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Calvin Nash	THE LAST RESORT     A building in the same style as the bunk houses which dot the island, this one is modern rather than antebellum, so say the planks which make up its construction. So named because it's the last bar between Ossabaw Island and the mainland, the bar is much the same as it was on the last visit here. At the east end, there's that small stage with the four member ensemble--lead guitar, keyboardist, drummer, keytarist--young and old, playing for a small crowd of similar composition.     At the west end, the same wreath of wires which powers the band's equipment is routed up to the wall, looped into the LCD timer for the mechanical bull in its paddock of padded chainlink and mattress-girded floor.     A pool table near the south wall and just a short walk from the entrance is host to a game between a hobgoblin, a cait sith, and two middle-aged COMP-sporting men.     The bar proper, against the north wall, boasts a diverse selection of spirits ranging from as many points of origin as post-nuclear America can manage. Some are even homemade. A chalkboard behind Charlene, the bartender, displays the mixed drinks on offer, specials of the day and prices for those same spirits and homemade draft beers.     Sat at the bar is Calvin, in a beige barn jacket, a black tee, tight boot cut jeans hugging the ankles of his brown leather square-toed cowboy boots. His back is to Charlene, that he can watch the door for new arrivals, though the two of them appear to be carrying casual conversation when you enter, with the odd look over his shoulder to laugh at something she says. Overall, the crowd here is smaller and the atmosphere more chill than the first visit here.     "Hey, y'all," says Charlene, waving at new arrivals before reaching up to brush a faded red lock behind her ear. "Calvin here was nice enough to set up a tab."     Calvin lifts a glazed clay cup in recognition. "Y'all come on and sit a spell. You earned it."
Futaba Nuki	After all that excitement on the road and in the university with Mothman, even Futaba's normally boundless energy has finally tamped down to a noticeable degree. That's not to say she isn't excited for a proper rest and meal, but she's not barging in through the door or bumping and bouncing off of everyone on the way in. No, this time, Futaba's just walking on in like a normal person, stopping by the wrest side briefly to take a peek at the mechanical bull she's undoubtedly going to be perching on later. She doesn't loiter for long, though, as she ends up swerving back to the bar itself, seeing a few familiar faces already and greeting them with a wide grin. She's got a stereotypical cowboy look on today, complete with a big hat and her leaf on the front, a duster that's flapping nearly as much as her scarf does even while indoors, and boots with spurs that look a little off like she might've just filed off the spiky bits entirely. If anyone looks closer, they're actually pizza cutters stuck onto the back of regular boots. "Howdy, Miss Charlene! Yo, Mister Calvin!" She sounds as energetic as ever, at least, and settles right into one of the seats at the bar to Calvin's left. "Free drinks? I won't say no to that. I'll take..." A pause, to look over at the chalkboard. She orders one of the most expensive drinks, then one of the cheapest ones. "Gotta really feel that difference, yeah?" After that, she spins around in her seat once just to get it out of her system, then pulls her feet up and wraps her arms around her shins while rolling back and forth idly with her tail just kind of wrapped around her seat. "So! What's your plans now that we got the seeds? Just gonna use 'em here, or did you have some other spot in mind?"
Khosa	Khosa's been to the Last Resort before. It's by now at least familiar to her, even if she's certainly no regular - though she does try to make time when she's in town. Surprise! She is in town. "I'd say I could cover my own as I go, but I don't think three quarters of my money is something you'd take, and the other part's hard to make change for," Khosa says. "It's probably easier this way." She'll get Calvin something nice if he ever makes it to Athas... or maybe even if he doesn't. It's winter now, but that makes no difference to Khosa's outfit, as she doesn't really get cold; blousy pants gathered in at the ankles, a bandeau-like wrap under an open vest with colourful geometric patterns sewn in, an equally colourful sash as a belt with about a foot trailing as decoration, and the everpresent knife (carved out of a dark claw), though because she is polite and indoors she has done something complex with a cord to tie it in place and make it hard to draw quickly. Her sole acceptance of things like weather is that she has actual leather footgear instead of sandals on, because she has now experienced mud and she doesn't like it. "Evening," she says agreeably as she helps herself to a bar seat. "Didn't interrupt anything, did I?" A longer glance at Futaba, then: "I think it takes time to get seeds growing. Though I'm not a plant expert, heh. I don't work in the gardens."
Petra Soroka	Petra has *not* earned sitting a spell, in fact. Not in general, due to the fact that her endless labor only makes it funnier to tell her that she doesn't deserve to rest yet, but more importantly specifically this time, she just wasn't there for the last adventure. She's here today anyways, because of her sacred duty in accompanying her girlfriend to leisure activities, and also because she doesn't have much else going on today and gets lonely easily.     Whether she intentionally dresses to match the vibe of Ossabaw Island, or just happens to be dressing like this recently, it's not clear, but the flannel and clunky hiking boots are there regardless. They're accompanied by a beanie, a cigarette, and a top that cuts off just above her jeans, showing a sliver of her midriff with a blotchy birthmark and a fragment of some sort of sunburst tattoo. She drops the cigarette (and cuts it in half midair with a drip of morphmetal and a quiet 'pchoo') before coming inside and settling at the bar.     "Eheh, hey, Charlene. Yo, Calvin." Petra is antsy from the start by the memory of her useless lesbian bumblefucking into accepting a threesome with Charlene last time she was here, but, conveniently, the memory of her getting slammed facefirst into the bar and then dragged outside unconscious might be stronger.     She lowers herself onto a stool carefully, spins around a little to lean an elbow on the bar, and then comes to terms with the fact that she still doesn't know how to smoothly order alcohol. "Eh, uh, I'm not on the tab, but could I get... that?" Just awkwardly pointing at one of the mixed drink specials hopefully a fruity one.     "Oh yeah, so," Petra turns to Calvin and glances to Futaba out of the corner of her eye, with her knee propped up to her chest. "Tell me the deal about the whole Mothman thing. I don't get around to interacting with cryptids much, but I've got a friend who-- who eats this sort of thing up."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine waves to Calvin as she enters. She's dressed pretty casual today - bleached-pale denim capri pants over fishnets, motorcycle gloves, and a black tee with 'SNOW PATROL' printed in icy blue above a cartoon of a yeti wearing ski goggles. Drogrung must be napping at home, for the spear/bow is absent from her ensemble, though she still wears a Bowie knife on her belt. Before talking to Calvin she orders a drink - Amaretto sour, with the egg white - and turns to the Demon Marshal while Charlene prepares it. "It's good to see you again, Calvin," she says with a little smile, her eyes sparkling as ever. "I heard from the lab out west, Mothman's safe and sound with them. Though they do say he's a bit of a troublemaker when they run outta Red Vines."     "Speaking o' demons, I've been wondering something. Do you think the Expanse'll ever run dry? Like, does it pull in everything when a demon goes back there from here, like a perfect recycling machine? what's got me thinking is," A pause to collect her words. "I've been thinking about how jobs like mine used to work. Years and years ago there were monsters just over the next hill basically anywhere you went. You see it in the folklore - fairies in the woods'll getcha if you stray off the path, and all that. With so many of the critters around, killing 'em left and right didn't mean much. Monster hunter meant monster *killer*, because the main way a monster'd interact with a community is by threatenin' it, and there'd always be another to hunt the next day."     Charlene comes back with the drink, and Madeleine thanks her for it before taking a sip. "Ah, that's good stuff. Anyway, after enough time you get to worlds like my home, or a lot of the Earths in the Multiverse, where there aren't so many strange creatures around as there used to be. Nowadays, most of the time, a monster's more threatened than threat, and when it does start hurtin' people it's because people forced it out of its home or took away its food. So 'monster hunter' is more about preservation and conservation than, say, extermination. Y'know?"     A pause for another sip. "I dunno, maybe it's a better question for Pastor Jackson, he's the theory guy. But I was thinking to ask you too, since you've got the field experience - is Demon Marshalling always gonna be about fightin' some spirits and making pals with or taming others, or do you think they're be a day where you're working to help the demons, instead of them helping you?"     Madeleine turns to rest her back against the bar, cradling her drink in both hands. "Maybe that's too heavy, sorry. Just was thinking, balances shift over time, and keeping those balances has to change to match the way the wind's blowin'."
Angela	This is considered part of the job for the Lobcorp Agents so it's natural they'd come along for the debrief. Or, well, something close to a debrief. Angelapad is overseeing again, Cinder had a blast because she got to fight fire with fire and that's a good day in her book even if it reflected back to her. Random and Rook got to ride some sort of demon horse and also had a great time. Angela got to see local scenery and ruins and also had a good time. More or less. ALSO MOTHMAN (not wife)!! YEAH! Cinder right now is the one holding the pad. Justin Rook and Random ARE at the bar, and are drinking while leaning against one another. Their relationship isn't exactly subtle, but it's a LOT quieter than Nonon and Shajo--that's for sure! ''Calvin here was nice enough to set up a tab.'' "Can't get inebriated while on the job. Technically still debrief--" Rook says. "I'll handle any notetaking like usual," Random tells him "Take a load off. It might be the last time you get to for months." ''Pizza cutters stuck into the back of regular boots.'' Angela frowns at Futaba a bit judgementally. Cinder arrived with Petra and says, "Um hey--Charlene," She brushes some fire off of her shoulder. "Hey Calvin." She sits down with Petra by the bar but looks over to the pool game with curiousity. ''I've got a friend who-- who eats this sort of thing up.'' Angela raises an eyebrow. Did Petra mean Rita? ... Does Petra even know...? She thinks back throughout her timeline of Petra and Rita interactions and she stares distantly as she works towards a conclusion. "As the expert, perhaps you ought to describe the Mothman situation, Madeleine?" SHe suggests.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"Tell me the deal about the whole Mothman thing."     "Oh, it's great stuff," Madeleine cuts in. "Cryptids here are like other demons - they're emotional energy wrapped in a specific shape that's drawn from human feeling - fear or reverence of fire makes fire demons, and that sort of thing. I like to think the cryptids in particular are manifest curiosity, the wondering what lives in those woods or over the next hill. So unlike a lotta worlds, where there was a creature out in the world that got stories told about it, it's the other way round here - they're stories come to life. Honestly reminds me a little of home... Oh, but I should let Calvin take a crack at explaining, he's the expert." Madeleine said 'he's the expert' without a hint of sarcasm, but it's clear she's biting her tongue to keep from continuing her infodump.     "As the expert, perhaps you ought to describe the Mothman situation, Madeleine?"     That's all the excuse she needs to continue. "Okay so, mothman in particular I was expecting to be pretty spooky, right? Big bug guy, huge red eyes, wings, the works. Only, this one's kind of a... a goober. There's honestly no better word for it. Little fella about yay tall," (she gestures with one hand while taking an opportunistic sip of her drink with the other) "Kinda hyperactive? He was all over the candy I gave him. I'm just glad I didn't bring any energy drinks, he probably coulda smelled those a mile away. Not that he needs them!"     "So anyway, we were planning to run into him on our way back from the university, but he made better time than we thought and ended up finding us. I guess we were causing enough of a disturbance in the local emotional spectrum by telling those terra-cotta lads to head over to the Guidestones instead of guarding the seed vault, because when Junior called us outside Mothman was swearing up a storm! Only, he's got basic needs just like the rest of us, so the offer of a safe place to sleep, something to do with his time, and a steady supply of lodestone and candy - with a little payment up-front - was just the thing to calm him down."
