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Flamel Parsons	Flamel Parsons has been busy. For the last several years, in fact, he's been very, very busy. He's studied Applied Ontology, he's studied the Storm, he's studied the Light, a dozen other things -- he's studied all kinds of things that expand the definition of psionics, but for all that studying, he's never had an applied, definitive result that he can put forward to justify it. And the more he encounters terrible, horrible sitations in Elibe, the more he struggles with the limits of psychic abilities in his many adventures, the more he finds himself seeking new options. Developing new methods. A breakthrough has been made today. Some people are hearing this from the man himself, aboard a sleek and powerful spy-jet that's taking them, as well as a variety of Concord scientists and officials, directly to the mysterious locale. Some are hearing it from a gruff, short man, dark-skinned and thick-moustached, over a video call, between quick directions to help them navigate Green Needle Gulch on foot -- apparently the psychically-cursed forest surrounding the Motherlobe requires specific directions to navigate. He's got thick sunglasses on and some dark lighting, presumably to make it hard to tell that he's Morceau Oleander, semi-disgraced Psychonaut. ================================================================================ Flamel rambles quickly. "I'm calling it ! The sour, tiny man speaks gruffly, the Psychogate. You don't care about ? like a military commander. "He's the details and it would take the whole @ calling it the Psychogate. I don't flight to cover them. Astral # know all the details and I don't care. Projection, as a technology, it's $ Astral Projection's something we've something we've always used for & always done on one person at a time, individuals, for working on the + the mastermind of a problem, using mastermind of a big problem, using ! Psychoportals. But after something Pschoportals. But after all that stuff ? that happened in Elibe, something with Lugh, after everything in Elibe, I @ about that kid he was counseling, he's just... It's not been enough, right? # gotten... worse. I've been there. It's So..." He takes a big breath. "This, $ why they won't listen to me." Oleander this'll be enough. It's mass Astral & sucks air through his teeth. "This, Projection. Long-distance + this'll be too much. It's mass Astral individual-target if we can calibrate ! Projection. Long-distance individual it right, but more importantly..." ? target, maybe, but worse*..." @ "Projection directly into the # "Projection directly into the Collective Unconscious. Fighting $ Collective Unconscious. Amplifying psychohazards and helping people on a & psychohazards and making mistakes at a worldwide scale. Moving clear thoughts + worldwide scale. Bumbling conscious and and real kindness directly into the ! thoughts and problems directly into uncharted Unconscious." ? the uncharted Unconscious." ================================================================================ "So I need help with what'll happen next." The plane touches down: http://files.at.decompressed.space/bRJswBtc The informant's designated campsite is finally found: http://files.at.decompressed.space/3e1YexXM More shortly. For now, everyone files out. The delegation of Concord scientists and officials heads through reception. The delegation of Concerned Auditors, backed by some Foundation officials mixed with odd Watch agents, set up camp in the cursed forest. A disturbingly chilly November wind drives both to move quickly.
White	While a crowded plane ride isn't White's idea of a particularly good time, she can deal with it. She wanted to get a better idea of what to expect from Flamel, and even if he was quite strange and hard to put faith in, she felt just a little bit like she could tell where his head was at. That's a rare thing for her to think about anyone, and after that Columbus Day incident when he was the only other support that showed up for Schneider besides herself... Well, it's not bad to feel gratitude, as long as you don't let it become a burden, right? With that cheery pearl of wisdom in mind, White does her best to absorb the sitrep during the ride. She hasn't been involved with Elibe, so she can't really follow anything more than the implication that something's been going wrong, which is a little unpleasant to learn. Little late to be worrying about it now, though... She's not an expert psychic either, even if some of her abilities have a little overlap. This leaves her deciphering terminology based on media tropes, which isn't an ideal position to be in, but she can at least gather from past exposure what kind of Astral Projection Flamel is referring to. Difficult to work with, maybe, but the effects... Well, maybe it's inevitable that she'd be at a loss to understand how he does it. But it works, when he has the right opportunity. The real question left over is simple; what kind of help does he need, that he thinks he can get from even non-psychic individuals? She wouldn't expect that a bit of telepathy and emotional injection make her any kind of expert resource... Stepping off of the jet delicately, she wraps her long braid around one arm to keep it from blowing in the chilly wind; she's still got her battle-damaged white jacket over her usual dress, and even with the long socks she's wearing she doesn't seem like she should be comfortable with the wind-chill. Without complaint, she steps along after the Concord personelle and prepares to go through reception without saying a word that she doesn't need to, scribbling out signatures in swirly cursive English when requested. She just kind of hopes that being constantly in mental contact with hundreds of other tiny beings won't get her in trouble somehow, like having your phone in a restricted area. Flamel hasn't exactly been reticent to share how much of his work-culture is foundationally based on secret agent tropes and classified data, even down to the thoughts inside his own head!
