals are weird to Aidan. Imagine a tiny yappy human who sits in your lap. Weird, but not the worst. Now imagine a large human that pulls a cart with its teeth. Offputting at least. He casts an even more weary glance at the horned horses. Only to be arrested in place by the sight of the six foot high at the shoulder wolf. Not scared, just, unnerved again. Ivy saves everyone from having to find an empty table and not have to split up and share it with random people. He moves over, "Your team is already making itself at home, huh?"
Ivy Carrow	"The special, or something off the menu?"     "I love the special, personally!" For a moment, there's a pause.     A lanky man speaks up into the silence. "But my captain's an adventurous one. The sandwiches are good for a simple, unchallenging palate."     "How is my Vice-Captain so boring." Ivy teased, grinning sideways at him.     "Perhaps storytelling would be more interesting..." Their eyes wandered toward Ivy, sparking with something mischievious. "Perhaps the first time you encountered a dryad, hm?"     "No, no, it's fine!" She waved it off with a clawed hand, feigning indifference. "Anyway--"     "--How did I find you, again...?"     "ANYWAY!" Her voice went up in pitch and volume. "We've converted some credits into the local currency; there should be enough for a modest meal for everyone."     The Vice-Captain chuckled, sharing a look with PB.     "Your team is already making itself at home, huh?"     "This is what we do," Ivy said, wit ha flourish, settling down in her own place. "And this is one of the best kind of civilization to make first contact with. No overwrought xenophobia, willing to accept things beyond their usual world, friendly...And good food!" She winked to one of the passing waitstaff.     "Now, we just have to put our best foot forward, and hope they'll accept us." She takes a bite. "I'd love to see some of the people here passing through Castle Carrow, soon."
Rowdyruff Boys	"Some familiar faces crop up. Brick has the good grace to at least wave towards Ivy and her fellow Warprunners, but isn't in a special hurry to actually get up and head in, in spite of saying he could eat. "It has a... wit to it," he comments, simply. //No, hold the phone; how are angels, demons? Those words mean literally the opposite thing. Are we speaking of some sort of tyrannical demon god?// "Different wrappers for the same basic structure," Brick says, rubbing at his neck. "Most demons -- not these demons -- that I've encountered are like spiritual programs. They fulfill a function. Sometimes the function's something pretty twisted. Sometimes it's whatever. Angels are basically the same way, but they're less likely to be hostile on their face. The basic composition of all beings in our universe is the same, though. Couldn't say how true that is across all world borders." //If you're not hungry, just say so. Otherwise, what's the harm in a little local charm?// Brick frowns, shifting in place. He hops out of the truck after Blossom does, explaining, "It's the smell that's getting me. I wasn't hungry before. That's a marketing tactic. But it's also just kitchen operation." In other words, he parsed the prominent smells in a lightly hostile way, and didn't react to it positively. //The special, or something off the menu? I wouldn't want to ruin my first impression.// "C'mon. It's always the special, unless it's something you specifically dislike. That's what they think is gonna sell nicely and communicate in shorthand," he interjects. This is obviously a conversation they've had. Many times. //You're really determined to be helpful, aren't you? It's not that kind of disguise. It doesn't need to be bulky or anything. I just like to be pretty. And I'm usually n-- not, that kind of pretty.// Brick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, regarding Rita with raised eyebrows. "I'm trying, and failing, not to make you feel like shit." He fishes a quarter out of his pocket and flips it to Blossom, "People are at their prettiest when they're comfortable. Find where you're comfortable, then start putting work in to modify from there to your tastes." //Is the whole world like this?//"It's so like this that the roaches have an oral tradition about it," he cuts across towards Aidan, dully. //We've converted some credits into the local currency; there should be enough for a modest meal for everyone.// Brick asks, "You get them started on conversion yourselves?"