Petra Soroka	"Though they do say he's a bit of a troublemaker when they run outta Red Vines."     A thought bubble appears above Petra's head, at first with the image of a tomato vine inside it. Remembering that tomatoes are red but the vines are not, there's a little mental pop, and the image now has the vine being as red as the fruit. This is not a real object, Petra knows, so her thoughts cycle through several other vine related images before summoning up the candy with a ding like a cash register opening.     From that process alone, she feels justified mumbling "Oh, so it's a *lame* Mothman," to herself. "Can't get inebriated while on the job."     "Uh huh, yeah, Justin, you better not. Or else Netzach'll show up and ask for a drink too."     Petra follows Cinder's look over to the pool table and tilts her head. "Do you want to? You probably could, after those guys are done." "As the expert, perhaps you ought to describe the Mothman situation, Madeleine?"     "But she sucks and I hate her," Petra asides to the Angela tablet without altering her tone from placid conversation.     Petra clicks her tongue audibly as Madeleine goes on to explain, but she's reluctantly weak to engaging in interesting topics even when she disapproves of the speaker. "I like to think the cryptids in particular are manifest curiosity, the wondering what lives in those woods or over the next hill."     "Mmmhm. I always felt like those, explanations about how mythology exists to explain things in simple terms that people don't understand were *close* but sort of missed the point in the end. It's more like filling in the unknown gaps in the world with art and culture and stuff. Cryptids are *stories*, not, like, failed science." "Kinda hyperactive? He was all over the candy I gave him."     "Like a... kid Mothman? A Mothkid? Is there an adult version somewhere around?"
Khosa	Khosa is both not yet sure what her favourite drink here is (she hasn't had all of them) and very open-minded about trying new foods, or in this case drinks; as a result, her selection is somewhat random as she is more interested in a variety than anything in particular. "Those things taste weird as hell," Khosa opines, on the topic (however brief) of energy drinks. "He was definitely a little guy, though. Kinda weird. Probably obnoxious as hell if you have to deal with him some days," Khosa does not envy Madeleine that. "I was interested in those terracotta soldiers too. I thought they were what we call constructs at first, but constructs don't really think for themselves. These - they were determined to follow their orders, but it felt like something they *could* have turned down even if they didn't want to. Like how they could be convinced to go somewhere else. That wouldn't work on a construct unless you gave it bad directions in the first place." Khosa finally plants herself on a seat. "And I don't think they were 'built' precisely either. So if the cryptids are curiosity, I guess they're duty?" She isn't precisely ignoring Petra, but she's also not trying to start shit; it helps that Petra is behaving, too, so Khosa relaxes infinitesimally, a just barely visible tension going out of her shoulders. "Pretty sure that was an adult and he's just like that," Khosa says. Though then her brow furrows: "Maybe a teenager," she decides, after a long moment's thought. "That kind of pushing the boundaries. You'd get it." That wasn't even said rudely or with intent to offend! Probably!
Futaba Nuki	"Oh, definitely. Just curious about the plans for 'em, since we're not bein' chased by anyone now." Futaba clarifies to Khosa with a chuckle. "Yeah, plants ain't really my thing, either. Heck, you've seen me already. Patience is..." There's a long pause as she chews on that thought in her head for a while, then tugs on her neck with a little popping noise. "Somethin' I'm working on. Still gonna be nosy as heck, though." Petra brings up something else for Futaba to be nosy about, and the 'ninja' rotates (not turns, just plain rotates) to face her and Calvin. "Oh! Yeah, that's something worth lookin' at, too. Where'd Mothman end up after all of that, anyway? Same place as the seeds, or... No, somewhere gettin' researched and poked at first?" MAdeleine mentions a lab, and Angela mentions Madeleine, and that answers at least some of the questions in Futaba's head. The frown, for better or for worse, goes unnoticed. "Why not pick up some more, then? They gotta have stores you can get.. Like. A thousand of those things. Wait, but then you're stuck with the whole mess of 'em if he gets tired and wants something else." Madeleine then proceeds to explain a fair bit more about demons and cryptids, but Futaba's attention is fixed on something other than their origins. "Why the candy, though? I mean, yeah, those things ain't bad, but-yeah." She nods at Khosa, agreeing with the wrong thing. "Nah, you need to get him to try the good stuff. Like-" Wait, would getting Mothman addicted to tastier and more expensive candy be a bad idea? "-the little red spicy ones. Or the foamy fruit balls. Remind me to pick some up for the... Kid Mothman?" Futaba pauses to think about that for a second, then shrugs. "Yeah, Petra's onto something there. A kid Mothman might end up real different depending on what kinda candy you feed him, right? Don't want him to only eat the cheap stuff, or you'll get a low quality Mothman." She predicts, clearly having no idea what she's talking about while simultaneously sounding completely sure of herself.
Calvin Nash	The cheapest here is a vodka without an official name, but which bears a label of a cartoon skull. The faint flecks of paper on it suggest that it once did have official labeling, which is reassuring only for the fact that none of the distillers here would bother to make something like it. The bottle is sizeable for a spirit on the level of 'this was probably bottom shelf in its day' and is among the most full of its fellows on the shelf. "Your funeral, hon," says Charlene, pouring Futaba a shot. It tastes like paint thinner.     The most expensive is also very seldom touched, though this is for the price less than the taste--it's actually very pleasant. An amber red color, almost like caramel, and a taste of sweet apple. The menu lists it as applejack brandy, brought in all the way from Tahlequah, Oklahoma courtesy of one O. Redfield. Just gonna use 'em here, or did you have some other spot in mind? I think it takes time to get seeds growing.     "It takes time," Calvin echoes Khosa. "And not all of it'll grow in the same place. Colder now'n it was before the bombs," he says. "That's how come that brandy's so expensive. Apples're picky 'bout how much sun they need, how much cold they want. Well, part of it, anyway. But." He sips his beer. "Where we plant what's not really up to me." I'm not on the tab, but could I get... that?     Charlene brightens up, her green eyes twinkling. "Petra! Cinder! I was wonderin' when you two little angels'd stop by again."     "She asks 'bout y'all all the time," Calvin adds.     "That's right! I'd beg borrow or steal to see you two prettyin' up my bar again." Two glazed clay cups--"Jackie, get these ladies some ice."     "Coming up, hee-ho," calls a little goober from below the bar. A chill breeze briefly blows, followed by a clinking into the glasses as Charlene lowers them for the winter sprite.     Cinder and Petra get a couple of cocktails with vodka, cranberry liqeur, and a splash of grapefruit juice. These are a little on the expensive side, but not so much as the applejack brandy.     "Good choice," says Charlene with a playful little wrinkle of her nose. "Nice and festive for the winter season." Tell me the deal about the whole Mothman thing.     Calvin looks like he's about to, but Angela suggests that Madeleine is the expert, which has him bristle before taking another sip. Do you think the Expanse'll ever run dry? ...or do you think there'll be a day where you're working to help the demons, instead of them helping you?     "It won't never run dry as long as there's two people left to daydream on this Earth," says Calvin. "It's like rain. There's a whole..." he gestures vaguely with his drink. "Cycle."     "And the second thing... they don't work *for* us, they work *with* us. If I wanted to work *for* demons, I'd go to Canaan. Be a Templar," he says, tersely. He obviously doesn't want to do that.     "Anyway." The word is spritzed into the air like an aerosol spray, to ward off the odor of the previous thought. "Bein' a Marshal is a lot like bein' a part of the Assembly. It means acceptin' the new normal and buildin' somethin' better than the old normal. This thing come up out of people who were second-class citizens in the old world. We ain't in a hurry to start decidin' who is and ain't one."     "Demons come from us. From our stories, like Petra said. How they are as people depends a lot on what kinda story they come up from. That means a lotta times you end up negotiatin' or doin' favors for demons you ain't got no intention of bein' partners with, just 'cause they're part of the community. Not bosses, not lackeys. Neighbors, folks it's good to have in the back pocket, or at the very worst, the ugliest parts of the old world that you gotta keep from takin' root."     "Like the Patriots, or the Red Dogs." Like a... kid Mothman? A Mothkid? Is there an adult version somewhere around?     "No, he's grown. Just up his own ass, is all."
Natsuki Nuki	Natsuki's experience with the Mothman operation, through the much less interesting return trip overladen with the cache of time capsuled goods, had somehow started with the mysterious legend of the lepidopteran driving almost her entire interest and ''somehow'' ended with that same Mothman being the last thing on her mind. This was, of course, due to the local Mothman being a little shit. But Natsuki didn't say that in front of Mothman or Maddie and ate the consolation bribe Calvin had prepared for her. Apparently, however, Natsuki had earned sitting for a spell. At least, that was the sort of invite she got to drag her from Osaka again. Her business partners understood her as 'going to an important meeting' -- her wardrobe was more understandable as a bar bounce fit. At a moseying stride from the entrance of the ongoing discussion and palpably a beat late, Natsuki dresses herself in black wedge-heeled high boots and a thick white ruffle of legging halfway between kneesocks and leggings, dark blue skirt, and white buttondown collared shirt, with an orange-furred and black striped hand ending in a finger whose claw somehow doesn't pierce the black jacket she hangs over one shoulder. "Are we talking shit about Mothman yet?" Natsuki asks, having clearly listened to the conversation on approach and grinning toothily-sharp. Getting up to the bar to lean forward on it, the taller Nuki orders 'whatever Calvin decided to buy his own self' and rolls her lean towards the group already assembled, giving Futaba an in-frame-with-Calvin look of both amusement and disapproval. "Do you drink enough to know the difference, Futaba?" Natsuki asks, before she hears something a lot more interesting than talk about Mothman: "It might not be too hard to see where they ended up, if we want to take the journey. Those two soldiers might even appreciate some local appreciation for their work in improving knowledge. If you want to win points: Might be a good idea to have your nerd friends make a progress report out and deliver a copy to their lord. Taking the time for that kind of praise on your own initiative shows appreciation, and there might be a chance for you to meet some premium demons." Of course, Natsuki isn't suggesting this purely out of the goodness of her Yokai heart: she'd like to meet one of the Four Winds herself! "Duty recognizes duty. A pleasant report could really ingratiate your community with that lord, lead to some more of those caches."