Storm Investigators	Flamel's voice is one that's at least vaguely familiar to Greta Hofmann and Marcus. Although neither of them have met him in person, they've heard and heard of him over the radio plenty of times. That's enough, then, to pique their interest when they happen across the communication to intervene in Flamel's latest project from someone that neither of them recognize at all. "Do you understand what he's talking about?" "Enough. N-" "Oh. Sorry, Madam Hofmann!" "...? Oh. No, Marcus. I understand enough. Not everything, but enough to know that this could be disastrous if things are allowed to go off the rails." "Oh! Oh. Should we really be getting involved, then? This might be too much for just..." "Yes. There will be others with us, but your ability will be invaluable to solving this. I'll be here, too." After following those confusing directions provided by Morceau, the tall and small pair from the Foundation finally make it to the camp! The timing of this visit is impeccable, too, because being in a scary-cursed forest after being near a nice-cozy forest just one night apart from each other is enough to have Marcus all but attached to Greta at the hip. While Greta stands firm right in the middle of the camp, she looks around trying to catch a glimpse of their contact. Marcus, meanwhile, holds her lantern shakily in front of herself, shining it around both for actual light and to try and see if she can't skim a word or two out of her surroundings to try and locate Morceau before they get eaten by cursed bears.
Chuyao He	Chuyao arrives to meet the poorly-disguised Oleander in the formal white shenyi robes of a scholar, his black cloth boots lightly dusted from travel. The robes have a smart black trim, fastened at the waist by a matching thin rope belt. A traveler's pack hangs at his hip, orderly in its fullness. Neat, straight locks of long black hair frame his soft features, which are set into a polite smile despite the outlandishly large vegetation surrounding the campsite. He occupies himself with reading while he waits for Oleander to make contact. When the wind makes that difficult, he instead takes to conversation with Greta and Marcus. "So it's Sister Marcus and Sister Greta. Have you eaten?" If the answer is 'no,' he offers to share some strips of cured fish wrapped in pickled cabbage. Though his hair is in a bun held fast with a silver hair crown and a carved coral orchid-motif pin, it still extends past his shoulderblades, swaying when he rises to offer a fist-in-palm greeting and bow to Oleander. "I, Chuyao He, scholar of the late generation, respectfully greet the conscientious informant. Your concern for the wellbeing of others and the proper means of healing is to be commended." "This lowly scholar has brought along stationery, an abacus, and of course, means of divination. Two questions come to mind; the first and most pressing is how best we may assist. The second, only somewhat less important, is what the informant does know." Chuyao frowns slightly, taking a seat on one of the stone risers in the small campsite auditorium. "You said that you 'did not know all the details.' However, even covering what is known would be of help to us; to understand the motivations of one who proceeds haphazardly is to have more ability to correct them."
Storm Investigators	"Oh! Hello, Brother Ch.. Jianya? Is that the correct way to address...?" "Good evening. We had a light snack before we left, in case we needed to run without feeling too heavy." "I thought there were a few close calls earlier, but... Um. It was just the wind. Did you encounter anything strange on the way here?" They'll still take any offered food, of course, with Marcus taking her time to identify all the different flavors she's tasting and savoring. "How nostalgic..." She comments, reminiscing about the old days (somehow) while while Greta just pops the fish and cabbage right in without a second thought.