Calvin Nash	>Are there forced contract programmes, or have the discovered a way to source this 'magnetite' in quantity?     "Specific people contract with 'em. Templars, for the rank and file." He frowns. "That's like their... troubleshooters, but these days they're lookin' a lot like a standing army. The Church Elders contract with the important ones," Calvin answers. "Not having a contract ain't a death sentence, mind. It just means they gotta go back to the Expanse to rest up. One thing I'll say for God's folk is that I never known 'em to be like that Patriot." >No, hold the phone; how are angels, demons? Those words mean literally the opposite thing. Are we speaking of some sort of tyrannical demon god?     "Brick's got it. We use it here like 'person,'" explains Calvin. "As in, 'all the people from this town are persons, but not all persons are people from this town.'" He pauses. "But... it *does* piss the angels off when you call them demons. Even if they come from the same place. Probably."     It's messy and not always well defined, Lilian may likely infer. >I can name people right here who adore that comfortable delusion.     "I won't be one of 'em," says Calvin with a shake of his head. "No ma'am. I fuss over what's in front of me. Stuff I can hold." >What are you polling them for anyway, Mr. Nash? Is it like an election?     "Sure is," says Calvin brightly, smiling over his shoulder at Rita. "That line's for voting. This week it's where we want Captain Carrow's gate connection. Next week, Commonwealth membership or Concord clientship." >Who dropped... Is the whole world like this?     "M-hm. Well--no. Most places are worse. This here was one of the hotter parts of the country, unless you was to go out west, say Arizona. I figure up north'd be colder'n a witch's tit."     "The purpose of such an attack is to cripple your enemy's ability to make war," explains PB. "It matters very little if a king is safe in his castle, if his fields lie barren, if the guildhouses of all his craftsmen are strewn across the countryside, if every cart is stripped of its wheels and every road in the kingdom a cracked and uneven mess. What, then, is he king of? How shall he act as king without messengers? Who would still live, to accept his coin to march? This world is colder than it was, and much less populated. Most did not die to the bombs, but to the consequences of their kingdoms' collapse."     "The folk that stuck together are the folk that's left," Calvin repeats from the last outing to his world.     This frank acceptance of material conditions which Calvin spoke of to Lilian seems to be part of the culture here, too. The houses are built in recognition of, not in spite of, the environment, as are the other buildings. All of them, that is, except for a very old-looking Spanish colonial style mansion a ways down the road from here. There must be a lot of loving maintenance put into it--people are in and out constantly, most of them in uniforms like Calvin's. It's probably their headquarters. >We got rid of our tyrant; I hope they're not just getting ready to install one.     "You and me both, Ms. Khosa," Calvin agrees. "They're good people. They'll treat you right even if you're not one of them. But things have been tense between them and Libertalia the past few years. Even before that," he says. "Things ain't been the same since the Choke." >I could eat. What's on the menu?     "Well, it changes, depending." Depending on what? He doesn't say. "Let's see..." Calvin drops into park and steps out, PB coming alongside him.     Calvin is immediately drawn into a conversation by a short woman with wavy brown hair and a hoodie over a motheaten tee. That is--he's drawn into a conversation by her very excitable daughter, her spitting image, maybe seven or eight years old, who talks his ear off about the birds she saw on their walk today. Calvin listens raptly.
Calvin Nash	The prices are listed in a currency that definitely isn't USD. It actually looks... exactly like the astrological symbol for Saturn.     Fried and grilled chicken or pork are available optionally as sandwiches, with black eyed peas, cornbread, collard greens, cheese grits, oysters or mashed potatoes available as sides. The stuff involving dairy seems to be more expensive. Apart from water, which is free, the drinks (sweet tea and lemonade) are very cheap, comparitively.     The special for today is a grilled and basted amberjack steak, over a house-made grit cake and collard greens, drizzled with bourbon glaze.     "You must be Captain Carrow," says PB, extending a green hand at the end of a sickle-curve arm to shake. "I am the god Pabilsag, though you may call me PB for short as many here do."     The girl's mother gently urges her to 'let Mr. Calvin eat,' though she's at the age where subtlety is lost, and she merely wave him off with a sunny 'bye, Mr. Calvin!' >If there are establishments like this, though, why is there a welfare line as well?     "Oh, that ain't Welfare. That's down the road and back a ways," says Calvin, misunderstanding Lilian's meaning.