Angela	"Haha. You know they can't." Justin says. "Gonna stick to one drink, Random. That's the compromise." Random sighs and pats Justin's back twice. ''But she sucks and I hate her.'' "Nevertheless, I cannot deny she is a spcialist." Angela says but then her expression grows contemplative. "Petra, Lilian suggested I take a job as a secretary for her--I was intending to accept but ... It occured to me that she is decidedly already quite capable--would I even be able to properly be her Secretary?" Her conversation with Princess is lingering on her mind. ''Cryptids are stories.'' "Not so unlike Abnormalities I suppose." Angela murmurs. A kid Mothman? A mothkid? "That might explain it..." She murmurs. ''So youw ant to?'' Cinder startles, just a bit. "Oh! Yeah. I do. When they're done. Do you play pool at all? I gotta warn you--I'm a total novice." She leans in and murmurs, "And not the kind of 'Hey i'm a novice but secretly really good--I just sort of play for fun." Rook doesn't think he quite has earned a drink of the most expenesive drink on the mnu and doubts it'd suit his taste. He picks something nice but moderate. ''She asks 'bout y'all all the time.'' "Y..yeah? Well, we're pretty great." Cinder says and even manages to be like 80 percent confident about that. She is one of the few people at Lobcorp who finds the work fulfilling in of itself. "Festive huh..." Angela turns her gaze back to Calvin as he provides some clarifying remarks and gives him a nod. She doesn't seem to mind the bristling--perhaps she agreees in such a circumstance, he ''should'' bristle but she just hasn't gotten to know Calvin nearly as well yet. "Calvin, since they come from stories--could a new powerful enough story create new Demons?" Angela asks.
Calvin Nash	Are we talking shit about Mothman yet?     "Just in time," says Calvin.     "Well hey there! Calvin," says Charlene expectantly, "Ain't you gonna introduce me to your friend? You keep bringing pretty ladies by and I might have to put you on payroll."     "Oh! Ms. Natsuki, this is Charlene, she runs this place."     "My pride and joy," beams Charlene. "How're you?"     "Me and Ms. Natsuki worked together a couple of times now. She's a pretty sharp demonologist her own self."     "Well you'll fit right in, sugar pie! What'll you have?" ...     Natsuki, ordering the same as Calvin, gets a 'Berlinerweiss' beer brewed by Ossabaw's own Glenn Bowers. As Charlene draws it from the keg, Natsuki can spot its cloudy, straw-gold color before it disappears into her cup. It's a delightfully mild beer with a sour taste almost reminiscent of bread, but in the most refreshing possible way. Light bodied without being watery, and low on the alcohol content, it's a great choice for social gatherings like this.     Rook, going for something mid-tempo, gets another drink suited for the cold. Charlene calls it a 'bonfire negroni,' for the warming effect it has and the fact that it's served hot. Gin, bitters and sweet vermouth mingle with hot tea and maple syrup for a complex yet very drinkable blend. Calvin, since they come from stories--could a new powerful enough story create new Demons?     "Yes ma'am, absolutely, Ms. Angela," says Calvin, gesturing towards Angela's screen. "Wilders--cryptids, like Ms. Madeleine would call 'em, those are pretty... whatchacall... contemporary. Mothman ain't but even a hunnerd years old. Pastor Fred, his son got harassed by the Red Dogs before they was demons."     "Fiends, too. They ain't *all* brand new but I can tell you Hell Biker or the Phantom 309 sure are. Relatively speakin'."
Khosa	Khosa ends up settling on something whiskey-related for herself. Never fear, it won't be her only one of the night. "Patience is... Somethin' I'm working on." Khosa laughs. "Trust me, I noticed. I won't give you shit for it. I still need to nail you down and have a chat myself, though. Name a time. We'll find a place. What's this about foamy fruit balls?" To Calvin: "You think you can get them to grow somewhere else?" Khosa pauses, then says, "Well, I suppose it's not really your specialty any more than it's mine, so don't answer if you can't, but it'd be nice to get them going again. Plus all the other things in there, I'd never seen anything like some of those. I wonder if we could get an artisan to copy some of them. Not the complicated ones. We don't have electrical power or anything." "Nice and festive for the winter season." Khosa laughs. "I've gotta admit, when you folks warned me that the weather was going to change, I didn't expect it to change *that* much. We've got seasons at home but it's not really all that different from one to another... and it doesn't change when it gets bright, either. Here it's so different I could tell just by looking that the sun isn't up as long." Is Tyr equatorial or just weird? You decide! She almost chimes in on the pool but elects to leave that to the others. Instead she turns on her seat slightly to give Natsuki a nod when she comes in. "Well look who's here. And Only a little bit," she says, about talking shit about Mothman - despite her judgement of him as 'probably obnoxious to deal with for too long' Khosa doesn't really have much against him. It's not like *she's* not obnoxious to deal with to some people. But about the terracotta soldiers: "I wanted to see the Guidestones anyway," Khosa says. "I'm already sending reports home, what's another? But they sounded interesting to just see, regardless of the rest of it. If Calvin thinks it's worth the trip for him I'd go with him, too. Otherwise I'd just hike down myself." Pause. "Well, ride. Bit of a way to actually *walk* in a reasonable amount of time. I'm not an elf, I don't run that fast." "They ain't *all* brand new but I can tell you Hell Biker or the Phantom 309 sure are." "What's the Phantom 309?" Khosa asks. "And you mentioned a couple other Fiends before. Those are the older ones? The Trumpeter and such."
Petra Soroka	"That kind of pushing the boundaries. You'd get it."     If Khosa *had* meant to offend Petra, then Petra dodges it this time, at least. The implication passes through one ear and out the other, understanding it instead as some sage comment about Petra's higher-than-usual familiarity with the empathetic needs of teenagers, and she just blinks and nods.     After a beat, she remarks, "Mothteen," and that's about the extent of her agreement that this Mothman was probably some sort of teenager. "A kid Mothman might end up real different depending on what kinda candy you feed him, right? Don't want him to only eat the cheap stuff, or you'll get a low quality Mothman."     "That's completely insane. Are we, like, cultivating Mothmen now? Are we gonna feed him shrimp to make him turn pink? That's psychotic." Petra drums her fingers on the counter, and then continues on Futaba's thought like she didn't just berate her. "Feed your Mothteen those fruity wine gummies to give him the sweetness he needs while reducing his sugar intake. This'll result in a more elegant, refined Mothman." "Petra! Cinder! I was wonderin' when you two little angels'd stop by again."     "A-ah, aha, r-really? That's, um, hey, g-good to see you too." Petra is instantly rendered flustered, hands tucked between her thighs while she rotates slightly back and forth on her stool. Cinder saves her, for once, by being more confident, and she passively rubs a knuckle along Cinder's arm for rejuvenating physical content.     "That's true. We're both really cool." Petra is given a Seasonal Drink! She hadn't considered such a thing before, besides alcoholic eggnog, but takes to it well. She's been drinking a lot of alcohol lately, relatively (meaning, still vanishingly little). "Heck yeah, thanks." "This thing come up out of people who were second-class citizens in the old world. We ain't in a hurry to start decidin' who is and ain't one."     Petra chews on the inside of the lip, but she isn't in a hurry to start rehashing her previous complaint about Calvin and this town again. She's also just in a fairly good mood lately, so pointless arguments aren't as appealing. She kicks her feet idly and sips at her drink, pleasantly absorbing the atmosphere.     "I feel like I could spin up a lot of takes about people serving 'stories' or treating them as peers, or livestock, or whatever. It'd take me a minute, but I've always liked that sort of thing." "Are we talking shit about Mothman yet?"     "Talking about feeding him things, yeah," Petra affirms reflexively, before noticing that this is *not* someone she knows! Her first note of confusion comes out as "Tail?" at the evil-looking snake, but then she almost-politely clarifies, "Yo. I'm Petra."
Futaba Nuki	Futaba may regret this later, but at least she's got that second drink to savor once her face returns to its regular shape. "Bbgh... Oh, that was... That one really packs a punch, huh? Oh geez, let's just..." She'll need that second drink to recover, and she's much slower about drinking it, too, sipping and letting the flavor sit for a while before letting out a satisfied noise. "Much better... Phew. That first one really packs a punch, though. Don't think I'll ever order that one again 'cept on a dare, though." She chuckles lightly and holds in a brief gag, then shakes her head with a light grimace before turning to Natsuki. "Nope! Gotta start somewhere, though, right? Now that I know the worst and the best in here, I can..." She pauses, then laughs and claps her hands on her knees. "Shouldn't make it a habit, I guess. Don't want to end up giving kids the wrong idea if they see me doing it. Not that I'd do any drinkin' at home in public, but still." She concludes, then grins at Natsuki mischievously. "Seriously, though, that cheap one tasted horrible. You want one, too?" She turns to Calvin after, nodding slowly as he mentions the different growing needs of those seeds. "Good to hear you guys got that much figured out already. I ain't a botanist or nothing, but I heard even different kinds of apples want different amounts of sun or heat or whatever. Heard there's even some that you could use as a drill bit, if it turns out we found some of those." Petra following up on Mothman cultivation gets a laugh out of Futaba, too, along with a light humming noise as the tanuki slowly leans back further and takes another sip of the brandy. She's really nursing it, and not just because it's expensive. "Oh yeah, I forgot about color customization. All those Red Vines might turn him red, so you might wanna balance that out with those.. Uh. The blue sports drinks and get a rare purple Mothman later." Futaba takes yet another small sip of her caramel apple-y drink, breathes in slowly through her nose, then listens further to Calvin explaining the role of the Marshals. A lot of what he says reminds her of their previous conversation, and that ends up getting a light chuckle out of Futaba as things start piecing together. "So that's why you wanted to talk about the... Scheduling stuff. Definitely seems to be workin' out here, and things have been..." A pause. "Things ain't blowin' up more, at least. Can't say if anything's improved yet, either, but I'm workin' on it." Charlene taking a shine to Natsuki, naturally, gets Futaba to perk up more. "Oh, you're in for a treat, Miss Charlene. And.. Eh? You haven't met Natsuki before, Petra? She's only THE biggest, baddest biiig sister around-" She grins slightly, clearly feeling clever about that save."-with class, smarts, power, the works! But her gut..." The mischievous grin returns. "I wonder how her gut would handle that bottom shelf booze."
Petra Soroka	"It occured to me that she is decidedly already quite capable--would I even be able to properly be her Secretary?"     Petra clacks her nails on the side of her glass and leans towards the tablet in Cinder's lap. "I mean, I'm not competent enough to properly be her anything. I just make myself do it anyways, you know? Are you really feeling that insecure about something you *actually* know you're good at?"     Petra pauses and squints. "Wait. There's no, like, other meaning to Secretary in the City, is there? Like Maid and Butler? You're not imagining that a secretary fights people, are you?" "And not the kind of 'Hey i'm a novice but secretly really good--I just sort of play for fun."     Petra closes her eyes and confidently 'huhuhu's. She slides around to lean her arm across the counter, lowering down and getting in close in a silly parody of some sleazy pickup artist at the bar. "Cinder... you underestimate me...." She pauses just long enough for an anticipatory breath. "I've never even played it before one single time." "And.. Eh? You haven't met Natsuki before, Petra? She's only THE biggest, baddest biiig sister around-"     "No shit? Your sister?" Petra studies Natsuki for a minute. Snake tail. Tiger claws. Tiger ears. Futaba... does not have those things. If she locked in harder, she might notice the tanuki mask they share, but her scan of superficial traits skips right over that and grasps onto her accent instead. "... I can... see the resemblance."     "Oh, wait--" The actual reality of the two Nukis being sisters finally registers to Petra, and she swivels around to face Natsuki completely. "Hey, I've known your sister for a while, since--" [Archivist (Hard: Success!)]: Futaba Nuki was at our arrest. [Archivist (Trivial: Failure!)]: You know there are many other options, but they aren't available to you right now.     "... She was there when I got arrested. Uh. A-and also other things!"