Flamel Parsons	White shouldn't have to worry too much longer. If the constant contact were to get her in trouble, it isn't gonna be here. "ThinkerPrint invalid. Mindswarm exception." The scanner before she gets inside does falter briefly. But a short reboot lets her through. Eventually she can make her way inside, to perhaps the most accommodating space to ever be crowded with people in. http://files.at.decompressed.space/KtoHP3Q5 http://files.at.decompressed.space/hTa2Sx3d As Concord officials head up to the Nerve Center and scientists over to the Agent Laboratories, Flamel guides White herself a bit aside. "I've looked at your history." He says, walking with her near one of the conversation-pits nearer to an enriching interior-plant. "You know how it is when I'm a vague yet menacing government agency. You've had a big share of situations where you had to wrestle with organizations just... possessed by paranoia against you. Not just one person, but every member. Right?" One of the Psychonaut scientists carrying long ticker tape and hope in his heart rushes towards White, saying something about studying hivemind dynamics, but Flamel gently telekinetically pushes him aside and away from this conversation. "I need that kind of experience." He says, tone tense and focused. "Geopolitical, but personal. Organization-wide, yet psychological. I want you to help lead one of our first expeditions, as someone whose mental focus has always been internal but never blunt. Haven't you ever wanted to see that kind of mass dysfunction, and just..." He puts one palm against the opposite fist. "Fight it directly, without all the complication?" Oleander's trying to keep subtle, he's poorly-hidden among one of the trees. Yet his voice rumbles out of speakers above: http://files.at.decompressed.space/EC3gMIPa "Alright, soldiers! ...Auditors, really." It starts as barked orders, then becomes sheepish. "I don't want you running in here guns blazing. Because I work here, even though you don't know me." His voice is very, very recognizable still. "I've stashed credentials and Thinkerprint-spoofing equipment for some of you. Couple of you, I've signed on to our intern program. Look for the Ottobon tube, it'll take you from here straight to the Motherlobe." "I know at least one'a you has some pretty savvy clairvoyance. Well, our number-one clairvoyant is in deep cover and our number-two is the problem in the first place, so I need you in there. As for what I know..." He grumbles lowly into the mic, telepathy bringing pages of intel down from above to the crowd. Which sort of gives away that he's nearby. "The Psychogate was supposed to be set up in Parsons' personal lab. But he's gotten it deeper somewhere, hidden in an isolation zone I can't access much about. I've got the concepts and wavelengths to look for, but you're going to be scouting from on-site. And you'll have to fly under the radar of the best psychics in the world, still worried about a mole in the organization. I need you to find it and monitor it." "The Grand Head is busy with the Delugionists, the Second Head is recovering, and Parsons is bringing in a lot of Concord politcal pressure to ram this through. It needs oversight and auditing. Not fair if I'm the only one getting internal affairs..." More grumbling from the man. "Get close to it. Get involved. And get in my tube after you've set up camp." A tube embedded in a tree-trunk pops open, offering the kind of convenient and efficient light-rail transit that you only get through a combination of federal funds and statistically-significant historical LSD consumption. It leads to the Motherlobe directly.
White	The hiccup at registry is a momentary spike of stress, but it's smoothed over before she can really get too fretful about it; the click of her tongue is entirely inside her head, as the Parallel Minds briefly go off on a bit about discrimination toward psychological minorities. White 'prime' is happy to push off the momentary stress onto the mini-hers, and is more occupied with thinking about how helpful it is for things to be given such directly descriptive names! It's starting to feel like she will be able to follow along after all! Self-explanatory user interfaces are so important... She spends a moment or two appreciating the indoor flora as well, before Flamel approaches her to speak. On one hand, being approached directly, immediately, makes her feel singled out in a way that reminds her of various in-person scams... On the other hand, she's the only person here that makes sense to single out and approach for this kind of one-on-one persuasion. She could even imagine that the over-eager scientist Flamel brushes aside was sent here on purpose so that she'd have more reason to be grateful to him! ... But she has no proof, and really even if he's being exactly as manipulative as he could be, he isn't saying anything that's strictly wrong or disagreeable to her, so... She'd listened with a blank face masking her overactive thoughts, not reacting very much until Flamel delivers his apparent mission-statement. Her head tilts slightly downward in thought briefly, then back up, and she tucks some of her hair back behind an ear. "... It might be... Nice. If it works... That simply." she says, evidently not immediately swayed by just the possibility, but patient enough to see how tall the merits stand. "But... You said 'lead'. Who... Do you expect me... To lead?" After all, she might be a Commander, but she's done just about everything in her power to keep that to an informational and organizational role. Leading a group in any more than a technical, soft-touch sense when she doesn't know the other members would be... Well, it might take some preparation.