Lilian Rook	'Bombs can do that?'     "I thought you were some sort of 'bad ass' resistance bomber?" Lilian clicks her tongue. "Proud terrorist against the Gale Empire. How can you not figure that out?"     'You can be as obvious as a shot in the leg and some guys wouldn't notice.'     "Says the creep with the one-sided 'girlfriend'." Lilian scoffs.     'I don't feel very ordinary anywhere.'     "I'm not certain you're supposed to feel ordinary." Lilian says. "It's something you notice reflected in other people. How they look at you, how much space they put around you, how much they actually listen to you."     '... that isn't so bad these days, Ms. Rook. So don't worry.'     Lilian smiles faintly. "I'll try not to. And I'm glad to hear it. I really am."     'I saved some spots for everyone. Hope you don't mind~'     Through the front door, Lilian is the first to be surprised, but just north of neutral enough to seem pleased about it. "My my, diligent as always, Captain Carrow." she says, maneuvering in on a table. "Are you angling for a contract, or just happy to see me?"
Calvin Nash	>Ivy: Offer to pay      "I got it, Captain," says Calvin, good-naturedly, but firmly, in a mildly cringe way. "You take that macca and you get yourself a little souvenir."
Khosa	Khosa looks thoughtfully at Rita for a moment. Then she says: "You look pretty fine to me. I like your hair." Which is absolutely true; Khera, who is bald except for that long tail she very deliberately cultivates, has a good appreciation for that kind of simple hairstyling. And she leaves it at that, vaulting out of the truck's back and stretching, twisting her upper body left and right to loosen up a little. She doesn't *need* to, specifically, but it feels pretty good to do. Khosa is a little unsure of the difference between angels and demons, in general; they're all things from across the Vast Gray to her. That they're considered the same class of being here is easy enough for her to comprehend; both extraplanars that come from a long way off, and if they come from different 'kingdoms' on the far side it doesn't seem to matter a whole lot. 'They're good people...' Khosa lets out a noncommittal sound, because she'd *like* to believe it but evidence has not always borne this out. "Is the Choke what happened after the bombs?" she asks, because she's trying to get it straight, combining it with what PB - Pabilsag, apparently - has said on the history. "I'm glad you have as much as you do, and you're doing things right, sticking together. Here's hoping that the tyrant doesn't settle in." She glances at Lilian, who she agrees with, on the topic of hearing about the Thousand Year Kingdom at least. "Hey, Captain." She remembers Ivy Carrow from before, when they came in the first place. Khosa didn't know she'd stayed the whole time; Khosa had considered it herself. "Thanks for holding the seat, then." Khosa will cheerfully order the special, before she even knows what it all is. She clearly is not familiar with either amberjack or collard greens, at least by those names, but she equally clearly is extremely not picky. She takes water ('I guess you have enough of it to go around, ha ha!'). "I know you're paying," she says, "but maybe you'd like this as a curiosity, from far away. Or your friend would," she adds, nodding with a smile toward the bird-loving child. Khosa sets out couple coins. Each one is a red-glazed ceramic decagon, decorated on the back with ten short swords, one hilt pointing at each of the flat edges of the coin. The other side is grooved, point to opposite point, like a pie. "You break it if you need a smaller piece of currency," Khosa explains, tossing in a broken one too - a shard with two adjacent edges, and thus two swords.