Khosa	"... She was there when I got arrested." "For what?" Khosa asks immediately, before she manages to stop herself from doing that.
Angela	Rook takes his drink and raises his glass in a semi-toast to Calvin before taking a long drink. "Job well done and a job relatively painless. If this is the kind of work that's off site, I'll happily lend a hand again and again." Angela mulls about living stories. "I wonder if Abnormlities would be compatible with your COMPs... or perhaps some sort of unique storage method..." Angela muulls aloud. "It would certainly be easier if they were some sort of equitible partnership with most Abnormalities rather than just relying on their natures... Some are otherwise simply too dangerous to allow roam free, even for someone such as myself." Angela nods her head, agreeing with Khosa's curiousity regarding the Phantom 309. A haunted highway, perhaps? Angela isn't sure what to say about feeding strange items to your demons or bnormalities to make them change color, or perhaps sparkle, or maybe raise or lower a stat but the world of monster collection seems grander than she expected with bright future ahead of it. Cinder instinctively wraps her arm around Petra's, giving it a small hug and leaning against it with the side of her head for just a moment in a show of affection. When she gets a drink she offers to clink a glass with Petra and takes an experimental sip. "Take your time, I'd love to hear your ''takes'', Petra." Angela smiles, faintly, behind her monitor. ''Are you really feeling that insecure about osmething you *actually* know you're good at?'' "Mm...I suppose not, when you put it like that." Angela admits before Petra says something that makes her uncertain. "...Ah, well... I do not ''fight'' anyone but ... Perhaps I should confirm the details of the sort of work a Secretary for Lilian would be expected to do. Just to confirm the expected overlap between duties is present." Now she's worried she's only a good City Secretary instead of like an actual one?? ''You underestimate mee.... I've never even played it before one single time.'' CInder laughs in surprise. "Really! I imagined you as an expert!" She grins widely, enjoying this new Petra lore. ''For what?'' "Murder." Angela says directly without even looking her way.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Hating Madeleine and thinking she sucks is, fortunately or unfortunately, not enough to dissuade her from talking shop.     "It's more like filling in the unknown gaps in the world with art and culture and stuff. Cryptids are *stories*, not, like, failed science."     Madeleine nods in agreement. "Yeah. It's about a continuity of human experience. If there's a piece of the world that doesn't have a name, or a story, or some way for people to understand its importance in their lives, it'll get one. Scientific reasoning is a pretty widely applicable method for that, but it's not as universal as most people think - at least, not the conventional sciences." Sip. "That's where folks like me and the MCRD come in. Cryptozoology is sort of the intersection of ecology and mythology, right? The MCRD was founded to identify which creatures were like, capital-I Important to people across multiple worlds, and to figure out why that importance was echoed. We've spread out since then but there's still a whole branch of researchers who look at correlations between different worlds' monsters and histories to find common threads. I'm not much suited for that level of multiverse theory, but it's important work."     It's like rain.     "That makes sense. I guess you're... well I wouldn't say it's lucky that there'll always be folks like the Patriots running around, nevermind." An awkward pause. "Sometimes I wonder how I'd have turned out if my job were just about killing monsters, and not about *understandin'* em, knowing how they fit into the world, keeping that balance. Things'd be simpler, maybe, but I feel like something that's true of me now wouldn't have shown up without the ecology being the way it is on so many worlds." Another sip of her drink. "If you couldn't be a Demon Marshal, Calvin, what would you do? For a living, I mean."     "Are we gonna feed him shrimp to make him turn pink?"     Madeleine chuckles at Petra's question, then properly busts a gut laughing at the faux-instructive wine gummies bit.     Basically everyone talking various degrees of shit about Mothman.     Madeleine sets down her drink to hold up both hands in a vague 'slow down' sort of gesture. "I-I don't think we can judge him by our standards, y'know? He's a cryptid AND a demon, that means he's gonna be pretty different from like, people. I mean, I wouldn't expect, uh-" She glances around, realizes there's nobody here she especially wants to offend right now, and fumbles for a different thing to say. "Like, the Combaticons aren't gonna act like normal people, they're robots. This is like that, only he's a mothman, and not a robot..." Madeleine ends with a distinctly unconfident trail-off.     "Murder."     Without a moment's hesitation or thought, Madeleine blurts out, "They *arrest* us for that?"
Petra Soroka	"For what?"     "That is... such a complicated question...."     Petra winces, aware that the real answer both requires too much context and is something that no one here needs to be privy to. The idea of outright lying doesn't sit well with her, so she really shouldn't have brought it up at all, but she did, so now she has to figure her way out of it. She opens her mouth to try and formulate a response when-- "Murder."     Petra winces again and reflexively glances back towards Charlene for her reaction. The save is appreciated, but being spoken over is distinctly not. Angela is an AI that can lie, and Petra is a human that struggles to.     "... Sure."
Natsuki Nuki	Introduced in the small-town way, the bar-side way, Natsuki smiles in her lean as she looks up at Charlene. "You didn't introduce me yet, Calvin? That's terrible of you-- you're being rude to Charlene, now, aren't you?" She rumbles, before offering forward a dark palmed fuzzy tiger-clawed hand out palm down across the bar. "It's always pleasant to meet another proprietress of a pride and joy. Just Natsuki's fine. I run some business in Osaka, Japan." Hand taken, or even filled with Berlinerwiess, Natsuki smiles and half-turns. "Not the same kind of demonology as the Marshalls here practice, but I've found enough parallels to be interested. I," Natsuki raises her other hand a wiggles wicked-clawed fingers, and above the bar her black-scaled and sclera'd tail rises to flick tongue and taste air and seem very disinterested in what's going on. "Am fine," She speaks, with the exact tone of someone who means 'fine' like 'pretty' and not like 'okay'. "-and think I'd like a shot of whatever that *fine* thing you're pouring is," A glance at Futaba, red-glare doubled as tail slips behind back to stare with some lingering-cold disgust at the other Nuki. "Once you're done pouring it down that drain." And, sotto voice to Futaba, Natsuki adds: "Then why are you drinking in public at all? Hah?" Shaking head and lifting beer to sip at it and taste before the engagement with bomb shots and sisterly scowls, Natsuki keeps her barsidie lean. "I wasn't meaning you should write the report, Khosa," Natsuki admits after as her shot is being set up, shaking her head and whisking blonde-white ponytail back and forth. "I'm saying those geniuses that got the material should. A full inventory, how it'll be used, the works - The lord of knowledge would appreciate that kind of thing, I think. And the Guiding Stones themselves, well, I don't think I'd mind some sightseeing, even if it's a bit out of the way: so if you do, I wouldn't decline the invitation." Eased down and in a low-aggression state, the throaty chuckle that emanates from Natsuki lifts to a chirping birdsong as she tumbles back to a vocalized point. "And I'm sure those overworked scientists would appreciate a sign-on by you anyway. If they ask you, make sure to get something, hmm?" She reminds, casually chatting to the point in front of God, Calvin and everyone. " 'Tail?' That actually draws the attention of the second head of the Nue, red-eyed reptilian tail staring with slit-eyed gaze at Petra with an almost-threatening cool glare before Natsuki's head follows her tail's gaze. "Its name is 'Kodoku', but, yes, 'tail'." Natsuki answers. "And I'm Natsuki, regretfully that idiot's-" She dismisses Futaba with a sweep-sweep of the back of her hand. "-older sister. Formally, 'Lady Nue', informally, buy me a drink." Which might be hard seeing as Charlene has already started a tab under Calvin's name. '... She was there when I got arrested. Uh. A-and also other things!' "Hohh?" Natsuki grins, now a lot more interested than before, taking shot once available and dropping it into her bubbling pint with a glass thunk-clink. "Are you a 'bad girl'?" The chimeric woman asks, all grins. 'Bad-do gaaru', all loanwords and insinuation. 'For what?' 'Murder.' Once more, hyoo-hyoo-hyoo laughter ripples through the bar at Natsuki's birdsong of amusement. "You are, you are!"
Calvin Nash	You think you can get them to grow somewhere else?     "Between our eggheads and the help we can get now from people like Echolalia..."     "Maybe. Least we can probably make more of 'em. That's really what it was about--security. Security to branch out and try new shit." Here it's so different I could tell just by looking that the sun isn't up as long.     "Stick around, darlin'," says Charlene. "If you're lucky, you might see some snow the next few days."     Calvin nods.     What's the Phantom 309?     "Before the bombs, there were these great big trucks. They'd pull these bigass trailers fulla shit--food, electronics, booze, lumber, whatever," Calvin illustrates with his hands, "Across the country, one place to another, wherever it was needed."     "You drive through certain parts of the country nowadays, you're liable to see a pair of tail lights. That's him. Driving his truck like he's still makin' deliveries. They call his rig Phantom 309 'cause taillights is just about all you see, unless you're fast enough to catch up. Or... unless you're in a bad way. Stranded. He likes to gives folks a lift to the next nearest place with a Terminal."     "They say when he was alive, he come up on an intersection up a hill, haulin' gasoline," Calvin illustrates with his hands, making a cross shape. Pushing one hand forward, "Just as soon as he come up, he sees... what was it, Charlene?"     "School bus," Charlene answers.     "Right. School bus. Them rigs didn't start from jump, and they didn't stop on a dime, neither. So he had to make a decision. Him, or them kids." Calvin pauses for effect. "He drove into a guardrail, so the kids 'n the driver'd have enough time to get clear. They did. He didn't." It'd take me a minute, but I've always liked that sort of thing.     "Favorite part of the job," says Calvin. "Really, you oughta talk to Pastor Fred sometime if that's how you feel. He's got a lot to say 'bout that too." Can't say if anything's improved yet, either, but I'm workin' on it.     "Good." You haven't met Natsuki before, Petra? She's only THE biggest, baddest biiig sister around--with class, smarts, power, the works!     Charlene rests her chin on the palm of her hand. "The works, huh?" Murder.     The bartender seems more interested in Petra than she was before, a gleam in her eye which might be called dangerous.     Calvin clears his throat. "Anyway. Could I get another Berlinerweiss, Charlene?"     "Sure." If you couldn't be a Demon Marshal, Calvin, what would you do? For a living, I mean.     "Farmer," Calvin answers almost without hesitation. "My momma was one, before she started up the Marshals. That, or somethin' where I'd work with my hands."     Charlene winks at Natsuki and pours her a little of that applejack brandy. It's delightfully smooth, sweet and fruity, which is surely one of the reasons for its price tag.