Chuyao He	Chuyao nods. "Indeed," he says with a little smile towards Marcus. "That is my courtesy name, and though not required, it is heard warmly." And you'll have to fly under the radar of the best psychics in the world, still worried about a mole in the organization. "That... will be very challenging," Chuyao admits with a frown. "It is good that you have provided means of evading detection, for, in truth, this lowly scholar is most unskilled in such matters." Chuyao catches the intel floated down to him and leafs through it studiously. "In the name of much-needed oversight, and the public good, I shall assist in auditing this Psychogate project, despite the difficulty I may face. If you will allow me a moment to further read these documents and to consult the coins, I believe it would be to our advantage, where navigating this fear of compromise is concerned." With that said, Chuyao takes out three copper Song dynasty coins, as well as his calligraphy set and a well-used copy of the 'Book of Changes.' Pouring a small bit of water from a waterskin into the reservoir of an inkstone, he grinds it, then tosses the three coins six times. Each time, he recording the results on a sheet of paper weighed down by a nearby stone to keep it from blowing away. The results translate to two sets of broken and unbroken horizontal lines, arranged vertically, which he peers at intently, jotting down his reactions to each between perusals of the book. Flamel said he loved a good coin, but no one loves the advice that coins give like Chuyao.
Storm Investigators	"it is heard warmly." Marcus' face brightens up upon hearing that. A personal best! Hearing Oleander's voice coming out of the speakers, even if it's technically familiar by now, still gets a little 'eep' out of Marcus. The tension drops out of her shoulders a moment later, at least, and Greta continues to be stoic as ever while listening in and gathering those offered pages coming from the air. "I don't think we'd be a good pick for going in guns blazing even if you wanted us to., so you will not need to worry about that." Marcus forces an awkward chuckle, but clams up a second later upon realizing she doesn't actually know if that was the sort of thing to laugh at. "this lowly scholar is most unskilled in such matters." "Likewise. Keeping a low-profile among those unaware of what to even look for is one thing, but what of the psychics we will be around? If-" Greta glances at Marcus, making the semi-reasonable assumption that one or both of them might have been registered as interns. "-some of us are posing as interns, would knowing about the Psychogate's existence at all be a risk? How secretive will we need to be about accessing and addressing it?" "And these psychics... Will this spoofing equipment be enough to hide our thoughts? If we know what the mission is and they know there's a mole, it might be... Um. Difficult not to think about either of those things at all. And if they catch us..." Marcus pauses, then looks up at the speakers. She's pretty sure Oleander isn't actually in there, but she's not sure where else to look and be polite. "Er. Is this organization the sort to be merciful towards infiltrators...?" Greta, meanwhile, purses her lips slightly as she listens to the briefing further, only speaking up after that tube in the tree pops open. "Are you expecting us to observe or get involved with 'auditing' the Psychogate directly? If we are to play neutral observers and report back on what we've seen, then intervening directly would add too many layers of personal involvement to even pretend to be neutral." Regardless of the answer, there's still camp to set up! Neither of them know what they're doing for the most part, so they're just relying on what's already been set up and setting their cases of stuff (extra clothes, books, Foundation-approved investigation supplies) aside so they don't have to drag it all around before heading to... THE TUBE. "This... Seems safe enough. High speed transit, and so expensive..." "Don't think too hard about those numbers, Marcus."
Flamel Parsons	Flamel's immediately explaining to White. "Precision strike, something small and simple, really test it in a controlled way against an unambiguous psychohazard we can do good work on with a small team. There was a town called Araphen, which was sacked early on in the Eliberian War, where a lot of children in the local orphanage were traumatized by it being burned down. That trauma is one of our best test targets. But we'll be opening gates all over. I've got a mess that needs cleaning up from an incident in Sector L-57 with Lilian and Persephone, pretty much a natural disaster cleanup case. I'm working on targeting Kagoshima as well, but we're not opening that one for weeks, too tough to get a fix on. If I can get Angela onboard, we'll be trying some scouting expeditions to the City, and I'm working on getting a fix on that Earth with the Storm problems..." He rambles on, walking-and-talking with White to the Agent Labs -- then past, through various doors demanding heavy authorization. "But the options are endless. Can you think of any special cases, simple problems that are just too mass-scaled? I mean, don't answer now, not until you've had a chance to lead a team. I'll need you on a leadership role because you know your leadership, your combat, your tactics, but you don't know traditional astral projection much. You don't have preconceptions and presumptions. It'll all be new, and you'll be approaching it with fresh eyes..."