Rita Ma	"You look pretty fine to me. I like your hair."      "Oh! Oh... thank you, Ms. Khosa. I put a lot of work into it," she says with eyes smiled shut, and that's still true whether it's her real-hair or her disguise-hair. "I like your outfit, too! Is there something special about the vest?"      "I'm trying, and failing, not to make you feel like shit."      Rita's eyes widen, looking sideways at Brick. Bewilderment turns to a sheepishly hangdog smile, and she slumps forward while pushing through the restaurant's doors.      "I promise I don't. Not mostly, and not anymore. Thank you for seeing it, but it's just..."      She wads the raincoat up, considers throwing it in a passing trashcan, hesitates, and folds it over the back of her chair before sitting again, patting the seat next to her for Lilian. There's just the loose sweater again where it was.      "... This was comfortable. I shouldn't have gotten self-conscious in the first place. That's all. Thank you." She smiles, and her eyes idly wander down to his knees, and her lips press with a tilt of her head. Pointing at the ragged holes in his jeans: "So is that how you're comfortable?"      "I'm not certain you're supposed to feel ordinary."      "Is that true, Ms. Rook?" Rita says. "I don't think 'ordinary' is just in how people treat you. It's in the confidence you move with, too. How careful you get taught to be."      "And I'm glad to hear it. I really am."      Rita smiles again, bashfully, and looks down at her menu with cheek-in-hand. She decides to be confidently un-careful when the waiter comes around. "Can I have the amberjack steak, really, really rare? Thank you! And just water."      While she waits, her attention wanders back to Calvin. "How do you think the vote's going to go, Mr. Nash? The one between the Concord and the Commonwealth, I mean." She keeps her own opinions to herself, for the moment.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"And I'm usually n-not, that kind of pretty."     Madeleine half-raises a finger, as if preparing to offer some variety of contradiction, but something - the company, the atmosphere, Rita's own tone - stops her.     The huntress is, somehow, surprised by the abrupt addition of Captain Carrow to the company available at 'The Place'. So much so that she lapses into a brief coughing fit. "Ah -ahem!- hello Captain! It's, ah, good to see you," she says as she catches her breath. "So, uh, how ya doin'?"     After exchanging needlessly awkward pleasantries with the Gate-Captain, Madeleine shuffles inside, sits across from Rita, and orders the fish special. Any seafood's bound to be fresh in this sort of community, and her hopes are high as she waits for her food. Nonetheless, she casts far too many nervously-fascinated glances in the direction of Captain Carrow.
Aidan Proudpick	"It's so like this that the roaches have an oral tradition about it," A floundering of the mouth. A swap between 'that's so cool' and 'that's one of the worst things I've ever heard.' "That's... oh." The true SCALE of things is starting to sink in to Aidan. It's one thing to see a play about it. "Most did not die to the bombs, but to the consequences of their kingdoms' collapse." Sitting down, he struggles to take that all in. Digest it, sort it. He nods slowly. "The people at the top don't think about the future. But in this case, the people at the bottom survived." He nods slowly, getting at least part of it. "How can you not figure that out?" "We blew up airships, not whole kingdoms." "Says the creep with the one-sided 'girlfriend'." That one. An arrow fired and hitting through a target to the one behind. 'Disgusting. Loser.' Icy fingers grip his heart and guts and slam pressure on it. A month worth of slowly gathered courage leaks back out, leaving the squirrel suddenly exhausted. Aidan sits down slowly into the seat, pulling his saddle bag up, fishing out a bag of peanuts and dried mushrooms. Breathe. You still have five months to go. Desperate to find something to grab back onto, he looks over at PB, "A god?"
Rowdyruff Boys	//Proud terrorist against the Gale Empire. How can you not figure that out?// //Says the creep with the one-sided 'girlfriend'.// Brick looks at Aidan, expression shifting minutely. He doesn't say anything, though. //Things ain't been the same since the Choke.// "And what, exactly, was the Choke?" He asks. //So is that how you're comfortable?// Through most of Rita's reply, Brick remains quiet, simply letting her work through the wardrobe matter, and his own response to it-- and coming about on his own clothing choices. "Don't think I did anything worth thanks. But yeah, more or less. It doesn't matter much how I dress. There's not an environment that's really uncomfortable to me, except in an abstract sort of way I can't describe. My brothers and I are called the Rowdyruff Boys, so looking a little ragged is sometimes part of the aesthetic." He reaches down and tugs at the frayed knees, "Also, I don't throw anything out until it's properly done. And these aren't."
Khosa	Khosa tugs at the vest when Rita comments on it. "I just got used to it, I guess. It doesn't really mean anything, but it's not real uncommon an outfit, either. I do like the colours, and it's easier for me for things without sleeves, in case I get into a fight." A beat. "Not that I expect one here, but, well... it's what I had. It's cooler here than I'm used to, though." Khosa isn't precisely *cold* - she has more than enough control over her own body to treat perfectly normal outdoor temperatures as sleeveless top weather - but it is cool. Even Calvin said it was not as warm as it used to be, so that's not unusual, right? Right.