Khosa	Khosa lets out a ... well it's probably a grunt at the development that Petra was arrested for murder. It clearly didn't stick, so she drops it. But she just kind of *looks* at Madeleine afterwards. "Yes?" she says. "Getting in a fight is one thing. Fists until knives come out on both sides, a gladiator match or a proper duel, or defending yourself - nobody'll look at it twice. But if you go and hunt down some merchant or farmer or kid for no reason, hell yes you will. That's part of my job, though a little part - a lot of the time someone else can handle it as well or better than me." Khosa picks up her drink and finally tries it. It meets her approval, by the look on her face, though it does delay her response to Natsuki. "As far as I'm concerned you're welcome," she says, that slightly crooked grin she's good at returning. "Hell, we can make a trip of it even if Calvin's crew isn't interested, if you want. I'm learning to drive, anyway." "If you're lucky, you might see some snow the next few days." "Maybe I will stick around. Heh, some of my coworkers don't even believe me when I told them about thunderstorms, they *really* won't believe me. 'Oh yeah, ice falls out of the sky, except it's not hard ice, it's like soft ice.' Sure, Khosa." She rolls her eyes. "They call his rig Phantom 309..." "...He doesn't sound so bad at least. Not much of a 'fiend', huh." Pause. "Little F." Classifications are weird things and she's not going to object to them, but he seems a lot more agreeable than Hell Biker ever did to her. But... "Farmer, really? I could see it," she says, after a long moment's delay. "I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't - well, what I ended up doing. But there's nothing wrong with farming. Takes a lot of work to keep them alive and irrigated and all that."
Petra Soroka	"The MCRD was founded to identify which creatures were like, capital-I Important to people across multiple worlds, and to figure out why that importance was echoed."     "Oh!!--" Petra leans in, innocently excited in Madeleine's shop-talk. "So it's more like sociology than zoology. That's the kind of shit I really love about cryptids, yeah. My trans-geo teacher used to get really annoyed at how many questions I'd ask about, like, the similarity in mythological creatures across different worlds, and why they were more consistently tied to cultural similarities rather than geographical similarities, and she eventually told me to piss off and get my doctorate in it if I wanted to know."     Petra clacks a nail against her glass and leans back. "I didn't, obviously." "Like, the Combaticons aren't gonna act like normal people, they're robots. This is like that, only he's a mothman, and not a robot..."     Petra shakes her head emphatically at that. "Nuh uh. Bad example. They don't act like people 'cause they're soulless suckers with no interesting personality traits who live on a geological time scale but act like they're teenagers."     "I'm pretty sure you're wrong anyways, though. 'Person' isn't a trait that only humans can have. Obviously. You can take into account, like, context, and specific needs, and the way someone came into existence, but if someone's annoying, they're annoying. Whatever the reason is." "They *arrest* us for that?"     Petra takes a slow sip from her drink, easing into the narrative Angela conveniently set up for her. It makes her a *bit* smug. "They do if he's a Paladins Elite." "You are, you are!"     "He deserved it! He deserved it, by the way!" Petra whines at Natsuki, instinctively feeling like she's being mocked. She turns her face away brattily, ending up angled towards Kodoku instead. "I'm only a-- a little bit of a--" The look that was in Charlene's eyes only processes belatedly, after she's already forming the words. "Bad... girl."     To distract herself, Petra surreptitiously holds three fingers underneath the stool, angled so that Kodoku can see, but Natsuki can't. She glances up at Natsuki's face to see if she, through snake-tail eyes, noticed.
Angela	''The Combaticons aren't going to act like normal people, they're robots.'' Angela's gaze turns slowly towards Madeleine and stares at her, all the way through her unconfident trail-off. Petra may be a bad girl hyoo-hyoo-hyoo but she is better than a good girl. Good girls never konw what to say. Angela, who has been both a good girl and a bad girl by her own estimation, is pretty sure that's a key difference which means that she very much prefers Petra as she is. ''They *arrest* us for that?'' Angela keeps on staring, allowing Petra to smugpost without interruption this time. "I am surpirsed," She says afer, though more for what Petra said about what makes a ''Person'', "That an expert such as yourself were unaware of this. Frankly, plenty of humans are not people by any reasonable definition." Rook seems faintly disturbed by an evil schoolbus, Random pushes his drink back towards him. ''Farmer.'' Angela considers this answer and then decides she approves. "A practical job." Is her reasoning. ''They do if he's a Paladins Elite.'' "I do not know the full details but he had it coming." She nods to Petra's insistence that he deserved it, too. ''I'm only a--a little bit of a--Bad... girl.'' "Only a little." Cinder agrees. "She saved my life which more than makes up for killing that guy." She nods a few times. See? Petra saved a life too! That's good girl behavior!!
Natsuki Nuki	Natsuki handles the shot like a pro - or at least like a very experienced college drinker, gamely sniffing, taking a faint sip and smiling in approval towards Charlene, and then bombing her Berlinerweiss with the rich stuff before taking a halving chug. That, she enjoys. A bit loudly, turned away from Petra for a moment as she admits to murking elites in a bar, but Petra's escapades don't dim her mood. Really, she was already wondering if the inquiring girl had the bad girl cred to get in on the interest! Though, it seems that Petra emphatically does. Instead, she listens to the rather somber-sweet tale of the phantom rig and frowns. "So, Calvin--" Natsuki leans in to elbow Calvin and grin. "Planning on giving that one the big ol' singing bird at the end of your hand and seeing the difference in how that one reacts to Hell Biker? Or are you aiming to chase that one down as a hitch-hiker of need and contract it for a fusion? I'd bet," Closing her eyes, there's a real moment of calculation in there. "You'd get something pretty interesting if you mixed Phantom 309 and Hell Biker together. There's a lot there, a lot of legend, but you'd average down some of that asshole's gall and average up some of that rig driver's gumption. Then again..." A 'heh', single and unbirdlike, escapes her after. "You might just get a fiend so committed to the course nothing can turn them." 'The works, huh?' Natsuki turns on Charlene with a half-glass toast and a toothy grin. "Compared to my sister? Absolutely. I'm even classy enough to let Calvin pay - none of that..." A scowl. "German stuff." Though she says 'doiche', what she's actually referring to is 'Dutch style', though the loanword was mangled by going through two languages and a half-remembered reference. 'Farmer.' "'Course you would, with a demon horse at home. Not a motion at all, just less of one. Nah, you're a road man. I saw you in that truck." 'Hell, we can make a trip of it even if Calvin's crew isn't interested, if you want. I'm learning to drive, anyway.' Swigging up her glass, there's a pause where Natsuki transitions to softly suggesting business to real, actual offers. Lit up and interested - in the same way as she had been glancing at the psion's creature-shifting - Natsuki grins out of one side of her mouth and nods twice. "Love to. I'm sure they would be if we were going anyway, but if we get a head start on the Marshals we'd get first bite at what we found, and that'd be fun in its own right. Fancy a race, Marshal Nash? First to the stones? Pick a day or get one picked for you." Lauging again, a chirpy sound that seems almost too upbeat of birdsong for her general mein and demeanor of lightly-flicked tiger button ears atop her head, Natsuki leans back and resumes drinking, falling into her own thoughts. 'I'm only a-- a little bit of a--' Without turning, Natsuki's nail tink-tink-tink taps the side of her glass. "And I'm only a little bit of a centipede, but that doesn't mean it doesn't count." She reasons. Under the stool, her tail loops around the legs of her chair, a kind of board stimming and constricting that stops when it notices movement, eyes staring at Petra. Nothing happens for a few moments. "San what?" Natsuki asks, without turning. "Or is that an OK hand?" The woman from semi-country 2000's Japan asks Petra, glancing one eye over her shoulder. She -- both of 'them' -- definitely noticed.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"Farmer."     Madeleine nods and sips her drink. "Honest work."     "I'd ask about, like, the similarity in mythological creatures across different worlds, and why they were more consistently tied to cultural similarities rather than geographical similarities..."     Madeleine somehow manages to light up even beyond her talking-about-cryptids enthusiasm. This is now a DIALOGUE about cryptids. "Yeah! Like, why does..." She pauses for another sip before getting too into it. "Why do two worlds imagine the same monsters, or even *have* those same monsters, when there's not a simple evolutionary explanation for how they got there? Even like... Elibe has dragons that we recognize as dragons, there's a few differences but they're really outweighed by the commonalities. Is there a single source that worlds draw from, a base template? Or are there rules to how worlds develop and what can develop in them? Big questions, I know!"     "...she eventually told me to piss off and get my doctorate in it if I wanted to know."     The huntress winces as if stabbed. "Wh... isn't that what school is *for*? Finding out what you want to do with your life and your time? She should've been proud of your curiosity, should've pointed you in a direction to learn more!" Her shock wears off, and she lets out a sigh. "I shouldn't be surprised that a system that's supposed to be 'for everyone' has its own ideas about who 'everyone' is and isn't. I'm sorry you were treated that way."     "It's not too late to learn more, though. Have you thought about where you'll be working after the, uh." A glance at the Angela-pad. "After your current job's finished?"     "You can take into account, like, context, and specific needs, and the way someone came into existence, but if someone's annoying, they're annoying. Whatever the reason is."     Madeleine shrugs noncommittally. "I guess my tolerance for annoying is kind of high. I could tell you stories about some of the people I used to know, but I'm pretty sure even talking about them would be obnoxious."     "Frankly, plenty of humans are not people by any reasonable definition."     "You can say that," Madeleine avers, "But who thought up that definition, and how does it serve them? Where I'm from, I'm not even *real* by the 'reasonable' definition." She does a little one-handed air-quote when she says 'reasonable'. "So I'm skeptical of the idea that you can redefine someone into un-personhood. Even if it's messier to admit the folks you don't like are people, sometimes it's what's honest."
Calvin Nash	He deserved it! He deserved it, by the way! I do not know the full details but he had it coming.     Calvin sucks his teeth. Petra already did her time. No need to put it at issue. You'd get something pretty interesting if you mixed Phantom 309 and Hell Biker together.     Calvin frowns and nods. "Damn sure would. Course, I'd have to take time to really get along with Hell Biker. Figure him out. Then again..." His blue eyes flick towards Petra. It's not like it wouldn't do him any good to learn how to deal with people that are abrasive on purpose.     "I might as well fuse 'im, now I can," he says.     Charlene scoffs. "Hell Biker? That's a big undertaking for you."     "What's that s'posed to mean?" Calvin asks almost defensively."     They say he's more'n a few notches north of Jack on your 'peckerhead' scale."     "Well."     "Well what?"     "I know it. Maybe it'd do me some good to build up some tolerance. ...'sides, it could take a hell of a long time to track 309 down, and it ain't like havin' more strong partners hurt nobody."     Charlene laughs. "Whatever you say, Marshal." Fancy a race, Marshal Nash? First to the stones? Pick a day or get one picked for you.     "You bet your ass," says Calvin with a grin. Maybe she's right--maybe he would've just as easily been something suited to the road life. "Just give the motor pool some quality time with the truck first, aight? That trip did a number." So I'm skeptical of the idea that you can redefine someone into un-personhood.     "Sure you can. Cops did it all the time," opines Calvin. "'n like Hell Biker said, they had the whole city at their back for it. How else you gonna beat somebody 'til they can't walk no more, and not lose no sleep over it?" He gestures with his beer. "Even laugh about it."