Flamel Parsons	"Mmmh." Oleander grumbles. "Yeah, cast your spells." He's used to psychics being quirky and cultural, which is the exact phrasing he'd use if asked, and which is obviously absurdly insensitive. One quick roll of the coins later has something along these lines to say: In order to evade fear of compromise, avoid: 'Inheritance or bloodright', 'the remembering of unremembered things', 'the post, the mail, and other delivered writings', 'the water and the weather', and, specifically, 'east-Grulovian tzarism'. If those go unmentioned and undiscussed, they are sure to remain under-the-radar. Serendipitously? Due to the haunting influence of Racism? Kinda hard to say. "Is this organization the sort to be merciful towards infiltrators...?" "Well the last one we caught has a couch nicer than mine now. So, sure, kid." Oleander's voice is... both relatively indifferent to Marcus, and also just sort of idly attempting to soothe? Kind of a mix of both. "Are you expecting us to observe or get involved with 'auditing' the Psychogate directly?" "Expecting you probably won't be taking orders from me." Oleander admits, sheepishly. "I'm more about squads and tactics, not audits. You get in there, you see what you see, you do whatever seems right for the risk. If it's not much, well, report that back, soldier. But if it's a lot... You do whatever solves it. Otto tried to take a peek and he got the cold shoulder as soon as he started waving one'a those geiger counters around, so I know Parsons is hiding something... But they still have me locked out even after it got announced last week." Continuing on, unprompted, "Can't blame them. The reason they're not answering my calls about this is, I've been on the other side of this." He explains, grimly. "One of my ideas... got out of hand. And it got some kids hurt. So maybe I shouldn't be the one telling you what to do." He gets his drill-instructor tone back. "But I am the one making sure Parsons gets his sorry butt back under oversight before he gets someone hurt! So your orders are, make sure that was a good choice, soldier!" If the tube-rail is taken, it does indeed lead to the headquarters lobby. Flamel just left... maybe you can smell the scent of government in the air. The other wandering workers maintain the facilities and move between workstations, or just converse in the conversation pits. And it looks like they don't especially mind people arriving or leaving via Ottobon, which scanned their Thinkerprints and credentials on the way in. Whole swaths of them have a sense of relaxation and lack-of-examination right now, even, only rare individuals, mostly in field-agent outfits, still glance around suspiciously at their fellows. Many of them towards the exit to the mail-room...
White	There's a bit of brainlag to account for as White tugs at contextual threads and translates meaning from there, but she seems to more or less follow along. She slowly nods as Flamel lists examples, her brow twitches like she's trying to blink her already-closed eyes when Lilian and Persephone come up as part of an 'incident' comparable to a 'natural disaster', and then she files that away for later consideration. The small breath and quarter-second hum she makes don't sound like the most enthusiastic thing in the universe, but Flamel's probably used to that. As she's following his lead, glancing away now and then to take stock of where she is and what's happening around her (or rather, mostly to memorize signage), she only gets as far as barely starting to open her mouth again after Flamel's question before it's shelved as 'for later' anyway. Well, good; she hadn't really had a good first choice to answer with, anyway. "... I do have... My own obligations. But... I will try to help. I'll need..." She has to pause to actually figure out what to fill the implied list with, momentarily clamming up and trying to signal that she's thinking by holding her chin between a thumb and forefinger-knuckle. It's good to signpost! Or at least, it helps people not interrupt her. "To meet the... Team members. So I can evaluate them. And any... Information you have, on... Fighting 'psychohazards' this way... Would be appreciated. And... If you know..." She pauses again, having to untangle a mental knot in figuring out the right way to phrase the request, "Whether any... Particular powers would be... Limited, or intensified. If the fight... Is a mental simulation... Would emotions from the... Evil Eye, cause collateral damage?" If anything, she's most nervous of making an assumption that doesn't pan out well for her, and relying on something at a crucial moment that might backfire. It's one thing to say the goal is to turn mental health treatment into a head-on fight, but when part of your toolbox involves mental attacks it seems wise to be prudent.