Lilian Rook	'Are there forced contract programmes, or have the discovered a way to source this 'magnetite' in quantity?'     "Magnetite?" Lilian repeats the word slightly incredulously. "I'd assume that you build a mine. It isn't a tremendously rare mineral. My sword is made of it." She doesn't know.     'But... it *does* piss the angels off when you call them demons.'     "So they agree." Lilian says, exasperatedly. "Doesn't that make it some sort of slur? Or something similar, for them specifically, which you just happen to use for those that don't mind it." She sounds more baffled than upset by far. Three inches from 'words mean things'. "Oh whatever. I suppose there's no point going insane about the local language to the people who actually live here. It's in use for some reason, and I've been here for an hour." She's #-1 FUNCTION (ANIS) NOT FOUND about to leave it alone, until another neuron makes a connection, and she starts up again with, "Hang on, so who is the church? You're American aren't you?"     'The folk that stuck together are the folk that's left'     "Now isn't that familiar."     'Oh, that ain't Welfare. That's down the road and back a ways'     "I see." Lilian says. She had, of course, just heard the whole thing about ballots to decide where the Warpgate goes. "But you didn't answer my question."     But then in hostile territory (read: a strange town in which Lilian has volunteered to eat food she has no expectations of yet), she's perfectly glad to sit next to Rita; a familiar and comforting presence who has totally normal eating habits.     'Is that true, Ms. Rook?'     "I suppose it's always possible to convince yourself that you're out of the ordinary on your own. Or be convinced a long time ago, and still retain it long past the point it's necessary or sensible; if it was ever even true." Lilian sighs. "But I don't know if I believe that there's an inverse to it. I can't see the shape of 'feeling ordinary' that ordinary people carry with them. Only the absence of being ostracized; and the unwarranted confidence they tend to carry to where they aren't wanted."     'Can I have the amberjack steak, really, really rare? Thank you! And just water.'     "I'll have what she's having." Lilian says, surprisingly blandly.     'We blew up airships, not whole kingdoms.'     'We blew up airships, not whole kingdoms.'     "That puts all sorts of contaminants in the air on its own. I think you're lying. I don't think you've ever bombed anything in your life."
Rita Ma	"It doesn't really mean anything"      "Mmm! Do the patterns have a meaning, Ms. Khosa? Or is it just something pretty people figured out how to make? They are really nice colors..."      "Don't think I did anything worth thanks."      "'Worth'," Rita says to Brick, not-unfondly poking fun. Her elbows rest on the table, laced fingers hammocking her chin in relaxation.      "I can't see the shape of 'feeling ordinary' that ordinary people carry with them."      "There's not an environment that's really uncomfortable to me..."      Does Brick count as ordinary? Rita isn't sure, but she glances between the two of them, trying to connect a constellation's dots. She comes to no firm conclusion.      "That's a good way to be, I think. As long as you're happy with it." She takes her napkin-rolled utensils, picks apart the fastening band, and unrolls them to fidget with their arrangement just so. She awkwardly starts: "When I was small, I thought I might be the only girl still in the world. Dad said there were other people alive, but I wasn't sure I believed him, so... when I saw fashion magazines, and things like that, it felt like something special just for me. You know?"      Her smile is slightly mealy, but it's heartfelt.      "I'll have what she's having."      Rita makes a noise approximated as "!" and leans forward to look up at Lilian's face. "Ms. Rook?? Can't you get sick?"