Futaba Nuki	"I still need to nail you down and have a chat myself, though. Name a time. We'll find a place. What's this about foamy fruit balls?" "Yeah? I'm all ears whenever you want me." Futaba replies to Khosa with a pause, like she's about to transform something for a sgiht gag. Instead of doing that, though, she just yawns and rests her head on her knees, shaking her head with a light shiver moments later. She's really starting to feel the drinks hitting her already. "There's this fizzy candy at home. Small, fruity, kidna soda-y. ITt's good stuff, but I hear some folks don't like it 'cause it messes with their guts if they swallow it too fast. Doesn't stop 'em from doing it, but that's something to keep an eye out for." "No shit? Your sister?" "... I can... see the resemblance." Once again, Futaba's grin grows ever wider. "Heck yeah, you do! It's totally in the face, see?" She states more than asks, pumping a fist lightly at Petra being able to see it. It's another little victory in a long line of victories today! "... She was there when I got arrested. Uh. A-and also other things!" "Feels like so long ago..." Futaba says, faking an old people voice briefly before promptly dropping that and going back to her usual tone. Noticing that look from Petra to Charlene while also remembering what happened, the ninja brushes a hand over her nose with her face looking about the same as it usually does: Somewhat vacant, but energetic. "Lots happened since then, though, and even the other guy... Hmm. Wonder how he's doin', actually." When was the last time she saw him around, anyway? Futaba's face looks old for another moment, but stops when she sees Charlene gaze at Petra changing. She raises an eyebrow, then turns around slowly to pretend like she didn't notice. Also, to sip her drink again. "Perhaps I should confirm the details of the sort of work a Secretary for Lilian would be expected to do." "Knowin' Miss Rook? Just about anything to take her mind off all the other stuff she's got to deal with. Can't imagine how much paperwork she's got to handle, or people to talk to, or meetin's to... Meet at?" Futaba suggests, pausing for another moment before resting a hand on her chin and trying to figure out what else sounds secretary-y enough. "Maybe beat up some gangsters when they show up at her home tryin' to shake her down? How good are you with your hands?"
Futaba Nuki	"Then why are you drinking in public at all? Hah?" "It's different in here. It's... Not OUTSIDE-public, and there's no kids 'round here." Futaba clarifies, pouting briefly before snickering again and holds out her mostly-finished brandy towards Natsuki. "But really, you should try some of this. Pricey, but it's good! Nothing like the stuff I..." Wait. When was the last time she actually had a drink? She can't actually remember, and she forgets to finish that thought entirely after getting to that in her head. "And I'm Natsuki, regretfully that idiot's- -older sister." Instead of the usual joking response or bratty idiot response, Futaba actually stays quiet for ocne as she puts some real thought into that. Would things have been different if she was the older sister, and Natsuki the younger? If their timing had been different, would she be in Natsuki's position right now? Would things have been happier for all of them? "... Mmhm." Futaba finally makes a sound, but her attention still seems to be elsewhere at that moment. "The works, huh?" "The works." Futaba answers without explaining anything, although she does gesture at Natsuki's tail as her mood seems to recover soon enough. Looking over from Charlene to Natsuki again, Futaba gives her sister a cheesy grin again before settling her head back on her knees. "Even I don't know everything she's capable of, but we'll be seein' plenty more of each other whether she likes it or not." Phantom 309 and Hell Biker The ninja whistles lightly at the story, then nods and leans back in her seat/on her tail again. "Sounds like a real one, alright. Man, if you could get that kinda spirit back in everyone these days... Wait. What if..." Futaba pauses, then wrinkles her nose. "Nah, too different. Fusin' him and Hell Biker sound like it'd be a mess waitin' to happen, even if that guy could really use someone chiller at the wheel."
Petra Soroka	"Is there a single source that worlds draw from, a base template?"     "See, there's a lot of philosophical ideas about that I've heard, like the idea of a proto-Earth that all the ones in Sector Zero refer to in some, like, cosmic sense, but--" Petra nods, pleased with tying together the conversational threads so well, and also just pleased to talk in general. "I feel like the answer's way simpler than that."     "The source that every overlapping mythology, every cryptid and stuff, all refers back to, is 'people'. Not humans, obviously, but people. The *core* of a person, the things people create, and want, and feel, are almost *completely* universal. At least, within the Sector, every culture is mutually, like, intelligible, and anyone interacting with anyone else can either pinpoint the presence or absence of familiar traits. The number of people who are, uh, culturally unique, who have traits about them that aren't from the interconnected culture of 'humanity' across all the worlds, are basically single digits. It's just individual people. If we put all of *those* in a rocket and launched them into..."     Belatedly, Petra realizes that she's suggesting Sapient Heuristics again. "... Orbit around Pluto, then we'd get a kind of mythology that doesn't overlap with any other world." "Wh... isn't that what school is *for*? Finding out what you want to do with your life and your time?"     Petra shrugs and takes another drink, leaning back. She's a lot less enthusiastic about *this* topic. "Eh. That's high school for you. She was just a teacher, she probably didn't even know how to answer. And besides, I was one brat out of a pretty much indistinguishable hundreds. Hard to care that much when the goal of the system is to scratch off that 'pretty much'." "Have you thought about where you'll be working after the, uh."     Petra follows Madeleine's look towards Angela, and lingers on her and Cinder for a few seconds, thinking about Walpurgisnacht. "College keeps coming up, but, like... can you really imagine it? Like, sorry prof, couldn't do my homework because my stint slaying dragons in a war on the other side of the superplanet went long. Melting Love ate my homework. Oooh, I missed a spot of blood from disemboweling some fascist fucking asshole earlier today, can I go to the bathroom and wash off?"     She drops her gaze to her drink, now empty except for a couple red drops at the bottom of the ceramic. "I can't see it. I feel like I'd lose my mind in a week. Lilian's school was at least one meant for exceptional people already, and she's a celebrity." "But who thought up that definition, and how does it serve them? Where I'm from, I'm not even *real* by the 'reasonable' definition."     Petra clicks her tongue, and puts her glass on the counter so that she can prop her chin up on her palm. "Yeah, but those sorts of definitions are dumb. We're not talking about bullshit cosmic definitions. We're not talking about, robots aren't people, or-- whatever you are aren't people. I'm talking about, like, souls. The presence of purposeful individuality. People aren't people when they're just extensions of the cultural mass that created them; they're tumors."
Petra Soroka	"And I'm only a little bit of a centipede, but that doesn't mean it doesn't count."     "Ceeeennnn-- tipede?" Petra blinks and tries to do a re-scan of Natsuki to look for mandibles and extra legs. Seeing none, she acquiesces, "I might be a little more bad girl than you are centipede."     A thought occurs to her, and she leans forwards, looking between Futaba and Natsuki. "Wait, Futaba does the transforming thing, but you *are* those things? Is Futaba gonna transform into something too much and have it get stuck as part of her forever? Like with crossing your eyes? Because if she gets stuck as that horrible *meat couch* she keeps doing, I'm throwing her into the ocean, I swear to god." "Damn sure would. Course, I'd have to take time to really get along with Hell Biker."     Noticing the look but not knowing its meaning, Petra just inserts herself into Calvin and Charlene's conversation with a bit of snark. "Wow, can't imagine what that guy's about. Is he, maybe, some kind of biker that's on fire? Feels like the sort of naming the losers in the Everhood did."     "How does... fusing work, though?" Dropping the snark, Petra realizes that it's a sincere question when it's halfway out of her mouth. The demons being stories, that are also sort of people, that are also intensely emotionally defined, but also being fusable... feels like it pokes at something in her brain that she can't figure out immediately.
Angela	''Calvin sucks his teeth'' Angela looks to him like she's about to say something, intending to interrupt--but when it doesn't happen she just ends up not saying anything at all. Whatever she was going to say is lost to time forever. ,''After your current job's finished?'' Angela is confused because her stare didn't seem to work. She stares harder at Madeleine to try and communicate whatever it is that she was trying to communicate (ie: reminding Madeleine she is a 'robot' as well and is totally a normal person so what she said about the Combaticons bothered her). Angela turns off camera and looks at her reflection, wondering if something went wrong with her death stare but, of course, all she ever sees when she looks in a mirror is a brown haired woman with a scribbled out face. Angela exhales slowly. SHe does not breathe, so this is just for effect. She wonders if she's become less intmidaing... No, that can't be it. She's terrible frightening. She must have not really put the oomph into it this time. Cinder leans against Petra, closing her eyes for the moment. She imagines in her had Melting Love eating homework. "Melting Love... would instantly disintegrate homework." Angela says confidently.
Natsuki Nuki	"Is north on the peckerhead scale better, or worse?" Natsuki wonders between the banter, eased in on her thoughts and clear on her own commitment. *She* thinks it's a good idea, in as much as the thought punching out the Mothman was a grand idea at the time and with the same general confidence. "Hell Biker's strong enough, and plenty of spirits need direction or they just rage about. Putting power to purpose is how it finds meaning. And Hell Biker's just driving around pissing people off and proving a point any moron can prove falling down hard enough to jostle their tender brain-meats. It's not strong enough to really drive him..." Natsuki loops the motion of a finger in a circle through the air. "Round and round, with nowhere to be going to, or arriving at. Just like those Terracotta Soldiers - they were given 'higher purpose', reason and motive, and a story to tell. Even if their journey doesn't complete, their *story* has changed, been given direction, spilled new ink." Reaching into the jacket she had folded on the bartop, Natsuki 'retrieves' (appears) a red neckerchief, tying it about her throat over the loose collar of her shirt. "Fallen down at the bottom of the pit, sure, he'd like to drag someone down there with him. But I bet? He'd love to get out." The logic isn't really demonologist logic. That might sound more like chemistry or spiritual philosophy, signs and planets and alignments and meaning, essences and this-or that. But she's not speaking to 'a demonologist' -- she's talking to Charlene, Calvin, and everyone else. 'It's different in here. It's... Not OUTSIDE-public, and there's no kids 'round here.' Holding her apple brandy bomb shot drink, dregs beneath the rim of shotglass inside such that each tip brings unfilled shotglass to clink against teeth, Natsuki clinks glass and contents with a sudsy swish. "I'm trying it, doofus." Natsuki replies, though there's not really a snarl or heat in her tone. The sort of interaction someone long used to Futaba's particular brand and blend of bodymorphic foolishness and mix of earnestness and not paying attention at all. "And, well, as loooong as it's different." She scoff-sighs, finishing drink and pushing it forward. "That means we can do shots. Whiskies!" Natsuki agrees, deciding to 'get back' at her sister in a more familiar way: by drinking the dingus under the table and groaning and proving once and for all her chemical superiority! Or something. Mostly she just wanted Charlene's best idea of the go-to whiskey locally. Futaba's trail off doesn't entirely register, but the dimming and somberness draws no further barbs or shots or challenges from the elder Nuki. . . Until 'whether she likes it or not.' "If you want to get flattened, 'sis', run it up whenever you like. You know where I am." 'Ceeeennnn-- tipede?' Turning to place her clawed hands on white-socked knees, Natsuki faces away from the bar and fully towards Petra. "Centipede." She confirms. "Not very fashionable, but plenty useful. If you prefer elegance, spider too, but to see that on me I'd have to start showing off my tattoos... and I'm not taking my shirt off without at least another shot." She offers with a red-eyed wink. While she talks, though, the coil of her tail about stool-leg unfurls and raises, slipping behind her and under the bartop from Petra's visual right as a long black-scaled snake, and on the other side, a chitinblack and mandibled thing of slowly-spreading daggerfine points across an extension of lesser limbs, scuttling through the air, and swaying for a moment again back the other side -- serpentine once more.