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel brightens up, the minute he hears about 'particular powers limited or intensified'. When he hears about the 'mental simulation'. "That's the secret. That's... the most interesting part. Because... I can't tell you how, or why, but it doesn't work like that." He whispers to White. "I want to show you one of them." They've slipped behind the labs and further back into... What can only be described as a mental-health-maximizing zone, a mental decontamination. http://files.at.decompressed.space/g5o3HGbS The plants along the walls are perfectly spaced for enrichment, the light is relaxing in its softness yet energizing in its blueness, the snapes are consistent enough for comfort but unique enough to keep the space feeling fresh. It's meant to purge surface-layer psychohazards. It might feel like the top layer of White's skin got exfoliated, in a mental sense. It's enough to take the edge off of the sense that they've gone deep into the depths of a quarry. But at the end of the hall? A standard...ish lab, looking something along the lines of: http://files.at.decompressed.space/XrJIy97e In the center, though, rather than the usual sample, or containment chamber, or anything like that? There's just a door. Plain, unassuming. Regular wood, darkened and lightened in all the wrong (or right) places by age. It's set into a doorframe approximately but not exactly matching the age, mismatching the material in just the same way that a home's door would. But, White has probably seen Flamel work before, at least, with Regulus. So it may be more unexpected that the door is sized for a real person. Maybe even just a little bigger. He opens it up. Peeks through, gestures White to come do the same. http://files.at.decompressed.space/S21EsbdZ He reaches one foot in, presses against the meaty surface of the nearby terrain, wiggles it just a little, and then pulls back, as if afraid. "I'll get the team if you order the supplies you want to set up camp." He whispers to her, closing the door gently. Several men in hazmat suits (where were those guys?!) rush in and starts spraying his foot with a mist of acrid chemicals, before hustling back out of the room.
Chuyao He	Through a remarkable confluence of events, all six casts of the coins end up as heads. Chuyao's notes read: 'How to best avoid the fear of compromise?' - - - - - - - - - - - - "Immediate effect: The Receptive" A blurb about the meaning of this hexagram and its emphasis on persistence and the value of friends in familiar territory is followed by an initial reaction: "Avoid the northeast... What is 'the northeast,' then, to the Motherlobe?" -- -- -- -- -- -- "Future effect: The Creative" "The sun is different in one thousand minute ways which we feel, even if we are blind to it; the wind and rain may seem inscrutable but these, too, work according to the order of the heavens. A hexagram associated with rulers. Perhaps there is, or was, a king in the northeast, which is still feared in the Motherlobe today?" "All sixes... 'it is always effective to persevere...' Our actions will lead to the stability of the earth, if we avoid the influence of old kings, and focus not on the heavens above us but the solidity of the earth below us. The earth is solid; the waters are uncertain. Therefore we must cleve to that which is solid. We must bear our burdens now, and not look to some unremembered past to bear them for us, nor anticipate that some inheritance is due to us in the future for our work in the present or for whom our fathers were." Circled, at the bottom, is the final refinement of his thought, which he ushers Marcus and Greta over to share: 'Do not discuss the winds, the rains, or the waters; nor inheritance nor bloodright, nor distant and terrible kings. The movements of couriers and their parcels, being subject to the whims of the weather, are also barred from mention.' With that done, he packs his things away and holds up both the reading and the intel papers. So maybe I shouldn't be the one telling you what to do. Chuyao sighs, nods, and closes his eyes, clutching the papers just a tad more tightly. "I understand why the informant would feel such a way. This lowly scholar, too, feels the weight of past mistakes on his shoulders." He opens his eyes and peers at the speaker, since it seems that's what Oleander would prefer. "If we allow that weight to pin us to the ground, then we are motionless, and thus, as powerless to prevent the mistakes of others as we are to atone. Therefore..." "If the informant would be so kind, please dispose of these and the other papers, in permanent and irrevocable fashion." With that done, he closes his traveling pack, brushes his robes off and heads for the tube.