Ivy Carrow	"My my, diligent as always, Captain Carrow..."     Ivy laughed, bright. "Why thank you, Dame Commander." She offered her a deep, theatrical bow. Ivy laughed. "And I'm always happy to see you...And, in any case...It's always to be seen as reliable, when you're trying to make a good impression~"     "Like to the islanders."     "Among others." Ivy responded, agreeably, winking to Lilian. She and the Vice-Captain responded to one another cleanly and seamlessly, one picking up where the other picked off. The energetic, driven force of personality with a dream and personal gravity, and the practical, cynical mind that worked with all the mundane details to make it reality.     "So, uh, how ya doin'?"     "Fantastic!" Ivy clapped Madeleine on the shoulder with a metal hand. It was cool to the touch, and her fingers were just sharp enough to feel. "There are a few ways that first contact can go, you know." She said, conspiratorially. "Sometimes, there's fighting...Even war. They point at the worlds beyond the gate, and they say..."     "'This is hell, beyond which are monsters and enemies.' And they seal themselves off, circle their wagons, and try to bathe anything that comes through in fire and death." She sighed. "There's only so much we can do about that, except hope we can find SOMEONE willing to treat with us."     "And then there are the wannabe superfactions, who think they have what it takes to roll out and colonize the multiverse." She made a dismissive wave of her hand. "They collapse, almost always. But it's always messy, before they do. Sometimes, things turn out bad, no matter what we do. And my people can get hurt."     "But look around you!" She made a grand gesture. "Welcomed in open arms, treated with! I wouldn't be surprised if some of the people here even joined the elite circuit...! This is the DREAM scenario!"
Calvin Nash	>It isn't a tremendously rare mineral.     "It's not the same mineral," PB explains. "It merely shares a common name for structural similarities thanks to the person who discovered it. The scholars in Oklahoma have a special name for it, which escapes me. Nevertheless--when the Expanse opened, a new kind was introduced to this world. There are such things as deposits, but they don't appear where mundane magnetite would--rather, at places where intense emotions were or are felt. The humans have means of safely gathering it, in piecemeal. To get great quantities, one would need to visit larger cities, which poses certain risks." His scorpion claws click, at this, and his stinger waggles. That probably means 'full of demons of the dickhead variety.' >Hang on, so who is the church? You're American aren't you?     "The Millenium Ministry," Calvin answers placidly. "Sprung up in Enoch, Utah. They built a basilica there after Moroni came and did his 'miracle of abundance'--made a one-horse nowhere town into the biggest source of food in the country." >But you didn't answer my question.     "The line's for voting," he clarifies. "Welfare usually makes house calls, so there's not really a line. Those slips of wood are how we do the voting. You pick your first preference, then your second, then your third and so on, for however many options--each part of the slip is breakable and each part means something different. If your first choice don't win, you still have a say in the other options."      He takes a bite of his chicken and pauses, leaning back and savoring it. "'Establishments like this' are... a luxury. Everybody gets food and shelter and clothes and suchlike provided. Macca's mostly for luxuries and personal arrangements. Booze, reefer, cigarettes, restaurants, stuff that has to be brought in, certain stuff from before the war... stuff that you don't need, exactly, but it's nice to have." >Is the Choke what happened after the bombs? "No, uh-uh," says Calvin. "I mean... after, yeah. But a long time after, and not exactly... directly 'cause of 'em." >And what, exactly, was the Choke?     "Lotta things got left abandoned, in the years after the bombs. Mining towns, trains." He grimaces. "Chemical plants. Bout eight years ago, train car up in Wyoming carrying chlorine gave way after umpteen years sittin' around rusting. Blew across the country. People, animals, crops--all choked to death, from there all the way to Nevada. Kilt a whole slew of fish, poisoned the groundwater too. Canaan and Libertalia blamed each other, before they knew what happened. Wasn't always like this, but that was when things started to take a turn this way." It's not hard to imagine lingering resentment from something like that, when ideological differences between the two already paint the other as enemies at worst. >I know you're paying but maybe you'd like this as a curiosity, from far away. Or your friend would.     "I bet she would," says Calvin, taking the coins. "Her birthday's this Thursday." He smiles, looking over his shoulder at the little girl and waving. >How do you think the vote's going to go, Mr. Nash? The one between the Concord and the Commonwealth, I mean.     "Don't know," says Calvin, with a little shrug. "I know how certain people'll vote. I'm hoping it's for Commonwealth membership."     The waiter is a portly old man with pink seabeaten skin and a head of hoary white hair, whose missing-teeth smile is like a ray of sunlight. He takes down Rita's order with a jovial interjection of "still floppin'!"     After Rita's order, Calvin makes his: a fried chicken sandwich with collard greens and grits. >A god?     "There are many," answers PB simply. "My wife is one also." Probably not the lifeline Aidan was hoping for. >Welcomed in open arms, treated with!      "It's like I told y'all on the radio the other day, Captain," says Calvin, between enjoying a spoonfull of veggies.