Natsuki Nuki	"I am those things, and me, at the same time. I told you I was the Nue, right? I didn't stutter, I'm sure. But it's closer to Marshal Nash's demi-fiends and devil wrappers than getting stuck as a couch." Natsuki gives a side-eye to Futaba. "Stop turning into a meat couch. That's grosser than an insect. Do you want to be sit on that bad? I'll schedule a real flattening if you're that eager for it." A smile and chirpy giggle of laughter follows two sets of eyes back to Petra. "Then you can throw her into the ocean. She can do fish or octopus easy enough she'd squirm right back to you though."
Calvin Nash	Is north on the peckerhead scale better, or worse?     "Worse," says Charlene. Calvin nods his agreement.     For whiskey, the Last Resort doesn't disappoint; it was popular before the war and there are several varieties on offer. The most voluminously available are the various denominations of Jack Daniels. Smooth on the way in, burns on the way down, and happens to be great at keeping the cold away for that reason. Is he, maybe, some kind of biker that's on fire?     "Yep," says Calvin. "He's... how did Natsuki call it? A spite spirit. 'I don't want your shit 'cause it does me any good. I want it cause not havin' it fucks you over,'" he recites. "That's what he said. Felt like the bombs were what we deserved, like we were all just waitin' for an excuse to start killin' each other, and like those of us that're left, Assembly or otherwise--like we're too stupid to get the big idea and finish the job."     Charlene rolls her eyes. "And you wanna work with this guy?"     "What you want me to say, Charlene? 'I can fix 'im?'"     That draws a laugh. "Wouldn't believe you if you did." With a glance towards Petra, "There was this motorcycle gang when I was a girl. Before everything went to shit, I mean. Officially they were a 'club,' even ran with the Olympic torch one year if you can believe it--but everybody knew they were gun runners, drug dealers and killers. Real motherfuckers."     Calvin hms. "You think he mighta been one of them, before he turned demon?"     "Coulda been," says Charlene. "Maybe he's angry that he lived and his buddies didn't." How does... fusing work, though?     Calvin takes a swig of beer. "Well, first, you gotta know the demons you're fusin' real well. If they don't trust you, it's less likely it's gonna work--and tryin' to force it'll cost you goodwill."     "So you get 'em together in a Shadowed Tabernacle, and your fusion technician calls on the emotional energy they store up there, plus some of yours, to set it off." He snaps a finger. "Now, demons might have blood and guts, but that's just part of the wrapper. The story they're actin' out. The... filling, that's emotional energy."     "When you fuse demons, you're takin' that filling out, mixing it together and helpin' it spin up a new wrapper. If it works, then you get somethin' different, that still has the memory of you, and if you weren't a bonehead and forced a square peg in a round hole, still mostly trusts you."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"Sure you can. Cops did it all the time."     "Well, yeah, you *can*, if you have the backing of the powers that be. But then you're no better'n cops, or you *are* one.     "The source that every overlapping mythology, every cryptid and stuff, all refers back to, is 'people'."     Madeleine nods. "Oh, yeah, like that theory of... what's it called, human universals? It makes sense. The Excrucians were basically a random selection of people from just wherever and we still found things in common from our 'normal' lives, arranged ourselves into familiar social structures. So it might be not that there's a base template for *worlds*, but something like that for cultures? Like there's some shapes that are easier for cultures to make than others, so those easier shapes will show up again and again. That's really interesting."     "And besides, I was one brat out of a pretty much indistinguishable hundreds. Hard to care that much when the goal of the system is to scratch off that 'pretty much'."     A thoughtful pause, another sip. "Do you think it's possible to go back? To being... distinguishable, after it's filed away. Not everybody who's interesting or distinctive has been that way since before high school - hell, I was pretty 'normal' before the Glitch. At least from what I remember."     "I can't see it. I feel like I'd lose my mind in a week."     "Yeah, even just the schedule would be better suited to like, an apprenticeship. And college is sort of for forming peer groups and networking? Which isn't really something you have to do, or like... *could* do, with normal people. We're just not on the same wavelengths as them now."     "I'm talking about, like, souls. The presence of purposeful individuality. People aren't people when they're just extensions of the cultural mass that created them; they're tumors."     Mid-sip, Madeleine raises an eyebrow at the mention of souls. "Okay, yeah, that's different from what I thought Angela meant. But wouldn't it be more like, fungi attached to a rhizome? Tumors are bad for the health of the whole, but people just puttering through life with no real sense of direction are at least keeping the cultural mass alive through sheer force of numbers." Some of the assertions must be rubbing off, because she's not really challenging the premise. "Though, that's not always bad, is it? Like, this world, Calvin's said it had a lot of bad inertia before the war, but now that they've set up the Assembly that's at least one place where the cultural mass is moving in a direction that's good for *people*, and not just good for the cultural mass."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Angela death stare!     Madeleine finishes her drink and turns to order a second, finally spying Angela looking at her funny.     <J-IC-Scene> Madeleine Cadrasteia says, "Angela, something wrong?"     <J-IC-Scene> Angela says, "Hm..? Why do you ask?"     <J-IC-Scene> Madeleine Cadrasteia says, "You're glaring at me."     <J-IC-Scene> Angela is subtly relieved, "Yes."     <J-IC-Scene> Madeleine Cadrasteia says, "What's up?"     <J-IC-Scene> Angela says, "I was reflecting. On what you said about robots."     "What I said about..." Madeleine takes a moment to recall and put the pieces together. "Oh, right, you're... okay, so." She twists her mouth in thought. "You can be people in like, Petra's sticking-out-from-cultural-morass way, and you are, but like... you see the world through different eyes than me, or Petra, or Calvin, right? Literally and figuratively. What's normal or understandable for you to do or feel isn't gonna be the same as for me. There's, I could say 'oh, you're totally normal', but like, are you?" She points with a whole hand at the pad, then at herself. "Am I? It's not *wrong* to be outside the frame of normality, even if it's sort of unfortunate sometimes."     A pause to accept a new drink from Charlene and enjoy its first sip. "But, I shouldn't lump all robots together like that. So, I'm sorry for that much."
Futaba Nuki	"That means we can do shots. Whiskies!" "Whiskies!" Futaba calls it in almost-unison with Natsuki, sounding all too eager to join her sister in drinking despite being something of a lightweight in this specific arena. She could probably filter it out easily if she wanted to, but that'd defeat the purpose of sharing the activity with her elder sister in the first place! Plus, she's already a little too groggy from just the first shot andt he brandy to think about that right now. "If you want to get flattened, 'sis', run it up whenever you like. You know where I am." "Pssh. Of course I know. You're right here." Futaba replies with another laugh, then drums her hands on the counter a few times while humming to herself. "If we ever finish, anyway. Last time showed me we're... Like. Perfectly balanced or something, you know? Like water and oil spinnin' around when you got just enough to keep one from floating or sinking or... However that works." "Because if she gets stuck as that horrible *meat couch* she keeps doing, I'm throwing her into the ocean, I swear to god." "Hey, hey, I only did it that one time! I think." Futaba protests, then purses her lips as she actually thinks about it. "Or twice...? More than once, but I don't think I did it THAt many times... It was just on that giant stuff planet with the Precures, wasn't it?" Sighing after a moment, Futaba holds her hands up in defeat. "Okay, okaaay. No more seat mode. Nobody was gettin' on whenever I did it, anyway. You try and do somethin' nice for folks when there aren't enough chairs around..." She comments with a dramatic sigh. "Not like I'd get stuck that way. I got plenty of control over my forms, and I'd totally be able to beat the ocean at it's own game even if ya tossed me in." She considers turning into an excessive amount of water to illustrate that point,  but actually stops to think enough about that to refrain from doing so. Instead, she settle for turning her hand into a fishbowl with water inside it. Even though she's still visibly swaying, her fishbowl technique is pretty good! There's no fish inside it, though. That's a little too much for her right now. "She can do fish or octopus easy enough she'd squirm right back to you though." Futaba huffs lightly, then downs her next shot. "Just for that... I'm gonna show up as a shark or something big."
Angela	It's an absolutely withering death stare. It doesn't even soften when Madeleine reveals she forgot that Angela was a robot. Angela is, of course, fairly human looking except in one respect. She is way too pale to be a human. She is pale enough to be a vampire except, of course, in Angela's world vampires are not known for being particularly pale. Angela takes a moment to consider whether or not that it seems unreasonable to forget that she's a machine but ultimately she doesn't have the energy for that. She isn't really upset to be mistaken for human, really. ''You see the world hrough different eyes than me, or Petra, or Calvin, right?'' Angela closes her eyes, thinking about this. She definitely doesn't see the same world as Calvin, exactly, but she doesn't exactly find him difficult to understand either. Madeleine is a bit difficult for her to understand comparatively, but frankly they have more in common than with CAlvin. Petra... But she doesn't really find any of them to be too difficult to understand, even if perhaps not understanding them completely. "Well," Angela says. "To be honest, I have never particularly felt like I understood another robot, or AI. The closest, I suppose, was Ishirou in the sense that I understood his struggles but I did not understand the actions he ended up with regards to his anxieties. I do get along with Solty, but I do not see her as a peer--I see her as a child." Is it wrong to be outside of normality. "I think 'normal' is a much smaller space than 'person' or even 'human'. Normal seems to be a very small segment of identity that largely depends on who is speaking. But to state that robots cannot, inherently, 'be normal' is clearly false. If you go to Dimo's world, what is 'normal' would be quite different, I imagine. What makes you someone who can speak as to who is ''Normal''? Is it from an outside perspective that makes you feel that you are suitable for remarking on it?"