White	It isn't exactly comforting to be told that the mechanics can't be explained to her, but it's not outside of White's expectations. She internally sulks a little, but the intersticial mental health-minded spaces help with that a bit. There's a fleeting mental scene in her head of all her little eight-legged selves basking like they're sunbathing, but she doesn't get to spend long humoring her inner council there. Instead... She has to look at a door. It does, indeed, remind her of what she noticed when Flamel was hard at work during that first Storm incident. She notices how wary he is of even just putting one foot inside, keeping to a peek from behind him and quickly stepping out of the way when the hazmat team rushes in. The glimpse she gets is... Offputting seems like a fair word? The platforms supporting other doors inside remind her of the Dimensional Maneuvering Skill, and she could probably make the jump to them without magic... But standing on a brain is just kind of, eugh, you know? She's glad she's still a fan of boots instead of heels, even if she wasn't the one to stick her foot inside the doorway. But, it does help her understand the intended method a little better. Flamel's whispering, and roundabout way of giving her clues starts to feel a little less like he's just being secretive... And just a tiny bit more like a hint. His usual 'astral projections' expel something from his mind, something very small, so the door is very small to match. This door is more or less normal-sized, but obviously there's some fanfare around it given the security involved, which means it's using a fundamentally different process. Flamel emphasized that too; using this door wouldn't entail the usual restrictions. Which also... Probably means that the usual safety nets aren't in place, either. If the difference is between projecting a portion of oneself or all of oneself, obviously the risks rise just as much, if not more than the potential gains in physical effect from their efforts, right? That must be why Flamel's putting a fine point on someone with combat abilities, a layman's understanding of the threat, and no particular training in the safer methods. It's starting to come together a little better, now. "I'm beginning... to see where this is going." She can't assume that she can just present her conclusions aloud, if Flamel's over there whispering in his own home-base more or less. "I'll need... The team and threat information... To make a complete list... For requisition." she says, mostly to set expectations. "If the Elibean children... Were where you planned to begin... Then some notes about... That incident, might help too." It feels a little like she's being asked to build a spaceship, having no particular knowledge of the destination, or the wildlife, or the people she'll be working with yet... But if worst comes to worst, she can still take many difficult tasks onto her own back. And depending on how things work out, maybe her stash of practice stuffed animals might see use, if the objective is to help comfort children? ... Not likely, but it's nice to imagine.
Storm Investigators	"What is 'the northeast,' then, to the Motherlobe?" "The direction between north and east, but determining the direction... Are we still on Earth? The air is just as breathable, but without a map or a compass..." "They should have maps in the Motherlobe. Let's hope we do not have to rely on watching the snu if they do not." Most of Chuyao's divination otherwise goes right over both of their heads, but they do gather up when he calls their attention towards his final thought. What he says also seems to go right over their heads, but each of them takes out a personal notepad to write what he's saying before trying to puzzle that out. "Is the weather a taboo topic, then?" "How odd, considering the camping sites." "And the camp counseling I've heard about... Well, we should be okay if we just don't ask anyone about it and... Check the forecast ourselves." "And if deliveries are a bad subject, then... Oh, they probably still get them, right? We just need to... Hmm. Perhaps I could read the shipping labels if we really need to look into one..." "So, sure, kid." "A nicer couch? That does not sound so... Mm. Is that a metaphor for something?" Marcus asks while looking from the speaker to Greta with a questioning look, but only gets a slow shrug from her mentor in return who does not look at the speakers because she is pretty sure Oleander is not hiding in the speakers. Whether Oleander's or Greta's responses actually eased her mind any is a little unclear at first, but she's not as shaky as she was when she first showed up at the camp. Getting distracted from thinking about cursed bears probably helps a lot. "Expecting you probably won't be taking orders from me." "A fair assessment. So long as we are on the same page of expectations, then there should be no problems." Greta nods once, alos uncertain of where to aim her gestures, but doing it somewhat out of habit and also so Marcus doesn't feel weird about looking at the speakers so much. "I don't intend to do nothing if there is an immediate threat that we can solve. What we do, however, will depend on the situation once we find the Psychogate." Hearing the reasons for Oleander's lack of direct involvement gives Greta pause, and it's precisely the sort of thing that has her debating whether or not to pull the plug right then and there. If he's right about this, however, then operating without his aid would only make their ultimate goal of ensuring the Psychogate doesn't wreck everything even harder to accomplish. She can't ignore what he said about what happend, either, and so...
Storm Investigators	"... Come along, Marcus. Keep her head tucked in." "Huh? Oh! Yes, Madam Hofmann." And so, they take the tube-rail in! Staggering a bit once they disembark, Greta steadies Marcus at the shoulder while they both take a moment to just take in all the government surrounding them. Somehow, it's kind of a relief even if it isn't necessarily pleasant. It's a familiar environment, and they slip right into the usual ID checks and submitting to whatever Thinkerprint scans need to be done with their definitely-legitimate ID cards and gear. Rather than leaving right away to wherever it is they're supposed to be going, however, Marcus holds her hand up to try and get one of the credential checkers' attention. "Excuse me! Is there a map of the grounds anywhere? I am just starting my internship today, and I want to make sure I'm not late for orientation. Or to.. Get to wherever I'm to be assigned."