Calvin Nash	He washes them down with a sip of sweet tea. For Lilian's sake, the tea here is *really* sweet. If she does tea at all back home, it may as well be a different drink; the tea-taste is second fiddle to the sweetness, which is informed slightly by the former.      "We just want things to be better for our kids than they was for us. And down the road," he says, tapping the emblem of the Assembly on his shoulder--the brave little sapling growing from wreckage--"With enough care and work, make the kind of place that us and our kids and the people before us deserved but never got. Ain't no reason for us to shit on you folks when you came to us honest like you did."      The food is delicious, to put it simply. Made by someone who knows the value of hearty home cooking, such that the thought of eating dinner probably won't occur to all but the most ravenous among you, as anything other than a faintly held, quaint notion to be filed away until much later in the day. The chicken and pork are expertly seasoned, the breading perfectly sealing in the flavor and moisture. The grits and mashed potatoes are savory delights and the closest you'll get to childhood daydreams of eating clouds. The collard greens are leafy, salty-spicy mouthfuls of wicked temptation. The black eyed peas have a warm, mild flavor and a texture at the perfect middle point between soft and chewy. The oysters are the physical manifestation of 'just one more' until they're gone, the cornbread a delicate ensemble of sweet and savory (must have been made with buttermilk, as it ought to be!). The special--the special (!) is a square of maritime decadence, a stolen parcel of heaven masquerading as a cut of fish, the aged bourbon glaze settling into it like warmth from a fireplace in the bones--yes, even for Lilian and Rita, ordering theirs rare.      Calvin is about to strike up some more conversation, but that bulky wrist-mounted scrapmetal computer on his arm buzzes. "Sorry, y'all. Gotta take this." Wiping his hands with the linen napkin provided, he pushes his plate in, pays for the meal (a stack of bills, interestingly enough). Who's printing those on this kind of world? The 'macca' bears the image of the roman god Saturn.      Calvin heads over to his truck, opening the driver door and having a conversation. Garm came by. Said Eugene doesn't recognize him, and he was asking about Tameka. Sent away the worker Welfare sent over. You mind checking on him?      Calvin doesn't deflate. His shoulders don't go slack. He stands perfectly upright, as he feels someone in his position ought to be. But Brick and Blossom can tell, with their powers of observation, that despite Calvin's efforts to hide it, his breathing hitched, similar to the way that it does when tears are being held back. His voice is businesslike where it had been genial before. The intent that Blossom in particular picks up is good-natured, but tinged through with something sad and weary; the kind of determination a caretaker feels for a ward in decline.      "...yeah. Aight. Garm there with you now?" Yep.      "Okay. I'll be down there with PB in a minute. We'll pick 'im up and get it taken care of." You alright?      "I'll be alright. See you soon." Too quickly to be true. The receiver clicks on the CB.      When Calvin returns to the table, it's in that way that he'd stood when he'd met those of you who were here on the initial discovery of his world. Thumbs through beltloops, elbows out, legs spaced apart, chin up, chest forward. Showing that he's in control. His aviators were an accessory before, but they're armor now. "Duty calls," he says. "I gotta head out."
Calvin Nash	PB sighs through his nose-holes. He likes Eugene, too.      "Y'all stay as long as you want, enjoy yourselves, get to know folks. If I'm not back, and you need something, HQ is up there at the Main House--you just tell 'em Calvin sentcha and they'll do you right." He tips his head backwards, in the direction of the old Spanish-colonial style mansion a ways down the road. "Take care, now," he says, lifting one hand from his waist to make a brief wave, and offer a thin attempt at a reassuring smile, before heading back over to the truck, climbing in with PB, and turning the keys. The truck pulls away, slowly, rounding a corner and disappearing behind grassy mounds and wooden buildings.