Natsuki Nuki	"Sure, Futaba. A shark. When you get real toothy and muscly, I'll believe it. That monkey's ring might even fill in the ferocity you forget." Natsuki chuffs to her sister, tossing her jacket over the passed-out other Nuki. With a fresh shot in her hand and a faint blush to fuzz-softened cheeks, Natsuki lifts her latest shot of Jack and takes a faint tastiing sip off the top. "Different eyes..." Natsuki considers, and then points an orange claw-tipped finger Madeleine's way, having gotten Charlene to just leave the bottle of Jack Daniels on the bartop. Futaba, bless her little dingus heart, had two shot glasses before her and one was half done, plus the apple brandy empty and the worst drink on offer, and... It had been the first time the sisters had really drunk together. In the way of really drinking, and not sneaking away with the sacred wine and hushedly sharing a dish as children. Then, they had both coughed and sputtered. Now, the taste barely burns. "You've got different eyes than me and mine, and different than Calvin's too. Swimming in starfields, do you think you can see through that soup the same?" Finger curls back about shotglass and the sharp-toothed Nuki shoots back the rest of the JD, turning back to Charlene with a smile to spin cap the top and cut herself off. It was on Calvin's dime, anyway, and a good line of shots seemed to render them even -- plus a passed-out sister, obviously. "The heck does 'sort of unfortunate, sometimes', mean about being 'outside of normality'? That some armored peckerhead south of Jack Frost is going to cause me problems, or you? That's 'sort of unfortunate'? Normal here's not normal in Osaka isn't normal in whatever variety show the rest of people come from." Chin-upping at the lump of Futaba, Natsuki leans her back against the bar and elbow on the top, fingering bottom lip in palm-curled thought. "The kind of thinking - about 'going back' - is why you're worried about normal. Like it's a ring game and we're just trying to stand in the circle. Other people draw circles and you fit in them or don't."
Petra Soroka	"'I don't want your shit 'cause it does me any good. I want it cause not havin' it fucks you over,'"     Petra rolls her eyes and sighs. "Thank god. Someone normal." She's immediately embarrassed by the follow-up derision towards Hell Biker, and they're people whose opinions she *mildly* values, she clamps her mouth shut and spins her opinion over in her mind again.     "Well. Not that I met him. I'm not, like, in favor of everyone killing each other. By the way." "If it works, then you get somethin' different, that still has the memory of you, and if you weren't a bonehead and forced a square peg in a round hole, still mostly trusts you."     Petra leans forwards, elbows on her knees, a little wobbly on her stool from the alcohol. "That's really fascinating, actually. That's incredibly cool. That's, like, a literal representation of needing personal relationships with narratives in order to healthily internalize them and build on them. You think you can get Hell Biker to trust you? You can't do that without trusting the story some yourself, too, you-- you know." "Do you think it's possible to go back? To being... distinguishable, after it's filed away."     "Mmm." Let's put a pin in that. "hell, I was pretty 'normal' before the Glitch."     Slight eyebrow raise, that Petra doesn't elaborate on. It comes across more as a challenge than as doubt. "And college is sort of for forming peer groups and networking? Which isn't really something you have to do, or like... *could* do, with normal people."     "Pfah, yeah, Jesus." Petra leans back and putters out a sigh, tapping on the phone in her pocket. "I was the apprentice to the greatest supervillain in the multiverse already. I've got my CV down *pat*. But... like, where do you really dedicate a lot of time to learning that *isn't* also about... filling out a resume? Like, I don't-- I don't need a *degree*. I don't *want* to be around normies." "Tumors are bad for the health of the whole, but people just puttering through life with no real sense of direction are at least keeping the cultural mass alive through sheer force of numbers."     Petra scowls a bit at Madeleine. "I'm not saying that they're *harming* the cultural mass. I'm saying they're just-- just shambling growths off it, yeah. The rot that they are is the rot that society is, and the other way around. Keeping the cultural mass alive is their *fault*, not a point in their *favor*." "but now that they've set up the Assembly that's at least one place where the cultural mass is moving in a direction that's good for *people*, and not just good for the cultural mass."     "You know what happened there? What happened first, before that could happen? The fucking war. The *bombs*. Scorched earth is the *only* way that shit changes, and even then, there's no guarantee it changes for good. Look at Lilian's world, after the Onslaught; shit didn't get better there. They're *tumors* because they have to be *cut out*."     "It's the same with people, like, individually. The only way to become a 'person', like, an individual person, yourself, is to burn it out or have it burnt out by the people around you. When you're-- you're so full of fucking nothing, it takes up all the space where a person could've been. It's easy to tell who's a person and who's not, because everyone who isn't acts the *exact fucking same*."
Petra Soroka	"You can be people in like, Petra's sticking-out-from-cultural-morass way, and you are, but like... you see the world through different eyes than me, or Petra, or Calvin, right?"     "And don't say that shit about Ange. She's more like me than you are, or fucking any of you." The fact that Petra was a robot for a short time doesn't seem to factor into that.     "The idea that, like, being a robot is fundamentally different from being a human is, is--" Petra gets cut off by a hiccup, and wipes the back of her mouth, a little tipsy. "It's fucking, childish. It doesn't matter. Her eyes see the same things I do. Literally all that matters is the way people treat you, and if they do it different 'cause you're a robot, that's still because of them. Not because of the robot." "More than once, but I don't think I did it THAt many times... It was just on that giant stuff planet with the Precures, wasn't it?"     Petra tips her head at Futaba, overexaggeratedly confused because she underestimates the weight of her own head for a moment. "The hell's a precure? Like, for disease? You did it, like, *twice* in front of me. And told me to sit on it. And it was horrible and gross." "You try and do somethin' nice for folks when there aren't enough chairs around..."     Petra puffs out air irritatedly, and unclips her compact mirror from her hip. It's actually a different one from what she's been carrying around before, and a lot higher quality, with careful decorations and custom engraving on it. She flips it open and presses her hand to the surface, ranting.     "If people didn't have *chairs*, then I wouldn't just *make myself into one*--" Incidents come to mind. "--most of the time. I'd *get* chairs. I bet I have one in here, even--"     Petra is now holding a cinder block. She stares at it, and then clumsily waves it at Futaba. "Someone could sit on this."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"To be honest, I have never particularly felt like I understood another robot, or AI."     "Well, yeah, I was being kinda silly to act like robots were the same. You're not built the same way as the Combaticons or Ishirou or whoever. I'm not gonna go airing all your business, but there's things in your life that just aren't in most people's, including other robots'."     Swimming in starfields, do you think you can see through that soup the same?     "No, yeah, that was my point - my looking-outward isn't the same as yours, or as Angela's. Even if the same light's reaching all our eyes, our minds, our ways of experiencing the world show us different stuff, or have us draw different conclusions from it."     The heck does 'sort of unfortunate, sometimes', mean about being 'outside of normality'?     Madeleine sets down her drink for a slightly indignant folding of the arms. "It means I'm trying to soft-pedal how shitty 'normal' folks - that cultural mass Petra's on about - can get about people outside the circle. Everywhere's got different boundaries of 'normal', but there's people who'll usually be normal enough anywhere they go, and then there's us."     "The only way to become a 'person', like, an individual person, yourself, is to burn it out or have it burnt out by the people around you."     She takes another sip of her drink, then rests a fingertip on her lips. "Mm." She'll have to think about that one.
Angela	Angela thinks about that. That there's things in her life that just aren't in most people's and it is impossible to not consider the time loops, the brutality of The City and particularly LobCorp, and yes the way she sees the world at a hundreth times slower than everyone else... Normally she would've agreed with that, in fact--she would have expressed it repeatedly and often. Why does she just feel tht aMadeleine is wrong now? She look towards Petra and Cinder, and then up at the ceiling. in her own office. Yes, maybe if one were to look at it factually, she knows no other person who has been through precisely what she has. But at the same time, it has been kind of nice, hasn't it? That she has been able to form genuine bonds with others despite that. That there were people out there similar enough to understand her so completely so immediately. To the point that it kind of bothered her at the time, but now she wonders if maybe... Maybe she doesn't want that to be in the way of her sharing perspectives. Maybe the ability to glower and complain about how long something is taking isn't as important to her than being able to connect and empathize and understand. Maybe the ability to suffer for a million years isn't as important to her as the small joys she can yet share if she could only just LEAVE. She'd give all that way. The ability to think before saying anything for way too long, the ability to have been hurt more than anyone else. She doesn't say anything, though, because what can she say? She just lolls her head to the side and looks away from everyone and their perspective.
Natsuki Nuki	''I don't want your shit 'cause it does me any good. I want it cause not havin' it fucks you over,'' 'Thank god. Someone normal.' Natsuki scoffs, all exhale no birdsong, and shakes her head. "Sure. He's actually the most 'normal' Fiend I've met. Talked about society, got mad when Calvin flipped him off, rode a big loud Yankee chopper all up and down the interstate like some bandit cowboy." Natsuki shrugs. "But after you light the fire and burn it down, do you still need a torch? The world burned and he's mad he couldn't put the bullet in Henry Kissinger himself. Learned that when I stole his keys." And his spiritual echo, though Natsuki doesn't explain that when she rolls his jingly keys around her finger meaningfully. "Whoever that is. Do you think 'normal' has a place *after* the ashes? Or should only the freaks be left?" A lean off the bar, back to her knees, and her hand closes around the keys in dangled palm. "You don't want to be around normies. You want the freaks. So you want what Hell Biker *could* become, but not what he is now, even if he's still holding the torch that helped burn the last world." Natsuki gets up, and walks across the bar to swipe the brick out of Petra's hands, grinning. "You know what? You're right." And then, brick in hand, Natsuki returns to Futaba to lift the dozing younger Nuki to 'gently' pillow her head with a solid brick. Then she adds a napkin under her sister's cheek to keep the drool off the bar. And the brick. "There. Now she's ready to sleep that off."
Calvin Nash	You think you can get Hell Biker to trust you? You can't do that without trusting the story some yourself, too, you-- you know.     "Yeah." Calvin sighs and finishes his second beer. "I know."     "Not every story's a happy one," he says. "And besides that..." He reaches up with his free hand to rub the back of his head. A gesture of thought, as if doing it will stir the words his feelings already know into the reach of his mouth.     "If you wanna understand somebody, the bare minimum for startin' is figuring they got a reason for sayin' and doin' what they do. I figure I can trust he's got that, even if I don't like the conclusions he draws."     "Askin' 'why' is step two. And we gonna have plenty of time for that." The idea that, like, being a robot is fundamentally different from being a human is, is--it's fucking, childish.     Calvin nods in agreement. "Mhm." You did it, like, *twice* in front of me. And told me to sit on it. And it was horrible and gross.     Calvin extends a warding-slash-admonishing index towards Futaba. "Can't go around askin' people to do that."     "Not that way, anyway," giggles Charlene.     "Huh?"     "Never you mind, Calvin."     "Okay." There. Now she's ready to sleep that off.     Calvin utters a low whistle. "Damn. She don't drink much, does she?" He chuckles, shakes his head, and pushes off from the bar.     "I figure I'll fuse 'im soon, start gettin' a clearer picture of 'what he is now,' that Hell Biker. But for right now, I'm 'on turn in--got an early morning debrief tomorrow. Y'all enjoy yourselves."